Well, my first full year as a New Yorker is coming to a close. I cannot believe how quickly time has gone by. I can say that this year has been a good one and I have learned an awful lot about myself. Making such a drastic change in your life will do that to a person. There is nothing wrong with a status quo.....but I have never been a status quo type of guy, especially since college. I march to the beat of my own drum and for that, I do not apologize. It has given me experiences that I would not have had I decided to stay put. There have been sacrifices on my part, for certain. Some of those have been less than fun and harder to accept than I anticipated. I guess that is considered "personal growth" by the psychology types. Whatever, I rub dirt on it and move on.
People back home often ask me about New York. How it has changed me. Am I still that same kid who used to pump gas at 1810 Cassville Road with a glass bottle Coke in hand? Am I now a card carrying liberal Democrat? Do I say "you guys" instead of y'all? Do I like hockey now? I think anyone who knew me before and after the move can tell you that I have changed very little in terms of my mindset and how I carry myself. Actually, I am more fiercely proud of my Southern roots than ever. New Yorkers are OK with that, where most people would believe they are not. They cannot imagine growing up in a town with one blinking red light, one store and no mass transit....but they do not hate it or look down on it.
So, what can I say learned this year? Plenty. You never know what you will see when you walk around this town. Every day is like an open book with no writing. For example:
- Although the sidewalks on the Upper West Side are 15 feet wide in some places, 3 Europeans with backpacks can make them completely impassable, especially when they take one of their 27 cigarette breaks. I guess German sidewalks are just one giant logjam, all day long. Get movin' Hans, my cannoli is not going to eat itself.
- There is a store dedicated to the "Big Lebowski" in the Village, selling only merchandise related to the movie and its characters. As the band Warrant once wisely said, "Heaven isn't too far awayyyyyyy."
- Jerry Stiller lives in my neighborhood. Every time I see him, I want him to scream "Serenity Now!"
- If you "Crip Walk" in public once, it spreads like a virus. Everybody wants you to do it, all the time. Except for the Bloods. They are not cool with it, even if you are a white dude.
- The lack of high school football here is astounding. I STILL have not seen a stadium, heard a faint "Lion Sleeps Tonight" in the distance by a marching band on a Friday night, or seen a busload of kids going across the city with a sign that says "Beat P.S. 236."
**best high school football band moment: Woodland vs. Westlake. My brother was a freshman and traveled down to Atlanta with the team. Woodland's band managed a weak pre-game "Hang On Sloopy" before Westlake's band (200 strong, at least) trotted out, drum majors backflipping, majorettes twerking, blaring "Here I Go" by Mystikal. It was one of the most impressive displays by a band ever. Their entire fanbase exploded into dance. There was a collective "Oh God" from the Woodland faithful and I think it was 31-0 at the half. Now THAT is how its done.
- Going to New Jersey (less than one mile away, ten minutes by train) is like going to California for New Yorkers. Not that Bartow County people can make fun, when we have to go to Atlanta, it might as well be Siberia. Going to Rome is like going to Japan, it's so far west, it becomes east.
- I have yet to endure a single thunderstorm here that rivals the weakest storm back home. I kinda miss tornado watches, to be honest. Things also missed: the smell of a chicken house, midnight CSX trains, a yard, barbeque that does not taste like cardboard, the word "rurnt" and the question "Dijall (did y'all) see who won the race?"
- I see people fishing in the East River, which I think is the 2nd or 3rd most heavily traveled waterway in the United States. (the same river Kramer swam in Seinfeld) I've heard that it's clean enough to eat the fish you catch, as you stare at the smokestacks from the factories in Queens right on the water. No thanks. That would be like eating food from a trashbag in the Emerson landfill because somebody said, "it's only been there 2 days."
- New Yorkers do not understand the following phrases/words:
"Hayul far!" (Hell Fire!)
"Do y'all have high test?"
"I just caught a bream out of the branch"
"Is that Skoal Long Cut fresh?"
"What did that buck score on Pope & Young?"
- I recently found out that Georgia Tech has an alumni bar right by my office. It was a cool place too. It shall remain nameless and they shall never hear my voice in that place ever again. Also not heard in and around Georgia Tech bars:
1) "We won!"
2) "First down, Jackets!"
3) "Look, there is a girl, let's go talk to her."
4) "I hate wine coolers."
5) "I do not have an inferiority complex about UGA."
- If New Yorkers guess where a Southerner is from, 75% are likely to say Texas. The other 25% will say Alabama/Mississippi, then make a remark about racism in the 1960's/Elvis/Hurricane Katrina. They will also ask if you miss grits, have you ever been to Graceland, what do chitlins taste like and did you have a mammy growing up. (because that is the extent of their knowledge about anything Southern)
- People use straws to drink Coke out of aluminum cans. I have never seen that until I moved here. (and I use Coke in the universal sense, like all good Southern boys do. If I ever said "soda" on purpose, my mouth would leave my body and commit suicide in the East River)
- I recently read that over 800 dialects are spoken in NYC. That is unreal. I have passed through certain areas that are entirely non-English speaking, even the restaurant menus are non-English. The most amazing one to me is Polish....no other language can affix seven consonants in a row and call it a word. I swear czkjzkz means "dog."
I am often reminded of why I continue to be who I am. Because there are no "typical" New Yorkers. Nobody here fits a mold, really. You have your born and bred NYC people, immigrants, stateside expatriates, and people who just wanted to see city life all blended into one area. You are not expected to change, in fact, people would wonder why you did. You can celebrate yourself here and nobody will fault you for it. That's why we can have a Puerto Rican Day, Pakistani Independence Parade, or a Free Tibet March without incident. I can wear my Georgia gear and get a "Go Dawgs!" from a guy from Connecticut. I can speak with my twang and get a free drink in many places, except for the nameless Georgia Tech cesspool. The only time people really get frustrated with one another is during commutes, waiting in line or at sporting events.....and frankly you would get that down South too. You just probably would not hear about it in Mandarin Chinese.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Recap of the Game: I Want a Targeting Penalty on the Jumbotron
"I'm pleased where we are."
That was Mark Richt at halftime yesterday. Granted, he was accosted by the halftime interviewer and he was clearly not excited about it, but still. I almost choked on my short rib sandwich. The only thing "pleasing" about that first half was that the clock hit 0:00 and it mercifully ended. All I could think of was cheesy TV show ultimatums:
"You are the weakest link, goodbye."
"You're fired."
"The Tribal Council has spoken."
"The DNA results show that you ARE the father of D'arron-tay."
I just stared at the television and realized that I may have witnessed one of the top 5 worst halves of football in Sanford Stadium ever. Also in the running, in no particular order:
1) The second half of the 2000 Auburn game
2) The first half of the 2000 Tech game
3) The second half of the 2008 Tech game
4) The second half of the 1994 Vandy game
5) The first half of the 2008 Alabama game
The difference was that we were winning at the half of this game, which makes it almost worse. Stupid penalty after stupid penalty. A turnover. An inept secondary that resembled the mannequins at Bloomingdale's on 58th Street. In fact, the mannequins are actually better because they are serving some purpose. I did not realize that the "stand and stare" defense was still being used in college football. If we pull this garbage with Auburn, it will be 35-7 at the half. I speak for many Dawg fans when I say that I am sick of the lack of intensity. That is the difference between us and Alabama. Their intensity never waivers, they never seem to sleepwalk through any games, much less a half of football. Our team seems to do this 2-3 times a year, without fail. We did it with North Texas, Vandy and Missouri already, so I guess we needed another one to make it an even number.
I must also point out another God-awful thing before I spout some positive vibes. I received a text from a friend in the stadium. Not only did he point out that the homecoming attendance was piss poor, he also reminded me of something that I HATE beyond words. Aaron Murray completed a 23 yard touchdown pass to Michael Bennett in the second quarter, which made him the all-time SEC record holder for career touchdown passes. The potential to break this record was common knowledge on this day. Hell, when Bennett caught it, I said aloud "there it is!" Here is where my blood boils:
Did UGA acknowledge this on the Jumbotron directly thereafter? No. Instead, they played that stupid "hide the McDonald's fries behind UGA's head" video that seems to ignite our crowd for some damn reason. The fries appear, then three UGA heads pop up, the fries go behind one of the heads and then the heads spin around, trying to confuse the erudite Sanford Stadium crowd. When the heads stop spinning, the 93,000 loyal fans (or 70,000 on this day, I don't care what the stat sheet says) are encouraged to scream aloud which UGA head the fries have so deviously concealed themselves behind. AND IT WORKS! I swear, people get into this video more than a 3rd and long against Florida. There is a collective shout of the numbers "1, 2 or 3" and then we wait with baited breath for the video to reveal the fries. Oh my God, it is behind number 2!!! When they guess correctly, grown men cheer and high-five as if they just won their fantasy football pool money. Women cry and hug. Children are hoisted on shoulders like a 4th of July parade is going by. This happens at every single game. I am convinced that this recurring moment is the reason we lost the 2012 SEC Championship, that Herschel went pro early and Terrence Edwards dropped that pass in Jacksonville in 2002. I absolutely detest this video. In fact, I can only think of five things worse:
1) Conducting a deposition with Justin Bieber and Kenny Chesney in a copyright infringement lawsuit over who has the rights to wear leather shirts in public
2) Finding a bloody needle in your hamburger
3) Being locked in a Hollister store with Jason Aldean blaring over the speakers
4) The word "irregardless"
5) Listening to forty-five minute Nextel two-way radio conversations about PVC pipe at Cass Grocery.
"Hell, Randy said it was 3/4 inch."
"Naw, man, it's an inch and a half."
"Naw, Randy is usually right on these things."
"Naw he ain't."
"Should I get some 90 degree elbows?"
"Get 4."
"I'll get 5."
"Naw man, get 4. I still think it's 3/4 of an inch."
"Measure it again."
"I don't have a tape measure."
"What?"
"I don't have a tape measure."
"10-4, I am going to lunch."
So, with this knowledge, I ordered a Bulleit Bourbon and just stewed all during halftime. I felt sorry for the homecoming court actually, even though homecoming at a large university is quite impersonal. In fact, I did not know the homecoming queen in 3 out of the 4 years I was in school and only voted once because I was forced. Yet, I did not want their day to be marred by a dreadful loss. App State is not the App State of 2007 that whipped Michigan. They are 2-7 in FCS play and they are hanging right with us.
Well, that ended quickly in the second half. Apparently, the halftime motivation speeches worked. (since we need a speech to get fired up to beat App State) Murray came out firing on all cylinders. The running game really got going, the line got dominant and Gurley, Douglas and Green gashed App State. Michael "Old Faithful" Bennett just keeps rolling along. Rantavious Wooten had his best game as a Dawg. Jonathan Rumph made his presence known with a 98 yard day. Reggie Davis had a spectacular catch at the goal line. Marshall Morgan nailed another long field goal. Hutson Mason looked awesome and gave me some hope for next year. We ended up with over 500 yards of offense. The defense decided to become more than mannequins and made some plays as well. Ramik Wilson continues to rack up tackles (he leads the SEC), Ray Drew had another excellent game, Amarlo Herrera had an interception, and Chris Mayes caved in the middle of their Oline almost continuously. I am also encouraged by the play of Shaq Wiggins, Sheldon Dawson and Josh Harvey-Clemons. I think that group just needs some experience and confidence before they can be consistent. The second half was the inverse of the first and it made this Dawg happy, happy, happy.
I must say though, the referees in this game should be sanctioned. They were beyond terrible. The Corey Moore ejection and the upholding of the fumble call on Herrera was inexcusable. The TV crew was incredulous. In fact, there was a play where two members of Georgia's secondary just watched an App State player catch a ball in the air and waited for him to land before hitting him. One broadcaster said, "wow, that was a ball that Georgia should have made a play on." The other broadcaster said something to the effect of, "well, how can they? They just watched one of their own get ejected for a clean hit. They saw Ray Drew get ejected at Vanderbilt. This rule needs to be reviewed badly, it is staining the game." The Herrera call was 100% wrong. Forget indisputable evidence, there was ALL the evidence one could possibly gather that he did not fumble. If this was NCIS, the episode would have been over in 13.7 seconds. We seem to be on the wrong end of so many calls and the NCAA is slowly ruining this great game.
So, next week is Auburn. A team that has overachieved in Gus Malzahn's first season. Their quarterback is a former UGA player who was dismissed for stealing from a teammate. Sounds like another Auburn quarterback I remember. I cannot stand Auburn's football team and I hope they lose every game they play. Our defense better be ready though, these Tigers are itching for payback for the consistent beatings we have been giving them . I guess they have not been motivating (AKA paying their players) enough to maintain focus against us for the last few seasons.
Other highlights:
1) Florida sucks. Nuf said. Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of fairweathered clowns. I wish Bama and FSU could play for the National Title in Gainesville, then afterwards have a giant bonfire at the 50 yard line with us and Miami in attendance. We would invite their "fans," but they probably could not find the stadium.
2) Les Miles is the greatest halftime interviewee ever. I hope he stays at LSU until he is 90. Could you imagine a slightly senile Les Miles conducting a halftime interview? "I love this team more than those lollipops you get at the bank. We embrace the competition and this wonderful night with our awesome purple uniforms....um, do you have any tapioca pudding?"
3) Aaron Murray is only 40 touchdowns behind Case Keenum of Houston for the all time NCAA record for touchdown passes. In fact, nobody in the top ten of that category played football east of the Mississippi River. Apparently, they actually DO use mannequins on defense out west.
That was Mark Richt at halftime yesterday. Granted, he was accosted by the halftime interviewer and he was clearly not excited about it, but still. I almost choked on my short rib sandwich. The only thing "pleasing" about that first half was that the clock hit 0:00 and it mercifully ended. All I could think of was cheesy TV show ultimatums:
"You are the weakest link, goodbye."
"You're fired."
"The Tribal Council has spoken."
"The DNA results show that you ARE the father of D'arron-tay."
I just stared at the television and realized that I may have witnessed one of the top 5 worst halves of football in Sanford Stadium ever. Also in the running, in no particular order:
1) The second half of the 2000 Auburn game
2) The first half of the 2000 Tech game
3) The second half of the 2008 Tech game
4) The second half of the 1994 Vandy game
5) The first half of the 2008 Alabama game
The difference was that we were winning at the half of this game, which makes it almost worse. Stupid penalty after stupid penalty. A turnover. An inept secondary that resembled the mannequins at Bloomingdale's on 58th Street. In fact, the mannequins are actually better because they are serving some purpose. I did not realize that the "stand and stare" defense was still being used in college football. If we pull this garbage with Auburn, it will be 35-7 at the half. I speak for many Dawg fans when I say that I am sick of the lack of intensity. That is the difference between us and Alabama. Their intensity never waivers, they never seem to sleepwalk through any games, much less a half of football. Our team seems to do this 2-3 times a year, without fail. We did it with North Texas, Vandy and Missouri already, so I guess we needed another one to make it an even number.
I must also point out another God-awful thing before I spout some positive vibes. I received a text from a friend in the stadium. Not only did he point out that the homecoming attendance was piss poor, he also reminded me of something that I HATE beyond words. Aaron Murray completed a 23 yard touchdown pass to Michael Bennett in the second quarter, which made him the all-time SEC record holder for career touchdown passes. The potential to break this record was common knowledge on this day. Hell, when Bennett caught it, I said aloud "there it is!" Here is where my blood boils:
Did UGA acknowledge this on the Jumbotron directly thereafter? No. Instead, they played that stupid "hide the McDonald's fries behind UGA's head" video that seems to ignite our crowd for some damn reason. The fries appear, then three UGA heads pop up, the fries go behind one of the heads and then the heads spin around, trying to confuse the erudite Sanford Stadium crowd. When the heads stop spinning, the 93,000 loyal fans (or 70,000 on this day, I don't care what the stat sheet says) are encouraged to scream aloud which UGA head the fries have so deviously concealed themselves behind. AND IT WORKS! I swear, people get into this video more than a 3rd and long against Florida. There is a collective shout of the numbers "1, 2 or 3" and then we wait with baited breath for the video to reveal the fries. Oh my God, it is behind number 2!!! When they guess correctly, grown men cheer and high-five as if they just won their fantasy football pool money. Women cry and hug. Children are hoisted on shoulders like a 4th of July parade is going by. This happens at every single game. I am convinced that this recurring moment is the reason we lost the 2012 SEC Championship, that Herschel went pro early and Terrence Edwards dropped that pass in Jacksonville in 2002. I absolutely detest this video. In fact, I can only think of five things worse:
1) Conducting a deposition with Justin Bieber and Kenny Chesney in a copyright infringement lawsuit over who has the rights to wear leather shirts in public
2) Finding a bloody needle in your hamburger
3) Being locked in a Hollister store with Jason Aldean blaring over the speakers
4) The word "irregardless"
5) Listening to forty-five minute Nextel two-way radio conversations about PVC pipe at Cass Grocery.
"Hell, Randy said it was 3/4 inch."
"Naw, man, it's an inch and a half."
"Naw, Randy is usually right on these things."
"Naw he ain't."
"Should I get some 90 degree elbows?"
"Get 4."
"I'll get 5."
"Naw man, get 4. I still think it's 3/4 of an inch."
"Measure it again."
"I don't have a tape measure."
"What?"
"I don't have a tape measure."
"10-4, I am going to lunch."
So, with this knowledge, I ordered a Bulleit Bourbon and just stewed all during halftime. I felt sorry for the homecoming court actually, even though homecoming at a large university is quite impersonal. In fact, I did not know the homecoming queen in 3 out of the 4 years I was in school and only voted once because I was forced. Yet, I did not want their day to be marred by a dreadful loss. App State is not the App State of 2007 that whipped Michigan. They are 2-7 in FCS play and they are hanging right with us.
Well, that ended quickly in the second half. Apparently, the halftime motivation speeches worked. (since we need a speech to get fired up to beat App State) Murray came out firing on all cylinders. The running game really got going, the line got dominant and Gurley, Douglas and Green gashed App State. Michael "Old Faithful" Bennett just keeps rolling along. Rantavious Wooten had his best game as a Dawg. Jonathan Rumph made his presence known with a 98 yard day. Reggie Davis had a spectacular catch at the goal line. Marshall Morgan nailed another long field goal. Hutson Mason looked awesome and gave me some hope for next year. We ended up with over 500 yards of offense. The defense decided to become more than mannequins and made some plays as well. Ramik Wilson continues to rack up tackles (he leads the SEC), Ray Drew had another excellent game, Amarlo Herrera had an interception, and Chris Mayes caved in the middle of their Oline almost continuously. I am also encouraged by the play of Shaq Wiggins, Sheldon Dawson and Josh Harvey-Clemons. I think that group just needs some experience and confidence before they can be consistent. The second half was the inverse of the first and it made this Dawg happy, happy, happy.
I must say though, the referees in this game should be sanctioned. They were beyond terrible. The Corey Moore ejection and the upholding of the fumble call on Herrera was inexcusable. The TV crew was incredulous. In fact, there was a play where two members of Georgia's secondary just watched an App State player catch a ball in the air and waited for him to land before hitting him. One broadcaster said, "wow, that was a ball that Georgia should have made a play on." The other broadcaster said something to the effect of, "well, how can they? They just watched one of their own get ejected for a clean hit. They saw Ray Drew get ejected at Vanderbilt. This rule needs to be reviewed badly, it is staining the game." The Herrera call was 100% wrong. Forget indisputable evidence, there was ALL the evidence one could possibly gather that he did not fumble. If this was NCIS, the episode would have been over in 13.7 seconds. We seem to be on the wrong end of so many calls and the NCAA is slowly ruining this great game.
So, next week is Auburn. A team that has overachieved in Gus Malzahn's first season. Their quarterback is a former UGA player who was dismissed for stealing from a teammate. Sounds like another Auburn quarterback I remember. I cannot stand Auburn's football team and I hope they lose every game they play. Our defense better be ready though, these Tigers are itching for payback for the consistent beatings we have been giving them . I guess they have not been motivating (AKA paying their players) enough to maintain focus against us for the last few seasons.
