Category Archives: Nonsensical Non sequiturs

Califivenia Dreaming

The Clown Prince of Denmark....A Grenine Dane

One of the great comedy bits ever concocted is Victor Borge’s famed “inflationary language” sketch.  Borge, the brilliant Danish pianist and comedian, devised a way of inflating the value of each word that has a number in it by taking the number and adding one.  Thus, the constitution becomes the constitthreesion, lieutenant becomes lieuelevenant, tulips become threelips and on and on.  Utterly hysterical.

While Borge’s idea is a comedic masterpiece, I wonder if he didn’t happen to luck into a fantastic way of creating a more precise version of the English language.  We live in a world where hyperbole is commonplace.  Both a grilled cheese sandwich and a beautiful, once in a lifetime sunset can both be referred to as “wonderful”.  The listener is left to determine from context clues and body language which wonderful is more wonderful.  But, these bits of evidence can be misleading and in a text-based situation like the internet, one can easily miss the difference between the commonplace “wonderful” and the nearly spiritual “wonderful”.

Borge has unwittingly given us a solution.  Numbers combined with language can help us find a more precise answer to the deeper meaning of many words.  So, the excellent grilled cheese that you consumed for lunch can be “threetaful” or two points better than wonderful.  The sunset which brought tears to your eyes is much more likely “tentaful”, a full nine points better than the original.  In this way, once can clearly discern the differences between a great sandwich and a magnificent experience of nature’s wonder (or tender in this case).

Think of all the miscommunications this could clear up.  If someone produces a really quality work of art it could be called a great “creatention”, a true masterpiece would be much more along the lines of a “creafifteention” and the best piece of art you’ve ever come across might well be a “creathirtytion” or even a “creainfinitytion”.  Think of how much additional joy your neighbors will feel during the holidays when you complement them on their “sixtaful decortwelvetions”

It could work in either direction, too.  Let’s say you meet someone you have a serious romantic interest in and make an offer to become better acquainted.   There is no ambiguity in that person telling you, “No, I don’t want to go over your house and negativeonenicate.”  In that case, it’s clear she’s not being coy and any sort of future inquiries should be made elsewhere.

In literature, there are serious possibilities as well.  A writer could be given the gift of being able to explain complex circumstances in one word.  A character with a ridiculously pronounced area between his eyebrows and his hairline could simply be described as a person with an “eighthead”.  A character maimed by a poorly performed birth ritual could be quickly noted as someone with a problem with his “twoskin”.  A character who is overly honest could be referred to as being “seventhright”.  No fuss, no muss.  Think of the efficiency.

Five us four fully understand each other it is a greytwelve skill six learn.   When we creaeighteen a more precise language much of the twentytion that arises from miscommunications will be mitigtened.  Face it, our current language is assafive.

Here’s Borge’s original bit…..


What If Danzig Dated My Daughter?

One of the things you come to accept as a parent is that your life is going to be filled with a series of irrational fears.  After a while you get used to it, but there are a few that never seem to go away.  Sometimes they appear in the form of a nightmare that wakes you up every night in a cold sweat with your heart thumping at 185 beats per minute.  For me, that nightmare is Glenn Danzig pinning a corsage to my teenage daughter’s dress as they leave for her high school prom.

It is certainly a preposterous thing to be afraid of, but most fear has an element of the absurd to it.  About three days before the prom my daughter starts telling me about this great guy named “Glenn” who she met at the mall.  Fast forward to the night of the prom, the doorbell rings and I walk over to it.  She is upstairs getting ready.  I open the door.  There he is…Danzig.  Of course, my daughter is two years old right now and Danzig is 56, so there is a bit of an age difference.  By the time my daughter is ready for the prom Danzig will be 72.  In the nightmare, he doesn’t appear that old.  He looks like the snarling Lucifuge-era Danzig that could beat up four Marine battalions and the Dallas Cowboys without breaking a sweat.  He is wearing one of those horrible rental tuxedos with the godawful ruffled shirt and yet he still looks menacing.  He is polite at first.  I ask him to come in and have a cold soda.  He sits on my couch and stares blankly at nothing in particular.  I am freaking out.  I keep hearing that part of the song Mother where he says “I’m gonna take your daughter out tonight….Gonna show her my world…. Not about to see your light….If you want to find hell with me…I can show you what it’s like”  Ehhhhh!

