Yeah, there's my choice for president ...of the world. You see Keith and I go back a long way, 1964, Union College, upstate New York. It was a great time to see the Stones, still on a small college campus. I saw them later in large venues, like the University of New Mexico, who's gigantic basketball gymnasium is like a silo. I had gone deeper into hippiedom by then, and manged to get my dog into the concert...don't ask me why. Stevie Wonder opened that one, and rocked himself off the stage. Like I've said, the mid-seventies, they were the sixties on steroids. Back to Keith. In the year two thousand we decided to abandon Florida for a better education for my youngest. She'd been doing well in public school, after years on the Montessori buzz, so we, the family decided she need to go one of those high falutin' New England prep schools instead of the powerhouse football team in Naples, FL. Conveniently a friend of mine was opening "the" restaurant on Martha's Vineyard that summer. I could go and work there while the girls moved the household to Connecticut. This place was something, and staffed by a crew of serious professionals. You know, one of those place where your server pulled a crumber out of his pocket and swept the stray bread surreptitiously off the table. It was on the cutting edge in a lot of ways...like we sold you your water. International staff; Irish, English, Czech, Portuguese, Brazilian, Egypt and , oh yeah, the USA. It was a boon to me when the number two man at lunch quit the first day...I doubled my income by taking that job and schlepping tables at night. It was the hottest spot on the Island. Mike Wallace and some of his Sixty Minutes cohorts were there all the time. Booked full every night. One particularly bizarre night I soloed Happy Birthday to Beverly Sills. Even though it was very late at night she told me not to quit my day job. But hey, this is about Keith Richards. You see, we had this tiny little area in the kitchen that was called the chef's table. This usually went to some high-powered group that wanted to see how the whole show was run...from the back side. It also provided for the celebrity types that wanted to be kept away from the usual island, star-f&%#*@ riff-raff. You were really shielded from the rest of the clientele, right in the middle of a bustling, two hundred dinner-a-night, white table cloth eatery. Each night before service, after setting up, Chef Joe brought the special out to the servers and went over the night's menu. There were usually five servers, and I was often the only natural born citizen, very continental. Four professional waitstaff and one semi-pro clown. So, this one night, Joe says Biff you have the Chef's table. A few invectives went through my head until he said it's Keith Richards and his family. Needless to say the rest of the staff went ape-shit in all sorts of languages I couldn't understand. I was pumped. They arrived at sunset, came in through the back door, Keith with and armload of wine and cognac (Vineyardhaven is a dry town). Patti Hansen, still a four star knockout and their soon-to-be model daughters were very happy to sit in the kitchen. I walked to the table, probably a little too comfortably and introduced myself to the family and told them the specials. Not to drag it out they were surely the easiest celebrities I have ever waited on. Keith ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, a chicken dish, and the girls ate like models. He was the only one to drink, and it was in moderation...and every time I poured he offered me a taste...which couldn't resist, I was still an imbiber then. The best time of my restaurant career came after dinner. Keith said, "Anyplace we can have a smoke and a beer mate?" Since the town was dry the staff always had a cooler of beer on the back porch. It was somehow bottomless, we pitched in and a liquor store in another town kept it full. We were making tons of money, who knows, the beers might have been costing us five bucks a piece...we didn't care. "Sure Keith, follow me." We hit he back porch and he tapped me out a Marlboro Red (I'm not much of a smoker, but hey) and I pulled him an icy Budweiser from the bottom of the cooler. We shot the shit, I told him about Union College and he couldn't believe it! "You must be the last man standing from that show..." we had a couple of beers and smokes and then went back in to settle up. He tipped me about 100%, and invited me out to the Hot Tin Roof to see Burning Spear. Back stage! He was going to sit in with them. But my duties at the restaurant were going to keep me there too late. He signed the check to me wit a nice inscription about Union (I still have it), and headed out the back door. He left me a half bottle of high-end cognac to boot! Yes, I shared.
He was a stand up regular (not Joe, after recent political developments) guy and treated me better than most. The rest of the staff pummeled me with questions after we hit the porch after service. My Irish buddy had the best query, "Who was that ugly guy with Patti Hansen?"
I've already voted, and since Keith isn't a citizen...later, biff
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Palin's remake, Favre's fake...
As the campaign trail nears what seems to be Donner Pass, we're hit with the really important news that the GOP spent $15000.00 to spiff up Sarah Palin for the run for veep. I guess you can put lipstick on a pig, her cosmetics tab alone was over four grand at Nieman Marcus in St. Louis (now there's a fashion hot spot if there ever was one), and the rest must have been spent on hair extensions and stiletto heels from Fredericks of Hollywood. I wonder how much they paid Frances McDormand to teach her that Minnesota accent? Now less than two weeks out, I'll declare it officially over, again. This incident sort of makes that $4000.00 haircut Edwards supposedly got look a little petty. Hey, does anybody out there think these guys are going into their closets for their wardrobes and coiffures? Hell no, sartorial expenses take a huge chunk from those political war chests. Funny, I can't tell if they over spent or under spent in Palin's case.
