Wednesday, August 20, 2014

I need more than 140 characters to tell you that 'F*Upd' is f*cked up

My relationship with Twitter went from general disdain before I really tried it to eventually finding some merit in it; if you follow the right people (those with clever or amusing or interesting albeit pithy thoughts) it can be better than Facebook in certain regards. (Well, these days saying something's better than Facebook isn't necessary giving it much of a compliment, but with any luck one gets the idea.) Ultimately, like anything else on the internet, some of it is good and a lot of it is crap, but one is under no obligation to trek through any more of the drek than one chooses.

I don't tweet very often (so it's not difficult to understand my low number of followers) but occasionally I am inspired to throw 140-characters (or less) worth of a thought out into the Twittersphere, with the general expectation no one will really see it, or at least that no one will reply. (Which is pretty much the same attitude I have about blahg posts; the difference is I spend far less time on the tweets, so those really are a more logical outlet for my online sharing. But I digress.)

And then there are moments where the void is preferable to getting some acknowledgement of someone else seeing a tweet. But in this case that wasn't quite for the obvious reason.


A few weeks ago I tweeted a quip regarding the traffic snarls in Los Angeles caused by the president's visit, suggesting if a 2016 candidate for the G.O.P. promised never to come here I might vote Republican.

Within minutes a… okay, the kneejerk descriptor would be "right-wing nutjob" but as will be seen that's not quite appropriate nor is it fair for me to cast such aspersions recklessly, so let's just go with… conservatively-minded individual replied positing an alternative theory: that I might vote thusly because "Obama F*Upd pretty much EVERYTHING he touches".

Good to see Twitter is still encouraging clever (albeit succinct) discourse, eh?

Monday, August 11, 2014

Earache my baby

When changing diapers or bathing our infant son I find myself absent-mindedly humming Cheech and Chong's "Earache My Eye" more times than I probably should admit. (That riff is too catchy.)

However, I take some comfort in the belief he's still months away from speaking, so I'm probably not negatively influencing him too badly.

Of course, if eventually his first full sentence is "World's coming to an end, I don't even care / as long as I can have my limo and my orange hair" then clearly I will have some explaining to do (first to my wife, then to the teachers and other parents at his daycare, and finally to the authorities).

At least I'll have plenty of time to prepare my story.

And my son won't care if people think he's funny ('cause he'll be a big rock star and making lots of money… Money!... MONEY!...).

Wednesday, August 06, 2014

Love is a buffalo: The persistence of silliness

If there were any logic to how my brain retained experiences I'd be able to recall almost everything I studied during my years in college but instead it seems to operate thusly:

In the mid-'80s, during my last year of high school, I got an after-school job that would turn into a near-full-time job that paid for the aforementioned college's tuition. There were a number of us in our late teens and early twenties working there and at times a few of us would sit around a table in the back room preparing product to go out, chatting and cracking jokes. We always had a radio playing, typically on the local rock station.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Amusing an infant

The best part of being a parent at this phase of our son's development is discovering what silly gestures I make elicit a gleeful giggle from him.

Lately the gestures are:

With him lying down and me standing up, I take the palms of my hands and swirl them in circles of alternating directions while slowly bringing my hands down toward his chest; while doing that I make a woo-woo-woo-woo sound in time with the speed of my hands. When my hands get to his chest I dance my fingers down to his tummy.

He loves that.

Another thing I've done from time to time is the unnecessary zoom (a la Wayne's World). Again, with him lying down, I step back and then swoop in so my face ends up next to his face with an accompanying "whoa" sound.

He squeals with delight over that.

It's marvelous.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Judy is, in fact, not a punk

In commercials for FX's new summer comedy Married they featured the Ramones' "Judy Is a Punk." And I was reminded the lyrics state "Jackie is a punk" while "Judy is a runt."

At no point during the three verses that mention Judy is she identified as the eponymous punk.

And somehow for over three decades I merely enjoyed the song without specifically thinking about that disparity between the title and the lyrics even though I knew exactly what the title was and what the lyrics were (well, I knew those lyrics from the start; some of the rest took some time to decipher--Joey's vocal stylings about going to Berlin and joining the ice capades took a bit longer).

Joey, you were throwing us off with that title, weren't you? Why would you do that?

Oh, I don't know why (perhaps they'll die).

Oh yeah.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

How messed up is Old 97's "Most Messed Up"?

[Note: This post was originally composed back in May and was intended to be published two months ago, a few weeks after the release of the mentioned album. But as the parent of an infant I must put the blahg on the back burner sometimes, so this won't be quite as topical as it might have been before, but I hope it's still worthwhile for fans of the band.]

The more I listened to Most Messed Up the more it grew on me. My initial response upon my first spin was it didn't quite have that same je-ne-sai-pas upon first hearing them 15 years ago; I suppose it struck me as trying to recapture the old magic, and while the songs generally rocked they didn't quite have the perhaps ineffable quality their songs had before. However, the more I thought about it, it wasn't so much that the songs are different (although they are) but that the band members are different people than they were and (more important) I am different than I was. It's not that I cannot hear new music and quite like it but music must merely fit into a rather busy life. Fifteen years ago I may have thought I was busy but I really had no idea what busy was… and fifteen years from now I'll say the same thing about how busy I am now.


Sunday, July 06, 2014

Soccer popularity and the World Cup... again

With the defeat of the U.S. team in the World Cup last week, we almost guarantee four years hence the discussion of why soccer is not as popular here in America as in the rest of the world will have a chance to be resurrected.

But we won't rehash that. Four years ago I offered some quasi-serious/semi-tongue-in-cheek thoughts on its lack of popularity, then chronicled getting sincerely caught up by matches, and then when it was over conceded I wasn't quite a convert but noted I'd be back.

Instead let's ponder: Is any American sport as fanatically popular as futbol is (per capita) in these other countries? Even were soccer to outshine the NFL here, it's not certain it would be as popular (when viewed as the percentage of the nation's population who essentially worship the sport).

In four years we'll still be a huge country with many distractions; that seems unlikely ever to change. So the discussion may never have cause to cease—although maybe that's really more due to the fact we (as a country) aren't really listening that closely, because we have other things to do; every fourth year those thusly inclined to talk about it never feel as though it was thoroughly considered the last time, and hence it's still ripe for discussion.

We do this to ourselves.

Proof I watched a World Cup match that didn't involve the U.S. team.

Let's acknowledge that soccer is popular in the U.S. by the fact we have a professional league that has fans and gets acknowledged by the sports media. Also, perhaps more important, there are many living here who follow the games played in other countries (some of which now get telecast on American TV).