Sunday, February 28, 2021

Good zNews

Thanks to my genetic and professional predisposition for high blood pressure, I got my second covid vaccination on Friday night.  There were a ton of people at my county's vaccination center but the National Guard moved us along like clockwork, it took maybe 15-20 minutes from check-in through dosage and then a 15 minute observation period to make sure I didn't have an allergic reaction.  I woke up on Saturday with a sore arm but no other ill effect.  This surprised me because based on what I've read and seen, I expected the next day to go like this:


For clarity, I would be Arnold Schwarzenegger in this scenario and zwoman would be Sandahl Bergman.  TR would be the wizard.

But now I'm like this:


I'm still wearing masks, distancing, washing my hands, etc. but it feels good to be vaccinated.

I might feel good because I've also started taking better care of myself.  I haven't had a drink since Christmas and I've exercised all but two days since January 1.  As a result I've lost at least five pounds, I get decent sleep, and I have fewer aches and pains.  Thanks to my employer's wellness benefit plan I have a bicycle for the first time in about 30 years and I look forward to riding around with zson as the weather get better.

zmom is slated for her first dose on Thursday and zstepfather on Monday.  So there's good znews all around.  Saying this in pixels practically guarantees a meteor strike or some other calamity, but I'll enjoy the positivity for now.

***DAY 2 UPDATE***

I'm still like this:



Friday, February 26, 2021

Happy Friday! Feliz Viernes!

Sometimes in life, something just drops in your lap, in a matter of sorts, and you are better off for it. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you David Lee Roth singing Yankee Rose. In Spanish. It is mesmerizing. His enunciation, his "I studied Spanish for two years" grasp of the language, the way he changes his inflection at certain points, the literal translation of the lyrics. 

Que magnifico es esto. You're welcome, fockers.


Thursday, February 25, 2021

Three People Who Have Never Been in My Kitchen

Speaking of streaming media, as we have been in this space over the past few days, I usually fill downtimes in my day with the live feed from KCMP - The Current - from Minnesota Public Radio. This morning, a song stopped me cold because it featured a voice I hadn't heard in some time.

My friends, did you know that Barry Gibb (yes, that Barry Gibb) recently released a new record? And that the record in question, Greenfields, is a country and western joint? That features Brandi Carlile and Jason Isbell, among others?

I did not, until Gibb's duet with Carlile, entitled Run to Me, came across my airwaves. It's a cover of a 1972 Bee Gees tune, and it's pretty great.


Gibb and Isbell team up on Words of a Fool, which Gibb wrote and recorded in 1986 for a solo album that was never released. If you didn't know Gibb was new to country music, you'd be hard-pressed to guess it.


Barry Gibb, closet country star. Who knew?

Wednesday, February 24, 2021

Coming Soon to a Streaming Device Near You

More documentaries on the horizon for your viewing pleasure. Sport, music, literature. Something for just about everyone.



And, because some people didn't bring a trailer, as it were, there's just a pic and a summary.


 “Summer Of Soul (Or, When The Revolution Could Not Be Televised)”
In 1969, during the same summer as Woodstock, a different music festival took place 100 miles away. More than 300,000 people attended the summer concert series known as the Harlem Cultural Festival. It was filmed, but after that summer, the footage sat in a basement for 50 years. It has never been seen – until now. Summer Of Soul incorporates interviews with performances by B.B. King, Stevie Wonder, Mahalia Jackson and Mavis Staples, Hugh Masekela, Mongo Santamaria, Nina Simone, and Sly and the Family Stone, among many others.

Enjoy.  And review them here.


Monday, February 22, 2021

Referee for the Referendum

The College of William and Mary is a smart person's kind of school. Some millennials and Gen Z people would say it's Nerd U, but it's a place where the super-serious student can comfortably excel in a milieu dedicated almost exclusively to erudition unencumbered by social distraction. Of my peeps, the William and Mary people fit neatly among the subcategory of "my smartest friends." My 2.0 GPA and I sit in the back of this class, slightly embarrassed to be here and hoping no one calls on us.

But I love the higher-minded discussions among these smarties. Gheorghe: The Blog is the perfect amalgam cake of keen cleverness and intellectual point-making iced with a heavy coating of whimsical merry-making.  

The W and M student body now informs me that via a referendum open to all students, a majority agreed that Thomas Jefferson (and buildings or awards named after him) contributes to a hostile environment on campus. 