Brett Favre is embroiled in his biggest beef since the percocet days. New York is all a twitter because Brett spent time on the phone telling Matt Millen and his pals how to beat the Packers. First of all Brett was really pissed when he threw six TD passes in a game, and the New York tabloids had the Mets all over the back page as they were circling in their NL death spiral. Then he tells Peter King the phone call to Millen was , "BS", via text message. During his press conference today the NYC media drilled him for fifteen minutes about his discussion with Millen. He came back finally that he had spoken with him, but it was about hunting. In the end, Harry Potter couldn't help the Lions win on any given Sunday. Packer fans are pissed that he'd diss his old team, and Jets fans are wondering why he isn't learning the new playbook instead of helping somebody beat his old team. If that wouldn't give you a headache, hey, see the team doctor, he might have some...
Cole Hammels will be the pivotal player in the Series. If he can't handle the Devil Rays at least two times, maybe three, the Phillies are history. The youth of Tampa Bay can cause some suspicion, but Philadelphia is not a playoff tested team either. I will stick with the Devil Rays in six, and Longoria as the MVP. Tonight's first at bat for the Devil Rays third baseman will tell a lot.
Colorado at Missouri this weekend, family rivalry, seems like the Buff's aren't quite the cupcake you'd want for homecoming. Missouri is coming off an asss whuppin' by Texas, so if I were a betting man I'd lay the 21 and 1/2...you know Missouri is going to score forty plus, let's call it 48-17...with apologies to certain readers. I know one reader is pulling heavily for Rice to be bowl eligible, Tulane this weekend, a solid maybe...and they still have Army on the menu. Four wins in the bank, I think they'll make it. For the serious gambler, and I'm doing better than the stock market since I started this, Alabama should handle Tennessee giving six and 1/2. Breeder's Cup selections soon. Remember it's now two days, with the distaff side running on Friday.
Went to a High School soccer game this afternoon...friggin' cold...later, biff
Brett Favre is embroiled in his biggest beef since the percocet days. New York is all a twitter because Brett spent time on the phone telling Matt Millen and his pals how to beat the Packers. First of all Brett was really pissed when he threw six TD passes in a game, and the New York tabloids had the Mets all over the back page as they were circling in their NL death spiral. Then he tells Peter King the phone call to Millen was , "BS", via text message. During his press conference today the NYC media drilled him for fifteen minutes about his discussion with Millen. He came back finally that he had spoken with him, but it was about hunting. In the end, Harry Potter couldn't help the Lions win on any given Sunday. Packer fans are pissed that he'd diss his old team, and Jets fans are wondering why he isn't learning the new playbook instead of helping somebody beat his old team. If that wouldn't give you a headache, hey, see the team doctor, he might have some...
Cole Hammels will be the pivotal player in the Series. If he can't handle the Devil Rays at least two times, maybe three, the Phillies are history. The youth of Tampa Bay can cause some suspicion, but Philadelphia is not a playoff tested team either. I will stick with the Devil Rays in six, and Longoria as the MVP. Tonight's first at bat for the Devil Rays third baseman will tell a lot.
Colorado at Missouri this weekend, family rivalry, seems like the Buff's aren't quite the cupcake you'd want for homecoming. Missouri is coming off an asss whuppin' by Texas, so if I were a betting man I'd lay the 21 and 1/2...you know Missouri is going to score forty plus, let's call it 48-17...with apologies to certain readers. I know one reader is pulling heavily for Rice to be bowl eligible, Tulane this weekend, a solid maybe...and they still have Army on the menu. Four wins in the bank, I think they'll make it. For the serious gambler, and I'm doing better than the stock market since I started this, Alabama should handle Tennessee giving six and 1/2. Breeder's Cup selections soon. Remember it's now two days, with the distaff side running on Friday.
Went to a High School soccer game this afternoon...friggin' cold...later, biff
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Jeter, winter, road trip
Sorry, been a couple of very busy days. Should be back tomorrow with a full head of steam.
Did anyone else out there notice that Derek Jeter hung up his cleats with three games to go...and his batting average sitting right on .300? Just a thought.
I'm thoroughly convinced the Devil Rays will prevail...jumped in quickly to get that on the record. Prediction, World Series MVP...Evan Longoria.
The Breeder's Cup is coming up this weekend from Santa Anita, I will fill your heads with great investments. I'm sure every one's other investments are going so well you won't need these...but hey...
Two hard frosts in a row...looking for invites to southern climes; don't drink, do dishes, will babysit and take out the garbage. Other duties negotiable. I will be road-tripping to Florida with old buddy Bobby...soon enough to take some of the edge of autumn off the pumpkin.
Knee has come around gamely, all the best from central Connecticut, later biff
Did anyone else out there notice that Derek Jeter hung up his cleats with three games to go...and his batting average sitting right on .300? Just a thought.
I'm thoroughly convinced the Devil Rays will prevail...jumped in quickly to get that on the record. Prediction, World Series MVP...Evan Longoria.
The Breeder's Cup is coming up this weekend from Santa Anita, I will fill your heads with great investments. I'm sure every one's other investments are going so well you won't need these...but hey...
Two hard frosts in a row...looking for invites to southern climes; don't drink, do dishes, will babysit and take out the garbage. Other duties negotiable. I will be road-tripping to Florida with old buddy Bobby...soon enough to take some of the edge of autumn off the pumpkin.
Knee has come around gamely, all the best from central Connecticut, later biff
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Boston justice & hypocrisy...Joba juiced...
