In 2009, the sky's the limit

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Just some cool footage of a bunch of bat-shit insane dudes jumping from cliffs and darting around in flying squirrel suits to end 2008. May your 2009 be prosperous, healthy and unflappable. We will endeavor to post more often in the new year, I'm sure you are waiting with bated breath.

Quick Political Rant regarding our outgoing President

In these waning days of the Bush Presidency, there is much discussion about what President Bush did wrong (too numerous to count) and what he did right (short, debatable list) during his presidency. The most oft trotted out defense of the Bush boosters (a rare breed indeed) is "well, you have to admit, at least he's kept us safe since 9/11." Except that there are two important problems with this idea.

1) "He's kept us safe since 9/11" - So, he gets a pass for NOT defending us before or on 9/11? Is this some kind of Presidential mulligan? He took office promising to keep America and its Constitution safe from harm - which on 9/11 and thereafter he failed miserably on both counts. Why is not held responsible for not keeping America safe during his *entire* Presidency? Anyone remember "Bin Laden Determined to Strike Inside America"??

2) You can't prove a negative - or the absence of proof is not proof of absence. Or something like that. What I'm trying to say is that these Bush defenders could just as easily say "But at least Bush has kept us safe from attacks from outer-space aliens since 9/11." Or "At least Bush has prevented Hitler from being cloned into a legion of the Peruvian army." Just because there have been no terrorist attacks on American soil since 9/11, that does not mean Bush prevented them (or that plots for these non-existent attacks existed at all). I'm not saying that law enforcement agencies, the CIA, the FBI, the NSA, the border patrol forces and the armed forces (etc.) have not been diligent or that security is up, but what are these supposed foiled plots from which we've been kept safe? Those shmucks in Florida? Or the pizza delivery guys in New Jersey? Really? Or is Bush being given credit he does not deserve for things that he did not do?

Comments welcome.

It's Official: Cooties are real!

Scourge of the playground, terror of the sandbox. Cooties. (Aside: does everything in the world have a wikipedia page?) In some ways, cooties were the way most of us first understood the concept of communicable diseases - girls had cooties, and if you got too close, you would too. I don't remember if I ever knew what the symptoms of cooties were, or even the consequences of contracting the dread disease, but I did know they were real. Of course, like many other good childhood myths, the theory of cooties was debunked as adolescence dawned and mere proximity to girls was something for which we all strove, or agonized over even.

But now, modern science confirms what small children all over North America have known since the dawn of time: Cooties are real. Sort of. A recent study at the University of Colorado has proved that women have significantly higher numbers of microbes on their hands then men do. So the next time a child proposes some ridiculous idea that seems to stretch the boundaries of reality, don't be so quick to judge. And be careful whose hand you shake.

Hitler had one nut

Do you remember this old day camp ditty?:

Hitler has only got one ball,
Göring has two but very small,
Himmler is somewhat sim'lar,
But poor old Goebbels has no balls at all.

Well, turns out this particular urban myth is true. Evidently, Shitler got injured during a battle in World War I, and got shot in the dick, or somewhere near there. He was saved by a German war doctor Johan Jambor (gee - thanks Jambor. Thanks A LOT), who in turn told his priest about the ball injury. So, even though it doesn't even come close to making up for all the horrific and terrible ways he soiled our world, I do derive a certain amount of schadenfreudic pleasure knowing that Hitler's testicle was exploded by an English bullet.

Happy Sandwich Day!!

It all started with a card game, so the legend goes. One fateful night in 1762, John Montagu, better known to the world as the 4th Earl of Sandwich, was in the midst of an all-night card game when he felt a wave of hunger overtake him. Rather than sully his cards with the juice of his roasted beef, the right 4th Earl asked his servant to slap that meat between two slices of bread, and, lo and behold, the modern sandwich was born.


You may be wondering why I bring this up now. Well, in addition to November 3 being the day on which we celebrate the births of Adam Ant and Dolph Lundgren, today is also Sandwich Day - commemorating the birth of the 4th Earl of Sandwich and the invention of one of the greatest contributions to western cuisine in the last 1000 years (right next to SPAM and Cheez Wiz). How do you celebrate Sandwich Day? Easy - eat a sandwich, or four.


