Funny was...

About that New Yorker cartoon from back in October of 2008...option C is the funniest. It didn't win among the readers of the mag, but that don't mean shit. And as far as funny goes...ain't nobody funnier than my two kids. How can a 21-month-old kid be so fucking funny? The kid splits all of our sides daily. Crazy.

There's No Title For This Post

Hey Blog,
How you been? Neglected, you say? Abandoned? It's all gonna be okay...

Funny is...

Year after year my in-class allusions (to literature, film, television Seinfeld) become increasingly unfamiliar to my audience students. I try to keep up with the times, with the fresh, but they need to meet me halfway. I soon might replace summer reading assignments with exercises in developing some common reference points.

Case in point: There's a caption contest on the back page of each issue of The New Yorker. The magazine prints a caption-less cartoon; readers submit captions. The mag prints the top three submissions...and the readers vote. Most winning captions are not very funny. A recent submission, however, made me laugh out loud. I found it so amusing, I wondered if others would (compared to the other two entries) find it the funniest. I wondered if my students would. They did not. So I'm asking you. Read the cartoon below, and then tell me which caption is the funniest.



a. "Come sweater season, you'll be back."

b. "You're the one who left your fertility drugs on the counter."

c. "Could you bring me back a goat?"

Fresh Baby

These days I am listening to three albums almost exclusively. These days...nothing else compares. I slide into these listening routines--abandoning variety (and a too-large catalogue) and embracing the recent and fresh. Sometimes, though, I retreat to the past and enjoy exclusivity there. It happens most often with Dylan...I can spend weeks listening to only Dylan. Because, really, nothing else compares...why waste time with something lesser? But then the variety and the fresh beckon. New is good.

I detest fans who repeatedly rip new releases. It's like going to a concert and listening to all the douche bags barking out requests (like they've never heard of a fucking set list). When a band tours with a new release I'm pretty sure they're looking to play the fresh. I saw Elliott Smith downstairs at the Middle East--he was playing all his new stuff, but the crowd wouldn't shut up with the requests...it got to the point where he asked the crowd what they'd rather hear, the old or the new. I yelled as loud as could, but was drowned out by those bastards living in the past. I'm not saying he killed himself over it, but it still sucked. Anyhow, this is what I'm listening to:

Noteworthy Track: Carpetbaggers

NT: Souled Out!!!

NT: The Sun Also Sets

RIP

"There is a point where feelings go beyond words. I have lost a real friend. My life — and this country — is better for his being in it." — Robert Redford.

Toddy

Sort of if Good Will Hunting were set in Maine...

No video, just audio.

Ryan's Song

My wife and I (con friends) went to see Ryan Adams (and the Cardinals) Sunday night at Harbor Lights in Boston. And the kid was sharp--the most energized and happy and healthy I had ever seen him for a show. It's a wonder what dropping a heroin/cocaine/alcohol habit will do. Highlights (for me) included "Come Pick Me Up" and "Why Do They Leave." "Magick," a new tune, sounded a bit Joan Jett-ish...not that there's anything wrong with that. The show reminded me to keep his music in regular rotation on my ipod.

It took me awhile to place his new, youthful, spectacled appearance. But I got it about four songs in: Corey Haim in Lucas. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) You tell me:

Ryan


Lucas


Check out the Cardinal Cave, Ryan's blog.

Fauxlympics

Okay...this very well might be my last post about these Olympics.

A little while ago Rick Reilly (former Sports Illustrated writer) and Dan Patrick (former SportsCenter anchor) swapped teams: Reilly nows writes for ESPN The Magazine and Patrick does a trivial interview/profile for SI each week. (Each was a separate transaction.) Somehow, I think each team lost out in the trade.



Regardless, Reilly wrote a humorous (and deflating) and revealing piece on the censorship and image-making of the Beijing Olympics.

Summer's End

Good-bye mid-morning whiffle ball with Finny, good-bye early afternoon naps with Knox, good-bye Drake's Island Beach and Scoop Deck; good-bye route one traffic; good-bye not knowing the day of the week.

Hello mosquito-less evenings (soon), autumn hikes, turning leaves, football, playoff baseball, Common Ground Fair.

