It takes fashion this hideous to awaken me from my blog slumber.
I ask Adidas, "WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE, PEOPLE?"
Also, anyone care to explain to me what this fucking ad copy means? I feel like I am doing Mad Libs after suffering a massive stroke:
"The first ever adidas Originals by Avavav collection is a whimsically recoded exploration of the Trefoil’s timeless DNA. Three Stripes icons get the Avavav treatment as the Superstar, the signature airliner bag, a selection of Track Jackets, and more all show up in unexpected ways."
Look at these "bring out the gimp"-ass sneakers!
With bonus "Ay, shit bro, u headed to Hoth? Do I have just the thing for u"
And when we ponder life's largest piles of dipshittery, what musical duo comes to mind most regularly? (If you thought "Random Idiots," you can go to hell. Even if you're on the mark.)
Yes! Ween!
We've talked a whole lot about Ween over the two decades here at Gheorghe. Why? Well, dummy, because that band is dedicated to the premise that life would be better if we all took ourselves a little less seriously. And by a little, I mean a metric shit-ton. Legendary clowns. They simply make me laugh more than any band I know.
Here's a little story you don't know so well, unless you're Dave. Off-brand for me, but I'm going to abbreviate the backstory.
2 dudes from New Hope, PA have a 4-track recorder in the late 80's.
They follow in the lo-fi no-band footsteps of 2 dudes from Brooklyn who might be giants, and they inspire two dudes in Williamsburg who are definitely not.
They end up releasing a 29-song album in 1990 on Twin/Tone records, a small label in the North Star State responsible for the early records from The Replacements and Soul Asylum. God Ween Satan is a glorious mess.
They release more albums, and actually start getting better. They get on MTV. They amass a cult following.
They release a country album in 1996 with reputable Nashville session musicians. It features a few filthy songs like "Piss Up a Rope" and "Mister Richard Smoker" that some of them Tennessee gents didn't much like. But it's a great record.
They release a prog-rock album in 1998 that's excellent.
They issue White Pepper in 2000. It's as mainstream as Ween will ever, ever get. They appear on Letterman to play "Exactly Where I'm At." Another single, "Even If You Don't," is super catchy and has a video. "Stay Forever" is really quite normal. Dave proclaims this album to be the best. The best album of all time. Ever. (He's the most hyperbolic person in the universe.)
Ween is mainstream and ready for middle America!!!
Well... heeeeeeere's the thing, though. Ignoring a historic discography that features songs called (sorry for the expurgated version, it's a family blog):
You F***ed Up (first song on first album)
Common B***
L.M.L.Y.P.
She F***s Me
Flies On My D***
Poop Ship Destroyer (a Ween original classic if there ever was one)
Hey Fat Boy (A*****e)
Spinal Meningitis (Got Me Down)
Baby B****
The HIV Song (this tune is just two words long)
Don't S*** Where You Eat
Waving My D*** in the Wind
...ignoring all of that, plus a bunch of songs that are hideously lewd but don't have the vulgarity in the title, setting all that aside and focusing on this new (2000) mainstream effort White Pepper... which probably is a racist title, now that I think about it in 2024 terms...
You still can't miss the steel drums, ragga Jimmy Buffett send-up "Bananas and Blow." (It's so good.) And you still can't escape the Steely Dan-ish nod "Pandy Fackler" with its lyrical wait, what?! (Read it here.)
There is still some saucy-as-hell Béarnaise beneath the polished sound of that macro-Ween era. You just knew that although we were happy for their relative success, these were still the same two dipshits from New Hope whose masterstrokes were all steeped in dipshittery.
You had to know.
You know who didn't? Pizza Hut!!
Yes, the same Pizza Hut corporation whose franchise employed rob and me in 1990. (You remember the story. Never trust a big butt and smile.)
So... the story goes like this. In 2002, Pizza Hut, Inc. decided to leap into the stuffed crust phenomenon. (Never been a fan.) Can't blame them, it was an era of hiding cheese everywhere.
According to Dean Ween:
“Earlier in 2002 we were hired by the largest advertising firm in the country to write music for a Pizza Hut commercial. Pizza Hut had hired them to come up with a whole new image to promote their new Pizza, “The Insider” which had all of the cheese inside the crust. In keeping in line with their new cutting edge image, the agency hired Ween to do the music, and we delivered in a big way. Unfortunately, they didn’t like a single piece of the 6 tunes we submitted and they had us rewriting the song every day for a couple of weeks before they hired someone else. In my opinion, it is one of the best tunes we wrote all last year.”
The agency got fired. Ween got dumped. It never went anywhere.
Oh, but Ween leaked the first and best song they submitted to their fans. Please give it a listen. It's a silly little something, and it's clean.
Oh! But they also leaked the 6th and final song they submitted. Frustrated with the annoying back-and-forth corporate BS process and the repeated rejection of songs Ween thought were brilliant, they simply added a little tweak to the first song they'd done and sent that in. Welp, that was the last straw. Please give it a listen. It is very much NSFW and it makes me laugh every time.
Both are in here, back to back. Each is 30 seconds. Enjoy.
To the knowledge of the crack investigative team of interns at Gheorghe: The Blog, Ween has never been asked to do a commercial again. They have done some soundtrack work, including the song "The Rainbow" for Chef Aid on South Park. (Don't google it.)
Whoever greenlit Ween for a Pizza Hut commercial committed, what John Cleese once uttered in the Cheese Shop sketch, "an act of purest optimism." Worth a try, I suppose, but that was the closest Ween ever came to mass acceptance. In the 20 years since, Ween has taken as many extended hiatuses* as they have released studio albums. (Two of each.)
*Hiati? Is that right? Looks like Haiti. That cannot be right.
Anyway, when the boys saddle back up and hit the road again, I'm driving to NJ and going to see them with Dave. Until then, where'd the motherfucking cheese go?
Friends, gheorghies, and silly people, lend me your eyes;
I come to praise Michael Schur, not to envy him.
