Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Equal Time

We're longtime and unabashed supporters of all things vajayjay, but as men (at least legally - we'll leave the question of maturity for another time), we're obviously concerned about our own, um, attributes.

So it's with no small sense of gratitude that we congratulate the San Francisco Department of Public Health for shaking the mothballs (wait for it) off one of the members (wait...) of its hard-working (wait...) staff (almost there...) in service of men's health. We're pleased to announce the return of The Healthy Penis to duty, doing his part to remind men of the need to be tested for STDs and HIV.

According to sfgate.com, The Healthy Penis caused some controversy when he initially debuted in 2002 (actually, three differently hued Healthy Penii were unveiled at that time), but became a beloved community mascot. From the sfgate.com story:
San Francisco may have banned the exposure of genitalia, but that’s not stopping the Department of Public Health from bringing back its giant Healthy Penis. Yes, the beloved six-foot-tall mascot for safe sex is literally coming out of the closet and will be back at parades and other city events – and this time he comes with free penis-shaped stress toys!
Most of us already have free penis-shaped stress toys, but anything that promotes healthy manparts is okay with us.

(Editor's note: we don't love that photo, but we'll be damned if we were going to do a Google Image search for 'healthy penis'.)

[Other editor's note: TMarls wanted the pic below added to the post, showing a plethora of penises (penii? penes?) and one STD crunchberry]


Tuesday, April 23, 2013

A Very Special G:TB Interview

Way back when we were the internet's fourth or fifth-leading blog about dipshittery and W&M hoops, author and CAA basketball insider Michael Litos took pity upon us and gave us love on caahoops.com, legitimately the world's best online resource for the conference's basketball action. He's been a long-time G:TB supporter, and one of the major reasons why we're now the internet's second-leading purveyor of W&M hoops-related dipshittery.

Litos, a VCU grad, moved on from the CAA this season as the Rams joined the A-10 and he took over as the team's radio color analyst. G:TB was fortunate enough to grab a few moments with him and his friends (all named Stella, oddly) to talk about his first season on the radio, CAA Hoops, and whatever dumb questions the Teej came up with. (See if you can guess which ones.)

Aside from Tony Shaver's mustache and W&M's erudite yet futile superfans, what do you miss most about the CAA?

That collage you made and sent me with Shaver surrounded by the Futile Superfans and Tom Yeager bathed in sunlight is very helpful, and the live caterpillar was a nice touch, but I still miss roadies to Wilmington.

Every year the schedule came out I either sent Ron Bertovich (Ed. Note - the CAA deputy commissioner for basketball) a bottle of wine, or drove to Patterson Avenue and punched him in the nose. You see, “VCU at UNCW” on a Saturday meant three full days in ILM. Great food, Wrightsville Beach, and college basketball are a savagely intoxicating mixture.

True story: we landed in the middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania to play St. Bonnies and it was about 468 degrees below zero with a strong wind whipping rain (and our plane) sideways. When we finally got on the bus for the one-hour ride to Olean, Shaka Smart was the first person I looked for. I pleaded with him: "you've got to get Wilmington back on the schedule."

I hate to get all goofy on question number one, but I also very much miss the closeness and camaraderie of #CAAHoops. I'm not saying the A-10 doesn't have it, but it was a wholly different season from that perspective. I miss a lot of people and the basketball conversations we had. I miss going to road games and chatting with opposing fans and coaches an hour prior to tipoff, and the banter in emails and texts that weaved through the games, the season, the programs, and life.

I always used to say "we have it better" and in most every respect, we did. I feel like we all caught lightning in a bottle with that 6-8 year run but the reality of the world caught us. That's sad. It was an incredible time for anyone who followed the CAA.

Shaka Smart's been steadfast in repeating his 'don't mess with happiness' refrain? Is that good marketing, or does he really see himself making a long run at VCU? Do the changes in the college game (mids moving up into 'major' conferences, etc.) make such an idea more likely - will we see more guys like Shaka and Brad Stevens?

This is the first time I’ll put this in print: the next time I read that “Shaka Smart is different” or that “Shaka Smart is wired differently” I’m going to puke. On the spot. And make the writer come clean it up. I’m sick of that. That wholly disrespects who he is as a human being, other coaches who are thoughtful and not mercenaries, and thoughtful people in general.

People forget coaching college basketball is Shaka Smart’s career. Who—in any line of work—is made happy by chasing a BS opportunity? So yes, I can absolutely see Shaka Smart coaching his entire career at VCU. It isn’t as far-fetched as some may think.

However let’s be realistic: Duke or North Carolina opens up next year and he is gonzo. The thing that I believe gets shortchanged in all of this is guys like Shaka, Brad Stevens, Mark Few, etc. evaluate ALL PHASES of a job, not just salary and conference affiliation. People forget these guys are evaluating a career opportunity, not a college coaching job. There is a difference.

