jerk of the week: oy!

Aug 152012
 

Gotta say right up front, I find the story of this jerk pretty damned amusing.

This week’s JERK OF THE WEEK is

Csanad Szegedi

Who in the blue hell is that? you’re no doubt asking yourself (you know, if you talked to yourself like you were The Rock).  Well, that makes sense. Unless you’re a member of the Hungary’s Jobbik political party—or deeply anti-semitic—chances are that you’re not familiar with Mr. Szegedi.

Here’s a description of him from The New York Times:

As a rising star in Hungary’s far-right Jobbik Party, Csanad Szegedi was notorious for his incendiary comments on Jews: He accused them of “buying up” the country, railed about the “Jewishness” of the political elite and claimed Jews were desecrating national symbols.

Szegedi is also “a founding member of the Hungarian Guard, a group whose black uniforms and striped flags recalled the Arrow Cross, a pro-Nazi party which briefly governed Hungary at the end of World War II and killed thousands of Jews.”

Charming fellow, right?

The real key here to all this is the word “was.” In a turn of events that seems as if it was orchestrated by M. Night Shayamalan or came straight out of an Alanis Morissette song, it has come to light that Szegedi himself is actually Jewish.

Again, from the Times.

Following weeks of Internet rumors, Szegedi acknowledged in June that his grandparents on his mother’s side were Jews — making him one too under Jewish law, even though he doesn’t practice the faith. His grandmother was an Auschwitz survivor and his grandfather a veteran of forced labor camps.

Apparently, Szegedi’s grandparents hid their heritage from their family to protect them from persecution from narrow-minded hateful bigots such as their own grandson. Awkward!

Of course, I immediately thought of Clayton Bigsby from “Chappelle’s Show” (Warning: Absolutely NSFW language).

When Szegedi was confronted with the evidence—and after he got his jaw off the floor and the shpilkes out of his genechtagazoink—he immediately tried to hush it up, offering cash and political favors to make his bitter truth go away. No such luck.

After being publicly exposed, Szegedi then tried to claim that he’s never made any disparaging comments about Jews, despite an abundance of evidence—TV interviews and his own speeches, for examples—to the contrary.

The good news is that because of everything, Szegadi has been forced to give up his political party power, and is currently being called on to resign his seat in the European Parliament. Of course, I don’t quite understand why he would be asked to step down now—it seems as though the anti-semitic agenda would’ve been frowned upon from the start, rather than after this startling revelation—but the fact that somehow karma and/or irony has come back to kick him in his jerk ass, is all good by me.

So to Csanad Szegedi, I say congrats on being named JERK OF THE WEEK!

Oh, and mazel tov!

And coincidentally, Speaking Ill of the Dead: Jerks in Connecticut History hits bookstores on Rosh HaShanah, Sept. 18. Or if you want to be a mensch, feel free to pre-order it from Amazon.

camp tails

Aug 142012
 

(Shhh … it’s misspelled on purpose—you’ll see later.)

So this past weekend was family time—we got together with my wife’s siblings, their spouses and children at a campground up in Massachusetts.

As much as I love hanging out with my brothers- and sisters-in-law (and my four nephews—can’t anyone in this family pop out a chick?), when I saw the hot, humid and stormy weather forecast, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the weekend. If there’s any activity that is made remarkably “not fun,” by rain, it’s camping.

We got a reprieve Friday night when, after seeing stormy weather in the forecast, we decided to stay at my sister-in-law’s house rather than go directly to the campground (only about an hour away). My sister- and brother-in-law decided to stay at the campground because they have one of the pop-up campers that also has a stove, a fridge, a shower, a toilet, running water and air conditioning. (Apparently, it’s called “glamping,” although with the humidity, my wife said it was more like “damping.”) We just have a tent and sleeping bags—old school, baby! Still, not ideal when facing potential downpours, so we chose a more comfort-friendly option, a.k.a. “wussed out.”

Anyway, we got to the campground on Saturday, and it was a little different than I expected. [*hikes up pants, goes out on front lawn, shakes fists at clouds*] When I was a kid and my parents took us camping, most people used tents and there was usually a good deal of woods involved; you might even see a woodland creature or two. This “campground” was more like, as one of my sister-in-law’s described it, a “shanty town.” The sites were not clearly marked and on top of each other, and in almost every single one, there was some sort of oversized RV—with TVs, full stoves, running water, etc. As for woodsy creatures, there were a few mosquitoes, and that’s about it. It was closer to trailer park than state park.

