Filler to celebrate the Baby Yanks' finally qualifying for the 2022 Men's World Cup. They did it by the slimmest of margins, besting Costa Rica on goal differential after losing to the Ticos in San Jose, 2-0, on Wednesday night. As I said on Twitter, "Not a single complaint about how. Just happy that it is. We goin' Qatar." To which BOFOGTB T.J. Quinn responded, "Great paragraph. Until that last bit. It will never not be idiotic."
I choose to believe he's talking about the shambolic mockery that is FIFA awarding a World Cup in a shamefully corrupt way to a nation with no soccer history.
Bygones.
Here to amuse you, the best moment in recent U.S. soccer history, and a harbinger (hopefully) of things to come:
And here, a touch of the modern, Christian Pulisic's sublime third goal against Panama last week in a game that made yesterday's loss to Costa Rica a blip of a bump of a memory on the way to the World Cup.
Kanye West fancies himself a tough guy. He's coming hard at Pete Davidson for the comedian's relationship with West's ex-wife Kim Kardashian, for example. In the words of Senator Clay Davis, sheeeeeeit. Kanye doesn't know from tough. Check out Taras Topolya, lead singer of the Ukrainian band Antytila:
Unfortunately, the organizers of the charity event scheduled for this evening declined Antytila's offer because they seek to avoid military involvement in the concert. Which is a shame. It's not as if Antytila wants to be wearing helmets and flak jackets at this moment in history. I'm for recognizing their bravery as warrior-poets and taking a side in this conflict.
Instead, we're left to show a couple of their videos in a very pale homage to Topolya and his bandmates.
And buy their music and tickets to their shows when the world shakes off this lunacy.
In which our man at the beach gives Jean-Jacques Rousseau a nickname.
One worrisome aspect of current American society is the gradual ebb of unity and lack of empathy among the citizenry. We can still work up a collective cheer during an Olympiad and a group hug for Ukraine and victims of natural disasters, but for most folks beyond arm’s length – not so much.
Almost two-thirds of Americans (65 percent) think the country is headed in the wrong direction, according to an aggregate of recent polls compiled by RealClear Politics. Only 27 percent think the U.S. is headed in the right direction. The public relations firm Edelman has run an annual “trust barometer” for the past 22 years, surveying tens of thousands of people worldwide. Twenty-six percent said that since the start of the pandemic they’re less trustful of people from other countries, and 22 percent said they’re less trustful of people from other states and regions within their own country. Not asked was how many already were mis-trustful of fer’ners and people outside their circle.
Sixty-four percent said people lack the ability to have constructive and civil debates with others about issues with which they disagree. More than 60 percent think they’re purposely lied to by reporters and the media, government and business leaders. Almost half of respondents said government (48 percent) and media (46 percent) are divisive forces in society. Only 43 percent of respondents expressed trust in American democracy, down five points from last year and 10 points since 2017. Only 40 percent of Americans surveyed think that they and their families will be better off in five years.
Grim as all that sounds, there’s a path forward. It’s not easy, but democracies aren’t potted plants that you can stick in a corner and water now and again. It requires people to hold government and media and business accountable. It means re-establishing trust in our institutions and each other and leaning into our American-ness. Not some tinpot, American Legion, love-it-or-leave-it patriotic litmus test, but a broad, grounded idea such as civil religion – a set of tenets that provides guidelines for being good citizens.
Civil religion, or at least parts of it, dates to ancient Greece and Rome. Enlightenment-era philosopher and Big Brain Jean-Jacques Rousseau coined the phrase and wrote about it at length in his seminal 1762 work, The Social Contract, whose memorable opening is, “Man is born free, and he is everywhere in chains. Those who think themselves masters of others are indeed greater slaves than they.” For him, civil religion was a way to foster sociability and the embrace of public duties by citizens. The more stakeholders, he figured, the healthier the society. It contained religious underpinnings, as well as the idea that a country’s laws would be administered evenly and fairly, with those who lived honorably happy and those who committed evil punished. It condemned religious intolerance.
Former Harvard and Cal-Berkeley sociologist Robert Bellah conceived of a distinctly American version of civil religion in a 1967 essay. He used John F. Kennedy’s inaugural address as the launch for the notion that Americans have a particular set of ideals, symbols, sacraments and rituals that both distinguish and bind us, often rooted in religion and faith. Liberty, equality, justice and opportunity. Documents such as the Constitution and Declaration of Independence. Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and Washington’s first inaugural and more recently, MLK’s “I Have A Dream” speech. The Fourth of July and Memorial Day. Free elections and the orderly transfer of power.
JJ and Bellah were under no illusions that it all couldn’t go sideways, depending on who was in power and how ideas were executed. JJ worried that established religions could undercut citizenship and operate independently of societal good. Bellah acknowledged that the country’s history with slavery and race relations and its treatment of Native Americans don’t exactly jibe with routinely invoking God and believing ourselves a Chosen People. He wrote that, “With respect to America’s role in the world, the dangers of distortion are greater and the built-in safeguards of the tradition weaker.”