The origins of Sandwich Day are not easily traceable, even after a thorough Google search. But I have a pretty good idea when it started, because I was there when it happened. Flashback to the fall of 1993, Wesleyan University. I woke up, ate a sandwich and had the brilliant (brilliant!) idea to commemorate the inventor of my morning (1 PM) meal. And so I plastered the campus with posters exhorting my fellow hipsters-in-training (back then, the term on campus was "coolio", which I also claim to have coined, at least for that purpose. No disrespect to Coolio.) to take a sandwich by the hand and stuff it in their food-holes. In the 15 years since the founding of Sandwich Day, it's celebration has spread to all corners of the world.
So, in honor of the 15th anniversary of Sandwich Day, I hereby present my Top 8 Mos' Favoritest Sandwiches of All Time (in rough, but not exact order):

1. Chicken Parmigiana, Dina's, Middletown, CT (Dina's came under new management sometime in the last 10 years. The new owners make a decent, but not quite comparable sub)

2. Lamb Sandwich with onion marmalade, Alon's, Atlanta, GA

3. "Dagwood" style sandwich with Karl Ehmer's cole-slaw, Karl Ehmer's, Poughkeepsie, NY (now closed)

4. Turkey Sandwich, Love 'n Haight Sandwiches, San Francisco, CA

5. Shwarma sandwich, Shemesh Shwarma, Jerusalem, Israel (no longer serves shwarma - go figure)

6. Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwich

7. Egg Sandwich with Turkey Bacon and a Hash Brown on Toasted Biali, Jay Street Deli, Brooklyn, NY

8. "The Effron": turkey, muenster, tomato and grilled sweet onions, on rye, grilled on panini, 61 Deli, New York, NY (burned down in 2006)

Honorable Mention (because it's The Wifey's favorite): Roasted turkey, thinly sliced granny smith apples, cranberry sauce, and brie on spelt bread.

As you can see, at least half of these favorites are now just memories, but ah... what sweet memories they are.

So go ahead - eat a sandwich, and thank John the 4th Earl Montagu while you're at it.




Feel free to share your favorite sandwiches with us.

Louisiana + Vampires + Sex + Blues = Great Opening Credits

Brosephus and I received an email from our mother, Momma Bear/Nostra Mater, today:

"Not a single entry in October, shame on both of you!"

I bet Arianna Huffington doesn't get emails like that from her mother, but then again, Arianna Huffington posts more often than 3x a month, so Momma has a good point. So, in the spirit of keeping this blog-thing alive (really, we never left, just life gettin' in the way and all that), let's get this party started again.

I've been watching the new HBO series by Alan Ball (of American Beauty and Six Feet Under fame). It's called True Blood and it's about a world (specifically, Louisiana) where vampires are real and they're coming out of the coffin to integrate themselves with society. Six episodes in, and I'm still not sold, although, to be fair to Mr. Ball, it probably took just as many episodes for me to get into Deadwood and Six Feet Under and both turned out to be two of my favorite television series ever - Six Feet Under actually one of my favorite works of art - period. So, I'm still giving it a chance. The one thing I *do* love about this show, however, are the opening credits. Even with my TIVO in hand, I refuse to fast-foward through them. Enjoy:

1st Annual Coney Island Beard and Moustache Competition

The 1st Annual Coney Island Beard and Moustache Competition took place this past weekend at the Freak Bar, home of the Coney Island Sideshow. Despite driving rains courtesy of Big Frikkin Storm Hannah (that is official weather nomenclature), at least 20 or so contestants braved the elements to battle one another for glory and bragging rights.


Donny Vomit, MC of the Sideshow, was the organizer and put together the 6 Main and 3 additional categories: Best Beard (Styled), Best Beard (Natural), Best Moustache (Styled), Best Moustache (Natural), Best Sideburns (the guy in the picture at the top won that category. Go figure.) Best All-Around, Best Pornstache, Most Leprechaun-like and Most Creative Grooming.


The evening was complimented by a number of variety acts including Trixie Little and the Evil Hate Monkey, Heather Holliday swallowing swords, Adam the First Real Man doing magic and feeding people whiskey through a twizzler shoved through his nose and out his mouth, Donny Vomit doing the ol' nail through the nose bit, and a few others (including Old West bull-whipmeister extraordinaire Chris McDaniel. Yours truly was one of the competitors and took home the laudits for "Most Creative Grooming", although between you and me, I think I was robbed for "Best Overall". There's always next year.

Well, that cinches it

Well, this is a game changer people. After months of speculation as to whom he would give his endorsement, Daddy Yankee - Latin Grammy award-winning reggaeton superstar - finally ended the guessing and endorsed John McCain for President. McCain can now sleep easier, as the Latina 12-18 demographic is locked up. I've also been waiting for Daddy Yankee to tell me whom to vote for, so it's a relief all around.