Still, there were certainly a lot of things to like. The bathrooms, rather than the festering spider-infested holes of my youth, were sparkling affairs that I’m pretty sure were cleaned three times a day. There was a video arcade, a mini golf course, a pool with a splashpad and even WiFi. I guess maybe it’s fairer to classify it as more of a resort than a true campground.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter all that much—we were there to be with our family, and there was plenty of that despite the humid and occasionally rainy conditions. We eventually pitched our tents and got to the business of “camping,” which is pretty much loitering in the woods as I see it. The kids played and went swimming, the adults hung out and ate, and everyone was pretty well entertained.

Of course, I was put in charge of making fire, which even though it was 85 degrees and humid, was something WE ABSOLUTELY NEEDED TO HAVE … uh, you know, for the kids … uh … so that they could make s’mores. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Not because I need to burn stuff. No.

For the record, I did restrain myself—it was pretty hot, and we truly didn’t *need* a conflagration (although I could’ve whipped one up in about 37 seconds, if anyone had asked!), so I focused on making a quality fire. It turned out well—for me, the best part of any trip is sitting around the fire after dark, watching the glowing embers, talking and just enjoying each other’s company. A campfire (when properly contained) is still a communal experience.

So despite my misgivings—and an humid night in a tent (ugh!) followed by a Sunday morning of torrential downpours as we were trying to pack up—I wound up having a good (if damp) time overall, which I now appreciate after sleeping in my own bed, which didn’t slosh when I rolled over.

I have to say that one of my favorite parts was on Saturday, watching my younger son fish. He’s been asking to go for a while—I’ve never been much a fisherman, so I’ve never really taken him, and certainly at no point in the last few years. I think my father-in-law has taken him maybe once, and once he was at a camp where they did it one afternoon.

As a kid, my dad took me a handful of times, and once I got older, there were three or four occasions that I went with Senior Smoke, who is a three-time Connecticut bass-fishing champion. Most times, I was occupied untangling lines and staring at bobbers and lures that no fish would touch.

So as my son has asked, I’ve always sort of thrown the “Oh yeah, some day” response at him. But since my brother-in-law is an excellent fisherman (who knows what he’s doing and can actually bait hooks and the like), this was the perfect opportunity, and we took advantage.

Being the supportive dad that I am, as we ambled over to the lake, I set the bar low. “Now, I don’t know how many fish are going to be around, but at least you’re getting a chance to finally fish,” I say. He simply nods because, as it turns out, he’s a freaking fishing natural!

I always say that I believe that everyone has one special talent that they may or may not ever know about. For example, I may be the greatest bobsledder of all time, but I’ve never been on a bobsled, so who knows? To me, the lucky ones in life are those who somehow discover that special skill and get to enjoy it. Evidently, for my son, it’s angling.

It was remarkable—as I said, I’ve never really shown him how to, but he just knew how to do it—on his first cast, he reeled in a fish! “Okay, begginer’s luck,” I thought. Except he kept reeling in fish after fish after fish!

I don’t know how, but he was just flicking out casts and *really* into it. At one point, he threw his line about three feet from the shore and almost into some bushes. “What happened there?” I laughed. “Miss cast?”

“I saw some movement,” he said quietly, and then bang! A second later was reeling in another! He was like the fish whisperer or Fish Fishburne or Orlando Wilson. (Okay, here’s the scary part—I didn’t need to google either of those guys, I already know who they are. Why would I know that?! How?! I’ve never fished more than six times in my life! Why would I—or anyone—know that off the top of their heads? But yet I can’t help out with the cure for cancer?! Help me … please.) He kept just tossing his line to the spots that he thought fish might be, and he kept catching them. It was uncanny, really.

I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised—fishing matches up well with his skill set as he’s patient and enjoys activities that involve figuring out strategies.

Anyway, in about an hour, he reeled in about a dozen fish, and would’ve landed more if I hadn’t wasted so much time in unhooking them because I don’t like touching them. (*See aforementioned wussy admission*) It was crazy. His cousins were also catching fish—maybe the pond was stocked?—but just the way he went about it was what really made such an impression on me. For a kid who has struggled with his confidence, it was awesome to see him so calmly competent at something.