You have to love Boston justice. With the Sox being pounded 7-0 the other night, a rather rotund Boston fan in the first row down the first base line decided to remove his shirt and lead some sort of rally cheer in the almost quiet Fenway Park. This is not an uncommon sight in sports all over the country. Okay, some back-bay-bitch called security and the goon squad descended upon him quickly and made him put his shirt back on. They gave him the ejection threat and were back to watching for other improprieties. Shortly after that the Sox famous (ugh!) comeback started. The fan, Nick Melanson, said frig' it, and stripped the shirt off, went into a horrendous dance routine, and warily eyed the security guys. Their response, "Forget it dude, it's working." After the game the phone-whiner has her photograph taken with the XL cheerleader. Bean town hypocrisy at its finest.
While on Boston sports (way too much of that lately), we had another case of "which body part is hurt." We all remember the story about Manny not knowing which knee he needed to have an MRI on during his revolt to leave town. Now the Celtics point guard Rajon Rondo sprains his ankle in a pre-season game, and the obvious question is asked, "Is it the same one you sprained against the Lakers during the playoffs last year?" No chicanery here...he honestly didn't know.
It's one of the biggest nights in Tampa Bay sports history tonight. Not only is the seventh game of the ALCS going on, but one of the worst Sunday night Football games in history will be taking place also; Buccaneers hosting Seattle. No problem, the two venues are twenty-five miles apart...and separated by, what else, Tampa Bay.
Kelly Pavlik was schooled by old man Bernard Hopkins last night. I love it when the old dudes (except Roger Clemens) manhandle much younger opponents.
Joba Cahmberlain was arrested for speeding, DUI and open container last night. Let's see how the rabid NY press treats this incident. I have an inkling that they'll be preaching the "slap on the wrist" philosophy for the young, hard throwing almost matinee-idol Yankee. I'm sure if it had been Jose Reyes or ARod the reportage would be much different. The tabloids missed a shot of one of the all-time back page headlines, JOBA JUICED.
Tonight's dinner includes the tail end of the constant gardener's (Karen) tomatoes and arugula. But that's nothing compared to the fact the lime juice was provided buy one of our own indoor/outdoor trees. Connecticut is not known for citrus tree production. Besides the lime tree, we have an orange, lemon and banana to go with it. In the winter we walk them like a dog on sunny days. This year she's going to try and winter over a banana tree outside. After the first heavy frost she's going to chop it to ground level, and then cover it heavily with mulch. I suggested a layer of plastic or newspaper... a stern no was shot my way. Hey, couldn't we use recycled plastic bags?
Bret Farve, rather clumsily, just led the Jets to an overtime defeat by the lowly Oakland Raiders. It's funny, his drug past (he confused percocet with M & M's for a few years) never seems to come up when they're (endlessly) taking about his consecutive game streak. Some guys have all the luck...
The Devil Rays should win. If they don't the Red Sox will be well ensconced as the grittiest team of the century already. Horrid thought.
Christmas crap is out in the stores! Did I miss Halloween and Thanksgiving?
Coiln Powell, my man...later, biff
While on Boston sports (way too much of that lately), we had another case of "which body part is hurt." We all remember the story about Manny not knowing which knee he needed to have an MRI on during his revolt to leave town. Now the Celtics point guard Rajon Rondo sprains his ankle in a pre-season game, and the obvious question is asked, "Is it the same one you sprained against the Lakers during the playoffs last year?" No chicanery here...he honestly didn't know.
It's one of the biggest nights in Tampa Bay sports history tonight. Not only is the seventh game of the ALCS going on, but one of the worst Sunday night Football games in history will be taking place also; Buccaneers hosting Seattle. No problem, the two venues are twenty-five miles apart...and separated by, what else, Tampa Bay.
Kelly Pavlik was schooled by old man Bernard Hopkins last night. I love it when the old dudes (except Roger Clemens) manhandle much younger opponents.
Joba Cahmberlain was arrested for speeding, DUI and open container last night. Let's see how the rabid NY press treats this incident. I have an inkling that they'll be preaching the "slap on the wrist" philosophy for the young, hard throwing almost matinee-idol Yankee. I'm sure if it had been Jose Reyes or ARod the reportage would be much different. The tabloids missed a shot of one of the all-time back page headlines, JOBA JUICED.
Tonight's dinner includes the tail end of the constant gardener's (Karen) tomatoes and arugula. But that's nothing compared to the fact the lime juice was provided buy one of our own indoor/outdoor trees. Connecticut is not known for citrus tree production. Besides the lime tree, we have an orange, lemon and banana to go with it. In the winter we walk them like a dog on sunny days. This year she's going to try and winter over a banana tree outside. After the first heavy frost she's going to chop it to ground level, and then cover it heavily with mulch. I suggested a layer of plastic or newspaper... a stern no was shot my way. Hey, couldn't we use recycled plastic bags?
Bret Farve, rather clumsily, just led the Jets to an overtime defeat by the lowly Oakland Raiders. It's funny, his drug past (he confused percocet with M & M's for a few years) never seems to come up when they're (endlessly) taking about his consecutive game streak. Some guys have all the luck...
The Devil Rays should win. If they don't the Red Sox will be well ensconced as the grittiest team of the century already. Horrid thought.
Christmas crap is out in the stores! Did I miss Halloween and Thanksgiving?