Other highlights:
1) Florida sucks. Nuf said. Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of fairweathered clowns. I wish Bama and FSU could play for the National Title in Gainesville, then afterwards have a giant bonfire at the 50 yard line with us and Miami in attendance. We would invite their "fans," but they probably could not find the stadium.
2) Les Miles is the greatest halftime interviewee ever. I hope he stays at LSU until he is 90. Could you imagine a slightly senile Les Miles conducting a halftime interview? "I love this team more than those lollipops you get at the bank. We embrace the competition and this wonderful night with our awesome purple uniforms....um, do you have any tapioca pudding?"
3) Aaron Murray is only 40 touchdowns behind Case Keenum of Houston for the all time NCAA record for touchdown passes. In fact, nobody in the top ten of that category played football east of the Mississippi River. Apparently, they actually DO use mannequins on defense out west.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Misery Loves Company and I Ain't Got a Ride to Your Pity Party
This has been a week of reflection for me It is a week where I found myself waxing philosophic in my head and then voicing my thoughts to other people. I am not one of those "quote" people who walk through life spouting off Walt Whitman or Henry David Thoreau passages to every passing ship in the night. Maybe I am feeling my age or worse yet, maturity is getting the best of me. Somebody might say, "well, that's a good thing!" I don't know, I am not sure I want to grow up yet. Frankly, this week has shown me that this world is absolutely full of miserable people and I know for a fact that I am not one of them, nor do I want to be. However, my patience is wearing awfully thin for the whiners, complainers, poormouthers, the envious, the rude, and the outright mean individuals that I come across every single day. Those who follow the George Costanza routine of "look angry and shuffle papers on your desk." Just the other day, and I kid you not, I told someone, "Man, it's a nice sunny day today!" His response:
"I don't know, I kinda wish it was raining."
Hey Eeyore, I am about to send you to the damn glue factory. Ugh.
In any event, I press on. "I rage against the dying of the light," as Dylan Thomas so eloquently puts it. (see, waxing philosphic!) Life is too short to be miserable and it's definitely too short to let other miserable people drag you down into their shame spiral (+1 for Clueless reference....yeah, I like that movie, sue me). Some people are beyond rehabilitation and their world crashes every day. They simply want company in their own personal Apocalypse and I ain't read a thing about that in the Revelation, so leave me out of it.
I remember at Cass Grocery, we had our share of moments that drove us nuts, either collectively or individually. Some were warranted: shoplifting, bitching too much about prices, using our restroom and leaving it resembling Chernobyl ten minutes after the nuclear plant exploded. Then there were trivial things that customers would do that would just absolutely get under my skin and it would ruin the next few hours because I would dwell on it. For example:
1) Getting a six pack of beer and not closing the cooler door all the way
2) Picking up a Snickers, deciding against it, and putting it in the Reeses Pieces box
3) Leaving a used coffee stirring stick on the counter
4) Watching me make a sandwich or a hot dog and say "that's too much mustard" or "put some more lettuce on there."
5) Dropping a 20 ounce plastic Coke, getting another one, and putting the ticking time bomb back in the cooler for the next guy to get victimized
People who accomplished the above tasks (some people could do 2-3 of them in one visit to the store) were scum to me. I would just boil watching them, thinking of how much I wanted to rake their shins with my Air Jordans. To the teenage me, this was all akin to the following:
1) Voting for George McGovern for President
2) Kicking a box of lab puppies or my Trapper Keeper's velcro finally wearing out
3) Cheering for Georgia Tech or Florida on purpose
4) That POS Jeff stealing Kelly Kapowski from Zack before prom
5) Leaving my giant Sony boombox, containing my cassette single of Collective Soul's "December," in the rain
I had my reasons, mind you. Leaving the cooler door open was pure lackadaisical slackness at its worst. Pee Wee, Pee Wee Junior, Tony, Dale, Doc, Debbie, Rudy, George, and Fufu had to buy that beer too. They did not want their Olde English 800 "Forty" or 12 pack of Natty Ice to be room temperature.
**Natty Ice was the alpha and omega of beers to rural Georgians back then. It was 5.9% alcohol, which was the highest possible alcohol content allowed in Georgia at the time. "Whew boy, this stuff will get you druuuuuuuunk!" Little did they know that across the big pond, Trappist monks in Belgium were making beers with 13% alcohol. I could see a road trip now: Cedar Creek Road does Brussels. We would have those Belgians screaming profanity at Sterling Marlin and have a domestic violence charge on their record in no time flat.
Putting candy in the wrong box and the coffee stirring stick on the counter was close behind. It was just one more thing for me to do that wasted my time. People watching me make their sandwich or hot dog and critiquing my artwork really irked me. Would you stand over Leonardo Da Vinci while he painted the Mona Lisa and say, "Her smile is a little too coy."? No. You would not. Preparing the chili dog to perfection is a skill acquired over time. Nobody could concoct the perfect artery clogging, gut bomb like I could. Keep your eyes off the canvas while the artist works, please. Leaving a freshly dropped 20 ounce Coke in the cooler was just plain mean. Not only would it explode all over the person buying it, it would be all over my floor (which I would have to clean) and I would have to give them a free one for the trouble. You just cost us 4 cents and gave me another opportunity to mop.....if I had a voodoo doll, I would have thrown it in the meat slicer and flipped the switch.
See? Aren't you angry yet? Don't you want to find these people and rip them a new one? Reliving these things makes me want to......do nothing. Why? Because that is stupid and I choose to recall other things. Like the loyalty of our customer base, which includes the people who left cooler doors open. Those same people would tell a joke that would crack us up or lay drag on Cassville Road just to appease us. The people who left coffee stirring sticks on the counter and candy in the wrong box put me through college. The people watching me make their hot dog? They taught me to have thicker skin. Those who chose to leave a dropped 20 ounce Coke in the cooler? They showed me that nobody is perfect and sometimes you just have to accept people for what they are. I recall one day, I was ranting about something trivial to Billy and he said "you whine like a damned whipped mule, boy. You ain't got nothin to worthwhile to whine about." I am unaware of the sound made by a whipped mule, but it did not sound too good. You always learned a good lesson at Cass Grocery, whether by choice or by chance.
So, the point is, be happy. Stop finding every fault, every shortcoming, every little inconvenience in your life and beating yourself and everyone else to death with it. It is not interesting, it is not productive and you can't call it "venting" to mask what is really whining and bitching. Believe me, I beat several people over the head with my BS this week. I am over it. I have a Belgian restaurant nearby that has some of the good Trappist monk beer anyway. I could go over there and share a pint with some nice people. Although, the convenience store on 78th has a special on Natty Ice right now. I might just turn back the clock and indulge, call up a replay of the 1993 Daytona 500, turn on some Collective Soul and Rebel Yell everytime Ernie Irvan circles the track.
"I don't know, I kinda wish it was raining."
Hey Eeyore, I am about to send you to the damn glue factory. Ugh.
In any event, I press on. "I rage against the dying of the light," as Dylan Thomas so eloquently puts it. (see, waxing philosphic!) Life is too short to be miserable and it's definitely too short to let other miserable people drag you down into their shame spiral (+1 for Clueless reference....yeah, I like that movie, sue me). Some people are beyond rehabilitation and their world crashes every day. They simply want company in their own personal Apocalypse and I ain't read a thing about that in the Revelation, so leave me out of it.
I remember at Cass Grocery, we had our share of moments that drove us nuts, either collectively or individually. Some were warranted: shoplifting, bitching too much about prices, using our restroom and leaving it resembling Chernobyl ten minutes after the nuclear plant exploded. Then there were trivial things that customers would do that would just absolutely get under my skin and it would ruin the next few hours because I would dwell on it. For example:
1) Getting a six pack of beer and not closing the cooler door all the way
2) Picking up a Snickers, deciding against it, and putting it in the Reeses Pieces box
3) Leaving a used coffee stirring stick on the counter
4) Watching me make a sandwich or a hot dog and say "that's too much mustard" or "put some more lettuce on there."
5) Dropping a 20 ounce plastic Coke, getting another one, and putting the ticking time bomb back in the cooler for the next guy to get victimized
People who accomplished the above tasks (some people could do 2-3 of them in one visit to the store) were scum to me. I would just boil watching them, thinking of how much I wanted to rake their shins with my Air Jordans. To the teenage me, this was all akin to the following:
1) Voting for George McGovern for President
2) Kicking a box of lab puppies or my Trapper Keeper's velcro finally wearing out
3) Cheering for Georgia Tech or Florida on purpose
4) That POS Jeff stealing Kelly Kapowski from Zack before prom
5) Leaving my giant Sony boombox, containing my cassette single of Collective Soul's "December," in the rain
I had my reasons, mind you. Leaving the cooler door open was pure lackadaisical slackness at its worst. Pee Wee, Pee Wee Junior, Tony, Dale, Doc, Debbie, Rudy, George, and Fufu had to buy that beer too. They did not want their Olde English 800 "Forty" or 12 pack of Natty Ice to be room temperature.
**Natty Ice was the alpha and omega of beers to rural Georgians back then. It was 5.9% alcohol, which was the highest possible alcohol content allowed in Georgia at the time. "Whew boy, this stuff will get you druuuuuuuunk!" Little did they know that across the big pond, Trappist monks in Belgium were making beers with 13% alcohol. I could see a road trip now: Cedar Creek Road does Brussels. We would have those Belgians screaming profanity at Sterling Marlin and have a domestic violence charge on their record in no time flat.
Putting candy in the wrong box and the coffee stirring stick on the counter was close behind. It was just one more thing for me to do that wasted my time. People watching me make their sandwich or hot dog and critiquing my artwork really irked me. Would you stand over Leonardo Da Vinci while he painted the Mona Lisa and say, "Her smile is a little too coy."? No. You would not. Preparing the chili dog to perfection is a skill acquired over time. Nobody could concoct the perfect artery clogging, gut bomb like I could. Keep your eyes off the canvas while the artist works, please. Leaving a freshly dropped 20 ounce Coke in the cooler was just plain mean. Not only would it explode all over the person buying it, it would be all over my floor (which I would have to clean) and I would have to give them a free one for the trouble. You just cost us 4 cents and gave me another opportunity to mop.....if I had a voodoo doll, I would have thrown it in the meat slicer and flipped the switch.
See? Aren't you angry yet? Don't you want to find these people and rip them a new one? Reliving these things makes me want to......do nothing. Why? Because that is stupid and I choose to recall other things. Like the loyalty of our customer base, which includes the people who left cooler doors open. Those same people would tell a joke that would crack us up or lay drag on Cassville Road just to appease us. The people who left coffee stirring sticks on the counter and candy in the wrong box put me through college. The people watching me make their hot dog? They taught me to have thicker skin. Those who chose to leave a dropped 20 ounce Coke in the cooler? They showed me that nobody is perfect and sometimes you just have to accept people for what they are. I recall one day, I was ranting about something trivial to Billy and he said "you whine like a damned whipped mule, boy. You ain't got nothin to worthwhile to whine about." I am unaware of the sound made by a whipped mule, but it did not sound too good. You always learned a good lesson at Cass Grocery, whether by choice or by chance.
So, the point is, be happy. Stop finding every fault, every shortcoming, every little inconvenience in your life and beating yourself and everyone else to death with it. It is not interesting, it is not productive and you can't call it "venting" to mask what is really whining and bitching. Believe me, I beat several people over the head with my BS this week. I am over it. I have a Belgian restaurant nearby that has some of the good Trappist monk beer anyway. I could go over there and share a pint with some nice people. Although, the convenience store on 78th has a special on Natty Ice right now. I might just turn back the clock and indulge, call up a replay of the 1993 Daytona 500, turn on some Collective Soul and Rebel Yell everytime Ernie Irvan circles the track.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Recap of the Game: Taxation of My Soul, Without Representation
I cannot think of a Georgia football season that I have enjoyed less than this one. Maybe it's because we have so many injuries, that our defense is nothing short of terrible or the disheartening ways in which we lost to Vanderbilt and Missouri. In any event, I have stayed the course and watched every game. I have not done any recaps because frankly, I have not been inspired to do so. The games have been taxing to the point where they have ruined the rest of my Saturday, win or lose. Why? Because every season since 2006 has been this way and I am just tired of it. Our protocol is so predictable: we win a couple of close ones over rivals, we play two cupcakes, lose at least one game in such poor fashion that we may as well have forfeited (UT in 2007, Bama in 2008, Florida in 2009, the entire 2010 season, Boise in 2011, South Carolina in 2012 and Missouri in 2013) play Vandy and/or Kentucky like we forgot how to walk and talk at the same time, and sometimes look so uninspired and out of place that it makes me want to headbutt my laptop. We have lost to Michigan State in a bowl game. LSU blew us out in Atlanta after we had a lead because we punt to the best return man in the nation OUT OF OUR OWN END ZONE. We had Bama beat in 2012. Had 'em. Then our defensive line decided to take the 4th quarter off. I will NEVER forgive Kwame Geathers or Jonathan Jenkins. (who were out of shape for the game, yet showed up to the NFL combine a month later in perfect shape)We lost to Central Florida and Oklahoma State. When we get up on people, we completely take our foot off the gas and let them back into the game. Our special teams literally take years off my life every time they walk on the field. We have a defensive coordinator who is on borrowed time, counting the days until he gets back to the NFL. Yes, friends, I am just exhausted with this "same ol, same ol" stuff.
Despite all of that, I cannot say that a victory over the Swamp Lizards is not gratifying. I have little-to -no use for Florida and their "Johnny Come Lately" fanbase. Finding a non-alumni Florida fan before 1990 was like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. (+1 for Saving Private Ryan reference) Now, they are as thick as a swarm of mosquitoes over stagnant pond water. You will not find a less knowledgeable, more low-rent bunch in the country. I would bet you half of Bartow County that none of them can name a coach prior to Spurrier, one running back prior to Emmitt or a single offensive lineman that played prior to 1990. Then you add their traitorous, foul-mouthed head coach into the mix and you just ignite hatred in me, which equals inspiration to write this blog. This recap is brought to you by Starbucks, the Average White Band song "Pick Up the Pieces," Derek Jeter's new contract, Obamacare, my 28th pair of sunglasses since 2010 and the lint in my sweatpants, which is still more interesting than North Korea.
Florida kicks off to us and we literally smash it right down their throats. Todd Gurley is the biggest difference maker for us since Knowshon Moreno/AJ Green. He changes everything when he gets his mitts on the ball. His first possession was a first down gain and he came up talking and shoving the Florida defenders. Todd is a mild-mannered guy so I knew this game was going to be a mess before long. Murray marched us right down to their goal line and Gurley dragged three of them into the end zone to make it 7-0. Our line was destroying theirs completely and Will Muschamp had six mini-strokes on the sideline. The drive was the most dominating thing I have seen all season. In fact, I can only think of five things more dominating:
1) Every Mike Tyson fight prior to 1989
2) Arnold Schwarzeneggar and his team of awesomeness vs. drug dealing commandos in "Predator."
3) A group of senior citizens vs. cherry vanilla ice cream at Cass Grocery
4) Bo Jackson vs. Kansas City defense in Tecmo Bowl
5) Me vs. a cannoli at Cafe Palermo
We do one of our "directional" kickoffs to Florida and this time, it works. I do not know if this is a lack of confidence in our coverage ability (warranted) or respect for Florida's speed (unwarranted, they deserve no respect). Their anemic offense comes out and runs two garbage plays before nailing a 50 yard pass right down the middle on 3rd and long. Our cover man was completely out of position and no safety was available to come over the top to defend a damn thing. A disturbing stat flashed across the screen: "Georgia has forced seven turnovers this season, only 4 other teams in major college football have forced less." It was not shocking, but to see it in print was really disconcerting. Our defense sucks, no other way to say it. Anyone who thought we had a chance to win the SEC this year, all you have to do is watch our defense to know that is a pipe dream. Forget the injuries. Having to outscore everyone in a shootout is not a recipe for a championship, just ask the Pac-12. We give up 3rd and longs easier than France capitulating and surrendering to Germany in 1940. It's almost a rule at this point, an almost certainty that we will not stop anyone on 3rd and long. It's so maddening to watch, that I literally get physically ill as soon as the ball is snapped. In fact, there are only five things I can say are worse:
1) Having dinner with Michael Adams, Kenny Chesney, Justin Bieber and Al Sharpton at Red Lobster.
2) Trigonometry. (Still haven't figured out the point of that uselessness)
3) People who go for runs on the Central Park trail with strollers and/or dogs.
4) People who use the terms "power lunch," "yolo," "vacay," or "toodles" on purpose.
5) The 50th "Free Tibet" parade this year in Midtown involving thousands of white people being angry. (people who are neither Tibetan, have been to Tibet or know anyone from Tibet.)
Anyhow, their offense stalls out and they miss the field goal attempt. Score one for our maligned defense. Maybe the Good Lord is having mercy, I thought.
We get the ball back and strike so fast. Gurley on his gimpy ankle catches a dump pass and takes it 73 yards for another touchdown. So much for Florida's vaunted speed. They get the ball back and do nothing once again. Their freshman running back, Kelvin Taylor, is pretty good but Florida looks like the Walking Dead on offense. They kind of wander around willy-nilly until they hear a sound and they wander toward said sound aimlessly and hope to catch something. Meanwhile, Muschamp has said 67 f-bombs and rants and raves about every penalty called against Florida in a manner that would win him an Oscar if he was in a Scorsese movie. Florida is a mess and I love it. The rest of the half is a back and forth where we score nine more points on three field goals. Gurley is gassed from the lack of playing and Brendan Douglas/JJ Green do a nice job filling in. Brendan has become one of those guys that you cannot hit up top because you are sure to make his highlight reel. He destroyed one of Florida's secondary members on a nice 15 yard gain. Rhett McGowan makes the play of the game to get us in range for our last field goal. They end up with a field goal and several penalties for unsportsmanlike conduct. The camera caught Dante Fowler trying to poke Gurley's eye after a tackle, a play that I hope is reviewed by the SEC and some form of punishment is meted out. If Ray Drew is ejected from Vandy for pushing their quarterback to the ground, Fowler should be thrown out of the next three games. However, I have no confidence in the league or the NCAA to do anything. We go into halftime up 23-3 and I feel like we have control.
"Control" is a song by Janet Jackson. The final seconds of the song, she says:
I'm in control,
uhh,
I'm in control,
ahh,
don't make me lose it,
control.
We lost it and we lost it in such a typical, boneheaded way that makes Georgia football for the last seven seasons feel like a job rather than a fun activity. Our offensive playcalling went completely conservative (playing not to lose, rather than to win) and our players make moronic mistakes that let the other team right back in the game. The lateral fumble and the sack for a safety....ten years ago, I would have been incredulous. Now, I just say "typical." Our players and more importantly, our coaching staff, play not to lose when we have a lead. Why are we throwing laterals with a twenty point lead? Why aren't we toss sweeping them to death? Why run a slow developing play action in your own end zone? As Janet Jackson says above, UHHHHHHH!!!!!AHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I could feel my blood boiling. It was like a bad Twilight Zone. (+1 for Tommy Boy reference) Then we blow that 4th and 1 play completely and I just could not take anymore. Gurley had three guys on him, untouched, before he could make a cut. All of these Top Ten recruiting classes, pre-season hype, the beat writers saying, "this Georgia team is different than last year, this team could be special," blah blah blah. Nothing has changed. We are lucky that Florida is a bigger mess than we are. They are a collection of thugs who are a reflection of a bad coach. Our lack of intensity or ability to put anyone away with a big lead is a reflection as well. The ending of the game was more "thank God" than "hooray, we won!" Let's not forget that "12 men on the field" penalty AFTER A $%%%#^ TIMEOUT. Control. I lost it.
I will take the win, most certainly. Corey Moore's sack was a great play. Murray played well for the most part. Gurley was awesome. However, we are unranked, we lost to Vandy and were pummeled at home by Missouri. We have almost no shot to make it to Atlanta and if we do, Alabama will sacrifice us to the football gods like an Aztec virgin. Does anyone believe we could play with FSU right now? If you do, I will have whatever you are drinking. Somebody called me "Debbie Downer" earlier......no. I'm more like "Ricky Reality." We will go to another non-descript bowl game and then talk all summer about how next year will be "the year." No. It will not. I firmly believe that.
