Clarence Is a Punk: Vol. 1-2-3-4

18 months ago, I launched segment number one of a five-part piece on punk rock.  At this rate, you guys will have to write and read numbers four and five at my funeral.  In that piece, I ran through 25 punk rock classics from the 1970's.  Intentionally, I left out three individual bands worthy of their own post/playlist.  Here's a take on one of them . . .

Hey -- Ho -- Let's Go

The Ramones

Writing an excess of words on the band, while very Clarence, does not suit the Ramones. This is a band that crammed 5 minutes' worth of playing into two-minute songs for two decades.  Here's what you need to know, Cliffs Ramone style.

Essential Facts

• Jeff Hyman, John Cummings, Doug Colvin, Tom Erdelyi, later Marc Bell and some others
• Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, Tommy, Marky Ramone, et al
• Supposedly "Ramones" had a link to Paul McCartney checking into hotels as Paul Ramon.  Also possibly linked to producer Phil Ramone.  Probably neither so much as just a random choice of a universal surname for all band members.
• Joey was on drums at first.  Tommy was the manager, then he took over behind the kit and Joey went out front.  Good call, dudes.
• Have you see Joey Ramone up close?  And considering how shy he was, he was a less likely candidate for successful frontman than Stipe, Ian Curtis, and Andy Partridge put together.
• The Ramones' eponymous debut was released in 1976.  It makes the G:TB list of best debut albums of all time.  
• Johnny Ramone stole Joey's girlfriend and married her.  This was never really resolved.
• Johnny Ramone was staunchly conservative in his political leanings.  Joey was diametrically opposed.  This mattered when it came to occasional lyrical content like in "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg."
• Dee Dee was the only original who really did many drugs.  Way many.
• Joey died in 2001 from lymphoma. Dee Dee finally OD'ed in 2002. Johnny succumbed to prostate cancer in 2004.  Tommy died last year from bile duct cancer.  Name another rock and roll band whose founding members are all deceased.  I know of two.  Because I googled it.

Essential Viewing: End of the Century - The Story of the Ramones.  One of my favorite rockumentaries ever.  Watch it.

Essential Listening: I bought Mania when it came out in 1988, then eventually went back to the first album and started working my way through from the beginning.  Not a bad way to do it, and it may be how everyone is doing it.  Mania was the only certified gold record The Ramones had, ludicrous as it seems to me.  Until last year -- when Ramones went gold, 38 years after its release.  Hundreds of years from now, watch for sales of Too Tough to Die to skyrocket.

In the meantime, here's Clarence's take on the music.  Come on, let's rock and roll with the Ramones.

What You Already Know

(or you damn well should)
1. "Blitzkrieg Bop," Ramones 1976
Hey Ho Let's Go

2. "I Wanna Be Sedated," Road to Ruin 1978
Hurry hurry hurry, before I go loco

3. "Sheena Is a Punk Rocker," Rocket to Russia 1977
New York City really has it all

4. "Rock & Roll High School," End of the Century, 1980
I just wanna get some chicks

5. "Do You Remember Rock & Roll Radio?" End of the Century, 1980
'Cause lately it all sounds the same to me

What You May Well Know
1. "We're a Happy Family," Rocket to Russia 1977
Siting here in Queens / Eating refried beans

2. "The KKK Took My Baby Away," Pleasant Dreams, 1981
Ring me ring me ring me up the President / And find out where my baby went

3. "Pinhead," Leave Home, 1977
Gabba gabba hey

 4. "Rockaway Beach," Rocket to Russia 1977
The sun is out, and I want some

5. "Pet Sematary," Brain Drain, 1989
I don't want to live my life again

Brilliance in Under Two Minutes
1. "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue," Ramones, 1976 - 1:36
All the kids want somethin' to do
[This might be the perfect rock song. It's like it sired "Wasted" by Black Flag.]

2. "Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment," Leave Home, 1977 - 1:43
Peace and love is here to stay

3. "Cretin Hop," Rocket to Russia 1977 - 1:59
There's no stoppin' the cretins from hoppin'

Top Ramones Covers
1. "California Sun," The Rivieras
2. "Surfin' Bird," The Trashmen
3. "Let's Dance," Chris Montez
4. "Needles and Pins," Jackie DeShannon
5. "Spiderman," TV Cartoon

3 Good Ramones Songs That Aren't Very Ramones-y
1. "Howling at the Moon (Sha-La-La), Too Tough to Die, 1985
I want to steal from the rich and give to the poor

2. "Danny Says," End of the Century, 1980
Listening to Sheena on the radio
Phil Spector... uh...

3. "She Talks to Rainbows," Adios Amigos! 1994
She talks to trees / She talks to bees / She don't talk to me
Bizarrely silly lyrics, but I really like this tune a lot.

Also: "Something to Believe In," Animal Boy, 1986
If people weren't such dicks and I never made mistakes / Then I could find forgiveness
I don't love the song, but a video worth watching, Ramones Aid, a USA for Africa parody with guest stars.

JDGRS (Just Damn Good Ramones Songs)
Teenage Lobotomy Psycho Therapy 53rd & 3rd Bop 'Til You Drop I Remember You Chinese Rock Too Tough to Die Garden of Serenity Beat On the Brat Glad to See You Go I Want You Around Havana Affair 

At the Boathouse in Norfolk

Clarence's All-Time Favorites
(In addition to several of the above)

1. "Judy Is a Punk," Ramones, 1976
Perhaps they'll die, oh yeah

2. "Commando," Leave Home, 1977
Fourth rule is: Eat kosher salamis
1:55 of pure punk rock, kicked off with vintage Dee Dee 1-2-3-4.

3.  "Here Today, Gone Tomorrow," Rocket to Russia 1977
Someone had to pay the price
Dispelling misconceptions that all Ramones songs are frenetic punk with shallow content . . .

4.  "I Just Wanna Have Something to Do," Road to Ruin 1978
Hanging out on Second Avenue / Eating chicken vindaloo
. . . but some are, and they are excellent.