(Side note: Apologies that this is more dark and dense than what y’all come for to this here digital tree fort. I mean, if you wanted this kind of stuff, you could go to a poli sci lecture at the local community college or tune in to current affairs public radio at 4 a.m. These are ideas and essays that crossed my path, and I have too much free time. I will try to be a better goofball going forward.)
Which brings us to today. We’re divided along numerous lines: economic, ideological, geographic, educational, age. Division and conflict sell, mostly to society’s detriment. If people believe that their voices aren’t heard and their votes are irrelevant, it preserves a minority, moneyed ruling class. Now, if you want to argue that a sprawling, ethnically diverse, multi-cultural nation of 330 million grounded on liberty and a big, fat middle finger to monarchy and divine rule is beyond a cohesive identity, well, that’s a more than fair point. If I’m being honest, there are days when I’m less than optimistic about how it plays out.
But I believe it’s at least worth the effort. We’re better collectively, flaws and all, than fractured and everybody left to themselves like a clothed version of “Survivor.” Otherwise, we’re no longer a nation and more like a loose collection of tribes spread between two oceans. As JJ wrote in The Social Contract: “As soon as any man says of the affairs of the State: what does it matter to me?, the State may be given up for lost.”
Yoko Ono is fairly well reviled in rock and roll circles. You know this.
She's given way too much blame for splintering the Beatles. That party line has been somewhat discredited by now, but there's still a bit of conventional wisdom therein.
For those that have seen the amazing Get Back documentarathon, you saw evidence that she could add a divisive element with her very presence (sitting there for hours on end silently as the fifth person amid the Fab Four as they work hard to pretend she's not). You also saw that the infighting of those sessions had nothing to do with her (George whining about Paul being a steamroller; Paul being a fucking unbelievable musical genius and not understanding why George just wouldn't get out of his way; John showing up late every day; Ringo saying not a damn word the entire time, presumably because he quit during the prior album's sessions and the others said no problem, Paul can play drums, too).
For those that haven't seen Get Back, carve out eight hours and watch it. It's gorgeous and marvelous.
Yoko Ono showed some guts going along with nutty John on this project / album cover. Gotta give her that.
And that she tolerated John's Lost Weekend, which is more patient than some people would be. For the unfamiliar, Lennon cruised to the west coast and partied with Elton and Harry Nilsson and even Paul and took up with a young lass (May Pang) for 18 months. Called it a "lost weekend." Pretty bold, dude.
And then they reunited and had a kid, Sean Ono Lennon. You might've heard his music. You might not've. It's not great, not terrible. Which makes perfect sense.
John stopped making music for five years while Sean was a tot to dedicate himself to family. Which must've pissed off one particular teenager super damn mightily. I mean, that one's a tough pill. At least he/we got an all-time great song out of that whole drama.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, John and Yoko released the album Double Fantasy in 1980. It's 50% solid. "Just Like Starting Over" is a quintessential comeback song.
So what caused him to dust off the axe and start making music again? Among other things, would you believe it was hearing a rock?
It wasn't a rock! It was a rock lobstaaaaaaaaaaah! No, for real. Hearing "Rock Lobster" influenced John to start recording new tunes. Wait, what? Yeah, because, you know, it felt like modern music had finally caught up with the forward-thinking genius that is Yoko Ono and the stuff they were recording 10 years prior. Um, I guess he was hearing what Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson were doing starting at the 6:00 mark of this fantastic, live, must-watch video from way, way back when. (Fred Schneider. Wow.)
Anyway, that album had some great Lennon-penned (Lenned?) singles, each juxtaposed with some . . . interesting . . . stuff from Yoko Ono. Okay, it's tripe, and I've really tried to avoid saying such things about art forms. Truly, there's only one listenable track among them.
"Kiss Kiss Kiss" is actually a cool little number if you like punk rock, and I do. There's some of The Slits in there, maybe even some Tanya Donelly if you turn it down real low and walk in the other room . . . where "Gepetto" is playing. And in true punk form, it's 2:41 long but much shorter. At the 1:40 mark, and you really need to hear it to believe it, most of the instrumentation stops. All that's left are three things:
A super high-pitched, possibly out of tune, guitar track
The sounds of Yoko Ono feigning (or experiencing) orgasm
Yoko's signature caterwaul, as unwelcome as ever
Punk rock, Yoko. But awful. Like really really bad, like unwashable piss stains on her only decent song. Dammit, guys.
The song up until that point is decent enough that it might actually work in the hands of someone else's pipes, to make metaphor gumbo. But it doesn't seem like that's happened yet.
Anyway, you all know the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day that happened later that year. December 8, to be precise. And I won't go into it. except to say two things.
John Hinckley shot the President of the United State because he wanted to hump Jodie Foster. He's out of the bin and living in Williamsburg, VA "without oversight." Meanwhile, Mark David Chapman is still behind bars outside of Buffalo, has been denied parole 11 times, and will likely die in prison. I'm oversimplifying it (and being flippant about horribly evil deeds), but society has spoken. Politicians have to take their chances out there, but you don't shoot musical royalty.