So So Closed

Cafe Dupri, super producer Jermaine Dupri's ode to Applebees (or was it Friday's?) closed recently. Turns out that his So So Def Omelet and Triple Platinum Pancakes sold about as many units as girlfriend Janet Jackson's latest release, Discipline. Making a bad situation even worse, all the employees were stiffed on their final paycheck. Reports are that JD's Mom, the "CEO" of the restaurant, said something like "maybe if they all worked harder, we wouldn't have had to close." Seriously.

On a personal note, I ate breakfast at Cafe Dupri on the morning of my wedding, making it my "final meal" as a single guy. The eggs were so so. They were not def, unfortunately.

That's Gotta Hurt

I've had the Olympics on in the background over the last few days, occasionally turning up the volume for various moments of glory. This particular moment was not one of them: Hungarian weightlifter Janos Barayai dislocated his shoulder during a clean-and-jerk attempt. Sort of like when Joe Theisman had his leg snapped in half by Lawrence Taylor, it's one of those videos you can't decide whether to watch over and over again or have your brain scrubbed immediately.



Although, I suppose it could have been worse:

He's still our President? Really?

So I'm watching the Olympics tonight, and sandwiched somewhere in between the uneven bars and the floor exercise, I'm treated to a (President) Bush interview. Maybe it's because I've been more focused on the next President than the current President, or maybe it's because he's been a lame duck for, I don't know, the last seven years, but I had totally forgotten how uncomfortable his interviews are. Bob Costas asked him some serious questions about the Russia-Georgia conflict and Darfur... and instead of listening intently with that sober "you're asking me a serious question/people are dying/I'm the leader of the free world" look that you'd expect the President of the United States to have, the guy is smiling. Correction, grinning. GRINNING! I found this picture of him at a beach volleyball match, and I thought it was pretty appropriate...


In other Olympics news, did anyone catch the Opening Cermeonies? Pretty crazy. I also learned that English and French are the two official languages of the Olympics. I get English... but French?

And finally, is it just me, or is Tim Daggett the Scott Hamilton of gymnastics announcing?

ps. Sorry that this blog post has been straight out of the Larry King school of commentary. I know, I know.

Brooklyn Yogurt Turf Wars!

Perhaps this post is best categorized under the label "things I couldn't possibly give a shit about since I don't live in Downtown Brooklyn." But a very interesting (to me at least) development is afoot in my neighborhood. I've lived in Downtown Brooklyn for a number of years now, and have watched as the 'nabe slowly received the gentrification attention that has been lavished on other previously, um, crusty Brooklyn neighborhoods like Williamsburg. Despite the introduction of about 5 bazillion (actual number) new banks and even the promise of a new Trader Joe's, the stretch of Court Street between Atlantic and Livingston Street has been slow to clean its act up and trade in bail bonds shops for some gourmet falafel stand (or whatever fancy restaurant marks the first wave of gentrification). Until now.

Within the next few weeks, not one, not two, but THREE new frozen yogurt shops will be opening within 6 blocks of each other. Of those, Red Mango and Yogo Monster (clever, fellas) will be within spitting distance of each other (especially if the spitter is Larry Piagrassi, legendary spit-distance champion from the Flappy Days brothers' days at Camp Androscoggin). This is, of course, good news for the wifey, and c'mon - who doesn't remember their first, delicious cup of that creamy, cold stuff that wasn't quite ice cream, not quite yogurt at their local mini-mall (probably down the hall from a Spencer's Gifts). But methinks what will be most exciting about this freak occurrence is the Darwinian battle these little shops will entangle themselves Who will be left standing? I'll keep you posted, likely 20 pounds heavier from a steady diet of "fat free" frozen, cultured goodness in a cup.

This blog thing is international

Hello Flappy Days readers - I have returned from a month-long, pre-wedding/wedding hiatus. I am now a married man. I'll keep this don't-call-it-a-comeback post short, and just say that I've been reviewing the logs, and in my absence, we've had some new visitors from international hotspots Iran and Iraq. Welcome to the fun. We'll try harder to give you some daily content (or weekly - maybe I should under-promise and over-deliver, as my cousin and uncle advised me after listening to the vows I had written for the wedding).

Can't wait to see what happens the next time Obama exits a limo without wearing panties...

The latest McCain ad features Paris, Britney.... and Obama. I guess this ad is targeted to the "I watch TMZ but quietly resent it and harbor negative feelings towards celebutard culture" demographic. Makes me yearn for simpler times, when politics focused on the more mainstream "soccer moms" and "Nascar Dads".

Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio?

The most inattentive bloggers. Ever.

Dear Readers,

Thank you for your patience. We've been really lazy as of late (with good reason), and haven't been paying enough attention to our dear blog. The good news is that as difficult as it seems to build traffic, it is to lose traffic. So to the half dozen of you that have been with us since the beginning, we salute you.

So as long as I'm copping to being lazy... what's one more half-assed post? Below, a picture that made me laugh. Enjoy...

An open letter to Jerry Rivers

Dear Jerry,

We know that you're not aspiring to be Walter Cronkite.

We know what was in Al Capone's vault.

We know what happened to your nose back in the day.

We know that you made an ass of yourself in New Orleans and Afghanistan.

We know that you are on Fox News, after all.

But dude, come on. Running the video of the dead model's body? Even TMZ wouldn't do that...

Anyway, we hope you're having a good summer and The Hamptons, or wherever you're spending your holiday weekend, you crazy radical!

Regards,

Your Adoring Public

Caplickster: We Salute You

Last week Los Angeles' Troubadour theater hosted the Los Angeles Regionals of the Cuervo Black US Air Guitar Championships. We here at Flappy Days happen to know one of the contestants, and considering our current readership, there is about a 10 in 16 chance that you do too: Justin Caplicki, otherwise known on the Air Guitar circuit as "The Caplickster." The Caplickster took the stage last week clad in a silver cod piece, gold epaulets, a t-shirt advertising "Backstage Passes" - and I'm guessing a party of some kind - in his pants, and strike-anywhere matches taped to his fingers for the great finale of his performance of Van Halen's (what else?) "I'm on fire". And as you can see, he was, literally on fire. That's dedication to craft, folks. Caplickster made it to the second of two rounds, and came in 4th overall out of a pool of 20 competitors. Not good enough to move on to the semi-finals, but good enough to get a mention in the LA Weekly Online and to cement his name in the minds of air guitar fans everywhere. We'll be keeping on this guy - he's going places.

Caplickster - We Salute You.

This day in Irony: Vitter and Craig tout "sacredness" of marriage

On Wednesday, a group of Senators introduced a new Amendment to the US Constitution. No, this was not the long-hoped for "casual Fridays" amendment. This particular piece of legislation pertains to marriage, or more specifically, the desire to cordon marriage off like the velvet ropes of some *fabulous* club, allowing in - ironically, in the context of the metaphor - only straight couples.

Also ironic? That two of the resolution's are David Vitter and Larry Craig. Most of you know Larry Craig from his wide-stanced hijinx in the Minneapolis airport. Perhaps less well-known is Senator Vitter, who was part of the DC Madame scandal, a proprietor whose brothel services Vitter initially denied using... that is, until they found his phone records. Dumbass.

Perhaps the text of the amendment should have been edited to read: Marriage in the United States shall consist only of the union of a man and a woman (and that man's whore(s) and/or anonymous male bathroom sex partners).

Really Cool Things: An adjustable skyscraper

Last week, an Italian architect with a decidedly un-Italian name (David Fisher) announced to the world his plans to build in Dubai (where else?) an 80-story skyscraper with the unique distinction of being the world's first "building in motion." Evidently, the floors will be built around a solid cement core, and each floor will have the ability to twist around the core using wind turbines, giving residents ever-changing views of the Persian Gulf and the ridiculously awesome (and ever changing) Dubai skyline. Oh yeah - and turning floors will constantly alter the shape of the building itself, as illustrated above. The best part is that you can get a 1,300 square foot unit for only $4,000,000. Sign me up!

The Spur Posse ain't got shit on these gals!

Back in my day, the symbols for teen sex gone wrong were a group of dudes out in Lakewood, California that called themselves the Spur Posse. The group was comprised of about 20 guys that competed with one another to see who could have sex with the most girls. The champ claimed to have bedded a grand total of 66.

When asked to describe the girls that the Posse rounded up, a classmate described them as "not the prettiest", which was probably an understatement. I can't imagine that Client #66 was a study in high self esteem.

Speaking of high self esteem...

I've been thinking about the girls in Gloucester, Massachusetts that made a pact to have babies together. By now you've probably read about them. There are 17 expecting mothers, none over the age of 16. Sad.

One of them was impregnated by a 24 year old homeless man. Really sad.