Opposite End of the Spectrum

How boring it would be if we were all the same...but Sarah Palin is scary:
she states (on climate change), "a changing environment will affect Alaska more than any other state, because of our location. I'm not one though who would attribute it to being man-made";
she is a "proponent of teaching both creationism and evolution" in public schools;
she is "pro-life (and does not support abortion rights for victims of rape and incest) and believe(s) that marriage should only be between and man and a woman";
she "announced (Aug 4, 2008) the State of Alaska has filed a lawsuit in U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia seeking to overturn Interior Secretary Dirk Kempthorne's decision to list the polar bear as threatened under the Endangered Species Act."
Yep.

"an inquiry into human desire"

So there's this website called fleshmap that has compiled a study of human desire--where we like to touch, where we like to be touched. All of that is rather predictable: penis, vagina, breasts. However, in the sorting out desire function of the touch section it is interesting to compare (clicking back and forth) the touch versus be touched preferences for both men and women. The most interesting material comes in the listen category. One function, musical genres, illustrates the number of references (in specific genres) to body parts; no surprise: genitalia are most often referenced in hip hop. And the body rebus tool highlights all of the references to body parts within a particular text: Prince's "A Million Days"; Whitman's "I Sing the Body Electric." (I don't think it recognizes "manroot.") You can even make your own body rebus, typing or pasting up to 5,000 words.

Instant Karma's Gonna Get You (Final Olympics Post?)

I have been meaning to post this for some days now, but time keeps slip sliding away. For these most recent Olympic Games, NBC decided to turn away from the overwhelming number of puff piece stories (which dominated the coverage of the Athens games) on the competing athletes and just show more events. Good decision. However, the behind the scenes stories were not valueless for me--I love to watch sports, and sometimes those stories influence who I root for. But it's not as though my life is less fulfilling without that background info.

Along with watching a lot of the coverage this year, I also read several articles about the games (especially considering the unique circumstances of the location).



The U.S. Men's Basketball (Redeem) Team played (and behaved) with class...such a difference from their past bravado. And they were rewarded with gold medals.

Similarly, karma worked for Hope Solo (U.S. Women's Soccer goalie) and Shawn Johnson (U.S. Women's Gymnastics). Solo, after being unexpectedly benched for the U.S. team's semifinal match in the 2007 World Cup (and after the team lost), spoke up and said she would have made the saves. And then the entire team unjustly ostracized her...kicked her to the curb. I enjoyed seeing her smile when the team won Olympic gold with her in net.



Shawn Johnson, while winning silver after silver (a dream for many), remained proud and gracious. And then she too won a gold medal. I also enjoyed reading about Johnson's friendship with her teammate (and competition), Nastia Liukin. Athletic competition offers a great possibility for connection, which is why I am often so frustrated by fans of American sports (and I suppose by hooligans worldwide)--as their fanaticism leads to hatred and division.

Finny's New Fav' Song

I've been listening to Vampire Weekend a lot recently...in the car, in the house. When I got home yesterday, after my first meeting of the school year and while playing ball with my sons, I started humming Oxford Comma. And Finny said, "I was singing that at the beach today."

Olympics Here It Comes: THE Sport of the Future

The Olympics are over, though they're still on my brain--dreaming of (wishing for) the 2016 games in Chicago.
And maybe by then the brains plus brawn sport of chess boxing will be on the schedule. I may be the last one on the planet to have heard of it (doubtful); I saw a Bill Geist bit on it on CBS Sunday Morning. And it's actually sort of appealing...and, though I'm not a big boxing fan, I'd jump at the chance to attend a bout. (Beer would be a necessity.) I am just teaching my son to play chess; maybe we could add the boxing in, too. He could become the world champ. Do you think a three-year-old has ever started training for chess boxing?
Tons o' clips on the youtube.

Losing Faith

Went to the beach today...love living in a beach town. While we were down at the water, someone stole our red rubber ball from off our beach chair. Also heard a three-year-old girl say (referring to a fifteen-month-old toddler), "That chocolate boy is fat." All the mother said: "It's not nice to say mean things." Fucking people.