And let’s be honest: college basketball is very different. First, a conference doesn't necessarily define a program. Not anymore. I even think a conference protects certain programs—I’m looking at you, Auburn. These coaches are intelligent enough to see that. The conference as a be-all/end-all is no longer limited to six.

What’s more, the money has flattened out. You can bring home a few pounds of bacon at VCU, Butler, Saint Louis, etc. these days. Facilities for some schools continue to improve. More TV means more programming and more TV games for the “mid majors.”

I think it’s always a year-by-year thing for any of these coaches, just like you or me in our careers. (We can admit that, can’t we?) The gap that used to exist between a BCS job and any other is no longer wide, and it looks different.

Shaka Smart’s team won 27 games and finished second in a conference that sent five teams to the NCAA tournament, they won a game in the NCAA tournament for the third straight year, finished the season ranked in the national poll, and played on national TV something like 21 times. Toss in the competitive spirit of doing that at VCU versus a Notre Dame. You are in growth mode as opposed to maintenance mode. Now add in that your family is very happy in a middle-sized city where you are king, the media pressures are not taxing, and you made more than $1 million.

You’re leaving that for exactly what job?

But it isn’t just Smart. Any coach has these same opportunities. So yes, I think you’ll see more Smarts and Stevens.

Ginger, or Mary Ann?

Such an offensive, sexist, and downright trite but totally expected question. What’s next, plain or peanut M&Ms? Or better yet, how about Rose, Blanche, or Dorothy?

I will say PFChang's has a great Ginger chicken dish, and Mary Ann Moffet gave Dreyfuss that awful scar across his chest. So in that respect I'll have to go with Ginger.

What surprised you the most about the season as a broadcaster? What did you wish you'd known before you took the job?

The broadcasting part was easy, and I credit Robby Robinson, the VCU play-by-play guy, for that. He made it easy. All I had to do was to be prepared and describe what I saw. It’s exactly what I’ve always done, only this time somebody put a microphone in front of me so I had to watch my
language when helping the officials with their interpretation of the rules.

(And by the way, CAA fans, you may not believe this but it’s true. The CAA officiating was better than the A10 officiating. At least you know Bob Testa is going to call an illegal screen each half.)

I was surprised, though, at how little I actually knew about what goes into the 40 minutes we all love. The level of organization and attention to detail has to be high level. There are so many things you don’t immediately think about that have to fall into place, and each is connected to the other.

Every basketball fan should seek out and thank the SID, video coordinator, student managers, grad assistants, academic advisors, and everyone else that you don’t see sitting on the bench when the clock is running. Those people do an amazing and unheralded job, and if they screw up, it matters.

Again, I may be overly goofy here, but I don’t know that there’s anything I wish I would’ve known prior to taking the job. I very much enjoyed creating my own experience and watching what goes into a basketball program and its season. That includes learning what goes into a broadcast and when I should speak.

Don’t get me wrong, I have little notes everywhere that will help me do small things better, but there’s nothing huge. I tried my best to remain invisible off the air and intelligent on the air. Everything else was life.

On your journey to Brooklyn for the A-10 championship, was there any sleep obtained? Or no sleep (until arrival in Brooklyn)?

Well thanks to you I was more in the mode of the Avett Brothers, hoping Brooklyn would take me in. (Side note: they are playing in Richmond this summer, July 25. You are welcomed to join me.)

Sleep was easy during the season—the games were a ton of fun, but the travel was terrible. You would be surprised how quickly you move from place to place. The teams
are out of the locker room and on the bus and headed home in a flash. So you end up with a sprint, and I’m not one to sleep in transit. I’d get home and timber into the bed, sometimes after 3am.

If you ever have to go to New York take the freaking train. I had the best experience because I didn't have to deal with anything except crappy overpriced food in the food car.

Here's a note to the fans who whined that VCU wouldn't travel if the CAA tournament moved. You were wrong. Holy moley what a turnout.

I think I just wrote about 175 words without actually understanding nor answering your question. What exactly are we talking about here?

What was the best road environment you visited this year? Where do you never want to go again?

I could cheese out and say the Atlantis Resort, for no other reason than it was the Bahamas in November, but I won't do that. Plus, the resort was kind of Vegas By The Beach, and that’s not really my speed.

Saint Louis was easily the best roadie. They play in a great building that was filled, and it got loud. The fans were really into the game and took the viewpoint that their team never made a mistake. And that’s what you want. However the game itself absolutely stunk, and Saint Louis will never be confused with Wilmington. (Side note, part 2: Xavier was way overrated.)

Everybody said St. Bonaventure was such a terrible trip, but it was just fine. Oh it's out there, I mean out there, and the sun reportedly has not shone in Olean since 1957. But it wasn't all bad. We drove by the prison that housed Wesley Snipes, so we had that going for us. Tourism!