Despite all of that, I cannot say that a victory over the Swamp Lizards is not gratifying. I have little-to -no use for Florida and their "Johnny Come Lately" fanbase. Finding a non-alumni Florida fan before 1990 was like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. (+1 for Saving Private Ryan reference) Now, they are as thick as a swarm of mosquitoes over stagnant pond water. You will not find a less knowledgeable, more low-rent bunch in the country. I would bet you half of Bartow County that none of them can name a coach prior to Spurrier, one running back prior to Emmitt or a single offensive lineman that played prior to 1990. Then you add their traitorous, foul-mouthed head coach into the mix and you just ignite hatred in me, which equals inspiration to write this blog. This recap is brought to you by Starbucks, the Average White Band song "Pick Up the Pieces," Derek Jeter's new contract, Obamacare, my 28th pair of sunglasses since 2010 and the lint in my sweatpants, which is still more interesting than North Korea.
Florida kicks off to us and we literally smash it right down their throats. Todd Gurley is the biggest difference maker for us since Knowshon Moreno/AJ Green. He changes everything when he gets his mitts on the ball. His first possession was a first down gain and he came up talking and shoving the Florida defenders. Todd is a mild-mannered guy so I knew this game was going to be a mess before long. Murray marched us right down to their goal line and Gurley dragged three of them into the end zone to make it 7-0. Our line was destroying theirs completely and Will Muschamp had six mini-strokes on the sideline. The drive was the most dominating thing I have seen all season. In fact, I can only think of five things more dominating:
1) Every Mike Tyson fight prior to 1989
2) Arnold Schwarzeneggar and his team of awesomeness vs. drug dealing commandos in "Predator."
3) A group of senior citizens vs. cherry vanilla ice cream at Cass Grocery
4) Bo Jackson vs. Kansas City defense in Tecmo Bowl
5) Me vs. a cannoli at Cafe Palermo
We do one of our "directional" kickoffs to Florida and this time, it works. I do not know if this is a lack of confidence in our coverage ability (warranted) or respect for Florida's speed (unwarranted, they deserve no respect). Their anemic offense comes out and runs two garbage plays before nailing a 50 yard pass right down the middle on 3rd and long. Our cover man was completely out of position and no safety was available to come over the top to defend a damn thing. A disturbing stat flashed across the screen: "Georgia has forced seven turnovers this season, only 4 other teams in major college football have forced less." It was not shocking, but to see it in print was really disconcerting. Our defense sucks, no other way to say it. Anyone who thought we had a chance to win the SEC this year, all you have to do is watch our defense to know that is a pipe dream. Forget the injuries. Having to outscore everyone in a shootout is not a recipe for a championship, just ask the Pac-12. We give up 3rd and longs easier than France capitulating and surrendering to Germany in 1940. It's almost a rule at this point, an almost certainty that we will not stop anyone on 3rd and long. It's so maddening to watch, that I literally get physically ill as soon as the ball is snapped. In fact, there are only five things I can say are worse:
1) Having dinner with Michael Adams, Kenny Chesney, Justin Bieber and Al Sharpton at Red Lobster.
2) Trigonometry. (Still haven't figured out the point of that uselessness)
3) People who go for runs on the Central Park trail with strollers and/or dogs.
4) People who use the terms "power lunch," "yolo," "vacay," or "toodles" on purpose.
5) The 50th "Free Tibet" parade this year in Midtown involving thousands of white people being angry. (people who are neither Tibetan, have been to Tibet or know anyone from Tibet.)
Anyhow, their offense stalls out and they miss the field goal attempt. Score one for our maligned defense. Maybe the Good Lord is having mercy, I thought.
We get the ball back and strike so fast. Gurley on his gimpy ankle catches a dump pass and takes it 73 yards for another touchdown. So much for Florida's vaunted speed. They get the ball back and do nothing once again. Their freshman running back, Kelvin Taylor, is pretty good but Florida looks like the Walking Dead on offense. They kind of wander around willy-nilly until they hear a sound and they wander toward said sound aimlessly and hope to catch something. Meanwhile, Muschamp has said 67 f-bombs and rants and raves about every penalty called against Florida in a manner that would win him an Oscar if he was in a Scorsese movie. Florida is a mess and I love it. The rest of the half is a back and forth where we score nine more points on three field goals. Gurley is gassed from the lack of playing and Brendan Douglas/JJ Green do a nice job filling in. Brendan has become one of those guys that you cannot hit up top because you are sure to make his highlight reel. He destroyed one of Florida's secondary members on a nice 15 yard gain. Rhett McGowan makes the play of the game to get us in range for our last field goal. They end up with a field goal and several penalties for unsportsmanlike conduct. The camera caught Dante Fowler trying to poke Gurley's eye after a tackle, a play that I hope is reviewed by the SEC and some form of punishment is meted out. If Ray Drew is ejected from Vandy for pushing their quarterback to the ground, Fowler should be thrown out of the next three games. However, I have no confidence in the league or the NCAA to do anything. We go into halftime up 23-3 and I feel like we have control.
"Control" is a song by Janet Jackson. The final seconds of the song, she says:
I'm in control,
uhh,
I'm in control,
ahh,
don't make me lose it,
control.
We lost it and we lost it in such a typical, boneheaded way that makes Georgia football for the last seven seasons feel like a job rather than a fun activity. Our offensive playcalling went completely conservative (playing not to lose, rather than to win) and our players make moronic mistakes that let the other team right back in the game. The lateral fumble and the sack for a safety....ten years ago, I would have been incredulous. Now, I just say "typical." Our players and more importantly, our coaching staff, play not to lose when we have a lead. Why are we throwing laterals with a twenty point lead? Why aren't we toss sweeping them to death? Why run a slow developing play action in your own end zone? As Janet Jackson says above, UHHHHHHH!!!!!AHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I could feel my blood boiling. It was like a bad Twilight Zone. (+1 for Tommy Boy reference) Then we blow that 4th and 1 play completely and I just could not take anymore. Gurley had three guys on him, untouched, before he could make a cut. All of these Top Ten recruiting classes, pre-season hype, the beat writers saying, "this Georgia team is different than last year, this team could be special," blah blah blah. Nothing has changed. We are lucky that Florida is a bigger mess than we are. They are a collection of thugs who are a reflection of a bad coach. Our lack of intensity or ability to put anyone away with a big lead is a reflection as well. The ending of the game was more "thank God" than "hooray, we won!" Let's not forget that "12 men on the field" penalty AFTER A $%%%#^ TIMEOUT. Control. I lost it.
I will take the win, most certainly. Corey Moore's sack was a great play. Murray played well for the most part. Gurley was awesome. However, we are unranked, we lost to Vandy and were pummeled at home by Missouri. We have almost no shot to make it to Atlanta and if we do, Alabama will sacrifice us to the football gods like an Aztec virgin. Does anyone believe we could play with FSU right now? If you do, I will have whatever you are drinking. Somebody called me "Debbie Downer" earlier......no. I'm more like "Ricky Reality." We will go to another non-descript bowl game and then talk all summer about how next year will be "the year." No. It will not. I firmly believe that.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
"The System is Screwed Up" has replaced "E pluribus unum."
"The system is screwed up." - anonymous protester in NYC today.
How many times have we heard that statement in our lives? It is voiced from so many mouths, willy-nilly, about the state of.....well, I'm not sure. I have no idea to what "system" we are referring. The solar system? The digestive system? It seems to be the battle cry for the perpetually downtrodden members of our society. To them, we have been circling the bathtub drain since the Vietnam War. I am not saying they are wrong, but a blanket statement such as this does not deserve much merit. It is easy to blame a faceless adversary without the ability to respond to the accusation of being "screwed up." You wanna see the face of the "system?" Look in the mirror, pal.
I am the system. As an attorney, I am an officer in the courts of Georgia and New York, by choice and by oath. I swore to God (whom I believe in wholeheartedly and if you do not, that is OK by me) that I would uphold the Constitution, perpetuate the truth and never seek to tilt the scales of justice unscrupulously. The "system" got me into this position in a way. I did not have a Senator for a grandfather, a massive trust fund, a MENSA level IQ or the ability to extort my way up the ladder. I jumped into the assembly line and kept chopping wood until I got here. There are hundreds of thousands just like me.
Being part of the system requires patience. Sometimes you must swallow the Robitussin-flavored serum of "that's the way it is." I once took a class in my third year of law school called Administrative Law. It was an elective that I took simply because there was nothing left to do, yet I needed three more hours to graduate. Who decided that I needed those three hours? It sure was not me. It was "taught" by a perpetually late slob of a professor who clearly could not argue the merits of a speeding ticket case without having a stress stroke. He did not take the time to create a syllabus, I guess that would be too demanding. He basically repeated the same lecture he had been repeating since 1982. This man was probably paid $140,000 per year to teach this garbage to third year law students, who could not care less about anything except the pending Bar Exam. Horrendous class for which, after doing the math, I paid $165 each time I attended. I wanted to sue the school for my that time of my life back. For the delay in the attainment of my ultimate goal, I paid this man $165 per class. I. Paid. Him.
Now, I owe the system an enormous debt. Not in the "hey man, I owe you one" type of debt. It's completely monetary with interest. I write a check each month to repay someone for educating me. If I do not, they will sue me, ruin my credit and I will be relegated to buying used cars and rent-to-own televisions for the rest of my life. How do I get the money to do so? The system. I work in it full bore. I quote prices to people each day and 75% of them react in the following ways:
1) "Good Lord, that is highway robbery!"
2 "You must enjoy being rich."
3) "If I had that kind of money, I would not be here."
4)" I should have been a lawyer."
5) "Call my momma."
The other 25% pay without much thought. Let's analyze the 5 reactions, shall we?
1) "Good Lord, that is highway robbery!" : Insinuating that I appeared with a ski mask and caused them to involuntarily relieve themselves of their monetary funds by use of force...even though they walked in my door first.
2) "You must enjoy being rich." : Rich is a relative term. My grandmother is rich. She lives in a state of happiness, has more friends than anyone I know and is going to Heaven on a bullet train when her time comes.
3) "If I had that kind of money, I would not be here." : Insinuating that being wealthy is the answer to all problems. Steve Jobs was not wealthy enough to beat cancer. JFK was not wealthy enough to dodge Lee Harvey's .30-06 round. Kanye West was not wealthy enough to tell Kim Kardashian to get lost before she ruins his career too. See?
4) "I should have been a lawyer." : Awesome reaction. You want to be part of group that owes massive loan debt, leads all professions in criminal activity, domestic violence, drug abuse, alcoholism, and stress related health problems? I can show you which dotted line to sign.
5) "Call my momma." : That is easy. Too sorry to pay your own bills.
I could quit. I could join another work force and become competition for someone else. I have a doctorate. I am young, driven, remotely attractive and willing to go to extra mile. I am great at interviewing, I have street smarts, I do not get nervous with large groups of people and I can talk about anything from ERA to the ASPCA. Yet, I stay in my niche and listen to people from other niches criticize my price list. They want to pay less than what I ask. They do not care about my loan statements on my kitchen table, that my landlord is going up 2% or that I want to buy the third season of "The League" on DVD. However, if I do not play ball, they will just go elsewhere and I am left with nothing. "The system is screwed up," I say to myself.
Here is the fun part. Court appearances for eight months. Sitting in a gallery of other people for three hours just to say "not guilty." Getting discovery from a prosecutor's assistant who is more in tune with her Avon catalog than another human being's fate. Leaving a hundred voice mails. Keeping an anxious client at bay, who threatens to hire another attorney when things go wrong or too slow and cannot understand why his retainer fee is used up. (cue the reactions above, once again) The plea deal offered was not satisfactory. Why?
"My cousin in Alabama got charged with the same thing and he only got two years of probation."
The discovery is terrible and not in our favor whatsoever. A trial ensues with a jury of his peers. The voir dire proves that the majority of Americans will sell their souls to the Devil to get out of jury duty. The remaining pool of people are just bored enough to be OK with making $50 a day. Client realizes the gravity of the situation and wants to plea. The state wants no part of the plea deal now, as it has wasted time and resources on the preparation of this trial. Trial comes and goes, client is found guilty and is sentenced much more harshly than the terms of the plea deal. Here it comes:
"Ineffective Assistance of Counsel."
That cannot be. I took Administrative Law! I passed the Bar Exam based on common laws that have not been used since the 1800's!
No sir. It's more like "Inassistance of Effective Counsel." I am a good lawyer. I know lots of good lawyers. We are all in the system. Those jurors, they are in the system. The clients, they are in the system too. You want an honest opinion from someone who sees this every day? Here goes:
The system everyone speaks of is not "screwed up," it's just populated with modern Americans and our faults. Our biggest faults: the lack of self-reliance, immense self-absorption and rampant apologism. When somebody fails, fingers point. When somebody does not get their way, they Google the best answer to their problem. When somebody disagrees with another, they both apologize until they have no thoughts of their own. That does not equate an effective way of life in a democracy. The framework is there, built on the backs of individuals of all colors, religions and creeds. We have weakened that foundation and now we have divided ourselves in a way not seen since the Civil War. I do not blame an Administration, a single person or a culture. I blame us all. We continue to exist despite each other, which leads me to believe that there is a greater good in this country somewhere.
How many times have we heard that statement in our lives? It is voiced from so many mouths, willy-nilly, about the state of.....well, I'm not sure. I have no idea to what "system" we are referring. The solar system? The digestive system? It seems to be the battle cry for the perpetually downtrodden members of our society. To them, we have been circling the bathtub drain since the Vietnam War. I am not saying they are wrong, but a blanket statement such as this does not deserve much merit. It is easy to blame a faceless adversary without the ability to respond to the accusation of being "screwed up." You wanna see the face of the "system?" Look in the mirror, pal.
I am the system. As an attorney, I am an officer in the courts of Georgia and New York, by choice and by oath. I swore to God (whom I believe in wholeheartedly and if you do not, that is OK by me) that I would uphold the Constitution, perpetuate the truth and never seek to tilt the scales of justice unscrupulously. The "system" got me into this position in a way. I did not have a Senator for a grandfather, a massive trust fund, a MENSA level IQ or the ability to extort my way up the ladder. I jumped into the assembly line and kept chopping wood until I got here. There are hundreds of thousands just like me.
Being part of the system requires patience. Sometimes you must swallow the Robitussin-flavored serum of "that's the way it is." I once took a class in my third year of law school called Administrative Law. It was an elective that I took simply because there was nothing left to do, yet I needed three more hours to graduate. Who decided that I needed those three hours? It sure was not me. It was "taught" by a perpetually late slob of a professor who clearly could not argue the merits of a speeding ticket case without having a stress stroke. He did not take the time to create a syllabus, I guess that would be too demanding. He basically repeated the same lecture he had been repeating since 1982. This man was probably paid $140,000 per year to teach this garbage to third year law students, who could not care less about anything except the pending Bar Exam. Horrendous class for which, after doing the math, I paid $165 each time I attended. I wanted to sue the school for my that time of my life back. For the delay in the attainment of my ultimate goal, I paid this man $165 per class. I. Paid. Him.
Now, I owe the system an enormous debt. Not in the "hey man, I owe you one" type of debt. It's completely monetary with interest. I write a check each month to repay someone for educating me. If I do not, they will sue me, ruin my credit and I will be relegated to buying used cars and rent-to-own televisions for the rest of my life. How do I get the money to do so? The system. I work in it full bore. I quote prices to people each day and 75% of them react in the following ways:
1) "Good Lord, that is highway robbery!"
2 "You must enjoy being rich."
3) "If I had that kind of money, I would not be here."
4)" I should have been a lawyer."
5) "Call my momma."
The other 25% pay without much thought. Let's analyze the 5 reactions, shall we?
1) "Good Lord, that is highway robbery!" : Insinuating that I appeared with a ski mask and caused them to involuntarily relieve themselves of their monetary funds by use of force...even though they walked in my door first.
2) "You must enjoy being rich." : Rich is a relative term. My grandmother is rich. She lives in a state of happiness, has more friends than anyone I know and is going to Heaven on a bullet train when her time comes.
3) "If I had that kind of money, I would not be here." : Insinuating that being wealthy is the answer to all problems. Steve Jobs was not wealthy enough to beat cancer. JFK was not wealthy enough to dodge Lee Harvey's .30-06 round. Kanye West was not wealthy enough to tell Kim Kardashian to get lost before she ruins his career too. See?
4) "I should have been a lawyer." : Awesome reaction. You want to be part of group that owes massive loan debt, leads all professions in criminal activity, domestic violence, drug abuse, alcoholism, and stress related health problems? I can show you which dotted line to sign.
5) "Call my momma." : That is easy. Too sorry to pay your own bills.
I could quit. I could join another work force and become competition for someone else. I have a doctorate. I am young, driven, remotely attractive and willing to go to extra mile. I am great at interviewing, I have street smarts, I do not get nervous with large groups of people and I can talk about anything from ERA to the ASPCA. Yet, I stay in my niche and listen to people from other niches criticize my price list. They want to pay less than what I ask. They do not care about my loan statements on my kitchen table, that my landlord is going up 2% or that I want to buy the third season of "The League" on DVD. However, if I do not play ball, they will just go elsewhere and I am left with nothing. "The system is screwed up," I say to myself.
Here is the fun part. Court appearances for eight months. Sitting in a gallery of other people for three hours just to say "not guilty." Getting discovery from a prosecutor's assistant who is more in tune with her Avon catalog than another human being's fate. Leaving a hundred voice mails. Keeping an anxious client at bay, who threatens to hire another attorney when things go wrong or too slow and cannot understand why his retainer fee is used up. (cue the reactions above, once again) The plea deal offered was not satisfactory. Why?
"My cousin in Alabama got charged with the same thing and he only got two years of probation."
The discovery is terrible and not in our favor whatsoever. A trial ensues with a jury of his peers. The voir dire proves that the majority of Americans will sell their souls to the Devil to get out of jury duty. The remaining pool of people are just bored enough to be OK with making $50 a day. Client realizes the gravity of the situation and wants to plea. The state wants no part of the plea deal now, as it has wasted time and resources on the preparation of this trial. Trial comes and goes, client is found guilty and is sentenced much more harshly than the terms of the plea deal. Here it comes:
"Ineffective Assistance of Counsel."
That cannot be. I took Administrative Law! I passed the Bar Exam based on common laws that have not been used since the 1800's!
No sir. It's more like "Inassistance of Effective Counsel." I am a good lawyer. I know lots of good lawyers. We are all in the system. Those jurors, they are in the system. The clients, they are in the system too. You want an honest opinion from someone who sees this every day? Here goes:
The system everyone speaks of is not "screwed up," it's just populated with modern Americans and our faults. Our biggest faults: the lack of self-reliance, immense self-absorption and rampant apologism. When somebody fails, fingers point. When somebody does not get their way, they Google the best answer to their problem. When somebody disagrees with another, they both apologize until they have no thoughts of their own. That does not equate an effective way of life in a democracy. The framework is there, built on the backs of individuals of all colors, religions and creeds. We have weakened that foundation and now we have divided ourselves in a way not seen since the Civil War. I do not blame an Administration, a single person or a culture. I blame us all. We continue to exist despite each other, which leads me to believe that there is a greater good in this country somewhere.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Television and Movies: Truths, Theories, Metaphors and so long, Jeanne Cooper.
Well, I finally broke down and ordered HBO and Showtime from my cable company. I guess I missed Game of Thrones and Boardwalk Empire too much. Plus, my co-workers have bombarded me for being un-American because I have never seen a second of Homeland. My response....I'm cheap, sue me. My way of thinking goes like this: That $17.95 could buy eight cups of Starbucks coffee, four "peanut butter surprise" smoothies from GNC (they are probably 5,768 calories but I don't care), forty eight cannolis from Medonia Bakery, fifteen songs on ITunes or one "Old Orleans" cocktail from Gramercy Tavern. (Still the greatest drink ever made, hands down). Frankly, I spend very little time in front of the television. I have never been into video gaming either. Anyone who knows me well can vouch for my inability to hold still for more than ten minutes. Most television shows are not THAT entertaining and I lost interest in video games when they started having plots. Give me an Italian plumber stomping on evil, walking mushrooms any day. When I have to type in codes, buy gaming books with tips about Level 324 and wear a headset so I can talk to a 12 year old in Portugal about how we are going to take a digital foxhole by force.....I'm done.
