As I drove East on the Mass Pike yesterday I thought about the clever post I’d write about the significance of this day to me, but I decided that would be a pointless exercise, so here’s Plan B:

Eighty-five miles West of my exit on Route 2 is the center of Williamstown, MA. The two-hour drive gave me an opportunity to get acquainted with some new music and my own thoughts. Yeah, thinking and driving can be dangerous.

The trek was to see a Jackson Pollock show at the Williams College Museum of Art and Impressionism and Early Modern Paintings at the Clark Art Institute. The latter left me wanting and I was hopeful the Pollock exhibit would give me back my mojo. Oh my…

The exhibition is actually a tribute to the late Kirk Varnedoe. Mr. Varnedoe was a member of the Williams Class of 1967 and was Chief Curator of Painting and Sculpture at the Museum of Modern Art (yeah, that one), where he put together a comprehensive Pollock retrospective in 1998. He was like an art history rock star from what I’ve heard and read. Here he chats with Terry Gross on NPR’s “Fresh Air” and just completely defines Pollock’s work with his words.

As I sauntered down a hall that led to the exhibit, I saw preparatory drawings by Gustave Caillebotte for this. One was a perspective sketch of the city scene and the other of the couple. It seems I like much of the same stuff this guy did. He also really liked Cy Twombley, who’s work I described as “a series of crayon scribbles” after seeing some of it at the Whitney Museum of American Art. Maybe I need to give him another shot…

I walked into the small room and immediately saw Number 2, 1949. It’s a stunning sixteen foot image painted on a brick-red dyed sailcloth. There were two other Pollock works displayed, but this one dominated the room like Sinatra in the Copa room at the Sands in Vegas. Glossy black Sans Serif letters against a satin white wall welcomed visitors with Kirk Varnedoe’s warm words of admiration describing an artist who cast “the paint itself” as the star subject of his work. It also contained these words:

“Certain rewards, and rewarding uncertainties, only come through periods of private silence in front of… art. Doubtless a lot of what went into Pollock’s head, a lot that came out of his mouth, and a lot that has been and continues to be written about his pictures, embodies just the common cultural clutter of the time. The paintings do not. To be reminded of this, look at them.”

–Kirk Varnedoe

The headline in the San Jose Mercury News reads, “It’s a tense weekend for Intel employees.” News reports speculate up to 20,000 Intel employees may lose their jobs as the giant chip-maker tries to cut costs in the face of increasing competition. It boggles my mind that ten to twenty thousand people; mothers, fathers husbands, wives and other human beings will lose their job and a significant part of their self-esteem. It seems however that the immeasurable human cost is lost on some who see the action only in terms of ones and zeroes and their own economic benefit. David Wu, a shareholder and an analyst at Global Crown Capital in San Francisco coldly commented, “It would be seen as lame if Intel does less than 10,000.” I think Mr. Wu’s chilly lack of compassion is what’s lame.

You know what they say about opinions… Oh, you don’t? Well, here’s what they say.

Last night I met some friends at… Well, it doesn’t matter where. We got together prior to attending a minor league baseball game. Here’s an opinion. This was really good. Anyway…I was the first to arrive and sat at the bar. Adjacent to me were some other middle-aged white guys drinking beer and eating. I eavesdropped on their sports conversation and wondered: Does anyone have an opinion of their own, or are opinions like music — all derivative of something heard before? One guy was pontificating about the Patriots’ Deion Branch holdout situation. It was interesting to hear this guy very authoritatively tell his friend exactly what would happen. The friend obviously agreed or dared not challenge his friend, the Swami. Funny thing is, the “opinion” stated was simply a parroting of one heard on our local talk radio. People listen to local TV sports personalities, ESPN or talk radio to hear opinions, and then they pick one they like and go with it. Most have no freakin idea what the real situation is, but it doesn’t stop them from spouting their unoriginal opinion. At least my opinions are original. Contrary to popular belief, I’m telling you here and now that Deion Branch will sit out the NFL season and join the Pro Bowlers Tour for better money than he’s getting from the Pats.

