my vote - The woman from the Overstock.com commercials. Always wears the orange and white outfits, resembling an adorable human creamcicle with a wonderful speaking voice.
I went to the website, wondering if they had an info or more photos of her. Just a tiny lil' jpeg meshed into their logo. OS - you're missing a golden opportunity here. You're what irks me about the whole new-style dot.com mentality - y'all are so concerned about selling "products" and making "profits" that you're not giving the web community what it needs most - a chance to develop a crush on a completely unattainable woman. Give us a photo shoot (tastefully done, mind you) in all her cute widdle orange and white outfits. Maybe some streaming media -- "Making of The Overstock.com Commercials." I'm not asking for a home address or phone number, heavens no, just, well, I don't know...maybe an official fan club? Is that too much to ask?
I'm tellin' ya, she could be bigger than the "Where's the Beef?" woman, bigger than Ali Landry's Doritos ads...hell, she could be the 21st Century Snapple Lady! Stop paying attention to those Wall Street / Booz Allen-types who say the key to business is a positive revenue stream. Forget the marketers who got their MBAs mail-ordered with steak knives and their mantra of "stay on message." More of the woman.
Create some hype. Get some buzz. Do you have any idea the number of young men, with seemingly no prospects for a loving relationship with a real, attainable woman due to years of numbing media messages that every woman needs to be Cindy Crawfords' better - looking - younger - thinner - bustier- smarter - sister that would pay good hard currency just to be in the same state as the Overstock.com pitchwoman?
Well, ok, so, me, and, I might not be a growth demographic, but, damn, hook a brother up.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
I'm sure my parents would be proud of me
so...it's almost 2:30 am, I have a sales appointment in the morning, and I'm playing XBox live. Specifically, I'm playing MechAssault2 using a neighbor's Wi-Fi connection that he was too stupid to lock down. My new PC is using Internet Connection Sharing off a high-gain 802.11g antenna I picked up @ CompUSA two weeks ago. From there, it's just a crossover Ethernet cable from the PC to the XBox.
I'm almost 32 years old. I think I like video games now more than I did when I was a teenager. Maybe I am still a just a teenager. Maybe I never grew up. Maybe I'm a 21st Century Peter Pan without the green tights. Maybe I am a toys R us kid.
Or, maybe I'm just addicted to digital crack.
Oh, I need a 12 stepper now
I'm almost 32 years old. I think I like video games now more than I did when I was a teenager. Maybe I am still a just a teenager. Maybe I never grew up. Maybe I'm a 21st Century Peter Pan without the green tights. Maybe I am a toys R us kid.
Or, maybe I'm just addicted to digital crack.
Oh, I need a 12 stepper now
Monday, January 17, 2005
Bowling night recap
STIMONIUM - (AP) - In a thrilling, nail-biting match that came down to the last frame, the Team on Lane One beat the Team on Lane Two by, like 12 pins, or something.
"It was a hard-fought match, and I'm glad we won" exclaimed a happy, but exhausted Laura. "It makes the Baby Guinesses I drank before the match and the beer during the thing with that stuff and the pins and ball that much more betterifed and oh dear who's driving me home?"
Chaos was the name of the game early on at Timonium Lanes, as all the people who's first name begins with"L" formed a team, a team who played exclusively on lane 1. Hence, the team name, the Team on Lane One. Their display only showed the first initial of the first name, and that sowed seeds of discontent that sprouted in the Team on Lane Two.
"Seeing all those 'L's on the scoreboard really threw me off," said Kevin. "We never knew who was bowling on that lane - was it Lauren? Could it be Luke? What if it's Laura?"
"Just way too much for me to absorb, you know?" he concluded. "My liver can only take so much."
Scott echoed those sentiments. "I thought they needed an Oswald or Olivia in the middle so I'd know I could 'Laugh out loud' at them, or something."
Luke, who proved that he is more than just a one-sport star in Wiffleball, led all bowlers with, like, 200 or some pins over two games. I don't know, really, just kind of guessing. "I really tried to stay focused out there. It's hard to concentrate when you don't know when it's your turn, and all you see is an initial" he summized.
Kevin agreed with Luke. "It was hard to stay focused,no doubt. Going to a Rock-and-Bowl as a solid member of Generation X, on a Saturday night, and NOT being strung out on cocaine, or being a drug mule for anAfghani opium ring, well, it's hard. Almost 30 years old and this is my life now. No, no, I'm cool with it."
"Especially with all the primo teenage girls out there" Scott added. "In three years, or when your curfew is past 11, you know, whatever, remember the name 'Scott Kreitzer' ladies!" he said.
The Team on Lane One had a valiant effort from Lauren.Her knee, still adorned with a metal brace that gives her a walking gait reminiscent of the wounded RoboCop, played through the pain and bowled several balls that actually hit pins.
The battle for top scorer was a tight race between Luke and Ray. High expectations were heaped on both men, as both teams looked at them as leaders on their teams."Essentially, we two are the only guys who have our own shoes" explained Ray. "I guess Luke likes to bowl,and I sincerely doubt a half-shot of Lysol is going to kill the fungi some of those shoes build up. I'm no germophobe, but I ain't puttin' my tootsies anywhere near the shoes that 'Stinky Joe and the Fat Kid' used on lane 14 30 minutes ago. My bowling shoes aren't a statement; they're a twenty-dollar investment in avoiding athlete's foot or lumbago or gout or whatever the hell you get on your feets."
Both players used trickery, chicanery and straight-out cheating to win the coveted title "King of the Pigs."
"Using gutter bumpers, as a grown adult. Man should be ashamed," exclaimed bowling traditionalist Ray, referring to Luke's method of cheating. "Nobody outside of crippled blind Downs' syndrome kids should ever use gutter bumpers, and that's only if you think those types of kids should be coddled. Life's hard;teach them young, I always say."
When noting that fellow Team on Lane One members Lauraand Lauren also used the bumpers, Ray quickly summized that his previous statement about crippled kids"pretty much deep-sixed" any chance he ever had with scoring with either Laura, Lauren, or, perchance, both.
Luke had less-than-kind comments about Ray's methods as well. "The man brings a ten-pin ball to playduckpins. That's like using a hand grenade to kill a spider. Little overkill there."
"Well," exclaimed Ray, "you must admit, watching a ten-pin ball hit duckpins is a sick fun, kind of like watching a Escalade mow down a slow-moving suburban squirrel who dares cross Red Run Boulevard in Owings Mills."
Luke was forced to agree with that statement, if only for the sound effect factor, but still thought Ray's use of a BB gun to shoot down remaining pins from a 'sniper's nest' made up of empty beer cups and serving trays was a bit much.
A positive note for the Team on Lane Two was the rapid improvement of Kevin's bowling throughout the night, further fueling speculation that he really is run on alcohol. Much like the middle act at a bad comedy club, the more beer, the better he got.
Kevin's liver could not be reached for comment for this story, but his spleen did issue a statement, requesting a trade to the Los Angeles Lakers for Lamar Odom and an organ to be named later.
---####---__________________________________________________
"It was a hard-fought match, and I'm glad we won" exclaimed a happy, but exhausted Laura. "It makes the Baby Guinesses I drank before the match and the beer during the thing with that stuff and the pins and ball that much more betterifed and oh dear who's driving me home?"
Chaos was the name of the game early on at Timonium Lanes, as all the people who's first name begins with"L" formed a team, a team who played exclusively on lane 1. Hence, the team name, the Team on Lane One. Their display only showed the first initial of the first name, and that sowed seeds of discontent that sprouted in the Team on Lane Two.
"Seeing all those 'L's on the scoreboard really threw me off," said Kevin. "We never knew who was bowling on that lane - was it Lauren? Could it be Luke? What if it's Laura?"
"Just way too much for me to absorb, you know?" he concluded. "My liver can only take so much."
Scott echoed those sentiments. "I thought they needed an Oswald or Olivia in the middle so I'd know I could 'Laugh out loud' at them, or something."
Luke, who proved that he is more than just a one-sport star in Wiffleball, led all bowlers with, like, 200 or some pins over two games. I don't know, really, just kind of guessing. "I really tried to stay focused out there. It's hard to concentrate when you don't know when it's your turn, and all you see is an initial" he summized.
Kevin agreed with Luke. "It was hard to stay focused,no doubt. Going to a Rock-and-Bowl as a solid member of Generation X, on a Saturday night, and NOT being strung out on cocaine, or being a drug mule for anAfghani opium ring, well, it's hard. Almost 30 years old and this is my life now. No, no, I'm cool with it."
"Especially with all the primo teenage girls out there" Scott added. "In three years, or when your curfew is past 11, you know, whatever, remember the name 'Scott Kreitzer' ladies!" he said.
The Team on Lane One had a valiant effort from Lauren.Her knee, still adorned with a metal brace that gives her a walking gait reminiscent of the wounded RoboCop, played through the pain and bowled several balls that actually hit pins.
The battle for top scorer was a tight race between Luke and Ray. High expectations were heaped on both men, as both teams looked at them as leaders on their teams."Essentially, we two are the only guys who have our own shoes" explained Ray. "I guess Luke likes to bowl,and I sincerely doubt a half-shot of Lysol is going to kill the fungi some of those shoes build up. I'm no germophobe, but I ain't puttin' my tootsies anywhere near the shoes that 'Stinky Joe and the Fat Kid' used on lane 14 30 minutes ago. My bowling shoes aren't a statement; they're a twenty-dollar investment in avoiding athlete's foot or lumbago or gout or whatever the hell you get on your feets."
Both players used trickery, chicanery and straight-out cheating to win the coveted title "King of the Pigs."
"Using gutter bumpers, as a grown adult. Man should be ashamed," exclaimed bowling traditionalist Ray, referring to Luke's method of cheating. "Nobody outside of crippled blind Downs' syndrome kids should ever use gutter bumpers, and that's only if you think those types of kids should be coddled. Life's hard;teach them young, I always say."
When noting that fellow Team on Lane One members Lauraand Lauren also used the bumpers, Ray quickly summized that his previous statement about crippled kids"pretty much deep-sixed" any chance he ever had with scoring with either Laura, Lauren, or, perchance, both.
Luke had less-than-kind comments about Ray's methods as well. "The man brings a ten-pin ball to playduckpins. That's like using a hand grenade to kill a spider. Little overkill there."
"Well," exclaimed Ray, "you must admit, watching a ten-pin ball hit duckpins is a sick fun, kind of like watching a Escalade mow down a slow-moving suburban squirrel who dares cross Red Run Boulevard in Owings Mills."
Luke was forced to agree with that statement, if only for the sound effect factor, but still thought Ray's use of a BB gun to shoot down remaining pins from a 'sniper's nest' made up of empty beer cups and serving trays was a bit much.
A positive note for the Team on Lane Two was the rapid improvement of Kevin's bowling throughout the night, further fueling speculation that he really is run on alcohol. Much like the middle act at a bad comedy club, the more beer, the better he got.
Kevin's liver could not be reached for comment for this story, but his spleen did issue a statement, requesting a trade to the Los Angeles Lakers for Lamar Odom and an organ to be named later.
---####---__________________________________________________
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Adios, My Friend WHFS
At noon, January 12, 2005, I lost an old friend I forgot I had. Local radio station 99.1, WHFS, played Jeff Buckley's "Last Goodbye," and then promptly played Spanish-language music. WHFS is now La Zol, with a focus on salsa, meringue and tropical dance music. Bye-bye Linkin Park, hola Gypsy Kings.
Wonder if they'll play Los Lonely Boys as a crossover artist?
How many competitors wanted to play "Mexican Radio" yesterday?
In any event, as a former radio disc jockey, I knew it was only a matter of time before WHFS was put out of its misery. The ratings have been in the cellar for a long time, consistently finishing in the bottom-third of the DC ratings and middle-of-the-road at best in Baltimore. Amazing what a difference 10 years makes.
I was part of WHFS in 1996, as an intern for the Morning Product, with Aq, Kath and Rob Timm, with the bitter Mike Giannini as producer. I had been in radio for a couple of years by that point, and figured a gig with WHFS, even as a volunteer, could get me an air shift at one of the most listened to stations in the US.