The fine print was that the question was worded:

The following quote is by an alumnus who is prominently represented on campus: “A black after hard labor through the day, will be induced by the slightest amusements to sit up till midnight, or later, though knowing he must be out with the first dawn of the morning…In general, their existence appears to participate more of sensation than reflection… I advance it therefore as a suspicion only, that the blacks, whether originally a distinct race, or made distinct by time and circumstances, are inferior to the whites in the endowments both of body and mind…This unfortunate difference of color, and perhaps of faculty, is a powerful obstacle to the emancipation of these people...When freed, he is to be removed beyond the reach of mixture.”
Do you think the person who wrote the above quote contributes to a hostile environment for Black, Indigenous, and People of Color on campus?
2,584 students responded, including me.  56% responded Yes, 15% Probably, 8% Undecided, 7% Probably Not, 14% No.

The Student Assembly President sent a letter to the Board of Visitors on the subject. It includes: 

The author of the anonymous quote was Thomas Jefferson. Though we hold respect for our Founders, the extremity of the quote highlights a clear disconnect between his glorification and his beliefs. Currently, many Founders are honored by being the names of the top awards that we give to our William and Mary community and distinguished guests. This indicates that they are the best students from William and Mary, which history demonstrates is untrue. While it is important that they are represented, it is also important to consider how BIPOC students may feel receiving an award named in honor of their oppressor.

Not sure how I feel about this methodology. I can't imagine anyone in their right mind responding "No" to this question in the context in which it was provided. Clearly that's the point; once you separate the quote from the man, you can look at it objectively. But separating a quote from a time period and laminating it in 21st century plastic carries some fallacy with it. 

I would never issue blind support for evil deeds with the blanket "They were different times." But acknowledging the limitations of eras gone by and the danger-fraught practice of scrutinizing the only tangible thing we are left with from a person of those times -- attributed quotes and written letters --  as something far more three-dimensional should warrant some serious asterisking.  They were indeed different times, ones in which women were 2nd class citizens in corsets, cockfighting and bull-baiting were de rigueur, electricity was a far-off invention, and philosophies were communicated via quill and ink on parchment delivered via horse-drawn carriage. Glad to be here now and not then.

These days we have the answer key to a lot of questions that have been posed through the ages. If the original Teej missed the mark (and of course he did) on this particular one -- one that, 225 years later now carries the gravity and the scars of innumerable acts of wretchedness that permanently stained our country's history -- but did so as a philosopher in search of answers and with a forestated caveat of "as a suspicion only" . . . well, it seems like something that the true intellectual would at least want to debate in an unemotional forum of bright-minded peers.

Using the results of a blind distaste test like this as evidence of the will of a student body . . . it feels like this College and the brilliant scholars who attend it should use a little more brainpower than that.  At least it does to me.  I'd invite you philosophers to weigh in. 

As for me, I'm still in the back of the class, cutting up and eagerly awaiting when we get back to your regularly scheduled dipshittery.

Sunday, February 21, 2021

All The News That Stinks To Print

In today’s edition of the Dead Horse Beating Chronicles, we bring up the latest discouraging news about news: Tribune Publishing Co. of Chicago, whose properties include its namesake newspaper along with the New York Daily News, Orlando Sentinel, Baltimore Sun and Hartford Courant, will sell to a massive hedge fund with a history of strip-mining newspapers. 

Alden Global Capital is buying Trib properties for $431 million, according to reports. Included in the package is the Newport News (Va.) Daily Press, my old shop for 30 years, and the Virginian-Pilot, located in Whitneyville. My heart aches for former colleagues and friends at both papers, because I know what’s coming. More cuts, more pain, more misery, and further erosion of local reporting, all in the name of short-term profit. Alden already had its nose in the tent, owning 32 percent of Tribune stock. It’s now bought the entire tent. 

I’ve written about Alden previously in this space. The New York-based hedge fund owns some 200 newspapers around the country, among them the Denver Post, San Jose Mercury News and St. Paul Pioneer-Press. Its M.O. is bloodlessly simple: sell buildings and equipment, cut staff, eliminate expenses, boost the bottom line, funnel profits to investors. The glimmer in this otherwise dismal development is that, as part of the deal, the Tribune spun off the Sun and several affiliated Maryland papers and publications and sold them to a Maryland-based mega-businessman and former state legislator, who will run them through a non-profit. 

No telling how it will work out, but it gives the Sun and Annapolis-based Capital Gazette a chance to continue journalism without the constant threat of the Alden butcher’s knife. Looking at the two southeastern Virginia papers, part of me thinks they’ll be spared because there’s nothing left to cut.  Buildings were sold. There are no newsrooms, and everybody pretty much works from home. They’ve had multiple rounds of cuts in recent years, via Tribune largesse. The skeleton staffs are essentially merged. 