Frequently beautiful art comes from terrible tragedy. Elton John lost his good buddy in a senseless murder. Out of that misery, he wrote and recorded "Empty Garden," one of my favorite tracks of his. A lovely tribute to his friend. Also, the only Elton song that will ever be played on ORF Rock. (Penny Baker was in the bathroom and I played it without her permission.)
Unsurprisingly to you all, no post about Yoko Ono could possibly be complete without this next one, the Barenaked Ladies tune off their debut Gordon. That album is still a fun listen all the way through, and I first heard it thanks to my good buddy rob who heard it in Canada when he toured the northeast States and a few stops north of the border as the Pi Lambda Phi national rep. He lent it to me in cassette format. (Read: we're old.)
Look how young these cats were.
"I know that when I say this / I may be stepping on pins and needles (ho, ho, whoa) / But I don't like all these people slagging her for breaking up the Beatles / (Don't blame it on Yokey!)"
So there you have it. Oh, Yoko. Maligned, mistreated, and mocked meanly. Did she deserve it?
Well, the reason I write to you today, fair gheorghies, is because while I already knew everything I wrote up until this point, I had never, ever seen / heard the clip below. If you watch nothing else from this post, watch this! Watch from the start, but know that at the 1:55 mark, something truly remarkable happens.
Stay on until exactly one minute later, and watch how the video seems to support that she's singing again, but magically the mic isn't picking up her "sounds"!
Holy shit, that is the worst thing ever. The profaning of a rare moment of Chuck Berry and John Lennon singing a classic tune into the same mic with . . . with . . . with I don't know what the fuck that was. 2 Live Crew were less profane.
The comments on that YouTube track are good chuckles. My favorite: "Imagine being there... witnessing not one, not two, but THREE legends of rock n’ roll!!! 1. John Lennon 2. Chuck Berry 3. The guy who cut Yoko’s mic off."
Welp, now I know. And so do you. In case you ever hear someone saying that Yoko Ono is "misunderstood," "powerful," or even . . . dear God . . . "a genius" . . . well, just send them this URL. It's a dandy. And worth a eye-widening chuckle.
As most of you know, my friends and I spent over a decade's worth of summers scrimmaging a local High School (Melbourne High) Basketball team. I played some AAU for their Head Coach and he liked the idea of grown men (most of which played some level of College Basketball) kicking his team's ass throughout the summer. It toughened them up and, often, humbled them. For us, the chance to get in a good 2 hour run once a week against talented 17-18 year old kids was a great opportunity. The competition was good and there's nothing like pickup games with a group like this school regularly boasted to keep you in shape.
This was/is a very good program. They won more than a handful of District and Conference titles during this span, as well as 4 Final Fours in Florida's largest classification. Not surprisingly, they've sent a bunch of kids off to play in college at various levels. Even a decent number to Division 1. But most of those were places like Winthrop, Rice, etc. They also sent a ton of kids to the local Junior College- Eastern Florida State University (formerly Brevard Community College). Eastern Florida also has a great program. They're regularly ranked in the JUCO top 10 and have made a couple of JUCO Final Fours themselves.
A few years back, Melbourne had one of their best teams in a while. Their PG was a rising senior who'd started on a Final Four team as a sophomore. They also had a big kid (also a rising senior) that was getting some looks. To be honest, I didn't see it. We'd been scrimmaging this kid for two summers and he didn't seem like anything special. That is until that last summer. I can vividly remember him catching a rebound in the air with one hand and emphatically flushing it on one of our big guys. A couple of us looked at each other like "Where the fuck did that come from?". To be clear, the kid always had ability but seemed indifferent and like one of those big guys who plays because, well, he's big. I can also remember the PG openly motherfucking him during scrimmages. As a PG who played with bigs who needed motivation from time to time, it's a great strategy. Get them pissed off at you so they'll play hard to prove a point. But I digress.
Fast forward to the season and Melbourne is kicking the shit out of everyone around here. They cruise to Conference and District titles and (in an upset) the big kid wins Area Player of the Year over his teammate. To be clear, he deserved it but it's not something that anyone saw coming even 6 months prior. Melbourne would advance to Regional Finals to take on Bartow and McDonald's All-American (and current Chicago Bull) Tony Bradley. And what do you know? Melbourne won handily and the big kid outplayed the larger, much more heralded Bradley. Melbourne would eventually lose in the State Finals.