This is not a misprint - 99.1 was incredibly high-rated. #3 in DC, #8 in Baltimore once upon a time. During the mornings, approximately a quarter of million were listening at any time - huge numbers for any station outside of Tokyo, New York or L.A. I was not a major component of the show at all - I would occasionally book guests, do a funny voice on the air, or, most likely, fart in Aq's face before the commercial breaks ended, making him almost as bitter as Mike, much to the delight of Kath and Rob.
But just being associated with the station had perks. I'd get free bar tabs at some local watering holes, just because I *MIGHT* mention the place on the air the next day. Girls who wouldn't have looked twice at me were drawn to my WHFS-ness. My girlfriend in DC didn't exactly like the added attention I got from ladies, but, she didn't mind the free concert tickets.
WHFS put out shirts in 1996 - HFS - Hip Fucking Station - and my Lord was it hip then. I started the job with a bit of media success under my belt. Interned at CNN - worked for Larry King, met Ross Perot, talked to the first President Bush, met me some serious Senators (and the Senators' lovely, single and lonely aides and staffers...). Bob Dole ate my mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies. Jimmy Carter and I talked baseball. I peed next to Pat Buchanan in the 8th floor men's bathroom. Co-hosted the #1 morning show in Ocean City with my hero, Big Don O'Brien. Did a evening alt-rock show in Virginia Beach on a dual-frequency FM station. Hosted the most popular morning show in Virginia Wesleyan College's history - we had like 40 people in the Commons listen to the Lawrence and Gillespie Show on 640 AM, and dammit, that counts! I had gotten some free CDs sent to us by record reps. Met Hershey, Pennsylvania's The Ocean Blue and techno superband Pigface (a.k.a. Skinny Puppy + Trent Reznor), and I thought I was destined for radio coolness.
Then I walked into work at 99.1 and saw Alanis Morrissette picking her nose. John Stewart's asking me for a donut. Chris Rock is on the phone. Is that the guy from Guided By Voices in the john next to me? That is so much hipper than CNN on CNN's hippest day. There, I got an email from Wolf Blitzer. WHFS, I shared a mug with Adam Corrolla. I had KFC with Weasel before a Jimmie's Chicken Shack concert. Take that, cookies with Bob Dole. It's no contest.
The free-form days at 102.3, back in the `70s, is legendary. Weasel, Cerphe, Bob Goodacre - legends on the local dial, all playing music that really mattered. And the deejays TOLD you why it should matter to you, too. When the station moved to 99.1, and had guys like Dave Issing, Wild Wes and long-time overnight maven Neci - they made the Judybats, Lilac Time, Kitchens of Distinction all sound like the coolest damned bands who ever lived. That they were barely known in their own hometowns was inmaterial. They were played on WHFS, and that mattered to those of us who wanted more from the radio than Bon Jovi.
WHFS made alternative music a viable format in the late '80s. British-flavoured pop, angry Germans, sensitive American singer-songwriters had a home there, away from the Def Leppards and Madonnas. It was an alternative for people who valued good music, a bit of insight from knowledgable deejays, and something other than MC Hammer.
Then Nirvana came along. More than just making Courtney Love more popular than she deserves to be, Nirvana signaled a turning point for stations like WHFS - it was technically alternative rock, but with a slight reworking of a Boston riff, and almost instantly insanely popular with kids who liked Guns and Roses and the Yellow Rose of Texas. And, it made rock cool again for the kids who liked the Stone Roses.
Besides ushering in Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots, and making every band who grew up idolizing the Replacements discover feedback and power chords, Nirvana forced the alternative rock community to change. Gone was the Madchester sound from US airwaves. The Farm bought the farm, the Happy Mondays turned into the Boomtown Rats (who just simply don't like mondays, and want to shoot the whole week down) and the slightly forgettable Housemartins discovered the beauties of the south and club dj turntables.
So, yes, I am alleging that Kurt Cobain founded the career of Fatboy Slim. And a band with the memorable lyric of "don't marry her; fuck me."
WHFS rode the wave pretty well for a while - grunge is essentially hard rock, Britpop is still a reworking of Beatles songs, every singer-songwriter is still Bob Dylan's little bitch, and angry Germans are still angry Germans, no matter if their name is Faust, Kraftwerk or Rammstein. Names change, but the anger remains. Combining these disparate musical genres into one successful station took talent, and 99.1 pulled it off.
But, like how hip-hop killed Top-40 in the `80s, grunge would essentially kill alternative. Ironic, since most people exposed to the music in the `90s think grunge *IS* alternative. Alternative was much more - New Wave Depeche Mode met Goth Bauhaus met Prog Rock Yes met Alt Rock REM. The Pet Shop Boys could coexist nicely with XTC, and the Cars didn't seem to mind. U2 would simply just try to save the world.
But, where there is genius, there is a host of imitators. For every Stone Roses, there is the not-nearly-as-brilliant Seahorses. Siouxsie and The Banshees = Great. The Creatures = Not so much. And, as talented as Nirvana, and their immediate contemporaries were, their imitators were simply trying to get a quick buck. fIREHOSE were pretty deep, but Loud Lucy was just kinda loud.
And don't even get me started on the Toadies. Jesus....jesus....jesus....
I loved Pat Ferrise, the old music director at WHFS. Bob Waugh, the APD, had a pretty keen ear for pulling the wheat from the chaff. But, when the ear starts getting surrounded by crap, pretty soon you can only seperate the not-as-crappy from the really-crappy. I mean, when Hootie and The Blowfish were seling 12 million records, these guys wouldn't play their songs because they were TOO sell-out sounding. Never mind that damned near every other alt-rock station in North America was playing "Hold My Hand" or "Let Her Cry."
How Dave Matthews got through on their watch is beyond me. I have a few Dave Matthews Band CDs, and I still don't have a clue what the hell he's singing. "Ants Marching" had a beat, but I've not smoked enough pot to understand the attraction to "Don't Drink the Water."
But, hey, I'm sure even Da Vinci had a doodle pad. I'll give them a pass. Bob introduced me to Tony Bennett. Not in a CD, but in person "This is Tony Bennett." Hearing Tony Bennett say the words "Nice to meet you, young man" is one of the coolest things I've ever heard in my life.
I left WHFS after doing the air shift after the 1996 HFStival. I had been running around RFK all day, hanging with Garbage (remember back when they were still good?), Everclear (the band, and, some of the booze), and photographing the lovely Gwen Stefani whenever possible. I was exhausted, having been up since 5:30 AM, getting Aq drinks, hanging with Johnny Riggs and Dave Grohl, taking pictures with John Stewart and, indeed my sexual highlight, getting hugged by Jewel.
Almost 9 years later, and my chest STILL hurts...but in a good way.
Post Aq, Kath and Rob, pre-Lou Brutus, there was Tom Perry, Sherry and Alan Scott. Tom Perry goes down in my book as being one of my favorite people in the business for one simple fact - he made sure I got to hang out with the Barenaked Ladies, one of my favorite bands.
My internship had ended, and I was doing some commercial voice-overs once in a while, whilst trying to get a part-time air shift at WHFS. So, I still saw the guys once in a while - enough they knew my face, but that was about it. However, Tom remembered I was a huge BNL fan, and had been a vocal proponent of the band in 1996, slightly before the release of a certain song about an old apartment, but it's not *really* about an old apartment, but a slightly psycho ex-boyfriend. At any rate, I persuaded the Pat Ferrise person to go see BNL with me in concert at the 9:30 Club. At the time, the Ladies had no commercial potential in the US, according to Misters Pat and Bob. After seeing the 9:30 packed with people, singing every song, Pat changed his tune, and WHFS became the first radio station outside of Canada and US border towns to add "Old Apartment." Barenaked Ladies became famous, and I became unemployed. Fair trade?
Tom remembered this, and wanted to make sure I'd get to meet the band. So, he invites me to be part of the morning show again, for a glorious day, in which I not only got a couple of photo ops, but shared donuts, coffee, t-shirts with the lads. When the band started playing music, and then asked me to sing along, I damned near passed out. I finally figured out, at 23 years of age, why teenagers went apeshit for the Beatles. I got to do backing vocals on "Old Apartment," recorded on WHFS' "Just Passing Through" disc, and my "Woooo!!!" lives on in semi-permanent digital format. If anything topped the HFStival , it was hanging out with the five guys from Canada, and knowing that, in my own small way, I helped them out.
I was also standing near Tom when Jewel had hugged me at the HFStival. She must have thought I was his younger brother or something, and just wrapped her arms around me like she was a long-lost friend...granted, a long-lost friend with sweater meat the size of a small fishing vessel.
It was shortly thereafter that WHFS really started to lose it, though. Tom moved west, Johnny Riggs got busted with kiddie porn and drugs, Linkin Park came out (sorry kids, they really, really suck, period), Gina Crash tried her best in the mornings, Lou Brutus was never really comfortable there, and Milk was just so...Milk. Nice guy, but, come on - he wasn't a trained a deejay at all, and sounded like he would have been perfect back in the free-form days. And I don't understand the hype over emo, kids. It sounds like slightly less British Britpop. Britpop without the wit.
The Sports Junkies were brought in like a hospice nurse sent to take care of your senile great aunt with Alzheimer's disease - every once in a while the ole' girl has a moment of clarity, but at the end of the day, la grande dame est morte.
Then again, and I think Mike Giannini would agree - we still miss cute ginchy girl in promotions. Jackie, I think, was her name. The world changed when she left.
WHFS simply could not keep up with its demographic. When Damian left, when Weasel left, when Kath left, came back, and left again, the old-time listeners kept leaving, too. Johnny Riggs may have had his demons, but damn it, he was a personality. Aq was a little weird, and I loved him for it. But they were all real fun on 99.1, and the station needed them more than any radio consultant, any focus group, any marketing study could ever reveal.
To focus on today's kids is to completely lose focus. Kids today float between music styles easily and without thinking. Bubblegum teenage princesses (who all sound exactly alike to me) share space on the kids' collective iPod with the brilliant Coldplay, the fun Blink 182, the insanely popular Eminem and the completely unexplainable Nelly, all while U2 is still trying to save the world. When I was 16, being a Cure fan, being a Depeche Mode fan, being a Smiths fan - it all meant SOMETHING. You identified with your music, and WHFS was a lifestyle choice. It meant you were just that little bit cooler than your less-enlightened brethren. Now kids switch music like an old-fashioned telephone operator.
Maybe that's not a bad thing for them. I listened almost exclusively to WHFS, so I never heard any of the classic, old-school hip hop. I have no nostalgia for Warrant because that was a band that pushed me to WHFS in the first place. They sucked; the Replacements didn't. For every MC Hammer I avoided, there was a De La Soul I missed. Hopefully these kids can take advantage of this diversity in musical styles, and produce something more, something where the sum is greater than the whole of its parts.
If, in the end, the music still mattered, then WHFS' music was getting better lately. More Killers, more Franz Ferdinand, more Keane - the station was getting back to a more consistent sound. Even folks who swore off WHFS were slowly adding it.
While writing this, I have finally discovered the importance of Tom Perry in my life. I always thought Pat, or Aq, or Alan, or even the Scottish dude, or maybe even the dear Weasel, was my favorite person from the station. But I never got to sing with Alan on the air, and I never got hugged by a busty folk singer with Pat. But, I did share a chicken thigh with Weasel, and you can never take that away from me.
So, Tom, if you ever read this, thank you. Sincerely and utterly, thanks.
I'm sure that somewhere in this great metropolitan area, there are kids lamenting the loss of 99.1, WHFS. Kids who may have identified with Tim Virgin, or the Junkies, or who called into Loveline. They may never warm up to DC101, 98 Rock, 103.1 WRNR, 104.1, WTMD, or any other station that plays some of the same songs as 99.1 did. They are shocked, probably in the same way folks 20 years ago were shocked when 102.3 WHFS became Progressive 99 WHFS, or 15 years ago when that freeform style became a suggested playlist, or 10 years ago when it became as tightly formatted as any other station in the market.