The dreck that men and women write makes headlines.
The good is oft relegated to the abyss.
Do not let it be so with Schur.
Wel'p, that’s enough Bastardized Bard for one post. Using less iambic pentameter (of the sloppiest variety), today I’m simply espousing the work of someone that most of you are familiar with in one form or another: writer, producer, director, actor, show creator, author, and blogger Michael Schur.
The dude has proven prolific.
Here’s how many folks know Michael Schur:
1.Fire Joe Morgan co-creator / blogger. Between 2005 and 2008, Michael Schur assumed the pen name of "Ken Tremendous" at Fire Joe Morgan, a short-lived but wildly popular blog with the tagline "Where Bad Sports Journalism Came To Die." Skewerings of shoddy, hackneyed, often cloying platitudes posing as thoughtful sportswriting emanated regularly from a pseudonymed trio of former Harvard Lampooners -- you know, sharp-witted nerds using their wits for inane comedy. (A sound methodology if there ever was one!)
This was midlife Misery Loves Company and early years Gheorghe: The Blog, so in addition to some mission overlap, there was some occasional direct hat-tipping to FJM at GTB. Those gents were consistently hilarious, and their fine work (evidenced here and here, just for a nostalgic chuckle) inspired some gheorghey knock-offs. Overtly or subtly.
Whitney Says: I only visited FJM here and there in its day, but it jumped out as a textbook (comic book) template for what rob, Teej, and I wanted to do, even as we were sort of doing it. Ken Tremendous said in the postmortem that FJM was created "to make each other laugh." That's the piece that resonates most directly with me. Why on earth would the lot of folks at Gheorghe: The Blog have posted and commented on 5,300+ pieces of thought-revoking dipshittery over 21 years here if not for that principal premise?
2.Mose (and a writer) on The Office. He played Dwight Shrute's cousin, fellow beet farmer, and barn-mate on the U.S. version of the show from time to time. Mose, he was called. Amusing oddity.
He also penned a dozen episodes of the show, including "Office Olympics," "Christmas Party," and one my favorite episodes of any show, "The Return." Really great stuff.
Whitney Says: I watched each episode of the U.K. version of The Office when it first came out on DVD (you know, those silver coasters in your basement), and it strengthened my abs a wee bit from the guffaws -- but tightened my taint considerably from the puckering at so very many awkward scenes. The Americano variety was far more sippable, to me and to many. My US version viewing story arc was similar to that of Jan Levinson -- five years of decent consistency, then fading away with rare cameos (and some psychosis). By then Mike Schur had moseyed on, except a rare pop-in as Mose.
Others may know Michael Schur as:
3. SNL writer from 1998-2004. I didn't realize he was one until I googled him for this. I don't even know what sketches he wrote or co-wrote. But it's a CV standout for anyone, so there you go.
Whitney Says: Um, nothing. I'm sure he did great stuff, but I don't know what. You may.
4. Parks and Recreation co-creator, (sometimes) writer/director, executive producer. What a solid show. 7 seasons, 126 episodes, 8,316 laughs. The documentarian format from The Office but set in... a government office this time! Despite that carryover, it's utterly fresh and super ridiculous. A-plus characters, with Amy Poehler at the helm of the cast. Thoroughly well-written.
This 4-minute clip from an episode well past the show's accepted heyday does it no real justice, but I like it, anyway:
Whitney Says: I never watched this show in its initial run (2009-2015). Instead, I got my interest piqued and my fancy tickled once it was on IFC in back-to-back-to-back-to-you-get-the-picture scheduling. I watched the whole thing start to finish in 2022-23. It's catchy, and good fun all the way through. Treat yo self if you have the chance.
Intermission: check out this site -- Bingeclock. You can see how long it will take you to watch a series in its entirety. Lord help us.
5.Brooklyn Nine-Nine co-creator, (sometimes) writer/director, executive producer. So while Parks and Rec was still rolling along, Mike Schur does what many a resident genius does, branches out and dispenses more goodness while the honeypot is still full. Or something like that. What a solid show. 8 seasons, 153 episodes, 10,898 laughs. (You know, I think I'm really undercutting them on these laughs; there's far more than 3 per minute.)
It seems the documentary thing had run its course, so this was a throwback to classic sitcom land. I read that it had been since Barney Miller since a comedy show really did the cop precinct thing right, which is high praise. And Brooklyn Nine-Nine did it right. Again, a symphony of great characters, the same stellar wordplay, and another killer lead. (You gotta enjoy Andy Samberg for this one to snag you, and I certainly do.)
Side Note: Fans of The State (which several gheorghies are) will see Joe Lo Truglio as prominent cast member Charles Boyle and Ken Marino as a repeat guest. I contend that this is Lo Truglio's finest hour onscreen to date; his character Charles Boyle just gets better with each episode.
Whitney Says: Once again, I never watched this show in its initial run (2013-2021). The 2010's era was back in my drinkin' days, so I was way too busy rocking out to watch network TV, you rubes. But I absorbed every single episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine this year, making time amidst my new marital bliss. I saw that it was available on Netflix and dove in. Well, Netflix offers the first four seasons. I had to deftly make the leap to Peacock midstream. [Title of your sex tape.] Worth it. Binge that mofo.
Far fewer people know Michael Schur as:
6. Master of None executive producer. Aziz Ansari's starring vehicle ran for 3 seasons and 25 shows starting in 2015.
Whitney Says: . . . but I haven't caught any of them. Well, I did start to watch the first episode one night. Alas, a combo of Dale's Pale Ale and a sluggish opening derailed it. [Title of your sex tape. Dammit, wrong show.] Maybe someday, as Robert Smith once sang.
