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Mitch Albom rocks out:
It was a code we boys were taught. The thinking was, you didn’t start fights, but you didn’t stand there and let yourself be a punching bag, either.
Today, it’s not so clear. According to one school superintendent in Georgia, “Students cannot fight back. There are other means they can use.”
This is such bull, um, poop, that I can’t even see straight. Although that might be the scotch.
Before I rant, I should note that I love my parents. But somehow, there was always this feeling that “fighting was wrong, no matter what.” It’s not like I was raised Quaker, but the implicit instruction was always “walk away and live to fight another day.” And I can’t help but assume that that’s the reason I’m a total wuss to this day.
I admit it. I can’t fight for anything. If you want to take advantage of somebody, I’m your man. And the reason was, I was never told, by school administrators, parents, or anybody else in authority, that fighting back against agressors was okay. As a result:
- I now believe strongly in fighting back against anything even remotely approaching aggression, hence my strong support for the (continuing, admittedly) War in Iraq. Fighting back is TOTALLY cool, as long as somebody else is laying his sack on the line.
- When it comes to personal confrontations, I back down like my spine is made of jello and my wang is made of paper maché.
More Albom:
I don’t understand why the little tortures kids pour on one another are allowed to go on unabated, but the minute a kid brings a pair of scissors through a school door, he’s treated like a terrorist.
I agree (surprise, surprise). Not in the way that I think that the school administration should just turn schools into a Nazi state, cracking down on bullies as if they’ve committed assault; instead, schools need to back off. It’s unlikely that a 2nd grader is going to bring a 9mm Beretta to school, so let them learn about fighting back (in a NON DEADLY WAY) early! Children are EXTREMELY malleable, and I would pay 100 grand now to ingrain the lessons that I could have learned for free in the 4th grade if my elders could have made it possible for me to defend myself without worrying about my “permanent record.”
I guess what I’m saying is I wish I’d just kicked Paul’s ass in the 7th grade like I easily could have (look at me…I’m huge) if I wouldn’t’ve been so afraid of “getting in trouble.” Not that I’m bitter. ::sob::
Have you ever considered exactly how much you can tell about a man by his landscaping? It’s true. I think we can all agree that somebody with a yellow lawn (possibly strewn with car parts) is not a man with whom you wish to trifle. (That sentence was a grammatical masterpiece . . . let’s move on.)
Other examples:
Now that I’m thinking about this, though, I’ve come up with a few more intriguing tests of a man’s character that are unrelated to lawncare.
- Never judge a man by the song that comes on his radio when he starts the car. However, you can certainly judge him by whatever song he was listening to when he turns it off.
- A man should not be judged by the things he says when he is drunk. Unless, of course, he is drinking tequila.
What kind of things do y’all use to judge the character of somebody? Post it in the comments or email me at spam (at) matthearn (dot) com.
This is a public service announcement brought to you by matthearn.com:
Golf SUCKS.
Of course, many of you may disagree with me. You are, no offense, idiots. Don’t be ashamed, though: I once felt that golf was a nice game, an excellent opportunity to get outside. I thought these things just 5 or 6 days ago, when I walked off the driving range thinking, “Wow, I’m really hitting the ball well this year. I should be able to break 100 on Saturday easily!”
Those of you who are longtime golfers know exactly what happened on Saturday morning. But before I go into that, let me explain what exactly was going on. Our buddy Dave is getting married at the end of the month, so we took him out for a nice Bachelor party, at which nobody had ANYTHING to drink, and during which the groom-to-be most DEFINITELY did not get bitten repeatedly by a stripper. (She also did NOT tie him up, nor did she threaten to pierce his testicles with a stiletto heel if he didn’t behave.) Hi Grandma!
Anyway, we began the festivities with a 10:37 tee time at the Skippack Public Golf Course, in Skippack, Pennsylvania. I even warmed up with a bucket of range balls first, and was having great success slamming my 8 iron 140 or 150 yards. I was ready.
Ready to suck, I mean.
My first drive sliced neatly into the woods, but I recovered and managed to get on the green in 5, finishing with a 7, unless you ignore the fact that I lost the ball, which I did, scoring myself a 6. Things went downhill from there, until finally on about the 15th or 16th hole, I scored something approaching a 10, and after that decided it would be best if I just didn’t keep score anymore. (I most definitely did NOT drink most of a bottle of Canadian Club while we were there.)
