All over the greater DMV today, giddy, nervous, white-knuckled Washington Capitals fans are dealing with personal maelstroms of conflicting emotions. The long-choking Caps are a mere single victory from clinching the club's first Stanley Cup title, and the city's first major sports championship since 1992. (DC United says hello, several times, but nobody listens to them.)
As someone with a great deal of relevant experience in such matters, I come here to offer advice to Caps fans, many of whom I hold in great esteem. I'm not one of them myself, but in the same way Mets fan Whitney jumped on the Red Sox bandwagon to support me in 2004, I'll be pulling for the team in red this evening.
After Game 3 of the 2004 World Series, with the Red Sox one game away from snapping their legendary losing streak, and from changing forever my relationship with sports, I wrote this*:
"The Red Sox are 1 win from capturing a World Series championship so elusive that 3 generations of Sox fans have never seen one. They find themselves on this precipice because they believe in themselves and each other to the exclusion of all distractions, and I and people like me find ourselves silently mouthing, "Believe" as games draw to a close. Though the karmic cruelty supposed by a Cardinal comeback in this series would be legendary in its devastating impact, we still hold on. "Believe," I tell my family. "Believe," I implore as Pedro Martinez faces a 0-out, 2nd and 3rd situation in the 3rd inning of a 1-run game. "Believe," as Pedro retired the next 14 Cardinals, and then watched Mike Timlin and Keith Foulke shut the door.
It's a new thing for us, this believing. We're all still dipping our toes in it, hoping that it's real. We know the facts, and the stats, and we understand that the Cardinals team, while terrific, really isn't set up well for postseason baseball, especially with so many control pitchers who don't make many batters swing and miss. Pitchers that throw a lot of strikes against these Red Sox tend to get battered - no change in this series thus far. We also understand that the Sox have gotten all the breaks thus far - that the Cardinals, the league's best fundamental team, essentially gift-wrapped Game 3 with 2 colossal base-running errors in the game's first 3 innings. We see the Sox rap 2-out hit after 2-out hit, and belief comes a little easier. We know that the bullpen is rested, that Derek Lowe is confident, that the offense is on fire, and that the Sox players are looser than the intestines of a dysentery patient. (Did he just introduce dysentery into this paragraph? Forget it, he's rolling.) We know all these things, and we're so ready to really, truly believe. And yet, we're Red Sox fans, so the exhale won't truly come until Keith Foulke induces the last Cardinal batter to fly softly to center, until the last out of the last inning of the last game of the World Series is recorded, and the Red Sox have more runs than the Cardinals. And if that happens, well...my God...I can't even imagine."
Honestly, it was even better than I could...even imagine. The Sox' Game 4 victory ranks in the top five most joyous moments of my life. I cried like a baby.
I really hope the many fervent Caps fans get to experience that.
And so my advice to them, like Curtis Armstrong's Miles to Tom Cruise's Joel, is: say fuck it. If you can't say it, you can't do it. Or, more directly, if you grip too hard on your hopes, you won't enjoy the moment. And goddamn is it a moment to savor.
Fuck it, Caps. And Godspeed.
* If you think I used the occasion of the Capitals potentially winning the Stanley Cup to talk about the Red Sox and highlight my own writing, well, you nailed it. Congrats for your grasp of the obvious.
We have two cats. One, named Theo, is a normal cat, aloof around people he doesn't know, generally friendly, but equally skittish. The other, called Sage, is a big galoot of a lunkhead (or whatever the female version is), not very smart, but probably the most people-friendly feline I've ever known.
We're in the process of having our basement finished. This weekend, the painters toiled in our basement to prime the walls.
I came home yesterday from grocery shopping to find Sage waiting at the front door, angling to make a run for it, which is her normal move. I looked down at her, and saw some sort of foreign substance on her head. When I reached down to investigate, I felt a crust on her fur, and realized that it was obviously paint. I grabbed a wet towel and went to work on her, to limited success.
Later that evening, I went to the basement to see the progress. Sage, dutiful dog-like cat that she is, followed me. While I looked at the walls, she climbed a ladder that stood in the corner. A ladder, as it turns out, that still had wet paint on it. She doubled up on the paint-head look, as you can see:
That white spot in the middle of her head? Not fur.
And yes, it appears that we are down to posting filler photos of our pets. It's summer, man.
Predictably, rob sent me a fully-formed layzman's filler submission. Pay attention Dave.
In 1990, a regionally successful band from Tucson, Arizona released its second album. In 1993, that same band toured with Pearl Jam as its opening act. And within two years, it was disbanded, its legacy carried away like desert dust in a heavy wind. But that second album, man, that thing rocked.
I'm talking about Auntie Ramos' Pool Hall by the Sidewinders, a rollicking 50 minutes of grunge-era (but not exactly grunge) alternative rock. This record could've been the soundtrack of any period film about disaffected teenagers set in the desert southwest, guitar-heavy and evocative of its geographic roots.