After the season, despite his impressive senior year, no substantial scholarship offers came in so the big kid took a scholarship at Eastern Florida where he'd join his PG. The big kid had a very good freshman season and transferred to North Florida. A step up to be sure but not exactly a basketball powerhouse. Once in Jacksonville he continued his ascent through his two years with the Ospreys. And then he transferred again. To the Big East. If you had told me that he would be a Big East player when he was 17, I would've laughed you out of the gym. But now he was. And he was contributing. Averaging 21 minutes a game and 7 points and 6 boards. And usually, that's where this story would end. But, due to the pandemic all college athletes were granted an extra year of eligibility. So he came back for a 6th year. A 6th year that's undoubtedly been a magical ride. He starts now. Averaging 31 minutes, 11 points and 8 rebounds on 50 FG% and 37% 3pt FG. Oh, and his team won the Big East. And they play tomorrow night in the Sweet 16.
That "big kid" is named Noah Horchler and he's one of the Friars most essential players. Doing a little bit of everything, leading the team in rebounds and knocking timely 3s. So, Gheorghies, root for the Friars tomorrow night and a kid (now a man) who earned every single minute of his basketball journey.
Since nobody posted anything, you're stuck with this. My daughter and her friends found it this weekend while we were in Myrtle Beach for a cheer competition. The first time I heard it, I thought it was the single worst song ever recorded - in fact, the sheer stupidity had me laughing for the rest of the evening. And every time I think about it.
Subsequent listens didn't change my opinion, but they did make me realize something important: this may be the single best encapsulation of Myrtle Beach ever put on wax. And for that, it deserves your attention.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you 'Myrtle Beach', by Sunny Ledfurd. It'll change your life.
"Mike Tyson's cannabis company is releasing an ear-shaped edible called "Mike Bites" almost 25 years after he famously bit off a chunk of Evander Holyfield’s ear."
There may be other sentences more purpose-written to elicit a response from this blog*, but that one's got a lot going for it: the weird and enigmatic Tyson, one of the strangest sporting moments in our lifetimes, the fact that I was 28 when that happened (passage of time, man, damn), edibles (most definitely edibles).
*Bert and Ernie gave Nathan Knight the key to Sesame Street after the W&M hoops coach led the school to its first NCAA Tournament bid, for example.
Here's a surpassingly weird Fox Business hit that starts with a shoutout to the genuinely heroic Klitschko brothers and pivots to convicted rapist/oddly rehabilitated hipster darling and weed entrepreneur Tyson shilling edibles after a tour through Mike's willingness to fight one of the brothers for charity. Read the room, loon-ass Fox host.
Tyson has spoken frequently of how cannabis has helped him deal with anxiety and provided mental clarity. According the Mike, "Cannabis has changed me for good both mentally and physically, and I want to share that gift with others who are also seeking relief." His Tyson 2.0 brand seems to be a serious player in the weed market. And as marketing stunts go, using one of his worst moments to generate interest is a nice bit of jiu-jitsu.
Mike Bites are available in Nevada and California at the moment. They'll be on the market in Massachusetts soon. And I'm hoping that I might have a free second or two in a few weeks when I'm flying in and out of Denver to swing into a local and ask for them by name.
We started a fillery tradition last year celebrating our favorite Irish acts. And who are we to mock tradition? Indeed, who are we to mock filler? I'll get it started, you join in.
Cheers, and welcome back once more to the Notify show, the one where we highlight songs not on Spotify!
After a Neil-based assortment last time, let's go back to the random smorgasbord style that this silly feature was build upon. Here we go!
In the spirit of St. Patty's, here are the Dropkick Murphy's doing my favorite Clash song in their own particular . . . [sigh] [Idiom, sir?] idiom.
I love the part at the start when the singer asks the crowd, "Do you know what this one is?"
My kids loved this one when it came on The Electric Company 13 or 14 years ago. I did, too, in one of those rare occasions when kids' TV meets super cool adult tastes.
Going international, here's the Pizzicato 5, a Japanese pop band from the 80's and 90's. Culture!
Okay, here's a better way to watch it, and why I originally heard it.
So this song isn't on Spotify in any form, but with Not-ify, you get one of the more fantastic scenes from an old classic, The Blues Brothers.
Here's a song that gets wedged out of most places for obvious reasons, but given that it's not a political or cultural statement but simply an incredibly loose version of Albert Camus' absurdist novella "The Stranger," the shunning is a bit off. In any case, it ain't on Spotify.
See you next bat-time on Notify! Who else will appear here?
Hot Ones is a web series hosted by Sean Evans that's part interview show, part torture, part culinary adventure. Evans is joined each week by a guest, and both parties have a conversation while eating wings coated with progressively more fiery hot sauce.
Recently, TV chef Andrew Zimmern joined Evans for an episode that was funny, open, and celebratory. Zimmern comes off as a good dude with a serious appreciation for food. And at the 3:30 mark, he lauds the best french fries in the world, which happen to be purveyed by a colleague and friend of mine.
Two years ago tonight I was sitting in a sparsely-populated hotel bar in Austin, TX. SXSW had been cancelled days prior, but most of the customers I met that week didn't seem all that concerned about the virus that had begun infecting increasing numbers of people around the world. I watched this happen from a barstool:
It is profoundly amazing to me that two years later we may be done with the pandemic, but it's not done with us. And its echoes will be profound.