I would be remiss however not to mention the passing of Jeanne Cooper, who played Katherine Chancellor on the Young and the Restless for 39 years. Why does that matter to me, you ask? When I was younger, I stayed with Neen every single day of the week while my folks were at work. Neen did NOT miss Young and the Restless or the Price is Right. Seriously, Cassville could be invaded or be waylaid by an F5 tornado and Neen would be like, "I wonder if Victor and Katherine are going to talk to Cricket about her lovelife today." It got to where I would actually get into the show with her. It would end dramatically and we would have an "are you kidding me?!?!" moment. A five year old boy and a fifty five year old woman going to pieces over worthless daytime soap operas. Then we would calm down, eat our turkey sandwiches and hope Bob Barker would lead the next contestant to the Plinko board (always our favorite game). Goodbye, Jeanne. I am sure Neen met you at the Gates with a turkey sandwich or a milkshake.
Television has taken an interesting turn in my lifetime, however. The emergence of reality TV has marked primetime channels for over a decade now. We now have shows that talk about reality shows. We have another channel that discusses celebrity gossip exclusively. MTV no longer shows music videos. The sitcoms that run now are just modern versions of old ideas. The only difference is that middle aged white guys are cast as hopeless romantics, goofy morons, and/or have an inadequacy about them that is magnified to the Nth degree. No more Gary Cooper smoking a cigarette and saying awesome things like, "what's the big idea?" No more Ozzie & Harriet. No more Andy Griffith. Now, it's "my kids run all over me, my wife badgers me to death and I am scared of my boss." I tried to watch a few of them on a rainy day, courtesy of DVR, and I lost interest about ten minutes into the show. AMC hit a homerun with "Walking Dead," "Mad Men" and "Hell on Wheels" but those are novel ideas with plots that change as quickly as the identity of a Kardashian's "significant other." Not to mention, they are late night shows with an "M" rating because only mature adults watch them, of course. (excuse me while I watch the twelve year old next to me call up the famous Basic Instinct scene on Youtube over and over)
Movies are still in my wheelhouse for the most part. I have seen some pretty God-awful films in recent years but not any more than in the past. For every "Gigli," there is "The Departed." For every "Bring It On 3: All or Nothing," there is "Steel Magnolias." Honestly, I have watched some of the "classics" from the old days and I found them boring. "Citizen Kane" is consistently ranked in the top 5 of every movie critic's list of "best movies ever." My eyes were glazed over with boredom for the entirety of the film. Same goes for "The Maltese Falcon," "A Streetcar named Desire" and "Lawrence of Arabia." I kept waiting for something great to happen and I just waited...and waited....and waited. I hate getting my hopes up like that and then wasting two hours of my life. By the time you realize you hate the movie, you are already invested, so you stay with it. I can think of five similar situations:
1) Having Georgia Tech football season tickets. I mean, really? You just have to be a glutton for punishment.
2) Waiting in line for McDonald's "food" for more than 13 seconds. After seeing the pink concoction that becomes a Chicken McNugget on Dateline NBC, I would rather just eat a live chicken.
3) Braving I-75 traffic in Cobb County to go to Chili's on Barrett Parkway because, God forbid, you cannot get jalapeno poppers anywhere else.
4) Any visit to the DMV anywhere, ever. The black hole of life. They say cigarettes take seven minutes off your life with each one, well, a visit to the DMV takes a year off. I swear, the application to work there must have the description: "Must be expressionless, useless, rude, and your knuckles must drag the ground and/or you speak only in grunts."
5) Listening to a Kenny Chesney CD post-2001. You keep hoping that he will return to the old redneck, flannel wearing Kenny and then he comes out with something worse than the last one. I am waiting on a rap album from him at this point.
My movie collection is quite enormous. I have some classic movies, some action, some comedy, some drama, and some that are regarded as "bad" by many others, but I cannot help but enjoy them. I like "Twister" better than "Gone With the Wind." I like "Rambo First Blood: Part II" better than any Woody Allen movie. The acting is nowhere near as skilled but the absolute absurdity of those two movies just resonates with me. Every movie does not need depth, sometimes you just gotta imagine you are ten years old again and one man CAN take on the Vietcong, rescue forgotten POWs, fly back in a busted helicopter and physically assault a government official with a bowie knife. The movie represented a full dose of patriotism with a heaping helping of "blame your local senator" for the twelve years we languished in southeast Asia. And who doesn't want to chase tornadoes in a bus while listening to Deep Purple? I still contend that Philip Seymour Hoffman's greatest role ever was Dusty, the comic relief to the Bill Paxton/Jamie Gertz/Helen Hunt love triangle. Every time they threatened to take over the movie with their "I'm an almost divorced, conflicted weatherman/ I'm attached to my cell phone sex therapist/I want this machine to fly" drama, he would derail it with a comment or a music clip from inside his converted bus/weather center, aptly named "The Barn Burner." The director was trying to tell us that no matter how bad things get, you can always find humor. I think we all need a "Barn Burner" in our lives. When life throws an F5 tornado your way, you need a place where you can wear Hawaiian shirt, a hat with two beer can holders, with speakers blaring your song of choice. (see, you can analyze any movie, even the stupid ones. Take the F5 reference for example.....it's not just a tornado. It's also a button on your computer that refreshes the webpage you are currently visiting. It wipes away the old and recreates the new. An F5 tornado completely wipes away anything and gives you the opportunity to start anew, whether you wanted to or not, thereby hitting a "refresh" button in your life. Metaphors, baby......I could do this all day.)
For all my years watching my movies, analyzing them in my own way and digesting what they mean to us as a society, I have derived five absolute truths about the movies I own:
1) Beech Nut chewing tobacco completely missed the advertising boat when it did not immediately employ Jesse "The Body" Ventura as its spokesperson after the helicopter scene in "Predator." Never has there been a more ringing, less politically correct endorsement for tobacco use in the history of man. Jesse could have gone on to promote the eating of red meat, the wearing of fur coats, the furtherance of sweatshops in Bangladesh and ownership of high capacity-magazined, automatic weapons. (especially after they gunned down an entire rainforest without hesitation. How insensitive/awesome was that?)
2) Say what you want about Charlie Sheen. Judge him repeatedly. Analyze his personal life, his drug use and domestic problems. "Chris Taylor" and "Ricky Vaughn" will always be two of the best movie characters in cinema history.
3) Arnold Schwarzeneggar simply cannot go without an awkward climactic line in any movie, post-Terminator. My personal favorite: "You're luggage." -to a dead alligator. Eraser, 1996.
4) Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992) was rife with so much starpower, that it simply cannot be contained. Kristy Swanson, David Arquette, Luke Perry, Rutger Hauer, Paul Reubens, Hilary Swank, Donald Sutherland, Ben Affleck, Seth Green, Ricki Lake and Stephen Root. All we needed was Morgan Freeman and this was an Oscar shoo-in. This flick was ahead of its time. Vampires, afflicted teens, high school drama...sound familiar? Yeah, I'm looking at YOU, Twilight. This movie destroys Twilight. Kristy Swanson is hot. Luke Perry gets to say "now, you are a coat rack" after stabbing a vampire. It's like Clueless and Teen Wolf with a side of Breakfast Club. Cha-ching.
5) Joe Pesci and Frank Vincent have an unspoken rivalry that is still notched at 1-1. In Goodfellas, Joe (Tommy) beats Vincent (Billy Batts) to a pulp with Robert De Niro, throws him in the trunk of a car, drives to his mother's house, eats lasagna and cuts up with his friends before leaving to take care of the body. Realizing Batts is not dead, they shoot and stab him repeatedly before burying him in a remote part of upstate New York, cracking jokes the entire time. In Casino, Vincent (Frankie) turns the tables. He is employed by the Boss, Remo, to dispatch Pesci (Nicky) in a most horrific fashion. He bludgeons Nicky and his brother with baseball bats for several grueling minutes, then buries them in a cornfield alive. It is easily one of the most disturbing scenes ever made. So, it is Pesci's cold indifference vs. Vincent's outright brutality. Something has gotta give. Quentin Tarantino needs to get on this immediately.
I would be remiss however not to mention the passing of Jeanne Cooper, who played Katherine Chancellor on the Young and the Restless for 39 years. Why does that matter to me, you ask? When I was younger, I stayed with Neen every single day of the week while my folks were at work. Neen did NOT miss Young and the Restless or the Price is Right. Seriously, Cassville could be invaded or be waylaid by an F5 tornado and Neen would be like, "I wonder if Victor and Katherine are going to talk to Cricket about her lovelife today." It got to where I would actually get into the show with her. It would end dramatically and we would have an "are you kidding me?!?!" moment. A five year old boy and a fifty five year old woman going to pieces over worthless daytime soap operas. Then we would calm down, eat our turkey sandwiches and hope Bob Barker would lead the next contestant to the Plinko board (always our favorite game). Goodbye, Jeanne. I am sure Neen met you at the Gates with a turkey sandwich or a milkshake.
Television has taken an interesting turn in my lifetime, however. The emergence of reality TV has marked primetime channels for over a decade now. We now have shows that talk about reality shows. We have another channel that discusses celebrity gossip exclusively. MTV no longer shows music videos. The sitcoms that run now are just modern versions of old ideas. The only difference is that middle aged white guys are cast as hopeless romantics, goofy morons, and/or have an inadequacy about them that is magnified to the Nth degree. No more Gary Cooper smoking a cigarette and saying awesome things like, "what's the big idea?" No more Ozzie & Harriet. No more Andy Griffith. Now, it's "my kids run all over me, my wife badgers me to death and I am scared of my boss." I tried to watch a few of them on a rainy day, courtesy of DVR, and I lost interest about ten minutes into the show. AMC hit a homerun with "Walking Dead," "Mad Men" and "Hell on Wheels" but those are novel ideas with plots that change as quickly as the identity of a Kardashian's "significant other." Not to mention, they are late night shows with an "M" rating because only mature adults watch them, of course. (excuse me while I watch the twelve year old next to me call up the famous Basic Instinct scene on Youtube over and over)
Movies are still in my wheelhouse for the most part. I have seen some pretty God-awful films in recent years but not any more than in the past. For every "Gigli," there is "The Departed." For every "Bring It On 3: All or Nothing," there is "Steel Magnolias." Honestly, I have watched some of the "classics" from the old days and I found them boring. "Citizen Kane" is consistently ranked in the top 5 of every movie critic's list of "best movies ever." My eyes were glazed over with boredom for the entirety of the film. Same goes for "The Maltese Falcon," "A Streetcar named Desire" and "Lawrence of Arabia." I kept waiting for something great to happen and I just waited...and waited....and waited. I hate getting my hopes up like that and then wasting two hours of my life. By the time you realize you hate the movie, you are already invested, so you stay with it. I can think of five similar situations:
1) Having Georgia Tech football season tickets. I mean, really? You just have to be a glutton for punishment.
2) Waiting in line for McDonald's "food" for more than 13 seconds. After seeing the pink concoction that becomes a Chicken McNugget on Dateline NBC, I would rather just eat a live chicken.
3) Braving I-75 traffic in Cobb County to go to Chili's on Barrett Parkway because, God forbid, you cannot get jalapeno poppers anywhere else.
4) Any visit to the DMV anywhere, ever. The black hole of life. They say cigarettes take seven minutes off your life with each one, well, a visit to the DMV takes a year off. I swear, the application to work there must have the description: "Must be expressionless, useless, rude, and your knuckles must drag the ground and/or you speak only in grunts."
5) Listening to a Kenny Chesney CD post-2001. You keep hoping that he will return to the old redneck, flannel wearing Kenny and then he comes out with something worse than the last one. I am waiting on a rap album from him at this point.
My movie collection is quite enormous. I have some classic movies, some action, some comedy, some drama, and some that are regarded as "bad" by many others, but I cannot help but enjoy them. I like "Twister" better than "Gone With the Wind." I like "Rambo First Blood: Part II" better than any Woody Allen movie. The acting is nowhere near as skilled but the absolute absurdity of those two movies just resonates with me. Every movie does not need depth, sometimes you just gotta imagine you are ten years old again and one man CAN take on the Vietcong, rescue forgotten POWs, fly back in a busted helicopter and physically assault a government official with a bowie knife. The movie represented a full dose of patriotism with a heaping helping of "blame your local senator" for the twelve years we languished in southeast Asia. And who doesn't want to chase tornadoes in a bus while listening to Deep Purple? I still contend that Philip Seymour Hoffman's greatest role ever was Dusty, the comic relief to the Bill Paxton/Jamie Gertz/Helen Hunt love triangle. Every time they threatened to take over the movie with their "I'm an almost divorced, conflicted weatherman/ I'm attached to my cell phone sex therapist/I want this machine to fly" drama, he would derail it with a comment or a music clip from inside his converted bus/weather center, aptly named "The Barn Burner." The director was trying to tell us that no matter how bad things get, you can always find humor. I think we all need a "Barn Burner" in our lives. When life throws an F5 tornado your way, you need a place where you can wear Hawaiian shirt, a hat with two beer can holders, with speakers blaring your song of choice. (see, you can analyze any movie, even the stupid ones. Take the F5 reference for example.....it's not just a tornado. It's also a button on your computer that refreshes the webpage you are currently visiting. It wipes away the old and recreates the new. An F5 tornado completely wipes away anything and gives you the opportunity to start anew, whether you wanted to or not, thereby hitting a "refresh" button in your life. Metaphors, baby......I could do this all day.)
For all my years watching my movies, analyzing them in my own way and digesting what they mean to us as a society, I have derived five absolute truths about the movies I own:
1) Beech Nut chewing tobacco completely missed the advertising boat when it did not immediately employ Jesse "The Body" Ventura as its spokesperson after the helicopter scene in "Predator." Never has there been a more ringing, less politically correct endorsement for tobacco use in the history of man. Jesse could have gone on to promote the eating of red meat, the wearing of fur coats, the furtherance of sweatshops in Bangladesh and ownership of high capacity-magazined, automatic weapons. (especially after they gunned down an entire rainforest without hesitation. How insensitive/awesome was that?)
2) Say what you want about Charlie Sheen. Judge him repeatedly. Analyze his personal life, his drug use and domestic problems. "Chris Taylor" and "Ricky Vaughn" will always be two of the best movie characters in cinema history.
3) Arnold Schwarzeneggar simply cannot go without an awkward climactic line in any movie, post-Terminator. My personal favorite: "You're luggage." -to a dead alligator. Eraser, 1996.
4) Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992) was rife with so much starpower, that it simply cannot be contained. Kristy Swanson, David Arquette, Luke Perry, Rutger Hauer, Paul Reubens, Hilary Swank, Donald Sutherland, Ben Affleck, Seth Green, Ricki Lake and Stephen Root. All we needed was Morgan Freeman and this was an Oscar shoo-in. This flick was ahead of its time. Vampires, afflicted teens, high school drama...sound familiar? Yeah, I'm looking at YOU, Twilight. This movie destroys Twilight. Kristy Swanson is hot. Luke Perry gets to say "now, you are a coat rack" after stabbing a vampire. It's like Clueless and Teen Wolf with a side of Breakfast Club. Cha-ching.
5) Joe Pesci and Frank Vincent have an unspoken rivalry that is still notched at 1-1. In Goodfellas, Joe (Tommy) beats Vincent (Billy Batts) to a pulp with Robert De Niro, throws him in the trunk of a car, drives to his mother's house, eats lasagna and cuts up with his friends before leaving to take care of the body. Realizing Batts is not dead, they shoot and stab him repeatedly before burying him in a remote part of upstate New York, cracking jokes the entire time. In Casino, Vincent (Frankie) turns the tables. He is employed by the Boss, Remo, to dispatch Pesci (Nicky) in a most horrific fashion. He bludgeons Nicky and his brother with baseball bats for several grueling minutes, then buries them in a cornfield alive. It is easily one of the most disturbing scenes ever made. So, it is Pesci's cold indifference vs. Vincent's outright brutality. Something has gotta give. Quentin Tarantino needs to get on this immediately.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Spring is here: Baseball, Respect, and Pickled Quail Eggs
Hey y'all, I am happy to report that I am typing this blog with shorts on. Spring has sprung in the city of New York and it has been fabulous so far. I went to my first Yankees game of the year. Baseball is always a great sign of warmer weather and nothing says "piss off, winter" than sitting in the left field bleachers of Yankee Stadium with "Centerfield" blaring over the speakers and old highlights of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Mickey, Joe D., Reggie Jackson, and Bernie Williams playing on the Jumbotron. It was a come-from-behind win and a good way to start the season for yours truly. A couple of interesting things happened at the game that I must share.
I was standing in the ticket line, waiting my turn to be scanned and allowed to enter. I miss the old days of tearing the tickets because they make for good scrapbook material. A Stubhub printout is not quite so endearing. Anyhow, there was a kid in front of me, probably around twelve or thirteen years old. He had a backwards Yankees hat, jeans that were hanging halfway down his rearend, a giant t-shirt and some retro Michael Jordan high tops. He and his friends were chatting in line, saying just about every cuss word one can say in two minutes. Typical slobby, unkempt teenagers with no respect. He was texting on his Iphone and was not ready when his turn came to be scanned. The ticket scanner was an old man who was likely in his late 70's. The old man wasted no time.
"Boy, look at this line. Have your DAMN ticket out and hang up that DAMN phone. Look at you. Pull up your pants, turn your hat around and have some respect for yourself. You look like a f***** slob. You have no idea what that symbol on your hat means to someone like me. You wear it and have no clue about anything that happened here. Future of my country right here....ugh."
He frowned and gave him the thumb to go in. Quinton and I were next and he said, "Hello sirs, enjoy the game and this beautiful day!" I would have bought him a beer if I could. He was not grandstanding, he was just saying what everyone else in the line was thinking.
We sit down and begin to chow down on the sweet sausage dogs they sell in the bleachers. They may be $12 but they are worth it. The sun is shining, Mariano Rivera is walking around the outfield waving and I see Monument Park next to me, with flowers laid at every plaque of a Yankee great who has passed away. The time comes for the national anthem and everyone rises as the young girl belts out her best rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. Three rows down are two more young people, talking and still wearing their hats. A large man of clearly Italian descent turns to them and says, "take off your f****** hats! Show some respect!" They quickly removed their covers and said nothing more. (remember, the f-word is not that big of a deal here.) He stared at them for a couple of seconds to drive the point home, puts his arm around his teenage son, and continued to sing. Lessons in manners, courtesy of some Bronx natives. It was a great day.
** I must also point out that we saw some Jewish "thugs" at the game as well. They were wearing their yarmulkes on the side of their heads, with their shirts untucked, busting slack in their slacks and they were even doing the strut, like Will Smith used to do on the Fresh Prince. I called them "MC Abraham and DJ Jazzy Shlomo Feinberg."
Not all news has been good this spring. Of course, we had the Boston Marathon bombing. Two more wayward psychopaths with an ax to grind, trying to interfere with our way of life. It takes a lot of guts to hide a pressure cooker bomb and kill an eight year old boy. They are a true credit to their jihad. They really showed us a thing or two. Then....Boston closed down and cut them both down in a hail of gunfire in what had to be the fastest turnaround in terrorism history. Beantown was not playing around on this one, they went "Texas death penalty" on these dudes....you kill us, we will kill you back. The young one lived but he is all shot up and tied to a hospital bed, so I am not sure you can call that "living." They should force him to watch Georgia Tech football highlights, eat fat free cheese and listen to "When The Sun Goes Down" by Kenny Chesney and Uncle Kracker on loop until his goes mad. Some people may say to me, "you can joke about such things?" Yes. Humor is a coping mechanism. Further, by giving these idiots any sort of serious consideration, you empower them.