The album kicks off with its best tune, 'We Don't Do That Anymore', a young grown-up's lament about how it hurts to stay up late these days, a wistful "I've got a job, you pay the rent and what do you know. All that time spent wasting time, has come and gone." 'Sara's Not Sober' follows, turning the opening track on its head, kicking up the guitars a notch and asking a lover to choose booze or her man. 'Get Out of That Town' could fit in on a Godfathers record, another 80/90s alternative throwback. 'If I Can't Have You' changes the calculus on the typical lovelorn tune, 'cause "If I can't have you, I'm gonna find someone new." And 'Came on Like the Sun' is at turns a sweet duet and a drunk's regret story, wrapped in a Tucson sunrise.
I haven't heard this album in nearly 20 years. And I don't own it any more. But I loved it once, it's Western twist on the East Coast alternative guitar bands that were the soundtrack of my 1990s. And now I'm gonna go listen to it again.
In 1926, E.H. Shepard sketched the original map of the Hundred Acre Wood, home to A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh and his friends. Pooh was my main homie for a good part of my young childhood, both in stuffed form and on the page. One of my favorite memories of being a parent is reading Milne's stories to my girls. I love Pooh more than any other fictional character, with the possible exception of Teejay.
So I think it'd be great if we can chip in the $200,000 Sotheby's estimates will take to win the auction. We can display the sketch at G:TBHQ. Which, as I understand it, is my living room. You're all, obviously, welcome to visit it any time you'd like.
The hits keep pouring in. Here's what Whitney had to say:
Peter Gabriel Peter Gabriel (Melt)
Peter Gabriel is a curious fellow. He was the star of the art-house theater show that Genesis was in the early 70’s. Then he saw a Bruce Springsteen show and broke from that act to go solo, as diarized in “Solsbury Hill.” His first four solo albums were all called Peter Gabriel, which he explained as being like issues of the same magazine. Weird, confusing, and a mess to catalog. Thanks, Pete.
His first two albums were interesting but spotty, like G:TB. Experimental sounds and oddities, but drifting into pop/rock more than his Genesis stuff. And then, somewhat out of nowhere, he released his third eponymously titled record in 1980. It’s come to be known as “Melt,” because of the graphic on the cover which features half of his face melting. The picture is interesting; the album is a keeper.
It starts with a creepy song about B&E, with former bandmate Phil Collins drumming out something pretty spooky. There are songs about blacking out, an assassin’s POV, Stephen Biko’s murder, and “a commentary on war and international diplomacy being like children's games.” Titles such as “No Self-Control,” “And Through the Wire,” “Not One of Us,” and “Lead a Normal Life.” His record company thought he was having a mental breakdown and dumped him. PG is an odd bird.
Fortunately, up-and-comer David Geffen’s new company scooped him up. The album is listenable start to finish with nary a dud. He makes the weirdness work, and this is the genesis, if you will, of the sound that gave him the hit “Shock the Monkey” two years later and a big batch of successes on So in 1986. (See John Cusack and the boom box.) Of course, then he released two (lesser) albums in 22 years. Mr. Gabriel is a strange one.
Give this one a listen start to finish, and play it loud and/or on earphones. The studio work is worth some attention. The lyrics are worth catching. The songs are worth multiple listens. I discovered the album while attending a summer program at Bennington College in 1987 and played it on repeat all summer long. (The ratio was 6:1 girls:guys, so a lot of girls got really tired of “Games Without Frontiers as a backdrop.) Anyway, I was seven years late to the party back then. It’s been 38 years now, and still it’s not too late.
Shlara, also known as Gheorghe Muresan's favorite Gheorghie, sent what she deemed a "half-ass entry" in response to my request for layzman's filler, which means that one of you attempted what is at best an eighth-ass entry. But I guess that's what happens when you can only write one sentence a day. Foreshadowing! Anyway, here's a post about an album that Shlara thinks you should listen to.
I like this idea
I don't like doing a lot of work, though.
So you get a half-ass entry from me
Album: The Rip Tide by Beirut
Link #1: cheating with this Tiny Desk concert clip. It features 3 songs, 2 of which are from this album (East Harlem and Santa Fe)
Upside is you get so see the band's endearing nerdiness
Link #2: official video for Riptide (video is weird, song is good)
Why Gheorghies should listen:
It's got a modern 80s throwback feel to it. Angsty and also optimistic. If you like DeVotchKa, you'll like this Beirut album. It was on my regular rotation when I lived in NYC--nice way to tune out and stay zen while you're riding the subway. I think the band is technically labeled as "world folk music" and I'm pretty sure I heard one of their songs on XMU years ago and bought the album. The critics didn't like this album as much as their others, "too mainstream and cute." But that's just the way I like my fringe music: pop-y and cute. Top to bottom, all 9 tunes are good, but if I have to pick one, East Harlem is my fav song on the album.
My sporting cornucopia overfloweth today, at least from a soccer perspective. From the lowest levels of the American game to the pinnacle of European football, it's an embarrassment of riches.
At venerable Wembley Stadium in London, that city's oldest professional club plays for a berth in the Premier League after a handful of years wandering in the Championship. Fulham, which finished third in the Championship standings, narrowly missing out on automatic promotion, take on nouveau poor Aston Villa, the regular season's fourth place club in the final match of the Championship playoffs.
