Author: fifteenkey (Page 62 of 95)

There’s simply no condoning the idiocy of Don Imus’s comments last week on the Rutgers Women’s Basketball team. However, I do think Jason Whitlock nailed it in his column on the subject. After all, if it weren’t for hip-hop and rap artists spewing their hateful “poetry” of “niggas” and “bitches,” would the tired old man have known the term “ho?” Fortunately, this moronic utterance of a back-nine guy trying to be hip has triggered some positive discussion of race in our country. The more we can keep the conversation going, the more we can sweep ignorance into the dustbin.

Yeah, but after seeing Daisuke “Dice-K” Matsuzaka dazzle in his first start, fans in Red Sox Nation are salivating (some literally) at the prospect of the Dice Man punching out Pinstripes.

But seriously, what’s really early is the race for the White House in 2008. The best thing about the election is that it’s going to cast Dubya and Dick out into the street on their way to the Halliburton boardroom. Anyway, furious fundraising is at hand now and the early results are in. Here are the standings at the end of 2007’s first quarter:

Certainly I don’t have equal intel on all these hopefuls, but as I told Jeff last night, if I had the power to appoint the pres out of this list, I’d pick Hillary Clinton. The cool thing is we’d again get the “2 for 1” benefit, plus someone with experience to run the White House intern program. Problem is, I don’t think she can get elected because of her negative portrayal by the “vast right-wing conspiracy.” In any case, I think it’s a two-man race on the Democratic side of the ledger between Mrs. Clinton and Mr. “Rhymes with Osama.”

For the Republicans, they have the albatross of Iraq and the miserably failed Bush-Cheney co-presidency around their necks. I do think the Mittster will be their candidate. Romney is as “clean” as Barack Obama, just not as bright. Once all the facts come out on Mr. Giuliani, I’m afraid there’s no way he can get nominated. He’s been in 3 marriages and one too many dresses. And poor John McCain… He is an American hero as a former Vietnam POW. Unfortunately, at 70, he looks too sickly to get elected. Not to mention he still supports the slaughter going on in Iraq…

Of course it’s difficult to tell what events may impact the race over the next nineteen months, and who knows what other candidates might emerge. Newt Gingrich has the ego for a run, but his pathetic hypocrisy during the Clinton “scandal” will doom him. I’d like to see Condoleezza Rice get in the Republican competition. Imagine Hillary – Condi for all the marbles. That would be a welcome change in our currently embarrassing republic.

Sadly, that’s the message at the Pernice Brothers website…

Seeing a good rock show is like exercise or sex or crack or beating the Yankees in that it unleashes those feel good endorphins. In spite of Sox fan Joe Pernice’s current idleness, tour season is slowly awakening like perennials in gardens of the chilly Northeast.

With Mr. Kyle Daley under house arrest at his Mom’s for an infraction of General Code 345.987*, I have a free night off to catch a show. This one will not rock in the decibel sense, but Anders Parker is such a brilliant songwriter that the words will be enough… Plus I’ll get to hang with Jeff at least one more time before his twins arrive. After that, all musical bets are off…

Later in the month, Jay Farrar and whatever other musicians currently constitute Son Volt will come through the area. I’m still searching their new record for the hooks that grab me, but they bring it live so I’ll find a way to make it there.

Until this evening, my day will be consumed calculating my contribution to Uncle Sam. That is unlikely to be an endorphin inducing experience…

It’s not Spring yet, but an earlier start to Daylight Saving Time has shone a longer light on our days. Kyle and I took a long walk yesterday. The fresh air was clean. It blew a cool breeze on my head after a stressful struggle with mobile technology. Sometime Friday, my so-called Smartphone began to lose its mind anytime it tried to get my email. It’s a long story, but apparently there was a bad “header” in some message that my “Jack Bauer” Treo couldn’t digest and its processor puked most of the weekend away… I tried a reload of the native “VersaMail,” completely reloaded the entire OS, and then sampled third party offerings called “ChatterMail” and “SnapperMail.” Nope… In the process I lost many of my phone numbers and contacts. After purging some 500 of 800 messages from my corporate email account, I reloaded once more and hoped for the best. It’s been working since yesterday afternoon… I still have no idea what file caused the problem. Good thing I didn’t need the LeoTreo to save the world…

“Play Ball!” In preparation for baseball season, I’ve been commuting to “Moneyball” on the pod. It’s an interesting story of how baseball changed it’s process of talent evaluation from the opinions of tobacco spitting scouts to spreadsheets crafted by Harvard MBA’s. It’s been a good re, uh, listen.

Maybe time does heal all wounds. While listening to music on “shuffle,” I find myself skipping by the “old songs” that remind me. Like impending Spring, that’s a good sign.