George Jones passed away last week as well. This guy lived 81 years somehow. If you reviewed his life, you would figure he would have died at 40. He was one of those types that poured beer on his cereal, smoked in his sleep and never had a hangover because he never sobered up. By many accounts, he was a good guy and many country singers count him as an influence. I definitely count him as one of the last true country singers and once Willie Nelson, Don Williams, Hank Williams, Jr., Randy Travis and George Strait pass away, that will be it in my mind. People in NYC do not seem to care for country music. In fact, I went to a karaoke bar recently with some co-workers and I mentioned that I was going to sing a country song. A collective "ewwwwww....country?!?!" cascaded upon me from everyone. They had that tone too, you know the one. It was like I just invited the guy that nobody wanted to come to the party or I suggested that all of us should do 75 burpees before dinner. I laughed it off but it made me sad to see such disdain for the genre. I guess it is a problem of relation for urbanites. "Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses" sounds more like a restaurant in the Lower East Side. "Tulsa Time" sounds like name of a cocktail they serve at the Plaza Hotel. "Dixie on my Mind" is just a slap in their face, so they definitely do not play that one at bar mitzvahs.
It made me think about cultural differences once again. How absolutely different our lives are in many ways. If I took a bunch of Cassville people to a karaoke bar and said, "I'm going to sing a country song," the reception would have been more like this:
"You damn right you are. Let's do a Hank, Sr. song first. Then move into Merle, Jerry Reed, Willie Nelson and Waylon. Gotta throw in a Keith Whitley song. Poor boy was cut down in his prime ( raises and sips a beer in Keith's honor). Then let's sing "Convoy" and "I Don't Need Your Rocking Chair." No Garth Brooks "The Dance," ok? Reminds me of Dale. (raises and sips beer again)."
Here is a list of other sayings that I have not said, or would not fly here in NYC:
1) Hey y'all, let's go to the Waffle House
2) You drive, I'll jump out, tear the "Broadway" sign off the post and we will hang it in my room
3) Are y'all going to Arkansas for duck season this year?
4) I gave my old recliner to Milton at the county dumpster, he said he could use it
5) Pickled quail eggs
6) Man, I wish it would rain more. My euonymous bushes are looking rough.
7) Nice truck, man!
8) George W. got a bad rap, he was actually a good president
9) That bar is closed on Sunday
10) Are there any good striper in the East River?
Conversely, here are some statements would be lost on Cassville people if a New Yorker were to address them:
1) Which place has the best lox and bagels around here?
2) Skinny jeans are really coming on as a look for guys
3) So this Bill Dance....do you guys do that in clubs here or is that a slow thing?
4) Dogs belong inside with their humans
5) What time does the Hawks game start?
6) Which lacrosse club team does your son play for?
7) Do you prefer papardelle or gnocchi?
8) My grandfather was not the toughest guy who ever lived
9) Chips and salsa does not count as Mexican food
10) The fire escape on my apartment is being repaired because it's not up to code
Ah, Cassville. How I miss it. Where the dogs are outside, lacrosse is "Spanish for where Jesus died for our sins," gnocchi is "a cell phone company, I think," where Bill Dance is royalty and pickled quail eggs are a great birthday present. Where dumpster diving is a sport, stealing road signs was fun for all ages and our granddaddies never lost a fight or missed church. I think my granddads would have liked lox and bagels, though.
I was standing in the ticket line, waiting my turn to be scanned and allowed to enter. I miss the old days of tearing the tickets because they make for good scrapbook material. A Stubhub printout is not quite so endearing. Anyhow, there was a kid in front of me, probably around twelve or thirteen years old. He had a backwards Yankees hat, jeans that were hanging halfway down his rearend, a giant t-shirt and some retro Michael Jordan high tops. He and his friends were chatting in line, saying just about every cuss word one can say in two minutes. Typical slobby, unkempt teenagers with no respect. He was texting on his Iphone and was not ready when his turn came to be scanned. The ticket scanner was an old man who was likely in his late 70's. The old man wasted no time.
"Boy, look at this line. Have your DAMN ticket out and hang up that DAMN phone. Look at you. Pull up your pants, turn your hat around and have some respect for yourself. You look like a f***** slob. You have no idea what that symbol on your hat means to someone like me. You wear it and have no clue about anything that happened here. Future of my country right here....ugh."
He frowned and gave him the thumb to go in. Quinton and I were next and he said, "Hello sirs, enjoy the game and this beautiful day!" I would have bought him a beer if I could. He was not grandstanding, he was just saying what everyone else in the line was thinking.
We sit down and begin to chow down on the sweet sausage dogs they sell in the bleachers. They may be $12 but they are worth it. The sun is shining, Mariano Rivera is walking around the outfield waving and I see Monument Park next to me, with flowers laid at every plaque of a Yankee great who has passed away. The time comes for the national anthem and everyone rises as the young girl belts out her best rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. Three rows down are two more young people, talking and still wearing their hats. A large man of clearly Italian descent turns to them and says, "take off your f****** hats! Show some respect!" They quickly removed their covers and said nothing more. (remember, the f-word is not that big of a deal here.) He stared at them for a couple of seconds to drive the point home, puts his arm around his teenage son, and continued to sing. Lessons in manners, courtesy of some Bronx natives. It was a great day.
** I must also point out that we saw some Jewish "thugs" at the game as well. They were wearing their yarmulkes on the side of their heads, with their shirts untucked, busting slack in their slacks and they were even doing the strut, like Will Smith used to do on the Fresh Prince. I called them "MC Abraham and DJ Jazzy Shlomo Feinberg."
Not all news has been good this spring. Of course, we had the Boston Marathon bombing. Two more wayward psychopaths with an ax to grind, trying to interfere with our way of life. It takes a lot of guts to hide a pressure cooker bomb and kill an eight year old boy. They are a true credit to their jihad. They really showed us a thing or two. Then....Boston closed down and cut them both down in a hail of gunfire in what had to be the fastest turnaround in terrorism history. Beantown was not playing around on this one, they went "Texas death penalty" on these dudes....you kill us, we will kill you back. The young one lived but he is all shot up and tied to a hospital bed, so I am not sure you can call that "living." They should force him to watch Georgia Tech football highlights, eat fat free cheese and listen to "When The Sun Goes Down" by Kenny Chesney and Uncle Kracker on loop until his goes mad. Some people may say to me, "you can joke about such things?" Yes. Humor is a coping mechanism. Further, by giving these idiots any sort of serious consideration, you empower them.
George Jones passed away last week as well. This guy lived 81 years somehow. If you reviewed his life, you would figure he would have died at 40. He was one of those types that poured beer on his cereal, smoked in his sleep and never had a hangover because he never sobered up. By many accounts, he was a good guy and many country singers count him as an influence. I definitely count him as one of the last true country singers and once Willie Nelson, Don Williams, Hank Williams, Jr., Randy Travis and George Strait pass away, that will be it in my mind. People in NYC do not seem to care for country music. In fact, I went to a karaoke bar recently with some co-workers and I mentioned that I was going to sing a country song. A collective "ewwwwww....country?!?!" cascaded upon me from everyone. They had that tone too, you know the one. It was like I just invited the guy that nobody wanted to come to the party or I suggested that all of us should do 75 burpees before dinner. I laughed it off but it made me sad to see such disdain for the genre. I guess it is a problem of relation for urbanites. "Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses" sounds more like a restaurant in the Lower East Side. "Tulsa Time" sounds like name of a cocktail they serve at the Plaza Hotel. "Dixie on my Mind" is just a slap in their face, so they definitely do not play that one at bar mitzvahs.
It made me think about cultural differences once again. How absolutely different our lives are in many ways. If I took a bunch of Cassville people to a karaoke bar and said, "I'm going to sing a country song," the reception would have been more like this:
"You damn right you are. Let's do a Hank, Sr. song first. Then move into Merle, Jerry Reed, Willie Nelson and Waylon. Gotta throw in a Keith Whitley song. Poor boy was cut down in his prime ( raises and sips a beer in Keith's honor). Then let's sing "Convoy" and "I Don't Need Your Rocking Chair." No Garth Brooks "The Dance," ok? Reminds me of Dale. (raises and sips beer again)."
Here is a list of other sayings that I have not said, or would not fly here in NYC:
1) Hey y'all, let's go to the Waffle House
2) You drive, I'll jump out, tear the "Broadway" sign off the post and we will hang it in my room
3) Are y'all going to Arkansas for duck season this year?
4) I gave my old recliner to Milton at the county dumpster, he said he could use it
5) Pickled quail eggs
6) Man, I wish it would rain more. My euonymous bushes are looking rough.
7) Nice truck, man!
8) George W. got a bad rap, he was actually a good president
9) That bar is closed on Sunday
10) Are there any good striper in the East River?
Conversely, here are some statements would be lost on Cassville people if a New Yorker were to address them:
1) Which place has the best lox and bagels around here?
2) Skinny jeans are really coming on as a look for guys
3) So this Bill Dance....do you guys do that in clubs here or is that a slow thing?
4) Dogs belong inside with their humans
5) What time does the Hawks game start?
6) Which lacrosse club team does your son play for?
7) Do you prefer papardelle or gnocchi?
8) My grandfather was not the toughest guy who ever lived
9) Chips and salsa does not count as Mexican food
10) The fire escape on my apartment is being repaired because it's not up to code
Ah, Cassville. How I miss it. Where the dogs are outside, lacrosse is "Spanish for where Jesus died for our sins," gnocchi is "a cell phone company, I think," where Bill Dance is royalty and pickled quail eggs are a great birthday present. Where dumpster diving is a sport, stealing road signs was fun for all ages and our granddaddies never lost a fight or missed church. I think my granddads would have liked lox and bagels, though.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Best and Worst of NYC: Nine months down in the Big Apple
I apologize to my readers for my month-long hiatus. March is full of deadlines at work and my brain was consumed with things like "Article 78 proceedings," "third-party plaintiffs," and 1,500 page transcripts about zoning property in Queens in 1978. It was like watching "Law and Order: Paint Drying Unit. " I like my job, but as with most legal jobs, it is not glamorous. The picture painted by Law and Order of Jack McCoy and his courtroom drama is a farce for the most part. I once conducted a DUI trial where 5 out of the 6 jurors were clearly nodding off and the judge was clearly "googling" his next vacation destination on his computer. (Googling is becoming the next "Kleenex" or "Band-Aid." I guess it is better than Yahooing or Binging. That sounds too racy.) Who could blame them? I was required to question the police officer about his experience and education as it pertains to the Breathalyzer machine. That is like asking who ever invented grammar rules, "so, can you tell us how you formulated the concept of adverbial participles?" I would rather slam my fingers in the sliding door of a Ford Aerostar. Bankruptcy hearings? Forget about it. I once argued for thirty minutes in front of a federal judge about the interest rate charged on the pawned title of a 1993 Ford Taurus. I felt like I was fighting over the shovel in the sandbox when I was at Montessouri in 1986. Anyhow, my mind has drifted back where it belongs: sports, food, people watching, coffee, food, sports, sports statistics, food and Walking Dead/Duck Dynasty.
I have been in New York for nine months. That is long enough to get a good grasp on what I like and do not like about the city. There is no place like New York City, for this I can vouch. I have beaten these sidewalks to death with my size 12 Nikes in search of the best food, good times, hidden gems, and music/sports venues. One of my co-workers remarked, "you have experienced more in this city in nine months than I have in my entire life." I reckon I am doing something right....or I have ADD and cannot sit around for more than ten seconds. I usually scan the newspapers for "top ten lists" and work from there. This city has about 47 different newspapers, so I never run out of material. Heck, one of the Irish pubs on 35th Street near my office has copies of some Irish newspaper on their bar every day. Thank God, I cannot go a single day without knowing who won between Galway and County Killarney in minor league soccer last week. These papers are always doing "Top Ten Best ______ in New York." Many times, the places discussed are interchangeable and are just ranked higher or lower on each paper's list. In any event, I give you "the best and worst of New York" according to me. This is mainly for the use of my Southern brethren who ever decide to visit and have no clue where to go. This list is brought to you by Bagel Talk on Amsterdam Avenue, the Flatt & Scruggs song "Pearl Pearl Pearl" and the lint in my sweatpants, which is still more interesting than North Korea.
Best Pizza: Rigoletto Pizza on West 72nd Street. Get the large with extra mozzarella, prosciutto, and Italian sausage. I once destroyed an entire pizza and went into a food coma for 48 hours, but it was worth it. Imagine Waffle House hash browns mixed with pieces of your grandmaw's fried chicken. Yes, THAT good. New York pizza has no rival, I'm sorry.
Best Place to Watch a Concert: The Beacon Theater on Broadway at West 74th Street. Maybe I am biased because I saw Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Allman Brothers at this venue (fulfilling a bucket list item for yours truly). What a night that was. The concert was exceptional, the band was on fire and played some amazing songs. They started with "Don't Want You No More" and proceeded to melt my face off for three hours. The pre-party was held at this old school bar called Malachy's. It is the kind of place where they sweep the teeth and sponge the blood off the floor at 4 AM before they close. The bartender was this gruff Irishman who pronounced "Bass" like "Boss" and probably has not smiled since 1992. They also do not care about marijuana use on the sidewalk out front because the old school Allman Brothers fans were blazing up like they were about to face a firing squad.
Best Cab Route to Get to the Lower East Side from Uptown: Just walk or take the 50 minute subway ride. The cab ride will cost you $40 and once you have arrived at your destination, you will run to the bathroom and vomit from motion sickness. New York cabbies only know two speeds: Warp Speed and Ludicrous Speed (+1 for Spaceballs reference). This goes for braking and turning as well. If you have had a couple of beers and the A/C is not working in the cab, then you will start feeling uneasy right around Second Avenue and 65th Street. The cab is whipping in and out of the lanes like you are being chased by the velociraptor pack from Jurassic Park. He slams on the brakes at least 37 times. This is all taking place at 87 MPH. Then your friends will grab you and say "are you OK?" as your face turns green. Suddenly, the rigatoni bolognese you were about to eat does not sound so tasty. Sweat trickles down your forehead, but it's 12 degrees outside. The cabbie suddenly whips over three lanes and exits off the FDR expressway like Tony Stewart trying to get the pole at Daytona. You taste yesterday's pastrami sandwich. Arriving at the destination, the cab brakes so hard that your internal organs shift and you suffer mild whiplash. You dart into the restaurant bathroom before you projectile vomit all over the maitre' d. Take the train, y'all.
Best Place to have a Sopranos Experience: Don Pepe's. This Italian gem is tucked away in the middle of nowhere in Queens in an area called Ozone Park. The area is mentioned frequently in Nicholas Pileggi's book "Wiseguy," which is the book that "Goodfellas" is based upon. One step in to Don Pepe's and you will know why. The owner of the restaurant was playing 5-Card Stud at one of the round tables with about five other guys who could have auditioned for the part of Sonny Corleone or Paulie Walnuts. In fact, the only people in the restaurant who were not out of central casting for a mob movie were Quinton and I. There's Quinton, a black man from Locust Grove, Georgia and me with my accent. The waiter asked me what part of Italy I came from. Luckily, I am a geography savant, so I said "Avellino." After a few jokes, he served us some of the best food I have ever tasted. Baked clams, baked ziti with meat "gravy," as they say, and a bottle of red wine. Then came the cannoli. I was stuffed to the gills, but I am not one to turn down cannoli. Quinton asks me if I think anyone has been whacked here. I look around....Quinton and I are the only ones without a pinky ring and the only ones who did not go over and kiss the owner on both cheeks. "Probably not," I say, but I would not put money on it. I now understand why Clemenza said, "leave the gun, take the cannoli." This place will definitely be a repeat visit for yours truly.
Best Bagel: Zabar's on Broadway and 81st. Get the vegetable cream cheese. Oy vey!
Best Sports Experience: A sold out New York Yankees game. For a baseball history nut like me, there is no substitute for an afternoon in the Bronx. You have to be there, realize how many great things have happened on 161st Street, and it will consume you.
Best Record Store: Rebel Rebel Records on Bleecker Street in the West Village. This tiny store looks like a dusty attic stuffed full of old vinyl records. So what? It is phenomenal. You want to find a long lost album or CD? This is the best place I have ever seen. I found "Brain Salad Surgery" by Emerson, Lake & Palmer, "Three Feet High and Rising" by De La Soul and a mint condition vinyl of "One of These Nights" by The Eagles here. The owner remarked, "that is a random combination, my friend." You could literally find anything here. In fact, I am not convinced that the Ark of the Covenant, Jimmy Hoffa and Christian Slater's acting career are not buried there somewhere. The owner is a musical encyclopedia, seriously. You could ask him, "what is the sixth track on the B side of Songs in the Key of Life?" and he would spout the answer before you could say, "Johnny Cash is overrated." (oops, did I say that?)
Best dive bar: Broome Street Bar & Grill at West Broadway and Broome. Cheap drinks, a good crowd, and maybe the best internet jukebox ever. The bartenders all look like roadies for Southern rock bands from the 70's. In fact, last time I was in there, this foreign guy paid $10.00 to the jukebox and played an entire U2 album. After about three songs (all of which sound exactly the same), the bartender hands me a $10.00 and says, "go play something we like and drown out this f***** garbage before I kill myself." So, being the good Southerner I am, I played Allman Brothers, Marshall Tucker, Outlaws with a little Traffic mixed in for good measure. New Yorkers love Southern rock. This is a fact that has thoroughly shocked me but it has been a pleasant surprise. (Runner Up: Rudy's Bar & Grill in Hell's Kitchen. Free hot dogs, red leather, duct taped booths, and a big movie screen out back where they show 80's movies all night. You know a bar is good when it is referenced in a Steely Dan song.)
Best thing about winter time in New York: Nothing. Unless you enjoy looking like the Rebel forces at the beginning of "The Empire Strikes Back," then winter is not for you. I now own two boggans, one for cold days and the other for ridiculously cold days. I have to get to work fifteen minutes early just so I can remove the 27 layers of clothing I wear to keep the wind from cutting me in two. Times Square in the morning looks like a bunch of "Ralphies" from "A Christmas Story." If you pushed us all down, we would squirm around on the ground helplessly like turtles.
Worst Thing I Have Seen on the Subway: It's a tie. I saw a cross dressing old man in see through panty hose and high heels, which destroyed my appetite for the next twelve hours. The other would be the 27 rats I counted running around the tracks as I waited for the B train at 81st Street. New York rats are enormous and I am pretty sure they talk and have personalities. They were all attacking a discarded sandwich on the track, trying to get pieces of it before it was devoured. A writhing pile of hairy vermin crawling all over each other. It was like watching the Florida student section in Jacksonville fighting over the last pair of jean shorts. I watched this scene in horror for a few seconds until one of them looked up at me and said "What's your problem?" Even the rats are abrasive in this city.
Worst Place to Eat if you are on a Diet: Great Burrito on Amsterdam Avenue. Not only are the burritos enormous and delicious, it is located next to Insomnia Cookies. This is an all-night cookie store (hence the name) that makes some of the best cookies I have ever tasted. They purposefully leave the door open so the smell right hooks you in the face as you walk by. They also have freezer where they keep one gallon of vanilla ice cream and one gallon of chocolate so they can make "cookiewiches," where they put a dip of ice cream between two giant cookies. Are you kidding me? One hour and 4,376 calories later and I am laying on the couch watching Sopranos reruns taking Pepto Bismol shots. Worth it!
Best Craft Beer spot: The Belgian Room on St. Mark's in the Lower East Side. Trappist monks in the Belgian hinterlands make the best beer. No contest.
Best Barbecue: Mighty Quinn's in the East Village. I will be brutally honest, NYC barbecue sucks for the most part. It is just not part of the lifestyle here and the health codes are so strict that using smokers are probably a violation of some obscure statute, which could get you shut down, whacked, or both. In any event, this place has it figured out. Get the brisket or the pulled pork with sweet potato casserole or baked beans. Take it to go and sit in Peter Cooper park while you stuff your face. You will think you are in North Carolina for a second, until somebody cuts off a cabbie taking a left onto 7th Street and he screams, "Getouttadaway, you %^%^$^$!"