Fulham play an attractive brand of attacking soccer, recording 79 goals in 46 league matches, second only to Championship winners Wolverhampton Wanderers on the campaign. The Cottagers have only lost once since Christmas (though frustratingly, that defeat came in the season's final game, when a victory would've earned an automatic promotion). You'll certainly hear about Ryan Sessegnon in years to come; the 18 year-old winger led Fulham in scoring this season and is destined for Premier League football one way or another. He's already being linked with a transfer to Tottenham Hotspur. But Fulham's got attacking talent all over the pitch, with striker Aleksandar Mitrovic and playmaker Tom Cairney among several Fulham starters with Premier League quality. For those of you who need a bit more in deciding your rooting alignment, Fulham also feature American back Tim Ream, and are owned by mustache legend and Jacksonville Jaguars boss Shahid Khan.
Make this man happy, Fulham
Aston Villa, meanwhile, have John Terry, a villain if there ever was one, slumming it in the second tier and plotting his return to the Premier League, where he'll bang teammates' wives, shiv opposing forwards in goalmouth scrums, and lower the average IQ.
This one kicks off at 11:55 ET, and a Fulham win assures you all high-quality Premier League content in the coming year. I think you all know what to do. Come on you Whites!
In Kiev at 2:45 ET, my daughter's favorite side square off against the white-hatted evil-doers from Madrid in the Champions League final. It shouldn't be terribly hard for neutrals to choose sides in this one.
In the red corner, lovable Liverpool, helmed by German teddy bear and hug-centric manager Jurgen Klopp. The Reds' frantic pressing style and world-class front three pose a problem to every back line they face. They're brilliant on the counter, scoring for fun when they're on their game. Egyptian striker Mo Salah tallied a record-breaking 32 goals in 38 Premier League matches this season, and perhaps more amazingly, turned Liverpool into a pro-Muslim town.
Real Madrid, on the other hand, is anything by lovable. Unless you like despotic arrogance. In the regally self-absorbed Cristiano Ronaldo, Los Blancos boast an all-Universe talent with an even bigger ego. And in nearly every position on the pitch, Madrid features a player probably more talented than his Liverpool counterpart. The Spanish side are two-time defending Champions League titleists, seeking an unprecedented third consecutive victory in European football's most prestigious club event.
Even if I didn't have a familial rooting interest, this wouldn't be a hard choice for me. Liverpool famously never walk alone. Here's hoping they walk back to England with a title.
As much as I care about both of those matches, I don't think I'll have much of an opportunity to view either one. My most important soccer is happening a little bit closer to home (though not exactly around the corner).
Diminutive winger Reilly Russell (11), circa 2013
At 10:30 this morning, the Loudoun Soccer 04G Gray team, which includes diminutive winger Reilly Russell, takes on the SOCA Reddest Stars in the first match of the Colonial Cup in Richmond, VA. The Loudoun squad are undersized but fairly skilled (as much as one could describe the fifth-tier team in its age group in such a way - it's a testament to both the size and depth of our Club that it's an accurate label). They built on a middling Fall campaign to win the first seven matches of the Spring season and clinch first place in Old Dominion Soccer League (ODSL) Division One.
Unless something drastic changes, this weekend's tournament will be the final one of my daughter's competitive soccer career. She likes the game, but she loves cheerleading, and she's decided that she wants to focus on the latter. The process has been a lesson in subverting parental ego, allowing her to make her own choices, even if those choices aren't the ones her father would've selfishly made.
And speaking selfishly (which, frankly, is all we've really done here over the past 13 years), I'll miss being her coach. I first led her team when she was a seven year-old rec mini player, barely able to kick the ball five feet in front of her. I took a couple of years off after she surprised us by making a travel side, but have served as the assistant coach for her teams over the past three years, supporting a trio of dedicated coaches with a ton more knowledge about the game than I possess.
It's not the on-field stuff that I'll miss, though it's an undeniable kick watching your kid score a goal in extra time to send her team to a tournament final, or thread a diagonal pass into a striker's run, or slide tackle and topple a much bigger kid. I won't miss the near-constant battle between a headstrong child and her stubborn father about getting out the door on time for practice or games. Probably won't miss the stony silence in the car that followed those battles, either.
Diminutive winger Reilly Russell (14), left, and her sister Katy (16), circa 2017. Gratuitous family photos.
No, that stuff will be forgotten. But being present while my kid grew from a little girl into a young woman, a vocal on-field leader, a player with above-average instincts (with barely average work rate), and a terrific teammate and friend, that will all stay with me. I love watching my older daughter dance, but I have nothing to offer her in terms of guidance and advice. While my youngest doesn't always want to hear it, I have something to give her when it comes to soccer.
Mostly, though, I'll miss the time spent with her. She'll be a high school freshman next year. After her final travel soccer game on June 3, I'll never again drive her to practice, or schlep 2 ½ hours to Richmond for a tournament. That time, even the part spent in mutually bullheaded disagreement, is magic.
If there are soccer gods, they'll sprinkle some magic on Fulham, and Liverpool, and Loudoun 04G Gray this weekend. And if not, I'll walk away full-hearted nonetheless.
Martin Birzle (as in, fo' shirzle my Birzle) is an award-winning designer and manufacturer of smokers' products. Mr. Birzle owns Roor International BV, which is headquartered in Germany, and he sells his high-quality borosilicate hand-blown jointed-glass water pipes under the Roor trademark.
