Man, where did *that* come from?

No snow predicted for today, yet Son was able to have a hand in this:

Bunch of new shit over at my companion blog, Winless Watch. Go there now for instant narcolepsy. (Disclaimer: for fans of Indiana high school basketball only.)

Popeye: "I am what I am, so hand me that bad boy so I can beat Bluto's ass."

My newest pet peeve – out of hundreds, as it turns out – is the overuse of the phrase "bad boy." (Not in terms of dog ownership or parenting. It's perfectly acceptable to say, "Rex, why did you shit all over the floor? Bad boy!" Or "Son, if you're a bad boy, Santa Claus won't come to your house.")

Rather, my gripe is with the use of the phrase vis-à-vis inanimate objects. "OK, let's move that bad boy over here." (It's a cabinet.) Or, "Give me that bad boy; we're just about finished." (It's a screwdriver.)

I also hear it a lot in the use of Microsoft Office. "Copy that column … then go back over to your main spreadsheet … and paste that bad boy right there." (Ugh.)

Also getting under my skin: the overuse of the phrase "it is what it is." Is it? It is. What?

What else would it be, really? Christ, it'd better be what it is, because if it is not what it is, then I think we'd all be in an existential crisis of epic proportions.

(P.S. The "bad boy" in question in the header of this post is, of course, Popeye's can of spinach. Popeye truly was who he was. He wasn't James Garfield, and he wasn't Mamie Eisenhower.

(And, while we're on the subject - was it "Bluto" or "Brutus"?)

----------------
Now playing: Robert Pollard - Nicely Now
via FoxyTunes

Coast to Coast Silverfish Happiness

One of the common complaints about Robert Pollard's albums anymore is that if he slowed down a bit and didn't put out a new album every 43 hours, the overall product would be stronger. A lot of times, this reaction is upon the first handful of listens to a new album, and I'm guilty of feeling that way also. In fact, it took me up until this week to get into his previous album, Coast to Coast Carpet of Love, although the effort was well worth it in the end - I can now count it among one of his stronger post-GbV releases.

That said, what if we took his last two full-length solo efforts, as well as his Silverfish Trivia EP, and consolidated the best offerings from those albums into one considerably stronger record? Here's the track listing I came up with, with additional thoughts where applicable. We'll call this one Coast to Coast Silverfish Happiness.

(C2C = Coast to Coast Carpet of Love, ST = Silverfish Trivia, NH = Normal Happiness)

1. Our Gaze (C2C) – This one has a classic GbV "opener" feel to it. Reminds me a lot of "Submarine Teams" from Kid Marine.
2. Whispering Whip (NH)
3. Towers and Landslides (NH) – Top of the Pops!!!
4. Rud Fins (C2C) – If The Who did Pollard's "Pop Zeus," it would sound like this.
5. Circle Saw Boys Club (ST)
6. Customer's Throat (C2C) – Even if it weren't a great song, it would still be included solely for the line that sounds like, "I will take you home and nail you." (GBVDB.com says that it's "I will take you home an alien." Which is not as cool, but is.)
7. Slow Hamilton (C2C) – A "sneaky good" tune from Coast to Coast, this one has turned into almost my favorite from that album.
8. Penumbra (C2C)
9. Accidental Texas Who (NH) – The slot for "opener" came down to "Our Gaze" and this one. I had a hard time slotting this one anywhere else – it doesn't really "fit" anywhere but as an album opener, really! - but settled for it as the opener for the second side.
10. Count Us In (C2C)
11. Supernatural Car Lover (NH)
12. Pegasus Glue Factory (NH)
13. I Clap For Strangers (C2C)
14. Rhoda Rhoda (NH)
15. Cats Love A Parade (ST)
16. Nicely Now (C2C)

Just missed the cut – would have made the "Supernatural Car Lover" single: Youth Leagues, Tomorrow Will Not Be Another Day, Full Sun (Dig the Slowness)

This is a first draft. I'm going to test-drive the playlist and see how it works out.

Update: It's crap!

Nawwww, I'm kidding. But not really. It's really not bad up till "Accidental," which really only fits as an opener, I think. From that point, though, it plays like a bad mix tape. "Cats Love A Parade"? What was I thinking? Oh, wait, here's what I was thinking: "I'll put a 7 minute plodder with noise and shit on an otherwise perfectly crafted album for no damn good reason."

----------------
Now playing: Robert Pollard - Slow Hamilton
via FoxyTunes

So, my wife got a jury duty notice in the mail this week. And holy cow, was she pissed. I tried to be sympathetic, but I think I failed in that regard. I tried to use the "that's the price we pay for living in a free country instead of one where death squads roam the countryside to pass judgment without the benefit of a trial" argument, but its impact was lessened by the fact that that was essentially one of the same arguments used in the notice. And she hates authority, so that rendered my argument impotent.

Anyway, after her howls of protest about the meager jury duty pay, the sheer inconvenience that the assignment generates and the inherent unfairness of it all – after all, this is the fifth or sixth time she's been tapped for possible jury duty, which even I think is excessive - she dutifully completed the questionnaire that came with it and mailed it back in. (An aside: Did you know that potential jurors are now asked if they watch shows like "CSI," "Cold Case" and the like?) So, her name is in the jury duty pool for the next year. If she'd ignored the notice, or even forgotten to mail it in, she could have been nailed for contempt of court, fined and/or even imprisoned.