“So, Glenn, how did you meet my daughter?”

(Here’s the part that is kind of strange.  During this section of the dream, he sings everything he says in a sinister, baritone voice)

“We were in…Hotttttt Topicccc…..and we started….talkkkkkkking…..She said she likes Gothic Roccckkkkk…..”

I puff out my chest and try to pull off the intimidating, “make sure and have my daughter home by midnight or else” dad act.  This would work on most high schoolers, but it’s not going to put any sort of fear into Danzig.  “Uhmmmmm.  What are your plans for this evening, Glenn?”

“We’re going for a ride on my….Harrrrlllllleyyy.  Then, we’re going to go out (drums start to pick up from out of nowhere) dannnnnciiiiinnnnngggg!!!!”

I try to change the subject to something less threatening.  “So, any chance of a Misfits re-union?”

Danzig just laughs and stares off into the distance.  The room is filled with three minutes of icy, uncomfortable silence.

The next fifteen minutes are a blur of horrible memories.  My daughter dancing down the stairs and leaping into Danzig’s arms, taking pictures out on the front lawn with her, her friends and the dude who once sang the lyrics “I Want Your Skulls, I Need Your Skulls”, sneaking glances at my equally horrified wife. I wake up screaming.

How does a responsible parent deal with this?  If we tell her she can’t see Danzig, that might drive her right into his arms.  I could see it now….“Honey, you can never see that Danzig fellow again!”

“I hate you mom and dad!!!!!  You are trying to ruin my life!!!!!!”

Next thing I know it I come home and there is a note on the refrigerator that says “Went to Vegas to marry Danzig.  Back on Monday.”

We certainly cannot condone this sort of behavior.  I’d much rather see her dating one of those brooding, introspective Echo and The Bunnymen poet-socialist types.  However, so much is out of your control.  You just try to do the best you can raising them and hope they make good decisions. Being a parent is hard enough without having to worry about your daughter dating Danzig.


If I Never Hear It Again It Will Be Soon Enough: Clichés that Push Me Over the Edge

I've Got An Idea...Why Don't I Put An Attention Catching Photo That Has Nothing to Do With The Article On Top

“The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.” –Salvador Dali

There are simply too many clichés in the world.   The language is filled with them.  It is hard to get through a conversation without hearing one or saying one.  Most of them started out as colorful ways to describe an experience and have, through years of endless repetition, become mildly annoying, harmless platitudes that move conversation along.  For some strange reason certain clichés make me extremely angry.  Most float through my mental filters without much of a struggle, but every once and a while there is one that disturbs me.  Since the chances of me actually getting legislation past to outlaw these incipit expressions are remote at best I have decided to address them in a constructive way, instead of quietly fuming about them day after day.  I have been compiling a list over the past few months of these along with descriptions of why they bother me in the hopes of understanding the pain that they cause me and hopefully inflicting this pain on others.  I have also included helpful sarcastic responses to confuse the cliché user and possibly prevent the offending expression from being used again.   So, as they say, away we go….

Cliché:  “Throwing the Baby Out With The Bathwater”

What kind of sick freak thought this one up?  As a parent of two small children, I find the idea that I might actually forget one of them and toss them into the river with dirt-ridden water to be entirely preposterous.  I get that the creator of this one is trying to make the point that whatever the person is doing is a really ridiculous thing, but what sort of lunatic would toss a baby out with bathwater?!?!  They are certainly tiny, but not nearly small enough to accidentally thrown away.  Maybe the person is an evil, malicious hater of babies, but this is far from the most efficient way of getting rid of them.

