A and I hit up our second concert of the summer on Saturday night. Our Jimmy Buffett concert was slightly delayed by an apocalyptic thunderstorm, but fun began once the rain passed. The concert was at Citizen's Bank Park, where the Phillies play ball. Here are a couple pictures for your enjoyment:
This is a small slice of the parking lots, and the partying therein. We had an hour to kill before the show and cruised around and made some friends:
The revelry above creates long lines for the bathrooms, as seen over the shoulder of the (two) lovely parrotheads below:
We had an additional treat, as G. Love and Special Sauce were the opening act. Good times all around, in the words of Jimmy Buffett:
Stay in touch with my insanity really is the only way Its a jungle out there kiddies Have a very fruitful day
I have a fun opportunity to go with a friend to see the Phillies game tonight. The only bummer is that they Phils are playing the Red Sox. Aside from the silliness of interleague play, I am also a bit bummed that I'll have to put up with a bunch of frauds known as "Red Sox Nation."
These folks claim that they have been life-long Sox fans, even though neither they, nor any of their relatives, have ever set foot in New England. They know nothing about pre-1986 Red Sox history - if that. Additionally, I feel they take away from the true tortured Sox fans (like my friends Kevin and Rob) who walk around still shaking their head in disbelief about what happened in 2004 - let alone the numerous other championships that have come to Boston.
The video below is of one of the classic Red Sox of all time. This guy is even crazier than he appears in the video, and he is funny. I'm currently reading his book. He broke his shoulder in a fight with Graig Nettles of the Yankees (another fact for those fraud sox fans: the Sox/Yankees rivalry has been around much longer than 5 years).
Lastly: if you think these are just the jealous, "hater" rantings of a bitter Philadelphia sports fan, there is a slight chance you may be correct...
It's been a while. We've been off having a great week with friends at the beach, and then A and the boys went to TX for a week while I came back home and worked and started regrettable projects on our house. But now we are back at home with our new house guest, named "stifling heat." We've had really hot weather, and our thermostat in our third floor bedroom read 92 degrees yesterday. Our first floor read 88 at 9pm last night. In spite of all this, I still believe that central air is overrated. A, however, has quite an affinity for that beloved 65-75 degree range known as "room temperature."
Lastly, I would like to call attention to a comment in a previous post where an anonymous poster noted that Rocky's defeat of Ivan Drago was significant in ending the Cold War. This is a very good point, so I sent my family off to pay homage to the man who, along with Ronald Wilson Reagan, helped save the world from Communism:
This commentary is a bit over-the-top, but not too far gone:
A lifetime of rooting for teams that always let you down has taught many Philly natives how to lose, itself an important life lesson. Fans have been conditioned for failure. They expect defeat. Compound this trend with the city's historical inferiority complex and you've got something worse than fatalism: It's the perverse sense deep down that we don't even deserve it
We've gone 25 years (100 seasons) since I watched the Sixers win our city's last championship on a little black and white TV in my parent's house. I was seven.
My favorite morning radio guy (Michael Smerconish on 1210am) interviewed a guy today who put together a book of six word memoirs. Here is a short introduction:
Legend has it that Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” Last year, SMITH Magazine re-ignited the recountre by asking our readers for their own six-word memoirs. They sent in short life stories in droves, from the bittersweet (“Cursed with cancer, blessed with friends”) and poignant (“I still make coffee for two”) to the inspirational (“Business school? Bah! Pop music? Hurrah”) and hilarious (“I like big butts, can’t lie”).
So now my brain has a little bit of a challenge to try to come up with a six word personal memoir that doesn't sound like one of those cheesy "always love, always dance, always live" hallmark life mantra statements. Oh, in my opinion no one will ever top the Hemingway story.
A and I (along with my brother and sister in law, J and J) went to see a Switchfoot show last night in Ocean City, NJ:
We were very much on the older side, as the average age of the attendee was about 13.6 years old. That's ok, we're still happy:
I got an ice cream from this place before the show. Oh, by the way, the lonely and dark dude in the picture below is lead singer Jon Foreman buying a large chocolate cone about 20 minutes before they went on stage:
Most folks I've met have never heard of my collegiate alma mater. But not anymore baby, because we are now a pipeline of NFL talent:
Mackenzy Bernadeau OG 6'4" 298 Bentley Pick Analysis:Bernadeau worked out at Boston College's Pro Day and got a great deal of exposure there. He had a decent workout and projects to be a guard. He might be valuable on kickoff and punt return coverage.
To provide perspective, this dude was drafted a full round after the Eagles took a kid from Wheaton College. I will, however, continue to view my alma mater as "The U" of Waltham, MA.
Philly is all geared up for politics. I pass by the National Constitution Center every morning on the way to work, which is the site of tonight's Democratic debate. There were a bunch of news broadcasters out front this morning, along with some cool looking buses parked out back.