Coiln Powell, my man...later, biff
Friday, October 17, 2008
TV, McCain and pizza
Here are some things I've learned from television lately. Tough to admit, but my guilty pleasures are immeasurable.
Okay, I'm not too familiar with the Mixed Martial Arts craze, but why aren't these guys fighting on pavement without gloves, knee pads and mouth pieces. Don't they teach you these martial arts so you can fight...anyplace you get jumped? I realize this stuff is replacing boxing, but that's only because boxing isn't violent enough. Man, our culture is really making great strides, no?
Ben Affleck offered an interesting view of MaCain's "defense" of Obama when he was accused of being an Arab. While being a panel member on the Bill Maher show he pointed out that saying "Obama is not an Arab, he's really a good guy", doesn't have any meaning at all. I mean you could say, "Biff isn't Irish, he's just an asshole." One really has nothing to do with the other. A lot of my republican friends were quick to point out this "gracious" gesture by Palin's running mate.
It's really easy to tell when my wife is displeased...William becomes my name.
I've been reading a great book by Simon Braatz, a professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in NYC. For the Thrill of it All is the latest in a small list of accounts of the Leopld & Loeb murder of 1924, and early "crime of the century". I have times when I just can't get enough of well written true crime stories. One of the more interesting aspects of the tale is that the perps never denied the crime. All parties are from wealthy, high-society Chicago and the families hire Clarence Darrow to save their children from the gallows. Period pieces have always entertained me (The Bridge Over the River Kwai is my favorite movie), and this one is particularly loaded with specifics of the time. It's really a good read, chilling with psychosis.
Finally, Robert Wuhl, while beseeching everyone to stop worshipping the founding fathers (hey, they were good guys, had good intentions, but if we were following the original template; slavery, women as second class citizens, etc, where would we be?) had a really good point. The FIRST sentence of the Constitution has a serious grammatical error. You can't have a "more perfect" anything. It's either perfect or it isn't.
My next point isn't a direct TV observation for me, but the tube has sort of helped. We have heard a lot of talk about John McCain's time in a Vietnamese prison during that conflict. There are a couple of troubling ideas that emanate from that situation for me. I admit fully to avoiding participation conflict, but I do respect McCain for his strength to survive his horrid experience. But, I'm leery of those who think that his incarceration qualifies him for the job of President. In a real sort of way, couldn't that experience have handicapped his ability to run the country? My brother is quick to remind me that he was never treated for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I have no idea if that's true, but I haven't heard anything to convince it's not true. Of course he also tells me "W" never completed a twelve step program. My self, a Wild Turkey to cold turkey guy, I don't know if AA is a foolproof remedy for alcoholism.
Looks like Karen is going with the Big Papi (#34) tee-shirt tonight for the Red Sox/Devil Rays game. Me, I'm going for Pizza...at one of the greatest pizza joints of all time, Frank Pepe's Napoletana (1934) in New Haven. It's located almost in the heart (at the least the thoracic region) of Pizza Alley, which stretches from the Village in NYC to the North End in Boston. It doesn't stray too far from I-95 along that route. Anything west of the Hudson is Wonder Bread and pasta sauce. Please don't talk to me about Chicago deep dish or California designer crap...it just ain't apizza. My usual whole clam white will be replaced by a mushroom, garlic & onion delight tonight. Check out their website sometime.
Okay, have a good night, May the Devil be wth the Rays...will know about Beckett early, bunt and run, later , biff
Okay, I'm not too familiar with the Mixed Martial Arts craze, but why aren't these guys fighting on pavement without gloves, knee pads and mouth pieces. Don't they teach you these martial arts so you can fight...anyplace you get jumped? I realize this stuff is replacing boxing, but that's only because boxing isn't violent enough. Man, our culture is really making great strides, no?
Ben Affleck offered an interesting view of MaCain's "defense" of Obama when he was accused of being an Arab. While being a panel member on the Bill Maher show he pointed out that saying "Obama is not an Arab, he's really a good guy", doesn't have any meaning at all. I mean you could say, "Biff isn't Irish, he's just an asshole." One really has nothing to do with the other. A lot of my republican friends were quick to point out this "gracious" gesture by Palin's running mate.
It's really easy to tell when my wife is displeased...William becomes my name.
I've been reading a great book by Simon Braatz, a professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in NYC. For the Thrill of it All is the latest in a small list of accounts of the Leopld & Loeb murder of 1924, and early "crime of the century". I have times when I just can't get enough of well written true crime stories. One of the more interesting aspects of the tale is that the perps never denied the crime. All parties are from wealthy, high-society Chicago and the families hire Clarence Darrow to save their children from the gallows. Period pieces have always entertained me (The Bridge Over the River Kwai is my favorite movie), and this one is particularly loaded with specifics of the time. It's really a good read, chilling with psychosis.
Finally, Robert Wuhl, while beseeching everyone to stop worshipping the founding fathers (hey, they were good guys, had good intentions, but if we were following the original template; slavery, women as second class citizens, etc, where would we be?) had a really good point. The FIRST sentence of the Constitution has a serious grammatical error. You can't have a "more perfect" anything. It's either perfect or it isn't.