Appropriate Response:  Look down at your shoes shaking your head for one dramatic moment, then look up and shout “Well, it’s better than shooting it!”  Turn and walk off.

Cliché:  “I wear many hats”

AGHHGGHHHH!!!  I can’t even think about this one without seething.  Yes, I know it means doing more one role, but the metaphor confuses me.  Do they mean at the same time?  What kind of fool would wear 3 or 4 hats at once?  It would be stupid looking.  There have been a lot of asinine fashion trends throughout history, but I cannot recall a single fad that had anything to do with the person wearing a lot of hats at once.  Is the point that the person has multiple heads?  Am I meant to imagine the person in front of me morphing into a giant hydra like beast wearing a prefaded Red Sox cap, a turban and a Michael Coreleone style fedora?  More than likely, the person who said it wants me to see them as a beaming icon of capitalism and industry, efficiently moving from task to task, a vaunted leader one moment, a regular lunch pail working stiff the next, a person who can be all things to all people, a technocratic “renaissance man”, a proud beacon of all that can be achieved in a 24 hour day with a little know-how and a fist full of gumption.  I think I’d prefer the hydra.

Appropriate Response:  Vomiting on the persons shoes

Cliché:  “Give it 110 percent”

I am well aware that the test scores of American students in math and science have declined over the last 30 years, but the fact that Americans have no qualms about repeatedly asking each other to violate common sense and mathematical reason in this way is alarming.  As if this wasn’t troubling enough, the cliché inflation that has taken place is now taking place is insane.  During the 2010 baseball season, White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen said that pitcher Gavin Floyd would only pitch if he were at “200 percent”. 1972 Democratic Presidential Candidate George McGovern, the Godfather of Cliché Inflation, started this madness when he said he was “1000 percent behind” his Vice Presidential Candidate Thomas Eagleton seconds before he tossed him kicking and screaming off of the Presidential ticket.  Of course, none of this compares to the all-time Cliché Inflation champion Atlanta Attorney George Lawson who asserted that he was “a million percent certain” that his client, Auburn Quarterback Cam Newton, did not take money.  Where does it end?

Appropriate Response:  Give an overly loud, awkward pretend laugh, and then shout, “If I ever see you again, I’ll break both of your legs!” Turn and walk off.

Cliché:  “Too many Indians, Not Enough Chiefs

This one has started to fade into cliché obscurity for everyone except people who write those grotesque books that quote Vince Lombardi a lot and compare great managers to Ghandi and Napoleon.  It doesn’t get play in the real world anymore mostly because “too many indigenous peoples and not enough chiefs” really doesn’t have a great ring.  Here’s the larger problem…Chiefs ARE Indians.

Appropriate Response:  Look deeply offended and reply, “Are you trying to say that there are too many Indians?  What kind of idiot racist would make a claim like that!”?

I’ve got a ton more of these but I’ll save them for a rainy day.


The Sum Total of A Week of Rehabilitation From Foot Surgery: A Tribute to Samuel Beckett, ee cummings and The Reverend Norman Vincent Peale

“Uninspired.”

-Uninspired

Uninspired.  Uninspired.  Uninspired.  UNinspired.  UN-IN-SPIRED.  unINSPIRED?  UNinSPirED.  UNINSPIRED!!! UNINSPIRED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!UNINSPIRED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  (uninspired)  …..un……..in……..spired……………..

UN

IN

SPI

RED

DERIPSNINUUNINSPIRED

UNINSPIREDDERIPSNINU

Narrator:  Uninspired uninspired uninspired uninspired.

Uninspired #1:  Uninspired?  Uninspired, uninspired…unispired?

Unispired #2:  Uninspired!!!!

Uninspired #1:  UNINSPIRED!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Uninspired #2:  Uninspired?

Uninspired #1:  Un-IN-Spi-RED!!!!!!!!!!