Speaking of opinions, a frequent visitor to this space suggested to me that I’m not funny enough and that maybe I should do a post on lesbians. I guess since Howard Stern’s gone satellite, there’s just not enough good lesbian talk. So, as a public service, I’ll kill two birds with one lesbian joke*:

Q: How many lesbians does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: Four. One to do the work, one to critique the word screw, one to lend her professional credentials and one to write a folk song about the empowering experience.

* My research indicates some lesbians find the stereotyping in the joke humorous.

Sometimes I don’t really have anything to write about, so I’ll just string together some drivel with a few links and call it a post. This is one of those times. Please feel free to identify the others…

Today is the day I formally abjure the part of my May 28th post where I called Jason Varitek the “biggest disappointment” to date of the 2006 Red Sox. Once the captain went down, so did the pitching and thus, the season.

Who needs to diet when you can just alter photographs? Here are some more pictures that lie.

Speaking of size issues, this can really make a guy feel inadequate.

For all you art lovers out there, here are links to musical Powerpoints featuring Pissarro, Dali and Van Gogh. Oh, what the hell… Here’s one of Monet seascapes.

“The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.”
— Pablo Picasso

I received an email this week from the dude on the right. It seems we may have a high-school reunion to attend around Thanksgiving. One with a zero on the end of it. So… Dillard. Over the past 36 years or so, he’s been the Stanley to my Simmons, the Wilkes to my Walton in hoops, and the Tony to my Phil Esposito in street hockey. This week some 28 years ago, we had just finished an epic, seven day cross country drive to attend the University of Arizona. On the way we stopped in Wilkes-Barre, PA, Springfield, IL, St. Louie for some “real” Buds, Oklahoma City and finally Amarillo, TX before arriving in Tucson. Somewhere along the way, we browsed a Creem magazine and found out KISS would be playing Tucson the week we arrived. Sweet.

Before “the Arizona days,” there were many a day and night spent in Wakefield, Massachusetts. Just today, Megan said, “don’t be so dramatic” over something I said or did. I found that pretty humorous given the amount of drama she’s lived in her 17 ½ years on and off the planet. Still, as I thought about the drama in the life of a teenager, I tried to remember back to the days when Hog and Dillard were the center of the universe. We had steady girlfriends from about sophomore year on, so yeah, there was some drama. Today I was reminded of one of those dark, dramatic nights back then as I laid on a Precor aBench between sets. Jay Farrar’s live version of “Like a Hurricane” was cranking through my head and I drifted back to that summer night some three decades ago when Dillard and I first heard the original Neil Young version on the radio while driving in his ’69 Camaro convertible, which looked something like this except for the stripes.

Yeah, as I recall we were both “fighting” with our girlfriends so we were out cruising and getting “blown away” under an ink black summer sky. Neil was singing to us right at that very moment because he knew we were Hog and Dillard and he had just the words and guitar chops to soothe our tortured souls.

Hey, it’s been awhile, but that’s how I remember it.

My expectations were pretty low last night when Kyle and I headed to the Strand Theatre to see Adam Sandler’s latest, “Click.” Overall, the film garnered a cumulative “C” from reviewers, but some critics were downright brutal including Peter Travers of Rolling Stone who panned, “Sandler has a sappy side that makes me puke. I damn near choked on Click.” Whatever. It was Saturday night on vacation with my son, so off we went…

“Click” starts out with the usual Sandler staples of farts and shots in the pills that absolutely delighted Kyle, but then took a Capra-esque (some critics would say ripoff) turn toward a more meaningful story of what’s really important during the short time we’re here. In my opinion, it’s a worthy modern retelling of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” with Christopher Walken’s Morty a hip update to Henry Travers’ Clarence and Kate Beckinsale a very hot update to Donna Reed’s Mary.

It’s worth noting Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life” was panned by some and didn’t rock the box-office when it was in theatres in 1946. In fact, it ranked 26th in revenue that year and fell about $400K short of recouping it’s $3.7M budget. I think it’s made a few bucks since. “Click” has enjoyed a better financial performance out of the gate, taking in about $135M against a budget of around $70M. Without the Christmas theme, it’s doubtful “Click” will have the legs of “Life.” Still, it’s worth seeing.

“Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?”

Two years ago I ditched Verizon landline phone service in favor of VOIP from Vonage. Still, I was paying for a home phone for which usage was showing a dwindling trend. This month, after a very difficult breakup process, Vonage is now on the scrap heap of my ex-phone providers. It wasn’t easy. I mean the decision was. We were down to less than 100 minutes a month, so I couldn’t really justify the 28 cents a minute. Sadly, Vonage didn’t take it well. There were tears and they asked me if I was seeing another provider. I said no, “it’s just business,” and I really didn’t see it working out for us over the long term.

According to a May-06 poll conducted by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s National Center for Health Statistics (don’t ask me why), 7.8 percent of surveyed adults live in households with only a cell phone, and that the no phone home population is growing by 2 percentage points per year. Someday, we all may be connected by wi-fi phones or something like that. Until then, call me on my cell.

So, what’s your deal on the home phone?

Like the Don Knotts character in the 1964 film, my boy dreams of being a fish. I recall seeing the film as a child and was mesmerized when the live action feature gracefully swam into animation when Mr. Limpett fell from a dock. I’m sure the meaning eluded me back then, but I found this cute dialogue about “being friends” on the Internet Movie Database:

Henry Limpet: Do you suppose that we could just be more or less friends?
Ladyfish: Friends? But wouldn’t that be more or less nothing, Limpet?

As for the incredible Mr. Daley, he has been living his dream for the past 24 hours or so as “Jaws” in his new Playstation2 game. It’s taking him a while to learn the game and at first he got frustrated as he struggled to eat a few seals, “I’m sick of seals. I want to eat people.” Yep, it’s good wholesome fun, and though I may not get to watch the plasma for awhile, nothing warms my heart more than to hear my son shout with glee, “Dad, I just ate the guy from the boat!”

Yesterday I ventured to the gym for the first time in about two months. Attendance was sparse at 3-ish when I showed up, so I had unfettered access to all the contraptions in my usual routine. After two months of slacking though, the routine was not usual. I stretched my calves as I methodically inserted the orange foam earplugs that carry noise cancelling music into my head for sixty minutes. Yeah it had been a while since I’d heard Bruce and the band fire up “My Love Will Not Let You Down” and “Prove It All Night” from NYC to commence the strenuous proceedings.

After stretching for 10 minutes or so, it was on to the abs thingy which is a bench with one of those ab roller things built in. Anyway, prior to my self-imposed stint on the DL, I could easily burn through 3 sets of 100 (25 x 4) crunches in between stops on the Nautilus circuit. Not yesterday, as crunches 251-275 and 276-300 were really tough, with 295-300 being quite brutal. On to the Stairmaster we go… Again, the two-month sabbatical cost me as I managed only 20 minutes at the 5.0 setting when pre-slacker vacation I was able to crank for 30 minutes no problemo. So, I have some hills to climb, but I’ll get there.

One thing about the gym I don’t do is spend time flexing in front of the many mirrors surrounding the exercise floor. Oh yeah, I occasionally do catch a reflection of myself while walking, and yeah, I throw myself a wink, but jeez, I’m not obsessive about it. It’s not just the muscleheads admiring their physiques either. Yesterday as I scanned the floor for something worth looking at while I did a cool-down stretch, I saw this guy really examining his triceps’! The funny thing was, this guy looked about eleven months pregnant, but he wanted to make sure his tri’s looked rock solid. On second thought though, maybe the triceps is the key muscle for reaching into the drive-through window at McDonalds.

There’s tragedy in the news again. On August 16th Mardin Amin tried to sneak a little item onboard a flight from O’Hare and unfortunately his mom was with him. As some of you may know, I do have some, um, pull in the security industry and was able to get my hands on this audio transcript of the ugly incident.

Later, at home with mom and grounded, Mr. Amin was startled when mom entered his room unannounced. Again, it wasn’t pretty. Reached by telephone, Mr. Amin insisted his mom isn’t that mad at him even though he’s remaining grounded until his September 13 court date. He sounded almost boastful and said proudly, “I have the situation well in hand.”