My next point isn't a direct TV observation for me, but the tube has sort of helped. We have heard a lot of talk about John McCain's time in a Vietnamese prison during that conflict. There are a couple of troubling ideas that emanate from that situation for me. I admit fully to avoiding participation conflict, but I do respect McCain for his strength to survive his horrid experience. But, I'm leery of those who think that his incarceration qualifies him for the job of President. In a real sort of way, couldn't that experience have handicapped his ability to run the country? My brother is quick to remind me that he was never treated for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I have no idea if that's true, but I haven't heard anything to convince it's not true. Of course he also tells me "W" never completed a twelve step program. My self, a Wild Turkey to cold turkey guy, I don't know if AA is a foolproof remedy for alcoholism.
Looks like Karen is going with the Big Papi (#34) tee-shirt tonight for the Red Sox/Devil Rays game. Me, I'm going for Pizza...at one of the greatest pizza joints of all time, Frank Pepe's Napoletana (1934) in New Haven. It's located almost in the heart (at the least the thoracic region) of Pizza Alley, which stretches from the Village in NYC to the North End in Boston. It doesn't stray too far from I-95 along that route. Anything west of the Hudson is Wonder Bread and pasta sauce. Please don't talk to me about Chicago deep dish or California designer crap...it just ain't apizza. My usual whole clam white will be replaced by a mushroom, garlic & onion delight tonight. Check out their website sometime.
Okay, have a good night, May the Devil be wth the Rays...will know about Beckett early, bunt and run, later , biff
Beckett, see if he's hurt...bunt...Bonds
Before I get to last night, a quick note to Joe Madden; your guys can all run like Senator McCain from an issue...drop a few bunts, and if Beckett is hurt, we all know fielding bunts and making those twisting, quick movements can really exacerbate any injury; and then maybe you get into his head a little bit.
Last night's game, and I am truly loathe to admit it, was one of the best comebacks I have ever seen in a playoff, or any other game for that matter. The fact it was an elimination, go for broke situation, well we know the story. It was about mid-nite, and I had an early call for the doctor in the morning. Pedroia was my "last" batter. He's out, I hit the sack. Of course after that little prick (no I would not say it to his face; it would be strictly "Yes sir, no sir") gets a hit and then my next "last" batter, no home runs in his last sixty-one at-bats Big Papi (it hurts, really, to type that) smacks one like a Mickelson drive, but straighter. Now there's no more "last" batters, I'm there to the finish. It wasn't pretty, but it was beautiful. I love baseball, and sometimes you just have to give the team, no, the god damned Red Sox and their fans, credit. Hey I was right, Kazmir was out of there after six, but he had a seven run lead! Unfairly, malingerer J. D. Drew miraculously reverted to his FSU form for and, the bean-eaters won. Speaking of Drew, has there ever been a guy who they stick with for so long to get such brief moments of brilliance? I hope Stephen King didn't miss it because he was reading a book. If I see that shot one more time...well, I know where he lives in Maine...shit he does all sorts of good stuff for little league in his state. While I was living up there he did do the area a tremendous solid. At the time you couldn't get the Red Sox on the radio unless you you had one stolen from NASA. So Mr. King buys a radio station and puts on the Sox and heavy metal, head banger dreck when they're not playing! I wonder if he reads at Metallica concerts? There was one saving grace last night, Karen had given up and gone to bed! She didn't believe me when I told the Sox won this AM, and invectives inherited from her very cultured mother were spewing from her articulately when I left for the orthopedist.
The orthopedist said I'll have no problem umpiring when baseball season starts next spring. Hopefully he'll forward that message to the school districts around here. Actually, the school games are a breeze...it's the summer league action that gets a bit testy. For those games at least one umpire has to have a cell phone on his person for any needed 911 calls. Parents living vicariously through their kids is a growing malady. I haven't experienced a seriously bad situation, but last year was my first season and I only did about fifty games.
How about the world's most famous plumber being a fraud? He has a list of out standings longer than Free Bird (Frampton Comes Alive version) and the guy lies to Obama; McCain makes him a hero and it turns out the Obama plan would have helped his ass! By the way I have already voted...I will be out of town 11/4.
Thank you, I just got an eight per cent raise (SS) from "W", can't wait to see the movie either.
Hey, does anyone out there listen to Rush Limbaugh? I was wondering how he beat that oxycontin rap? I remember he had his maid copping for him, he Dr. shopped and wasn't he snagged coming back from the Dominican Republic with a jar of Viagra with somebody else's name on it? Could you imagine how many women (unfortunately, probably poor working girls) he could crush to death if the dreaded "...lasts for more than four hours" issue came into play? I guess this was all alleged. All right, I never said the was PG.
Hey, you guys at Tulane, bring me an oyster po' boy when you come home for Christmas.
This just in, where I am anyway; the Major League Players Association allegedly has a memorandum that demonstrates there was collusion in the possible signing of Barry Bonds this season. This underlines the utter stupidity of baseball ownership at the moment. Years ago baseball was virtually an owner/slave arrangement. Then, with the advent of free agency (i.e. see Curt Flood, Andy Messersmith, et al) the worm turned. Now the players have the joy-stick, and they're about seventy-five years away from getting even. No matter how much you detest Barry Bonds...somebody, especially an AL team, could have used him this year for the pennant run or the post-season. Wouldn't the Devil Rays like him on the bench right now? Or at DH? He wasn't looking for a pant load of jack, he just wanted to play some more and pad that HR stat...ARod is hard at his heels on that number, and with the recently acquired Madonna and her stash of Kabalah bracelets, the sky could be the limit. Myself, even with my marriage heavily influenced by Karen's identification of Barry as Bobby's son his rookie year, I feel he should just have gone away (unless the Indians could have used for a playoff drive, alas...). But by law he didn't have to. I'd enjoy nothing more than to see MLB take one up the butt for an illegal embargo on Bonds, Barry Bonds. I could see this headline in an 1850's tabloid: PLANTATION OWNERS SUED FOR LABOR VIOLATIONS.