Rhode Island has great potential--the arena is steep and the seats right on top of you. I love buildings like that. They start winning and I can see that place becoming a zoo. The trip to ETSU was a dud--50 point wins are boring--but there's this old 1920s hotel across the street from the arena that's worth the trip. It's the anti-Marriott. Big rooms, old fixtures, just nice. Wait, does that even matter to you?

Worst trip had to be Duquesne--I don't need to go there again. It wasn’t that it was overly terrible; just a big fat zero. And I know Auburn Hills was the NCAA tournament and all, but I don't need to go back there. The Palace was built next to a landfill, which is a true story and all you need to know.

Is Havoc materially better in the Siegel Center than elsewhere? How has the Rams' hoops culture contributed to VCU's ability to recruit at an increasingly high level? And what's that place like when Havoc is humming?

You need to clarify what material we're talking about. There's a difference. That crushed/pressed particle board they used to use for driveway backboards that fell apart after it rained five times and the rim ripped off, leaving that odd semi-circle at its base, is one thing. Spectra fiber is quite another.

Shaka Smart has said more than once he's never been at a place where the fans have such a personal connection with the basketball team. And the team knows it and appreciates it. They most definitely play better in front of the crowd because each feeds off the other. That building gets deafening, and the players eat it up.

I'm not a 17-year old kid, but I'd be fried-egg-eyed if I walked into a basketball game and there was 7,700 loonies screaming their fool heads off, chanting youdontwannagotowar and It’s Havoc You Fear and the pep band bouncing all over the place with a trombone player on stilts and that big Havoc Lives Here banner.

And that’s before tipoff.

The administration has done a phenomenal job embracing the culture and allowing it to germinate. A VCU home game is a festival. Some national guy wrote it's awesome because it just looks like everyone is having more fun. And it's true.

There were so many occasions last season where I literally took my headphones off so I could take it all in. I didn’t want to miss out. It’s what the home court experience should be.

And when havoc is humming, you can feel the energy. It isn’t a tingling that stands your hair on end. It’s like an invisible force that everyone shares, pulsing around the building and increasing at it reaches each one of the 7,700 people. Briante Weber makes a steal and everyone lets out those odd little noises that you emit when you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen next, but it’s going to be good. And when a three-pointer is in the air, you can feel everyone inhale at the same time, ready to burst with a head-splitting scream when it splashes down.

The anticipation of what’s going to happen next grabs you and pulls you onto the basketball court alongside the players. It grabs your insides first, and then your skin catches up. It’s really something you have to experience.

On a semi-related note, we think ODU's making a big mistake messing with a great hoops culture in pursuit of football dollars. Was that inevitable as soon as the Monarchs decided to field a football squad, or are they the victims of their rapid success on the gridiron?

I totally agree with you. It was inevitable, because the funding issues surrounding football are so powerful and so necessary to compete. ODU did an outstanding job getting football off the ground and they’ve seen great success, but there’s no getting around the fact that it’s a negative impact on basketball. That’s the biggest difference in BCS and non-BCS affiliation these days—the TV money for football. I’ve long said you should play 1AA football, or BCS football. Anything in between is a tremendous risk.

Here’s the real problem. ODUs quick success in football will only hasten the vise grip it puts on the basketball program. They felt they had no choice but to move up right now, probably 3-5 years before they wanted to. That exacerbates every challenge. It wasn’t a bad decision because it’s what they wanted to do. It was in all likelihood a very good decision. But it was a football decision.

It was going to happen. Now it will happen more quickly.

Care to share any stories about this year's Rams, or are you keeping them all for a new book?

I wish I had time or money for a book (ahem, Ed McLaughlin...you could solve both those issues).

I don’t know that there are any real stories that would be of interest. More moments, and there were a lot of them. I’d love to tell them all, but it wouldn’t feel right. Sorry.

Here’s a college kid story.

Before every game, one of the student managers lays a towel at the corner of the scorer’s table, right beside the bench. One night our radio position was at that corner—a great position because we get to hear the coaching staff and players, but a terrible position because Shaka Smart stands all game and he’s always in the way.

This is art made from used chewing gum. Carry on.
Anyway, the manager lays the towel down right in front of me, and I of course wonder why. I found out quickly. Briante Weber chews gum the whole game, but not when he’s actually in the game. When Weber gets off the bench to check into the game, he takes his gum out of his mouth and places it on that towel. When Weber comes out of the game he takes his mouthpiece out and puts it on the towel, replacing it with his gum. Because Weber is frequently in and out of games, this gum-to-mouthpiece-to-gum switch occurs over and over and over.

So I spent that entire game with either a live piece of chewing gum or a slobbery mouthpiece 12 inches from my face.