5. "We Want the Airwaves," Pleasant Dreams, 1981
Mr. Programmer / I got my hammer / and I'm gonna Smash my / Smash my / Radio

6. "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg (My Brain Is Hanging Upside Down)," Animal Boy 1986
As I watched it on TV somehow it really bothered me

7. "Somebody Put Something In My Drink," Animal Boy 1986
Tanqueray and tonic's my favorite drink / I don't like anything colored pink / That just stinks
Inspired the Random idiots song "Someone Slipped a Mickey in My 27th Beer."

8. "I Wanna Live," Halfway to Sanity, 1987
As I execute my killers / The morning is near

But here's all you really need.

Philler

Because it makes me anxious and a little bit agitated to see the same content at the top of G:TB for more than a few consecutive days, here's an inside joke for three:



And yes, I'm seeking professional help.

Oh Doctor, Please Help Me, I'm Damaged

FOG:TB Fat Guy in a Speedo is on a tear early this EPL season, nearly matching Swansea City for prolific output and positive results. Here's his take on football fandom.

At the risk of raising the ire of even the most casual G:TB reader’s ambivalence towards soccer (or kickball per the good folks at the Chicago Trib) yet emboldened by the recent start of the EPL, Rob’s new(ish) penchant for the game and my lack of employment I figured I had the time to add one more footie post before slouching back to my biannual post rate torpor. Plus college football hasn’t started.

Raiders Fans

Our nation excels in garden-variety fanaticism slightly behind ISIS, yet just above Raider Nation. In spite of our nation’s penchant for groupthink zest in terms of issues such as gun control, religion, and Caitlyn Jenner, the zealotry of your typical United States sports fan pales in comparison to the “civilized” citizens of countries like England, France and Albania. If Geno Smith played (mediocre) soccer in England, the media outrage over his glass jaw would be palpable. Cheeky headlines would abound for weeks on end. Regrettably, the NY Post won the banter war with the cumbersome ‘Jaw and Disorder’ while the Daily News’ ‘Luck of the Jaw’ is right out.

As usual, Chelsea FC are at the root of my and the rest of civilized sporting society’s disdain.(Editor's Note: If more Americans were aware of that cocksucker Diego Costa, more of us would hate him, and by extension have a reason to follow the EPL.) Farcical case in point, last Sunday Chelsea tied a decent Swansea side at home after their keeper saw red and was sent off. In stoppage time a Chelsea player was hurt on the pitch and the ref called the team’s medics out to tend to his injury. They took him off the field per regulations and Jose Mourinho, Chelsea’s talented head coach but far more formidable asshole, could be seen yelling at his own team’s medical staff to get the player back out there as they were already down a man. Five days later, the team doctor has since been demoted and this relatively minor incident has dominated UK sports headlines for days. ESPNFC.com barely mentioned it as this is not the kind of sports issue people in the States tend to pay much interest to.  Ed Hochuli aside, refs and team medicos are fodder for BB gun variety cannonry.  English top flight referees are well known figures and each team has at least one referee who is perceived to hate them and will call a game to ensure their failure.

As a side note, the team doctor is a young(ish) and relatively attractive female. Chelsea fans have regaled her with the chant "Celery/Celery/If she don't come, I'll tickle her bum/With a lump of celery” when she’s on the pitch, which is ironic in that your average Brit has never even seen celery as evidenced by its lumpen description. Regrettable misogyny aside, it’s time for us to step up our sporting fanatacism on this side of the pond. If we learn the names of those peripheral to the sport we will be gifted with that much more minutiae to occupy our time and even divert our attention from the emerging presidential shitshow.

Bye for now and see you on Boxing Day.

Gheorghe Recommends

There's an important and growing segment of the G:TB family that identifies as hardcore sneakerheads. For them, our curation staff has put together a pair of must-see documentary exhibitions on the emergence of sneaker culture as a force in global fashion.

The Rise of Sneaker Culture is both a book and a traveling exhibition. It's billed as "the first exhibition to explore the complex social history and cultural significance of the footwear now worn by billions of people throughout the world." If you're in New York between now and October 4, you can check it out at the Brooklyn Museum. If you do, we'd appreciate it if you file a report.

As a companion piece, if not intentionally, a documentary was released last week in New York and Los Angeles about sneaker culture. Sneakerheadz, from the producer of Little Miss Sunshine (which seems a bit of an odd juxtaposition, tells the story of the globalization of the sneaker business, and the cultural implications of the transformation of kicks from athletic wear to collectible, highly-desired tokens of community for millions.



The Fast Company piece linked in the first paragraph above has a cool timeline of the growth of the sneaker industry, dating back to 1921, when Converse became the first company to pay an endorser to promote their brand. Chuck Taylor had no idea that his name would remain a totem for hipsters around the globe nearly 100 years later. Nor that I would own five pairs of his shoes.

More Tests

Stacey, Cunningham and I are cranking out the podcasts . . . I'm not sure how we'll fare once the school year begins, but as of now we are going strong. Teachers in the summer. We have a new home, on Podbean, and we have a nifty logo (designed by Stacey) as well.

You'll hear some familiar voices in Episode 8, and I learned something about recording audio in a car: you can't put the recorder down on the center console because it will also record all the vibrations from the highway. One to grow on. I also learned that TJ needs to use profanity when discussing octaves.




Episode 9 features some minor improvements that only the most zealous fan will recognize; I tightened the intro and improved the music, and made the theme song a bit clearer. You also get to hear about my nightmare trip to Manhattan . . . if you'd rather read about it, head over to Sentence of Dave.

Play along, see how you do, and we are always looking for guests and/or tests.

Bite Me, Randy Newman

One could draft a fairly extensive compilation of Randy-worthy soccer players from around the globe. The best player in the world, for example, stands but 5'7". Well, he's listed at that, anyway. The legendary Diego Maradona? He's 5'5". Closer to home, the underrated and recently-retired Steve Cherundolo topped out at 5'6". (And USWNT defender Megan Klingenberg is a mere 5'2".) Indeed, the most democratic of all the world's sports makes room for players of all shapes and sizes.