But another part of me thinks, it doesn’t matter. Further cuts are coming, regardless. 

NPR reporter David Folkenflik obtained audio of an address from Tribune editor Colin McMahon to the troops in which he said concerns about Alden ownership are valid. McMahon said that Trib papers are making profit margins in the 10-13 percent range, but that Alden aims for 20 percent profits. 

Newspapers are shrinking and disappearing at an alarming rate. Twenty-five percent of the country’s newspapers shuttered between 2005-2020, according to research by Northwestern University visiting professor Penny Abernathy, who has studied journalism for years. More than two-thirds of U.S. counties have no daily paper. In that same period, 36,000 journalism jobs were lost, Abernathy found, leaving many papers shredded and unable to adequately cover their territories. 

There’s still plenty of quality journalism in urban areas and in regional and national outlets, but the effects of cuts and closures are most acute in smaller towns and rural areas, where local reporting is starting to resemble handwriting experts or Pontiac salesmen. 

A former DP colleague who was a victim of the Tribune axe landed a job as a news editor in Greenville, S.C., where the paper is running stories about the loss of newspapers in the state, and diminished accountability for public officials and businesses. Tales are rampant of small-town clerks and officials siphoning off money for personal use, often because no one is watching. 

One particularly outrageous example: in the Los Angeles suburb of Bell, Calif., (pop. 37,000) the town manager increased his own salary from $73,000 per year to $787,000 over a 15-year span. The town police chief was making $457,000 per year, 50 percent more than the police chief of L.A. Residents griped for years about their lavish lifestyles, but the local newspaper had shut down in the 1990s, and Los Angeles newspapers had undergone their own staff cuts and were unable to cover many of the sprawling suburban areas. When Los Angeles County officials finally investigated, they charged eight town officials with embezzling $5.5 million. 

Studies have found that lack of a newspaper diminishes voter turnout and civic engagement, and suggest that local papers also affect municipal spending. Researchers at Notre Dame and Illinois-Chicago found that government officials spent between five and 11 basis points more per issue (about $650,000) in areas without a paper. Their findings indicate that local newspapers hold government accountable, contribute to lower municipal costs and save taxpayers money. 

Nag flogging alert: At a time when an informed citizenry is kind of important, the erosion of local news sources and disappearing newspapers is beyond troubling.

Saturday, February 20, 2021

Yasss Kouign

Rafael Alves is a featherweight MMA fighter. When he weighed in this afternoon in advance of his scheduled bout tomorrow with Patrick Sabatini, he needed to come in at 146 pounds. To paraphrase the great Bob Uecker, he was juuuuust a bit overweight. 11.5 pounds overweight, to be precise. Alves weighed in at 157.5 pounds.

For the record, I would've made weight.

Alves blamed bad salmon for making him ill and compromising his pre-bout routine. I think that's a bunch of nonsense. 

The actual culprit, as it will be when I fail to make my next fight, is kouign amman.

In the town where I live, there's a bakery named Dolce & Ciabatta. Clever, no? My wife loves it. Most weekends, she gets up early and heads there to pick up pastries and a good cuppa. And most weekends, I don't partake.

But two weekends ago, she brought home one of these beauties.

That's a kouign-amman pastry. In the Breton language (local to Brittany, where the pastry was originated), it means "butter cake". It's made by layering impossibly thin layers of crossaint-like pastry and butter and topping the dough with enough sugar to create a shiny, crackling crust of caramel. 

The bites of the outside of the pastry are sweet and crunchy, with the caramelized sugar picking up just enough butter in a rich melange. The inside of the kouign amman is *almost* savory, reversing the sugar/butter mix in favor of the latter. 

The whole experience is enough to make a strong man exclaim with each bite. Me, too. Done well, it's an amazing culinary experience. 

And Dolce & Ciabatta does it well.

Like Rafael Alves, I'll be moving up a weight class soon.

Thursday, February 18, 2021

Forget Oreos, Eat Cool J Cookies

Last week, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame announced the latest batch of nominees. A slew of new picks, only one (1) holdover from the 2020 nominees, and only one selection that has been nominated more than twice.

That selection is LL Cool J. Ladies. Love. Cool. James.

It's time.  Hip-hop has slowly started to be embraced by the whitey whites in white town at the Hall. RandB is still working its way into prominence, and Afrobeat? Well... 