What is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?

Do you mean an African or European swallow? See, now you’ve made me miss the CAA again. Bastard. The A10 just didn’t understand Monty Python.

What must happen for VCU's recent run of success to be sustainable?

For all the arguments and the over analysis and Excel spreadsheets and thinking and hand-wringing, it comes down to one thing: winning. Everything else will take care of itself if you win. Winning is the bass player in the jazz ensemble of success.

You win and people get fired up. People get fired up they give money to support the program. That money helps build facilities or charter flights, which helps to attract better recruits which ups the talent level which leads to...more winning. More winning leads to more people who want to be involved with the program, and those people have wallets.

I’ve oversimplified the cycle of success here, but you get the point. You can argue all you want about NBCSports versus ESPN television contracts, but neither truly matters when put against the pure value of winning.

For VCU, it’s kind of the Xavier model. You have to continue to make progress off the floor, and on the floor. That means both building the practice facility, and getting back to the Sweet 16. That’s sustaining. It all goes together.

What’s the best thing about knowing the G:TB editorial staff?

The prestige. Groupies. Knowing I'll always get the best seat in a restaurant and never have to pay for a drink. All I have to do is flash the G:TB sign with both hands like you taught me, and the world is my oyster.

It pays off for the team, too. VCU was losing to Xavier by 17 in the second half, and I flashed my G: TB sign to Chris Mack. He sighed, called timeout, and six minutes later VCU was in the lead.

But I should not say that. The first rule of G: TB—never talk about G: TB.

Friday, April 19, 2013

The Moving Rocks (The World's Second Greatest Rock and Roll Band)

I have decided that my new fictitious band name will be The Moving Rocks (The World's Second Greatest Rock and Roll Band), because the origin of this name is so incredibly cute that groupies will be throwing themselves at me when they hear the story.


The Moving Rocks also adheres to Principal Skinner's rule of thumb for a band name: something that sounds "witty at first, but seems less funny each time you hear it." You might remember Apu's perfect suggestion for Homer's band: "The Be Sharps." REO Speedwagon was also a big fan of this heuristic (You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can't Tuna Fish). Same with The The.

The Moving Rocks newest song is definitely inspired by this theme, and not only have The Talking Heads had an influence on the lyrics, but also the recording method. I made this recording after reading David Byrnes' book How Music Works, and used the classic Talking Heads method to create the track: I started by making beats and keyboard loops and interlocking them in various patterns until I got something I liked. Then I started writing lyrics and adding guitars over the beats and loops. It's the reverse of how I usually record, and it was a lot of fun.




Many Lives

You are living one of many lives, yes, you are giving flowers to your wife . . .
You are sipping glasses of champagne, you are selling watches in the rain.

You are living one of many lives, you are giving flowers to your wife . . .
You are tricking in a squalid room, you are shifting shuttles on a loom.
And you are dancing in a discotheque, you are diving deep beneath a wreck.
You are living in another time, you are thinking of another rhyme.

And the dogs they know and the cats they know,
and the bats they know and the rats they know . . .
what you don't know.

That you are living one of many lives, you are shaving whiskers with a knife;
keeping under wraps in Vietnam, singing lyrics to a foreign song.
You are stranded on a tropic beach, words and phrases just beyond your reach,
you are standing in ancient sea, your reflection staring back at me.

All the while you are sinking down, digging deeper into sacred ground,
ants are marching through your ragged bones, beetles feeding on your rotten clothes.

Yes, you are living one of many lives and the dogs they know . . .

Now you're winking at a pretty girl, on a cruiser circling the world.
You are drinking coffee with the pope, you are jabbing in the rope-a-dope.
Cargo sails from a  foreign port, a man in Denmark scratches at his wart.
Mirror mirror hanging on the wall, how come I've got no invite to the ball?

And the dogs know and the cats know and the bats know and the rats know
and the wind knows and the tides know and the moon knows and the flies know . . .
What you don't know.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Resolve

Boston's a special place for me, as most of the G:TB community knows. It's where my parents, grandparents, and generations of family members before them were born and raised.

I ran my first (and I thought most likely only) marathon last November. I don't really know why I decided to do it, but I very clearly recall the emotions that ran through my mind as I crossed the finish line. I thought about my late father and how proud he'd be of me, and tears of both joy and loss flowed freely. Also, probably, of exhaustion.

And so, with these things in mind, Monday's attacks on the Boston Marathon felt particularly personal to me. People shouldn't lose their limbs, or be moved to scream in terror, or be killed in any venue, let alone a celebration of human endurance and resolve. For that to happen in my family's home was one thing. For it to rob so many of their hard-won feelings of accomplishment, and their emotional release as they crossed the finish line in honor of their mother, or in memory of their best friend, or in triumph over their own personal limits struck me as inconceivably cowardly and cruel, and made me nothing so much as angry.