7.Rutherford Falls co-creator, writer, executive producer. In 2021, after a slew of major victories, Mike Schur embarked on an earnest new show featuring Ed Helms (featured in The Office and guest on B9-9) and Jana Schmieding. Schmieding is a Lakota woman, and the show is centered around the knotty threads of Native American life in a midwest town desperate clinging to its colonial-era history (and colonialism): the town of Rutherford Falls. Helms is a doofy descendant of the town's founders whose identity is inextricably sewn into that genealogy. Many a barb is hurled at Caucasian ignorance/arrogance and the travails of the Native American, both through the years and now. And it's not the only progressive stride the show nimbly makes. It's quite well crafted, but in a comedic way with amiably amusing characters. It's better than I paint it.
Whitney Says: Yeah, so my sum-up didn't make it sound side-splitting, but compared to Parks & Rec and B9-9, it really wasn't. It entertained and induced many a wry smile from me but almost never made me giggle like the other shows did. The plug got pulled after 2 seasons, just 18 episodes. If you're a Mike Schur completist, which is not actually a thing, it's a quick watch (8.5 hours, according to Bingeclock), but most of you have likely let it slide by and still will.
What some people -- but not nearly enough people -- know Michael Schur as:
8.The Good Place co-creator, (sometimes) writer/director, executive producer. What a solid show, which is what I said twice before but holds up for sure (pun planned out!) with The Good Place. The premise is simple: a fairly young woman (Kristen Bell) dies and winds up in what some would call Heaven -- but only due a clerical error. She was an absolute skunk of a human on earth, and she's trying not to get outed in the Good Place. I'll leave it at that, because you should watch it.
Why? Well, it's a taut four seasons (53 episodes; 17 hours) rife with tip-top comedy that benefits from the same machete-sharp writing, abandoned laugh track, and solidly silly storylines as the aforementioned greatness. But what separates this show was Michael Schur's true, unending passion: moral philosophy. You know, ethics. What makes us better than the animals... sometimes. Schur is neck-deep in this thinking and has an extraordinary wealth of knowledge and deep thoughts on the subject. Like a whole lotta brain time focused on this stuff. Some backstory:
Out of that -- obsession is too much of a pejorative, so I'd call it utter fascination with ethical philosophy -- came The Good Place. If this show is a comedy vehicle, it might look from the street to be a fairly standard sedan with all of the three-punch comedy tropes and resolutions wrapped up by minute :22, but do not be fooled: it's not. The gasoline in the engine, the synthetic blend in the oil tank, the fuel and water in the carburetor, the data in the technology package, the air blowing through the A/C into your face, and even the fine Corinthian leather (h/t to Sentence of Dave) is all imbued with -- steeped in -- the asking, musing upon, struggling with, and answering of pondersome, sometimes ponderous ethical questions about Life and How to Live It.
Welcome back. Anyway, It's important to keep The Good Place's plotlines cloaked, because there are fun surprises along the way. But know this: it's a hilarious ride may far more intriguing when moral philosophy isn't just noted as part of the plot (the weighing of the protagonist's "belonging" in Heaven is complicated by her pairing with a recently deceased Professor of Ethics and Moral Philosophy) but as a constant undercurrent to so much of the journey that the show makes.
It's way better than this generic promo pic would suggest
Whitney Says: Yet again, I never watched any of this show in its initial run (2016-2020). I'm staggeringly cutting edge, I know. But I took a flier on the show in late 2023 without knowing (a) anything about the story, (b) that Michael Schur was a co-creator, (c) what Michael Schur had done prior, or (d) that Ethics and Moral Philosophy could make me laugh so much. Even if they constantly slag my elder daughter's new home state (Arizona, sorry, Zoë) and one of the gheorghies' neighboring towns (Jacksonville, sorry, Dan). Good shit, though.
I was in a strange phase I now call my "Death Groove," one in which I randomly, subconsciously selected certain shows to binge watch during downtime minus the missus (on a plane, late at night when I'm up alone, times when she's traveling the nation in trying to keep the Tree from becoming Timber), all of which feature postmortem humor as a critical component:
The Good Place
Ghosts
Pushing Daisies
What We Do in the Shadows (sort of counts)
And they were all worthy. But maybe I'm dying?
Nevertheless, I sped through all 53 episodes of The Good Place, and I loved it. Not only that, after I subsequently watched Brooklyn 9-9 and Rutherford Falls and dug in whole hog on this Mike Schur phenom, I started re-watching TGP in its best bits and pieces with the ethical bent firmly in mind. Still great. All the way through the final episodes, which really take you into a deep thoughts mindmaze.
So, take this all under advisement -- if, of course, you want to know how to be perfect, ethically speaking.
But wait! There's more!
What only a few of you might know Michael Schur as:
9.How to Be Perfect: The Correct Answer to Every Moral Question author. Act now and you can read a Michael Schur-penned book that also braids this kind of philosophical self-excavating with silly comedy!
"From the creator of The Good Place and the cocreator of Parks and Recreation, a hilarious, thought-provoking guide to living an ethical life, drawing on 2,400 years of deep thinking from around the world."
Alrighty then. I'm game. I just found out about this whilst kicking through the legwork for this post. I'm a ripe huckleberry for the book. Available in audio format as well, narrated by the stars of The Good Place!
But wait! There's more! Come on, Whitney. Enough!!
No!!!
What it would not be possible yet to know Michael Schur as:
10. A Man on the Inside creator, writer/director, executive producer. What a solid show, I hope I'll be saying. It begins airing this Thursday!
Wow.
I can't say for sure what this confluence of talent, television, philosophy, death, afterlife, writing, laughing, blogging, and the least unhealthy bingeing that I do all means, but it feels like it's got to mean something. For now, I'm simply tipping my cap and acknowledging someone who's not vastly unlike many of us herein and who took his wicked smarts and strong penchant for funniness to higher heights than I could ever have aspired to ascend. Wish I could have made such a bad-assed climb.
Sitcoms in the 1980's would occasionally do a "very special episode" which was code for "serious," like when Father Mulcahey did a tracheotomy, or when Tom Hanks played Alex P. Keaton's alcoholic uncle, or when Jessie Spano was so excited.
This post is along those lines. My apologies in advance.