Uninspired #2:  Un…in………..spired.

Narrator:  Uninspired, uninspired.  Uninspired {uninspired X uninspired= Uninspired}

Uninspired #1 and #2:  (uninspired)    !UNINSPIRED!

Uninspired,
U. Ninspired

The Politics of Sneezing

I sneeze and people feel obligated to reply.  The more you think about that, the weirder it is.  You are on an elevator with ten complete strangers, you sneeze and all ten race to beat each other to say “God Bless You”.  You are on a subway, it is 3 o’clock in the morning and you are surrounded by several odd looking strangers who look like extras from The Warriors.  They are taking turns leering at you with a detached sense of malice.  You sneeze.  A cacophonous chorus of disinterested voices mumble something that sounds remotely like “GesundheitGoblessyou”.

This pervasive but odd little social custom seems to insert itself everywhere without regard to circumstance.  There are plenty of bizarre customs out there, but this one seems thoroughly inescapable.  I have allergies and live in Atlanta, which means I spend a good portion of the spring testing the politeness of strangers.  A sneeze never fails to draw some sort of reply.  No one knows particularly why we do this.  There are several old stories handed down about it.  One story says that it was created during the Black Plague to ward off the spread of the virus.  Another story claims that the custom began over the fear that the heart might stop during a sneeze.   Yet another tale claims that it was a way of forcing the soul to return to the body after a sneeze.

Most of these stories are meant to explain the “God Bless You”, but there is less explanation for the “Gesundheit”.  Why would a room full of non-German speaking Americans suddenly nearly crawl over one another to shout a German expression at someone who has just fired a blitzkrieg of germs at them?  Politeness?….really?!?!?!  Occasionally when one sneezes they are given a “hatchoo” by someone near them.  Why on earth would someone imitate the sneezer?  I find this response to be quite demeaning.  To get how strange this is, imagine if a person burped and was greeted with a choir of fake burps in response?

I have only experienced this sort of weirdness in America, but apparently it is popular around the world.  Most cultures have some word that means “to your health” that is thrown at the offending germ cannon.  The oddest sneeze response I’ve come across are the Mongolians who say something that sounds like “burkhan urshoo”.  This translates to “May God forgive you”.  Not knowing much about the Mongolian culture, this leads me to believe that sneezing is serious business over there.  It must be some sort of crime or something.  God would be quite busy if he or she had to spend the better half of eternity forgiving sneezers.  In Iceland, they say something that translates into “May God help you!”  This sounds like a threat that is better suited to someone stealing your pet llama.  The Tamil language has a word that translates to “may you live for one hundred years”.  The sentiment of this is quite lovely, but the actual math becomes severely problematic.  If I were to sneeze five times a day for one year I would have added 182,500 years to my life.  Imagine the effects on the economy in many Southern Asian nations if they had to deal with taking care of scores of 2 million year old allergy sufferers?

No one particularly knows why we do it, but if your curious to see whether this custom is alive and breathing today, try sneezing in front of a room full of strangers.  If you cough, people barely notice.  If you blow your nose, most people simply go about their business.  Sneeze and the world stands up and takes interest.


To Be And Not To Be

Sometimes simple written juxtapositions can simply shutdown the inner workings of one’s mind.  Zen Buddhism uses koans for this exact purpose.  Mediating on the sound of one hand clapping or why Joshu would bother cutting a cat in half with a pair of shoes on his head are the psychological equivalent of throwing the emergency brake on a Ford Escort while doing 110 miles per hour on the Santa Monica Freeway.  If a person pays attention and is tuned into the general weirdness of the universe it becomes apparent that these bizarre feats of language are everywhere.

This evening I found one such “accidental” koan on Yahoo Sports. It managed to make all of the synapses in my brain stop dead in their tracks.  The current sports media obsession revolves around the potential trade of basketball star Carmelo Anthony to the New Jersey Nets.  About an hour ago, I read a headline that said “Anthony To Meet With Nets”. Below it was a headline that said, with equal certainty, “Nets Not Meeting With Anthony”.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!