But we come to celebrate a pair of lilliputian talents who have risen (pun!) above in the last few weeks. Both play in leagues outside their home countries, and both shoulder outsized burdens for teams with longshot title aspirations, and both wear the number 10 jersey of the conductor of the offense.

It was huge news at the beginning of the year when Italian National Team member and Juventus star Sebastian Giovinco signed with Toronto FC of MLS. He's the first player of his caliber to make the jump from Europe to North America in the prime of his career. The 5'5" Giovinco (formica atomica, in Italian, and the Atomic Ant to his English-speaking fans) is only 28.

Giovinco hasn't disappointed. Through this weekend's play, his 16 goals are one behind Columbus Crew forward Kei Kamara for the league lead. His hat trick last week led Toronto to a 4-1 win over Orlando, and helped Toronto move to 4th in the Eastern Conference. His combination of skill, speed, balance, and power make him arguably MLS' best player. See for yourself:



In England, Liverpool is widely considered to be on the outside looking in at the Premier League's elite teams, with Steven Gerrard now in America, and no major signings other than Christian Benteke to show for the transfer period. Dynamic Brazilian little guy Philippe Coutinho's performance this season will go a long way towards defining the Reds' fortunes.

The 23 year-old is already playing his fourth season in the EPL, and has shown flashes of brilliance interspersed with periods of indifference (sorta like my professional career, now that I think about it). He's capable of unleashing remarkable strikes from long distance, as evidenced by his 86th-minute game winner in Liverpool's season opener at Stoke. Check it out:



No less a talent than Kaka has tabbed Coutinho as Gerrard's Merseyside heir. Chelsea defender John Terry picked Coutinho as his EPL Player of the Year before the season began. Big, big shoes to fill for a guy who stands 5'7". In the program.

Bite Me, Randy Newman.

Explaining Trump

A wise (if sometimes politically misguided) observer of the American political scene posted something last week about the (to many) befuddling rise of Donald Trump as a GOP Presidential candidate.

It's easy to write Trump off as a joke, the logical, comical conclusion to 50 years of a party sublimating its once-principled conservatism of ideas in the name of power-first purity tests. But to do that means we don't have to try to deal with the issues that underlie his rise. And this feels like a moment that calls for a deeper understanding. Why do nearly a quarter of Republican voters support someone that appears to non-believers as a cartoonish buffoon? Trump, unquestionably a lout, is a reaction to something. His ascent, even if it may be temporary, does have meaning, and there are lessons to be learned in the effort to comprehend it.

Drew Magary, who's gone from dick-and-poop-joke Deadspin artiste to a mainstream commentator (with an eye for dick and poop jokes) in what feels like the blink of an eye, wrote a piece for GQ this week on the Trump phenomenon. He went to Oskaloosa, Iowa to see a Trump rally in person. His reporting strikes a powerful chord:

"Well, Trump is here to fix all that losing. And here is where my brief jag of mildly effusive praise for Donald Trump must come to an end, because the grim undercurrent of his rise is SHAME. After all, if you believe we must make America great again, then you must also believe that America, at the present moment, sucks. And pretty much everyone at the Trump picnic believed that America sucks. When I asked a group of Trump supporters outside if they were proud of America, they all laughed with derision.  Of course they weren’t proud of America. Of course this nation is a shithole. One voter named Corey told me he hoped Trump would help America “get back to the way it was,” a refrain I heard from a lot of people, as if the country was a rock band that had changed its sound. Backing Trump means acknowledging that you live in a world of failure, and that your last best hope is the Music Man moseying into town."

As hard as this is to admit, because it implicates me directly, East Coast suburban knowledge professionals with college educations (a description that covers the vast majority of this blog's staff and readership) haven't ever walked a mile in the shoes of the denizens of depressed post-manufacturing towns like Oskaloosa, Iowa.

At its core, this is about change. Human beings don't do change very well. Change management is a thriving industry and subject of academic inquiry. We fear change so much, our institutions are willing to pay to learn how to manage it.  Any material change brings with it apprehension. I just bought a new car, and I've been driving like a grandmother for the last few days as I adjust to the bigger dimensions and longer stopping distance. But change that forces humans to reexamine their most foundational beliefs is terrifying. For dozens of reasons - technical, economic, cultural, demographic, etc - our country and our world are changing at a dizzying pace. There are millions of Americans for whom that change represents dislocation, loss of opportunity, and the rise of the other.

From a purely economic perspective, the unemployment rate for college graduates is half that of those who only completed high school. Trump's strong (insane?) anti-immigrant rhetoric resonates with a constituency that feels increasingly exposed in a global economy that values traditional labor very differently than it once did.

Culturally, think for a minute about what the last ten years have wrought. Gay marriage is legal, across the land. We have a black President, with a white mom, and Kenyan relatives. Nearly ten states have decriminalized marijuana. 63% of Americans are non-Hispanic whites, down from 75% in 2000 (and on the way to less than 50% by 2050). As many Americans watched a women's soccer game as did college football's playoffs, for fuck's sake. (2005 guy just said, 'Wait, there's a college football playoff? The future is awesome!)

The world is different, but the same. Things are more moderner than before. Bigger and yet smaller. It's computers. San Dimas High School Football Rules!

Wait, sorry. Got lost in a Wyld Stallyns riff there for a second. The world is a shitload different, and it's happened (and is happening) pell mell. I worry about the future, about whether I'll have enough money for retirement, for sending my kids to college. And I make a very good living. I can't begin to understand the pressures felt by a father of two kids who's marginally employed, and his skills are no longer in demand because the plant was closed and the jobs shipped to Mexico. I'm worried about budgeting for my trip to Walt Disney World. He's worried about whether or not his kid's gonna have Christmas, and in many cases, he's looking for someone to blame, because he's a human, and that's what we do.

And there but for the grace of God, go all of us.

My point, at the end of this rambling, is an echo of a Chris Rock bit about domestic violence (embroiled as our media is in the deconstruction of Trump's flippant misogyny, I recognize that this particular allegory might be construed as a bit, well, ill-timed). In the aftermath of the murder of Nicole Brown Simpson, Rock said, "So you gotta look at OJ's situation. He's paying $25,000 a month in alimony, got another man driving around in his car and fucking his wife in a house he's still paying the mortgage on. Now I'm not saying he should have killed her... but I understand."