For a certain Missouri fan out there, may the Tigers roar in Austin.
Thank you for flying biff airlines...later
Last night's game, and I am truly loathe to admit it, was one of the best comebacks I have ever seen in a playoff, or any other game for that matter. The fact it was an elimination, go for broke situation, well we know the story. It was about mid-nite, and I had an early call for the doctor in the morning. Pedroia was my "last" batter. He's out, I hit the sack. Of course after that little prick (no I would not say it to his face; it would be strictly "Yes sir, no sir") gets a hit and then my next "last" batter, no home runs in his last sixty-one at-bats Big Papi (it hurts, really, to type that) smacks one like a Mickelson drive, but straighter. Now there's no more "last" batters, I'm there to the finish. It wasn't pretty, but it was beautiful. I love baseball, and sometimes you just have to give the team, no, the god damned Red Sox and their fans, credit. Hey I was right, Kazmir was out of there after six, but he had a seven run lead! Unfairly, malingerer J. D. Drew miraculously reverted to his FSU form for and, the bean-eaters won. Speaking of Drew, has there ever been a guy who they stick with for so long to get such brief moments of brilliance? I hope Stephen King didn't miss it because he was reading a book. If I see that shot one more time...well, I know where he lives in Maine...shit he does all sorts of good stuff for little league in his state. While I was living up there he did do the area a tremendous solid. At the time you couldn't get the Red Sox on the radio unless you you had one stolen from NASA. So Mr. King buys a radio station and puts on the Sox and heavy metal, head banger dreck when they're not playing! I wonder if he reads at Metallica concerts? There was one saving grace last night, Karen had given up and gone to bed! She didn't believe me when I told the Sox won this AM, and invectives inherited from her very cultured mother were spewing from her articulately when I left for the orthopedist.
The orthopedist said I'll have no problem umpiring when baseball season starts next spring. Hopefully he'll forward that message to the school districts around here. Actually, the school games are a breeze...it's the summer league action that gets a bit testy. For those games at least one umpire has to have a cell phone on his person for any needed 911 calls. Parents living vicariously through their kids is a growing malady. I haven't experienced a seriously bad situation, but last year was my first season and I only did about fifty games.
How about the world's most famous plumber being a fraud? He has a list of out standings longer than Free Bird (Frampton Comes Alive version) and the guy lies to Obama; McCain makes him a hero and it turns out the Obama plan would have helped his ass! By the way I have already voted...I will be out of town 11/4.
Thank you, I just got an eight per cent raise (SS) from "W", can't wait to see the movie either.
Hey, does anyone out there listen to Rush Limbaugh? I was wondering how he beat that oxycontin rap? I remember he had his maid copping for him, he Dr. shopped and wasn't he snagged coming back from the Dominican Republic with a jar of Viagra with somebody else's name on it? Could you imagine how many women (unfortunately, probably poor working girls) he could crush to death if the dreaded "...lasts for more than four hours" issue came into play? I guess this was all alleged. All right, I never said the was PG.
Hey, you guys at Tulane, bring me an oyster po' boy when you come home for Christmas.
This just in, where I am anyway; the Major League Players Association allegedly has a memorandum that demonstrates there was collusion in the possible signing of Barry Bonds this season. This underlines the utter stupidity of baseball ownership at the moment. Years ago baseball was virtually an owner/slave arrangement. Then, with the advent of free agency (i.e. see Curt Flood, Andy Messersmith, et al) the worm turned. Now the players have the joy-stick, and they're about seventy-five years away from getting even. No matter how much you detest Barry Bonds...somebody, especially an AL team, could have used him this year for the pennant run or the post-season. Wouldn't the Devil Rays like him on the bench right now? Or at DH? He wasn't looking for a pant load of jack, he just wanted to play some more and pad that HR stat...ARod is hard at his heels on that number, and with the recently acquired Madonna and her stash of Kabalah bracelets, the sky could be the limit. Myself, even with my marriage heavily influenced by Karen's identification of Barry as Bobby's son his rookie year, I feel he should just have gone away (unless the Indians could have used for a playoff drive, alas...). But by law he didn't have to. I'd enjoy nothing more than to see MLB take one up the butt for an illegal embargo on Bonds, Barry Bonds. I could see this headline in an 1850's tabloid: PLANTATION OWNERS SUED FOR LABOR VIOLATIONS.
For a certain Missouri fan out there, may the Tigers roar in Austin.
Thank you for flying biff airlines...later
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Racism in New England
You know, New England, the home of American intelligentsia, tolerance and , well just good old superiority. I've lived here on and off since the forties. I've also lived in Florida and New Mexico for decent amounts of time, and travelled extensively in the lower forty-eight (I used to want complete my states list in Alaska, but I'm afraid to now) and Hawaii. I can say with impunity that New England is as racist as any place I have ever been. Karen went to fill up the car yesterday and saw a car with these two bumper stickers: NOBAMA, and a hand made one that read BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA TERRORIST. Did anyone ever stopped to think that Obama is half white? It's friggin' 2008 and the USA is still shackled to eighteenth century thinking. McCain tried to work that angle throughout last night's debate (hah!)...I thought he was close to crossing the line more than once. The land of the free, right?