Could this be LL's year? As you know, I'm biased, as he was my vintage in rap music. He couldn't live without his radio, he was bad, he rocked the bells, he took down Moe Dee, and he knocked you out because Mama said to. And then he joined NCIS.

Vote for him on the Fan Vote here. Come on, man.


The 2021 nominees are:

  • Carole King
  • Chaka Khan
  • Devo
  • Dionne Warwick
  • Fela Kuti
  • Foo Fighters
  • Iron Maiden
  • JAY-Z
  • Kate Bush
  • LL Cool J
  • Mary J. Blige
  • New York Dolls
  • Rage Against the Machine
  • The Go-Go’s
  • Tina Turner
  • Todd Rundgren

And here's my annual take:


Fela Kuti, Afrobeat pioneer, is currently leading the Fan Vote!!  That there is interesting.



My wish list has LL, Devo, The Go-Go's, Rage, Chaka Khan, Kate Bush, and maybe Iron Maiden just so (the real) Bruce Dickinson can tell the Hall to sod off. In a cooler way than Johnny Rotten did.

Oh, and for sleeper pick? Todd Rundgren.  You know who also thinks so?


Wednesday, February 17, 2021

Don't Want to Be An American Idiot, Though It Might Be Too Late

On the evening before Billie Joe Armstrong began his 50th year on this spinning planet, a bowtied grifter went on Fox News and claimed to his audience of willingly-led rubes hungry for the red meat of libtard failure that Joe and Jill Biden's marriage was a 44 year-long PR stunt. "It's no more real than climate change," bleated the floppy-haired prep school rich kid, neatly tying a classic wingnut conspiracy theory into this newest batshittery designed to separate idiots from their money and their sanity.

And I thought as I heard the news of the Green Day singer's birthday, how dead fuck on the band's 2004 hit American Idiot remains today. 

Don't wanna be an American idiot/Don't want a nation under the new media/And can you hear the sound of hysteria?/The subliminal mind fuck America.

Only thing they got wrong is that it ain't subliminal at all. The mind fuck is intentional and wide out in the open.

So what's left for a blog to do? Turn it up, man.

Tuesday, February 16, 2021

Apocalypse Now: Fat Tuesday Feeling So Thin

Sometimes something nice comes together out of nowhere.

Last Wednesday

My friend from all the way back Ned (who has lived in New Orleans for 25 years now): 

Just throwing a song idea your way. I remember every other Mardi Gras thinking to myself: everywhere else in America it's just another Tuesday. Well, this year Mardi Gras in New Orleans is pretty much like everywhere else because Mardi Gras is for the most part canceled. I was wondering if you had any inspiration for a song exploring that feeling. I have yet to sit down and write anything but wanted to share the idea with you.

Me:

Hey Ned! That's a terrific idea. I will give it some thought. Great one.

Thursday

Ned:

Awesome. I'll see if I have some music. There's actually a song I've been working on that might work for this. I've got a rough version of the music on Dropbox. It may be too mellow, a Mardi Gras song maybe needs more hopeful pep in it.

Me:

Listening now. Great stuff, dude. Really nice listen. And frankly the loss of Mardi Gras seems to conjure a slow and sad song. This could work... Giving it a few listens and I'll try to come up with some words.

Saturday

Me:

Sending you my take on the lyrics. See what you think. Went back and forth on the chorus. Settled on an allusion to it not being Fat Tuesday.

Ned:

Damn, dude. The right mix of clever and heartstring pulling. Thinking of trying to get this done and released by Tuesday. And also make a video of the song. May be too ambitious. 

Yesterday


Just Another Tuesday
(Ned Henry/Les Coole)

3 rocks there smack / in my Sazerac / is the only float today
4 beads of sweat / from the mignonette / are the only beads in play
Magazine is empty / And there ain’t a soul around
It’s just another Tuesday / And I’m uptown feelin’ down

CHORUS
Lord, it feels so thin
Please bring it back again

Fairly soon / this doubloon / will be back on the shelf
I’m the King / of not one thing / A krewe unto myself
I’m a one-man carnival / and it’s all neutral ground
It’s just another Tuesday / and I’m uptown feeling down

CHORUS

BRIDGE
Ain’t never seen this town this way / it feels so strange
What I took for granted / that’s all gonna change

No parades / no hand grenades / the Quarter’s one-eighth filled
The good times rolled / they’re all on hold / all broke up, my go cup spilled
The Ash comes in tomorrow / with the tolling of the bells
But today’s just another Tuesday / just like everywhere else

CHORUS

Monday, February 15, 2021

Apocalypse Update: Can't Keep Good (Weird) People Down

As Whitney noted last week, New Orleans mayor LaToya Cantrell closed bars for Mardi Gras, which followed the city's decision not to issue permits for the traditional parade. While those actions are particularly striking examples of the traditions the pandemic has altered, the actions of the locals in response have been downright uplifting.