As we finished, he smiled big and said, “Wow, they were really biting today.”

And despite how comfortable I would’ve been if we hadn’t gone “damping” this weekend, we were there to make memories like this.

Of course, the one good image is of the smallest fish he caught. Really. I’m not just telling fish tails!

 

the friday five: i know this much is true

Aug 102012
 

I was perusing Twitter yesterday, when I saw this trending #truefactsaboutme.

As you may have noticed, I have no problem talking about me, so here are

Five True Facts About Me

1. I’m right-handed but I throw a Frisbee left-handed. I don’t how this came about—maybe I thought it’d feel like someone else if I did it that way.

2. I was born with a birth defect. Pyloric stenosis, actually, which is a thickening of the pylorus or the valve that allows food to go from the stomach to the small intestines. It manifests itself in the first few weeks of life—lots of vomiting is usually is the first sign—and can cause all sorts of issues, including severe dehydration. Once diagnosed, it’s easily corrected with a simple surgery; even though it now is done with minimal invasion, back in the day when I got it, they had to make a good-sized hole in my abdomen. If you ever were to see me with my shirt off (you’re more likely to get hit by lightning while riding on a unicorn with Bigfoot and Amelia Earhart during the Derek Jeter Appreciation Day parade in downtown Boston), you’d see the three-inch scar on my abdomen that runs along the bottom of my ribcage.

3. I have never seen Titanic or Avatar. Nothing against James Cameron (I really liked Aliens and The Terminator), but something about those other two movies just turned me off, possibly all the hype preceding each of their releases, or possibly just knowing beforehand that [*SPOILER ALERT FOR AN EVENT THAT HAPPENED A CENTURY AGO*] the fracking boat sinks.

4. I used to collect matchbooks. I don’t when this started or ended exactly, but for about a decade (from the ’80s into the ’90s, I think), I took matchbooks from all the places I visited. What’s even odder is that I’ve never smoked (although I do have an unabashed love of fire) and never had a job or a glaring need to have fire on the spot. But yeah, somewhere in my house is a good-sized case with dozens of matchbooks in it. Weird, but true!

5. I have a personalized autographed letter from Dolores Hart hanging in my cubicle.

Who is Dolores Hart, you ask? Well, she was an up-and-coming actress in the early 1960s—she starred alongside Elvis Presley in King Creole and Loving You as well as in the original Where The Boys Are—who suddenly gave up her career and ran off to the Abbey of Regina Laudis in Bethlehem, Connecticut, for a life of secluded religious reflection. It was a stunning story at the time: a young starlet abandoning a life of fame and fortune in Hollywood to become a cloistered nun (as in “You’ll have ‘nun’ of that now!”), which seems even more remarkable in an age where everyone and anyone is trying to be a “celebrity.”

According to Regina Laudis’ site: “I just knew that this was what God wanted from me,” she said years later.

Mother Dolores continues to live at the abbey, and has risen to be its prioress. She also has stayed involved in the motion picture industry, regularly voting for Academy Awards.

So the letter you see above—yes, she misspells my last name in it—she wrote to me in appreciation for sending a message along to her. We had written an article about her, and afterward some fan wanted to contact her; rather than giving her direct info out, I just sent it along to her.

It’s a nice little souvenir, and puts me only a degree of separation from Elvis. It’s true!

jerk of the week: who doesn’t love a pussy riot?

Aug 082012
 

Who among us doesn’t love a pussy riot? Apparently, this week’s JERK OF THE WEEK!

Vladimir Putin

That’s right comrades, Russian president Vladimir Putin (in red, because he’s a commie, obviously) is this week’s jerk.

Although Putin has a long history of tyrannical rule and generally being oppressive in areas regarding civil liberties, he has taken his jerkery to a new level recently, for attempting to impose his will by imprisoning three members from the Russian all-girl band Pussy Riot.

They look like harmless little ladies, no?

Anyway, three members of the band—Maria Alyokhina, Nadezhda Tolokonnikova and Yekaterina Samutsevich—have been in jail for five months, and now face seven years in prison for “hooliganism” for their music, which is anti-government, and more specifically, anti-Putin.