Best Place not to hear the "F-word": Nowhere. New Yorkers say the "F-word" more than any other word. It is a noun, an adjective, and a verb. You hear it on the train, in the cabs, at the gym, in the barber shop, at work, at bars, at sporting events, at bar mitzvahs, ordering coffee....it does not matter. Heck, at Easter Sunday service, the priest said, "peace be with you and have a great f'in day." (not really, but I would not have batted an eye if he had) So, if you are easily offended by this word, turn up your Ipod to maximum volume and blare "Livin on a Prayer" in your ears until you want to smash your head through a plate glass window. By that point, you will be singing a new song......"Get Over It."
I will do another list later on with more items like "best way to get stabbed by a skate at a hockey game" or "worst subway puddle." (Subway puddles may be the grossest entities on Earth. It's a collection of trash, liquid, and God knows what else that collects on the tracks of the busiest subway in the world. If I fell in one, I would just write my will on a napkin before I died of a combination of e.coli, AIDS, polio, scurvy, Spanish influenza and walking pneumonia.) Anyhow, I am glad to be able to write more and focus on things that are more fun than "motions in limine" and the legislative history behind the New York Appellate Rule about timely filed briefs. Don't worry, I won't intentionally slam my fingers in the sliding door of an Aerostar, but I might go to Don Pepe's and say "nobody move, FBI!"
I have been in New York for nine months. That is long enough to get a good grasp on what I like and do not like about the city. There is no place like New York City, for this I can vouch. I have beaten these sidewalks to death with my size 12 Nikes in search of the best food, good times, hidden gems, and music/sports venues. One of my co-workers remarked, "you have experienced more in this city in nine months than I have in my entire life." I reckon I am doing something right....or I have ADD and cannot sit around for more than ten seconds. I usually scan the newspapers for "top ten lists" and work from there. This city has about 47 different newspapers, so I never run out of material. Heck, one of the Irish pubs on 35th Street near my office has copies of some Irish newspaper on their bar every day. Thank God, I cannot go a single day without knowing who won between Galway and County Killarney in minor league soccer last week. These papers are always doing "Top Ten Best ______ in New York." Many times, the places discussed are interchangeable and are just ranked higher or lower on each paper's list. In any event, I give you "the best and worst of New York" according to me. This is mainly for the use of my Southern brethren who ever decide to visit and have no clue where to go. This list is brought to you by Bagel Talk on Amsterdam Avenue, the Flatt & Scruggs song "Pearl Pearl Pearl" and the lint in my sweatpants, which is still more interesting than North Korea.
Best Pizza: Rigoletto Pizza on West 72nd Street. Get the large with extra mozzarella, prosciutto, and Italian sausage. I once destroyed an entire pizza and went into a food coma for 48 hours, but it was worth it. Imagine Waffle House hash browns mixed with pieces of your grandmaw's fried chicken. Yes, THAT good. New York pizza has no rival, I'm sorry.
Best Place to Watch a Concert: The Beacon Theater on Broadway at West 74th Street. Maybe I am biased because I saw Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Allman Brothers at this venue (fulfilling a bucket list item for yours truly). What a night that was. The concert was exceptional, the band was on fire and played some amazing songs. They started with "Don't Want You No More" and proceeded to melt my face off for three hours. The pre-party was held at this old school bar called Malachy's. It is the kind of place where they sweep the teeth and sponge the blood off the floor at 4 AM before they close. The bartender was this gruff Irishman who pronounced "Bass" like "Boss" and probably has not smiled since 1992. They also do not care about marijuana use on the sidewalk out front because the old school Allman Brothers fans were blazing up like they were about to face a firing squad.
Best Cab Route to Get to the Lower East Side from Uptown: Just walk or take the 50 minute subway ride. The cab ride will cost you $40 and once you have arrived at your destination, you will run to the bathroom and vomit from motion sickness. New York cabbies only know two speeds: Warp Speed and Ludicrous Speed (+1 for Spaceballs reference). This goes for braking and turning as well. If you have had a couple of beers and the A/C is not working in the cab, then you will start feeling uneasy right around Second Avenue and 65th Street. The cab is whipping in and out of the lanes like you are being chased by the velociraptor pack from Jurassic Park. He slams on the brakes at least 37 times. This is all taking place at 87 MPH. Then your friends will grab you and say "are you OK?" as your face turns green. Suddenly, the rigatoni bolognese you were about to eat does not sound so tasty. Sweat trickles down your forehead, but it's 12 degrees outside. The cabbie suddenly whips over three lanes and exits off the FDR expressway like Tony Stewart trying to get the pole at Daytona. You taste yesterday's pastrami sandwich. Arriving at the destination, the cab brakes so hard that your internal organs shift and you suffer mild whiplash. You dart into the restaurant bathroom before you projectile vomit all over the maitre' d. Take the train, y'all.
Best Place to have a Sopranos Experience: Don Pepe's. This Italian gem is tucked away in the middle of nowhere in Queens in an area called Ozone Park. The area is mentioned frequently in Nicholas Pileggi's book "Wiseguy," which is the book that "Goodfellas" is based upon. One step in to Don Pepe's and you will know why. The owner of the restaurant was playing 5-Card Stud at one of the round tables with about five other guys who could have auditioned for the part of Sonny Corleone or Paulie Walnuts. In fact, the only people in the restaurant who were not out of central casting for a mob movie were Quinton and I. There's Quinton, a black man from Locust Grove, Georgia and me with my accent. The waiter asked me what part of Italy I came from. Luckily, I am a geography savant, so I said "Avellino." After a few jokes, he served us some of the best food I have ever tasted. Baked clams, baked ziti with meat "gravy," as they say, and a bottle of red wine. Then came the cannoli. I was stuffed to the gills, but I am not one to turn down cannoli. Quinton asks me if I think anyone has been whacked here. I look around....Quinton and I are the only ones without a pinky ring and the only ones who did not go over and kiss the owner on both cheeks. "Probably not," I say, but I would not put money on it. I now understand why Clemenza said, "leave the gun, take the cannoli." This place will definitely be a repeat visit for yours truly.
Best Bagel: Zabar's on Broadway and 81st. Get the vegetable cream cheese. Oy vey!
Best Sports Experience: A sold out New York Yankees game. For a baseball history nut like me, there is no substitute for an afternoon in the Bronx. You have to be there, realize how many great things have happened on 161st Street, and it will consume you.
Best Record Store: Rebel Rebel Records on Bleecker Street in the West Village. This tiny store looks like a dusty attic stuffed full of old vinyl records. So what? It is phenomenal. You want to find a long lost album or CD? This is the best place I have ever seen. I found "Brain Salad Surgery" by Emerson, Lake & Palmer, "Three Feet High and Rising" by De La Soul and a mint condition vinyl of "One of These Nights" by The Eagles here. The owner remarked, "that is a random combination, my friend." You could literally find anything here. In fact, I am not convinced that the Ark of the Covenant, Jimmy Hoffa and Christian Slater's acting career are not buried there somewhere. The owner is a musical encyclopedia, seriously. You could ask him, "what is the sixth track on the B side of Songs in the Key of Life?" and he would spout the answer before you could say, "Johnny Cash is overrated." (oops, did I say that?)
Best dive bar: Broome Street Bar & Grill at West Broadway and Broome. Cheap drinks, a good crowd, and maybe the best internet jukebox ever. The bartenders all look like roadies for Southern rock bands from the 70's. In fact, last time I was in there, this foreign guy paid $10.00 to the jukebox and played an entire U2 album. After about three songs (all of which sound exactly the same), the bartender hands me a $10.00 and says, "go play something we like and drown out this f***** garbage before I kill myself." So, being the good Southerner I am, I played Allman Brothers, Marshall Tucker, Outlaws with a little Traffic mixed in for good measure. New Yorkers love Southern rock. This is a fact that has thoroughly shocked me but it has been a pleasant surprise. (Runner Up: Rudy's Bar & Grill in Hell's Kitchen. Free hot dogs, red leather, duct taped booths, and a big movie screen out back where they show 80's movies all night. You know a bar is good when it is referenced in a Steely Dan song.)
Best thing about winter time in New York: Nothing. Unless you enjoy looking like the Rebel forces at the beginning of "The Empire Strikes Back," then winter is not for you. I now own two boggans, one for cold days and the other for ridiculously cold days. I have to get to work fifteen minutes early just so I can remove the 27 layers of clothing I wear to keep the wind from cutting me in two. Times Square in the morning looks like a bunch of "Ralphies" from "A Christmas Story." If you pushed us all down, we would squirm around on the ground helplessly like turtles.
Worst Thing I Have Seen on the Subway: It's a tie. I saw a cross dressing old man in see through panty hose and high heels, which destroyed my appetite for the next twelve hours. The other would be the 27 rats I counted running around the tracks as I waited for the B train at 81st Street. New York rats are enormous and I am pretty sure they talk and have personalities. They were all attacking a discarded sandwich on the track, trying to get pieces of it before it was devoured. A writhing pile of hairy vermin crawling all over each other. It was like watching the Florida student section in Jacksonville fighting over the last pair of jean shorts. I watched this scene in horror for a few seconds until one of them looked up at me and said "What's your problem?" Even the rats are abrasive in this city.
Worst Place to Eat if you are on a Diet: Great Burrito on Amsterdam Avenue. Not only are the burritos enormous and delicious, it is located next to Insomnia Cookies. This is an all-night cookie store (hence the name) that makes some of the best cookies I have ever tasted. They purposefully leave the door open so the smell right hooks you in the face as you walk by. They also have freezer where they keep one gallon of vanilla ice cream and one gallon of chocolate so they can make "cookiewiches," where they put a dip of ice cream between two giant cookies. Are you kidding me? One hour and 4,376 calories later and I am laying on the couch watching Sopranos reruns taking Pepto Bismol shots. Worth it!
Best Craft Beer spot: The Belgian Room on St. Mark's in the Lower East Side. Trappist monks in the Belgian hinterlands make the best beer. No contest.
Best Barbecue: Mighty Quinn's in the East Village. I will be brutally honest, NYC barbecue sucks for the most part. It is just not part of the lifestyle here and the health codes are so strict that using smokers are probably a violation of some obscure statute, which could get you shut down, whacked, or both. In any event, this place has it figured out. Get the brisket or the pulled pork with sweet potato casserole or baked beans. Take it to go and sit in Peter Cooper park while you stuff your face. You will think you are in North Carolina for a second, until somebody cuts off a cabbie taking a left onto 7th Street and he screams, "Getouttadaway, you %^%^$^$!"
Best Place not to hear the "F-word": Nowhere. New Yorkers say the "F-word" more than any other word. It is a noun, an adjective, and a verb. You hear it on the train, in the cabs, at the gym, in the barber shop, at work, at bars, at sporting events, at bar mitzvahs, ordering coffee....it does not matter. Heck, at Easter Sunday service, the priest said, "peace be with you and have a great f'in day." (not really, but I would not have batted an eye if he had) So, if you are easily offended by this word, turn up your Ipod to maximum volume and blare "Livin on a Prayer" in your ears until you want to smash your head through a plate glass window. By that point, you will be singing a new song......"Get Over It."
I will do another list later on with more items like "best way to get stabbed by a skate at a hockey game" or "worst subway puddle." (Subway puddles may be the grossest entities on Earth. It's a collection of trash, liquid, and God knows what else that collects on the tracks of the busiest subway in the world. If I fell in one, I would just write my will on a napkin before I died of a combination of e.coli, AIDS, polio, scurvy, Spanish influenza and walking pneumonia.) Anyhow, I am glad to be able to write more and focus on things that are more fun than "motions in limine" and the legislative history behind the New York Appellate Rule about timely filed briefs. Don't worry, I won't intentionally slam my fingers in the sliding door of an Aerostar, but I might go to Don Pepe's and say "nobody move, FBI!"
Friday, March 1, 2013
40 Ways to Beat the Urban Grind
Yesterday, I was riding the subway to Times Square and we were delayed for ten minutes because another person had been hit by a train at 50th Street. The person was not killed, but he/she was injured badly enough to where a stretcher was needed to get out of the station. So, as we sat in the tunnel waiting, you start hearing the grumbling...
"Ugh, I'm going to be late."
"When are people gonna learn?"
"Some crackhead probably pushed him."
"Dunkin Donuts will have a line out to 6th Avenue by the time I get there."
Sitting in a subway tunnel is a claustrophobic's worst nightmare. You are packed in with 100 people in this train car, underground, in the dark. Since it is winter, everyone has on ridiculously huge coats, so you cannot really move around at all. I just cranked up my Ipod, playing "Barely Breathing" by Duncan Sheik, and waited out the delay in my own world. I watched people's faces, most of them looking positively miserable. As if this train delay marks the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine). The exception being three small children, a Jamaican guy clearly enjoying his Ipod, an old Asian woman with a perpetual grin and the girl next to me, who apparently plays "Molly" in some play on Broadway because she was reading her lines.
New Yorkers HATE to wait for anything. They even do what is called a "pre-honk" in their cars. This is a preemptive tap on the horn to alert the drivers ahead of them that traffic will indeed start moving soon. There can be a line of five people to get on a subway car and the last guy always yells, "C'mon!" They will get take-out food, be told "thirty minutes" and then instantly run to the restaurant and wonder why it is not ready. You do NOT want to be the guy whose credit card gets declined at the grocery store. Every grocery store in the city is busy, 24/7/365. Thirty five people will call you a "schmuck" and stone you to death with Gala apples. It is quite comical, as Southerners like me are rarely in a hurry. Sometimes, I walk extra slowly just to see how many people I can annoy. I usually get the women in the business suits, jabbering on their Iphone and doing the "fire-breathing dragon" act that so many corporate drones do around here. I love to listen to them talk tough about filing paperwork, insurance claims and mortgage interest rates.
This ridiculous behavior is foreign to me. I live by words that I was told in Cassville many years ago, "still water runs deep." I get better results and live a happier life. Toughness to me is not "telling someone off" over the phone. Toughness is people who get up at 4 AM and go to work without complaint. People who treat others with respect and deal with you face-to-face. People who take what life gives them and keep on going without whining. I find that small town people, specifically rural Southerners, seem to adjust to adversity better than the world assumes they would. We do not fly off the handle at little things. We do not walk through life looking for a reason to be angry. Those that do, the "telephone tough guys" and the "I got wedgied in high school so I am paying everybody back" crowd, often wilt like a burning potato chip bag when personally confronted. I never knew many of these types of people until I passed the Bar and started working in urban areas. People are wound too damn tight. They just need a "dip a 'niller" (dip of vanilla) and a riveting discussion about roofing nail prices on the benches of Cass Grocery. It does the soul good to stand around a 1967 Pontiac GTO with the hood up and lament the loss of carburetors with ten other people. To smell barbeque cooking or get a wave from your neighbor riding around in his "weekend truck." To argue over what is the best way to get to Rome. All that angry nonsense will disappear because they will know the world ain't out to get them.
I thought to myself, "what are some ways to help these poor souls?" To get happy like us, you must become one with us. Adapt to our way of life. See things as we see them. In an effort to assuage the stress of urban life, I have concocted a list of forty things that a city-dwelling cubicle slave can do to get some peace in their lives, Cassville style. This list is brought to you by Zabar's bagels and lox, Katz's Deli on the Lower East Side, Garcia's Mexican restaurant in Forest Hills, Queens (best. salsa. ever.), the Chinese lady at 6th Avenue bodega who says "tonk you, suh" every time I buy something, and Lana, my female Israeli barber who never stops grinning.
1) Buy an American-made truck and do something to the engine. Anything. Take the oil pan off and put it back on, then brag about it. Instant conversation starter.
2) Get a dog and name it after a famous country/Southern rock singer. Ex: Duane, George, Willie, Ronnie, Elvis, or Johnny. Have it ride with you in your newly souped up Ford Ranger.
3) Buy a metal toolbox for the Ranger. Fill it with jumper cables, rubber hunting boots, empty dip cans, packs of arrow tips for your compound bow that you are going to buy, two crowbars, three full Natty Lite cans, and two one-gallon gas cans. One full of gas and the other full of Round Up. Do not label them. You must do the test sniff, say with confidence, "Round Up" and move on. You will appear to know what you are talking about.
4) You need a compound bow in your life. No less than an 80 pound pull will do. No matter how much pull you say you have....somebody else will have a higher one. I think one man in Cassville had 764 pound pull on his bow. He had to use a draft horse to fire it and he once hit a deer from six miles away on the run.
5) Dove shoots. You need to attend one. Take your worst gun though, because this party will likely be pooped upon by the DNR and your gun will be confiscated as "evidence" of people having a good time.
6) Pronounce the word "grass" like this: "grice."
7) Scream at an umpire at a middle school softball game like he burned your house down and stole everything you own. Encourage others to do so. Get arrested and smile in the mugshot.
8) Sit in an emergency room for seven hours and cry uncontrollably because your 3rd cousin's ex neighbor in law might have diabetes.
9) Go to church and ask the congregation to pray for your 3rd cousin's ex neighbor in law. Be sure it gets in the bulletin.
10) Claim third cousins and beyond. Always have one in another state too. "Bobby, my fourth cousin from East Ridge, Tennessee" will do nicely.
11) Get in touch with your inner Cherokee Indian. We are all part Cherokee. Every single one of us.
12) Go to Six Flags on the hottest day of the year and win at least three stuffed unicorns and two basketballs.
13) Buy a Carhartt vest and swear to wear it to church or a wedding.
14) Mention your "2nd Amendment rights" at least once a week.
15) Somehow work into a conversation that you've been to the "Nannahaler" recently. (Nantahala River...the alpha and omega of all rivers. Longer than the Nile and more dangerous than the Amazon)
16) You must go to a Mexican restaurant for one birthday. Wear a sombrero and take a picture. Act like this could possibly be the greatest moment of your life as they sing "Feliz Cumpleanos" and "La Cucharacha" to you, as those are the only Hispanic songs you know.
17) Buy second hand appliances and then brag about the deal you received to your friends. "Ol Steve gave me this dryer for two hunnert and thirty dollars."
18) Have a domestic dispute on Facebook, change your relationship status and then make up the next day.
19) Dixie Speedway. If you have not been, you are already a day late.
20) Pronounce "log" like this: "lawg."
21) Use tornadoes to mark years and locations. "1993, that was the year we had that tornado, right?" or "There's Griffin Road, about three years ago a tornado blowed that place slap to pieces."
22) Refer to a group of people in this manner: "Keith n' them."
23) Get really fired up about an election and then do not actually vote in it. "I couldn't get off work."
24) Buy a 12 Pack of Old Milwaukee and a pack of Marlboro Reds. Smoke and drink all within a 12 hour period.
25) Be very particular about the brand of spark plugs you buy.
26) Talk about "going to Atlanta" as if you were landing at Normandy or Iwo Jima.
27) You can never have enough chainsaw files or pipe glue.
28) If your friends ask if you want to "go muddin' at the par (power) lines," the answer is always "yes."
29) Old men are always "sir," old women are always "ma'am," and do not talk bad about anyone's blood relations, even if they are imprisoned.
30) Remember where you were on the following dates: Dale Earnhardt's death, when Sid Bream scored the winning run in the 1991 NLCS, and when Herschel ran over Bill Bates in Knoxville in 1980.
31) Expect to catch hell if you put too much cream in your coffee, mention the word "gluten" or concern yourself with sodium content.
32) Pronounce the word "bass" (the fish) like this: "bice." Also, don't say "croppie."
33) Only wear your nice t-shirts to Ryan's. Be sure to tuck them in.
34) Get to the point where you openly admit that you considered "dumpster diving" when you saw somebody throw away a decent looking recliner
35) Know where a secret farm pond is located that only you can visit. Brag about this knowledge repeatedly. When confronted, just say "this ol boy I know from work, he just lets me go out there." Your clandestine activity will drive your friends crazy.
36) All your close friends have the title "Ol" before their name. Their age is no concern. "Ol' Buck's been livin' in Darsvul (Adairsville) his whole life."
37) Attend a wrestling match with local sponsorship. Forget WWE. Forget Monday Night Raw. Do a Wednesday night "Southern Outlaw North Georgia Throwdown" match at the old Kingston Elementary School gym involving chainsaws and ladders.