Megan Boudreaux went through the stages of grief after the decisions, but she came out on the other side as a damn genius. Boudreaux announced on Twitter that she was going to decorate her house in lieu of a float, and the brilliant people of New Orleans jumped.

Boudreaux founded Krewe of House Floats to organize maps of houses across the city, and to raise money for the Greater New Orleans Foundation to assist restaurant and hotel workers impacted by the pandemic. Dozens, if not hundreds of residences in the greater metropolitan area are lit up in any number of whimsical themes. Like this one, which celebrates Prince:


Or Mystic Moai and the Escape from Kraken Coven:


How about, It's Mardi Gras Time and We Don't Give a Duck!?:


There are more in this WaPo article on the grassroots effort, which has raised more than $100,000 in the past several weeks. 

People, especially New Orleanians, are sometimes pretty awesome.

Sunday, February 14, 2021

Happy Valentine's/Gheorghe's Day

It's Valentine's Day and Gheorghe's birthday and I can think of few things that better incorporate the spirit of both than Bobby Moynihan's R&B stylings as Panda on "We Bare Bears."


"I want you-oo-oo to be my boo-oo-oo" is the line TR used to pick up Tiara.

Girl be selling sunshine indeed.  I hope the object of your affection agrees to be your Valentine today.

Saturday, February 13, 2021

The Apocalypse Is Nigh

The New Orleans mayor has banned alcohol sales and closed down all the bars there for Mardi Gras as of yesterday.  

I get it. But goddamn it, man. Twilight zone is right.



Friday, February 12, 2021

Turning Deez Nuts and Doz Balls Into Cash

Big news in the world of salty nuts! No, Zman did not run out of talc. Kraft Heinz, the poorly named consumer food conglomerate that is struggling to find ways to increase profit margins, is shuffling its portfolio of unhealthy, affordably-priced foods that will keep Americans in various stages of obesity. The company announced today it is selling its Planters (and others) nuts businesses to Hormel for a whopping $3.35 billion. The line had $1.1 billion in sales in 2020. Deez nuts are valuable, my friends. Hormel can pay up because interest rates are stupid low because Jerome Powell is fine with manipulating interest rates to overheat the economy.

In case you wanted to know, its nuts business includes the Mr. Peanut (RIP) Planters brand, as well as its corn nuts business. Corn nuts kinda suck, right? I mean, they can be salted or flavored to make them more palatable, but when you're eating them, you always know you made a suboptimal decision. It's like eating pretzels. 


So Mr. Peanuts now works for Hormel, best known for Spam. The sale also brings the Planters Cheez Balls line to Hormel. While my keto-living self no longer eats processed foods like these, I was ride or die for Cheez Balls for many years.  I ended more than one drunken night by pouring Cheez Balls into a cereal bowl and eating them with a large spoon. That kept my fingers clean. You know, because I'm classy. 

I am enough of a Cheez Balls fan that I want to buy this shirt, especially now that it is a collector's edition b/c the label says Heinz. I assume the Teej owns one of these. Or two.


This deal sets an attractive comp for Pete Schweddy's Schweddy Balls line. No word on them being bought by Ben and Jerry's, after their limited batch ice cream venture. Happy Friday, gents. 



Wednesday, February 10, 2021

Required Viewing, I'm Deeply Sorry to Say

So my folks both told me I needed to watch the video being shown at Trump's impeachment trial.  I told them I didn't really want to, that it would surely only serve to make my stomach hurt. 

I went to the NPR post, anyway. I watched it.

Please watch all of this at your own risk and away from children, or bosses, or anyone who might try to defend any bit of it whatsoever. But please, if you haven't already, soak in these 13 minutes.


I was in the camp that having Trump out of office and out of my day-to-day mind was good enough. That the impeachment at this point may be some Dems just beating a dead horse, or just overkill.

I'm not in that camp any more.


Kitten Filter For the Win

 I do not suggest doing this in a judicial proceeding.  Not even in Texas.



Tuesday, February 09, 2021

Super Bowl Memory Shuffle

My memory stinks. I was reminded of that by site curator and Randy Newman fan, who asked if I’d ever covered a Super Bowl. I covered one – Super Bowl 20 in New Orleans in Jan. 1986, when the Bears demolished the Patriots.