I remember feeling after 9/11 that things had irrevocably changed; that the scale and scope of the attacks on America represented a sea change in how we viewed the world as a people. My overwhelming emotion was a kind of numb, fearful sadness. I think that feeling was widely shared, and history will look back unkindly at the last decade, about how we let fear and sadness dictate a national response that reverberates forward.

Today, though, I remain resolutely furious at what happened in Boston. In the best tradition of that town, with its odd mix of Puritan stoicism and Irish/Italian temper, its elitist intellect and blue-collar pugnacity, my reaction remains a hearty, 'fuck you' to the sick bastards who did this. Kevin Cullen from the Boston Globe said on CNN, 'We take only three things seriously here: that's sports, politics, and revenge.' He spoke of a deep sadness followed by resoluteness, and about the communal middle finger Boston was lifting towards the perpetrator(s). I sense a similar reaction from most of you, and a heartening percentage of the people I see writing, tweeting, and talking about the attacks. If the 2013 Boston Marathon is remembered as the moment in time when we regained our footing as a people, that won't be a fair trade for the three dead and scores wounded, but it'll be a worthy memorial to them.

Monday's attacks had another connection with the generations of my family. Tom Meagher has been the finish line coordinator at the Boston Marathon for the last 17 years. He's also been a summer resident of Brewster Park in Brewster, MA for more than three decades. Park families, including mine, know him as 'Coach' - he's been responsible for organizing kids' activities at BPC for 30 years, coaching sports, coordinating parties, and serving annually as the emcee for the Park's 4th of July parade. He leads the assembled Parkies in the pledge of allegiance before the parade, and he makes it a habit of introducing any veterans in attendance. He's organized the annual Brew Run for more than 20 years, raising more than $200,000 for charity (it's perhaps the only race we'll ever get Clarence to run - it starts and ends at The Woodshed, my friend). I don't know many that are more civic-minded and patriotic.

The Boston Globe profiled Meagher two years ago. They asked what he does when the race ends, and he gave an answer sure to please this readership, saying, "When it’s all over, I find my way back to the Copley Hotel. I go to the hospitality suite, put my feet up, and have a cold beer."

Coach was at the finish line yesterday, just like he's been for the last 17 years. You can see him in the video below:


Visit NBCNews.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

He, like many others, ran towards the blast to help a fallen runner. He, like so many Bostonians, stood up against fear and terror. And he, like all of us, will cheer the runners that finish the 2014 Boston Marathon.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Hi, Gheorghies!!

Well, given the shitty shit that went down in Boston, I was glad to have G:TB for updates about Beantown friends' well-being.  In truth, in several cases Gheorghe was more current with that than Facebook.  Thank you guys.

What the world needs now is another folk singer.  And what Gheorghedom needs now is a distraction.  A pointless, possibly confusing, YouTube filler to take our minds off the tragedy and into the bedroom.  This Wednesday night I'd like each of you to make this clip happen with your respective lovers.  And use the proper attire -- remember, that's why the call them business socks.

Oh -- it's got some NSFW brief blurry full frontal.  Take note.

FOG:TB Request: Photos of Masters champion Adam Scott

You can easily guess which friend of G:TB suggested this post...and we needed filler, so I am happy to oblige. Here's Scott after winning the Green Jacket:



And based on this blurb sent to me, it seems Mr. Scott also loves to surf, so we'll toss this pic in as well:

Aussie Adam Scott says he can't choose between his two passions: golf and surfing. One is his livelihood; the other is "Adam time." "Surfing is a way for me to switch off and get away — from the whole world, really," he told Golf Magazine in 2009


Vaya con dios, Masters-winning brah.

[Late edit] To keep this post fair and balanced, here is a pic of Scott's ex-girlfriend, tennis player Ana Ivanovic:

Sunday, April 14, 2013

This Song Might Be Slightly Better Than Dana Perino's Rap

Lately, I have been negligent in the writing department here at G:TB. To be honest, I've been struggling to keep ahead of the curve over at Sentence of Dave, and this is partially because my life has reached some absurdly American post-modern and perfectly normal level of busyness which everyone my age and economic status seems to endure. Enough with the bitching -- I'm glad that my family has the wherewithal and the energy to participate in so many fruitful activities . . . and the alternative is much worse.

But the OTHER reason I haven't been writing much is because I have been busy recording a bunch of loosely connected songs . . . loosely connected songs that sort of fit together . . . loosely connected songs that sort of fit together and might be sonically and thematically connected to a limited extent. A long time ago we called this an album. If it was a Yes album, then it had really cool cover art, but the music never lived up to the packaging.