What happens next? The Junkies will be back at 106.7, the sales guys will sell for somebody else, the production guys will produce someplace else, and the HFStival will just be a fond, fuzzy memory. Bands will still come to the region, and, hell, the Nationals will need the stadium this year anyway. 99.1 will instantly become the number one radio station in restaurant kitchens across the metro. Cinco De Mayo will have a new soundtrack, and the margaritas will be flowin'. Latin dance music is a big deal nowadays - try to find a single, mid-20s girl in Adams Morgan who HASN'T taken salsa dance lessons, I dares ya - and the Spanish-speaking community in the region deserves a good, powerful signal and a station to call their own...much like 3 generations of people who simply enjoyed good, diverse, eclectic, thought-provoking music did.
And now, as a Spanish station in the middle of the FM dial, WHFS can finally once again be The True Alternative.
- me
Wonder if they'll play Los Lonely Boys as a crossover artist?
How many competitors wanted to play "Mexican Radio" yesterday?
In any event, as a former radio disc jockey, I knew it was only a matter of time before WHFS was put out of its misery. The ratings have been in the cellar for a long time, consistently finishing in the bottom-third of the DC ratings and middle-of-the-road at best in Baltimore. Amazing what a difference 10 years makes.
I was part of WHFS in 1996, as an intern for the Morning Product, with Aq, Kath and Rob Timm, with the bitter Mike Giannini as producer. I had been in radio for a couple of years by that point, and figured a gig with WHFS, even as a volunteer, could get me an air shift at one of the most listened to stations in the US.
This is not a misprint - 99.1 was incredibly high-rated. #3 in DC, #8 in Baltimore once upon a time. During the mornings, approximately a quarter of million were listening at any time - huge numbers for any station outside of Tokyo, New York or L.A. I was not a major component of the show at all - I would occasionally book guests, do a funny voice on the air, or, most likely, fart in Aq's face before the commercial breaks ended, making him almost as bitter as Mike, much to the delight of Kath and Rob.
But just being associated with the station had perks. I'd get free bar tabs at some local watering holes, just because I *MIGHT* mention the place on the air the next day. Girls who wouldn't have looked twice at me were drawn to my WHFS-ness. My girlfriend in DC didn't exactly like the added attention I got from ladies, but, she didn't mind the free concert tickets.
WHFS put out shirts in 1996 - HFS - Hip Fucking Station - and my Lord was it hip then. I started the job with a bit of media success under my belt. Interned at CNN - worked for Larry King, met Ross Perot, talked to the first President Bush, met me some serious Senators (and the Senators' lovely, single and lonely aides and staffers...). Bob Dole ate my mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies. Jimmy Carter and I talked baseball. I peed next to Pat Buchanan in the 8th floor men's bathroom. Co-hosted the #1 morning show in Ocean City with my hero, Big Don O'Brien. Did a evening alt-rock show in Virginia Beach on a dual-frequency FM station. Hosted the most popular morning show in Virginia Wesleyan College's history - we had like 40 people in the Commons listen to the Lawrence and Gillespie Show on 640 AM, and dammit, that counts! I had gotten some free CDs sent to us by record reps. Met Hershey, Pennsylvania's The Ocean Blue and techno superband Pigface (a.k.a. Skinny Puppy + Trent Reznor), and I thought I was destined for radio coolness.
Then I walked into work at 99.1 and saw Alanis Morrissette picking her nose. John Stewart's asking me for a donut. Chris Rock is on the phone. Is that the guy from Guided By Voices in the john next to me? That is so much hipper than CNN on CNN's hippest day. There, I got an email from Wolf Blitzer. WHFS, I shared a mug with Adam Corrolla. I had KFC with Weasel before a Jimmie's Chicken Shack concert. Take that, cookies with Bob Dole. It's no contest.
The free-form days at 102.3, back in the `70s, is legendary. Weasel, Cerphe, Bob Goodacre - legends on the local dial, all playing music that really mattered. And the deejays TOLD you why it should matter to you, too. When the station moved to 99.1, and had guys like Dave Issing, Wild Wes and long-time overnight maven Neci - they made the Judybats, Lilac Time, Kitchens of Distinction all sound like the coolest damned bands who ever lived. That they were barely known in their own hometowns was inmaterial. They were played on WHFS, and that mattered to those of us who wanted more from the radio than Bon Jovi.
WHFS made alternative music a viable format in the late '80s. British-flavoured pop, angry Germans, sensitive American singer-songwriters had a home there, away from the Def Leppards and Madonnas. It was an alternative for people who valued good music, a bit of insight from knowledgable deejays, and something other than MC Hammer.
Then Nirvana came along. More than just making Courtney Love more popular than she deserves to be, Nirvana signaled a turning point for stations like WHFS - it was technically alternative rock, but with a slight reworking of a Boston riff, and almost instantly insanely popular with kids who liked Guns and Roses and the Yellow Rose of Texas. And, it made rock cool again for the kids who liked the Stone Roses.
Besides ushering in Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots, and making every band who grew up idolizing the Replacements discover feedback and power chords, Nirvana forced the alternative rock community to change. Gone was the Madchester sound from US airwaves. The Farm bought the farm, the Happy Mondays turned into the Boomtown Rats (who just simply don't like mondays, and want to shoot the whole week down) and the slightly forgettable Housemartins discovered the beauties of the south and club dj turntables.
So, yes, I am alleging that Kurt Cobain founded the career of Fatboy Slim. And a band with the memorable lyric of "don't marry her; fuck me."
WHFS rode the wave pretty well for a while - grunge is essentially hard rock, Britpop is still a reworking of Beatles songs, every singer-songwriter is still Bob Dylan's little bitch, and angry Germans are still angry Germans, no matter if their name is Faust, Kraftwerk or Rammstein. Names change, but the anger remains. Combining these disparate musical genres into one successful station took talent, and 99.1 pulled it off.
But, like how hip-hop killed Top-40 in the `80s, grunge would essentially kill alternative. Ironic, since most people exposed to the music in the `90s think grunge *IS* alternative. Alternative was much more - New Wave Depeche Mode met Goth Bauhaus met Prog Rock Yes met Alt Rock REM. The Pet Shop Boys could coexist nicely with XTC, and the Cars didn't seem to mind. U2 would simply just try to save the world.
But, where there is genius, there is a host of imitators. For every Stone Roses, there is the not-nearly-as-brilliant Seahorses. Siouxsie and The Banshees = Great. The Creatures = Not so much. And, as talented as Nirvana, and their immediate contemporaries were, their imitators were simply trying to get a quick buck. fIREHOSE were pretty deep, but Loud Lucy was just kinda loud.
And don't even get me started on the Toadies. Jesus....jesus....jesus....
I loved Pat Ferrise, the old music director at WHFS. Bob Waugh, the APD, had a pretty keen ear for pulling the wheat from the chaff. But, when the ear starts getting surrounded by crap, pretty soon you can only seperate the not-as-crappy from the really-crappy. I mean, when Hootie and The Blowfish were seling 12 million records, these guys wouldn't play their songs because they were TOO sell-out sounding. Never mind that damned near every other alt-rock station in North America was playing "Hold My Hand" or "Let Her Cry."
How Dave Matthews got through on their watch is beyond me. I have a few Dave Matthews Band CDs, and I still don't have a clue what the hell he's singing. "Ants Marching" had a beat, but I've not smoked enough pot to understand the attraction to "Don't Drink the Water."
But, hey, I'm sure even Da Vinci had a doodle pad. I'll give them a pass. Bob introduced me to Tony Bennett. Not in a CD, but in person "This is Tony Bennett." Hearing Tony Bennett say the words "Nice to meet you, young man" is one of the coolest things I've ever heard in my life.
I left WHFS after doing the air shift after the 1996 HFStival. I had been running around RFK all day, hanging with Garbage (remember back when they were still good?), Everclear (the band, and, some of the booze), and photographing the lovely Gwen Stefani whenever possible. I was exhausted, having been up since 5:30 AM, getting Aq drinks, hanging with Johnny Riggs and Dave Grohl, taking pictures with John Stewart and, indeed my sexual highlight, getting hugged by Jewel.
Almost 9 years later, and my chest STILL hurts...but in a good way.
Post Aq, Kath and Rob, pre-Lou Brutus, there was Tom Perry, Sherry and Alan Scott. Tom Perry goes down in my book as being one of my favorite people in the business for one simple fact - he made sure I got to hang out with the Barenaked Ladies, one of my favorite bands.
My internship had ended, and I was doing some commercial voice-overs once in a while, whilst trying to get a part-time air shift at WHFS. So, I still saw the guys once in a while - enough they knew my face, but that was about it. However, Tom remembered I was a huge BNL fan, and had been a vocal proponent of the band in 1996, slightly before the release of a certain song about an old apartment, but it's not *really* about an old apartment, but a slightly psycho ex-boyfriend. At any rate, I persuaded the Pat Ferrise person to go see BNL with me in concert at the 9:30 Club. At the time, the Ladies had no commercial potential in the US, according to Misters Pat and Bob. After seeing the 9:30 packed with people, singing every song, Pat changed his tune, and WHFS became the first radio station outside of Canada and US border towns to add "Old Apartment." Barenaked Ladies became famous, and I became unemployed. Fair trade?
Tom remembered this, and wanted to make sure I'd get to meet the band. So, he invites me to be part of the morning show again, for a glorious day, in which I not only got a couple of photo ops, but shared donuts, coffee, t-shirts with the lads. When the band started playing music, and then asked me to sing along, I damned near passed out. I finally figured out, at 23 years of age, why teenagers went apeshit for the Beatles. I got to do backing vocals on "Old Apartment," recorded on WHFS' "Just Passing Through" disc, and my "Woooo!!!" lives on in semi-permanent digital format. If anything topped the HFStival , it was hanging out with the five guys from Canada, and knowing that, in my own small way, I helped them out.
I was also standing near Tom when Jewel had hugged me at the HFStival. She must have thought I was his younger brother or something, and just wrapped her arms around me like she was a long-lost friend...granted, a long-lost friend with sweater meat the size of a small fishing vessel.
It was shortly thereafter that WHFS really started to lose it, though. Tom moved west, Johnny Riggs got busted with kiddie porn and drugs, Linkin Park came out (sorry kids, they really, really suck, period), Gina Crash tried her best in the mornings, Lou Brutus was never really comfortable there, and Milk was just so...Milk. Nice guy, but, come on - he wasn't a trained a deejay at all, and sounded like he would have been perfect back in the free-form days. And I don't understand the hype over emo, kids. It sounds like slightly less British Britpop. Britpop without the wit.
The Sports Junkies were brought in like a hospice nurse sent to take care of your senile great aunt with Alzheimer's disease - every once in a while the ole' girl has a moment of clarity, but at the end of the day, la grande dame est morte.
Then again, and I think Mike Giannini would agree - we still miss cute ginchy girl in promotions. Jackie, I think, was her name. The world changed when she left.
WHFS simply could not keep up with its demographic. When Damian left, when Weasel left, when Kath left, came back, and left again, the old-time listeners kept leaving, too. Johnny Riggs may have had his demons, but damn it, he was a personality. Aq was a little weird, and I loved him for it. But they were all real fun on 99.1, and the station needed them more than any radio consultant, any focus group, any marketing study could ever reveal.
To focus on today's kids is to completely lose focus. Kids today float between music styles easily and without thinking. Bubblegum teenage princesses (who all sound exactly alike to me) share space on the kids' collective iPod with the brilliant Coldplay, the fun Blink 182, the insanely popular Eminem and the completely unexplainable Nelly, all while U2 is still trying to save the world. When I was 16, being a Cure fan, being a Depeche Mode fan, being a Smiths fan - it all meant SOMETHING. You identified with your music, and WHFS was a lifestyle choice. It meant you were just that little bit cooler than your less-enlightened brethren. Now kids switch music like an old-fashioned telephone operator.
Maybe that's not a bad thing for them. I listened almost exclusively to WHFS, so I never heard any of the classic, old-school hip hop. I have no nostalgia for Warrant because that was a band that pushed me to WHFS in the first place. They sucked; the Replacements didn't. For every MC Hammer I avoided, there was a De La Soul I missed. Hopefully these kids can take advantage of this diversity in musical styles, and produce something more, something where the sum is greater than the whole of its parts.