The Roor mark is the subject of three registrations with the US Patent and Trademark Office. To put it more plainly, Birzle sells fancy glass bongs--so fancy that they have trademarks associated with them. Don't laugh! Roor bongs start at $300 each. Roor sales in the United states alone have been in excess of $5,000,000 for the last three years. That's a lot of green.
I know all of this because Roor and its licensed US distributor, Sream, Inc., sued Arzumanara Corporation in the US District Court for the Southern District of Florida for trademark infringement, asserting that Arzumanara sells knock-off Roor bongs. Fugazis if you will.
It turns out that Arzumanara does business as "Food Zone 619" which, according to Yelp, appears to be a bodega in Homestead, FL (about 15-20 miles outside of Miami). Remarkably, this isn't the first time Sream and Roor took legal action to enforce the Roor marks. It appears that Sream filed 313 complaints (313!?!) in the past two to three years, mostly against what appear to be mom-and-pop food stores or gas stations that sell cheap glass bongs under the counter.
Their complaints are filed almost exclusively in C.D. Cal. (which covers LA), S.D. Fla. (Miami), S.D.N.Y. (Manhattan), E.D.N.Y. (Brooklyn Queens Staten and LI), and E.D. La. (New Orleans). They seem to focus on places where pot is plentiful.
None of this makes a ton of sense to me. How do you walk into federal court and assert trademark protection over a product used to commit a federal crime?
Apparently they don't walk into court too often, instead they settle. And that's likely a great way to make money. Even if they only get $10,000 per settlement, that's over $3 million for 313 cases. Once their attorney takes his contingent fee cut they're left with at least $2 million.
So if you're selling bootleg Roor bongs in the back of your bodega, stop now! Or else Birzle will put a hurtin' on you! I'm looking at you Mark.
As Whitney chronicled the other day, his long, strange trip as President Abraham "Vampire Hunter" Lincoln comes to a close this weekend (hopefully with a whimper and not a bang). It seemed we were in need of some filler (as compelling as TR's what coulda been goth tales are), so I went the Throwback Thursday route and am pasting below Abe at his most Presidential, walking Maple (RIPug) during the weekend he stayed at our unofficial Lincoln bedroom for the big parade.
I found out it was World Goth Day about 30 minutes ago and wanted to share that news, just because. No mention of anything goth-related can go without including this magnificent video. So first off, enjoy this:
When I was in college, I spent summers as a waiter at a very ordinary New Jersey diner. I came across all sorts of characters. Line cooks who couldn't read, illegal aliens working under false identification, fellow college kids who wondered why they didn't instead work at a bar/pub, women with many babies and no husbands, drug dealers, alcoholics and the like. It was a fascinating time in the underbelly of the very lowest end of the service industry.
I had a crush one summer on another waitress. Her name was Sheila and she was a college student who was a year or two older and much more NYC-savvy than me, which exacerbated that age difference, at least to my fragile 19 y/o self-esteem.
Sheila was a goth. Not a full-on character like the folks above, but the kind who shaved the lower half of her hair under her pony tail, wore dark-rimmed glasses before they were "cool," wore bright red lipstick, and spent a couple nights a week in NYC clubs like the Limelight.
Sheila was smart and cool and funny and we would have music debates all the time. She listened to my pleas that she dive into Phish and Widespread Panic, and politely dismissed them. She tried to explain to me the appeal of her goth scene. She invited me up to NYC to go to a club, but after an uneventful rave experience w/ Zman, Shem, Kyle and future dropout Garrett P in VA Beach in '92 (you read that right), I was hesitant.
In the middle of that summer ('94, I think), Sheila came up to me one day at work and told me she made a mix tape for me. This threw me off. Did she like me? It was the kind of thing a girl did when she liked a boy, right? The tape was littered with Christian Death songs. I gave it a shot. It didn't take, but it made my interactions with her all the more awkward, b/c it now seemed like she liked me. And I knew I liked her. And I knew I was driving a beat-up Dodge Caravan and was broke and was not anywhere close to holding my own in the goth/club scene. Conundrum.
At the end of the day (or end of the summer to be precise), nothing happened. I was just an emerging, underage party animal desperately trying to grow out my ROTC-mandated short hair in my 3.5 months home from college. The idea of hanging with her at Limelight to have a crack at a hookup/date was way too far out of my wheelhouse. It's just one of the dozens of "I wonder what would've happened..." memories* I have as I look back on my days as a young buck at the Jersey Shore. I miss you Sheila.
*Paul Simon captured this sentiment pretty well a long time ago:
If you took all the girls I knew when I was single And brought them all together for one night I know they'd never match my sweet imagination Everything looks worse in black and white
If you like Falco's masterstroke "Rock Me Amadeus," and I know you do, then you love the Salieri version, the 8-minute Stretch Armstrong rendition. It features, just after the 1:00 mark, the DJ coming on and giving a Cliffs Notes account of Mozart's life:
1756, Salzburg, January 27, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is born
1761, at the age of five Amadeus begins composing
1773, he writes his first piano concerto
1782, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart marries Constance Weber
1784, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart becomes a Freemason
1791, Mozart composes The Magic Flute
On December 5th of that same year, Mozart dies
1985, Austrian rock singer Falco records "Rock Me Amadeus!"