Rob responded that he still has vivid memories of that game and those teams. Alas, I do not. I recall several things from that week and that game. Mostly, I remember massive anxiety about trying not to mess it up and wondering how the hell to adequately convey what I witnessed.

The only reason I was assigned to go to the Super Bowl was that the boss’s wife was either about to give birth or had just done so (did I mention my memory?). He was the sports section’s primary columnist, and he wouldn’t leave his wife and new son for a week. I had been at the paper all of 16 months, had covered only one season’s worth of college games and exactly one NFL game. I was no more qualified to cover the Super Bowl than to perform dental surgery.

When the boss told me that he intended to send me to New Orleans, I reminded him that I’d covered one
NFL game in my life. His deadpan response: Yeah, but it was a good one. He assured me I’d do fine, and I’d have plenty of help since I was going with our assistant sports editor, who was also the Redskins’ beat writer and had covered the NFL for years. Lean on him, the boss said, and do what he says. Which I did. (Side note: One of the NFL’s great competitive transgressions was that D-lineman William “The Refrigerator” Perry scored a Super Bowl touchdown and Walter Payton did not, in a game in which the Bears could have named the final score.)

I was fortunate that my job was essentially a running draft of history. If I needed to know something, chances are that someone had written about it – perhaps even me – and I didn’t have to rely on memory. I covered lots of coaches and athletes who had darn near photographic recall of games and sequences from weeks and years prior, which was a benefit. Plenty of colleagues have terrific memories, as well, and can rattle off details from games and road trips and conversations that I only vaguely remember. 

I cannot attribute my shoddy memory to age, although that doesn’t help. I doubt I could have told you any more about that Super Bowl 15 years ago than today. I once forgot my mom’s birthday by an entire month. Had the right date; brain-locked on the month. Nowadays, I forget things so frequently that the dog thinks the path out of the house consists of: go to the door, turn around and go back to the kitchen or bedroom, pick up something and put it in my pocket, then leave.

Chuck Swenson is in this photo.
Learned from the best.
It may be that my memory is more disordered than hopeless. There’s plenty of stuff rattling around in my head, far too much of it useless or un-interesting. For example, I vividly remember a William and Mary basketball practice in which Chuck Swenson was so torqued off at his players’ effort and execution that he punted a ball into a corner of William and Mary Hall and stormed off the court, leaving his assistants to finish practice. However, my memories of Super Bowl 20 and Duke-Kentucky in the 1992 NCAA Tournament, a.k.a., The Laettner Game, are spotty, at best.

Anyway, I suggest that as memory fades and memories accumulate we keep tangible reminders of favored people and experiences. Write things down. Snap pictures. Download to safe spaces. Collect keepsakes, if you have room for such things. Years ago, friends had a big wicker bowl in their living room and gradually filled it with mementos: ticket stubs, matchbooks, shot glasses, knick-knacks, stickers, hats, travel brochures, menus, corks from wine bottles. The contents jogged the memory and sometimes made an interesting conversation starter for friends and visitors. My wife and I took two vacation trips to Europe. I kept a notebook each time in which I wrote at least once a day about the stuff we saw and did. They’re a treasure of wonderful times worth revisiting. 

If only I could remember where I stowed them. 

Live image of OBX Dave's brain, memory bank portion


Monday, February 08, 2021

I Think Many of You Already Know This, but Pappyland is Fantastic and You Need to Read It


One benefit of my 35 days of sobriety (which ended Saturday night) was the ability to read every night with a clear head, even if I am now a full-time "readers glasses" guy, a new enough phenomenon to disappoint me and remind me of my own mortality. I have been happy to get back into the reading routine that I followed for the first 40 years of my life, which became more sporadic and less productive after 2-3 scotches over the last 5+ years. 

Around 10 PM each night, I head upstairs, put the electronics down, put my Warby Parkers on, and dig into a book. While I'm not eating books like Dave does, I have been chugging through them in 2021. I recently finished Zucked, written by veteran venture capitalist (and former Facebook investor) Roger McNamee in 2019. It is as timely today as when it came out. It describes how Facebook amplifies negative news and disinformation, allowing it to bounce around echo chambers because negative news holds peoples' attention more than positive news. Zuck and Sheryl Sandberg surely don't like the book, but the message matters. Worth a library rental.