If, in the end, the music still mattered, then WHFS' music was getting better lately. More Killers, more Franz Ferdinand, more Keane - the station was getting back to a more consistent sound. Even folks who swore off WHFS were slowly adding it.
While writing this, I have finally discovered the importance of Tom Perry in my life. I always thought Pat, or Aq, or Alan, or even the Scottish dude, or maybe even the dear Weasel, was my favorite person from the station. But I never got to sing with Alan on the air, and I never got hugged by a busty folk singer with Pat. But, I did share a chicken thigh with Weasel, and you can never take that away from me.
So, Tom, if you ever read this, thank you. Sincerely and utterly, thanks.
I'm sure that somewhere in this great metropolitan area, there are kids lamenting the loss of 99.1, WHFS. Kids who may have identified with Tim Virgin, or the Junkies, or who called into Loveline. They may never warm up to DC101, 98 Rock, 103.1 WRNR, 104.1, WTMD, or any other station that plays some of the same songs as 99.1 did. They are shocked, probably in the same way folks 20 years ago were shocked when 102.3 WHFS became Progressive 99 WHFS, or 15 years ago when that freeform style became a suggested playlist, or 10 years ago when it became as tightly formatted as any other station in the market.
What happens next? The Junkies will be back at 106.7, the sales guys will sell for somebody else, the production guys will produce someplace else, and the HFStival will just be a fond, fuzzy memory. Bands will still come to the region, and, hell, the Nationals will need the stadium this year anyway. 99.1 will instantly become the number one radio station in restaurant kitchens across the metro. Cinco De Mayo will have a new soundtrack, and the margaritas will be flowin'. Latin dance music is a big deal nowadays - try to find a single, mid-20s girl in Adams Morgan who HASN'T taken salsa dance lessons, I dares ya - and the Spanish-speaking community in the region deserves a good, powerful signal and a station to call their own...much like 3 generations of people who simply enjoyed good, diverse, eclectic, thought-provoking music did.
And now, as a Spanish station in the middle of the FM dial, WHFS can finally once again be The True Alternative.
- me
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Team on the Run...team on the run...
Count me amongst the diehard Baltimore Oriole fans who rather like the idea of the Washington Nationals being placed 30 miles from Camden Yards. I think baseball needs to be in DC - Nation's Capital, National Pastime. If I was running the marketing of the team, they would have numeous product tie-ins already.
- Nations Bank. Get your Nationals' credit card, Nationals checks! You'll need it, to afford the expensive tickets!
- National Bohemian - If the Nats could bring back Bo Jackson, would he be the origina Natty Bo?
- National Treasure - Official Overblown Jerry Bruckheimer Film of the Washington Nationals!
But, despite baseball's billions, there's a bad guy in this story. Bad girl, at the least. Linda Cropp is attempting to block the stadium deal by demanding more $$$ from MLB...after already agreeing in principle that the deal was good enough two weeks ago.
What has changed in two weeks? Did Linda lose a sweetheart kickback pending the outcome of the Ukrainian election? Did she take the under in the Colts/Bengals game?
Linda Cropp, if successful, will go down as Peter Angelos' best friend. Ever.
More than the guy who introduced him to his wife. More than the guy who said "Hey Pete, there's a few bucks to be made in this asbestos thing." Even more than the fella who said "You know, Peter, we might want you to look at this tobacco lawsuit."
Linda and Peter, sitting in a tree...
- me
- Nations Bank. Get your Nationals' credit card, Nationals checks! You'll need it, to afford the expensive tickets!
- National Bohemian - If the Nats could bring back Bo Jackson, would he be the origina Natty Bo?
- National Treasure - Official Overblown Jerry Bruckheimer Film of the Washington Nationals!
But, despite baseball's billions, there's a bad guy in this story. Bad girl, at the least. Linda Cropp is attempting to block the stadium deal by demanding more $$$ from MLB...after already agreeing in principle that the deal was good enough two weeks ago.
What has changed in two weeks? Did Linda lose a sweetheart kickback pending the outcome of the Ukrainian election? Did she take the under in the Colts/Bengals game?
Linda Cropp, if successful, will go down as Peter Angelos' best friend. Ever.
More than the guy who introduced him to his wife. More than the guy who said "Hey Pete, there's a few bucks to be made in this asbestos thing." Even more than the fella who said "You know, Peter, we might want you to look at this tobacco lawsuit."
Linda and Peter, sitting in a tree...
- me
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Game Recap - 10-23 - 2004
CANTON - (UPI) - In thrilling Baltimore Sports and Social Club action this weekend, the Rhymes with Orange beat the Team Forfeits 1-0.
"It was a hard-fought victory," exclaimed Orangequarterback Chris LaTesta. "We were lucky to escape with a win." The Team Forfeits tried to confuse LaTesta with 5, 6 and 7 person coverage packages - even a zero person package - but LaTesta was able to shred them for zero yards passing on zero completions over zero interceptions.
"I was impressed by how huge our receivers were today. They caught everything I threw at them" said a confident LaTesta. "Especially Laura Luca. That girl can catch anything." Luca led all Orange receivers with zero yards on zero receptions.
"I felt good today" said Luca. "The meal I had the night before at The Still in Timonium really fueled my performance."
Orange coach Scott Kreitzer sternly corrected Luca."The Still is located in Cockeysville. Get it right!"
"Does it matter, you drunk?" retorted Luca.
Kreiter yelled "Shut up!"
Scott's little brother, the rapidly-aging former superstar Evan Kreitzer, now reduced to desperate hanger-on, replied "You dumbasses, that's Lutherville."
"Jesus, Evan!" yelled Scott, which is ironic that he would invoke the Christian Saviour's name considering they're both Jewish, "Lutherville's by the Beltway!"
Luca's friend Shannon Gallivan, who's new nickname of"Rhyme Time" was earned through her zero interception, zero tackle performance Saturday, said "I think they consider that section of York Road Hunt Valley."
Keith Attman, who co-led the team with zero sacks, chimed in with "Is that part 'Texas,' because I've always wanted to date a Texas beauty queen, and that might be a place to look." His brother Andy, the co-leader in sacks, smacked him in the head. "The only thing in Texas is a Sam's Club. And a gravel pit. Get a clue. What woman would come from there worthy of you, and therefore, by extension,worthy of me?"
Christy Manar looked at Keith and said "I'm not fromTexas, but I'm a beauty queen. Does that count?" Chris Tully quickly mentioned that, given enough alcohol, he is a much bigger queen than Christy.
"At least, my bulge is bigger" exclaimed Tully 30 minutes later, happy he had come up with 2 witty remarks within 24 hours.
His spleen then abruptly left the press conference and attended a game of flip cup with Bloomie at The Gin Mill.
Oranges Lexi, Ken and Lauren could not be reached for comment, as they were all camping out in front of the Reisterstown Target, waiting to be the first on the team to get the new Shrek 2 DVD.
BSSC referee and friend of the team Damon, the big black guy with the LaVar Arrington dreadlocks, when asked for comment, said "I don't know. All those white towns look the same to me."
Team Genius, Lockdown Cornerback Beta and Expert onAll Things in the Universe (except in finding a decent, mind-occupying job, it would appear) Ray Bradley jumped in to simmer the boiling feud. "There are no incorporated towns in Baltimore County. Therefore, much like the ancient symbol of Zen, you are all right."
Sauce nodded in knowing approval, and then apologized for being so controversial with his wisdom.
Bradley also led the team with 4 girls' tackled. Considering he had zero tackles in the game, you can imagine the surprise of the girls he tackled in the streets of Annapolis.
As of press time, only one tackled girl has pressed charges, and two others have offered him margaritas. The 4th victim speaks no English and smelled of huumus, and could not be reached for comment.
-----------######-----------
"It was a hard-fought victory," exclaimed Orangequarterback Chris LaTesta. "We were lucky to escape with a win." The Team Forfeits tried to confuse LaTesta with 5, 6 and 7 person coverage packages - even a zero person package - but LaTesta was able to shred them for zero yards passing on zero completions over zero interceptions.
"I was impressed by how huge our receivers were today. They caught everything I threw at them" said a confident LaTesta. "Especially Laura Luca. That girl can catch anything." Luca led all Orange receivers with zero yards on zero receptions.
"I felt good today" said Luca. "The meal I had the night before at The Still in Timonium really fueled my performance."
Orange coach Scott Kreitzer sternly corrected Luca."The Still is located in Cockeysville. Get it right!"
"Does it matter, you drunk?" retorted Luca.
Kreiter yelled "Shut up!"
Scott's little brother, the rapidly-aging former superstar Evan Kreitzer, now reduced to desperate hanger-on, replied "You dumbasses, that's Lutherville."
"Jesus, Evan!" yelled Scott, which is ironic that he would invoke the Christian Saviour's name considering they're both Jewish, "Lutherville's by the Beltway!"
Luca's friend Shannon Gallivan, who's new nickname of"Rhyme Time" was earned through her zero interception, zero tackle performance Saturday, said "I think they consider that section of York Road Hunt Valley."
Keith Attman, who co-led the team with zero sacks, chimed in with "Is that part 'Texas,' because I've always wanted to date a Texas beauty queen, and that might be a place to look." His brother Andy, the co-leader in sacks, smacked him in the head. "The only thing in Texas is a Sam's Club. And a gravel pit. Get a clue. What woman would come from there worthy of you, and therefore, by extension,worthy of me?"
Christy Manar looked at Keith and said "I'm not fromTexas, but I'm a beauty queen. Does that count?" Chris Tully quickly mentioned that, given enough alcohol, he is a much bigger queen than Christy.
"At least, my bulge is bigger" exclaimed Tully 30 minutes later, happy he had come up with 2 witty remarks within 24 hours.
His spleen then abruptly left the press conference and attended a game of flip cup with Bloomie at The Gin Mill.
Oranges Lexi, Ken and Lauren could not be reached for comment, as they were all camping out in front of the Reisterstown Target, waiting to be the first on the team to get the new Shrek 2 DVD.
BSSC referee and friend of the team Damon, the big black guy with the LaVar Arrington dreadlocks, when asked for comment, said "I don't know. All those white towns look the same to me."
Team Genius, Lockdown Cornerback Beta and Expert onAll Things in the Universe (except in finding a decent, mind-occupying job, it would appear) Ray Bradley jumped in to simmer the boiling feud. "There are no incorporated towns in Baltimore County. Therefore, much like the ancient symbol of Zen, you are all right."
Sauce nodded in knowing approval, and then apologized for being so controversial with his wisdom.
Bradley also led the team with 4 girls' tackled. Considering he had zero tackles in the game, you can imagine the surprise of the girls he tackled in the streets of Annapolis.
As of press time, only one tackled girl has pressed charges, and two others have offered him margaritas. The 4th victim speaks no English and smelled of huumus, and could not be reached for comment.
-----------######-----------
Monday, October 18, 2004
Post Game Wrap Up 10-18-2004
BALTIMORE - (AP) - Posted at 10: AM EST
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
The highly-anticipated return of Evan "The Franchise"Kreitzer was supposed to fuel the already high-poweredRhymes With Orange aerial assault. Instead, theOranges got juiced, and finger-pointing was the nameof the post-game.
The younger Kreitzer brother, once known for his gamebreaking speed and incredible hands, was barely abovemediocre today, registering only one touchdown catchand showing more tobacco-stained teeth than theathletic prowress fans have come to expect. He blamed the quaterback, Chris La Testa."Chris has got to learn to throw the ball to me more,"said Evan over after-game beverages at MaGerk's inFederal Hill. Even when I'm triple-teamed and lightinga Marlboro, I'm still open."
La Testa, usually a strong-armed, mobile quarterback,had a rather poor game by his lofty standards. He wasslow getting rid of the ball, was slow with his reads,and his throws were severely affected by the wind. The low point had to be when he was sacked by a girl.
"Hahahahahahah," exclaimed Keith Attman, aconspicously-absent member of the Orange team thisweek. "Chris got sacked by a girl!"
Indeed, neither or the Attman twins, with their confusing, nearly-identical appearances, were present for Sunday's loss, fueling speculation that the Oranges can only operate well when they are able to spread confusion.
For his part, La Testa refused to point fingers after the game. "As leader of the team, it was obvious where our playing style comes from, and God do I hate Ken. It's all his fault."