While the bad news is my album will have no fancy cover art, the good news is that I will release it exclusively at G:TB (probably over the next sixteen years . . . I'd like to outdo Chinese Democracy). I will eschew the big labels.

I also have the grand desire to try to put a legitimate band together -- and if I keep injuring myself playing adult league sports, then I might have the spare time to make my dream come true. I am trying to write songs that can be played by a band, and I'd love to perform them with a real drummer and a real singer. Until then, these tracks are nothing but Dave . . . but I have replaced the monologues with guitar solos, and I am trying to keep the songs to a reasonable length. I was inspired by David Byrnes' book How Music Works, and instead of trying to throw the kitchen sink into every song, I'm just trying to record music that is entertaining to listen to. I hope there will be more songs to come soon.

Also, I am trying to think of a new fictitious band name for my music, since I love creating fictitious band names. I am sick of Greasetruck but I haven't been able to think of anything better. The Oozing Pustules and The Moving Rocks are the only contenders. Any suggestions are appreciated.


Cutter (The Sublimation Song)

She's a cutter -- she cuts herself,
instead of taking it out on someone else.
She's so quiet, with her headphones on,
nobody would notice if she were gone.

You punch the wall instead of your wife,
kick the dog, it's better than thirty to life.
Drink some beers and mow the lawn,
wonder how things might have gone.

He's a runner, he runs away,
instead of facing his problems each day.
And he's a loser, he's on his knees,
searching the floor for his keys.

They walk on by, she won't even meet his eye.
It's too bad, they could have got along --
happy ending for the song.

Guitar Solo!  NOT a monologue . . .

Now she's a loner, she lives all alone.
Calls up her mom on the phone.
And she's a worker, she likes to work,
get her hands dirty and covered in earth.

They walk on by, she looks him right in the eye.
Doesn't matter what she does, doesn't matter who she loves.
She'll be alright, she'll get along --
good enough for the song.

She was a cutter, he was a runner,
now she's a loner and he's a loser,
she was a cutter, she was a cutter . . .

Secret Lyrics!







Saturday, April 13, 2013

Brought a Butter Knife to a Tank Battle

Manufactured outrage is a cottage industry in Washington, D.C. Our elected officials and their sycophantry expend enormous amounts of energy and money fabricating finely-honed teapot tempests designed to get party bases in full squeal about the other party's treasonous, profligate, or otherwise egregious behavior.

This week, the first couple of music found themselves the target of Republican ire, as rightwing anger was focused on Jay-Z and Beyonce's trip to Cuba. Several Florida lawmakers questioned the Carters' trip to the island nation. As tourist travel to Cuba remains illegal under Federal law, and Jay and B are Obama supporters, eyebrows were raised.

And the worst rap battle in recorded history was launched.

Hova responded in a short, but lyrically tight protest rap, namechecking Bob Dylan, Chief Keef, and President Obama while mocking politicians.



That should have been that, a minor kerfuffle fading into the dustbin of history. But white people don't know how to leave well enough alone, it seems. Especially, and oddly, white people who used to work for George W. Bush.

You're all painfully aware of MC Rove's 'rap' stylings, I assume. (Don't click that link unless you'd like to be horrified.) Karl Rove's MC stylings and accompanying 'dancing' set white people back generations. But Rove wasn't stepping into the ring against one of the greatest rappers of all time.

But Tiny D Day-P was. Former Bush Press Secretary and current Fox News contributor Dana Perino thought it prudent to try to match rhymes with Jay. It went about as well as you might expect:



Never get involved in a land war in Asia. Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line. And never, ever, ever try to match rhymes with Jay-Z when you're a 42 year-old white lady with less rhythm than a heart attack.

Friday, April 12, 2013

The Capper

When the story of G:TB is written (GTB:TS), this week won't make any of the 'Best Of' lists. Cracker factories, man, they really aren't conducive to high-level content production.

But the people want content, friends, and content we'll give them. As you head into your weekend, here's a terrific new listen from Bon Iver's Justin Vernon and friends. Recording as The Shouting Matches, Vernon ditches his falsetto for a bluesy growl on a record entitled Grownass Man that NPR Music describes as 'agreeably ramshackle'. I've been digging it all week - listen to it here, and enjoy the videos below.





Thursday, April 11, 2013

I just quit my job now I can stay out all night long

And where my mind is tomorrow it don't matter until the dawn

Hello, Friends


It's a stretch, we know. But how better to celebrate the rare intersection of Squirrel Week and The Masters than the juxtaposition of the defending champion with one of his most ardent supporters? Your azalea-scented commentary is much awaited, as we celebrate tradition, soft spring breezes, and pimento cheese.

Me, I'm pulling for Keegan Bradley.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Guest post for a good cause

Every once in awhile we step away from the general dipshittery, and Squirrel Week, to post something of a little more substance. This is one of those times. Guest post below from FOG:TB Emily...