But I'm here to recommend Pappyland. If my scotch-impaired brain serves me correct, a few of you have already promoted Wright Thompson's book in prior comments (Mark? Rob? Both? More?). I ordered it through my town's library, it arrived and I promptly devoured it. It's a simple read. It was ironic to me to read a book about the history of Kentucky bourbon and Pappy Van Winkle while abstaining from alcohol. It made me think about the full bottle of Johnny Walker Blue sitting on my bar more than once. 

The book is about the history of Pappy, but also about the dynamic of kids and their fathers - how kids deal with their father's legacy, how they communicate with their parents and how they pass on their values and legacy on to their children. 

Thank you to you gents who gave the written nudge for me to dive into this fine prose. I learned a lot about bourbon and a little about myself. For you guys and gals that haven't dug into it yet, I highly recommend you do. Wright Thompson is our type of dude. 



Sunday, February 07, 2021

Super Bowl Halftime Show Open Post

According to press reports, The Weeknd is spending millions of his own dollars on the production of his performance at halftime of today's Super Bowl. Color me skeptical, unless "his own" means "his record company or other corporate interest". This little feature from Forbes is a bit more credulous about the topic.

In any event, I don't care all that much. I like The Weeknd's stuff, but that opening paragraph was really only a device to get to the real point of this post, which is the best halftime performance in Super Bowl history. And it ain't really all that close.

By my count, we've mentioned Prince's Super Bowl XLI performance thrice here, but I can't find evidence that we've actually posted video of it. Consider that rectified.

You've probably seen that clip before. Doesn't mean you shouldn't watch it again. You might not, however, have seen video from the pregame press conference. Prince brought his whole band, and they tore the roof of that mutha in front of a bunch of dudes in ill-fitting khakis (sorry, OBX Dave). 


Kinda still can't believe that genius is gone.

Thursday, February 04, 2021

My Boys are Filthy, Filthy Animals

As most of you know, I have two sons. They are boys, so they are gross. They are getting better in some ways (helping with chores), but also getting worse in other ways (puberty-related body odor). 

We did an extensive home renovation almost three years ago. One component was turning our downstairs half-bath into a full bathroom. We have one downstairs bedroom, so converting the bathroom makes sense for folks who want to have a nanny/parent sleep in that bedroom and have their own shower. Unfortunately, we were pressed for space. We were able to get it done, but it required a tight shower space. My wife decided on sliding glass doors into the shower, located right next to our toilet. And that's where the trouble started. Because the glass doors are where the urine splatters land. 

Our sliding glass doors look like Jackson Pollock paintings, if Jackson Pollock painted with pee pee. The pic above shows it. Thankfully for all, it doesn't show up that great in pics. Maybe it would show up better if I put more effort in, but nobody needs that sorta effort on this sorta project. 

Like most of us, I have done the occasional middle-of-the-night pee where you start letting it go, and then hear a sound that sounds totally incorrect because you're peeing against a wall, onto the tile floor, into the garbage can, or some combination thereof. So I'm not preaching from a place of elite urethral acuity. But this is something different. It's like my kids swing their dorks around like sprinklers when they are whizzing. 

This whole scene is bad and embarrassing. I think my boys make splatters every time they go. I bark at them. I make them clean it up with wipes. But I can't keep up with it. It's our only first-floor bathroom, so everybody in the family uses it multiple times a day. We have housecleaners that come every few weeks, and I can't just leave it that long and have them deal with it. In fact, I feel bad about leaving that for them at all, so I give a couple cursory wipes before they come. When I remember. Which is sometimes. 


I wanted to capture the injustice of this issue to make a point to my kids. I took photos, and I took out a tape measure to measure splatter distance. I felt like the forensic investigator from The Staircase. Thankfully for you all, the photos don't capture the grossness of what is an otherwise lovely washroom. But the tape measure provides scale. The pic above shows the closest possible splatter one can leave. It is 10" from the inside edge of the latrine. So that's the CLOSEST a splatter can be. But it gets worse. Much worse. Look at the picture below. I measured the FARTHEST splatter mark. It is a whopping 23.5" from the edge. And to make it worse, it is almost behind where you should stand. It's about 135 degrees off. How does that even happen? 


I don't know what to make of all of this. I'm afraid to check right now, even though the cleaning ladies were here y/day. I'm sure there's grossness there. Sigh.

Wednesday, February 03, 2021

Nobody Appreciates Unsolicited Mathsplaining

I am good at math. I am not good at calculus or trigonometry or any of that hard stuff, so don't ask me to explain why the cosecant is the reciprocal of the sine. I'm good at adding/subtracting/multiplying and the like. I'm the guy who will help with a tip or who will congratulate you on your 44th birthday b/c you are halfway between 18 and 70. 