"There. I said it. I feel better" said La Testa, before reminding himself that he is now a high-powered lawyer and will sue any fake journalist who would dare slander his good name.
(This fake journalist refuses to comment, and will not be intimidated by anyone. Including the nicest,smartest, friendliest guy I know, Chris La Testa.)
Player/Coach Scott Kreitzer was certainly feeling the heat Sunday. "We will fight them in our skies. We will fight them on our shores. We will never surrender.This will be...our finest hour!" he exclaimed.
In a surprise personnel move, 5 female Oranges showed up for the game, and none of them were named "Attman."Lexi, Laura, Lauren, Shannon and Christy were all present, and were all complaining about the youth, vitality and rather supple abdominal muscles of the other team's girls. Lexi in particular vowed revenge,promising to "buy me the hell out some receiver gloves, bitches."
Coach Kreitzer spewed vitrol at the other team's girls, too. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" he shouted while waving a Sandinista battleflag.
Even the normally-mellow Sauce got in on the angeract. "Wow. We played bad" he said at Looney's Pub. When asked to explain further, Sauce wiped his glasses and apologized for being so apopolectic.
The game also marked the first appearance of the season of Christopher Tully. Tully, a former lacrosse star still hanging dimly to the idea that his best years are still to come, arrived to the game natilly-attired but still somewhat buttered from the night (and morning) before the game. Tully was rushed to the hospital last night after the game, as his swollen liver was mistaken for the game ball, and was punted by Evan Kreitzer.
The other team's return man called for a fair catch ofthe rapidly-plummeting Tully liver.
Coach Kreitzer was outraged over his team's poor play. "I coulda been somebody, Charlie. I coulda been a contenda. Instead of a bum, Charlie, which is what I am. A bum." He vowed a more complete effort next week in which the Oranges play their archrivals, the We'reHere For the Gang Bangs.
"We'll smoke them out. We'll hunt them, find them andwe'll kill them' said Kreitzer, stillclearly-delusional from the iodine-laced breakfast sandwhich he ordered from Pepe's.
--------###------------
This Week's Silly Awards:
The John Kruk Memorial Award for the UnhealthiestBallplayer goes to Evan Kreitzer, for smoking duringthe game.
The Billy Martin/Earl Weaver Memorial Award for BestArgumentative Coach goes to Scott Kreitzer for yelling at the ref.
The Ray Charles Memorial Award goes to the ref, because he did miss some stuff. He also gets theWrinkle in Time award, since that's amazing how 8minutes left in a game becomes 3 minutes left in agame 2 minutes later. Space-time continuum thing, Iguess. Blame it on the worm hole.
The Stevie Wonder Driving School Award goes to the line judge, who can apparently is either blind, or so gay that he can't even see straight.
The I-95 96 Car Pile-Up Award goes to the other team,for running so many crossing patterns that collisions were unavoidable.
The Gender Non-Specific Award goes to Bloomie for forgetting he's theoretically got boy bits.
The Baltimore School of Massage Gift Certificate is awarded to me, for my stunning one-armed tackle of that hot girl on their team. Not only did I get ahandful of supple abdominals with my right hand, as I tried to keep her from falling too hard, I think I gota left hand full of supple rump after a brushing, gentle touch of the lower back. About the only thing I didn't get on that play was her phone number.
The Dean Martin Memorial Award goes to Tully, looking sharp from the night before, still drunk, and for getting his liver punted.
The Garo Yepremian Award for Quarterbacking Excellence goes to Chris La Testa for getting sacked by a girl. Twice, I think.
Don't worry kids, we'll have more fun next week.- RB
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
The highly-anticipated return of Evan "The Franchise"Kreitzer was supposed to fuel the already high-poweredRhymes With Orange aerial assault. Instead, theOranges got juiced, and finger-pointing was the nameof the post-game.
The younger Kreitzer brother, once known for his gamebreaking speed and incredible hands, was barely abovemediocre today, registering only one touchdown catchand showing more tobacco-stained teeth than theathletic prowress fans have come to expect. He blamed the quaterback, Chris La Testa."Chris has got to learn to throw the ball to me more,"said Evan over after-game beverages at MaGerk's inFederal Hill. Even when I'm triple-teamed and lightinga Marlboro, I'm still open."
La Testa, usually a strong-armed, mobile quarterback,had a rather poor game by his lofty standards. He wasslow getting rid of the ball, was slow with his reads,and his throws were severely affected by the wind. The low point had to be when he was sacked by a girl.
"Hahahahahahah," exclaimed Keith Attman, aconspicously-absent member of the Orange team thisweek. "Chris got sacked by a girl!"
Indeed, neither or the Attman twins, with their confusing, nearly-identical appearances, were present for Sunday's loss, fueling speculation that the Oranges can only operate well when they are able to spread confusion.
For his part, La Testa refused to point fingers after the game. "As leader of the team, it was obvious where our playing style comes from, and God do I hate Ken. It's all his fault."
"There. I said it. I feel better" said La Testa, before reminding himself that he is now a high-powered lawyer and will sue any fake journalist who would dare slander his good name.
(This fake journalist refuses to comment, and will not be intimidated by anyone. Including the nicest,smartest, friendliest guy I know, Chris La Testa.)
Player/Coach Scott Kreitzer was certainly feeling the heat Sunday. "We will fight them in our skies. We will fight them on our shores. We will never surrender.This will be...our finest hour!" he exclaimed.
In a surprise personnel move, 5 female Oranges showed up for the game, and none of them were named "Attman."Lexi, Laura, Lauren, Shannon and Christy were all present, and were all complaining about the youth, vitality and rather supple abdominal muscles of the other team's girls. Lexi in particular vowed revenge,promising to "buy me the hell out some receiver gloves, bitches."
Coach Kreitzer spewed vitrol at the other team's girls, too. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" he shouted while waving a Sandinista battleflag.
Even the normally-mellow Sauce got in on the angeract. "Wow. We played bad" he said at Looney's Pub. When asked to explain further, Sauce wiped his glasses and apologized for being so apopolectic.
The game also marked the first appearance of the season of Christopher Tully. Tully, a former lacrosse star still hanging dimly to the idea that his best years are still to come, arrived to the game natilly-attired but still somewhat buttered from the night (and morning) before the game. Tully was rushed to the hospital last night after the game, as his swollen liver was mistaken for the game ball, and was punted by Evan Kreitzer.
The other team's return man called for a fair catch ofthe rapidly-plummeting Tully liver.
Coach Kreitzer was outraged over his team's poor play. "I coulda been somebody, Charlie. I coulda been a contenda. Instead of a bum, Charlie, which is what I am. A bum." He vowed a more complete effort next week in which the Oranges play their archrivals, the We'reHere For the Gang Bangs.
"We'll smoke them out. We'll hunt them, find them andwe'll kill them' said Kreitzer, stillclearly-delusional from the iodine-laced breakfast sandwhich he ordered from Pepe's.
--------###------------
This Week's Silly Awards:
The John Kruk Memorial Award for the UnhealthiestBallplayer goes to Evan Kreitzer, for smoking duringthe game.
The Billy Martin/Earl Weaver Memorial Award for BestArgumentative Coach goes to Scott Kreitzer for yelling at the ref.
The Ray Charles Memorial Award goes to the ref, because he did miss some stuff. He also gets theWrinkle in Time award, since that's amazing how 8minutes left in a game becomes 3 minutes left in agame 2 minutes later. Space-time continuum thing, Iguess. Blame it on the worm hole.
The Stevie Wonder Driving School Award goes to the line judge, who can apparently is either blind, or so gay that he can't even see straight.
The I-95 96 Car Pile-Up Award goes to the other team,for running so many crossing patterns that collisions were unavoidable.
The Gender Non-Specific Award goes to Bloomie for forgetting he's theoretically got boy bits.
The Baltimore School of Massage Gift Certificate is awarded to me, for my stunning one-armed tackle of that hot girl on their team. Not only did I get ahandful of supple abdominals with my right hand, as I tried to keep her from falling too hard, I think I gota left hand full of supple rump after a brushing, gentle touch of the lower back. About the only thing I didn't get on that play was her phone number.
The Dean Martin Memorial Award goes to Tully, looking sharp from the night before, still drunk, and for getting his liver punted.
The Garo Yepremian Award for Quarterbacking Excellence goes to Chris La Testa for getting sacked by a girl. Twice, I think.
Don't worry kids, we'll have more fun next week.- RB
Thursday, October 14, 2004
My Own Private MapQuest
--- Evan Kreitzer wrote:
(snipped)
I
> don't know if he'll be there, he has a lot going on
> at work this week. I'll try and get him out there,
> having beer there may help to draw my meathead
> friend out of the faraway land we call Columbia.
Here's how to get out of Columbia, Tully:
Just turn left at the cul-de-sac, right at the planned
community, go straight at the intersection of Kind Bud
Path and Dismissed Soccer Mom Parkway, by that road
that curves by that gas station you don't see until
you've passed it, hang a baby-u-ee on Whispering
Deerprint Babbling Brook Stone House Lane, go
catty-corner by Flatuence Meadows Village and when you
see the Best Buy, bang a right. Up ahead there will be
a sign that says "US 29 - 3 miles." Should only take
about 2 hours at that point. Tully, you'll circle
around Broken Hip Parkway, and you'll see Vague
Concept Road. Don't do anything there. When the light
changes, you'll pass by Holden Caulfield Boulevard,
but, it's a phony sign and you won't care. You'll see
the Best Buy again, but this time a little retarded
kid from New Hampshire will tell you "Blug." But,
he'll also be gesturing to a sign that says "US 29 - 9
Miles." So, you're getting close.
By this time, you'll be thirsty, so choose which
Starbucks to go to - there are only three at that
intersection, so for God's sakes man, don't go towards
the corner sans Starbucks - and get a half-caf,
half-decaf macchiato from that pierced, ironic guy
"Bryce" - don't worry, he works at all three. He'll
give you extra foam for free, if you know what I mean.
You'll cross over Pointing Asian Way and Alarmed Dog
Run, make a right on that curvy road, and then watch
out for Bitter Divorce Lake - it sneaks up on ya and
will take your car if you fall into it. If you get
past that, though, you'll see the ramp for 29, which
leads to 40, which leads you to the Beltway, and then
you're clear.
If you see the school for gimp kids, you've gone too
far.
Hope this helps.
- me
(snipped)
I
> don't know if he'll be there, he has a lot going on
> at work this week. I'll try and get him out there,
> having beer there may help to draw my meathead
> friend out of the faraway land we call Columbia.
Here's how to get out of Columbia, Tully:
Just turn left at the cul-de-sac, right at the planned
community, go straight at the intersection of Kind Bud
Path and Dismissed Soccer Mom Parkway, by that road
that curves by that gas station you don't see until
you've passed it, hang a baby-u-ee on Whispering
Deerprint Babbling Brook Stone House Lane, go
catty-corner by Flatuence Meadows Village and when you
see the Best Buy, bang a right. Up ahead there will be
a sign that says "US 29 - 3 miles." Should only take
about 2 hours at that point. Tully, you'll circle
around Broken Hip Parkway, and you'll see Vague
Concept Road. Don't do anything there. When the light
changes, you'll pass by Holden Caulfield Boulevard,
but, it's a phony sign and you won't care. You'll see
the Best Buy again, but this time a little retarded
kid from New Hampshire will tell you "Blug." But,
he'll also be gesturing to a sign that says "US 29 - 9
Miles." So, you're getting close.
By this time, you'll be thirsty, so choose which
Starbucks to go to - there are only three at that
intersection, so for God's sakes man, don't go towards
the corner sans Starbucks - and get a half-caf,
half-decaf macchiato from that pierced, ironic guy
"Bryce" - don't worry, he works at all three. He'll
give you extra foam for free, if you know what I mean.
You'll cross over Pointing Asian Way and Alarmed Dog
Run, make a right on that curvy road, and then watch
out for Bitter Divorce Lake - it sneaks up on ya and
will take your car if you fall into it. If you get
past that, though, you'll see the ramp for 29, which
leads to 40, which leads you to the Beltway, and then
you're clear.
