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Failer

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What I lack in style, I make up for in vanity. Which explains why, if you encounter me, I may well be attired in some unreasonably priced article of clothing.
I visited a Target store last Sunday which is for me, unlike the rest of human civilization, an unlikely event. I walked around the men's clothing section and saw modestly priced pants and shirts which I could certainly use to supplement my wardrobe-- I nearly made a purchase. But the reason I don't like to buy clothes at a place like Target is because once I get them home and put them on, I'll look at myself and wonder, "Don't I have anything better than this to wear?"

Tomorrow Bob Uecker will be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Uecker once issued a "Play me or trade me" ultimatum to team management, which must have been a shock coming from one of the worst players to put on a Major League uniform. He also enjoys the notoriety of starring in one of the worst sitcoms ever to air on television. Congratulations! Failure is its own reward, I always say.

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Electric Circus

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I don't believe that I have ever seen a man make as many facial contortions during the course of a press conference as one accused Kobe Bean Bryant did yesterday. It was as if he smelled something awful, then suddenly tasted something sour, then pondered some incomprehensible mystery, then hummed a tune, then smelled something awful again and just couldn't get that sour taste out of his mouth.

Doo doo doodoo doodoo doo doo doo doo...
What's that? Could it be the Kobe Bryant trial media circus pulling into town?

Let's see how many Tv legal experts can fit into a Vw beetle!

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Sunken Treasure

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I have decided that I want a boat.
I went jogging yesterday and discovered, rather to my surprise, that I am not completely out of shape. I run the clay track that winds through Palmer Park, the total distance of which I can only guess at, but I figure it's about a mile, more or less. Whatever the distance, I completed it and felt pretty good and suddenly ambitious, so I kept running. The clay always feels a little softer after a rain, and I love the "track crunchcrunch" sound the rhythm of my steps makes. In spite of inhaling a mosquito along the way, I completed a second tour without interruption. Even my legs, which are usually aching after the first half mile, held up for the entire distance. But, when I turned off the track and onto the pavement, my legs took on the physical quality of a gelatin dessert, causing my steps to be unstable. "Whoa, steady." I urged them, "Raise the mast! Or some other such nautical expression. Mark Twain!"

It was at this moment that I found myself enchanted with the idea of sailing. Maybe the practice of it wouldn't really interest me at all, but the idea... The skill of the sailor, the grace of the sail as it catches the wind, the romanticism of the open sea or lake or any body of water not contained within concrete walls. A little quiet, a little blue, a little wind. A little sailboat just a little ways out from the harbor... It seems like a nice idea.

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The Fire Next Time

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Initially, I was intrigued by the idea of a Carson Daly roast, but I must have misunderstood the concept of a roast. I was expecting something more along the lines of a burning at the stake. Oh, well.

I really don't have anything to say, I just thought I would fill some empty space with text, create more empty space around it, and section it off with a horizontal rule.

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The Name of the Rose

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What do you do with the scraps of soap that are left after the bar is no longer sufficiently robust to clean effectively? I found myself this morning with elongated wafers of three Yardley soaps: Oatmeal & Almond, Cucumber & Aloe and English Lavender, each of which I had used until they were translucent discs. The English Lavender, which has so potent a scent that when I wash my face with it at night, I can smell my own face, was itself only employed as a last resort; and I was left with no other recourse but to, by the sheer force of my bare hands, combine these three scraps into a single soapy mass-- the most powerful bar of soap imaginable!

Later I noticed a promo for Monday's NBC Nightly News that Brian Williams will have an exclusive! interview with former President Gerald Ford. It made me wonder: is there a generation for whom the Presidency of Gerald Ford was a defining moment? I mean, without hitching his wagon of destiny to Nixon? If you were born in the 80's or late 70's, the Clinton Presidency is probably most ascendent in your consciousness. Or perhaps if you were born in the 60's or early 70's the Reagan years define your generation. But what about Gerald Ford? Does he slip through the generational cracks? I wonder whether it was wierd to have a guy named Gerald as President. Don't they yank the line of succession out from under you with an equivocal name like that?

"Oh sorry, Gerald. That's a good name for a V.P. but it just won't do for Commander in Chief. We're swearing in Spiro in the morning."

But then, what's in a Presidential name, really? We've had a Rutherford, a Woodrow, a Chester and a Grover. Where did Grover Cleveland come from anyway? Was he the Muppet Governor of Ohio?

Debate Moderator:"Tell us Gov. Cleveland, why you think you are qualified to be President of the United States."

Muppet Governor: (R-OH): "What makes me qualified for the highest office in the land is that I am both cute and furry." (raucous applause)

Moderator: "Senator Byrd, do you have a rebuttal?"

Which reminds me, if you happen to see Terminator 3 this weekend or at anytime in the near future, turn to the person next to you, aquaintance or stranger, and say, "This guy wants to be Governor of California?"

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Firecracker

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Just imagine how much quieter the 4th of July would be without the Chinese.

I'm going to give you a much needed break from my political commentary, but check this interview of the author of the article Supremacy by Stealth in the Atlantic Monthly and tell me what you think about it.

I've been listening to The Mars Volta and I've watched I Am Trying to Break Your Heart. Wilco and The Mars Volta have something unique in common: they're both one of two quality off-shoots from other bands. When the band Uncle Tupelo broke up, two of its former members, Jeff Tweedy and Jay Farrar, formed Wilco and Son Volt, respectively. The band At the Drive-In split into Sparta and The Mars Volta. Can you think of any other examples when one act split-up to become two separate acts that could each hold their own?