On April 16th I'm going to do something kind of gross. I'm going to ride public transportation barefoot. Why? Because that is way less gross than hookworm, and by doing so, I can bring awareness to children's health and education around the world.

Ask anyone that knows me, I'm not a huge fan of kids in general but follow me for a moment - if I can find 5 people who will dedicate some of their resources (sometimes just a few minutes of their time) then I can help provide something like a school uniform to a child who cannot afford one. This in turn can increase school attendance by 62% which can increase that child's future earnings by 10%, making them an active citizen and ultimately this can turn into a huge positive impact on their community, the world (and me). I think of it as a small thing I can do that can turn into something much greater.

Maybe, if I write a blog post, so that you know why I'm barefoot and include that nearly 16 million children in the United States... that's 22% of all children - live in families with incomes below the federal poverty level ($23,021 a year for a family of four), or that in DC alone one in three children that ride the metro with you, are currently hungry (about double the national average), just one of you will be inclined to do something to help. That something might even be to tell one person who can help - now isn't that easy?

Have you heard the starfish story? It is how I live my life because some days, I can find myself overwhelmed with how much work I have to do to create positive change. Today, I've decided to go barefoot on the metro on April 16th. It may seem like a jump, but if I do this, maybe one less child will be hungry that day. It's worth a shot (and hopefully I won't end up with hookworm – but if I do, I’ll just go to my doctor).

Want to join me in reaching my goal to recruit 2,000 teammates? All you need to do is go here: http://www.onedaywithoutshoes.com/challenge put in #barefootfendys (this is IMPORTANT so I can track my teammates!) and your email address and then skip the shoes on April 16th.

Consider yourself thrown in the ocean, my little starfish.

xo,
Emily

What is #barefootfendys? A group of really awesome people going barefoot for a good cause. Sometimes these folks are sophisticated and mature and sometimes they are just a hot mess - but no matter what, they are lovable.

This woman has absolutely nothing to do with this great charity effort, but TJ is too much of an idiot not to include the image in the post.

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

One Shining Momentish

The G:TB Squirrel Week committee congratulates the University of Louisville on its men's basketball national championship, and wishes the Lady Cardinals luck this evening in the women's championship game.


Monday, April 08, 2013

Happy Squirrel Week!

As @teegrec reminds us, today begins the third annual DC Squirrel Week. The following video offers Washington Post columnist John Kelly's explanation of the celebration. For the record, smarmy interviewer Brook Silva-Braga is on the list. Gonna be a shame when he finds his car filled with acorns.

The Richmond Flying Squirrels celebrated in appropriate fashion, coming back to knock of the New Britain Rock Cats, 3-2, last night to take their season-opening series.

And finally, this:


Friday, April 05, 2013

Shamelessly plugging our corporate sponsor...

A few words of wisdom from Playtex intimate wipes...
 

 


And now you know.

Thursday, April 04, 2013

Nightmare Fuel

We've unquestionably come a long way as a species. From the primorial ooze just yesterday (in geological terms) to massive electronic pleasure palaces full of men wearing synthetic fibers, drinking magical mood-altering elixirs and watching other men compete in athletic contests from far-flung locales. Verily, we're near the pinnacle.

But we're not there yet, and there are reasons to fear we'll never get there. I don't mean to be alarmist, but I've been paying attention over the last three weeks. And there are some things you need to know about, in order to prepare.

First, NASA astronaut and physicist Dr. Edward Lu tells us that there's a 30% chance that a five megaton asteroid will hit Earth this century, whether or not James Garner is still around. Dr. Lu's matter of fact tone is perhaps the most terrifying part of this entire thing:



In more terrestrial terrors, scientists in Sri Lanka recently discovered "a new type of tarantula about the size of your face" living in trees and and abandoned hospital. Poecilotheria rajaei has a legspan of up to 8 inches across. Full disclosure, I'm deeply, deeply afraid of spiders. My cat brought a good-sized one (maybe two inches across) up from our basement last week and dropped it at my feet, all proud-like. I almost jumped out of my skin. A tarantula the size of my face? Gaaaaaah.

And imagine all the places in the world we've never been. It's a near certainty that man-sized spiders exist somewhere. Can we send Ed Lu there to shoot them into space and deflect the asteroid?


Closer to home, Virginia gubernatorial candidate and all-around Renaissance Man (in the sense that he probably would be much more comfortable living in that era from the perspective of male/female roles) Ken Cuccinelli has asked the U.S. 4th Circuit of Appeals to review its decision deeming Virginia's anti-sodomy laws unconstitutional. Just another small-government conservative who wishes to dictate what consenting adults (straight and gay) do in the privacy of our bedrooms.