Which takes us back to the theory posited at the beginning of this post. The world is an infinitely complex place. None of us understands it fully. People who find themselves in the midst of disruptive change don't want to hear about complexity, or nuance. They want to be told in confident tones that there are simple answers. Hell, we all want that. There's a deep vein of uncertainty in this country, and Trump has tapped into it. He's not going to win the nomination, but whoever does (in both parties) would do well to think about how to serve those that feel the changes taking place in our society are leaving them behind.

I'm not saying Donald Trump is right, or anything less than an embarrassment.

But I understand.

Bhoys of (Late) Summer

G:TB's footie friend Fat Guy in a Speedo returns with one of his timely EPL posts, as the new season kicks off this weekend. Enjoy, but don't expect to hear much about Bournemouth and Watford. Elitist as a motherfucker, that Fat Guy.

EPL kicked off yesterday, thrilling hundreds of Americans who enjoy awaking early on a weekend to watch grown millionaires score an average of 1.2 goals every 90 minutes. I won’t bore you with the details but the same four teams are expected to occupy the top four spots on the league, the mid-table grinders will be in about the same place as usual and the three recently promoted teams are expected to be dropped at the end of season.  The predictability is perfectly suited to those who loathe change and are content to not shoo the fly off our arm like some hopped up ENFP.

Even the most dilatory INTP would have to provide a modicum of insight so let’s have at it. Chelsea has been touted to reclaim the title by the wunderkind at The Guardian and most everyone else. They are a bunch of tossers from top to bottom and play a singularly unwatchable style of football. If you want to confirm your average Americans unshakable derision of the beautiful game turn on a Chelsea match and they won’t be disappointed.  Sadly, they are the best team in the league.

Many pundits are picking Arsenal to finish second and firmly cement their status as first-place losers per the late Dale Earnhardt.  Arsenal play the most attractive football in the league and are regularly rewarded with second place and third place trophies for their efforts. Manchester United have been shite the past couple years and will likely be a trifle less shitey this season. Manchester City aren’t worth commenting on. Liverpool still seem to have worldwide support in spite of their above-average mediocrity over the past two decades and will continue to thrive after another average, silverless season. Fulham is right out.

(At this point we'll note that we were a day late in posting Fat Guy's preview, so read the next paragraph as if you didn't know that those bastard United didn't top Spurs, 1-0, on a Kyle Walker own goal. And for what it's worth, I've decided that Spurs are my side in the top league this season, as Fulham continues its Championship walkabout (thanks for the acknowledgement above, friend). Fitting start, that.)

Kickoff is tomorrow at 7:45EST with Manchester United playing Tottenham Hotspurs. This has all the makings of a cracking start to the season with loads of offensive potential coupled with defensive frailties on both ends. Looking forward to the goalless draw to start the season. That’s a wrap and Bob’s your uncle. 

Saturday Travel Filler

Depending upon when you read this, The Teej and his bride are either on their way to, or already in Iceland. We know nothing about Iceland, other than the fact that it's incredibly thermodynamic (ironic, that) and that it gave us Aron Johannsson.

Oh, and Bjork:



We're eagerly awaiting the Teej/baconbaking travelogue. Until then, we'll just watch this video on repeat.

Message in a Dixie Cup String Phone

If you're like me, you've often sat on a beach, feet in the sand, and looked out on the ocean wondering what was on the other side of that vast expanse of water. And if you're like me, you've never bothered to make the relatively limited effort required to actually answer that question.

Thankfully, the Washington Post's Wonkblog staff has entertained similar musings, and has both the motivation, resources, and editorial freedom* to seek answers.

I'm pleased, now, to know that while I sit on the back porch of the Martha Wood cottage, pleasantly daydrunk, I'm looking across the Atlantic Ocean at a guy on the west coast of Spain. Cadiz, maybe. I assume he's tipsy on rioja, rather than Red Stripe.

* - We've got way too much editorial freedom, and we've got the resources, so I think we all know where the issue lies. Look at this global version of the map and we'll just ignore the elephant.

Son of a Bitch! Give Me a Drink.

Had I not been introduced to Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats properly, I might have been jaded against him. He and his band check the boxes on many hipster tropes that pop rock music is giving us these days - an old timey image, hipster beards, hipster hats and an Americana tilt to the tunes.

But it's the voice that gets you. It's the closest I've heard to vintage Johnny Cash, but with more than a dash of soul influence. And he's singing below about something most of us can relate to - drinking. I hope the gist of the song - capitulating on the DTs - is something that none of you deal with, but I hope at least one of you cranks this with a load on sometime soon.

I suck at writing about music. Just play this loudly. I sure will when I'm sweating on my train home tonight with a 24 oz. bottle of Lagunitas IPA in my hand.

Last of the "danimal in China" filler

Sent to us last evening:

"This is the pic that I couldn't get. Yes, it's a caricature of a person spitting out the window. They don't want you to do that. You can spit anywhere else mind you, just not out of a car while in town."

The Aliens Are Already Here

I've done a few (very) moderately adventurous things over the past couple of years, but Australian daredevil Robbie Maddison's exploits make even the most ardent human thrill seeker seem couch bound. Maddison, increasingly considered the heir to Evel Knievel's throne, has scaled the replica Arc de Triomphe at Paris in Las Vegas, flown across the Corinth Canal in Greece, and backflipped on the Tower Bridge in London, all on a motorbike.

Oh, and now, he's surfed Teahupoo. Also on a motorbike. It's as preposterous as it sounds.



Happy Monday, fellow office drones. May you get your adrenaline up by spinning as fast as you can in your desk chair.

The Test Episode 6 . . . Salt Water Stuff

On the latest episode of The Test, I ask some questions related to the beach. The ladies perform admirably at times, but also disappoint me.

In an upcoming episode, there will be some audio from T.J. and Jerry, who I recorded on the way to OBFT XXII. Unfortunately, it sounds like we are travelling in a open railroad box car, not Jerry's coupe, so the audio quality is a little rough. I should be able to salvage some of it though, because Jerry said some smart shit and T.J. said some funny shit (how stereotypical).