Yes, they have been imprisoned for singing songs against the mighty Russian president.

Here are some of their lyrics from one song:

Virgin Mary, Mother of God, put Putin away.
Put Putin away, put Putin away.

And here’s a refrain from “Putin Got Scared”:

Revolt in Russia — the charisma of protest
Revolt in Russia — Putin got scared
Revolt in Russia — We exist!
Revolt in Russia — Riot! Riot!

Okay, with lyrics like that they could be accused of crimes against humanity but so could anything the Black-Eyed Peas have written and you don’t see Will.I.Am in shackles. (Yet.) Maybe it loses something in translation, da? Still, they’re only singing songs, granted, ones that inspire a revolutionary spirit. I suppose it’s possible that they don’t have the old “sticks and stones may break my bones” adage in Mother Russia. They do like bears on bikes, so it’s not an all-bad place.

Regardless, Putin is a jerk for encouraging this to happen, but what locks it up for him is this (from this AP story): Putin said last week that the punishment should not be “too severe.”

Too severe?!! How about “Putin says, ‘Geez, they’re only a bunch of crazy musicians expressing themselves—maybe there SHOULDN’T BE ANY PUNISHMENT AT ALL!”

Then again, if he did say that, then he wouldn’t be a jerk, now would he?

And remember little blogeroos, Speaking Ill of the Dead: Jerks in Connecticut History (sadly, pussy riot free), comes out on Sept 18. Express your freedom by pre-ordering it from Amazon.

 

the olympic ideal?

Aug 052012
 

Like many of you, I’ve been watching the Olympic games this week. I’ve been at turns moved and amazed by the athletic performances that I’ve witnessed.

And sickened on occasion.

I can’t embed this boxing clip from earlier this week, but it’s amazing—in it, Japan’s Satoshi Shimizu beats the bejeebus out of Azerbaijan’s Magomed Abdulhamidov in the final round of their match, repeatedly knocking his opponent down, which in Olympic boxing, should end the bout. For reasons that seem a-whole-lot-less-than-the-Olympic ideal, the referee allows the contest to continue, repeatedly giving Abdulhamidov an opportunity to get back up, and then, despite the whipping, the judges award the match to the guy who spent the majority of the time on the canvas. The announcers throughout it are particularly entertaining as their disbelief grows then finally erupts into outright disdain for the entire sport by the end. Classic.

In retrospect, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—I mean, if you can’t cheat at the Olympics with only about A BILLION people watching, then why even bother, right? Sheesh.

Still though, I do enjoy the Olympics, even if it is a bit over the top at times. The opening ceremonies were not exactly an exercise in restraint, and the fawning TV coverage of every move Team USA—did you know as of Sunday, China actually had the most gold medals and more medals than the U.S. overall? Couldn’t tell by NBC, that’s for sure. It makes almost gets you to the point where you start rooting for other countries, especially in sports like basketball where American players like to tell the world how great they are even before the first game is played. Hard to embrace that.

In fact, some of the sports are hard for me to embrace. You can’t convince me that “women’s” gymnastics are anything other than sanctioned child abuse. As I posted on Facebook the other day, I just can’t see how training that hard and for so many hours at such a young age doesn’t result in long-term issues, both psychological and physical. Plus, the pressure they put these kids under, and for what? “I got a shiny piece of gold that says I was better than everyone else at a skill that’s not really all that important for a few minutes.” Then if they don’t win the gold—which the majority of them just can’t—will they spend the rest of their lives thinking about how their childhoods were wasted? Just seems cruel.

In addition to gymnastics, I’m not a big fan of competitive diving, synchronized swimming, that thing with the hula hoops and streamers—any of the events that involve judging as opposed to contests that are decided objectively by whomever runs the fastest, jumps the highest, throws something heavy the farthest or the team who scores the most points. Now I’m not saying you have to purge those subjective events completely from the games; rules modification is certainly an option.

For instance, put all the gymnasts on a giant set of parallel bars at the same time, and whomever is left hanging on at the end wins the gold. I’m thinking instead of synchronized swimming, there could be something a little closer to an aquatic battle royal, where everyone gets in the pool at once, and then try to throw each other out until there’s one left floating, either face up or down. A diving champion could be determined by either raising the board higher and higher and seeing who can survive, although I wouldn’t be opposed to something like this—

Now that deserves a medal!