Almost eight years ago I opined that "we stand at the precipice of what's shaping up to be the most transparently corrupt four year stretch of our federal government's history." We're now at a newer precipice that is simultaneously more transparent and more corrupt. I could write at length about how crooked it will be when a major government contractor decides how the government will spend money but I have bigger concerns.
One of the key concepts that makes the oldest democracy in the world so great (despite some people saying it needs to be made great again, I think it's great and always has been) is the separation of powers. Click on that link to the Library of Congress website, they have a nice short summary of the doctrine. I'll wait for you.
You're back! You now know that the Founders separated government powers to avoid a monarchy and preserve individual liberty. You also now know that one of the key separated powers is the appointment of federal officers--the president picks them but the Senate approves them. This prevents the president from putting unqualified cronies and lickspittles in positions of power.
President-elect Trump recently twat from his fugazi Twitter platform that he wants to avoid Senate approval for his cabinet picks, and that the next Senate majority leader must agree. Predictably, the three clowns senators vying to be the Senate leader practically tripped over themselves in a rush to acquiesce to Trump's demand.
This is really bad. It's so bad that National Review's Ed Whelan says it's bad. We are watching Trump aggregate a separated power of the Senate unto the Presidency before he's even sworn in, and no one plans to stop him. It's only going to get worse once he's back in the Oval Office.
The worst way it gets worse is Trump's pick of Matt Gaetz for Attorney General. All of Trump's picks so far are stars of the MAGA extended cinematic universe. I don't know if this is because Trump's Diet-Coke-and-Big-Mac addled brain can only come up with people he sees on Fox News, or if it's red meat for his cult base, or both. They're all bad in their own unique ways but Gaetz terrifies me.
Gaetz was not selected for his legal experience or acumen. He apparently practiced for nine or ten years, and six of those years coincided with his time in the Florida House so I doubt he was billing 2000 hours a year. Wikipedia says that after graduating from Marshall-Wythe he was at AnchorsGordon, a nine person shop in northwestern Florida. I am not being an elitist when I say this is not the right resume for the person tasked with leading 10,000 lawyers, the FBI, DEA, OIG, ATF, INTERPOL, and lots of other important stuff.
Gaetz got this job because he'll do whatever Trump wants--he's one of the aforementioned unqualified cronies and lickspittles. And what Trump wants is to use the police power of the federal government to harass and maybe even imprison people who opposed him. Once that becomes the new norm there will be no opposition because all dissenters will be gagged or too scared to say anything. Can you think of any reason why Gaetz wouldn't do this? Why he wouldn't do this gleefully? You don't think that if all the AUSAs of good conscience resign when asked to corruptly investigate or indict Trump's enemies, a glut of mini-Gaetzes won't rise up to take those jobs?
I can deal with the head of hair at DoD, the doge assassin at DHS and Pat Summerall's kid as CoS. But I fear that Gaetz as AG is the beginning of the end of the world's oldest democracy.
And now back to your regularly scheduled dipshittery.
I’ve yammered about various health issues and concerns in this space previously and y’all have been wonderfully indulgent. As the audience is younger than me, I don’t mind being a canary in the coal mine and providing the occasional non-clinical take on the joys of aging.
Entertaining as it is to read about enlarged atria and mitral valve regurgitation, let me take a different tack and offer a suggestion: Record stuff. Everything. Every condition, procedure, screening, test, diagnosis. Torn ligaments, swollen prostates, lumpy breasts, blood sugar spikes, heart flutters, uterine fibroids, the unwelcome polyp or two.
Put them in a journal, notebook, computer disc, hard drive, video diary, whatever your preferred receptacle. Research your parents and families and their health issues through the years, as best you can, and record them, as well.
To paraphrase the minstrel Gordon Sumner: Every bone you break, every med you take, I’ll be watching you.
The information will benefit not only you, but the youngsters. Health care will become more diverse and specialized as you age. Walking into a doc’s office with a reasonably comprehensive personal and family history will help them treat you and identify potential future concerns.
As your kids get older and become responsible for their own health care and consider starting families, their own records and yours will inform them and their doctors. That info could prompt early and preventive screenings and practices. Who knows, insurance might even cover it. Hey, miracles happen.
Think of a family health history as your kids’ least favorite Christmas present.
I say this as a habitual note taker and hoarder professionally who was pretty cavalier, if not negligent, about personal info. I kept box scores and media guides and news files for decades, but often couldn’t pull when I had blood work or a colonoscopy or stress test. Only in recent years have I gotten more diligent about taking notes and keeping records related to me. Some of you may already do this. If so, salute. If not, there’s time.
Granted, digitized record keeping enables access to years’ worth of tests and treatments quickly and easily, so in some cases one need not carry and pull out the family album. But if you’re referred to a cardiac or gastro or endocrinology doc, there’s no guarantee that their computers, or more likely the staffers who man their computers, will communicate with your primary care doc or whomever did the referring.
I’ve experienced instances where my local cardiac guy’s findings were unknown to a cardiac specialist I see elsewhere and vice versa, even though they’re in the same (gargantuan) network, and neither’s diagnosis made it to my primary care doc before I saw him for a regular check-up months later. Keeping your own records reduces the chances of falling through the cyber cracks, or at least providing some background if the doc standing before you makes a face as if she was suddenly handed a Turkish train schedule.
Also, evident midway through my seventh decade is that the disruptor gremlins don’t politely wait in line or take turns, as some of you are doubtless aware. A thyroid issue may arise alongside heart arrhythmia, joining that touch of arthritis in your knees and ankles for an assemblage of delight. Chronicling all of it won’t alleviate the problems but provides a sense that we’re aware and not a dinghy helplessly caught in a squall. We’re essentially security cams or mall cops when it comes to our health, unable to remedy a situation but at least recognize that something irregular is afoot and alert the authorities.