If these two headlines are read together they can cause severe damage to one’s cerebellum.  How can Carmelo Anthony meet with the Nets while the Nets are not meeting with him?  Does this mean that Anthony is in the room with members of Nets management who are spontaneously ignoring him?  The Nets are trying to trade for him….why would they be so outwardly hostile towards him?  Imagine Carmelo busting into a hotel room filled with Nets brass watching the All-Star 3-point shooting contest.  At first, Carmelo talks softly, then he shouts and screams, but the Nets front office simply sits silently avoiding whatever Carmelo does.  They shun him.  Carmelo jumps in front of the television, he begins to sing the theme song from “Green Acres”, he pulls his liver out of his body and begins chewing on it….no response.  What am I to make of these conflicting headlines?!?!?!

I need to know how this is possible.  Maybe the two things ARE happening at the same time.  Carmelo is in an alternate universe discussing his plans to go to New Jersey while in another dimension the Nets refuse to meet with him.  Maybe there are two Carmelo Anthonys in this world and two sets of different Nets.  Carmelo A is meeting with Nets A while Carmelo B and Nets B avoid each other.  What if these two dimensions simultaneously converged upon on another and Anthony was traded to the Nets while he remained untraded?  The Nets of the Nether Dimension would have added a 20 point per game scorer while the Nets of our current universe would still be stuck with Devin Harris and a bunch of guys in the witness protection program.  What if the Nether Dimension Nets played the Carmeloless real world Nets?  Who would win?  If Carmelo scores 22 points in the Nether Dimension and 20 in the real universe, does it mean he’s scored 42 points?  How would the NBA possibly track these statistics? Wouldn’t he have an advantage over, say,  Kobe Bryant who is currently only allowed to play in one dimension?

What if the Nets got crafty and traded for BOTH Carmelo Anthonys?  This would probably kill their salary cap number but they would have added two All-Star caliber players.  I wonder if the two could co-exist?  Is there room in New Jersey for one Carmelo Anthony?  How about two?  If the Nets learn to master the art of dimensional travel it is entirely possible that they could assemble a team of all Carmelo Anthonys.  Twelve 20 point per game scorers on one team!?!?!  They’d average 240 points per game!!!!  They’d win the NBA title four or five times possibly in the same year.  What if other teams caught on to their multi-dimensional strategy?  LeBron James’ PR image issue would be gone.  He could simply sign with EVERY team in the NBA.  They’d love him again…EVERYWHERE!  In other sports this could be huge.  The Yankees would certainly go out and sign Albert Pujols 47 times.  They’d have Albert Pujols selling tickets, serving hotdogs, playing first base, exterminating bugs, and on and on and on.

Eventually, it is possible to create a worldwide army of Carmelo’s marching towards endless victory. Millions upon millions of Carmelos pulled from millions of different dimensions.  Imagine an enemy army trying to hold a city when thousands of 6’9 small forwards come racing over a wall.  Who could stop them?  They could forever change the world balance of power.  What if a foreign government got their hands on a Carmelo dimensional prototype?  They could create a nation of anti-American Carmelo Anthonys.  The thought is terrifying.

Maybe I’ve taken this too far.  I’m no longer sure of anything. I was having a perfectly normal night trying to find You Tube clips of professional boxers fighting kangaroos when this madness seeped into my brain.  Yahoo owes me a basic explanation as to how a man can be doing something and not doing it at the same time.  I will not rest until I’ve gotten one.


Original Sinners: The Immorality of Babies

They Crawl Among Us

A new class of criminal is lurking in the shadows of organized society looking to take advantage of those who have been lulled into a false sense of complacency.  The most effective criminals are often ones who can appear innocent.  Their innocence gives an unsuspecting victim a feeling of security, and then, when their guard is down and they are at their most vulnerable, these criminals will strike.  Babies are often thought to be the most innocent among us, but upon closer consideration, this façade of innocence quickly fades.