Recently, Charley Monagan, the editor-in-chief of Connecticut Magazine and the man who is directly responsible for my professional writing career—and indirectly, who you can blame for what you read here—has written about a few forgotten Olympic competitions, including the tug-of-war and the plunge. Good stuff.

I think there should be some new events added. For example:

Competitive eating – Sure, that Kobayashi guy might be a shoo-in for a gold, but the U.S. can counter with Joey Chestnut, although there may be someone lurking in Mississippi waiting to take a bite of biggest American appetite.

Competitive drinking – This might be more of an interesting contest as you would think that certain countries rally around stereotypical beverages—Germany, Canada and Ireland enjoy various warm and cold beers; Mexico parties with tequila; Japan goes for sake; Russia loves its vodka; the U.S. drinks whatever can be made into jello shots; etc. But according to the World Health Organization, the gold medal winner in this contest might come from the tiny nation of Moldova, which I’m pretty sure is either a made-up place from a Seinfeld episode or lorded over by Dr. Doom.

“Ninja Warrior”/”Wipeout” – Any sort of obstacle course that requires either incredible physical strength, agility and endurance to scale Mount Midoriyama like “Ninja Warrior” or simply has the crazed hazards like human catapults in “Wipeout” would be a true challenge. It’d also be ratings platinum! Platinum, I tells ya! Speaking of …

Creating reality TV shows – Seriously, there is NO country on the planet that makes more of these than the U.S., with the possible exception of Japan. I’m pretty they’re actually some sort of sophisticated TV virus or bacteria that’s reproducing and only when it’s too late it’s overwhelmed us will we realize that there was an electronic pandemic.

Handfishin’ – Take one of them thar Oly-im-pic pools, a-fill it with catfish, then let a few good ol’ boys get in and see how many of them critters they can pull out in a minute or two. I would guarantee the U.S. sweeps this, but there’s a chance that some of the poorest countries in the world might be familiar with the concept for foraging for food without any sort of equipment. (Lookin’ at you Best Korea.)

Grasscutting – Only because all those years while growing up when I was mowing lawns at our various homes, I fantasized about it being a competition to get me through the tedium of it. “Here he comes, the kid from Milford, he’s setting a world-record time … look at the edges … the lines … this kid’s a natural like this sport has never seen before. He is a true champion, through and through …”

Yeaaahhh … that, and this post, is about as close as I’m getting to “the Olympic ideal.”

 

the friday five: vacation pics

Aug 032012
 

As you probably already know, I went to New York Jets training camp last weekend. I had a terrific time—saw a lot of football, got to hang with some great people (including one night when Jets coach Rex Ryan walked past me in Hairy Tony’s bar!), and just generally got to enjoy myself without having to worry about chasing after kids or my wife.

As such, I thought I’d share

My Five Favorite Images from My Mancation to Cortland, New York

You can visit my Flickr photo stream to see bigger and better versions of these and other images from the trip …

1.

Every day at the beginning of practice, the players line up and stretch. There’s just something about the symmetry that appeals to me.

2.

Yes, it’s a flower. My wife laughed when she saw it—”Oooh, nice ‘mancation’ photo!” Hey, I took this photo because  the vibrant color reminded me of the royal purple robes of an ancient warrior as he was preparing to lay waste to …. a … uh …

Okay, I took this photo the color is real pretty. Ugh.

3.

This bench was in Sparta Cemetery in Ossining, New York, the new final resting place of the Old Leather Man, which I wrote about a bit last Friday.

4.

As we were driving through the nearby town of Homer (d’oh!), my buddy Brian spotted this cool roadside gallery—we immediately stopped and jumped out with our cameras. Turns out that it’s called Frog Pond Farm Folk Art. I took a bunch of pics here, but I liked this one, mostly because of the subject matter. We were laughing as we were taking pics—you know, because nothing says MANcation than two artsy guys stopping at a charming road side folk art shop to take pictures of whimsical sculptures.

“B-b-but the frog is riding a motorcycle—through FIRE! That’s manly, right?”

Sure. You know, other than it actually being a moped …

5.