Most close observers know Wayne Rooney as the protagonist of one of the greatest moments in Major League Soccer history (shown below). I mean, there was some Manchester United and England national team stuff, too, but his stint at DC United really put Wazza on the map.
If the rest of his managerial career is half as exciting as the first full year of it, though, Rooney might find himself in an entirely different pantheon.
Rooney took over as manager of Championship side Derby County on a permanent basis in January 2021, steering the struggling Rams to safety on the last day of the season. The narrow escape from relegation to the third division of English soccer was but a brief respite for the club.
Derby County was penalized twice by the English Football League, stung with a 12-point deduction in September 2021 for entering fiscal administration due to mismanagement and then with a further 9-point deduction in November. The total 21-point penalty left the Rams at the bottom of the Championship table with -3 points. Everything means less than zero, hey. (Elvis is a big Liverpool fan, so he probably doesn't care much about Darby's miseries.)
Despite having limited funds to acquire new players and the prospect of a steep uphill climb, Rooney's Rams have soldiered on. As of this writing, Derby County sit 22nd of 24 Championship sides with 24 points. Their 11 wins and 12 draws in 36 games would be good for 45 points and a solid, safe mid-table standing were it not for the penalties they faced. Were the season to end today, Rooney's boys would be relegated after a valiant but doomed effort.
The season, though, does not end today. Derby County are five points from safety with ten matches to play. Reading are barely clinging to the 21st spot in the table with 29 points. The Royals have only won two of their past 15 league matches, dropping eight points to Derby over that span. Barnsley and Peterborough will have something to say, as well, on 24 and 22 points, respectively.
While much attention will and should be focused on the top of the League Championship table, where Fulham need just 17 points from 11 matches to assure promotion to the Premier League, the relegation scrap at the bottom will be epic.
Should Derby avoid relegation, the club still has to find an owner willing to cover the substantial debts run up by their previous (mis)management, so a happy ending may turn cloudy. But let's hope the sun shines on the Rams, if ever so briefly.
The entire Gheorghie community should support Wayne Rooney and Derby County in their quest. Up the Wazza! Up the Rams!
As always, clearing the cobwebs of ephemera that's mildly interesting for all kinds of reasons.
Heard this band described on SiriusXMU as having a "90s sound". Grunge? Nah. Even better. Momma sounds like prime Belly/Liz Phair/Letters to Cleo with big guitars and pounding drums. I'm all the way in. Get some.
OBX Dave hipped me to an amusing Lord of the Rings tribute from Stephen Colbert and friends that randomly features/roasts Anna Kendrick.
If you didn't watch the end of the Furman/Chattanooga game Mark brought to your attention last night, it's worth catching the highlights. March is cool. If you don't root for William & Mary.
Bomani Jones' new show 'Game Theory' premiers on HBO on Sunday. He discussed it with Shlara's homie Domonique Foxworth on 'The Right Time' podcast on Friday and the typically reserved Jones was hyped for the first episode. Here's the trailer. (And if you don't listen to Foxworth Fridays on 'The Right Time', you're missing out. Two very smart dudes with unique takes on sports, race, and culture informed by different experiences.)
And just 'cause, in anticipation of going to see these guys live with Mark and The Teej:
Welcome back to the Notify show, the one where we highlight songs not on Spotify!
Well, there will nobody out there surprised with this edition's inclusions. Remember when the ugly news of the day was Neil Young vs. Joe Rogan for Spotify's heart? I miss that.
That bickering did make me dig back into Neil's catalog. I'm a sizable fan of that prickly pear, and there are way, way too many of my favorites of his to pick one. (Probably warrants a separate post.) You could do a lot worse than simply rolling yourself a wooler and chilling out on a back porch on a rainy day with the Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere / After the Gold Rush / Harvest trilogy of brilliance.
But for now I'll pick two, one that's Greatest Hits material and one that's less so.
This is probably my favorite Neil Young song.
This one is just loose and a mellow anthem for life and how to live it.
CSNY stuff is no longer on Spotify. Here's a dandy.
Joni Mitchell wrote that last one. She pulled her stuff off Spotify as well.
Yep, Nils did the song for our fratre's dad Jhoon Rhee's Tae Kwon Do Studios that we highlighted in that post, and he did "Bullets Fever." Both were included in a release last year from Lofgren called Bonus Tracks. They were both on Spotify for a hot minute! Now they aren't. Giddyup.
He also recorded a song in the 70's when it sounded like Keith Richards was leaving the Stones. In this early version, guess who is sitting in, singing, and playing piano?
I'm back, mofos. To be more accurate, atrocious fashion is back. I was alerted on the tweet machine to this monstrosity last night. We'll call them Levi's 501 jeans.
Well, we missed Dave's birthday last year . . .but we missed Mardi Gras this year! Poo-yee-yi!