The other day I was walking around the local Target and a family shopping with an adorable little child who had to have been about a year and a half old sitting in a shopping cart.  I immediately became fascinated with this family and began following them around the store.  While they were in the toy aisle and the parents were distracted, I watching this “harmless” child reach out of the cart and grab a small toy car.  He played with the toy car for the rest of his time in the store continuing to play with it as the parents moved through the checkout aisle and out of the store.  This baby had just committed the crime of shoplifting.  What disturbed me about this was the joyful, guilt free expression on the child’s face and the ease with which he pulled off this little heist.  Many of you are apathetic to this sort of crime.  You may wonder why it even matters. You may think that this sort of theft is a victimless crime.  According to research done by the Thurston County Sheriff’s Office in Olympia Washington, shoplifting costs American businesses 16 billion dollars per year.  Yet babies, who commit this type of felony with impunity, are rarely held accountable for their crimes.

Recently, I watched two babies fight over who was going to get to play with a Fisher Price Little People Happy Sounds Home.  One of the babies pushed the other baby to the floor and snatched it up into its sinister little hands.  If this had taken place on a street corner and it had been a mugger throwing an older woman to the ground and taking her bag, people would have been horrified and the mugger would have been jailed for several years.  This baby, however, was merely put in timeout for 2 minutes.  After this so-called punishment, the baby returned to the toy room to no doubt continue its violent, plundering ways.

By the standards of any civilized society, babies are immoral little creatures.  Let’s measure the actions of most babies against the golden rule:  do unto others as they would do to you.  This is a maxim that has showed up in different forms in many major world religions.  Babies are often willfully negligent of this idea.  If you were to rip a toy out of a baby’s hand, it would scream and cry for mommy or daddy to make things right.  Clearly, babies value possessions and feel as if their rights to property should be protected.  But babies will clumsily grab an item that belongs to another child without a moment’s thought.   When the size two Hello Kitty slipper is on the other foot, they feel no remorse or empathy.

If this argument sounds absurd to you, it shows how deeply you have been conned.   They look back at us with those darling little eyes and make those cute little sounds and we are ready to forgive almost anything.  But we must not be fooled.   The impact of baby kleptomania is a massive drain on our economy. Baby on baby crime has reached near epidemic levels.  The sociopathic, inconsiderate nature of babies is an issue that has strained our great nation to its breaking point.  As a society, we must band together and take a stand against them…before it’s too late.


Down With CMOBD: A Survivor’s Story

Digging my way out from mega despair

“You can watch them all day and never know why…”

-The Mighty Machines Theme Song

I’ve spent the last 43 hours and 12 minutes with a song from my son’s Thomas the Tank Engine video in my head.  The song is called “Accidents Can Happen” and, needless to say, it’s not very good. They tell you about a lot of things before you have a child, but they never seem to mention the debilitating effects of children’s music on the functioning of your mind.  There was a point in my life where I was able to have a normal flow of thought.  That time is over.  In less than four years, my mind has turned into a Ringling Brothers sideshow act.

There was a song on a Blues Clues DVD called “Bebop A”.  My 2 year old daughter spent the entire car trip from New Jersey to Atlanta screaming “BEBOP A…HEY, HEY…BEBOP A…HEY HEY!!!”  Once or twice is very cute.  Heck, 50 or 60 times isn’t bad.  But after a while, the stuff gets into your blood.  You can’t go anywhere or do anything without thinking of it.  It’s like graffiti on your cerebral cortex.  You zone out for a minute and there it is.  Over and over.  When you lay down and close your eyes in a 30 dollar a night Motel 6 somewhere in Southern Virginia and you see Steve from Blues Clues staring at you with that smug, goofy look shouting “BEBOP A!!!!” you really get how far gone you are.