A perfect storm is gathering in the blogosphere that will change the Internet as we know it. One storm is forming and will reach full fury sometime in 2008. A second is raging right now. A third has been forming for quite some time, but evacuation plans are being put in place.

• One – The anonymous political ad slamming Hillary Clinton on youtube
• Two – Death threats against a prominent blogger
• Three – Child Predators on the net

The storm swirling now involves a blogger named Kathy Sierra. She writes on a blog I like called “Creating Passionate Users,” but I didn’t know her by name until this morning. Apparently something she wrote raised the ire of a few readers and produced some sick anonymous comments, some of which Ms. Sierra perceived as death threats. Many “A-List” bloggers are taking time off in support of Ms. Sierra.

If you’ve ever seen “To Catch a Predator” on MSNBC, you have some idea about the volume of sick fucks “out there” using the net to hook up with 13 year olds. This series produces a freak parade of child predators every time it’s on. Given that they can only be in one place at one time, it’s mind-boggling how many of these reptiles are our there. The show seems to be having an impact. Many of the sleazebags profiled seem to be aware of it, yet they still pursue their young victims. Hopefully, the fear of getting caught is reducing their number.

Sadly, it’s storm number one that will get Congress to act and limit free speech on the net. If the buzz surrounding the Clinton “1984” spoof is any indication, the 2008 presidential campaign is going to be full of political ads from anonymous individuals or groups that will be filled with lies to discredit opponents. It’s going to make the 2008 race the ugliest ever. Death threats and child abuse aren’t enough to produce action, but fuck with powerful politicians and you will be dealt with. Just ask Joe Wilson.

In reality, the “invisibility cloak” these people think they are wearing is as fictional as the one in JK Rowling’s novels. In most cases, internet activity can be traced back to the individual. It seems there is a simple solution: practice personal responsibility. If you wouldn’t say something in a public forum, then don’t do it on the internet. Remember, Big Brother knows where you live.

Everything can be explained by numbers. Everything. I’m looking out the window at trees. The uniqueness of each can be broken down into a chemical equation. Of course we can’t know the equation because a tree at this very moment is a product of, among other things:

• Weather impacts many growth factors including sunlight and photosynthesis
• Chemical composition of the air and water it has encountered… ever.
• Kids climbing… Squirrels storing… Birds nesting. Mosquito’s.
• All man made impacts to the environment… Cars… Even the air ripple of a nearby leaf blower.

If we knew all of these variables, the existence of a tree could be written in a calculation.

Even love can be distilled mathematically. All human senses are controlled by electrochemical actions and reactions. The various senses regulate our capacity for love:

• Sight + interpretive brain decide attractiveness.
• Hearing – a voice can be soothing music, cayenne pepper or fingernails on a chalkboard.
• Smell – Ah, pheromones or bad breath?

All of the above can render touch an inducement to other chemical reactions.

Whatever. The point is that numbers are everything. Without numbers we could not have the relationships that make life fulfilling. Even a conversation cannot take place without the transmission of sound waves and the beauty of a face in candlelight isn’t possible without the travel of light waves.

Numbers have been in my head lately:

• 1,800,000,000
• 115 x 54 x 5 : Rows, columns and worksheets in an Excel file I use for a program that will generate $15M this year.
• 30 x 4 = 120 : Minutes x Floors/min = Total floors climbed in a workout
• 30 x 16.93 = 508 : Minutes x Calories/min = Total calories burned in a workout
• 2 & 1 : Two new hires with one to go…

1

I shook my ass with the swagger of a rock god. We were AC/DC and I was Bon Scott risen from the dead. The “air-gig” was at Dooley’s, a converted church adjacent to the U of A campus. It had large stone pillars in front and multiple levels inside including a balcony overlooking a two-level stage. Going in, we had no idea how we’d fare or even who the competition was.

On our way into the club we found out as we saw air-Mick Jagger. This kid was draped in an American flag like Sir Mick from the ’81 tour and he was wearing dark eye shadow. The resemblance was enough to make any aspiring air-band nervous, so we got right to quelling our fears with booze. After all, that’s what the band would do. The events took place a quarter century ago, so some details are less than well, details. I remember a Styx song and the guys doing it were really good and well synced with “Come Sail Away.” At this point, I don’t recall the song the “Stones” did. Yeah, in spite of our adversary’s Mick-ness, the performance was pretty forgettable.