August 12

Many many days ago I made a bold commitment to post each and every day for one whole year...I kept it together for about a week. But I have excuses and apologies and recommitments. You see, we went away for several days--and access to the internet was limited or nonexistent. I should have delayed the 365 declaration until after the mini-trips, or planned better...given it my all and whatnot. Nonetheless, I shall voyage onward. To make up for my faux pas I will retrace those lost days, all the while doing that onward voyaging thing. The first day that I missed, my wife and I set off for western Massachusetts with our two sons (3 and 1) to see Wilco at Tanglewood. We divided the journey into two parts: two and a half hours to the hotel room, then about one more to the show. We had decided that some down time (hotel) would be good for the boys, rather than driving straight all that way and expecting excitement once we arrived. But, less than fifteen minutes after we'd checked in, the front desk called to say that they'd received a complaint about noise--the boys were running around, nothing excessive...they'd never been in a hotel room before, and they're boys. Kinda sucked. Now I know to always request a first floor room. If that was a bit of a downer it really was no matter, especially considering the concert.
Tanglewood is heaven-like. The grounds are beautiful, with spectacular views. The vibe is relaxed and chill--the way a concert venue should be. I have been to far too many concerts where the staff were assholes or the concertgoers were assholes. Not at Tanglewood. For one, they allow you to bring your own food and alcohol onto the lawn, as well as strollers, chairs, tables. Are you kidding me? And it's not like they don't sell beer and wine and snacks. That's the way it should be. Granted, they're catering to the BSO crowd. Wilco crowds are typically cool, too, and the crowd stayed true to form. A lot of kids as well. My boys had a blast. The grounds are expansive, and Finny got in some prime dusk sprinting time--it was as though we were racing across Gatsby's lawn (if Gatsby lived in the Berkshires). And Knox spent a good part of the concert strolling around making friends. We sat, we danced, we walked, we played. And the music was grand (sorry Holden). Jeff Tweedy was his usual entertaining, humorous, excellent self. Really a wonderful night. We've decided that an annual pilgrimage is necessary, and look forward to next year's schedule to find what's most appealing.

Sleep

Why, when I am dead-tired, do I stay up for the end of Sox games?

Olympics Dos

The other day, after remembering a small detail from a conversation we'd had days before and in response to my awe, my son said, "I have a hundred of stuff in my brain." That's sort of how I feel when I try to wrap my head around the 2008 Olympic Games. Heavy on the one hand are the Chinese Government's human rights violations (horrific and bizarre) and the country's growing energy consumption and pollution, and on the other hand are the struggles and sacrifices and successes of the thousands of athletes from around the world. Do the atrocities and tragedies outweigh the inspirations? Certainly. Can I effect change in Chinese policy with a personal boycott of the games? I doubt it. One must hope that ignorance defines the allowance of abuse. And perhaps these games can reveal...and effect change. Read two articles: one (from The Boston Globe) reveals something; the other (from The Maine Sunday Telegram) does nothing.
Matt.

Olympic Fever

Yesterday I dropped HBO and Showtime from my cable package (what a waste o' money) and a second cable box--dropping my monthly bill about 40 bucks...I feel like a dipshit for not doing it sooner. I kept the DVR (how could I live without now?) and the hi-def.

I really do try to limit my TV consumption, but, like a jet flight blowing up a carbon footprint, sports (any sport) in hi-definition suck me in every time...so I was psyched this afternoon when I discovered six (6!) hi-def channels devoted to the olympics, each carrying a different event (at the time): men's beach volleyball, women's indoor volleyball, women's soccer, equestrian, swimming, and...something else.

Four years ago my wife was eight months pregnant with our first son, and we sat (lay) on the couch for two weeks watching just about everything the olympics had to offer. And I imagine I'll watch a lot in the next 16 days. We're now wishfully planning a trip to the summer games with our two boys: in 2016 (maybe ideal if Chicago wins the bid) they'll be 11 and 9; in 2020 15 and 13, of course.

The opening ceremonies were stunning...almost made me stop wondering what the fuck the olympics are doing in China.

Regurgitators Need Not Apply

This past Sunday, writing a guest column for the Globe's "The Word," Erin McKean defends the made-up word. I did my best to not correct my three-year-old son as he invented words for those he could not pronounce (Sitdo for Cheerios very early only on and Gung for Remote Control) and those he mis-identified (calling cream cheese "cream butter"). Eventually he got them right, in his own time, when he was ready. Though he still plays around with sounds and rhymes, making up nonsense words for hanging rhymes. Suess is great for kids, because he shows them the way to be creators when they talk and write...and not just regurgitators.