There are three stages of CMOBD (Children’s Music on the Brain Disorder).  The first is a general acceptance of the song.  You hear the Clifford the Big Red Dog theme and you don’t think much about it.  You go about your life pretty much unhindered. Occasionally, you notice that you are humming it, but you are nothing more than slightly amused that you remember it.  This is the denial stage.  Maybe you’ve been hooked before, but you think…not this time.

The second stage is where you start to lose control.  It’s when the song starts to consume you.  It runs through your mind constantly.  Sometimes it’s just the chorus, sometimes it’s a just a phrase, but it starts to take over your life.  You are driving a car. Suddenly, you realize you are headed in the wrong direction on a highway. You realize you were singing the awful Aaron Neville theme to The Little People.  Something about how Aaron says “little people and we’ll always be friends”.  Perfect.  You are lost in it.

You are an air traffic controller and someone asks you  ”What runway should we land that DC-10 on?”  You reply with a blank stare.  You were thinking about the music at the beginning of Dinosaur Train.   Hundreds of lives hang in the balance and you are thinking about dear old Mrs. Pteranodon.  You have lost all orientation.  You are a CMOBD zombie headed with a one-way ticket to destruction.

Then, there is the third stage.  Complete withdrawal.  Blinding rage.  Utter confusion.  You are angry at the world because they can’t hear what you hear.  You don’t care whether they understand you or not.  You know that there is no thought that is more important than the Teletubbies theme. You close your eyes and you begin to understand that the smiling baby inside of the sun is looking at you and only you.  You crave Tubby toast.  You start to feel angry that the Tubbies have spilled things again and forced the Noo-Noo into more backbreaking labor.  You can no longer distinguish the world from your own personal CMOBD purgatory.

Many recover, but a relapse is never far away.  A CMOBD sufferer need only here a few notes and the whole vicious cycle starts again.  The confusion.  The hysteria.  The shame.  There is no known cure for CMOBD but we as parents must be vigilant.  I have spent three and a half long years suffering from repeated bouts of CMOBD, but I have not lost hope.  I know that a brighter tomorrow is just around the corner.  Won’t you be, won’t you be, won’t you be…my neighbor.


An Open Letter to the Beatles

Crossing the street...or CROSSING THE LINE?!?!

Dear Paul, Ringo, John and The Other Guy,

As a concerned parent, I was driving my children to swimming lessons yesterday and your song “All You Need Is Love” came on the radio.  I had never really listened to the words in this song, but as a concerned parent, I decided to try to listen to the words that my children were hearing.  What I heard was truly shocking!  I find the message in this song to be deeply troubling and, as a concerned parent, I beg you to do what you can to stop radio stations from playing this song.

I’m sure that you thought that you were just writing another silly love song and, I mean, what’s wrong with that?  But, if you really think about the message in the song, I think you’ll come to understand why it disturbed me so much.  Imagine for a second, that an impressionable child heard this song and took it seriously.  Clearly, human beings need a good deal more than love to survive.  They need food, shelter, clothes (preferably from a decent designer), and air.  What if an impressionable child heard this song and decided to stop eating completely?  His concerned parents would beg him to eat but he would not.  What if, as he widdled away to the size of a twig, slowly starving to death and his concerned parents, now grief-stricken, asked him why he was doing this and he replied “Because the Beatles told me all I need is love”?  Could you live with your selves?

What if, even worse, he just decided to stop breathing? He could die within a moment or two giving the concerned parents only a few seconds to react.  What if his friends saw him stop breathing and thought that it was the “cool” thing to do?  What if hundreds, thousands of children stopped breathing just to not be “square”?  It could be an epidemic of epidemic proportions! Children, falling over dead in classrooms across America, with the words “All You Need Is Love” passing though their blue lips as they meet their maker.  Is that what you want?

Music has a major effect on the ideas of young people.  Do you know what Jeffrey Dahmer, Adolf Hitler, and Ted Bundy have in common?  As young men, they all listened to music.  And look what suffering they caused!