Which prompts one more recommendation: listen to your body. I get that most of us don’t want to come off as alarmists or hypochondriacs, hustling to the doc for every tweak and ache and ailment. I still tend to chalk up various discomforts as old guy distinctions and tolerate them. But once we cross 50, any condition that lingers is worth exploring. Understand, as well, that some conditions present themselves, others do not. So get screened for the stuff you can’t see or feel right away.
Erosion comes for us all. Give yourself a chance to endure it knowledgeably, if not always comfortably. Sedation remains an option, and methods and ingredients may vary.
If you're like me and still a little bit baffled about the state of the world, or at least our corner of it, and wondering about what comes next, you could do worse than reflect on this from Jeff Goldblum.
I am wildly out of touch with life in modern America. I remember a time when certain things were kept under wraps, were only available at shady stores on highway stripmalls or sketchy mail order catalogs, or in the back of the bodega behind swinging saloon doors, when they weren't talked about in polite society. Not anymore. To wit, dildos are popping up everywhere.
First, I was out doing some shopping for zmom and I went into CVS to get her some TP and baby wipes. This wasn't my local CVS, I was one town over, so I had to stagger around to find what I needed. I stumbled across this.
I'm out here shopping for my mother and they have a whole aisle of dildos, lubes and dick sprays? What if I was with my 10-year-old daughter? How the hell do I explain "buzzy butt, a vibrating toy for backside play"? They sell dildos at CVS?!
Second, the New York Times, The Gray Lady, the purveyor of all the news that's fit to print, emailed me a link to a Wirecutter article titled "The 13 Best Self-Care Gifts to Buy Yourself." I could use some self-care right about now so I clicked on it. As I scrolled down, the second item on the list is, you guessed it, a dildo.
You can get it at Amazon ... for $119?! Inflation is real. Again, what if my 10-year-old daughter was reading the New York Times? How am I supposed to explain "A suction vibrator is meant to simulate oral sex, and the Dame Aer is our pick of its type." They review dildos at the Times?!
Third, I have voted in nine presidential elections and my pick won only three times. Joe Biden was on all three of those ballots so maybe he shouldn't have dropped out this time. I say this because, as you may have heard, Donald Trump won on Tuesday. He even won a majority of the popular vote! How am I supposed to explain this to my 10-year-old daughter? They put this fucking dildo back in the White House?!
That's right, your favorite blogospheric stopping point, Gheorghe: The Blog, turns 21 today!
Booze it up with the Gheorghies. And watch this -- which rob and I cannot believe we've never posted here:
Today we celebrate 21 years of formally celebrating Gheorghe Mureșan with a namesake blog. And, wow, does this quote from that very first post hit home at the moment: "Gheorghe's spirit and the joy with which he appears to approach life offer lessons for all of us about the important things. This space will celebrate those in sports and elsewhere that live with Gheorgheness, and skewer those that think they are more important than the game - be it sports or life."
Just in case you don't have anything else to drink about this week, have one now.
I don't know if this is wishcasting or manifesting or some sort of masochistic tempting of fate (though I suspect my actions will have no impact on the results of the election - I only have the power to affect Red Sox games), but I'm going to go forth regardless.
As you'll cast your memory back a ways, you'll remember that we called the 2016 electionfor That Fucking Guy well before nearly anyone else did. I'm accustomed to being right. Just not used to hating myself for it.
In 2020, I was fairly confident that Uncle Joe would win, but that didn't stop me from stress-drinking on election night. And the next several nights until the election was called officially on Saturday. At which point I celebration-drank.
Given these bona fides, I suppose I owe you my take on the 2024 U.S. Presidential Election. I've crunched the numbers. Read the tea leaves. Consulted the oracle. And here's the headline.
Righteously Pissed Off Women Carry Kamala Harris to the Presidency.
I'm not gonna spend a ton of pixels on detailed analysis. I'm not qualified, there are better outlets for that, and I'm notoriously lazy. But recall that Democrats have nearly universally outperformed polls and historical performance in major elections since the Dobbs decision overturned Roe v. Wade. Understand that the gender gap being reported in early voting is substantial. Know that the Harris campaign has run a broad, disciplined, thoughtful (and not cocky - I still blame you, Robby Mook) race in a short amount of time. Recognize the electoral truism that the campaign that seems to have momentum often wins, that the end-of-race vibes matter, and watch the GOP ticket flailing about defending a squirrel-porn enthusiast and simulating fellatio* at a late-campaign rally. Add to that mix a handful of really wild polls (including Iowa's most trusted pollster finding Harris +3 in their final analysis - I don't think she wins Iowa, but if it's even -3 in Iowa, it's a rout where it matters), and I think there's a comprehensive body of evidence supporting at least a modicum of confidence in the Vice President's chances.
* I swear to God both of those things have happened within the past week.
I do believe that it's a very tight race. As much as it makes me sick to my stomach, the MAGA standard bearer could win. And if he doesn't, I expect nasty shit to go down across the nation. But as God is my witness, I think it goes the other way. From my keyboard to the electoral deity's ears, for my kids and yours.
Lots to report on from our trip to Nashville, which lived up to the hype in terms of food, music, and revelry, and in my wife's case, profligate spending of money on clothes. Since I've got to actually do some work today, I'll share a video in honor of our friend Erin getting us kicked out of Tootsie's on Broadway.
They’ve endured mostly lean times at William and Mary World Basketball Headquarters since She Who Shall Not Be Named blew up the competitive structure at the end of the last decade and went the entry-level route, with predictably dismal results. A change in leadership and a group of returning players intrigued by the new guy created a different vibe and the notion that Tribe hoops may be more than an innocuous winter diversion.
School brass finally pulled the plug on the Dane Fischer Experiment and landed Cornell Big Whistle Brian Earl, whose Kaplan Arena debut is Nov. 4 against Dickinson College. A coach with a sub-.500 career record probably doesn’t qualify as a home run hire, but for William and Mary it’s inarguably an extra-base hit.
Earl built and ran a solid program at a school with a comparable footprint. His last three years at Cornell produced a 54-30 overall record, 25-17 in the Ivy League. Last season’s Big Red won 22 games and earned the program’s first NIT invite. He seemed to have hit upon a formula, or at least assembled a quality group, which makes his decision to jump to a struggling program with limited success over the years curious.