How many of you gheorghies have been to Mardi Gras in New Orleans? I myself hit "Carnival" twice, both in the mid-90's when I wore a much younger man's beads. The Quarter is everything it's hyped to be on such occasions, but Uptown is splendid. Lovely parties and parades. Someday I shall return.
You know who didn't miss the Gras this year? Shorty. New tune out for Fat Tuesday.
I hope Ash Wednesday treated you all well, and that those of you Catholics, Episcopalians, and other faiths that observe Lent are now adhering your commitments to give something up for 40 days and nights.
As for me? Well, I've been kind of lazy about it for a long time, but my folks and my daughters give something up for Lent every year. Some time ago, someone told me that there's as much value in adding something good to your daily repertoire as there is in eliminating something not so good. So... for Lent, I dedicate myself to calling a friend I haven't talked to in a while once a day until Easter.
We'll see if I can remember this. Maybe don't sit by your phones waiting.
Morgan released some videos detailing their new three-wheeler.
The model's website has lots of information and if you want to spend hours trapped in an automotive rabbit hole, they have a bonkers configurator.
There are many ways to spec this car and it's easy to screw it up. Any black, silver, or gray version is incorrect. For example, a murdered out Super 3 is stupid.
Matte battleship gray is better but still wrong.
Either way you can't see all of the car's details. And it's a fucking three-wheeler with no roof or windshield, there's no point in trying to be subtle. I see a few obvious builds.
First is green over biscuit with ivory side blades and matching wheels. They offer at least five different shades of green (six if you count the blue-green "Eden Blue"). I'm going with glossy Almond because it's solid, not metallic. Alligator would be better if it wasn't metallic, but that's life. The side blades are matte Sport Ivory, as are the wheels. I am not a fan of matte paint generally because it often hides the car's lines--my old neighbor had a matte black Audi A7 and it made one of the prettiest cars on the road completely two-dimensional. But the wheels and side blades have no lines, they are completely two dimensional so matte paint will only accentuate them. While I'm at it I'll take "zman" and "zwoman" callsigns on the driver's and passenger's sides respectively, American flags (they don't have that in the configurator so there are Union Jacks in the picture), a tinted flyscreen, Rich Tan interior, Zebrano wood on the dash, extra driving lights with protective cages all around, and because I'm an idiot I'll get body-matching luggage too.
That's a classically British car. The luggage is ridiculous. This is not a car you take on a road trip. It has no top for God's sake. But it looks cool in the picture so I included it.
It would also be correct to make the whole thing Sport Ivory and put a pop of color on the inside, like Cotswold Green. I would go with silver wheels to get some contrast and some WWI flying ace decals for fun.
Austin Powers would go full Union Jack with this thing.
That's Sport Blue with Sport Red blades, cowl, and wheels. Ivory seats with quilted red stitching and the Morgan logo between the seats. The exhaust pipe is white too. The brightwork is silver, the flyscreens are clear, and I only specced two driving lights to give the car less of a spider's face. I added the Union Jack decals to make it as preposterous as possible.
If I were plunking down my hard earned zcash, I would go with glossy Classic Blue and matte White Gold blades and wheels, Tan mariner leather with pleated seats and blue stitching, silver brightwork, a walnut dashboard and a big Momo wood steering wheel. I'd get the big flyscreen just to make it more livable, and a "03" decal on the blades.
Ideally the blades and wheels would be slightly browner and the body would be more of a robin's egg blue. They have an infinitely adjustable "special solid colour" widget but it's too hard to figure out.
With all that said, the previous 3 Wheeler was cooler. The exposed exhaust pipes running down the side were a major burn hazard but boy were they awesome to look at. Having the engine hanging off the front bumper was a goofy idea just from a physics and handling dynamics perspective but it was also very aesthetically pleasing. And the wire wheels were orders of magnitude more beautiful than these dog dishes on the Super 3. The digital dash in the new car isn't heresy but I'm not sure it works with the whole old-timey steampunk vibe they're going for.
It starts at £35,000 and every time you do something in the configurator it adds more to the pricetag. Sport Ivory paint is £595, for example. Any wheels other than silver is another £595. Any interior other than black vinyl and they start at £895. It's insane, especially for a car you can't drive far or often. It has no roof so you can't use it when it might rain (unless you don't mind ruining the interior). The flyscreens are clip-on pieces of plastic so I doubt they provide any serious protection from rocks, insects, or anything else that might fly into your face at 40 MPH. I cannot imagine driving one of these on a real highway--you would be invisible to, and thus likely run over by, an 18-wheeler or a Cadillac Escalade.
Naturally, I registered my interest on the Morgan website and Linda from Morgan Motors of New England already contacted me. I'm pretty sure I'm not stupid enough to buy a Super 3. Pretty sure.
This is a goddamn work of performance art. It's as if Andy Kaufman chose basketball as his milieu rather than professional wrestling. I can't look away.
December 2, 2008: In acknowledgment of our 1,000 G:TB post, the brains behind Gheorghe: The Blog brought you Gheorghemas I. The original. Teej in a "Simspon" jersey. Mustache photos. Breast milk. Videos that no longer work. Pictures of us from 1999. And Dennis!