Anyway, play along at home, enjoy it, and tell me how you scored.

Rock's Coolest Uncle, and Bhangra Beat Mob

A fantastically cool video's been making the rounds of the social web this week, as 1,000 Italians got together to record a cover of the Foo Fighters' 'Learn to Fly' in hopes of enticing Dave Grohl, et al, to come to their town to play.

If you haven't seen it, check it out:



It reminded me, actually, of a similar performance pulled off just over a year ago in Brooklyn. In honor of the annual Make Music New York festival, NPR Music commissioned a piece by Sunny Jain, leader of the awesome bhangra-funk combo Red Baraat. And asked volunteer musicians of all kinds to learn the piece and show up at the Brooklyn Public Library to play the world premiere live.

As with 'Learn to Fly', the results are enough to put a smile on your face and a hop - or in this case, a funky beat - in your step:



People, on occasion, are pretty damn awesome.

(And as an aside, if you don't know Red Baraat, go and listen to some of their stuff. My gift to your ears.)

Not Even Dildos Are Safe From Patent Trolls

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Fearless Prediction: Imitation, Flattery

The Indiana Pacers made news this week when they announced that they'd wear Hickory High uniforms several times over the next few seasons, an homage to Hoosiers as that great film celebrates its 30th anniversary. Notwithstanding the pressure that puts on Donald Sloan (who'll wear Jimmy Chitwood's number 15), the move was met with widespread approval.

That nearly universal positivity will undoubtedly translate to dolla dolla bills, ya'll, and since no good idea goes unstolen, the Pacers' play will spark a run on similar promotions across sports. The G:TB investigative team has already heard from a number of franchises across the sporting world about their plans:

In Portland, the Blazers intend to leverage the tenuous same-state connection between Oregon State and Scott Howard's high school mascot and appropriate the Beavers uniforms worn in Teen Wolf. No word on whether P.J. Carlesimo will be asked to come back and don a jersey to make the look work.

On the other side of the continent, the Knicks are grasping at whatever straws they can, realizing without acknowledging the fact that they don't have anywhere near the number of players they need to make a run, even in the tissue-soft Eastern Conference. They'll play in Jesus Shuttlesworth's Lincoln High uniforms, hoping that a) the Jesus connection will have a positive impact, and b) Ray Allen might be convinced to play for them.

Changing sports, but staying with a theme of offensive futility, the Mets have decided that they won't be making any trades that would require incremental payroll. Instead, they're going to wear New York Knights uniforms, welcome David Wright back from the disabled list, and carve a lightning bolt into his bat. He may not be The Natural, but he's pretty dreamy. Just ask Clarence.

Football franchises want in on the action, too. The fictional town of Ampipe, Pennsylvania stands in for Johnstown in All the Right Moves. And Johnstown, less than 70 miles from Pittsburgh, is a rugged, gritty Western Pennsylvania town. The Steelers suiting up in the Ampipe Bulldogs' gold and black is geographically, historically, and colorfully appropriate. Stef Djordjevic would be proud, wherever he is now.

Speaking of geographically appropriate choices, the denizens of the Gulf Coast are already buying up the Saints' homage to The Waterboy. It doesn't hurt that Drew Brees wears Bobby Boucher's number nine. Saints coach Sean Payton has reportedly embraced the tie-in wholeheartedly, planning to wear a bucket hat in honor of Henry Winkler.

"Let them play. Let them play" You'll remember that from The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training, when the Bears stole the show during an exhibition in the Astrodome. And even if you don't remember that, the Houston Astros certainly do. Jose Altuve will be wearing the actual uniform originally donned by Tanner.

Outside of J.J. Watt, nobody's ever heard of anyone on the Houston Texans roster, even many of the Texans themselves. A franchise in need of an identity, in a state owned lock, stock, and barrel by that team in Dallas, the Texans are undergoing a makeover. Who better to emulate than Burt Reynolds' badass Paul Crewe? And what better to demonstrate toughness than to wear a prison squad's uniforms? Frankly, this The Longest Yard tribute is probably our favorite.

Finally, another franchise that's essentially invisible is borrowing unashamedly from an iconic film to boost its fortunes. The Columbus Blue Jackets have announced plans to wear Charlestown Chiefs uniforms from Slap Shot. (It's okay to admit that you didn't realize that the Columbus Blue Jackets were an actual National Hockey League team. Someone should make a quiz podcast about sports team nicknames.) Reg Dunlap may even come out of retirement.

We can be certain that these aren't the only tributes that'll follow on the heels of the Pacers' inspired move. Major League Soccer is researching the issue, but having a hard time coming up with anything other than Victory as a model. Keanu Reeves is badgering Bill Belichick about using The Replacements' togs. And expect to see Shaq on the set of TNT's NBA studio show wearing his old Blue Chips uniform.

The possibilities, they're most excellent.

Danimal Checks In from China

Sure, he's back in the States now, but that won't stop us from running this enthralling filler post. These are the emails rob and I receive from what I can only assume is a very jetlagged Danimal when he emails from across the globe...

Subject: Ni  Hao mother effers

Missing my gtb like crazy. 

You're probably in need of some filler. Just a hunch though. 

Xoxo

***********************

Subject: Sunny day in Tianjin

This place is such a effing dump.

*****************************

Subject: Yo

Love me some Mankattan sponge cake bitches!

Some post trip additions....



The Greatest

Today, Pedro Martinez formally takes his rightful place among baseball's all-time legends. In actuality, he's been there for years.

Perhaps my favorite athlete in the years since I crossed the line from boy to man (it's an indistinct line, really), Pedro remains for me one of the most compelling examples of athletic arrogance, that indefinable but obvious quality that separates the greats from the mere goods. Though he stood just 5'11 and weighed less than 190 pounds, he was an intimidating as Randy Johnson in his own way, his countenance and bearing telling hitters that he knew that they knew they had no chance.

In honor of this day, and his induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame, we're running back something we wrote about him four years ago. Viva Pedro.