We did a final shot of Crown Royal and took our positions on the stage. For the purpose of historical archive, the lineup was:

• Mark Gonnella – Angus Young on lead air guitar
• Mike Gonnella – Malcolm Young on rhythm air
• Shelley (now) Gonnella – Cliff Williams air bass
• Mike Burgess – Phil Rudd kicking ass on the air drums
• Me – the late Bon Scott as lead poser

As Angus slashed the air of the first riffs, he and I were on the top level of the stage in front of Phil Rudd, while Malcolm and Cliff were on the lower stage. As I belted out “YOU COULD SAY SHE’S GOT IT ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!” we criss-crossed and leapt off the stage to the lower level. We threw every rock pose cliché we knew at the crowd and executed them with air perfection. Mark had the schoolboy outfit like his hero and his energy was “to eleven” on the hits of speed scale.

At the exact moment we rehearsed it, I swooped in and picked him up onto my shoulders like wiping up a quarter sized drop of water with a paper towel. I was totally focused on the job, but I could feel the increasing intensity of the mob. They were into it. The place was packed and I can still remember the images of people everywhere including many on top of chairs to get a good view. I knew we had already won. We were bringing the blood and guts and the din of the appreciative sweaty throng was something I had never experienced and haven’t since.

Our “finale” was a play off the cover of, “If You Want Blood You’ve Got It.” As “Whole Lotta Rosie” was ending I had my hands in the air in a “worship me I’m a rock god” pose and the air fans were going bananas. Perfectly timed to the last crashing thump, Angus raced at me and rammed his air guitar through my back. I flew across the stage sprawling in a heap on the floor. Dead. The famous final scene was choreographed with the precision of a WWF steel-cage match and the full-house exploded.

The song and the moment lasted a little over five minutes. Does that mean I still have about 10 left?

Oh, by the way, “Air Guitar Nation” is coming soon to a theater near you.

The books say, “just write” when you get the block. I’m more busy than blocked, but lately have lacked the inspiration to peck at this keyboard. More of my “leisure time” is not leisurely, which leaves me less time for uh, leisure, including this.

Recently I read or heard that Red Sox owner John Henry had invested in a NASCAR race team. I have a personal bias against the “sport” and its fans. I think they’re nitwits who congregate mostly in red states and helped put “Dubya” in the White House. The sad irony for these people is that it’s their sons and daughters who are dying outside our shores.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago on the highway in bumper to bumper traffic when one of these dopes in a bicycle yellow Mustang in front of me was weaving back and forth in the lane like he was just biding his time under a yellow caution flag…

I thought this Craigslist um, list was pretty good. I made a mental note to avoid #20.

Former House speaker Newt Gingrich tried to remove a potential obstacle recently when he admitted to cheating on his wife at around the same time the House he lead was impeaching President Bill Clinton over his “not sex” with Monica Lewinsky. And the Republicans call Al Gore a hypocrite…

This beautiful panoramic view of life in Moscow is cool and there are a few more here.

This post title is from a DBT’s song… which one?

There’s nothing like blood flow to get the neurons firing. Endorphins RULE! At about the 20 minute mark, my mind was doing this:

Yeah, baby, the Tectrix Climbmax 150 got owned today! OK, so I did 30 minutes, but the last ten was all will power because the big fella wanted to screw the step ups in exchange for a serious ass down. It felt great to have the ipod workout mix cranking and the latest issue of Men’s Health propped up on a homemade magazine rack. Now I may even read that issue of Vanity Fair Barb gave me a couple months ago. You know, so I can stay in touch with the culture of ink on paper and their photography… or something. At a minimum I’ll check out the pictures of Beyonce.

Every high has a comedown so here’s the one for this post. At some point this week I wondered, “Where will I be buried?” The thought was prompted by a discussion with Jessica about her Grandfather’s gravesite. It’s over in a cemetery near my um, marital home. We used to take the kids walking through there. Gigi’s dad is buried there and her mom purchased a plot. Anyway… I don’t think I want to be buried where I currently live. Actually, I don’t want to be buried. I want to be frozen like Teddy Ballgame and then shot into space toward Pluto. There, in an icy dark world, I’ll feel right at home. The Plutonians will remove me from my space-crypt and reanimate me so I can hang with them. I’ll have my iPod and some pictures of the kids. Even though Pluto isn’t a planet anymore, it’ll still be cool.

I do love music. Tonight the ride home featured this sweet shuffle:

• Last Time in Love – Sloan
• Black – Pearl Jam
• Honey Don’t Think – Grant Lee Buffalo
• Until the Next Time – Dramarama
• Photograph – Def Leppard
• Bad Luck – Social Distortion (I love that band!)
• Zoysia – Bottle Rockets
• Strangers in the Night – Frank
• Let there Be Rock – Drive By Truckers
• Meet Me on the Ledge – Varnaline
• Note to Self: Don’t Die – Ryan Adams