December 31, 2008: I post the first of what will be a series of eventually redundant Day 12's, all focused around my appreciation for my life and what fills it, leaning heavily on you clowns. Set to my favorite tunes released that year.
It's interesting to look back on that post from 13 years ago and think about all that has changed in my life. Turns out that one of those changed things is not my taste in music. And mired in the morass of the Great Recession, there was a general malaise, but a plea for optimism.
March 25, 2013:I drag my feet on closing out Gmas V until this hideously late date, cuing up the perfect Shel Silverstein poem in the process. My excuse? I got married that January! It's interesting to look back on that post from 9 years ago and think about all that has changed in my life. (Spoiler Alert: that marriage didn't take.) We had come out of the economic doldrums by then (we, not I), but there was a long road ahead. Thank goodness for G:TB.
So here we are at the belated close of Gmas XIV, and I'm feeling much better than I did in either of those eras. As such, there's no reason to depart from the 12 Appreciations (with 2021's Musical Accompaniment) theme for Day 12.
I had the best Christmas in memory, perhaps ever, and certainly the best in nearly 20 years. Some of you may recall my Xmas Eve-Eve post in which I eagerly anticipated the holiday with my college-aged daughters for the first time since they were in elementary school. In retrospect, I put lots of hype and pressure on myself to have make sure it was great.
We crushed it. The holiday was an absolute blast. The Christmas Eve party was tons of fun, well attended by family and friends, and despite a lot of work going into, we had more even revelry than our guests.
The picture of the table doesn't even do the festivities justice, as there was a whole other table full of meatballs in the crock pit, bacon-wrapped scallops, pigs in a blanket with honey mustard/Tabasco ketchup/Chick Fil-A sauce offerings and more.
Christmas Day was beautiful. I overdid it on gifts for them, because of course I did. They were all smiles. And hugs. And gratitude.
And then it was over. But I still feel like I'm basking in the last embers now. Happy to have waited on Day 12 if only to extend this warm feeling just a little longer.
As some of you know, my girls go to the University of South Carolina. Had you asked me five years ago to put odds on where they'd be going, those odds would have been super long on USC. I'd have bet on a Virginia state school, maybe a DC school, maybe College of Charleston or even Rollins College.
Sometimes shit just works out well. I'm knocking on wood here, since I only have a freshman and a sophomore there, but wow, did I get it wrong... and they got it right. They both got 4.0's as first-year students, and when their grades came in during Gheorghemas, they shamed my my undergrad performance. They've made wonderful friends. They love Columbia and the campus, and football
games, and now women's basketball, and just good times. Plus they're together, which has meant more than I even realized it would.
If anyone wants to join me there for a road trip for weekend, saddle up. Last weekend Widespread Panic played there and I was a late scratch (owing in part to needing to save some scratch), but more shows are on the docket. And sports. And southern hospitality and cheap suds. Ask Mark.
Also, if you go, sometimes things like this happen:
Since just before Gmas started, I saw a football game in a large stadium. (Clemson 30, USC 0. Not good. more recently, I saw a concert in a fairly large arena. (Billy Strings. Fantastic.)
So either I'm phenomenally irresponsible or the the world is returning somewhat to semi-normalcy. Or
both, most likely.
Here's hoping there's more of this in our immediate future. Rob and I have tickets to a They Might Be Giants show in DC that was originally scheduled for 2020. (I just realized that they rescheduled it for the third time for March 5, which is not enormously convenient.) I made the tough call to forgo JazzFest this year and instead take my girls and gf and her kids to the City That Never Sleeps in May. That should be a good one.
More to come, but for now, with 2020/21 in the rearview, it's a joy.
Building on that, in December I was invited to a shindig at one of my favorite spots, the local and historic Naro Cinema. I've posted before about times I spent there with Jerry, Fred, and Seth & Scott on the screen in recent years. But many moons ago, I used to hit the Naro every few weeks or so for their Friday Night Late Show at 11:30pm. When I was in high school, the Late Show rotation looked a bit like this:
Rocky Horror Picture Show
The Song Remains the Same
Pink Floyd: The Wall
Stop Making Sense
They'd mix a few others in on occasion, but that was usually it. And our gang of friends was good for being there for the latter two a few times a year each. I still remember getting busted trying to walk in with a jean jacket full of wine coolers at age 16. (They only took half of them... score!) The Wall still gets under my skin after some papal ballots, especially the scene where the orphaned kid (Roger Waters as a lad, presumably) gets rejected trying to hold another mom's hand on the playground. Yeesh.
And Stop Making Sense. So good. My buddy Dave yakked in the downstairs bathroom where I currently reside when we were sophomores post-SMS. Ruined a nice hand towel. But it was still great fun.
Anyway, they only play Rocky Horror at the late show these days, sad to say, but smack in the middle of Gmas, a good friend rented out the Naro and aired Stop Making Sense. I bought O'Connor beers instead of smuggling Bartles and Jaymes. We drank and danced and watched one of the great rock films of all time. Total blast. Let's do shit like that again, please!