Anyway, I am looking forward to this political season being over. Every commercial break during my Phillies and Flyers games has Obama talking to a bunch of Pennsylvania blue-collared workers about how government has let them down. These billboards are on every corner bus stop:
There was a knock at my door on Saturday night, and I answered to see a guy holding a clipboard. His question: "Are you a registered Democrat?" My answer: "No, I am actually registered with the opposition party." His response: "Oh, well good luck with your candidate." I inquired: "Am I the only one?" He quipped: "You moved to the wrong neighborhood."
In my 6+ months of living in Philly, I have often thought how it is a tough town. I thought this as I was standing in the check cashing place waiting to buy bus tokens and listened to two tattooed and scarred men share their stories of when/where they were handed counterfeit bills - fascinating. I thought this when I read about the Saturday city clean-up efforts where one of the volunteers found a dead body as they were cleaning the banks of the river.
But it all became so clear when A and B observed an event in our own backyard:
This truly is a rough town, especially if you are the pigeon that became that hawk/falcon's breakfast....((it's right in the middle of the picture, but well camouflaged against the tree - click on the picture for a larger (and more bloody) image. the pic was taken out our dining room window))
A few thoughts for the arrival of the greatest time of the year:
"I see great things in baseball, It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism, tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set, repair those losses and be a blessing to us."
"In our sundown perambulations of late, through the outer parts of Brooklyn, we have observed several parties of youngsters playing base, a certain game of ball. Let us go forth awhile and get better air in our lungs. Let us leave our closed rooms. The game of ball is glorious."
--Walt Whitman, Died in Camden, NJ and buried a few miles from where I currently sit
For the next six months there will be something in my day that hasn't been there the past six months. In the words of that other great poet, John Fogerty, "We're born again and there's new grass on the field."
I've come across this video clip from "ER" on a couple of different blogs. Initially, it does make a compelling case against the flaky-ness (not to mention intellectual inconsistency) that often comes with a "there are no eternal/lasting consequences for our actions" worldview. The individual who posted it on YouTube labels the clip "ER discovers the flaw of postmodernism." Maybe, or maybe not.
I have not seen the episode, just the two minute clip. However, I do think there is an alternative interpretation. It may actually be an idictment of the old man, and his old way of thinking. The reason I believe this may be the case is that the old guy isn't likable, he isn't nice, he isn't easy to look at, and frankly he's old and dying. And maybe ER is saying that his way of thinking is old, unkind, ugly, and ultimately dying. The woman (who I believe may be the hospital chaplain?) is sharp, pretty, and patient in the face of strong verbal attack.
The message may be in the appearance of the messengers, maybe?
EDIT: Ok, I just watched it a second time after writing the above, and I feel a little less certain of my "alternative interpretation." I was feeling good about it until the word "atonement" was used by the old-timer, and that isn't a word that would get tossed around too freely and without specific intent.
I also have to have a little rant against those who fill out numerous NCAA tourney brackets. I don't want to hear about your "money bracket" and that you picked Davidson to go to the sweet sixteen in your espn.com bracket and on and on.... The tourney is inherently excellent, and doesn't need the additional "excitement" from wannabe "bracketologists."
I'm also sick of hearing the pundits say things like, "there's a possibility that West Virginia could make a final four run, they're that talented. However, they would have to win two tough games to get there, which they may not be able to do." That's a lot of hot air to say nothing definitive.
So after those two rants, "One Shining Moment" and announcers like Gus Johnson and Bill Raftery make college basketball great. Drink in this gem of a call (Raftery at his finest....a "taiwan special"):
Took a quick weekend in Nashville this weekend, to hang with some good, good friends. While killing time on Saturday afternoon, we wandered around the Tennessee state capital building. The three of us came across a statue that looked out over the city. The statue had a plaque on the bottom upon which was inscribed the following:
"The SOUTH is a land that has known sorrows; it is a land that has broken the ashen crust and moistened it with tears; a land scarred and riven by the plowshare of war and billowed with the graves of her dead; but a land of legend, a land of song, a land of hallowed and heroic memories.
"To that land every drop of my blood, every fiber of my being, every pulsation of my heart, is consecrated forever. I was born of her womb; I was nurtured at her breast; and when my last hour shall come, I pray GOD that I may be pillowed upon her bosom and rocked to sleep within her tender and encircling arms."
--Edward Ward Carmack (1858-1908), United States Representative, Tennessee
I'm pretty sure my two friends, both southerners, walked away with misty eyes.
While I don't own the same element of sentiment toward the southland, I did have misty eyes at my lunch this afternoon, which consisted of two bowls of the finest ramen noodles ever created. A favorite treat while I was serving time back in the big country:
A and I went out for a few hours last night to a local open mic night. Our neighbor is trying to get her music career rolling, and she was headlining the open mic night (meaning that she had a pre-set time for her show). She's pretty good, and we enjoyed the opportunity to hang a bit with our neighbors.
I also enjoyed the other acts, although A didn't like them as much. I really enjoyed the "spoken word" act of one dude, who had us all yell "BLOOD ON THE WALL" every time he raised his fist throughout the act. I love this kind of stuff.
However, to wash away the stain of some of the less talented music acts of last night, I am listening to U2's live version of "Bad" - a top ten song of all time, without a doubt.