This may be my favorite picture from the trip—New York Jets all-pro center Nick Mangold as he was coming off the field. Brian liked this one a lot—he said it reminded him of one of those old sculptures where a saint is looking down with a beatific smile …

Personally, when I see Mangold, I always think I wouldn’t be surprised if he raised his helmet and it turned to a hammer and lightning started striking all around us.

You know, because THAT’S manly.

 

jerk of the week: jerry kids?

Aug 022012
 

So to help promote my upcoming book, Speaking Ill of the Dead: Jerks in Connecticut History, which is scheduled to hit bookshelves on Sept. 18, but [*shameless plug alert*] is available for pre-order from Amazon.com, I thought I’d try out a new feature here.

As you may have guessed, it’s called:

JERK OF THE WEEK!

(Like the colors? Took me extra to do that, but anything for you, dear blogeroos.)

I’m reasonably sure you can figure out the concept by the title, so let’s just get to it, shall we?

So the inaugural JERK OF THE WEEK, for Aug. 1, 2012 is …

Jerry Sandusky!

Okay, now I know you’re saying, “Uh, gee … going out on a limb there, ain’t ya’? This guy could be JERK OF THE CENTURY” But the reason—aside from the horrifyingly obvious—why I’m picking Mr. Ped State this week is for his comments from earlier today.

Apparently, according to his attorney Joe Amendola, in regard to the NCAA’s punishment of the Nittany Lions for his scandal, Jerry Sandusky said, “To do what they’re doing to Penn State is so unjust.” Amendola added that Sandusky “loves the program and he loves the university.”

Yeahhhh … that’s Uncle Jerry, just full of love for everyone, which is pretty much how he got in trouble in the first place.

That aside—is Sandusky fracking kidding or what?! He’s upset about the sanctions—a bunch of wins vacated, loss of scholarships and post-season eligibility and a $60 million fine, among other actions—against an athletic program and a university that turned a blind eye to his abhorrent crimes for better than a decade?! He’s taking issue with the disciplinary actions against the school that looked the other way while he casually went about RAPING YOUNG BOYS?!!!! Are you serious?!

Look, I’m no legal expert or PR guru, but I’m pretty sure after you’re convicted of such heinous acts in a court case where your own adopted son was ready to take the stand against you because you raped him too, you NEED TO SHUT THE FRACK UP … FOREVER!!! Seriously, no one anywhere gives a rodent’s posterior what you think about ANYTHING, let alone what happens to a lousy football program and an administration that ignored the fact that you were [*insert your own crass metaphors for the rape of young boys here*]! Just shut your rape hole, crawl under a rape rock and go the rape away!

But then, you gotta love this nugget (from the linked ESPN article):

“He continues to believe that the truth will come out at some point, and that he’ll get another trial or another opportunity to establish his innocence,” Amendola said.

Really?! Really and truly?! That’s a special kind of jerkery, that right there is.

Congratulations Jerry Sandusky. In case anyone, anywhere doubted it—which I’m pretty sure they didn’t—you, sir, are the Jerk of The Week! I only hope your new roommates deliver your “award” in a way that you might appreciate. Repeatedly.

 

the friday five: road trip!

Jul 272012
 

As I mentioned a few days ago, this week I’m partaking in one of my favorite wife-approved guilty pleasures—traveling to upstate New York to see the opening of New York Jets training camp.

They say getting there is half the fun, and although I can’t always vouch for that most vacations, on this particular trip, I go out of my way to make it possible—literally, as I make odd stops along the way to break up the long ride a bit. It’s a great way to see a little more than just what’s within view of the highway.

Anyway, this year, there was a major storm a-comin’ while I was a-goin’, so I didn’t make as many stops as usual. Still, it was interesting getting to Cortland, and here are

Five Points of Interest From My Road Trip

1. I Have a New Love in My Life

Yeah, I’ll be just referring to her as “The Six”—hmmm, where I have heard that before? In this case, rather than a cylon, it’s a 2010 Mazda 6, and she’s rides as smooth as she looks. I’ve wanted a “grown-up” car like this for a while now, so now that I have it, I have to make sure it survives. Of course, there’s one problem—

See that—the speedometer goes to 160 m.p.h. Why would they have that number on there if they didn’t want you to drive it that fast …

2. The New Grave of the Old Leather Man

As many of you know, the legend of The Old Leather Man is something I’ve written about for Damned Connecticut (follow the link if you don’t know the story). Anyway, last year, his grave was controversially moved to “a safer place” in the Sparta Cemetery in Ossining, New York. I decided this time to head back to see the new grave and say “hi” to Old Leathery.