You know what else came back during this time? ORF Rock! Our little college radio show peaked some years back, and the past few years have presented a series of hurdles that have precluded us from getting into the studio at WODU. For a little while, my co-host Penny Baker and I definitely considered ORF Rock to be a thing of the past.
Fear not, faithful fans. We have returned at long last to dominate the internet airwaves for one hour a week with 14 or so rock songs typically not getting radioplay and some goofy banter. Oh, and some music trivia and theme contests. We're now on the air on Tuesdays at 7:00pm. Tune in if you're otherwise unoccupied. We usually kick it off with the ORF Rock theme song:
And sometimes one thing leads to another, and worlds collide. We're friends with a "real" radio DJ with an even goofier DJ name than Les Coole. "Woo Woo" has been one-half of the morning tandem on local 94.9 The Point for many years. And on 2/22/22, a mash-up for the ages happened.
Okay, so it was a lot cooler for us than for her and her co-host Mike. They humored us for 30 minutes of storytelling, silly banter, and talk about music. It was a lot of fun, and they promised to do it again soon.
In high school I was an intern for the on-air guy at the local public radio station, WHRO. In college, once or twice Dave and I sat in with our buddies Ethan and Dan at WCWM. (I mean they played Random Idiots, for Pete's sake.) I've been interviewed for work on Norfolk State's radio station and a couple of others around the way. But this was different, a half-hour out of their show dedicated to our little radio show -- and some shameless plugs for Les Coole and the Cukes. Loved it.
In December, the aforementioned one of the several G:TB house bands, Les Coole and The Cukes, released our ninth single. This one continues the "beauty of modern technology" phenomenon. The bass track came from a buddy I grew up with, and the guitar work that serves as the basis of the song came from the man who serves as the inspiration of the lyrics, our William and Mary crony "Mayday" Malone, aka Mr. Misanthrope Haiku. Even though I saw neither of them in person in 2021. Pro Tools, Dropbox, etc.
Here's some more egregious self-promotion... Mayday.
Also to be filed under "Crawling Out of COVID," I went to see a feature film in a movie theater for the first time since... well, I honestly cannot remember. I'm reasonably sure that, apart from seeing a few documentaries at the Naro, I haven't seen a movie in the theater since The Hangover in 2009. That's saying something, right?
I saw Spider-Man: No Way Home. Neither a graphic novel geek nor an art house goon who eschews superhero films, I highly enjoyed it. And the way they intertwined old Spider-Men? Well, I'm a sucker for that. I half-expected to see the version of Spidey that I watched the most eagerly in my life... the one seen below. (Name the future star at 1:26.)
Day 3 of this Gmas featured the much-heralded Zman bestowing upon us another round of what has become a recurring feature. (BTW, Z has done a really nice job of keeping multiple such features actually recurring, when this blog previously had a long history of launching recurring features destined never to recur.) The one I refer to was the gift suggestions for Mother's Day, Father's Day, and Christmas/Gheorghemas gifts.
I, for one, listen to Z. For Gheorghemas:
I went in on a Peloton bike with the gf. It's at my house, since she'll travel to work out and I won't. I've hit a slowdown of late, but I'll get it back.
I also bought her some Glerup slippers. She digs 'em. (She also digs her Ember mug.)
I got both of my parents out of the dark ages and into Spotify subscriptions. Right before Neil Young and Co. made that seems less cool. (Not Les Coole.)
The Bonobos weren't available in my size, Maybe next time!
Speaking of whom, if I'm reviewing the appreciations I had during Gheorghemas, the love of a good woman is up there. It was just three years ago that I described my romantic state of affairs in a not-so-appealing way during Gheorghemas XI. Anyway, another flurry of wonderfully thoughtful gifts came my way courtesy of mi inamorata. (She tried, but both the Bonobos and the '69 Butternut Yellow convertible Impala weren't available.) Among other great presents was a chunklet-style (also called Chick Fil-A or Sonic style) ice maker for my kitchen. It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend you picking one up.
We also made a formidable team (along with the young folk) for the banner Xmas Eve party... and then she treated us to an oceanfront hotel suite for NYE. Beyond the generosity, there's an element of being about the most decent person anyone's ever been to me, so I got that going for me. And I appreciate the hell out of it.
I can't thank the Gheorghe team enough for giving me Day 12 every year... and then letting me drag my feet and abuse the privilege. Feel free any time to allocate it differently next go-'round.
But in the meantime I have sincerely appreciated the honor. Cheers, friends.
Normally, I would close with the appreciation above. But some things are special.
We already spent some Gmas time memorializing our friend, both here and in Williamsburg. And when we did the latter... well, there's nothing quite like the visual. All I will say is that we dusted off a couple of our tried and true moshables from the late 1980's and early 1990's to appropriately usher our man Johnny into the great beyond.
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