I’m generally loath to speculate without actual reporting and informed conversations, but I suspect that he thought the Big Red had approached its ceiling, while William and Mary has ample room above. Resources at any Ivy program not named Princeton, Harvard or Yale are limited. The Ivy does not permit redshirting. The transfer portal throughout the league is more egress than ingress.
Earl now has a honeymoon with a supportive administration and greater roster flexibility, coupled with an attractive style of play that doesn’t require supreme size or athleticism.
His teams play quickly, attempt to force the pace with pressure defense, and shoot a lot of 3-pointers. Cornell last season was sixth nationally in 3-point attempts per game (29.7), 10th in 3-pointers made per game (10.3), sixth in assists (18.1) and 16th in scoring (82.1 ppg). The Big Red ranked in the top 25 in adjusted tempo the past three seasons, according to stats guru Ken Pomeroy, and last season had the sixth-shortest average possession time (15 seconds) in Division I; conversely, the Tribe was No. 299 in possession time.
Earl, a Princeton grad and Ivy League Player of the Year in 1999, has said that he does not aim to duplicate what his Cornell teams did – different personnel and all that – but that the style of play at W&M will rhyme with what they did in Ithaca. Players have spoken positively in preseason about goosed tempo and playing faster.
The Tribe has nine new players – five transfers, four freshmen – but it’s a core group of upperclass returnees that likely will dictate results.
Five players with a combined 156 career starts and that accounted for 60 percent of last season’s scoring output give Earl more experience and built-in camaraderie than many new coaches inherit. Start with brothers Gabe and Caleb Dorsey and Chase Lowe. Gabe Dorsey (14 ppg) is a versatile 6-6 wing whose 113 3-pointers last season ranked fourth nationally and was named preseason first-team all-conference. Brother Caleb (7 ppg, 6 rpg) is a 6-8, 235-pound forward who started 27 games last season. Lowe, a 6-5 junior, averaged 12.5 points and team highs in both rebounding (7.3) and assists (3.2). Noah Collier, a 6-8 senior, is healthy again after his last season-and-a-half was scuttled by injuries. He averaged 9.0 ppg and 8.2 rpg two seasons ago. Senior 6-5 wing Matteus Case (6.8 ppg, 4 rpg) averaged 27 minutes per game last season.
The transfer class is heavy on versatility and 3-point shooting. Keller Boothby, a 6-7 grad student who accompanied Earl from Cornell, averaged 5.5 ppg and shot 41 percent from 3-point range. Kyle Pulliam, a 6-5 junior, averaged 14.3 ppg and shot 44 percent from 3 at D2 St. Thomas Aquinas, while 6-3 junior Kyle Frazier (10.1 ppg) shot 39 percent from 3 at D2 Belmont Abbey. Malachi Ndur, a 6-8, 225-pound grad student from Brown, averaged 4 points and 3 rebounds per game and shot 35 percent from 3. Finn Lally, a 6-9 native of New Zealand, averaged 9 points and 5.3 rebounds per game at regional junior college power Trinidad State in Colorado.
Overall, there is sufficient length to be at least a nuisance defensively.
The Tribe was picked to finish seventh out of 14 teams in the distended conglomerate that’s now the Coastal Athletic Association, which seems equal parts acknowledgement of returning production and healthy skepticism due to recent lower-tier finishes and a new coach. The non-conference schedule is largely state and regional schools (Old Dominion, VCU, Richmond, Radford, Norfolk State, Appalachian State, Navy, a tournament at Winthrop) and a marquee step up versus 2024 Final Four party crasher N.C. State, followed by the 18-game CAA slate.
No telling what to expect from the Tribe other than a fresh look and a slew of new faces, including a coach with a vision who appears to know what he’s doing. After four grim seasons, that’s a healthy start.
Everyone else here has kids that are good at cool things. I have little to brag about though, my kids have little talent. zson's lone God-given gift reared its head at a Cub Scout meeting about 5 years ago when they had to try to use flint and steel to make a fire. He went from kindling to roaring inferno in about two strikes of the metal and 15 seconds of puffing. None of the other kids, or their parents, could do it so he went around starting fires for everyone else. So he has a future in arsonry and insurance fraud.
And zdaughter's secret skill surfaced recently! She went to a laser tag birthday party, winning all five rounds with the most confirmed kills in each round. She was named MVP! Now she's convinced that she's a Mandalorian. So she has a future in warfare and bounty hunting. Here's an action photo from my basement.
2. I read a book
I read a book and you should read it too. FOGTB the DLC's wife wrote Grown Women and it's phenomenal. I can't believe I know anyone who can write so much so well. The novel spans a forty-some-odd year arc of time in the lives of a family of four generations of women and the dysfunction between them. Their relationships get hectic but the end made me smile. I'll let the Daves write a proper analysis after they read it.
3. zcats
zcats have a YouTube channel. There's a lot of snuggling and slapboxing involved but I foresee lots of ping pong ball content soon. I can't embed any of the videos because they're all "shorts," whatever the hell that means.
Today's entry in the catalog of things to take our minds off of all the things takes us to a place we already visit quite a bit. One could say we're experts in the subject, but I've never seen it studied quite so deeply.
You'll not be shocked to learn that nearly every Gheorghie lives in a high fuck region.
From a post at the swearing-focused blog (and you thought *we* were niche) Strong Language, here's a bit more detail.
Hell, damn and bitch are especially popular in the south and southeast. Douche is relatively common in northern states. Bastard is beloved in Maine and New Hampshire, and those states – together with a band across southern Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas – are the areas of particular motherfucker favour. Crap is more popular inland, fuck along the coasts. Fuckboy – a rising star* – is also mainly a coastal thing, so far.
The post has a bunch of maps showing the regional frequency of other terms, like damn, douche, asshole, and motherfucker. It's a really fucking nice way to distract yourself. Enjoy.