Luckily my introduction to black people came at an early age. I had a gigantic black Nanny in Panama, Marina, and she hugged more than anyone else until, well I don't know when. At two people are people. I was also lucky to grow up in a family that for the times was very liberal...though they did vote Republican once in awhile. My step-father owned a gas station in uber-wealthy Greenwich, CT when I passing into puberty. In those days, the late fifties, you could work when you wanted to...despite child labor laws. I started my career in a professional church choir...five bucks a week in '54 was giant bucks for a kid. And, best of all it turned me off to religion for life. Then I caddied at the blue-blood country clubs in town. The highlight of that was falling in love with my bag (player) in a girl's national under eighteen tournament at the Greenwich Country Club. She had an asshole for a Dad, who called her every move. If he had let her play, who knows. When he paid me without a thank you I felt like a booger being flicked off a fingernail.
Then the time to work in the old man's gas station presented itself...a buck an hour, tax free, some of my friend's Dad's weren't making that kind of money. Although some were making millions, even then. But the benefit of working, the most important of all, didn't take hold until some time when I was in college. The reason, the pump jockeys (no self service then) I worked with were two black men from the south, who had moved north for opportunity. They were probably the two most visible black men (colored then) in town. Of course they didn't live there. But my step-father didn't have a second thought of hiring them. Their names were out of central casting, Jimi Pinnix and Otto Phillips. They taught me the moves for kissing ass on our self-important customers. It was a race against time then. You stuck the filler hose in the tank and then proceeded to wash the windshield, check the oil, water, battery and sometimes even the air pressure in the tires. Washing the windshield gained in prominence as the skirts of the late fifties started rising in the early sixties. I was too stupid not to make small talk with any good looking young girl driving Daddy's Caddie, I honed my mid-minor league flirting skills with girls while wiping their windshields, praying for a glimpse of leg before I had to check their tires. Hey, I even thought they liked me when they'd give me a quarter for the service. I couldn't have asked for a cooler job at the time. I wore a pressed uniform with a Texaco Star on it, can you beat that?
Can you believe we had a locker room? We all wore street clothes to work and went up to put on our uniforms, and slick our hair in place. Otto had a process, and wore a "dew rag" in every morning...part of a knotted woman's stocking, and placed over the straightened, pomaded hair style that looked like a shiny black birthday cake. Jimi sported the close cropped look, and I felt like the most special kid on the planet when they shot-the-shit with me before we hit the tarmac. The room resonated with James Brown, Bobby "Blue" Bland or the Temptations while we performed our morning ablutions. They manged to complete the change wile dancing around the room and singing exactly as the performer on the radio was. Slick as shit, we opened the place up before the mechanics and the manger got there; stacking quarts of oil in silvery pyramids, putting out the windshield wiping rags and filling the buckets of water for the thirsty radiators. I was a professional. Yes sir, "You Could Trust Your Car to the Man who Wore the Star", Texaco' slogan of the era. Sure I knew they were "coloreds", but more important, they were my co-workers..and they were teaching me to dance. (They also were teaching me to drink, but that's for another time.) They also talked about reefer, but that they never offered.Those guys were really special to me, the first people to treat me like a man, albeit, maybe a tad early.
So the enduring story of the time was the "whisk broom". My step-Dad, in the never ending battle to give MORE SERVICE, land on what he thought was the genius plan of all time for the summer. With a fill-up, along with the aforementioned services we were to whisk broom the beach sand out of each and every car. It was a bit much. Cars would be waiting while all they could see were green clad Khaki legs sticking out of the cars in front them, whisking the precious Greenwich beach sand onto the ground. It was evident this added feature was slowing down business rather than improving the bottom line. Otto and Jimi badgered me to approach my old man to have the sweeping jettisoned from or duties. Dad, being a reasonable man, said fine. "We'll drop it tomorrow."
It didn't cause many problems, we had a loyal clientele and a good location...but we did have one little snag. You see, Otto had some serious hearing loss from the war. He didn't talk too much to the customers so it wasn't generally a problem. Until a little old lady, typical over-bred, liver-lipped stockbrokers wife who asked "Where's the restroom?" I was at the next pump and heard Otto reply, thinking she had said whisk broom instead of restroom, reply, "Sorry mam, but if you pull over to the air pump, I'd be more than happy to blow it out for you."
She went all fourth of July fireworks on him, and I think she asked to speak to the president of Texaco. My old man cleared it up with tank of gas and an extra book of green stamps.
Leaving those guys to go to college was tough. They would smile from ear-to-ear when I came home for a holiday. They had gone from co-workers to friends. On those rare trips home we'd celebrate with Imperial and orange soda. I have to thank my Dad for one of the most important life lessons one can get.
You know, whomever you're voting for (especially if you're from New England) skin color issues were supposed to have gone away a long, long time ago.
So, on that note I hope the Red Sox get their asses kicked tonight, though if my wallet was involved...let's just say Kazmir will be gone by the sixth.