The late, nearly great Falco was ahead of his time, some say, and his byte-sized summary fits our ADD world more than ever. I'm going to borrow from him as Random Idiots records "I'm Drinkin' with Lincoln," a new tribute song that features a similar timeline.
1809, Kentucky, February 12, Abraham Lincoln is born
1832, at the age of 23, Abe joins the Illinois Militia
1834, he is elected to the Illinois House of Representatives
1842, Abraham Lincoln marries Mary Ann Todd
1847, Lincoln becomes a U.S. Representative
1860, Abraham Lincoln is elected President
1865, April 9, the Civil War ends
On April 14 of that same year, Lincoln dies
2005, American blogger Whitney first appears as Abraham Lincoln on Memorial Day
2015, Whitney is photographed and recorded as Lincoln for a Chrysler Museum exhibit
2018, May 28, Whitney makes his final Abe Lincoln appearance ever
I'm drinkin' with Lincoln!
For the unfamiliar (not sure who that'd be), back when I was living in Arlington, a friend of my folks called me up and said, "Hey, we're starting this new parade in downtown DC, we have a George Washington impersonator, we could use an Abe, and you fit the suit."
From that, a legend was unborn.
That first year I had three days to prepare. They sent me a costume and fake beard. I walked onto the mall blind to what lay ahead of me. I was interviewed by Canadian radio and Russian TV. It was weird, to say the least. I walked down Independence Avenue as our sixteenth president. My mom and my kids (aged 3 and 1) cheered me on.
I said I would do it again if they asked me to, but figured they'd ante up for a real Abe. They never did.
They did pony up for a horse and carriage. And a Mary Todd for a few years. They made me furnish my own suit and hat in the years that followed. And I grew a real beard. So now I show up on the mall at the designated time each year and we roll down Constitution Avenue right by the White House. That's a lie... I show up with 10 minutes to spare and they sweat it each year. Dude, the suit is hot.
Anyway, 14 years later, I'm hanging up my stovepipe and string tie for keeps.
I moved to Norfolk six months after that first appearance. It's no bargain making my way up to the nation's capital on a holiday weekend, often on a boomerang same-day trip. I get to see Rob and Teej and Marls and folks sometimes at Cowboy Cafe, but I can do that another time of year. My girls (now almost 17 and almost 15) couldn't give less of a crap about their dad dressing up like a president and riding down the street. The Abe thing is played.
In truth, it's been a long and fun run. A number of friends have seen me in action. I've had beers as Abe in the Sign of the Whale afterwards, though without the stovepipe it just looks like Jebediah got lost. I've done some fun things in that hat and beard, a number of which will go unblogged. I will miss it a little. But not enough.
Every year the same yuk-yuk Confederate re-enactors make the same stale joke about how we ride about a block from Ford's Theater and that I should watch out. I've got one last ride to not get shot. In this insane political climate, I'll be watching out. Keep your fingers crossed, my people.
And if you happen to be anywhere near the District this Memorial Day, give me a call and maybe the President will by you a cold one. Otherwise, watch for me on TV. Below is last year's broadcast. You can skip to the 28:00 mark...
To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affectionate farewell.
Odds and ends filling up our content bucket like the water from the biblical deluge plaguing the Eastern Seaboard.
For starters, The Virginian Pilot weighs in with the definitive pronunciation of Norfolk, as chronicled by one William S. Forrest in 1853. According to Mr. Forrest, "NORFOLK — correctly pronounced Norfoke — is a Saxon word, compounded of North and folk, and may, with some propriety, be rendered North people." What say ye, Norfolkers?
If it helps you think about it, I've signed us all up for a subscription to Gossamer, a new magazine from a pair of Huffington Post alums focused on the cannabis lifestyle. Now that eight states and the District of Columbia have legalized recreational weed and 21 other states have legalized some form of usage, marijuana is coming out of the shadows and into the light, the glossy, soft-focus, People magazine light. According to co-founder Verena von Pfetten (totally made up name, by the way), the magazine isn't focused on the green per se, rather "...weed is more like the lens through which they approach stories. People who enjoy smoking pot, “kind of want to open their mind and try new things.” [I really need a copy of the AP Style Guide, 'cause I think I kinda butchered the punctuation of that quote. Prolly because I'm high.]
I'm gonna post this unobtrusively, because it may well be wishful thinking, but today I became convinced that Donald Trump is probably going down at Bob Mueller's hands. He might not serve time in prison (though I bet at least one of his idiot sons does), but today's revelations about Saudi Arabia and the UAE offering assistance to the Trump campaign in defeating Hillary Clinton are precise, and damning. Fuck, it's all damning, to be honest. I was right about Trump in the run-up to the election, and I hope I'm right now. And more than that, I hope it's not too late for us to recover.
It's easy to underplay it, because we live so far away, and all we see are photos. But y'all, the earth is literally opening up and spewing liquid fire in Hawaii. Or, said differently, the planet is low-key reconfiguring itself in real time. I've been to a place on the Big Island where lava flows into the ocean. It's among the more spectacular things I've ever seen, even from hundreds of yards away.