I bring this up not to give you a rare peek behind the curtain of my life, but to illustrate a point about something else entirely:

The violations that have cast a long shadow over Kelvin Sampson's soon-to-be-terminated tenure as Indiana University's head basketball coach are petty. The rule about limiting phone calls to recruits is a stupid, stupid, stupid rule, and any punishments that come about due to its violation are not unlike the rule itself: draconian and extreme.

But.

It's still a rule, one of the roughly 7.8 trillion or so included in the NCAA's rulebook. It's easy for a school or a coach to stumble every once in awhile because they don't know the rulebook backwards and forwards – but in this case, ignorance is no excuse for Sampson, seeing as how these are the same types of violations that followed him from Oklahoma. Seeing as how these are the same types of violations that Sampson lied about when introduced at the press conference announcing his hiring at Indiana in 2006, following the end of the Mike Davis Error.

Which is the part that slays me.

I'd be more willing to give Sampson the benefit of the doubt if this were a new allegation, although even the shadow of an accusation on the face of a historically clean program is a little bit troublesome. The fact that IU's administration brought Sampson on board in spite of the issues he'd had at Oklahoma, yet continue to be shocked and disappointed at his continued flouting of the rulebook, speaks volumes to their ignorance of the Snake Rule:

When you pick up a snake, try not to act surprised when it bites you.

----------------
Now playing: Robert Pollard - Cats Love A Parade
via FoxyTunes

From the "I Don't Give Two Shits If Roger Clemens Took Steroids - I Want To Know If He Took Steriods!" Department:

(Hey - which one would have worked better? The one I used or this alternate lead-in: "Steriod Abuse Up Among Nation's Dyslexic Athletes"?)

Unfortunately, unlike the screenshot in this early 2007 post that I photoshopped to illustrate a point, I had no hand in the faulty - nay, tragic - subject-verb construction found somewhere in the below screenshot from the same paper. Can you spot it?

It occurred to me watching a speech on TV the other night, after Romney dropped out of the race, that maybe I could support McCain. He seemed forceful and acted conservative instead of like the squish that he's revealed himself to be. Then I remembered that he was talking to one of the top conservative groups in the country and of course he's going to try to sound like Reagan. Ahhhhhhh, barnacles.

So, to recap the remaining Republican field:

McCain is a RINO, I could never support someone whose derogatory nickname is "Tax Hike Mike," and Ron Paul is batshit crazy.

And I'm a man without a party again.

Which is OK, because as I've detailed here several times in the past, I am still burned out on politics. McCain's speech to the CPAC folks almost lit a fire under me - and on paper, it looks great! - but ultimately, he's still a man who supports the wrong kind of solution on illegal immigration, and he's had a hand in curtailing free speech (being the "McCain" of the "McCain-Feingold Act"). And - right now - I can't get behind that - stellar pro-life, pro-2nd Amendment and pro-troop record notwithstanding. Once we get closer to Election Day and McCain's in the fight of his life against Obama or Lurleen, maybe I'll be able to cast aside my protests.

Update from the previous post:

We'll call it 0-for-2.5. We didn't get the 4-7 inches of winter precipitation that was forecast. We did get a smattering of ice. And yes, I went to work. And came home early.

We'll call this round a draw, Mother Nature.

Bitch.

I predict that somewhere in America, it's raining.

Dear National Weather Service,

I hereby wish to submit my resumé to your austere organization, with hopes of working one day in your Indianapolis office.

I think you'll find that my qualifications for employment are, in a word, impeccable. I have had an avid interest in the weather since I was a small boy, and have followed you closely as you've streamlined your operations, saving more people's lives than ever before while striving to increase your accuracy.

Some of my notable accomplishments in the field of meteorology include:

* Predicting with 75 percent accuracy at least 26 percent of southern Indiana's sunny days between 2004-2006;

* Forecasting the Great Tornado Outbreak of March 18, 2004, for the southeastern corner of the country (of course, the most severe weather that day was some chronic drizzle near Talladega, Alabama, but I digress);

* Remembering the names of at least 7 Atlantic hurricanes that have hit landfall since 1968 (and no, I'm not even including Katrina in that count because quite frankly, I think we're all pretty sick and fucking tired of hearing about Katrina);

* Forecasting within 6 months the latest-ever winter storm to hit the lower 48 states, the Blizzard of July 1998 (which, admittedly, didn't come to pass till December of 2004; I was clinging to an old obsolete forecast model that was a relic when Taft was president, but if nothing else, it shows I've got some initiative);

I am also in the process of writing a screenplay with the Captain for a big-budget disaster epic called "Humidity." It will grind your dick.

Please call me at your earliest convenience so I can further lay out my credentials for you and your staff. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
--Brandon G.
Director of Internet Blog Operations
Bee Circus Network

***

Twice so far this winter, we've gotten fucked by winter storms that were supposed to slam southern Indiana, yet tracked slightly to the north of us and left nothing more than some bitter winds and a barely-perceptible sheen of ice that was able to be smudged off my windshield with my thumb. Will we be 0-for-3 by this time tomorrow? Let's just say that I'm counting on going to work Tuesday.

And if they're right? Hell, even a blind dog finds the hole some days.

Which is why I'd fit right in with our friends at the National Weather Service.

You know it's the end of your career as a songwriter when all of the melodies in your head - the ones that you've got the awesome lyrics to - all kind of sound like The G*****ned Wiggles.