April 8, 2011:

I took the kids to the National Portrait Museum last weekend. Ostensibly, the trip was part of our ongoing effort to fight against the perfectly natural urge to completely take for granted the immensely interesting and diverse cultural opportunities in our area. But Daddy had an ulterior motive.

Peter Gammons called it "duende", from the Spanish word that, roughly translated, means having soul, an authentic expression of emotion. I always loved that description as attached to Pedro Martinez, the most remarkable athlete in my experience as a fan. Pedro's duende manifested itself in a loose-limbed, heavy-lidded arrogance, as this slip of a man whipped a baseball from his long fingers towards the artificially-muscled sluggers of his day, besting them again and again.

In 1999, at the height of the steroid era, Pedro was 23-4 with a 2.07 ERA, 313 strikeouts and 37 walks. His ERA in 2000 was a ludicrous 1.74, more than 2.5 runs lower than the league average. From 1997 to 2003, he strung together what Gammons describes as "the most dominant stretch of any pitcher in major league history".

Like many of the greats, Pedro held on long enough for us to watch his gifts diminish. And though he was still more than serviceable in his final years with the Mets and Phillies, he wasn't Pedro. Nobody could be.

Gammons himself donated Susan Miller-Havens' portrait of Pedro to the National Portrait Gallery, where it hangs today in a wing of other new additions to the museum's collection, near Ann Landers and a tribute to Hunter Thompson. In it, Pedro wears a Sox cap with a uniform of indeterminant provenance that features a Dominican flag, combining his U.S. glory days with the work he continues to do in his native country.

Duende, it seems, stays with a man.

Dave Tries (and epically fails) to be a Hipster Douchebag

Greetings from Sea Isle City, my favorite beach town on the East Coast. I should be writing this in an air-conditioned coffee shop, sipping on some kind of exotic coffee brewed from a rare Guatemalan bean, while I sit on a high stool at a comfy little table, accessing the free wifi . . . but, alas, I'm not. I'm writing it in the bedroom of our condo, and it's rather warm (the AC is broken) and I'm slugging down iced coffee.

This is the story of a dream deferred.

The day started wonderfully. My wife and Ian went on a kayaking excursion and my brother brought Alex to the arcade and then to the beach, so I was left with no kids and some free time. And I had done my requisite beach time earlier that morning: I went for a jog and watched the dredging machines, I took my cousin's paddleboard out on the ocean, and I swam some laps. So I was tired and ready for some screen time.

I decided I would pack up the laptop-- my trusty MacBook Pro-- and walk down the street to the hip little coffee shop, Red White & Brew. I would get a coffee, sit at a little table, edit some audio for my podcast, and do some blogging. I would be a total hipster douchebag. I had never sat down in a coffee shop with anything other than a book, and this was very appealing to me . . . to wear my headphones in public, snip some things, amplify some things, normalize the audio, upload it to Soundcloud and write a little post about it. All while drinking coffee in a cool little place, watching people in swimsuits making their way to the beach. Perhaps someone would ask me a question, and I would take off my headphones and say, "What was that? Sorry . . . I was just editing some audio for my podcast. On my MacBook Pro. You wouldn't believe how old it is, but it gets the job done. Never gets a virus." The person would think to themselves: what a hipster douchebag. And I would think to myself: mission accomplished.

But Red White & Brew provided none of this. They didn't have wifi, they didn't have comfortable little tables, and they didn't have AC . . . or I couldn't feel it. It's actually cooler in this breezy bedroom, though I'm not particularly comfortable, lying on the bed with my MacBook Pro perched on my lap. And my mom just asked me something about throwing wet bathing suits in the laundry. You can't be a hipster douchebag when your mom is asking you shit like that.

So that was my big chance to be a hipster douchebag, and I blew it, but my kids are going to 4H camp in a couple of weeks and there's a hip little coffee shop in Highland Park and I'm going to try again. I will keep you guys posted on my progress and maybe I can even take a "selfie." Meanwhile, my mom just walked into the room and plopped a bunch of my kid's bathing suits on the bed and sang "laundry service." Not very hip at all.

Episode 5 of The Test is called "Everyone Fails" because I fail, Cunningham fails, and even Stacey fails . . . and she made the test. So give it your best shot, listen up for a new character, and tell us how you did. Good luck . . . you're going to need it.

Public Service Announcement

Today is National Hot Dog Day. As a service to our readership, and the public at large, here's a piece that tells you where to find free/cheap dogs all across this fine nation.

And here's a picture of a Ben's Chili Bowl halfsmoke, my favorite hot dog in all the world.

The Teej and BaconBaking vote for...

So What'd We Miss?

As hard as it is for me to believe, it appears that the world kept spinning while I spent eight glorious, responsibility-free days paddling down a river and then downing a canoe full of Red Stripe and PBR. At the time of this writing, I'm going on 206 hours since I last combed my hair, shaved, or checked email.

But while I was incommunicado and then inebriato, things happened. Vitally important things, mundane things, really stupid things. Here's a rundown:

Our old friend the Large Hadron Collider helped scientists prove the existence of the pentaquark, using maths. The subatomic particle had long been theoretically assumed, but only now confirmed. Noteworthy to those of us who know the Collider's dark secrets: pentaquark sounds more than a little satanic. This seems important.

Mere days after zman called Tesla's Insane Mode to our attention, company founder Elon Musk went one better. "No one was asking for ludicrous model because it's too ludicrous," said Musk in a call with reporters and stock analysts. Zman called it plaid in a message to me. Whatever you call it, the newest Tesla Model S can get to 155 mph 20% faster than any previous version, and goes 0 to 60 in 2.8 seconds. Stupid.

I'm sad to say that new music doesn't come out on Tuesdays any longer. With the overwhelming majority of music purchased digitally, and music's increasingly global marketing, the industry has decided to release new albums on Fridays. As the story in the link above notes, this sucks for record stores (if such thing still exist), but it's generally supported by consumers. Kinda bums younger me out a little, though.  