I am also good at going to Dunkin' Donuts. They are ubiquitous in New Jersey. I like their coffee. I like their app. And I always need a PM coffee fix. We have two in my town, and at least three more in the two towns next to us. I go to one every day for that afternoon fix. Mornings are for home-brew. Afternoons are for DD. 

I go to one particular store most of the time. I know the folks there pretty well. I order via the app, pick up my stuff and thank them. Sometimes, I tip them in the tip jar by the To Go orders. Sometimes, I'll spontaneously buy some munchkins for my kids. I usually only ask for a few. They always give me more. Everybody wins. 

I went to my local DD the other day. DD is a franchise. Franchisees set their own prices. Usually, local prices are on top of each other. Sometimes there is an errant price. And I usually notice. Because math. I got in line to order munchkins. I looked at the menu before ordering and got confused. The munchkin pricing made no sense! An order of ten munchkins was $2.49 (a quarter each). An order of fifty was $10.99 ($0.22 each). But what threw me was the order for 25 munchkins. They were asking $6.99 for that size! That, my friends, is $0.28 each. Makes no sense. 

I stepped to the counter. And then I made the mistake. Instead of holding my tongue, I went and tried to mathsplain the pricing issue to the woman behind the counter. I did it w/ a smile and a tone of jovial banter, trying to minimize the annoyingness. But my mask hid my smile. And my tonal intentions may not have resonated with the Filipino woman working the counter. 

I see this woman 3-4 times a week. We were friendly. Emphasis on were. I prefaced my conversation with "I know you don't set the prices, but it doesn't make sense how..." I even broke it down to the "that order is 25 cents each, that one is 28 each and that one is 22 each" level. 

There's a 50% chance the woman understood the mathematical point I was trying to make. But there was a 100% chance she didn't appreciate it. She gave me a terse look and went about her munchkin business. I took my coffees and my bag of munchkins and headed home. When I got home, I counted my munchkins. There were exactly 20 in the bag. Stone cold move by her. That's what I get for mathsplaining.


Tuesday, February 02, 2021

Bite Me Randy Newman: The Return

Little dudes are having a moment, garnering headlines for their general superiority and swagger. So we're back, baby with our first BMRN since August 2020. This one's a triple-header.

Leading off because he won't be leading off any longer, one of my favorite ballplayers of all-time. Dustin Pedroia won a goddamn American League MVP at 5'9". (Editor's Note: If he's 5'9", then I'm at least 5'7".) He was a world-class shit talker and classic little dude scrapper, but his athleticism and coordination were otherworldly. Pedroia retired today after a precipitous injury-marred decline. All-timer, as he tells you below:


The world's most handsomely compensated athlete, also a diminutive fella. Spanish newspaper El Mundo (which is Spanish for "The Mundo") published a report this week detailing the fact that Lionel Messi, all 5'5" (yeah, okay) of him, signed a contract in 2017 with Barcelona worth a total of $674m over four years. The deal included certain performance bonuses that Messi didn't hit because of the pandemic, but he's still on track to earn a guaranteed $96m in salary, with a signing bonus and loyalty bonus that total over $200m. Not bad work if you're small enough to get it. 

The news of Messi's contract caused a massive kerfuffle in the global game, with both the player and the club threatening to sue over the disclosure, and a bunch of observers saying "holy shit, that's a lot of money, but if anyone's worth it...". In the midst of the maelstrom, Messi did this over the weekend (it's worth watching with your eyes closed the first time in order to get the full Ray Hudson Experience):


And finally, as TR pointed out yesterday, we're long overdue to fete one of the key contributors for the University of Maryland Baltimore County's men's hoops squad. According to no less an authority than Ken Pomeroy, Darnell Rogers is the shortest player in Division I men's basketball since at least 2007. The 5'2" Rogers comes from short-dude hoops royalty. His father Shawnta was the Atlantic 10 Player of the Year in 1999 before embarking on an 11-year pro career in France and Italy. 

The younger Rogers averaged 14 points per game last year before getting injured. He's dropping 8.7 per game this season, adding 1.8 boards and 2.2 assists. In December, he was the game's leading rebounder in the Retrievers' 76-61 win over Delaware, pulling down eight boards while scoring 16 points. And he's fun as hell to watch:


Monday, February 01, 2021

It's Not Alright

Pour some out for Dustin Diamond, dead today from lung cancer at the age of 44.