Great article by an Inuit (Nick Jans) in Salon on the Bering Sea Bimbo (Palin). He totally elucidates here shortcomings and tells us that you can only see Russia from a small island she's never stepped foot on.
Later, biff
Luckily my introduction to black people came at an early age. I had a gigantic black Nanny in Panama, Marina, and she hugged more than anyone else until, well I don't know when. At two people are people. I was also lucky to grow up in a family that for the times was very liberal...though they did vote Republican once in awhile. My step-father owned a gas station in uber-wealthy Greenwich, CT when I passing into puberty. In those days, the late fifties, you could work when you wanted to...despite child labor laws. I started my career in a professional church choir...five bucks a week in '54 was giant bucks for a kid. And, best of all it turned me off to religion for life. Then I caddied at the blue-blood country clubs in town. The highlight of that was falling in love with my bag (player) in a girl's national under eighteen tournament at the Greenwich Country Club. She had an asshole for a Dad, who called her every move. If he had let her play, who knows. When he paid me without a thank you I felt like a booger being flicked off a fingernail.
Then the time to work in the old man's gas station presented itself...a buck an hour, tax free, some of my friend's Dad's weren't making that kind of money. Although some were making millions, even then. But the benefit of working, the most important of all, didn't take hold until some time when I was in college. The reason, the pump jockeys (no self service then) I worked with were two black men from the south, who had moved north for opportunity. They were probably the two most visible black men (colored then) in town. Of course they didn't live there. But my step-father didn't have a second thought of hiring them. Their names were out of central casting, Jimi Pinnix and Otto Phillips. They taught me the moves for kissing ass on our self-important customers. It was a race against time then. You stuck the filler hose in the tank and then proceeded to wash the windshield, check the oil, water, battery and sometimes even the air pressure in the tires. Washing the windshield gained in prominence as the skirts of the late fifties started rising in the early sixties. I was too stupid not to make small talk with any good looking young girl driving Daddy's Caddie, I honed my mid-minor league flirting skills with girls while wiping their windshields, praying for a glimpse of leg before I had to check their tires. Hey, I even thought they liked me when they'd give me a quarter for the service. I couldn't have asked for a cooler job at the time. I wore a pressed uniform with a Texaco Star on it, can you beat that?
Can you believe we had a locker room? We all wore street clothes to work and went up to put on our uniforms, and slick our hair in place. Otto had a process, and wore a "dew rag" in every morning...part of a knotted woman's stocking, and placed over the straightened, pomaded hair style that looked like a shiny black birthday cake. Jimi sported the close cropped look, and I felt like the most special kid on the planet when they shot-the-shit with me before we hit the tarmac. The room resonated with James Brown, Bobby "Blue" Bland or the Temptations while we performed our morning ablutions. They manged to complete the change wile dancing around the room and singing exactly as the performer on the radio was. Slick as shit, we opened the place up before the mechanics and the manger got there; stacking quarts of oil in silvery pyramids, putting out the windshield wiping rags and filling the buckets of water for the thirsty radiators. I was a professional. Yes sir, "You Could Trust Your Car to the Man who Wore the Star", Texaco' slogan of the era. Sure I knew they were "coloreds", but more important, they were my co-workers..and they were teaching me to dance. (They also were teaching me to drink, but that's for another time.) They also talked about reefer, but that they never offered.Those guys were really special to me, the first people to treat me like a man, albeit, maybe a tad early.
So the enduring story of the time was the "whisk broom". My step-Dad, in the never ending battle to give MORE SERVICE, land on what he thought was the genius plan of all time for the summer. With a fill-up, along with the aforementioned services we were to whisk broom the beach sand out of each and every car. It was a bit much. Cars would be waiting while all they could see were green clad Khaki legs sticking out of the cars in front them, whisking the precious Greenwich beach sand onto the ground. It was evident this added feature was slowing down business rather than improving the bottom line. Otto and Jimi badgered me to approach my old man to have the sweeping jettisoned from or duties. Dad, being a reasonable man, said fine. "We'll drop it tomorrow."
It didn't cause many problems, we had a loyal clientele and a good location...but we did have one little snag. You see, Otto had some serious hearing loss from the war. He didn't talk too much to the customers so it wasn't generally a problem. Until a little old lady, typical over-bred, liver-lipped stockbrokers wife who asked "Where's the restroom?" I was at the next pump and heard Otto reply, thinking she had said whisk broom instead of restroom, reply, "Sorry mam, but if you pull over to the air pump, I'd be more than happy to blow it out for you."
She went all fourth of July fireworks on him, and I think she asked to speak to the president of Texaco. My old man cleared it up with tank of gas and an extra book of green stamps.
Leaving those guys to go to college was tough. They would smile from ear-to-ear when I came home for a holiday. They had gone from co-workers to friends. On those rare trips home we'd celebrate with Imperial and orange soda. I have to thank my Dad for one of the most important life lessons one can get.
You know, whomever you're voting for (especially if you're from New England) skin color issues were supposed to have gone away a long, long time ago.
So, on that note I hope the Red Sox get their asses kicked tonight, though if my wallet was involved...let's just say Kazmir will be gone by the sixth.
Great article by an Inuit (Nick Jans) in Salon on the Bering Sea Bimbo (Palin). He totally elucidates here shortcomings and tells us that you can only see Russia from a small island she's never stepped foot on.
Later, biff
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