In the real world, the fact that the birther-dabbling, homophobic, climate skeptic Cuccinelli has a reasonably decent chance to be the Governor of my state is scarier even than man-sized spiders. Can we shoot him at the asteroid?

I will refrain from making any jokes about his nickname, which in this context would be juvenile and silly. It's 'Cooch', though.

Finally, - and I must warn you, children should only see this under very close supervision - I saw something on Monday that was so awesomely terrifying that words cannot describe it. I offer you this visual instead:


Stay safe, my friends.

Wednesday, April 03, 2013

A belated birthday to the zman

Now back to our regularly scheduled dipshittery...

It appears we failed to celebrate the birthday of my (faux) radio partner in crime. Luckily, even off the air, the zman and his crazy zantics never end, so we have this celebration footage to share with you, our loyal readers:

Tuesday, April 02, 2013

Baseball Poetry, of a Sort

I'm in Boston this week for work. The city of my recent ancestry has a special place in my heart for a great many reasons, but this particular trip will linger in my memory. If you'll indulge me (and this strongly-poured Woodforde Reserve), for just a moment, I'll explain.

My paternal grandparents were born in 1920. They met in 1938 during their very first week as freshmen at American International College in Springfield, MA, went dutch to a movie on a Saturday night, and have been together ever since. (For the liberal arts majors in our readership, that's 75 years.) They were married July 1, 1944, and after my grandfather finished a stint in the Navy during World War II, they settled in the Boston suburb of Winchester, MA.

They raised three children in that quintessential New England town, rearing them on a steady diet of puritan stoicism, stubborn notions of right and wrong, Red Sox baseball, and love. Especially love. They survived two of those three kids, something I can't imagine.

Dr. Seymour Russell, DDS, practiced here from 1946 - 1984.
My grandfather opened a dental practice, and built a community around it. He ran it for 38 years before retiring in 1984, most proud of the fact that he never hired a bill collector to chase late payments. I used to think that he did so because he didn't have delinquent customers, but in fact,  he cared more about that community than he did his income. Today, we'd call that hopelessly naive, perhaps. But his business was people, and the people of Winchester frequent the practice even today, nearly 30 years after his retirement.

They retired to a 90-acre farm in New Hampshire that he'd renovated over the years and then to a smaller house once the farm's remote locale began to be a concern for a pair of 80 year-olds. Finally, they moved back to Winchester to be near family.

I'd make trips to see them from time to time - they met their great-granddaughter on Cape Cod when she was less than a year old, and we made it a practice to visit their apartment on all our trips to the Cape thereafter. My sister and I traveled to New Hampshire in 2005 when we were convinced that my grandfather was near death. The Red Sox were a part of that trip, too. He pulled through then, and most of us are convinced that he simply wasn't willing to leave her alone.

She fell last March, injuring her hip and elbow. She'd been increasingly slowed by age, her back bowed and her neck muscles no longer able to keep her head up for more than a few seconds at a time. But this time, the doctors made her go to a convalescent center, despite his protestations (and they are many - he's the last of the great New England conservatives). She's been in a bed ever since.

And so I didn't know what to expect this afternoon when I knocked off work and went to her nursing home. He was already there when I walked in, and was expecting me - I thought it best not to surprise a pair of 92 year-olds. But she didn't know I was coming, and the way her face lit up will stay with me forever.

"She still has the greatest smile," he said when she took my hand and beamed at me. "She's still beautiful."

I spent the better part of the afternoon with them. We turned the Red Sox/Yankees Opening Day game on the television and watched the last six innings. Some of the time, she was completely aware of the game situations. At others, she rooted for the Sox to get out, thinking they were the Yankees. There were moments when she thought I was her late son, my father (and she can be forgiven that, as we look too alike for my own comfort - my soul patch is a late, futile attempt to create some distance) and others when she struggled to remember the names of other relatives. She was frail, and distracted, and almost completely deaf. But her eyes were bright, and her smile quick, and her mind inquisitive.

Jackie Bradley, Jr. made his major league debut
She'd take his hand, and she'd ask him how long they'd been married. And he'd tell her, "68 3/4 years". And she'd tell me how handsome I was, but not as handsome as the love of her life. She used that precise phrasing over and over again. And he'd smile every time.

Throughout the afternoon, we watched the Red Sox game. We talked about Jackie Bradley, the Sox' rookie outfielder, and Dustin Pedroia, her favorite and mine. We lamented the Bobby Valentine era, and we laughed at Kevin Youkilis in pinstripes. Mostly, we rooted for the Sox. And when the final out was recorded, and the Sox won, 8-2, I kissed her on the forehead and told her I loved her. She told me how proud she was of me, and I whispered, "I'm very lucky".

I'm very, very lucky.

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Happy Easter, from Clarence

Now this is some classic Clarence commenting:

Well done, sir.