If you see the school for gimp kids, you've gone too
far.
Hope this helps.
- me
Monday, October 11, 2004
Another post game report
Since LaTesta wants funny awards, I'll give you some funny awards.
1) The "Resting on His Laurels" award goes to Ken,who, after a MONSTER game 10 days ago, in which he was a star on both sides of the ball. This past week...I don't know. Yeah, he scored, but he also handed the ball to the other team in the end zone for a gift TD. I guess motivation was the issue, since he didn't have his Chowderhead rooting section in town. I'm sorry you only get up for the big games, Ken. You're worse than Leon from the Budweiser commercials.
2) The "Method Man and Redman" award goes to the blond guy on the other team who I covered a bit. When the ball was thrown behind him, and he twisted and dove backwards to get it, the ball grazed off his arm and into his grill, laces first. I thought he might have hurt himself, but he got up with a nice "Wilson" markon his forehead. His mug was redder than John Goodman running a wind sprint.
3) The "Dave Wannstedt Award" for Quarterback Stability goes to the other team. What did they use, 4 different QBs?
4) The "Get That Schizznit Out My Face" award goes to Lauren, for the smackdown she gave that pass towards the end of the game.
5) The "See, Catching's Easy" award goes to Scott, for finally using his hands to catch a football instead of his imagination when he's wide open.
6) The Spiccoli Award goes to the Kevin Federline lookalike on their team who looked at the Attman boys and said "whoa, twins."
7) The Lockdown Cornerback Award from me is now given to Bloomie, with three monster picks. I would like to say I've had one key pass defense this year, and my alarming lack of interceptions stems more from the oppositions' reluctance to throw towards me more thanthan anything else. I'm guessing the Bloom looked like an easier target. Can't say I blame them. I do look like a beast out there, what with my cute widdle Under Armour receiver gloves, knee brace, swim trunks, orange shirt and prescription sunglasses. I look like a reject off the old Tampa Bay Bucs practice squads when they wore the god-awful orange jerseys. Note to fashion police - I don't wanna sound too Carson Kressler on ya, but I ain't doin' orange again. I'm so not a summer. Washes out my complexion.
8) The "My Dog's Louder Than Your Dog" award goes to Shannon and her pooch Quigley. That dog sure does love you, Shannon. My Kramer barks maybe once a week. So, your dog is louder than my dog. Hence, the award for you and yer pooch.
and
9) The "OK, It's Now Getting Ridic-frickin'-lous"Award goes to the women, again, for playing Iron Woman football. 3 girls, every play. I'm so tempted to bring like, 8 bucks to the next game, hire some Patterson Park crack whores, and give them an orange shirt. Trust me - we don't want the shirts back, but at least it would give the gals a chance to catch their breath. I can see it now "Hi, I'm Scott, the coach. Ray, Mark,Andy, this is DeeDee. DeeDee, this is Ray, Mark and Andy. Also, I want you to meet my brother-in-law Chris. Not only is he our quarterback, but he'll also be your pro-bono legal representation."
Don't laugh - I've lived next to Patterson Park. Those chicks can flat-out fly, especially when BaltimoreCity PD break out that helicopter. They make mores that OJ Simpson running through an airport terminal in a Hertz commercial would be proud of. I guess lack of body fat and anything resembling solid food in their gullet makes ya fast. I seed it, man. Seed it wit my own eye.
Seacrest, out.
1) The "Resting on His Laurels" award goes to Ken,who, after a MONSTER game 10 days ago, in which he was a star on both sides of the ball. This past week...I don't know. Yeah, he scored, but he also handed the ball to the other team in the end zone for a gift TD. I guess motivation was the issue, since he didn't have his Chowderhead rooting section in town. I'm sorry you only get up for the big games, Ken. You're worse than Leon from the Budweiser commercials.
2) The "Method Man and Redman" award goes to the blond guy on the other team who I covered a bit. When the ball was thrown behind him, and he twisted and dove backwards to get it, the ball grazed off his arm and into his grill, laces first. I thought he might have hurt himself, but he got up with a nice "Wilson" markon his forehead. His mug was redder than John Goodman running a wind sprint.
3) The "Dave Wannstedt Award" for Quarterback Stability goes to the other team. What did they use, 4 different QBs?
4) The "Get That Schizznit Out My Face" award goes to Lauren, for the smackdown she gave that pass towards the end of the game.
5) The "See, Catching's Easy" award goes to Scott, for finally using his hands to catch a football instead of his imagination when he's wide open.
6) The Spiccoli Award goes to the Kevin Federline lookalike on their team who looked at the Attman boys and said "whoa, twins."
7) The Lockdown Cornerback Award from me is now given to Bloomie, with three monster picks. I would like to say I've had one key pass defense this year, and my alarming lack of interceptions stems more from the oppositions' reluctance to throw towards me more thanthan anything else. I'm guessing the Bloom looked like an easier target. Can't say I blame them. I do look like a beast out there, what with my cute widdle Under Armour receiver gloves, knee brace, swim trunks, orange shirt and prescription sunglasses. I look like a reject off the old Tampa Bay Bucs practice squads when they wore the god-awful orange jerseys. Note to fashion police - I don't wanna sound too Carson Kressler on ya, but I ain't doin' orange again. I'm so not a summer. Washes out my complexion.
8) The "My Dog's Louder Than Your Dog" award goes to Shannon and her pooch Quigley. That dog sure does love you, Shannon. My Kramer barks maybe once a week. So, your dog is louder than my dog. Hence, the award for you and yer pooch.
and
9) The "OK, It's Now Getting Ridic-frickin'-lous"Award goes to the women, again, for playing Iron Woman football. 3 girls, every play. I'm so tempted to bring like, 8 bucks to the next game, hire some Patterson Park crack whores, and give them an orange shirt. Trust me - we don't want the shirts back, but at least it would give the gals a chance to catch their breath. I can see it now "Hi, I'm Scott, the coach. Ray, Mark,Andy, this is DeeDee. DeeDee, this is Ray, Mark and Andy. Also, I want you to meet my brother-in-law Chris. Not only is he our quarterback, but he'll also be your pro-bono legal representation."
Don't laugh - I've lived next to Patterson Park. Those chicks can flat-out fly, especially when BaltimoreCity PD break out that helicopter. They make mores that OJ Simpson running through an airport terminal in a Hertz commercial would be proud of. I guess lack of body fat and anything resembling solid food in their gullet makes ya fast. I seed it, man. Seed it wit my own eye.
Seacrest, out.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Get Freddy Adu out of here!
Ok, ok, so we won this weekend. We had a great time.Friendships were made. The Chowderhead rooting sectionbusted on Ken like he was He Who Must Not Be Named forletting Pedro pitch the 8th inning. Nevermind that Kenhad a career day in touchdowns, interceptions, and gotto see Christy take off her pants at point-blankrange.Great game awards to Christy and thestill-mobile-at-32 Chris LaTesta. The Goes Both Ways award goes to Ken for making aninterception, running a TD, catching a TD and seeingChristy take off her pants at point-blank range.The "I'm Not Wearing Underpants" award goes to Jeff,Lexi and Laura through no fault of their own. Thatgirl was GOOD. She'd have juked a lot of people out oftheir underpants. The "Best Impersonation of a 2003 Ravens' WideReceiver" award goes to Scott, who made us allremember the artistic quality of a Frank Sanders'dropped ball.(oh, that's right - got to touch the ball in order todrop it...)No, the big news is from our trusty major stateuniversity and it's daily newspaper. Of course I meanthe U of MD and the Diamondback.http://www.inform.umd.edu/News/Diamondback/archives/2004/09/21/news2.htmlBasically 15-year old (allegedly) Freddy Adu has been(allegedly) going to parties in College Park, hittingon college women. This party in question gets bustedby campus buzz, and a kid utters a classic quote:"The cops came and we were like, 'Get Freddy Adu outof here,' and we hopped the fence with him," he said."I think we have an early front-runner on next year'steam name.- Ray "Got Freddy Adu out of Here" Bradley
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Post Carnage Report
In thrilling BSSC action, the Rhymes with Orange got obliterated by a team wearing black t-shirts and hatred in their eyes, 22 - 0. The Oranges put on a valiant effort, with a gutsy performance by Sauce, with a couple of fantastic catches and a touchdown-saving interception near the end zone. However, thanks to tough plays by The Guy in the Khaki Shorts, The Kinda Pudgy Guy, and their all-star performer, That Really Good Girl We Can't Cover, the team in black shirts were no trouble for the Oranges.
Informal team awards:
1) The "I Am Not Hungover; I'm Still Drunk From The Night Before" award goes to Christy. That girl wasbuttered.
2) The "I'm Just Here for the Apres-Game Pain Killers" goes to Dave, who valiantly QB'd despite a bad wing.
3) "The Weekly Enforcer" award goes to Lexi, for damned near knocking my ass out with a well-placed headbutt. For the record - no more crossing patterns for me. Only the out and posts, babe. Maybe a slant ifI'm feeling frisky. But I need to make it through this life with my full, pouty lips in one piece. Side note - good thing I'm not a deejay right now. My lip swelled so large Saturday night, I'd have done a whole show doing a Mushmouth impersonation from Fat Albert and Cosby Kids.
4) The "Psuedophederin" award goes to Shannon, for playing despite a nasty sinus infection.
5) The "Most Confusing Shout-Out" goes to Laura and Lauren, because I had a busticated lip, and I couldn't enuciate in my normal, clear, broadcast-quality voice. So, sorry if I couldn't say your names clearly enough.
Special appropos to the team who played before us with that Bernese Mountain Dog puppy, who may very well bethe cutest dog I've ever seen. Sorry, Kramer - you're a sweet dog and all, but damn that dog was cool.
Next week signals the return of the Chosen people, notto mention those lushes in Vega$$$. - me
Informal team awards:
1) The "I Am Not Hungover; I'm Still Drunk From The Night Before" award goes to Christy. That girl wasbuttered.
2) The "I'm Just Here for the Apres-Game Pain Killers" goes to Dave, who valiantly QB'd despite a bad wing.
3) "The Weekly Enforcer" award goes to Lexi, for damned near knocking my ass out with a well-placed headbutt. For the record - no more crossing patterns for me. Only the out and posts, babe. Maybe a slant ifI'm feeling frisky. But I need to make it through this life with my full, pouty lips in one piece. Side note - good thing I'm not a deejay right now. My lip swelled so large Saturday night, I'd have done a whole show doing a Mushmouth impersonation from Fat Albert and Cosby Kids.
4) The "Psuedophederin" award goes to Shannon, for playing despite a nasty sinus infection.
5) The "Most Confusing Shout-Out" goes to Laura and Lauren, because I had a busticated lip, and I couldn't enuciate in my normal, clear, broadcast-quality voice. So, sorry if I couldn't say your names clearly enough.
Special appropos to the team who played before us with that Bernese Mountain Dog puppy, who may very well bethe cutest dog I've ever seen. Sorry, Kramer - you're a sweet dog and all, but damn that dog was cool.
Next week signals the return of the Chosen people, notto mention those lushes in Vega$$$. - me
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
goodnight sweetheart
JoAnn, long time friend of the family, and employee of the grocery store, died today at 11:45am. She will be missed.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Oops I'm Married Again
So, ole' Britney's done got herself all hitched up again. `Bout damned time that no good Yankee put a ring on her fingee and made an `onest woman out of her.
Top four things most likely to be heard on the Spears-Federline honeymoon...
1) I thought we wanted a small wedding. Did you have to invite your mom?
2) Kevin, can you take that damned hat off at least ONCE?
3) I'm the king of the world!
4) I used to watch Justin dance, and I looked at the fuzzy guy in the back with bad teeth, and thought "Hottie!"
Top seven things most likely to be heard at the Spears-Federline residence...
1) Oh, the guest wing is already full of Kev's children from previous drunken hook-ups.
2) I'm not gaining weight. These are happy pounds.
3) If I get one more piece of mail addressed to "Mr. Britney Spears."
4) Hey, yo, dawg, how you spell "prenuptual?"
5) Brit, can I borrow some money?
6) Yeah, baby, this is the room where I tap Britney like a keg.