A U.S.-led coalition of nations reached a nuclear deal with Iran that seems way too complex for me to really understand. The people I generally agree with seem to support it, and the people I generally think are reactionary assholes with no ideas other than bombing our enemies back to the stone ages seem to really hate it, so I guess my initial take is that it's a good thing. One of my normal barometers for complex policy issues, James Fallows, is optimistic, as are contributors to the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists. That's good enough for me, because in truth, like 98% of Americans, I have no idea. That won't stop 98% of Americans from having an opinion.

Our man Marcus dropped 21 on the Heat in NBA Summer League play. Heat check, indeed.

Finally, and probably most importantly, NEW SEUSS! The good doctor's wife found a manuscript he'd written in the late 50s or early 60s while cleaning his office after he passed in 1991. It finally made its way to print. What Pet Should I Get is available in stores in 7/28, but hit the review circuit while we were away. Talk about burying the lede.

Cauc Hop Revisited

It's been just over six years since G:TB's 1st Annual Caucasian Hip-Hop Artist Invitational. Perhaps unsurprisingly we never revisited this topic, and I'm too lazy to do so fully. But I posit that there are two artists who deserve to be seeded in the top half of the draw: Action Bronson and El-P.

Action Bronson continues to come up large. He's at the point where he even dominates his cameo appearances. He merely gets a "featuring" credit on "Driving Gloves," a new track from Gangrene (i.e., the Alchemist and Oh No) but it's pretty clear he's the star of the show.



If you made it to the end of that video you saw the reference to Meow the Jewels, a Run the Jewels spinoff project in which El-P remixed RTJ2 using only cat sounds. We've mentioned this lunacy here before and I wasn't sure if it was a joke or not. It appears to be real, based on the following from SoundCloud.



I'm not much of a prognosticator, but if these guys couldn't pull off at least 7 or 8 seeds then the legitimacy of the Cauc Hop undertaking has to be called into question.

Urbont Live!

I don't have an update on Jack Urbont's appeal, but I do have an update on Urbont himself. In the video below he performs each of his Marvel songs with a brief preface explaining the back story.



I love how he cannily notes that he wrote these songs on spec (as opposed to works for hire). His interpretation of the Iron Man song (starting around 1:55) is a bit jazzier than the version from the show. He seems like a nice guy, but clearly he's nothing to fuck with.

The Test Episode 4: Take It and Get All Sweaty

This is my favorite episode of The Test so far. There's yelling and lying, gender issues, sweat, anxiety and judgement, and it's all generated by a few questions about numbers (that's right, we revisit "number sense" again, simply because it drove Stacey and Cunningham so batshit crazy last time).

If you're not able to make it to OBFT XXII, this is the next best thing; so sit back, play at home, and see if you perspire as much as Stacey. Good luck, no googling!

Gheorghe Guestie: Guatemala Giving

Two years ago my sister and I had the opportunity to visit the beautiful country of Guatemala. We hiked, swam, and shopped. It was an amazing adventure that I will never forget. We were inspired to travel there because one of my good friends from grad school had moved there, in part, to save the world. I’m posting this on GTB, to ask for your lunch funds, or if you are feeling flush on pay day, your happy hour funds to help the NGO she is working with.

While there is beauty in the country there is also extreme poverty. Much more so than I have seen in other parts of the world. My friend Andrea’s NGO is trying to help through education. Her story is below:

For the past 4 years I have been volunteering for an NGO in Guatemala. In late January, I became part of their team.
CasaSito is a small, but powerful NGO which provides support to Guatemalan youth so they can attain an education through a financial scholarship, psycho-social support, extra-curricular and pedagogical activities, and art. Our programs respond to the social, educational, and cultural context that our youth face.
Paulino is one example of the excellent work CasaSito does. He came from humble beginnings and without hope for a future other than cyclical poverty. Paulino began to receive a scholarship in 2009 and now he is a university student earning an auditing degree and working in his profession at a local NGO. He is providing a pathway for a better future for himself, his family, and community as a whole.
We have an opportunity to raise significant funds on July 15 for kids like Paulino. Today, July 15th, the organization Global Giving will match your donation by 30%. For example, with $100 donation, GG and an additional $30.
Regardless of the donation size, your collaboration will have an impact on our youth. 

Please visit www.casasito.org to learn more about our work. And here is the direct donation link: https://www.globalgiving.org/projects/support-8-youth-succeed-in-schooll-and-society/

Happy Bastille Day

Zut alors!  Sacre bleu!  It is Bastille Day 2015.

No, not that Bastille.

Yeah, that one.

Oui.

Bien sûr.  And finally . . .


The closest thing I ever witnessed to the storming of the Bastille was a brutal battle of pelting each other with wok sangria and the fruit contained within it.  Vicious.  I mean, you ever get wok sangria in your eyes???  And then La Tolteca carnage.

Friends . . . let none of us stay confined in life's prison cells, particularly the ones we have created for ourselves.  

The adventure of life is calling, so storm your own Bastille and be free -- like the oppressed French citizens in 1789, and like that time my girlfriend dumped me while I was living on Cape Cod.  She liberated herself from her cell that day, and though I think she lacked a high degree of foresight and really any sort of a sense of humor, 'cause man, if you don't get how funny that whole thing with her sorority sister was, you're just aren't trying . . . uh, but it was still her own small Bastille that she stormed.  And man, her small Bastille could get really stormy, one time the guys across the suite thought I had murdered her, but really it was just . . .

Stay free.

Enchanté,

Le Clarence

The Test Episode 3: Zman Gets a Shout-out From Stacey . . .

Here is the third episode of our epistemology podcast: The Test. This time, Young Cunningham delivers the goods; her questions are about TV and technology, two things that she cares profoundly about (i.e. phones and shows).

I should warn you that Stacey and I flail a bit on this one, and you might too . . . though while I am taking the quiz, I claim (typically) that I am "crushing it," as I always think I know all the answers . . . until the teacher hands me a D+.




Anyway, download it and play along at home . . . or in the car, or while you go for a run, or as you pretend to take care of your children. They might even learn something.

Zman gets a shout out around the nine minute mark. More episodes to come . . .