I had no idea where the new stone was, and since it’s an old historical cemetery, there’s no real signage or upkeep to help you. The grass is knee-high (ticks much?), and the place is a bit overgrown. As I did start to wander around, I stumbled across this, which I thought was pretty cool and relevant to my interests.

If you click on it and embiggen it, you can see it says, “This stone was pierced by a cannon shot fired from the British sloop-of-war Vulture …” in September 1780. The HMS Vulture was the British ship that had sailed up the Hudson to aid Connecticut jerk Benedict Arnold in his escape after his treachery was exposed. Although you can’t see the river from here because of the trees and houses now, it obviously was a key spot back in the day. A fortuitous find!

Eventually, I got the idea to follow the most tramped-down grass, which led me straight to the cemetery’s most famous resident.

It’s definitely a more impressive monument than his old stone, and farther from the road; the old stone was literally five feet from Route 9, which was very scary. It was interesting that there were all sorts of little trinkets on top of the stone.

Don’t ask about the dog, I have no idea.

Anyway, I paid my respects, left a few items and was on my way.

3. The Students in Ossining May Be Getting Left Behind

I saw these two signs in the men’s room of the Ossining McDonald’s—

They both say the same thing: “NO WORK SORRY.”

NO LEARN SORRY!

4. Eat Where the Locals Eat

Cortland is a college town, the home of a satellite campus of the State University of New York, a.k.a. SUNY. Like many places with college students, there are lots of chain restaurants, which are full of Jets fans this weekend.

I don’t eat at chain restaurants at home, so why should I eat at one out here? One of the best local places is Doug’s Fish Fry (owned by a rabid Jets fan), but I’m not much of a seafood fan—actually I’m happy to see giant underwater bugs staying underwater.

The place in this picture is Bob’s BBQ—a roadside stand that on a rainy night with legitimate threats of tornadoes and severe lightning storms, was packed with regulars getting good. That’s all I need to know—I got the pulled pork and rib combo, and it was awesome!

5. Cortland Loves the New York Jets

Seriously, this little town goes all out for Jets training camp. In addition to a big welcoming event on Thursday, there are signs like this everywhere, banners hanging up in downtown, billboards on the roadsides, all warmly welcoming the team and the fans …

Oh, and their money.

And mine, too!

 

he’s out there

Jul 252012
 

Warning: If you’re expecting some amusing turn by the end, it’s not coming. This is admittedly very dark for me. I’m not trying to be an alarmist and I hope this is completely wrong, but I’ve been thinking about it and I need to get it out of my head. Sorry and thanks.

He’s out there.

Right now as I type this and you read it, he’s out there—waiting, watching, planning. He’s absorbing the TV news coverage of it, wading through the endless deluge of stories on the internet, probably even buying a newspaper or two just to clip out the headlines to post on his wall as a reminder. He’s reading all the profiles of the victims, watching the families grieve, looking at all the pictures of the latest guy with his red-and-orange dyed hair on every channel and every news site, and fantasizing about what it’s all going to look like when he has his moment of “revenge” and “glory.” He’s seeing his face going around the globe, wondering if they will use his middle name in all the reports.

Everyone who mocked and teased and ignored him—either in his head or for real—won’t do any of that any longer. That pain, that hurt, is driving him now, and he’s already decided that what perceived injustices befell him are serious enough that there’s no going back. This is the only answer.

He’s waiting and watching and planning. He knows about all of them—this most recent guy, the guy in Toronto, the guy in Norway, the guy in Ft. Hood, the Virginia Tech guy, those two guys in Columbine, the guy in that diner in Texas, a few of the others. He’s studied them all: how many they killed, how they went about it, where they got their weapons, which guns they used, how they planned it, what mistakes they made, how they were able to fly under the radar until they were ready to explode onto the world’s stage with the fury and intensity and carnage and unpredictability and massive loss of life that comes with the eruption of a seemingly dormant volcano. All the information is out there, ridiculously easy to find courtesy of our insatiable need to know every detail of every horror.