The next two weeks...hoo boy. It's gonna feel like two decades, and most of it ain't gonna be fun. So as a public service (and if you think about it, serving the public is what we're all about here - that, and the occasional invitation to a cool movie screening), we're here to provide a few things to take your mind off of the election and a couple election-related things that'll make you smile amidst the onslaught of things that make you nervous and wanting to slam your head against a bridge piling.
Let's start with the political, first with Coach Tim Walz going all Coach Tim Walz on Elon Musk:
If I still played Fantasy Football, Skipping Dipshits might make for a solid team name. Almost as good as Dorking Wanderers.
In other amusing politico tricks, check out the former guy busting out a little Eminem:
Moving on to distractions non-political, the first 30 seconds of the most recent episode of We Defy Augury offers an audioscape highlighted by sweat running down Dave's hairy ass. If that won't take your mind off of things, you're some kind of mutant. It does get better from there, but the theme of distraction stays present, as our man plumbs the horror novel genre for insight. It's a good one. Once you get through the first minute.
And finally, by the time this goes to print, we'll have a bit better idea of whether our guy Joel Dahmen is likely to keep his TOUR card for the 2025 season. On the one hand, he's raised his profile substantially in the wake of the Netflix Full Swing series, grabbing endorsements from The Finnish Long Drink, Bushmills, and MGM Resorts, among others. But that exposure came with a price. Dahmen's on-course play hasn't been very good for a while, and after a string of mid-table finishes, he entered this evening's second round play at the ZOZO Championship (this evening, because it's in Japan) outside the top 125 on the FedEx points list, the cut line for full TOUR membership the following season.
Dahmen finished the first round tied for 52nd at one over par. He's gonna need to move up 10-15 places over the rest of the tournament to guarantee another year on TOUR. Get it, Joel.
Rob mentioned it in a comment, but it's worth adding a little more flavor.
"fernandomania, finally at an end."
For those gheorghies too young to really remember the fireworks surrounding Fernando Valenzuela's rocket launch into cultural phenomenon-land in 1981, it was really something.
In an era where far more star pitchers looked like John Tudor than George Lopez, Fernando burst on the scene late in the 1980 season as a somewhat portly, unpolished 20-year-old reliever from Navojoa, Mexico. 17.1 innings of shutout ball later, he was someone to watch in '81. A Future Star, so Topps told us.
And he was! Opening Day shutout!
5 days later, another complete game, 1 ER, 10 K's! 4 days later, another shutout! 10 K's! And he had 2 hits! 4 days later, another shutout! 11 K's! 2 more hits! 0.25 ERA! 5 days later, another shutout! Only 7 K's, but 3 more hits! Hitting .438! ERA 0.20! 5 days later, 9 IP, 1 ER, win again. Hmmm... 5 days later, shutout! 11 K's! Phew! Back on track! 5 days later, Complete game win, 2 ER, 7 K's. WTF, Fernando? 4 days later, 7 IP, 4 ER, 6 K's, loss! Oh, no!!
I mean... gracious. Holy frijoles!
You can imagine the hullabaloo across baseball and sports media and the Angeleno crowd and Mexicans and Mexican-Americans everywhere. Holy wow.
Plus, he was just fun. He looked happy all the time. He didn't look like a baseball player. He didn't look like he knew how to pitch right. Nuke LaLoosh's heavenly gaze owes everything to Fernando:
"Now, I want you to breathe through your eyelids....Like the lava lizards of the Galpagos Islands. You see, there are some lizards have a parietal eye behind their heads so they can see backwards. Haven't you ever noticed how Fernando Valenzuela, he just doesn't even look when he pitches? He's a Mayan Indian. Or an Aztec. I forget which one. I get 'em confused." --Annie Savoy
Even I, who rooted fervently against the Dodgers, was in awe of this guy and couldn't help liking him.
And that was the story of baseball in 1981. Oh, wait. Wait.
Another thing you might either have missed or don't recall well. The 1981 baseball strike. Free agency had taken MLB by storm, and well, the owners hadn't packed their foul weather gear. They tried a number of measures to recoup some of the control and cash that the overdue dambusting had cost them, but there was no putting Humpty Corrumpty back together. Neither side would budge, so on June 12 they shut it down.
Reporters used Strat-O-Matic to simulate the delayed 1981 All-Star game inside Cleveland Stadium, with the scoreboard displaying the game's progress; the Strat-O-Matic set went to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Some newspapers used Strat-O-Matic to simulate other canceled games during the strike.
Anyway, 51 days later, play resumed, but the way in which it did so was a mess. They had "1st Half Standings" and "2nd Half Standings." The division winners played each other in the first-ever NLDS. One problem? Well, the St. Louis Cardinals and the Cincinnati Reds had the best overall records in their respective divisions, but neither had won the 1st or 2nd half. So they were excluded. Whoops.
The strike was a terrible time for baseball, obviously, and the fans were rightfully livid. I certainly was! I was just shy of 11 years old and couldn't fathom life without big league baseball.
So, who saved baseball in 1981? Fernando.
I mean, sure, MLB bats caught up to him -- a little. 8-0 became 13-7; his W-L record was, as they often are, a bit misleading. His preposterous ERA through mid-May escalated all the way to 2.48. He led the league with 180 strikeouts in 192.1 innings. He won the Rookie of the Year. He won the Cy Young. He finished 5th in MVP voting.
It was his year.
And he was 3-1 with a 2.21 in the postseason as his Los Angeles Dodgers defeated the New York Yankees 4 games to 2 in the World Series. Most impressive was Game 3 of that series, when -- with L.A. having lost the first 2 games of the series -- Fernando allowed 4 runs early to the Yanks but stayed in to throw a complete game as the Dodgers came back for a 5-4 win. His mates all say it was his gutty performance that turned the tide in that World Series.