So obviously I’m never playing again. Until next Sunday.
Okay people, it’s time you learned the truth. I know nothing about Dave Chappelle’s Asian wife, assuming he actually has one. Nor do I have any pictures of cankles, and whoever of you searching for “pop zits pictures”: that is just f’d up. I mean, I love a good zit popping, but looking at pictures of somebody else doing it just made me throw up in my mouth. Erp…yeah, did it again. Thanks.
Those of you who don’t have any idea what I’m talking about should know that I have statistics reports for matthearn.com; on this report is a list of things that people search for that lead directly here. (That’s how I generate the Favorite Searches Page once a month.) The things in the previous graf were things that folks searched for that led here. It scares me, personally, that you can search for “panty chicks” and “bishop wayne wright,” and both of those things lead to my page (among a few thousand others, obviously).
Also on the stats page, I note that my readership for April is WAAAAY down, almost 33%. Is it because I spent the month of March not writing? Is it because people are spending more time outside? I dunno. I’ve been posting 2 to 3 times a week all month (waaay more than I did before March, I’ll note) and getting no internet love! Is my quality down? What’s the story? Do you all just suck? I gotta turn this around, or I’ll never get enough readers to post my hypnotizing Flash cartoons and bend the web savvy world to my will.
I mean, uh, I’ll never get enough readers to warrant a book deal like Wil. That’s the ticket . . . yeah.
So here’s my plan. Obviously strange searches lead people here, so I’m going to start dropping names and amusing things into my columns for no discernible reason (much like I already do). So, anybody watching Will and Grace? How about that delicious Eminem pie recipe? I heard Pudge Rodriguez loves pie.
In a related story, somebody told me the other day that Prince is pretty pissed off about the Dave Chappelle “Charlie Murphy” sketch about Prince playing basketball. I haven’t found any info on the web about it; if somebody sees it, can you link me to it? That would be mos def.
What a weekend of moronity! (I’m not sure moronity is actually a word, but then, I’m a moron, so I probably don’t care. Not sure. I’ll get back to you.) The primary moronic thing was that out of all the cool stuff that happened, I managed to take exactly zero pictures of it all. The concert, my tree, the party, the gig at National Cathedral: pictures, none. Was it because my camera is broken? No, it’s because I kept leaving it in my truck. I’m an idiot.
The weekend started out with a bang; I snuck out of work around 2pm (I put in 60 hours last week, so no, I did NOT feel guilty) and went to Vince’s, where I hit softballs with a big metal stick until Brian and Mary showed up, at which point we began to play the little par-3 course Vince’s has. I hit the ball reasonably well, meaning I was getting underneath it and getting good distance on most of my shots, which would nevertheless miss the intended target (the green) by 25-50 yards due to horrible aim and club selection. Lesson learned: own a sand wedge. I was between clubs on every hole without one. Anyway, we played two holes and then it began to drip, and then drizzle, and then downpour, because periodically God likes to remind me that I am His bitch.
After the rain abated, we finished up the round and I drove to the Deer Park, where I met a bunch of friends and got good and drunk before wandering over to Mitchell Hall for the Ychromes concert, which as usual was good, and included the requisite intermission run to Grotto’s for vodka shots. The guest group was enjoyable as well, although of course I have no idea who they were.
After the concert, we went to Friday’s to sober up a little bit, and I had me a massive “Atkins-friendly” cheeseburger and a lot of Diet Pepsi, after which we drove to Wade’s and I made the classic mistake of drinking a single beer atop the burger and cola. I drove home (sober, I swear), went to bed, and awoke at approximately 5am, still sober, but with a horrible stomach ache. After blowing chunks a few times into the john, my stomach recovered and I went back to bed.
Saturday, of course, I had the hangover to kill all hangovers, despite not really being all that blasted on Friday night. Again, God letting me know that not only am I His bitch, He’s going to tattoo His Name on my ass. Nevertheless, I managed to get up, drink some milk, swallow some tylenol, and make my way to Ag Day over on UD’s south campus (where they do all the agricultural stuff). I was in the market for a tree, and so I picked up a Miyabe Maple (I figured it could teach me Karate) and planted it in the front yard. Hopefully it’ll get pretty big over the next few years; our front yard is annoyingly devoid of trees, and this will help righteously.