The Las Vegas Golden Knights are one game away from reaching the Stanley Cup finals. As an expansion team. If this were the NBA, MLB, or the NFL, this would be the biggest sports story of the past quarter-century. It's amazing, and only slightly less so than the Knights' pregame shows. Vegas, baby.
I attended the Preakness Stakes in 1996, when Louis Quatorze edged Skip Away by 3 1/4 lengths. If you think I pulled that from memory, you may not have ever attended a Preakness. It was, in the parlance of the time, a shitshow. I won $600 on the race, and spent it all that evening at a bar. I met my future in-laws for the very first time at brunch the next morning. I wasn't hungover, thankfully. Because I was still really, really drunk.
The infield at Pimlico on the best of Preakness Saturdays is a drunken bacchanalia. Yesterday, in the midst of the aforementioned deluge, it was as if The Road met Animal House. I can't even imagine what the infield was like.
You Gheorghies, as you're all undoubtedly aware, are among the most magnificent bastards I know. And, man, do I need some good bastards right now, 'cause the motherfuckers, fascists, and heartless bastards running shit in Washington have me down. I started to write a post about it, but it quickly ran to word salad without a point. My thesis, as it were, was a muddled mess. I'll work on it.
As is the case in situations like this throughout my life, I turned today to music.
This one doesn't really fit the theme, but I'm down a rabbit hole, and I love this song.
Chime in with your own bastard-fighting tunes in the comments. Or better yet, append them to the post. It'll be our own little revolution rock.
Challenge accepted, Robbie! Here's one fun one for a shockingly dry Friday here in the NYC area (at least until dark). From your pal TR.
Here's my favorite bastards song. Here they come... From your buddy Whitney.
G:TB superfan Squeaky is a musical connoisseur extraordinaire. I don't know if he has more GB of music than Whitney, but he has a shitload of music. So much so that I requested multiple layzman fillers from him. Here's the first.
Mastersystem
What is Mastersystem? It's a supergroup that TJ and everyone else on G:TB has never heard of before.
They are comprised of members from Frightened Rabbit (a few of you have heard them before) [zcomment: I've heard of them, through Squeaky, natch], Editors (you haven't heard of them) and Minor Victories (not a chance). All their music is indie rock/pop slash whatever the kids are calling it these days.
Mastersystem just released an album April 6, 2018.
The single, “Notes On A Life Not Quite Lived”, is below but you can hear the whole record on the streaming service of your choice at this point.
https://youtu.be/v0boT0OsxCE
The music is more on the dirtier, grungier side of indie rock. It has a little harder edge than most Frightened Rabbit stuff but not punk. But the soul-searching lyrics are still present.
As is wont with album releases, the members of the band get interviewed. Below is one such question and response from Scott Hutchison, lead singer of Frightened Rabbit and Mastersystem.
Speaking with Stereogum about the themes behind the record, Hutchison said,
“I thought it would be interesting to play around with the themes of restlessness and dissatisfaction on this album, both as a counterpoint to the exuberance of the music and as an obvious reference to the angst and tension I heard in the grunge and fuzz of my teenage years. This is not the angst of a teenager, however. This is the anxiety of a man in his mid-30s, and for a lot of this record I found myself wrestling with the ways in which I am not quite doing life right, in spite of appearing to lead a relatively joyful, playful and artistic existence.”
Bold emphasis is mine. But if you spent any time listening to Frightened Rabbit you can always hear about his fight with his own ‘demons’ through his lyrics.
Is this album revolutionary? No. Is it a desert island classic? No idea, but doubtful. Just started listening to it today but after a few passes it’s squarely in my musical wheelhouse.
So why mastersystem, why the bolded emphasis, why this post? Well on May 8 Scott walked away from a Glasgow hotel after tweeting the following tweets.
“Be so good to everyone you love. It’s not a given. I’m so annoyed that it’s not. I didn’t live by that standard and it kills me. Please, hug your loved ones.”
“I’m away now. Thanks.”
As a lot of us know firsthand, depression can bring out the worst thoughts and actions. Let’s hope he is safe but it’s not looking too good right now.
Unfortunately we have more information about Hutchinson now than when Squeaky sent me this. Enjoy what I assume is Hutchinson's last album.
Those of you who were Algebra majors may deduce that one year in this decade was excluded. That year is 1983, our winner.
Readers of our series will remember the many factors put into play to measure each set. Who were the biggest rookies? Was it a good year for baseball? What were the card's aesthetic features? And on and on it goes. At least for winners losers like me.
The 1983 set had two big attributes going for it. First, it had a trio of rookie cards from players who had legendary careers, two of whom essentially* played their whole careers with one team (Boggs, Gwynn, Sandberg). Second, it had a great look to it, with one action photo and one portrait-like photo on the front of each card. And given it was 1983, there was some strong MLB stache action, as seen by both Boggs and Gwynn.
*Sandberg had a cup of coffee with the Phillies in 1981 (6 plate appearances), but was added as a throw-in to the infamous Ivan DeJesus - Larry Bowa trade after that season. Oopsy for the Phillies.