38) Know all the Hooters employees names, their kids names, have their phone numbers and be their friend on Facebook.
39) Have a friend named after a city, a color or a personal value/state of mind: Denver, Cleveland, Richmond, Dallas, Houston, Cheyenne, Memphis, Amber, Red, Blue, Chastity or Charity.
40) Learn to properly use the word for eternal damnation in any situation: "the hell you say," "like hell you will," "you'll play hell too," "hell, I don't know," "hell-far," and the all time favorite in Cassville...."git the hayul off my property." (you must drag it out when used in those terms)
Enjoy the weekend.
"Ugh, I'm going to be late."
"When are people gonna learn?"
"Some crackhead probably pushed him."
"Dunkin Donuts will have a line out to 6th Avenue by the time I get there."
Sitting in a subway tunnel is a claustrophobic's worst nightmare. You are packed in with 100 people in this train car, underground, in the dark. Since it is winter, everyone has on ridiculously huge coats, so you cannot really move around at all. I just cranked up my Ipod, playing "Barely Breathing" by Duncan Sheik, and waited out the delay in my own world. I watched people's faces, most of them looking positively miserable. As if this train delay marks the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine). The exception being three small children, a Jamaican guy clearly enjoying his Ipod, an old Asian woman with a perpetual grin and the girl next to me, who apparently plays "Molly" in some play on Broadway because she was reading her lines.
New Yorkers HATE to wait for anything. They even do what is called a "pre-honk" in their cars. This is a preemptive tap on the horn to alert the drivers ahead of them that traffic will indeed start moving soon. There can be a line of five people to get on a subway car and the last guy always yells, "C'mon!" They will get take-out food, be told "thirty minutes" and then instantly run to the restaurant and wonder why it is not ready. You do NOT want to be the guy whose credit card gets declined at the grocery store. Every grocery store in the city is busy, 24/7/365. Thirty five people will call you a "schmuck" and stone you to death with Gala apples. It is quite comical, as Southerners like me are rarely in a hurry. Sometimes, I walk extra slowly just to see how many people I can annoy. I usually get the women in the business suits, jabbering on their Iphone and doing the "fire-breathing dragon" act that so many corporate drones do around here. I love to listen to them talk tough about filing paperwork, insurance claims and mortgage interest rates.
This ridiculous behavior is foreign to me. I live by words that I was told in Cassville many years ago, "still water runs deep." I get better results and live a happier life. Toughness to me is not "telling someone off" over the phone. Toughness is people who get up at 4 AM and go to work without complaint. People who treat others with respect and deal with you face-to-face. People who take what life gives them and keep on going without whining. I find that small town people, specifically rural Southerners, seem to adjust to adversity better than the world assumes they would. We do not fly off the handle at little things. We do not walk through life looking for a reason to be angry. Those that do, the "telephone tough guys" and the "I got wedgied in high school so I am paying everybody back" crowd, often wilt like a burning potato chip bag when personally confronted. I never knew many of these types of people until I passed the Bar and started working in urban areas. People are wound too damn tight. They just need a "dip a 'niller" (dip of vanilla) and a riveting discussion about roofing nail prices on the benches of Cass Grocery. It does the soul good to stand around a 1967 Pontiac GTO with the hood up and lament the loss of carburetors with ten other people. To smell barbeque cooking or get a wave from your neighbor riding around in his "weekend truck." To argue over what is the best way to get to Rome. All that angry nonsense will disappear because they will know the world ain't out to get them.
I thought to myself, "what are some ways to help these poor souls?" To get happy like us, you must become one with us. Adapt to our way of life. See things as we see them. In an effort to assuage the stress of urban life, I have concocted a list of forty things that a city-dwelling cubicle slave can do to get some peace in their lives, Cassville style. This list is brought to you by Zabar's bagels and lox, Katz's Deli on the Lower East Side, Garcia's Mexican restaurant in Forest Hills, Queens (best. salsa. ever.), the Chinese lady at 6th Avenue bodega who says "tonk you, suh" every time I buy something, and Lana, my female Israeli barber who never stops grinning.
1) Buy an American-made truck and do something to the engine. Anything. Take the oil pan off and put it back on, then brag about it. Instant conversation starter.
2) Get a dog and name it after a famous country/Southern rock singer. Ex: Duane, George, Willie, Ronnie, Elvis, or Johnny. Have it ride with you in your newly souped up Ford Ranger.
3) Buy a metal toolbox for the Ranger. Fill it with jumper cables, rubber hunting boots, empty dip cans, packs of arrow tips for your compound bow that you are going to buy, two crowbars, three full Natty Lite cans, and two one-gallon gas cans. One full of gas and the other full of Round Up. Do not label them. You must do the test sniff, say with confidence, "Round Up" and move on. You will appear to know what you are talking about.
4) You need a compound bow in your life. No less than an 80 pound pull will do. No matter how much pull you say you have....somebody else will have a higher one. I think one man in Cassville had 764 pound pull on his bow. He had to use a draft horse to fire it and he once hit a deer from six miles away on the run.
5) Dove shoots. You need to attend one. Take your worst gun though, because this party will likely be pooped upon by the DNR and your gun will be confiscated as "evidence" of people having a good time.
6) Pronounce the word "grass" like this: "grice."
7) Scream at an umpire at a middle school softball game like he burned your house down and stole everything you own. Encourage others to do so. Get arrested and smile in the mugshot.
8) Sit in an emergency room for seven hours and cry uncontrollably because your 3rd cousin's ex neighbor in law might have diabetes.
9) Go to church and ask the congregation to pray for your 3rd cousin's ex neighbor in law. Be sure it gets in the bulletin.
10) Claim third cousins and beyond. Always have one in another state too. "Bobby, my fourth cousin from East Ridge, Tennessee" will do nicely.
11) Get in touch with your inner Cherokee Indian. We are all part Cherokee. Every single one of us.
12) Go to Six Flags on the hottest day of the year and win at least three stuffed unicorns and two basketballs.
13) Buy a Carhartt vest and swear to wear it to church or a wedding.
14) Mention your "2nd Amendment rights" at least once a week.
15) Somehow work into a conversation that you've been to the "Nannahaler" recently. (Nantahala River...the alpha and omega of all rivers. Longer than the Nile and more dangerous than the Amazon)
16) You must go to a Mexican restaurant for one birthday. Wear a sombrero and take a picture. Act like this could possibly be the greatest moment of your life as they sing "Feliz Cumpleanos" and "La Cucharacha" to you, as those are the only Hispanic songs you know.
17) Buy second hand appliances and then brag about the deal you received to your friends. "Ol Steve gave me this dryer for two hunnert and thirty dollars."
18) Have a domestic dispute on Facebook, change your relationship status and then make up the next day.
19) Dixie Speedway. If you have not been, you are already a day late.
20) Pronounce "log" like this: "lawg."
21) Use tornadoes to mark years and locations. "1993, that was the year we had that tornado, right?" or "There's Griffin Road, about three years ago a tornado blowed that place slap to pieces."
22) Refer to a group of people in this manner: "Keith n' them."
23) Get really fired up about an election and then do not actually vote in it. "I couldn't get off work."
24) Buy a 12 Pack of Old Milwaukee and a pack of Marlboro Reds. Smoke and drink all within a 12 hour period.
25) Be very particular about the brand of spark plugs you buy.
26) Talk about "going to Atlanta" as if you were landing at Normandy or Iwo Jima.
27) You can never have enough chainsaw files or pipe glue.
28) If your friends ask if you want to "go muddin' at the par (power) lines," the answer is always "yes."
29) Old men are always "sir," old women are always "ma'am," and do not talk bad about anyone's blood relations, even if they are imprisoned.
30) Remember where you were on the following dates: Dale Earnhardt's death, when Sid Bream scored the winning run in the 1991 NLCS, and when Herschel ran over Bill Bates in Knoxville in 1980.
31) Expect to catch hell if you put too much cream in your coffee, mention the word "gluten" or concern yourself with sodium content.
32) Pronounce the word "bass" (the fish) like this: "bice." Also, don't say "croppie."
33) Only wear your nice t-shirts to Ryan's. Be sure to tuck them in.
34) Get to the point where you openly admit that you considered "dumpster diving" when you saw somebody throw away a decent looking recliner
35) Know where a secret farm pond is located that only you can visit. Brag about this knowledge repeatedly. When confronted, just say "this ol boy I know from work, he just lets me go out there." Your clandestine activity will drive your friends crazy.
36) All your close friends have the title "Ol" before their name. Their age is no concern. "Ol' Buck's been livin' in Darsvul (Adairsville) his whole life."
37) Attend a wrestling match with local sponsorship. Forget WWE. Forget Monday Night Raw. Do a Wednesday night "Southern Outlaw North Georgia Throwdown" match at the old Kingston Elementary School gym involving chainsaws and ladders.
38) Know all the Hooters employees names, their kids names, have their phone numbers and be their friend on Facebook.
39) Have a friend named after a city, a color or a personal value/state of mind: Denver, Cleveland, Richmond, Dallas, Houston, Cheyenne, Memphis, Amber, Red, Blue, Chastity or Charity.
40) Learn to properly use the word for eternal damnation in any situation: "the hell you say," "like hell you will," "you'll play hell too," "hell, I don't know," "hell-far," and the all time favorite in Cassville...."git the hayul off my property." (you must drag it out when used in those terms)
Enjoy the weekend.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Spotting Southerners and Staying Country
Growing up as Southerners, we have a different mindset than anyone in the world. Of that, I am sure. Being in this melting pot of the world, I have had a chance to see so many cultures interact. I know Albanian people. I know Uzbekistanians. I think I talked to a guy from Sierra Leone the other day. I bet 0.00001% of Americans could point to Sierra Leone on a map. It sounds like the name of a town where Clint Eastwood killed a bunch of bad guys in Hang Em High.
(typical Eastwood sigh/grunt followed by tough one-liner): "Met a few of your guys in Sierra Leone....they won't be meeting anyone else."
Southerners have a "vibe" that seems to precede us. I can tell that another person is from the South before they open their mouth and reveal a Georgia twang or a Carolina drawl. Maybe it comes from a lifetime of exposure. Maybe I have a sixth sense, but I ain't seeing dead people yet. When my people visit New York, they always flock to Times Square. That is a proving ground for my ability to spot Southerners. I watch them walk in circles, admire the giant Hard Rock Cafe, buy an FDNY shirt and then pull out a giant map. Usually, I approach them and ask them if they need help finding anything. I enjoy the relief on their faces when a familiar accent addresses them. Of course, their first question is always the same,
"Where you from, boy?"
Always. Then I answer, ask them the same question, and get all kinds of random answers:
"Fort Mill, South Carolina"
"Anniston, Alabama....by God"
"God's country, my friend.....Natchez, Missippi" (Mississippi)
"Georgia boy too! Down at Manchester. I got cousins in Fairmount."
We all have cousins. Millions of them. Spread all over the South like kudzu. Name a town right now and I guarantee that one of my aunts or my grandmother will remark, "oh, your mama's third cousin Willie Ted lived there for awhile when he was with the power company." I would not know Willie Ted if he walked in my house right now and ate my last bite of cheese grits.
Older rural Southerners are very easy to spot, especially the men. They are the only demographic that does the following:
1) Tucks in a t-shirt (it could be a tattered Bill Elliott #94 t-shirt, no matter. It's tucked, y'all)
2) Has a toothpick in his mouth at 4:45 because they just ate dinner
3) Looking at TVs to see if any of them have on the Weather Channel, so he can check what is going on back home (by God, if that dewpoint drops any lower...)
4) Has a ring full of keys attached to his jeans, even though he is on vacation
5) Wears a mesh back hat because it's cooler (literally, not figuratively. Southern men have not gone hipster yet.)
Older women are slightly tougher, but I have decoded five ways to determine that a woman is a Southerner:
1) Carries her purse with her arm bent, palm up
2) Uses the windows of the Olive Garden to check her perm
3) The man she is with refers to her as "mama"
4) She won't touch the railings going down into the subway ("Oh God, Harold. Go wash your hands.")
5) Looks at every pashmina on the street vendor's table and holds it next to her shirt to make sure it coordinates (Southern women have not gone hipster yet)
Younger Southerners are not so easy to spot. Our generation is much more transient and connected to the outside world. Other influences exist in our lives that did not exist when our parents and grandparents came of age. Even with our speech, you cannot automatically tell with many of my generation. In a sense, we have lost some of our identity. Are we ashamed of ourselves? Has the national media finally convinced us to blend completely with everyone else? Case in point: I was talking with a group of people I know from Georgia. One of the girls, from Forsyth County, addressed the group with this:
"Myself and some co-workers are going to a thing in Brooklyn, you guys want to come with?" (clearly trying to eliminate her twang in that last phrase)
You guys? Come with? It was like an over-the-top rendition of Breakfast at Tiffany's. If I asked this question in Cassville, I would be laughed/cussed out of the building. Be yourself and damn everyone else. It is perfectly fine to be worldly. It is fine to appreciate other cultures, their way of life, and their traditions. However, I have a problem with Southerners cashing out their culture and values. We have made a niche in this world for being who we are, just like New York Italians, Boston Irishmen, California surfers, and Montana cowboys. To become homogeneous is to allow a small part of the South that exists in all of us to die. That is why I go to Times Square to spot old school Southern people. What others see as redneck or simple, I see as terms of endearment. I have made a concerted effort to remain as "country" as I possibly can. Carry on the way of life set forth by my predecessors rather than forget it and "progress." I have added "Cassville" to my Weather Channel App. I type in "old school country" on Spotify and let it play all day at work. I wear my old Russell moccasins just because. I still cry when I hear Elvis sing the "Dixie" part of American Trilogy. I watch old Austin City Limits performances on Youtube. I am on a quest to find the best fried chicken in the city. And grits? God, how I love them. If you don't like it.......frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
(typical Eastwood sigh/grunt followed by tough one-liner): "Met a few of your guys in Sierra Leone....they won't be meeting anyone else."
Southerners have a "vibe" that seems to precede us. I can tell that another person is from the South before they open their mouth and reveal a Georgia twang or a Carolina drawl. Maybe it comes from a lifetime of exposure. Maybe I have a sixth sense, but I ain't seeing dead people yet. When my people visit New York, they always flock to Times Square. That is a proving ground for my ability to spot Southerners. I watch them walk in circles, admire the giant Hard Rock Cafe, buy an FDNY shirt and then pull out a giant map. Usually, I approach them and ask them if they need help finding anything. I enjoy the relief on their faces when a familiar accent addresses them. Of course, their first question is always the same,
"Where you from, boy?"
Always. Then I answer, ask them the same question, and get all kinds of random answers:
"Fort Mill, South Carolina"
"Anniston, Alabama....by God"
"God's country, my friend.....Natchez, Missippi" (Mississippi)
"Georgia boy too! Down at Manchester. I got cousins in Fairmount."
We all have cousins. Millions of them. Spread all over the South like kudzu. Name a town right now and I guarantee that one of my aunts or my grandmother will remark, "oh, your mama's third cousin Willie Ted lived there for awhile when he was with the power company." I would not know Willie Ted if he walked in my house right now and ate my last bite of cheese grits.
Older rural Southerners are very easy to spot, especially the men. They are the only demographic that does the following:
1) Tucks in a t-shirt (it could be a tattered Bill Elliott #94 t-shirt, no matter. It's tucked, y'all)
2) Has a toothpick in his mouth at 4:45 because they just ate dinner
3) Looking at TVs to see if any of them have on the Weather Channel, so he can check what is going on back home (by God, if that dewpoint drops any lower...)
4) Has a ring full of keys attached to his jeans, even though he is on vacation
5) Wears a mesh back hat because it's cooler (literally, not figuratively. Southern men have not gone hipster yet.)
Older women are slightly tougher, but I have decoded five ways to determine that a woman is a Southerner:
1) Carries her purse with her arm bent, palm up
2) Uses the windows of the Olive Garden to check her perm
3) The man she is with refers to her as "mama"
4) She won't touch the railings going down into the subway ("Oh God, Harold. Go wash your hands.")
5) Looks at every pashmina on the street vendor's table and holds it next to her shirt to make sure it coordinates (Southern women have not gone hipster yet)
Younger Southerners are not so easy to spot. Our generation is much more transient and connected to the outside world. Other influences exist in our lives that did not exist when our parents and grandparents came of age. Even with our speech, you cannot automatically tell with many of my generation. In a sense, we have lost some of our identity. Are we ashamed of ourselves? Has the national media finally convinced us to blend completely with everyone else? Case in point: I was talking with a group of people I know from Georgia. One of the girls, from Forsyth County, addressed the group with this:
"Myself and some co-workers are going to a thing in Brooklyn, you guys want to come with?" (clearly trying to eliminate her twang in that last phrase)
You guys? Come with? It was like an over-the-top rendition of Breakfast at Tiffany's. If I asked this question in Cassville, I would be laughed/cussed out of the building. Be yourself and damn everyone else. It is perfectly fine to be worldly. It is fine to appreciate other cultures, their way of life, and their traditions. However, I have a problem with Southerners cashing out their culture and values. We have made a niche in this world for being who we are, just like New York Italians, Boston Irishmen, California surfers, and Montana cowboys. To become homogeneous is to allow a small part of the South that exists in all of us to die. That is why I go to Times Square to spot old school Southern people. What others see as redneck or simple, I see as terms of endearment. I have made a concerted effort to remain as "country" as I possibly can. Carry on the way of life set forth by my predecessors rather than forget it and "progress." I have added "Cassville" to my Weather Channel App. I type in "old school country" on Spotify and let it play all day at work. I wear my old Russell moccasins just because. I still cry when I hear Elvis sing the "Dixie" part of American Trilogy. I watch old Austin City Limits performances on Youtube. I am on a quest to find the best fried chicken in the city. And grits? God, how I love them. If you don't like it.......frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
So God Made Cass Grocery
God created the Earth and he looked down from on high,
He saw a certain group of people walking around with nowhere to go,
from Firetower to Cass-White to Cedar Creek Road,
A society without community cannot stand, said He
So God made Cass Grocery
God said, "I need a place where they can be home away from home,"
He needed a place made of bricks and wood
held together by the bonds of friendship and loyalty,
where good people congregate daily to talk about car parts, horse feed,
their kids, the Braves, their cousin's Camaro, the price of gas, PVC pipe,
Dale Earnhardt's death, the potholes on Shinall-Gaines Road, .44 slugs,
Skilsaws, chainsaws, roofing nails, the best way to get to Rome, food plots,
the red lights on 41, 2 cycle oil, john boats, Carter's Lake and dogs.
So God made Cass Grocery.
God said, "I need a place where characters with character can reside,"
Where Billy, Gene, Dee, Joel, Harold, J.L. Forrest, Doc, Gus, Junior, Marvin, Russell,
Jimmy Lee, Mark, Jubal, Andrew, Daryl, Ricky, Johnny, Eddie, Larry, Jim, Leon, Buck,
Earl, Randy, Keith, Mike, Dale, Matt, Brad, David, and W.L. can all say "hey" over a coffee.
Where they can pull up in their trucks after killing a ten pointer in Pine Log,
or reeling in the largest largemouth from a secret farm pond in Rydal and say,
"Hey, y'all ain't gonna believe this..."
So God made Cass Grocery.
God said, "I need a place where young boys can grow into men,"
Where they can pump gas and check oil at age nine,
Learn about lag screws, sparkplugs, 16 penny nails, water heater elements,
brass elbows, shutoff valves, drive shafts, cracked corn, and power steering fluid.
Where they get their first chew of Levi Garrett or their first drag of a Marlboro
and get laughed out of the parking lot with "we tried to tell ye!" when they turn green,
Where "gimme five in high test" and "car's thowed a rod" would send them into action,
Where things get done between Dean Durham's and Bill Dance's segments on the TV,
Where "This Ain't No Thinkin Thing" and "Tequila Sunrise" blare from the tiny radio,
while old men explain the difference between a Carolina rig and a Texas rig,
why you "pull" corn, why you "don't never check a radiator on a hot car," and whatever you do,
don't ever compare a Mossberg to a Browning.