After that I went home, and then Venessa (Rod’s girlfriend) showed up with Andrew Wang (Ychrome Alum) to hang out; Jared and V went to Ag Day, and Andy and I played MVP Baseball 2003 until they returned. I beat him, because I rule. Saturday night we went to the Waterfalls up in Claymont (where Mandy’s wedding went down; see A November to Remember) for the HTAC 30th Anniversary Semi-Formal (so 8th grade), which was nice, albeit expensive. Jared and I snuck out to a local liquor store and brought back some bottles of booze to make things a little cheaper on us. After the formal broke up at midnight we drove back to Newark for a party at Niles’ place. I think everybody should know someone named Niles. It’s just a money name, and he’s a money guy. We chilled there until about 2:30, at which time we made our getaway ’cause my dumb ass had to be up at 5 am to get to the cathedral by 6 to catch a bus down to National Cathedral in DC.
Not that I actually awoke at 5, because not only did God tattoo His Name on my rear, He loves it when I call Him Big Papa. I managed to get out of bed at exactly 5:57, rub deodorant in my hair, brush my armpits, comb my tongue, and throw on my cathedral uniform before running out the door and getting to the bus at 6:25. I got on the bus and said “CRAP. Forgot my camera. Dammit.” Then I thought, “Wait, I don’t think I ever took it out of the truck.” So I ran back to the truck, searched, didn’t find it, got back on the bus thinking, “I swear it’s in there.” (It was; I looked for it this morning and found it under a blanket. I need to clean out my truck.) Anyway, no pictures of National Cathedral, one of the coolest buildings I’ve ever seen. DAMNITOL.
We sang a preservice concert (featuring solo by Yours Truly on “Ev’ry Time I Feel The Spirit”) and then just sat in the Quire for the service, which was sung by the National Cathedral Choir of Men and Girls, Some Of Which Are Hot (The Girls, Not The Men (Okay, Some of the Men Were Hot Too) (And I’m Not a Letch Just For Saying That a 17 Year Old Girl Is Hot…Just A Dirty Old Man)). Brian showed up afterwards (he works in DC), got some audio for WDEL (including an amusing interview with our choir director) and then we rolled.
We stopped by WTOP so he could copy some audio, and then hit up McDonald’s for a good dose of Extreme Obesity Meal #8, Supersized, With An Extra Big Mac. Then we headed east towards Middletown to check out the house that he’s building, and then headed home, hitting annoying traffic, and then picking up my truck at the Cathedral, driving home, passing out for approximately 20 hours, and waking up with the fullest bladder since I got locked in that guy’s trunk and he drove to Vegas.
Lesson learned: always pee before you go to bed. And remember your camera when you go places. And if God says “Jump,” do not say “Jigga what?” or lightning will strike your house.
Can somebody explain cameras to me? Why is that picture all blurry? Is it the ISO? (I set it at 400. I figure that’s the best, like 400 speed film. What the hell does it mean?) Is it the “noise reduction?” This camera cost me $500 and I can’t get a crisp, smooth picture to save my life. Everything’s slightly blurry and very noisy. SOMEBODY ‘SPLAIN!
Whoof. Last couple days have been full of annoyances:
- Sarah’s sick. Not sure what’s wrong, yet, but her tonsils and uvula are swoll up like Roast Beef’s bozack and she sounds like a muppet. So I took off work yesterday to drag her to the doctor, which took like 45 minutes because apparently the test for strep throat takes forever to read. Turns out it’s only 75% effective anyway, so we had to go to Labcorp to get blood work done and figure out if Sarah might have freakin’ mono. I can’t say I’m happy about sharing the house with somebody contagious with some unknown and possibly deadly virus. Naturally, uh, I’m also concerned about Sarah’s health.