While we're here, let's pay homage to the great Tony Gwynn, who put up some gaudy stats worth repeating here: 3,141 hits, .338 career average, 8 batting titles, 5 seasons with 200 hits, zero seasons with more than 40 Ks. The card below shows us the Oscar Gamble-esque look he sported in the early 80's, and reminds us what he looked like before he got fat.
And last but not least, let's salute Wade Boggs. Not for his opposite-field hitting, but for his prodigious beer drinking. It is the stuff of legend, up there with stories of Andre the Giant's beer drinking. There are lots of stories about it on the internet, which means it's surely true. Read this if you don't believe me.
Jim Comey's pulled off a unique double over the past year, managing to inflame the passions of both the left and right wings of the American body politic. The former Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) spent 90 minutes on Friday talking about that, about his time at the Bureau, and about his fairly optimistic view of the future of the United States in a candid discussion with Ben Wittes of Lawfare.
The conversation, recorded for the Lawfare blog's podcast series, was open to the public, so I took advantage of my proximity and a nice hole in my late-week schedule to attend. Throughout a discussion of complex issues and an overheated time in our political history, I was struck more than anything by Comey's decency, humility, and humanity.
As he recounted the events surrounding his firing, Comey said that the only thing that made him angry was the way he was prohibited from saying goodbye in person to the people with whom he had relationships, like the custodial staff and the ladies in the special records room on the 7th floor of FBI headquarters. He called that aspect of his dismissal especially cruel.
Wittes is an admitted friend of Comey's, and the questioning was kind to the guy who many on the left fervently believe led to Hillary Clinton's loss in November. Comey noted that reasonable people have reason to criticize his decision to go public with the news that the FBI had reopened an investigation into Clinton's handling of emails, but characterized his choice as between an option that "sucked" and an alternative that "really sucked". Not exactly the phrasing I expected from a former FBI Director.
Comey took pains several times to pop his own bubble - he's either a very relatable guy, or a terrific actor. He routinely bought a sandwich in the FBI cafeteria for lunch (a practice far from the norm for past Directors) and asked questions of the people he found himself in line with. On one occasion, he spoke with an enthusiastic young IT technician, who explained how much he loved working for the FBI before asking Comey, "So, what do you do?" When Comey responded, "I'm the Director", the junior staffer asked, "Of what, like a division or something?"
"Dude, I'm the Director of the FBI," replied Comey. His wife enjoyed that story, according to Comey, who was surprisingly funny.
Throughout the session, Comey never mentioned the current President* by name, though he pulled very few punches in describing the damage to norms his administration and a complicit Congressional GOP are doing. He castigated Republicans for the way they've drifted far away from the foundational values that have governed us for centuries, specifically talking about the rule of law, all in the name ephemeral political outcomes. His test is a simple one: What will you tell your grandchildren when they ask what you did to stand up and be counted? In his analysis, too many in the modern GOP will fail that test if they're honest with themselves.
In the end, Comey's an optimist about our country. He described a number of tipping points in our history where Americans rose up to affirm our common values and resist threats to our unique republic. The American people are a sleeping giant, as Comey sees it, and once awoken are capable of righting even great wrongs.
He analogized our current times as a forest fire, capable of doing great damage in the short term, but ultimately regenerative. Comey sees green shoots in the work being done by the press and certain Congressional leaders, as well as the increasingly vocal common people refusing to accept the erosion of certain norms. (For what it's worth, Wittes wondered if a giant meteor of death might be a better descriptor of modern America.)
I found myself understanding the former analogy, wishing it were accurate, and deciding that it might not be. But Jim Comey's seen a lot more than I have, and he's a lot smarter than the average bear, so I'll continue to hope he's correct.
And I'm pretty sure he'll have no problem answering his grandchildren's questions.
There are a number of albums I love that no one else seems to know about. It occurred to me that there are innumerable such albums, albums that are beloved by a only a few people and that deserve more spins. So I decided to shine a light on this stuff that we slept on, while simultaneously harnessing the immense power with which I am clothed via my G:TB platform to crowd-source content. To that end, I surveyed about a dozen of our twelve person readership for hidden musical gems. The resulting layzman's filler will trickle out as needed. First up is TR's response:
Warren Zevon's Excitable Boy turns 40 this year. The song he is most known for (Werewolves in London) is on this album, but it is far from his best song on the album (IMO).
Excitable Boy is a fun rocker with an oldies tilt, but that's not the tune I'm gonna pimp here.
Lawyers, Guns and Money is also on this album. I have loved this song for the last fifteen years, since I first heard Widespread Panic cover it. The lyrics are like something Hunter S. Thompson would write, which is high praise from a guy with a Gonzo tattoo and a son named Hunter. "Now I'm hiding in Honduras. I'm a desperate man. Send lawyers, guns and money. The shit has hit the fan." Giddyup.
The other tune I'm gonna pimp is Night Time in the Switching Yard. I vividly remember when I first heard this. I was driving to Saratoga early on a Friday morning for Sammy the Bull's BP in the mid aughts. I was near Woodstock and found a great classic rock station. This was pre-Sirius, when you had to work to find tunes. This song came and I quickly turned the volume up to 11.