So God made Cass Grocery.
God said, "I need a place where people can have pride in themselves and their town,"
Where crowds gather to admire somebody's rebuilt 327 engine,
Where the same crowd cheers when the car lays drag on the way to Adairsville,
Women never have to open their own door, pump their own gas or carry their groceries,
Where children get their first ice cream,
A place that is the first stop for newly licensed 16 year olds to show off their new wheels,
A place where you can order a 1/4 pound of bologna, a Moon Pie and pork rinds for lunch,
Where you can always borrow the water hose for your radiator or a empty milk jug for gas,
Where handshakes are plenty and you truly can "have a Coke and a smile"
and at the end of the day, you are glad that you were able to live that day.
So God made Cass Grocery.
He saw a certain group of people walking around with nowhere to go,
from Firetower to Cass-White to Cedar Creek Road,
A society without community cannot stand, said He
So God made Cass Grocery
God said, "I need a place where they can be home away from home,"
He needed a place made of bricks and wood
held together by the bonds of friendship and loyalty,
where good people congregate daily to talk about car parts, horse feed,
their kids, the Braves, their cousin's Camaro, the price of gas, PVC pipe,
Dale Earnhardt's death, the potholes on Shinall-Gaines Road, .44 slugs,
Skilsaws, chainsaws, roofing nails, the best way to get to Rome, food plots,
the red lights on 41, 2 cycle oil, john boats, Carter's Lake and dogs.
So God made Cass Grocery.
God said, "I need a place where characters with character can reside,"
Where Billy, Gene, Dee, Joel, Harold, J.L. Forrest, Doc, Gus, Junior, Marvin, Russell,
Jimmy Lee, Mark, Jubal, Andrew, Daryl, Ricky, Johnny, Eddie, Larry, Jim, Leon, Buck,
Earl, Randy, Keith, Mike, Dale, Matt, Brad, David, and W.L. can all say "hey" over a coffee.
Where they can pull up in their trucks after killing a ten pointer in Pine Log,
or reeling in the largest largemouth from a secret farm pond in Rydal and say,
"Hey, y'all ain't gonna believe this..."
So God made Cass Grocery.
God said, "I need a place where young boys can grow into men,"
Where they can pump gas and check oil at age nine,
Learn about lag screws, sparkplugs, 16 penny nails, water heater elements,
brass elbows, shutoff valves, drive shafts, cracked corn, and power steering fluid.
Where they get their first chew of Levi Garrett or their first drag of a Marlboro
and get laughed out of the parking lot with "we tried to tell ye!" when they turn green,
Where "gimme five in high test" and "car's thowed a rod" would send them into action,
Where things get done between Dean Durham's and Bill Dance's segments on the TV,
Where "This Ain't No Thinkin Thing" and "Tequila Sunrise" blare from the tiny radio,
while old men explain the difference between a Carolina rig and a Texas rig,
why you "pull" corn, why you "don't never check a radiator on a hot car," and whatever you do,
don't ever compare a Mossberg to a Browning.
So God made Cass Grocery.
God said, "I need a place where people can have pride in themselves and their town,"
Where crowds gather to admire somebody's rebuilt 327 engine,
Where the same crowd cheers when the car lays drag on the way to Adairsville,
Women never have to open their own door, pump their own gas or carry their groceries,
Where children get their first ice cream,
A place that is the first stop for newly licensed 16 year olds to show off their new wheels,
A place where you can order a 1/4 pound of bologna, a Moon Pie and pork rinds for lunch,
Where you can always borrow the water hose for your radiator or a empty milk jug for gas,
Where handshakes are plenty and you truly can "have a Coke and a smile"
and at the end of the day, you are glad that you were able to live that day.
So God made Cass Grocery.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Welcome to February: The Deserted Wasteland for Sports Fans
There are a few times in a year where depression sets in, despite anything said or done. It happens to all of us. Times where hope feels miles away. The wind blows colder. You get more irritable with others. Work days seem to last 15 hours. Traffic is worse. People honk their horns on narrow streets more often, deafening pedestrians, causing dogs to bark incessantly and children to scream bloody murder. Terrible things seem to pile up. I have already imagined what will take place:
1) Justin Bieber comes out with a new album, covering the Allman Brothers in falsetto with Taylor Swift and other modern "artists." Ladies and gentlemen, on the stage to perform Midnight Rider......Lady Gaga and Nickelback. I could see Gregg just set his Hammond organ on fire and light a cigarette on the burning ashes.
2) American Idol signs on for 17 more seasons and the new judges are Kim Kardashian, Diane Feinstein and Jesse Jackson.
Jesse Jackson: "Contextually, that performance was perfunctory and prognostificacious." (Feinstein nods, Kim is still trying to figure out how to write a "K" in cursive)
Contestant: "What? You people make no sense."
Jesse Jackson: "What do you mean, YOU PEOPLE?"
3) MTV comes out with MTV3, a network solely dedicated to Jersey Shore reruns, Bjork music videos and eternal Kurt Cobain worship.
4) Wal-Mart, McDonald's and Apple merge into one giant company, thereby decreasing the per capita IQ of this country by 43 points and increasing the sale of sweatpants, houseshoes, Monster Energy drinks and Mountain Dew.
5) The NFL and NCAA, under immense pressure, decides that football will be two-hand touch in 2013. The UGA Administration bans tailgating altogether, moves all our games to Tuesday nights and gives half of the athletic budget to the rowing team.
Your steak is overcooked, your coffee is lukewarm and one of your headphones stops working while you are going for a run. Just inexplicable horrors run rampant in your life. Yes, y'all, I am talking about the month of February for sports fans.
I have lived through 31 Februarys in my life, each one worse than the last. Nothing happens in February. Football is gone. Baseball is a non-entity until March. Basketball is still in the midseason doldrums before their playoff runs. I think 37 people attended the last Hawks home game and that was a bunch of youth recreation teams who got in free. NASCAR has yet to begin, but quite frankly, it is no longer interesting to me. I did attempt to watch soccer last week at a bar in Manhattan but I instantly went into a boredom coma, fell out of my stool and landed in somebody's guacamole dip. When I was in Ireland last Fall, I watched soccer in a pub there, amongst the "hooligans" along the River Liffey in Dublin. It was Manchester United versus Everton (I think). The final score of the 2 hour and 45 minute game was 0-0. Basically, it was a cross country meet with a ball added into the mix. It got so bad that I started playing a drinking game by myself. Every time I thought about throwing myself into the river, I took a drink. 14 Guinness pints lost their lives that evening. These Irishmen were going NUTS over this game. It was like watching an oil puddle form in a Wal-Mart parking lot. To make matters worse the next morning, the local paper had a three page write-up on how Manchester almost scored once in the first ten minutes of the game. I looked at my waitress, Maggie Shaughnessy O'Callahan, and ordered a shot of Bailey's for my coffee.
Soccer needs three things to be interesting, if you ask me:
1) Fighting: At least once, a slide tackle needs to result in fisticuffs. A brouhaha. A donnybrook. A bench clearing slugfest. Penalize the offender(s) in soundproof boxes next to each other, however, allow them access to dry erase markers so they may write their feelings on the box for all to see until they get out.
2) More Points: Extra points for longer kicks. Bicycle kicks are worth ten points. If the goalie scores with a cross field kick, the game is over, you lose.
3) Shorten and narrow the playing field by 20 yards: These guys are 765 miles away from the goal, no wonder they never score. I swear I saw a coach send a telegram to a player during the World Cup because he was so far downfield. If you want a gigantic American audience, it is not hard to entice us. We want scoring, blood, possibly a fight or two and scantily clad cheerleaders to shoot t-shirts out of a bazooka.
Signing Day does occur on February 6th, but even that has become a non-entity in the life of a Georgia fan this season. We signed the majority of our class in December during the early enrollee signing period. Our remaining commitments are firm and have no intention of switching. While this is a good thing, it does not lend much to excitement on Signing Day. The majority of the uncommitted players we are still pursuing have written us off at this point, much to the chagrin of myself and about 2,500 Dawgventers who have been gnashing teeth and blaming Richt for everything from the apparent loss of Georgia's "Mr. Football" Alvin Kamara, to the Kennedy assassination and the Vietnam War. We get our share of great players but we always seem to be on the outside looking in for these five star "holdouts." The same 4-5 schools are always in the mix for their services and these schools are normally at the precipice of NCAA sanctions or have already been nailed in the past.
In the last five years, the recruiting cycle in the SEC has become a form of cultural prostitution. The NCAA appears to be powerless to stop it and too unscrupulous to handle an investigation with propriety. Kids transfer more than ever before, creating these football factory high schools and killing the "hometown" feel of a Friday night tilt in Smalltown, USA. Mark my words, in Georgia, you will see the same 12-14 schools rotate as state champions every year. There will be no more Cinderella stories or diamonds in the rough. The Internet is a fountain of knowledge that needs to be turned off. I know more about these kids than I EVER wanted to know. I pay $99 per year to subscribe to Dawgvent and the content has dramatically changed since I started in 2004. What happened to the good ol days of 40 times, vertical leaps and cone drills? Now, thanks to Twitter, I know what Laremy Tunsil's girlfriend looks like Precious after an all night eating binge at Dunkin Donuts. Thanks to Twitter, I know Davin Bellamy was in a dorm room in Oregon with a bong (gasp!). Facebook let me know that Da'Rick Rogers likes to drink beer with fat white girls, Johnny Manziel likes to gamble on Indian reservations in the offseason, and Laquon Treadwell appeared to be $1,000 richer after leaving Oxford, Mississippi last time. Frankly, on the scale of "things I care about," the personal lives of 17 year olds falls below the following:
1) Did I download the live version of "My Baby Daddy" by B-Rock and the Bizz?
2) The number of times "Freebird!" has been yelled in the state of Alabama
3) My lamentation over my failure to buy a Hypercolor T-shirt in 1991
4) The 4,598,234 pigeons that just relieved themselves on Grand Central Station
5) The ignition timing of a 1983 Camaro
Money changes hands. Illegal promises are made. If this was a civil trial, there would a preponderance of evidence against so many programs. Those who appear to be guilty are never caught (in a timely fashion), those who play by the rules get left behind and the majority of programs, contrary to past years, now must "impress" the recruit. Kids leave their home state because they get better "deals" at other schools. Words like"bagman" and "under the table" have replaced "boy, he is fast" in recruiting discussions. Alabama picked up a commitment from Reuben Foster, a five star linebacker, yesterday. During his incoherent speech about why he chose the Tide, he used the term "business decision." That embodies all that is wrong with the state of recruiting in the southeast. When I was 18, the only "business decision" I made was whether I needed to buy the $0.79 Snickers or the $1.19 Snickers. The excitement of what used to be a wonderful day has been waning for me. I will still keep up with the days events but I'll only check the Dawgvent 12,537 times instead of my usual 19,435.
As you can see, I like to make lists when I am depressed. I am just going to bide my time until March gets here. There is plenty to do. Pitchers and catchers are reporting soon. College basketball will get fired up and the greatest spectacle in sports will ensue once again. The Walking Dead will return from its midseason break. The Beacon Theater has put out their new lineup for the Spring and it is going to be unreal. Yes will be in concert on April 9th. Brit Floyd, an awesome Pink Floyd cover band, will also perform in April. The most underrated guitarist in the universe, Joe Bonamassa, will be here in May. Most importantly, the Allman Brothers Band will be here in T-minus 23 days. They will spend half of March inundating the Upper West Side with 17 minute jam sessions, guest stars, Derek's unbelievable slide guitar work and Gregg belting out the words as only he can. I have already purchased tickets for a Saturday show and I plan for my "inner Cassville" to come out in full force. So, friends, I leave you with a final, more happy list.
Brad's Top 5 Most Underrated Allman Brothers songs:
5) Don't Want You No More
4) Little Martha
3) Hot Lanta
2) Mountain Jam
1) Dreams
I encourage each of you to listen to these wonderful songs and enjoy them. I guarantee they will brighten a cold, dark February day before you can say "I was born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus."
1) Justin Bieber comes out with a new album, covering the Allman Brothers in falsetto with Taylor Swift and other modern "artists." Ladies and gentlemen, on the stage to perform Midnight Rider......Lady Gaga and Nickelback. I could see Gregg just set his Hammond organ on fire and light a cigarette on the burning ashes.
2) American Idol signs on for 17 more seasons and the new judges are Kim Kardashian, Diane Feinstein and Jesse Jackson.
Jesse Jackson: "Contextually, that performance was perfunctory and prognostificacious." (Feinstein nods, Kim is still trying to figure out how to write a "K" in cursive)
Contestant: "What? You people make no sense."
Jesse Jackson: "What do you mean, YOU PEOPLE?"
3) MTV comes out with MTV3, a network solely dedicated to Jersey Shore reruns, Bjork music videos and eternal Kurt Cobain worship.
4) Wal-Mart, McDonald's and Apple merge into one giant company, thereby decreasing the per capita IQ of this country by 43 points and increasing the sale of sweatpants, houseshoes, Monster Energy drinks and Mountain Dew.
5) The NFL and NCAA, under immense pressure, decides that football will be two-hand touch in 2013. The UGA Administration bans tailgating altogether, moves all our games to Tuesday nights and gives half of the athletic budget to the rowing team.
Your steak is overcooked, your coffee is lukewarm and one of your headphones stops working while you are going for a run. Just inexplicable horrors run rampant in your life. Yes, y'all, I am talking about the month of February for sports fans.
I have lived through 31 Februarys in my life, each one worse than the last. Nothing happens in February. Football is gone. Baseball is a non-entity until March. Basketball is still in the midseason doldrums before their playoff runs. I think 37 people attended the last Hawks home game and that was a bunch of youth recreation teams who got in free. NASCAR has yet to begin, but quite frankly, it is no longer interesting to me. I did attempt to watch soccer last week at a bar in Manhattan but I instantly went into a boredom coma, fell out of my stool and landed in somebody's guacamole dip. When I was in Ireland last Fall, I watched soccer in a pub there, amongst the "hooligans" along the River Liffey in Dublin. It was Manchester United versus Everton (I think). The final score of the 2 hour and 45 minute game was 0-0. Basically, it was a cross country meet with a ball added into the mix. It got so bad that I started playing a drinking game by myself. Every time I thought about throwing myself into the river, I took a drink. 14 Guinness pints lost their lives that evening. These Irishmen were going NUTS over this game. It was like watching an oil puddle form in a Wal-Mart parking lot. To make matters worse the next morning, the local paper had a three page write-up on how Manchester almost scored once in the first ten minutes of the game. I looked at my waitress, Maggie Shaughnessy O'Callahan, and ordered a shot of Bailey's for my coffee.
Soccer needs three things to be interesting, if you ask me:
1) Fighting: At least once, a slide tackle needs to result in fisticuffs. A brouhaha. A donnybrook. A bench clearing slugfest. Penalize the offender(s) in soundproof boxes next to each other, however, allow them access to dry erase markers so they may write their feelings on the box for all to see until they get out.
2) More Points: Extra points for longer kicks. Bicycle kicks are worth ten points. If the goalie scores with a cross field kick, the game is over, you lose.
3) Shorten and narrow the playing field by 20 yards: These guys are 765 miles away from the goal, no wonder they never score. I swear I saw a coach send a telegram to a player during the World Cup because he was so far downfield. If you want a gigantic American audience, it is not hard to entice us. We want scoring, blood, possibly a fight or two and scantily clad cheerleaders to shoot t-shirts out of a bazooka.
Signing Day does occur on February 6th, but even that has become a non-entity in the life of a Georgia fan this season. We signed the majority of our class in December during the early enrollee signing period. Our remaining commitments are firm and have no intention of switching. While this is a good thing, it does not lend much to excitement on Signing Day. The majority of the uncommitted players we are still pursuing have written us off at this point, much to the chagrin of myself and about 2,500 Dawgventers who have been gnashing teeth and blaming Richt for everything from the apparent loss of Georgia's "Mr. Football" Alvin Kamara, to the Kennedy assassination and the Vietnam War. We get our share of great players but we always seem to be on the outside looking in for these five star "holdouts." The same 4-5 schools are always in the mix for their services and these schools are normally at the precipice of NCAA sanctions or have already been nailed in the past.
In the last five years, the recruiting cycle in the SEC has become a form of cultural prostitution. The NCAA appears to be powerless to stop it and too unscrupulous to handle an investigation with propriety. Kids transfer more than ever before, creating these football factory high schools and killing the "hometown" feel of a Friday night tilt in Smalltown, USA. Mark my words, in Georgia, you will see the same 12-14 schools rotate as state champions every year. There will be no more Cinderella stories or diamonds in the rough. The Internet is a fountain of knowledge that needs to be turned off. I know more about these kids than I EVER wanted to know. I pay $99 per year to subscribe to Dawgvent and the content has dramatically changed since I started in 2004. What happened to the good ol days of 40 times, vertical leaps and cone drills? Now, thanks to Twitter, I know what Laremy Tunsil's girlfriend looks like Precious after an all night eating binge at Dunkin Donuts. Thanks to Twitter, I know Davin Bellamy was in a dorm room in Oregon with a bong (gasp!). Facebook let me know that Da'Rick Rogers likes to drink beer with fat white girls, Johnny Manziel likes to gamble on Indian reservations in the offseason, and Laquon Treadwell appeared to be $1,000 richer after leaving Oxford, Mississippi last time. Frankly, on the scale of "things I care about," the personal lives of 17 year olds falls below the following:
1) Did I download the live version of "My Baby Daddy" by B-Rock and the Bizz?
2) The number of times "Freebird!" has been yelled in the state of Alabama
3) My lamentation over my failure to buy a Hypercolor T-shirt in 1991
4) The 4,598,234 pigeons that just relieved themselves on Grand Central Station
5) The ignition timing of a 1983 Camaro
Money changes hands. Illegal promises are made. If this was a civil trial, there would a preponderance of evidence against so many programs. Those who appear to be guilty are never caught (in a timely fashion), those who play by the rules get left behind and the majority of programs, contrary to past years, now must "impress" the recruit. Kids leave their home state because they get better "deals" at other schools. Words like"bagman" and "under the table" have replaced "boy, he is fast" in recruiting discussions. Alabama picked up a commitment from Reuben Foster, a five star linebacker, yesterday. During his incoherent speech about why he chose the Tide, he used the term "business decision." That embodies all that is wrong with the state of recruiting in the southeast. When I was 18, the only "business decision" I made was whether I needed to buy the $0.79 Snickers or the $1.19 Snickers. The excitement of what used to be a wonderful day has been waning for me. I will still keep up with the days events but I'll only check the Dawgvent 12,537 times instead of my usual 19,435.
As you can see, I like to make lists when I am depressed. I am just going to bide my time until March gets here. There is plenty to do. Pitchers and catchers are reporting soon. College basketball will get fired up and the greatest spectacle in sports will ensue once again. The Walking Dead will return from its midseason break. The Beacon Theater has put out their new lineup for the Spring and it is going to be unreal. Yes will be in concert on April 9th. Brit Floyd, an awesome Pink Floyd cover band, will also perform in April. The most underrated guitarist in the universe, Joe Bonamassa, will be here in May. Most importantly, the Allman Brothers Band will be here in T-minus 23 days. They will spend half of March inundating the Upper West Side with 17 minute jam sessions, guest stars, Derek's unbelievable slide guitar work and Gregg belting out the words as only he can. I have already purchased tickets for a Saturday show and I plan for my "inner Cassville" to come out in full force. So, friends, I leave you with a final, more happy list.
Brad's Top 5 Most Underrated Allman Brothers songs:
5) Don't Want You No More
4) Little Martha
3) Hot Lanta
2) Mountain Jam
1) Dreams
I encourage each of you to listen to these wonderful songs and enjoy them. I guarantee they will brighten a cold, dark February day before you can say "I was born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus."
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About Me
- Brad
- I'm good at people watching and the memorization of useless facts. I'm voracious eater, reader, Crossfitter and Dawg fan. Shamelessly devoted to the cause of making 9-5 not suck so bad.