Then we had to get go to Happy Harry’s to get medicine, and by the end we found ourselves driving back to New Castle at approximately 5:15, which meant it took us 45 minutes to get home, and I got paged on the way for some system being down. (It turned out to be a stupid customer, which it usually does, but I have no way of verifying this on the road.) Anyway, hopefully we’ll find out the results of the test in a few days.
- What is up with people and the total lack of comprehension regarding “personal space?” I was at Boston Market today picking up dinner, and while the guy is wrapping up my purchases and taking my money, the lady next to me got close enough that it looked like we were there together. She seemed normal; not the usual New Castle white trash, just a middle-aged lady getting a hot turkey sandwich. Every time I inched away, she inched closer, until eventually I started trying to work up a truly horrific fart just to get her to back off. I couldn’t muster one, so I had to pay and leave and hope she didn’t try to climb into the truck with me. If we’d been at an ATM, she’d’ve been close enough behind me that I would’ve starting saying “Daddy? Is that you?”
Okay, I guess I only have two minor annoyances. But before you say I lead a charmed life, remember! I, uh, have horrible skin! Yeah, that’s it! Who’s a rich whiner NOW?
You know the first time you go to the doctor, and he explains that the growth on your stomach is relatively normal? That it’s just a massive beer gut? Remember the relief you felt when you realize you DIDN’T have a massive tumor on your torso, but instead would just have to diet and lose 30 pounds? Remember hugging the doctor and crying, and then buying a milkshake on the way home?
I guess it’s just me then. Anyway, that joy is what I felt at the Phillies game at Citizens Bank Park on Saturday.
The only word I can really use to describe the ballpark is: “Tinglerious.” I don’t even know what it means, but it’s a great stadium. Food on every concourse, plenty of bathrooms, incredible sightlines to the field, and a good showing by the home team were the order of the day.
Food: We were in the 400 level, which is really high up, but still had plenty of food options on the concourse: cheese steaks, hot dogs, fries, beer (plenty of beer), everything you could want. My only complaint was that there was apparently only one restaurant selling cheese fries, and of course that was the line with 15 people in it. Milo wanted fries, and it being his birthday, I had to stand in line for an entire freaking inning. I almost had a seizure, but luckily I was drunk.
Bathrooms: Reasonably clean, and plenty of them. I suspect the cleanliness was mainly a measure of the fans not laying yard biscuits in the middle of the floor like they used to do at the Vet, but it was nice nevertheless. I didn’t have to wait in line to pee. Ever. It ruled. ‘Cause I was drunk and had to pee a lot.
The game: Really great. They say there’s not a bad seat in the house, which is true, although some seats are obviously more “super” than others. We could see everything happening, which ruled, but I couldn’t yell insulting things at the opposing players an the umps. I was able to yell at the guy that threw out the ceremonial first pitch (because he completely missed the catcher), “I’m embarrassed for both of us!” As you probably recall, I was drunk.
Polanco, Lieberthal, Bell, and Burrell all homered in a 6-3 win over the Expos, which was nice. Phils moved themselves up to 4-6, I think, so maybe they’re gonna get out of this early hole pretty quickly.
Saturday night I wanted to go to Knappuccinos, but got paged by annoying work. My job is irksome at times.
Sunday was a busy day; I awoke at 5:30 because HW was snoring like a polar bear (it turns out she’s got tonsilitis or something), was at work at 7:30, and was back home by 10:30, which was nice because I had a few hours to hang out before my Brigadoon audition, which I think went absotively superbly.
They had me sing parts of all four songs, plus a bunch of reading, made me do a little dance step to demonstrate that I don’t have cerebral palsy, and asked me what I’ve been up to for the past 8 years since I haven’t done any theatre other than working at the high school. I’m feeling pretty confident, although that indicates nothing; the last time I felt “confident” about an audition was that porno tryout in 1997, after which Ron Jeremy had me blackballed from the business, the jerk.
Just a few ramblings today:
- My poll on whether or not I should audition for the Brandywiners’ production of Brigadoon is going nicely; so far, 4-0 in favor. John Kerry would KILL for numbers like these! Also he’d kill to not have a face like Joseph Merrick, but that’s neither here nor there.