YouTube link is here. You have to embed this video or you won't be my friend any more:
If nothing else, Werewolves, Excitable Boy, Lawyers and Night Time highlight Zevon's tremendous musical range, lyrical prowess and potential as a rock superstar cut from the same cloth as Petty and Springsteen. Ultimately, his numerous personal demons proved to be too much of a limiting factor on his professional success. But he put it all together on one tremendous LP. I own it on vinyl. You should too.
We hired Whitney to innovate, to bring new ideas to the editorial team. Good thing we didn't hire him for volume production.
I digress.
The Six-Pack Filler gambit is an excellent new addition to Gheorghewhorld, one that I'm pleased to embrace.
Chvrches release their newest album, Love is Dead, on May 25. They kick off a world tour on May 19 in Toronto. Eventually, in October, they're coming to Anthem, the new waterfront venue in Washington, DC. I hope to see you there.
Here's 'My Enemy', one of two singles from the new record that have been released to date. You'll recognize the voice of The National's Matt Berninger in this one, which is a bit of a departure from Chvrches' normal sound.
'Get Out' is the other new tune that's in wide release. It's more in keeping with the band's traditional sound.
'The Mother We Share' is the tune that introduced me to the Scottish trio and their foul-mouthed, hypercute lead singer, Lauren Mayberry.
My wife and I took our kids to their very first club show at the House of Blues in Orlando in October 2015. Here's 'Bury It' from that packed venue.
Mayberry has a law degree, which is one more thing that might endear her to certain Gheorghies. I don't think that has much to do with 'We Sink', but I admit that I'm not a legal expert.
The band started covering Prince's 'I Would Die 4 You' early in its touring career, to much acclaim.
The major European leagues are a mere handful of games from wrapping up their seasons, and there's very little drama at the top of the tables. In England, Manchester City ran away with the Premier League title months ago - all that's left is to see how badly they break the league's records for points and goals. Likewise, in Germany and France, Bayern Munich and Paris Saint-Germain lead by more than 20 points, long-since clinched their titles. Juventus leads Napoli by seven points atop Serie A with two to play, though the Neapolitans have a game in hand. But it's over there, too.
In Spain, there's nothing to play for in terms of the championship, as Barcelona coasted to first place in La Liga. But there's still history at stake this evening in Madrid. Barca are unbeaten through 34 of 38 matches, with 26 wins and 8 draws. Tonight, their bitter rivals Real Madrid offer the last realistic chance to take points from Barcelona. Madrid have scuffled through a mediocre season by their standards, lagging in third place behind Atletico Madrid, but they're into the Champions League final against Liverpool, and a win over their hated foe would be a brilliant knife-twist. Fuck Cristiano Ronaldo, though, that preening bastard. Vamos Leo Messi!
While there isn't much to play for at the top of the Premier League table (Chelsea still harbors long-shot hopes of sneaking into a top-four finish and a Champions League berth), there's a bunch of action in the relegation zone. Stoke City became the first team relegated this season after a loss yesterday to Crystal Palace, leaving West Bromwich Albion (31 points), Southampton (33), Swansea (33), Huddersfield Town (35), and West Ham United (38) to scrap to stay out of the bottom three.
Darren Moore walks on water
Five matchweeks ago, West Brom was left for dead, with 20 points through 31 matches and nine consecutive losses. Alan Pardew was sacked after an ignominious and embarrassing stretch in relief of Tony Pulis, himself fired after a poor start to the season. The Baggies elevated former player Darren Moore to the head job on an interim basis, and the team hasn't lost since, beating Manchester United, Newcastle, and Tottenham Hotspur, and drawing Swansea and Liverpool - the latter with two goals in the final 10 minutes of play. Yesterday, needing a win to avoid relegation, West Brom scored in stoppage time to beat Spurs, then watched Everton score in the sixth minute of stoppage time to record a draw against Southampton. A Saints win would've also relegated the Baggies.
West Brom's fate still very much hangs in the balance. They need Southampton and Swansea to draw on Tuesday, then they need both of those sides to lose next weekend. They also need to beat Crystal Palace on the road, and make up a four-goal net differential against Southampton. It's possible, and if they pull it off, it'd be one of the greatest escapes in soccer history. Up the Baggies!
By the time you read this, the matches I really care about today will be well underway. Fulham are on a magical run of form, shaking off early-season somnambulism to rip off 19 consecutive games without a loss. Many observers tip them as the best team in the league. The Cottagers have rocketed from the middle of the League Championship table to third, one point behind Cardiff City. The top two teams in England's second division are automatically promoted to the Premiere League, while the third through sixth-place teams play a mini-tournament to decide the third promotion spot. Needless to say, there's a massive difference between second and third.
Ryan Sessegnon is a golden god
At 7:30 Eastern this morning, Fulham kick off at Birmingham City, while Cardiff host Reading in the final matches of the League Championship regular season. Birmingham sit 20th in the table, not yet out of the woods from a relegation perspective, so the game matters quite a bit to them. Reading are 19th, tied on points with Birmingham, so they've also got something to play for.
Fulham's chances of auto-promotion aren't quite as long as West Brom's odds to stay in the top flight, but they're still on the slim side. But I'm sayin' there's a chance. Come On You Whites!
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