I demand that you stop allowing this song to be played on radio stations everywhere.  I also ask that you never fill our children’s souls with such blasphemous, anti-social ideas by playing this live.  Until you agree to stop this madness, I and a group of like-minded concerned parents, plan to boycott love.  We will not express love in words or actions.  We even plan on starting all tennis games at 15 so that no person ever has love.

Yours truly,

 

A Concerned Parent


In Defense of Stupidity

Luke Scott Casually Discussing John Doe Number 2 and the role of the Lizardpeople in creating the Federal Reserve (borrowed from http://i393.photobucket.com/albums/pp13/cammielc)

A popular expression that tends to get used when people make asinine comments to a member of the media is “What were you thinking?”  It is a common retort used to illustrate when someone has said something so utterly without merit that the reporter doesn’t feel the urge to mount a counter reply.  Recently, Luke Scott, a muscle-headed, mouth-breathing Baltimore Oriole baseball player, who clearly cut many a history class in order to spend an additional hour in his school’s Chik Fil-A sponsored batting cage, made some monumentally dumb off the cuff remark about Barack Obama not being an American citizen.  This sort of remark has faded a bit from its mid-2009 health care hysteria peak, but you still hear the occasional Manchurian candidate nonsense rearing its jingoistic head.  I don’t expect Luke Scott to say anything worth listening to.  What passes for discourse between athletes and reporters is the general ever flowing stream of “I’m going to go out there and do the best I can and, God willing, my teammates and I will get a win” type truisms that are taught to these folks in six hour cram session classes run by slime bucket agents who are looking to make their commodities more marketable to the slab of the American public that loves to hear the same thing over and over again.

I really could care less what Luke Scott has to say.  What annoyed me was the glib, dismissive way that Yahoo writer Steve Henson rejected his remark in his recent free agency winners and losers column.  Obviously Steve, we know what he was thinking.  He was very clear about that in his statement.  He was thinking that Obama was born in another country and, therefore, is an “illegitimate” President.  The question seems to not be geared to mock what he was thinking, but his inability to know that when a reporter is around it is your job as an athlete to spout nothing but inoffensive, meaningless, Hallmark card style platitudes.  Henson was really asking, “How could he not know that saying this would make him look ignorant?  Doesn’t he know that it is his station in life to carry on this endless tradition of banal player interviews that we so love and revere?  Why didn’t he just say something like “Obama will be fine if he gives this whole being born in the United States thing 110 percent”?

One of the unnamed right of passage exams that an athlete goes through on the way to householdnamedom  is the “Can you say absolutely nothing of substance every time you are within 50 feet of a microphone” test.  This is why listening to most athletes being interviewed is a highly painful endeavor.  It’s as if the interviewer and the player a conspiring to cover up any human characteristics the athlete could possibly have.  Occasionally, we are treated to colorful dimwits like Charles Barkley or Curt Schilling who say embarrassing “what the average guy is thinking” sorts of things, but mostly it’s just more of the “It was my childhood dream” sort of garbage.  The Barkley/Schilling type stuff is awful for other reasons, but at least when I listen to it I know that their is a human being in there instead of a piece of equipment that runs a 4.3 40.

There is an upside to athletes feeling they have the ability to express themselves with some degree of freedom.   For one, I now know that Luke Scott, once only known to me as the guy I might pick instead of Edwin Encarnacion in the 14th round of my AL keeper league draft, is a raving lunatic.  Luke Scott has gone from 27 homeruns and 72 RBIs to a real human with definable features.  I can like him or dislike him based on his ideas.  Maybe there are a few Bill “Spaceman” Lee, Dock Ellis or Jim Bouton types who really have something unique to say.  There is a real loss sports fans experience when athletes do not speak their minds.  It is the loss of the chance to meet these players as human beings with real ideas and emotions.  The ideas they have may be shameful, obnoxious, or ill informed but they remind us that we are living in a world of humans who feel, think and dream just like we do.


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