- In a related story (they occur on the same day), the HTAC 30th Anniversary Semi-Formal (how 11th-grade is THAT?!?) is happening on April 24th. Alumni that want to go, make sure you contact Fran “Drescher” Nadel and send her money. Interestingly, I found out today that the alumni have to cough up $30 apiece (which gets you appetizers and a dance floor), plus the cash bar, while the current HTAC members only have to pay $20. That’s not even remotely shady. No, not at all. It may, however, qualify as “skeevy.” Forsooth, I am skeeved by it. (Of course I’m not bitter.)
On the other hand, since HTAC is technically a community theatre company, and I don’t recollect ever telling them I quit the group, I’m still a member! I’ll be requesting $10, of the $30 I already sent, be refunded.
- Brian Smith sent me this audio clip today, and I nearly wet myself. He says it actually went out on the air live. Can’t beat that with a lacrosse stick, I tell ya.
- I think Sarah’s getting a little worried about my metrosexuality. I’ve started using Nivea moisturizer on my face in a desperate effort to try and get my skin to stop breaking out; I’ve lost something like 10-15 pounds (I’m not sure, as I lack a scale, but I’m wearing 38×34 jeans again); and here’s what I’m wearing today: black buckle-shoes, grey socks, khaki pants, black belt, grey ribbed turtleneck sweater, and as the piece de resistance, my corduroy sport coat. If I get any hotter, I’ll have to start keeping a fire extinguisher in a man-bag in case I start smelling the acrid scent of burning human ass-flesh.
- Be sure to check out the latest updates over at llij.net, and don’t miss the totally def picture of me.
- Is it just me, or does Condi Rice have an enormous head? I know something about enormous heads, and hers is something to behold, I tell you true. You’d think if she’s on ‘roids she’d have bigger arms, but she’s kinda built like Pirates Barry Bonds instead of Giants Barry Bonds. She’s kinda like a black Ashley Olsen, actually.
- Who’s glad to have Easter done with? Raise your hands high! Who doesn’t really care since they didn’t go to church anyway? Freakin’ heathens. It was a long weekend; I had to sing on Maundy Thursday, Something Saturday, and Easter Sunday, and I hit up the Good Friday service as well to make myself a little more Jesus-y. I’m about sung out, so of course I’m singing an evensong on Sunday with a rehearsal tonight.
- I’m going to a ballgame on Saturday, which’ll be nice, assuming the Phils stop crapping all over the field. One and six, I tell you. Pathetic. After that I’m going to go home and sober up a bit before showing up at Knappuccinos; I figure since I’m playing there next month I should go and see what it’s all about, dig?
And that’s all I have. If it’s not enough, I recommend alcoholism.
Okay, I’ve had just about enough of Timothy’s. I’m organizing a boycott. Who’s with me? WHO’S WITH ME? Let’s do a rundown of my issues with the bar:
- Everything is ridiculously overpriced. $9 for a burger? $5 for a cup of friggin’ soup? Friday’s doesn’t charge that much, and Friday’s (Friday’s’s?) food is decent; we’ll get to that next.
- The food is not good. Everything’s either over- or under-cooked, and just tastes bad. I’ll give them a point here for their crab soup, which is pretty good, but nothing else is really worth ordering, particularly since you know you’re probably gonna play $17 for an entree.
- The service is mediocre; your drink will spend most of its time empty, the food will probably arrive cold, and you just won’t get any attention, except for Jen behind the bar, who knows how to keep a beer topped off.
- My office is approximately 150 yards from Timothy’s, and there’s a parking lot between us. It just so happens that my office is close to that parking lot. However, I’m not allowed to park there. I’m only allowed to park on the OTHER side of the building, or up the 50 foot hill. Apparently Timothy’s needs this space, despite the fact that the only time that Timothy’s manages to fill their parking lot is on Friday, at Happy Hour, when 50% of my building goes over there for drinks anyway! I’m not fat and bitter or anything.
So anyway, I see no reason to ever go to Timothy’s again. It’s not like getting to the Deer Park is a challenge, and if you’ll permit me an SAT-style analogy: Deer Park:Timothy’s::Helen Hunt:Joseph Merrick. Shellhammer’s (in University Plaza), of course, is Jessica Alba. <COMIC BOOK GUY>BEST – BAR – EVER.</COMIC BOOK GUY>
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