The fact that he’s alone so much has given him plenty of time to read up on it all. “If they could do it, why not me?” he’s thinking. “I’m smarter than any of them, and my moment will be even more spectacular.” (For a time, anyway.) He’s carefully assembling his arsenal, surreptitiously buying what he needs from various places so as not to arouse suspicion. He’s tested all his weapons, gotten used to the kick and feel of a hot gun in his cold hand. Right now, he’s probably practicing loading and reloading, figuring out how to carry multiple weapons and extra ammo. He’s already picked out exactly what he’s going to wear.

He’s already got the spot for his moment picked out—most likely a public location where anonymous, vulnerable people go about their lives and will never see him coming until it’s too late. They can’t have any inkling of what’s about to happen or it won’t happen—and after waiting and planning so long, it has to be perfect. It’ll be someplace that makes complete sense to him, one that’s traditionally light on security or anyone who could stop him.

He’s making notes and sketches and contingency plans. He will be incredibly prepared, leaving absolutely no detail to chance. The only surprise will be that of his victims. Once the moment arrives, he’ll realize that he—and he alone—is in control, just as he’s always wanted it. Their fear and hysteria will fuel him. He will not fail, and doesn’t really care if he survives or not.

Maybe the rest of us will get incredibly lucky and someone whom he thought was mean to him will unexpectedly be nice and somehow inadvertently make him change his mind. Maybe a family member or friend will do something to alter his course. Maybe a neighbor will notice that “the nice, quiet guy” who lives across the hall has been coming home with assault rifle-shaped packages and tell someone. Maybe someone will see something and say something before it’s too late. Maybe he’ll just kill himself instead . . .

Maybe—and most likely—not.

But it’s okay to hope that whatever it is that’s broken inside him might somehow find a way to heal itself. That’d be nice, if a tad unrealistic.

But make no mistake. He’s out there. Right now. And the truly terrifying part is that he’s the only one who will ever see it coming.

quickie news quiz

Jul 232012
 

Hey kids, are you paying attention? Let’s see—

1. Now that Penn State has taken down the Joe Paterno statue in the wake of the Jerry Sandusky scandal, the university plans on:
a. melting it down to sell it for scrap to help pay the impending civil lawsuits.
b. burying it, because given how Joe Pa acted when he found out, that seems appropriate.
c. using it as a paper weight because at least then it will have done more than Paterno did.
d. using the statue’s raised finger to do something to Sandusky that may be described by him as “horribly painful and violent,” but for his victims, could be called, “amusing and ironic justice.”

2. Now that Bradley Wiggins has made history as the first Brit to win the Tour de France, expect his countrymen to celebrate by:
a. raising a mug of warm beer and singing Chumbawamba songs.
b. shooting the Queen out of a cannon. Again.
c. exhuming the remains of little Jackie Wright so they could parade through the streets while rapidly patting his skull.
d. learning exactly what sport this involves.

3. Now that the World Wildlife Federation [WWF] has ousted Spanish King Juan Carlos as its honorary president after it came to light that he went hunting while on African safari, they will replace him with:
a. Prince, because he know what it sounds like when doves cry.
b. Prince Charles, because he’s really not doing anything else.
c. Queen Latifah, because it makes sense to have a royal replacement who apparently isn’t interested in meat.
d. King Kong Bundy, because he’s already WWF royalty.

4. The field for GOP presidential candidate Mitt Romney’s vice presidential running mate has been narrowed down to:
a. someone who will not outshine Romney in terms of charisma, which means a middle-aged, married white guy who has spent the last decade as the assistant to the regional accountant for Snore More, Inc.
b. Chuck Norris, because it’s about damn time.
c. [*insert your own name here … because seriously, they have no clue who to pick at this point until the latest poll tells them who, and if that’s how they’re going about it, then we’re all screwed*]
d. anyone not Sarah Palin.

5. The Dark Knight Rises:
a. is not something to joke about.
b. is not something to joke about.
c. is not something to joke about.
d. is something that a comedian like Gilbert Gottfried or Daniel Tosh will eventually joke about, and then after having their career destroyed under an unrelenting barrage of public backlash, will only then learn that it is *NOT* something to joke about.

 Older Entries  Newer Entries