7) This letter addressed to Jason Alexander better be to that bald bastard on Seinfeld!
Three things that will never be heard at Chez Spears-Federline...
1) Put away your checkbook, Brit, I already paid the bills this month. All by myself.
2) Dear, did I put my copy of the New York Times Literary Review next to your collection of rare African-American ritualist artifacts or my crib notes on Stephen hawking's black hole theory?
3) Wow, you are SO talented.
So many people have taken cheap shots at the whole Brit/Freeloader...Federline, excuse me...relationship, and I refuse to be part of that from this point on. They are a married couple, for better or for a hell of a lot worse, and that's that. Kevin's a lucky guy - married a hot young singer with a lot of money, charisma and marketing savvy. Every man in the world wants to nail her like Bob Villa, including Carson Kressler. He may be gay, but he ain't dumb.
Can you imagine being married to one of the top eligible people in the world - not just your high school, or hometown, but the entire bloody world?!? How could you not get a big ego from that? Imagine how many broads you could seduce!
But, advice from me to you, Kev-o. You'd better keep doing those sit-ups, bud. Because all you've got going for you is your abs and the ability to wear a wife-beater, Yankee hat askew and baggy jeans almost exactly like every kid who works at a Foot Locker. You start letting yourself go, and Brit will all over Ben Affleck like a bad habit.
Kevin Federline, thy name is Cris Judd. Consider yourself warned.
I will say this to all the men - the haters - who thought they'd be a better catch for Britney than Kevin Federline...
You're probably right. But wouldn't you all rather tag-and-release Jessica Simpson now instead?
- me
Top four things most likely to be heard on the Spears-Federline honeymoon...
1) I thought we wanted a small wedding. Did you have to invite your mom?
2) Kevin, can you take that damned hat off at least ONCE?
3) I'm the king of the world!
4) I used to watch Justin dance, and I looked at the fuzzy guy in the back with bad teeth, and thought "Hottie!"
Top seven things most likely to be heard at the Spears-Federline residence...
1) Oh, the guest wing is already full of Kev's children from previous drunken hook-ups.
2) I'm not gaining weight. These are happy pounds.
3) If I get one more piece of mail addressed to "Mr. Britney Spears."
4) Hey, yo, dawg, how you spell "prenuptual?"
5) Brit, can I borrow some money?
6) Yeah, baby, this is the room where I tap Britney like a keg.
7) This letter addressed to Jason Alexander better be to that bald bastard on Seinfeld!
Three things that will never be heard at Chez Spears-Federline...
1) Put away your checkbook, Brit, I already paid the bills this month. All by myself.
2) Dear, did I put my copy of the New York Times Literary Review next to your collection of rare African-American ritualist artifacts or my crib notes on Stephen hawking's black hole theory?
3) Wow, you are SO talented.
So many people have taken cheap shots at the whole Brit/Freeloader...Federline, excuse me...relationship, and I refuse to be part of that from this point on. They are a married couple, for better or for a hell of a lot worse, and that's that. Kevin's a lucky guy - married a hot young singer with a lot of money, charisma and marketing savvy. Every man in the world wants to nail her like Bob Villa, including Carson Kressler. He may be gay, but he ain't dumb.
Can you imagine being married to one of the top eligible people in the world - not just your high school, or hometown, but the entire bloody world?!? How could you not get a big ego from that? Imagine how many broads you could seduce!
But, advice from me to you, Kev-o. You'd better keep doing those sit-ups, bud. Because all you've got going for you is your abs and the ability to wear a wife-beater, Yankee hat askew and baggy jeans almost exactly like every kid who works at a Foot Locker. You start letting yourself go, and Brit will all over Ben Affleck like a bad habit.
Kevin Federline, thy name is Cris Judd. Consider yourself warned.
I will say this to all the men - the haters - who thought they'd be a better catch for Britney than Kevin Federline...
You're probably right. But wouldn't you all rather tag-and-release Jessica Simpson now instead?
- me
Friday, September 17, 2004
Your hardship's only one of our fleet.
Finally saw the Trashcan Sinatras in concert last night. About damned time.
They were, in all aspects, absolutely amazing.
Words haven't come to me yet, but...they will.
- me
They were, in all aspects, absolutely amazing.
Words haven't come to me yet, but...they will.
- me
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
getting the (broad) band back together
First, I join New DayJob, Inc. Then, David from former DayJob, Inc., starts working here last week. Now, John from former DayJob, Inc., is in for an interview. Could Broadstreet be reshaping under the guise of the New DayJob, Inc.?
Just got back from a roadtrip out to Minnesota for Brett and Jenny's wedding. Lovely little service, held at a park in Plymouth, MN. Guess what - the park has a lake. In Minnesota! What are the odds? I can see why Marnie wanted me to come out there - couple central! Even though most of us were between the ages of 28 and 34, it seemed like 95% of the other folks were married, married with kids, or about to be married with kids. Marn needed somebody bitter and single to talk to.
Noticed something - not a whole lot of divorced folks there. Hard to get a group of 200+ folks around and not run into at least a couple of divorced people. No divorces = not a lot of bitterness.
Sights, with grades, seen on this latest roadtrip - Cedar Point Amusement Park in Ohio (A+), Madison, WI (A), Wisconsin Dells (B+), Rochester, MN (C+), Mississippi River Valley near LaCrosse, WI (A), Taliesin (A), Oak Park, IL (A), Chicago motorcycle gangs (F-), Kentuck Knob (incomplete..again.)
Kentuck Knob - one day I'll see that damned house. Supposed to be better than Fallingwater. Been to see it three times, and each time, it's closed tighter than a conservative Republican's mind.
Chicago motorcycle gangs - I am so not a big fan of guys whizzing by me in little rice burners at mach speed on I-94, weaving in, out and through traffic. I damned near clipped a couple of them, and only one would have been on purpose.
- me
Just got back from a roadtrip out to Minnesota for Brett and Jenny's wedding. Lovely little service, held at a park in Plymouth, MN. Guess what - the park has a lake. In Minnesota! What are the odds? I can see why Marnie wanted me to come out there - couple central! Even though most of us were between the ages of 28 and 34, it seemed like 95% of the other folks were married, married with kids, or about to be married with kids. Marn needed somebody bitter and single to talk to.
Noticed something - not a whole lot of divorced folks there. Hard to get a group of 200+ folks around and not run into at least a couple of divorced people. No divorces = not a lot of bitterness.
Sights, with grades, seen on this latest roadtrip - Cedar Point Amusement Park in Ohio (A+), Madison, WI (A), Wisconsin Dells (B+), Rochester, MN (C+), Mississippi River Valley near LaCrosse, WI (A), Taliesin (A), Oak Park, IL (A), Chicago motorcycle gangs (F-), Kentuck Knob (incomplete..again.)
Kentuck Knob - one day I'll see that damned house. Supposed to be better than Fallingwater. Been to see it three times, and each time, it's closed tighter than a conservative Republican's mind.
Chicago motorcycle gangs - I am so not a big fan of guys whizzing by me in little rice burners at mach speed on I-94, weaving in, out and through traffic. I damned near clipped a couple of them, and only one would have been on purpose.
- me
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Quote the Pogues
"If I should fall from the grace of God..."
If plans had gone acccording to my plan this spring, I would be groin-deep in murky James River water right now, wondering where in the heck my car had washed off to.
In the job timeline, I was interviewing with a position in Richmond with Cavalier Communications. While I had travelled through Richmond dozens of times, I had never really explored Richmond before the interview. With this job being based in Richmond, it seemed like a good time to check it out. And what a charming city it is - I had no idea Richmond was so hip, inexpensive and liveable. It's just Northern enough to be not sickly Southern, and just Southern enough to not be so bitterly Northern.
If you can put up with a very cigarette-friendly environment, Richmond's a fine little city. Reminded me of Des Moines but cooler. And closer to the beach.
And, after Tropical Storm Gaston yesterday, the beach just got closer to Richmond.
Initial reports state that about a foot of water was dumped on an already-saturated area, really damaging the Shockoe Bottom and Downtown neighborhoods. Full of neat little restaurants, bars, shops and apartments, Shockoe's where I would have moved. Found an apartment there I'd have moved into a New York Minute.
And my would-be apartment is on Richmond's News Channel 8 getting condemned.
Some of the footage looks like the aftermath of Tropical Storm Isabel in Baltimore and Annapolis last year. My old employer in downtown Annapolis had about 8 inches of water. The bookstore/coffee shop next door kept making high water mark signs, only to watch more water come in. Ego Alley Bar stayed open, and suffered 10 grand in electrical system damage. Hope the drinks were worth it. Juice It Up was 50 feet from the City Dock, and never bothered to pick up flood insurance. The morning Izzy hit, the owner of Juice It Up laughed at his neighbors who sandbagged and duct taped their store fronts. How could the water get this high, I head him ask aloud.
Good job, Nostradamus. Isabel was no joke.
I hope the folks in Shockoe heard and heeded the warnings as much as possible. Once the water dies down, I hope to take a quick day trip there. The businesses that remain will need the tourist dollars.
And I might find a good deal on an apartment.
- me
http://www.timesdispatch.com/
http://www.wric.com
If plans had gone acccording to my plan this spring, I would be groin-deep in murky James River water right now, wondering where in the heck my car had washed off to.
In the job timeline, I was interviewing with a position in Richmond with Cavalier Communications. While I had travelled through Richmond dozens of times, I had never really explored Richmond before the interview. With this job being based in Richmond, it seemed like a good time to check it out. And what a charming city it is - I had no idea Richmond was so hip, inexpensive and liveable. It's just Northern enough to be not sickly Southern, and just Southern enough to not be so bitterly Northern.
If you can put up with a very cigarette-friendly environment, Richmond's a fine little city. Reminded me of Des Moines but cooler. And closer to the beach.
And, after Tropical Storm Gaston yesterday, the beach just got closer to Richmond.
Initial reports state that about a foot of water was dumped on an already-saturated area, really damaging the Shockoe Bottom and Downtown neighborhoods. Full of neat little restaurants, bars, shops and apartments, Shockoe's where I would have moved. Found an apartment there I'd have moved into a New York Minute.
And my would-be apartment is on Richmond's News Channel 8 getting condemned.
Some of the footage looks like the aftermath of Tropical Storm Isabel in Baltimore and Annapolis last year. My old employer in downtown Annapolis had about 8 inches of water. The bookstore/coffee shop next door kept making high water mark signs, only to watch more water come in. Ego Alley Bar stayed open, and suffered 10 grand in electrical system damage. Hope the drinks were worth it. Juice It Up was 50 feet from the City Dock, and never bothered to pick up flood insurance. The morning Izzy hit, the owner of Juice It Up laughed at his neighbors who sandbagged and duct taped their store fronts. How could the water get this high, I head him ask aloud.
Good job, Nostradamus. Isabel was no joke.
I hope the folks in Shockoe heard and heeded the warnings as much as possible. Once the water dies down, I hope to take a quick day trip there. The businesses that remain will need the tourist dollars.
And I might find a good deal on an apartment.
- me
http://www.timesdispatch.com/
http://www.wric.com
Friday, August 27, 2004
Welcome to Fantasy Football Island!
I have a few foreign friends who ask just how big is the National Football League in the U.S., I tell them the following:
Bigger than Paris Hilton's sense of self. Bigger than Willie Nelson's IRS debt. So big it doesn't return Spielberg's calls.
Not only do I have ESPN NFL 2K5 for my Xbox, but I will get Madden 2005. It's got Ray Lewis on the cover - I have to get it. Or he might kill me. Or know somebody who would.
I have no less than 20 NFL logo apparel pieces, ranging from hats, sweats, t-shirts, ear muffs and jackets. I have a Ravens' key chain lanyard. Kramer the Big Dumb Dog used to have a Ravens' collar and leash. Bubby's got an Orioles collar, but she's into the slower sport. If my dogs were athletes, Bubby would be a catcher or first baseman, and Kramer would be a running back. He'll run around you, over you, drag you, push you and simply run away from you.
Squeaky is no athlete. My cat is more of a Special Forces operative. Slinky, silent, deadly. Ask that poor mouse in the parking lot last week. Squeaky has a metal studded collar, but that's because he's into B & D.