The Duality of Man and Cars

For almost 30 years I've been following cars about as avidly as some of you follow sports. During that time I've seen some really cool cars and some really stupid cars, and I've realized that cars reflect the duality of man.



This duality extends to automotive accessories and features. One of, if not the, stupidest automotive trends ever is at its acme right now: matte black paint. Applying matte black paint to any car makes it look like shit. No cars look better in matte black. The other day I saw a Mercedes CLA45 with matte black paint and black rims in my parking lot. It costs over $50,000 and it's normally a pretty car. The one I saw looks like it has been beaten up and abraded all to hell. Here's the general idea.

Just plain stupid. On the other side of the duality coin, Tesla now equips their S P85D models with a feature called "Insane Mode." It does this (keep the volume down at work):



So if you're looking for a new car, get one that has shiny paint and Insane Mode.

Stream of Gheorgheness

I'd planned to write a post tonight, sat down with my laptop, turned on WODU Studios for a little ORF Rock with Les Coole and Penny Baker as my audio, flipped over to NBA TV for some Marcus Thornton Summer League action, and...completely drew a blank.

But I'm a fighter, a scrapper, David Eckstein with a keyboard and a little more pigment. I'm not giving up that easily. People want me on this blog. They need me on this blog.

And so, for you, I fight on, stream of consciousness style.

I wouldn't fight on if I saw a Tarantula Hawk, though. I'd run screaming from that demon bug. According to invertebrate biologist Ben Hitchens of Texas Parks and Wildlife, “There are some vivid descriptions of people getting stung by these things, and their recommendation—and this was actually in a peer-reviewed journal—was to just lie down and start screaming, because few if any people could maintain verbal and physical coordination after getting stung by one of these things. You’re likely to just run off and hurt yourself. So just lie down and start yelling.”

That same peer reviewed paper, written by Justin Schmidt, inventor of the Schmidt Sting Pain Index (King of Pain being the highest possible value. Think about it.) tells the story of another scientist who managed to trap ten tarantula hawks, and then tried to grab one: “Undeterred after the first sting, he continued, receiving several more stings, until the pain was so great he lost all of them and crawled into a ditch and just bawled his eyes out.”

Oh, and these things procreate by stinging and paralyzing tarantulas, dragging them into a burrow, and then laying an egg on the spider that hatches so the baby wasp can eat the tarantula alive, "focusing on non-essential tissues to keep it alive for as long as possible—perhaps weeks".

Gaaah.

Speaking of Marcus Thornton, as we were, I've now watched a grand total of two NBA Summer League games in my life, on his account. He only got about five minutes in his first action against Utah, but he played significantly more minutes against Philadelphia, as Marcus Smart rested. Thornton was fine, having no trouble getting his shot off against NBA (or at least summer NBA) competition, but nearly every one of his jumpers was short. He handled the ball well at the point, got beat off the dribble a couple of times by T.J. McConnell, had a steal that he converted into a coast to coast layup. He finished with seven points on 2-11 shooting in the C's 76-62 loss, but generally looked like he belonged.

In Summer League, anyway. I'm guessing the C's will send him to the D League or to Europe for some strengthening and seasoning, which is probably the best thing for him at this point.

But a W&M player held his own against a bunch of players with much stronger pedigrees. And I need a Celtics 27 shirsey. Or some Maine Red Claws gear.

Speaking of Maine, I leave Saturday morning for Grand Lake Stream, and my date with the St. Croix River. Right now, the weather forecast calls for highs in the high 70s and lows in the high 50s. Which is nice. Less nice is the 40-60% chance of rain each day of the four-day trip.

There will be no blogging from me, as Grand Lake Stream has a population of 109, and a cell tower population of zero. I will say hello to Yogi and Boo Boo, should I have the opportunity to meet them.

There were a number of incredible, indelible memories from the U.S. Women's National Team's comprehensive throttling of Japan in the Women's World Cup final. Carli Lloyd going all Pele, for one. The diminutive Megan Klingenberg, a girl after my own heart, dominating the left side of the defense. Morgan Brian, the youngest player in the entire tournament, completely controlling the tempo of the match from her holding midfield position. But for my money, this was the best:



Abby Wambach's embrace and kiss of her wife, Sarah Huffman, at the end of a long, emotional (and final) tournament for the greatest scorer in women's soccer history seemed almost a coda to the summer's celebration of legally-sanctioned love. And it was noteworthy for the fact that the Fox Sports cameras lingered on it as if it were no big deal.

Because at the end of the day, it was no big deal.

Love, and the U.S.A., wins.

Department of Self-Evident Statements: Special Report

I trust all members of the G:TB family had a relaxing, munition- and booze-filled long weekend celebrating the birth of our nation. And while I'm quite certain that this august readership doesn't need much in the way of advice on drinking, I do wish we'd posted this particular news item before July 4th's long day's journey into night. Or perhaps more precisely, I wish I'd heeded the simple wisdom offered in a recent Atlantic story.

According to the headline, The Best Way to Day-Drink Is With Low-Alcohol Brews.

Well, I mean, duh.

There's a reason that Red Stripe is the quaff of choice at the annual Outer Banks Fishing Trip (Coming to a North Carolina beach resort town near you in less than two weeks), and it ain't the Jamaican beer's complex flavor. The lager checks in at a manageable 4.7% ABV, far below the potency of your average beer snob's typical tipple. By way of comparison, some of my personal favorites:

Dale's Pale Ale: 6.5% ABV
Ithaca Flower Power IPA: 7.5% (and the cause of my Sunday discomfort)
Firestone Walker Wookey Jack: 8.3%
Stone Arrogant Bastard: 7.2%
Ballast Point Sculpin: 7.0%
Long Trail Limbo IPA: 7.6%

Now, in the relatively recent advent of session IPAs, a beer connoisseur has a choice to make. Founders makes a highly drinkable session ale called All Day IPA that's a manageable 4.74%. The aforementioned Stone just released its Go To IPA, 4.5% ABV with a tasty West Coast flavor. No longer must we sacrifice flavor for volume.

But until those fancy brewhouses sell bombers at Tortugas' Lie, I do believe I'll stick with Red Stripe. Hooray, beer.