Fernandomania was real. And a great time to be a fan. I mentioned George Lopez. There's a cool piece he wrote on Valenzuela 8 years ago that is worth reading, but here's a little bit of it:
But wait, Valenzuela: That's us. This guy looks like us. He could pitch, he could hit and when he ran, he looked like he was barely going to make it to first base -- just like us. Wait, there was somebody selling Fernando Valenzuela stuff at a factory in Van Nuys, California? That's how crazy Fernandomania was. I can't remember a time before or since that I wouldn't miss a game either on television, radio or in person.
Fernando Valenzuela was a 6-time All-Star, but he never again won the Cy Young. He did notch 173 wins and over 2000 strikeouts with a career ERA of 3.54. He was often very good to great, but he was never quite the sensation that swept the nation like in 1981.
He played 11 years in L.A. before hopping around for 6 or 7 years, trying to throw a few more pitches by people. In his last year in Los Angeles, Fernando left just one more indelible mark on Chavez Ravine and Dodger fans everywhere. The 30-year-old, bespectacled, lefty pulled off a final act of wizardry for the faithful.
Let's give Vin Scully the mic for the call:
“If you have a sombrero, throw it to the sky." That about says it all. RIP, Fernando -- but may Fernandomania live on forever.
Well, the amazing run of the 2024 New York Mets came to a grinding halt Sunday night. When such unlikely, would-be storybook seasons run their course without your team winning the last game of the season, there is solace in numbers. A strength in communal sadness. It's almost as if... misery loves company.
Yep, here we go again, but the '24 version of MLC had the Sox dribbling to mediocre conclusions and the Mets making us cue up some Whitney. As rob said in his parting shot, the Beantown boys went 16-24 after MLC Redux kicked in. The Mets, meanwhile, went a startling 25-14 to run out the regular season. They still needed some 11th hour heroics to make the playoffs, and boy did they get them:
The MLB playoffs are longer this year than ever, so for clubs that scratch their way into the lower tiers of the postseason, you have to knock off four teams for a title now. First came the division-winning Brewers:
Then the powerhouse Phillies:
Ultimately, the super-stacked team with the best player in baseball and the best record in baseball (those pesky L.A. Dodgers) proved more worthy of a trip to the Fall Classic. So the Mets won 7 out of their 13 playoff games, good enough for some national acclaim, some killer fun nights for the fans, and a slew of outstanding memories -- but not good enough to move on.
My takeaway: Not just at the well-documented 0-5 mark to start the season; not just at the oft-mentioned June 2 mark when the club was flailing away at 24-25; but even when my buddy and I agreed on August 18 to run MLC back at GTB for fun, when the Mets were hanging around at 64-59... if you had told me the Mets would play 13 playoff games in 2024, I'd have thought you were insane and taken that deal 100 times out of 100.
Folks have different reactions. My brother-in-law Pat lamented yesterday via text that "if you don't win the whole thing it doesn't really matter... you're just another loser if you don't win it all."
My young cousin chimed in at that and said, "You are allowed to enjoy things, Patrick."
Hear, hear. I cursed a whole lot over the last three weeks. Really nasty stuff directed at innocent human beings just trying to play a kid's game as a profession. I threw my hat down and across the room. I stomped and fumed, I gave up and got sucked in again. Not a ton of emotional intelligence on display.
But I reveled as well. Cheers and rooted and hoped and exulted and leapt and ran and high-fived and hugged. I communicated with Marls and rob a lot. I planned nights with friends around town or, as Sunday night's final moments, at my house. Grand slams and go-ahead homers and blown leads and comebacks and Grimace and OMG and LFGM and whatever the hell that arm gesture thing was.
I definitely "enjoyed things." And I still will.
Chatter amid Mets Township has immediately and predictably moved to thoughts of payroll, who stays and who goes, and what this team will look like in 2025. It will be different for sure. We have $190 million moving off the books just like that. Pete Alonso is the hot stove name du jour in Queens, but there are others. Sean Manaea, Jose Quintana, and Luis Severino, aka the majority of the starting rotation down the stretch and guys who threw the team on their backs at times during the late run. It will be interesting, and you can hope to build on the clubhouse culture that propelled this whole team to far, far exceed the sum of its parts, but turning over a lot of those guys will have its effect.
Maybe we'll do this again, rob and I. I loved it, for obvious reasons. It was less appealing for him, but he was a great sport. We move on now to Yankees vs. Dodgers in what should be an all-timer. Worth a look.
Thanks, Metsies. That was fun.
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Marls here with a little addendum. At the risk of pissing off Rob (something something about post count) I’ll just add my brief thoughts to Whit’s much more eloquent musings.
It may sound like an overstatement but this team let me love baseball again. I texted Rob and Whit at one point that since October 9th 1988 I have been conditioned to expect the Mets to ultimately lose in the most excruciating way possible. It is hard to be a fan and enjoy games while constantly expecting the other shoe to drop. To be honest, it kind of makes you an asshole to be around (more so than normal) and impacts others ability to enjoy the games. But the improbable ways that this team won games, texting with good friends, and the ability to see it though the eyes of my six year old, who actually just expects them to win, was freeing. If they lost, so be it, the ride itself was turning out to be the real joy.
This Summer, Mrs. Marls and I saw Big Head Todd & The Monsters at Wolf Trap with Blues Traveler. Blues Traveler was not great mainly because John Popper is a shell of his former self both in terms of girth and ability to carry a show. However, BHT brought it and was much more enjoyable than I expected. A bit like this Met team, I went in with low expectations and left feeling lucky to have been witness to it. I also can’t help think of BHT’s biggest hit as it encapsulates the feeling that Whit expressed, Howie Rose noted, and that I felt on Sunday night after the last out. It is bittersweet, but more sweet than bitter. The Mets didn’t win it all, but it was a hell of a ride that I got to share with friends and family in person & via text.
I know this is age speaking, but in the end, the text threads with Whit, Rob, Mark, TJ and lots of others (especially one conducted at 35k feet over Wyoming as Pete Alonso homered against the Brewers) are worth more than an actual championship.
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