I am in only two fantasy football leagues this year, down from three last year and five the year before that. Not because I like the NFL any less, but, well, I should pay *SOME* attention at work during the fall.
I don't obsess over Fantasy football like some guys. I usually buy a magazine pre-draft, figure out what free agents went where, what rookies look good, who's having a good camp....etc... I also figure out which guys kick my ass in Xbox and get them. Shawn Alexander, Brandon Lloyd and Peyton Manning, welcome to my team. If I can't beat you, I might as well draft you.
My Scottish friend Grant, in particular, is a big fan of their football. You know, the one where they use their feet? We call it soccer, mainly because it sounds more like "sucker" which is what you are if you think you can put your kids into a sport where they won't be hurt, little miss Soccer Mom U.S.A. I don't hate sucker...soccer, per se, it's just...well...so Euro. Euro connotes skinny guys chanting and wearing gold chains and going to discoteques.
I'm American. I don't go to discoteques. I go to a bar, a club or even a nightspot. I use my hands in sports.
And I call them "sports." Not "sport." That's so Euro.
Euro means a common monetary system that is pretty much useless. It means ratifying a treaty that gives every country in it the ability to get out of it and not follow a single damned rule set forth by the treaty. Euro means allowing a war to rage on your continent for damned near a decade with nary a hint of intervention by any neighboring countries, allow for the ethnic cleansing of a minority, and then whining about it when America comes over, brings in the tanks and BFG's and gets everybody playing nicely again. Shame Clinton will have Monica and Whitewater on his legacy moreso than ending a war in Yugoslavia.
Euro means following cycling, which is cool, but then whining about it when an American beats you at your own game. Euro means slandering him with drug allegations, jumping into his way, and having everybody treat him like a criminal, only to watch him ride off with the maillot-jeune yet again. So, yeah, France, you're so Euro. Lance kicked your boys' collective ass again, and then got some big fat Texas barbeque and tagged his hot rock star girlfriend.
That's American.
-me
Bigger than Paris Hilton's sense of self. Bigger than Willie Nelson's IRS debt. So big it doesn't return Spielberg's calls.
Not only do I have ESPN NFL 2K5 for my Xbox, but I will get Madden 2005. It's got Ray Lewis on the cover - I have to get it. Or he might kill me. Or know somebody who would.
I have no less than 20 NFL logo apparel pieces, ranging from hats, sweats, t-shirts, ear muffs and jackets. I have a Ravens' key chain lanyard. Kramer the Big Dumb Dog used to have a Ravens' collar and leash. Bubby's got an Orioles collar, but she's into the slower sport. If my dogs were athletes, Bubby would be a catcher or first baseman, and Kramer would be a running back. He'll run around you, over you, drag you, push you and simply run away from you.
Squeaky is no athlete. My cat is more of a Special Forces operative. Slinky, silent, deadly. Ask that poor mouse in the parking lot last week. Squeaky has a metal studded collar, but that's because he's into B & D.
I am in only two fantasy football leagues this year, down from three last year and five the year before that. Not because I like the NFL any less, but, well, I should pay *SOME* attention at work during the fall.
I don't obsess over Fantasy football like some guys. I usually buy a magazine pre-draft, figure out what free agents went where, what rookies look good, who's having a good camp....etc... I also figure out which guys kick my ass in Xbox and get them. Shawn Alexander, Brandon Lloyd and Peyton Manning, welcome to my team. If I can't beat you, I might as well draft you.
My Scottish friend Grant, in particular, is a big fan of their football. You know, the one where they use their feet? We call it soccer, mainly because it sounds more like "sucker" which is what you are if you think you can put your kids into a sport where they won't be hurt, little miss Soccer Mom U.S.A. I don't hate sucker...soccer, per se, it's just...well...so Euro. Euro connotes skinny guys chanting and wearing gold chains and going to discoteques.
I'm American. I don't go to discoteques. I go to a bar, a club or even a nightspot. I use my hands in sports.
And I call them "sports." Not "sport." That's so Euro.
Euro means a common monetary system that is pretty much useless. It means ratifying a treaty that gives every country in it the ability to get out of it and not follow a single damned rule set forth by the treaty. Euro means allowing a war to rage on your continent for damned near a decade with nary a hint of intervention by any neighboring countries, allow for the ethnic cleansing of a minority, and then whining about it when America comes over, brings in the tanks and BFG's and gets everybody playing nicely again. Shame Clinton will have Monica and Whitewater on his legacy moreso than ending a war in Yugoslavia.
Euro means following cycling, which is cool, but then whining about it when an American beats you at your own game. Euro means slandering him with drug allegations, jumping into his way, and having everybody treat him like a criminal, only to watch him ride off with the maillot-jeune yet again. So, yeah, France, you're so Euro. Lance kicked your boys' collective ass again, and then got some big fat Texas barbeque and tagged his hot rock star girlfriend.
That's American.
-me
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Tellycommykatieons
It's ironic how telecommunications' firms always have the worst internal communications. It's a problem at every firm I've ever worked for, to some extent, but the telecoms are the worst. Bizarre, really - an entire industry built on getting people to talk, and yet, the industry can't talk with itself.
So, as Jules in Pulp Fiction would say "Example," I shall give one: assumption of knowledge. Every telecom starts your training with a lesson on the sheer basics of a phone network - switches, cables, phones - and then, when it comes to their own proprietary software and internal policies, you are to magically understand everything they say and do. Possibly through some sort of subconscious osmosis, or maybe through repeated trial, error, and yelling sessions.
But, with my first week back in the corporate world coming to a close, a new paycheck on the way, an old friend from a previous company coming to work here next week, and, perhaps most important, a week closer to health benefits again, my mind is obsessed with two thoughts...
1) Who am I going to draft in fantasy football tonight?
and
2) Man I hope I do well in the Bravo sitcom writing contest.
One thing corporate life is reminding me is how much of a love/hate relationship I have with it. I hate conformity, dress codes, cubicles, acceptable use policies - my artsy side rebels at such nonsense anyway. But, there is a rather significant part of me that rather enjoys dressing in a nice shirt, tie and shoe combo, having a fast internet connection at work, and mall food courts. Hate malls, love food courts.
I love contradiction. Sometimes.
But, this I have to admit - this place has potential.
So, as Jules in Pulp Fiction would say "Example," I shall give one: assumption of knowledge. Every telecom starts your training with a lesson on the sheer basics of a phone network - switches, cables, phones - and then, when it comes to their own proprietary software and internal policies, you are to magically understand everything they say and do. Possibly through some sort of subconscious osmosis, or maybe through repeated trial, error, and yelling sessions.
But, with my first week back in the corporate world coming to a close, a new paycheck on the way, an old friend from a previous company coming to work here next week, and, perhaps most important, a week closer to health benefits again, my mind is obsessed with two thoughts...
1) Who am I going to draft in fantasy football tonight?
and
2) Man I hope I do well in the Bravo sitcom writing contest.
One thing corporate life is reminding me is how much of a love/hate relationship I have with it. I hate conformity, dress codes, cubicles, acceptable use policies - my artsy side rebels at such nonsense anyway. But, there is a rather significant part of me that rather enjoys dressing in a nice shirt, tie and shoe combo, having a fast internet connection at work, and mall food courts. Hate malls, love food courts.
I love contradiction. Sometimes.
But, this I have to admit - this place has potential.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Employed...again
Work for a phone company in Owings Mills. Start Monday. Not going to work for Bud anymore, it would seem.
There was much rejoicing...will miss Bud.
Won't miss the related back strain.
There was much rejoicing...will miss Bud.
Won't miss the related back strain.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Better Homes and Dog Fancy
Had a job interview this afternoon. Small telecom company in Maryland. Could be promising...definitely promising a long commute until I get back into my house in Charm City. It's only been damned near TWO YEARS since the contractors started working on the unassuming 1.5 bedroom rowhome in Canton. You'd figure they *might* get done sometime for yet another Bush is elected President. Considering they've taken about 1/2 of W's term, what, will it be done when Billy, Jeb or even one of those spunky Bush twins take the oath of office?
I am not holding my breath - even if I had that oxygenated gel used in "The Abyss."
Wrote a couple of bits for both my spec script for Family Guy and my entry into the Bravo sitcom writing contest. It's nice to carry pen and paper with me - amazing how few jokes and bits I forget when I'm actually writing them down as I'm thinking about them.
One of the exercises I vaguely remember from college was to develop characters, and see how they'd react to a situation that you as a person had experienced. It's an interesting mental activity, and a good way to see how well you know your characters. But, in the same light as dealing with a fictional character in real situation, it's more fascinating to see how *you'd* react in a real situation that a friend is in. Case in point - tonight, one of the best friends called to say that his dog had a seizure, a potential stroke, and would probably have to be put down soon. The dog in question is pretty old, especially for a bigger dog, and definitely one of the sweetest canines I've ever met. Kind, gentle, and pretty obedient. Little hyper when she was younger, but, hey, most dogs are.
So, while the inevitable loss of the dog is sad, I began to wonder how I'd react when the same news would be delivered to me about one of my two dogs. Kramer is still young and pretty much indestructible. Bubby, on the other hand, is an old seven. Hip has been bad since she was a pup, and she hates to exercise. Food is her drug of choice, sleep is her M.O., and we all saw how well that combination worked for Elvis. Chances are, I'll be getting one of those horrible calls from the vet by 2007, maybe 2006.
Or, maybe by the time my house is completed.
Hopefully I'll catch the warning signs in time, to help ward off any suffering. Bad enough to see a human after a stroke, but a dog...jeez. I couldn't be a vet. No way. The way I get about pets - it is easier for me to imagine another dimension than to tell a little girl that her cat has died. Nope. Forget it.
I think if Kramer and I were stranded on a desert island, and it came down to him or me...he wins. I wouldn't. Couldn't. So, if you're travel agent, I think you can figure out that I won't be doing a dining tour of Southeast Asia anytime soon. Too many islands, and I don't munch on pets.
Uncle Larry was stationed in Vietnam. He said he found out he ate dog soup. I asked him what it tasted like.
"Kind of like cat," he replied.
- me
I am not holding my breath - even if I had that oxygenated gel used in "The Abyss."
Wrote a couple of bits for both my spec script for Family Guy and my entry into the Bravo sitcom writing contest. It's nice to carry pen and paper with me - amazing how few jokes and bits I forget when I'm actually writing them down as I'm thinking about them.
One of the exercises I vaguely remember from college was to develop characters, and see how they'd react to a situation that you as a person had experienced. It's an interesting mental activity, and a good way to see how well you know your characters. But, in the same light as dealing with a fictional character in real situation, it's more fascinating to see how *you'd* react in a real situation that a friend is in. Case in point - tonight, one of the best friends called to say that his dog had a seizure, a potential stroke, and would probably have to be put down soon. The dog in question is pretty old, especially for a bigger dog, and definitely one of the sweetest canines I've ever met. Kind, gentle, and pretty obedient. Little hyper when she was younger, but, hey, most dogs are.
So, while the inevitable loss of the dog is sad, I began to wonder how I'd react when the same news would be delivered to me about one of my two dogs. Kramer is still young and pretty much indestructible. Bubby, on the other hand, is an old seven. Hip has been bad since she was a pup, and she hates to exercise. Food is her drug of choice, sleep is her M.O., and we all saw how well that combination worked for Elvis. Chances are, I'll be getting one of those horrible calls from the vet by 2007, maybe 2006.
Or, maybe by the time my house is completed.
Hopefully I'll catch the warning signs in time, to help ward off any suffering. Bad enough to see a human after a stroke, but a dog...jeez. I couldn't be a vet. No way. The way I get about pets - it is easier for me to imagine another dimension than to tell a little girl that her cat has died. Nope. Forget it.
I think if Kramer and I were stranded on a desert island, and it came down to him or me...he wins. I wouldn't. Couldn't. So, if you're travel agent, I think you can figure out that I won't be doing a dining tour of Southeast Asia anytime soon. Too many islands, and I don't munch on pets.
Uncle Larry was stationed in Vietnam. He said he found out he ate dog soup. I asked him what it tasted like.
"Kind of like cat," he replied.
- me
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