How do you tell your friends that the baby daddy is the guy who lives behind the Grand Union? I mean, really? How does that go down? Do you actually tell them the truth, or do you just tell them that the dad is Steve Sanders?

In somewhat related news, mazel tov to Jamie Lynn Spears (who, at 17, is older than all 17 of the mothers-to-be in Gloucester) on the birth of her baby girl.

Throw another shrimp on the barbie, fatass.

Good news, my fellow Americans: those fun loving, perpetually backpacking Australians are fatter than we are!

A report titled "Australia's Future Fat Bomb" claims that Australia's got a higher proportion of "husky" citizens (that's my word, not theirs) than America does. Out of 21 million citizens, 9 million are considered obese.

Below is a picture of a chicken sandwich from the Australian version of Burger King, Hungry Jack's. Looks like our friends down under have definitely acquired the taste for ridiculously large portion sizes...

Facial Hair: Why should gay men have all the fun?

After reading Brosephus' post below about the Navy pilot who was asked to trim his handlebar moustache, I realized that there have now been 3 postings on this site about facial hair, and none were written by me. This distressed me, because although Brosephus has been known to grow a full beard from time to time, I am the resident pogonotrophe. Considering the fact that I've been able to grow a full beard since I was about 12 years old (unfortunately, that is not a typo) and have amused myself cultivating my facial hair in a variety of ways since, I have yet to throw my two cents in on the whole "beard" phenomenon. Until now.


I read an article years ago in which Tim Allen (yes, that Tim Allen) suggested that in the age of women's liberation, that growing beards was one of the last thing men could do exclusively (a few stray whiskers, or Frida Kahlo-style lip hair do not count. Jennifer Miller, probably the most well-known "bearded lady" does count, but she and her sistren are the overwhelming exception to what I'm talking about.) I remember looking at photos of men from the civil war and early part of the 20th century and thinking that we had lost something culturally when men started shaving their entire faces, all the time. As a kid, I used to read a comic book called Elfquest, and the male characters, upon reaching adulthood, all developed their own distinctive facial hair (without needing to shave) - it represented to me the ability of men to make themselves unique from other men.
In the modern age, it has seemed (at least until recently) that facial growth, especially unique growth departing from standard beards and van dykes, was the almost-exclusive province of gay men in general and bears specifically. This trend appears to be changing, as more and more men (straight and gay) rediscover the joys of facial hair, and not just during the winter months or in Williamsburg. I've started taking informal polls as I ride the subway to work each day, counting dudes with facial hair and those without - we (I'm currently sporting a Balbo, and the wifey-to-be happens to prefer me in a beard) outnumber the clean-shaven every time. So maybe this is the beginning of a new era for male facial hair and creativity. To paraphrase the end of the Passover seder, "next year at the World Beard and Moustache Championships!"

Why can't they all just adhere to "The Goose" standard?

Heard a great story this afternoon on NPR. A British pilot, on an exchange posting with the US Airforce, was asked to trim his handlebar moustache. Seems that our flyboys have to comply with some sort of moustache ordinance that limits the size of their 'stache, and the handles on Chris Ball's moustache violated the guidelines by an inch or so. Seriously. Check it out:




Ball was basically told that he needed to grow a 'stache more like Goose. See below:


Ball appealed to his superiors- and long story short- is allowed to keep his tribute to The Caplickster in place.

The real reason why the U.S. is falling behind in math and science

Every couple of months we read about how America's youth are falling far behind their international counterparts when it comes to math and science. The experts keep trying to figure out why this has happened, and how they can reverse the trend.

Finally, some answers:


BTW: This poll was commissioned by Counterpoint: The MIT-Wellesley Journal of Campus Life (whose staff, I'm guessing, is much more Chemistry/Mathematics than they are Studio Art), and comes to us via Pushback. Just last week, MIT announced that they were abandoning their sixteen year partnership with Wellesley and pulling out of the academic journal. They're heading over to BU to get laid.

R.I.P.: Tim Russert

Tim Russert died today at the young age of 58. I remember the first time a celebrity death affected me as deeply as if I knew the person personally - it was when Scatman Crothers passed away. Well, it's happened again - maybe it's because I was a big fan of Russert as a journalist, or maybe it was because he was one of those news celebrities who you see so often that they start to feel like family. In any case, I'll miss him.

Rest in peace, Mr. Russert.

Veal Loaf Nostalgia

So my brother's comment regarding Veal Loaf brought back some fantastic memories. We used to go to a place called Karl Ehmers, which was essentially a giant German delicatessen. When you think of delis, you usually think of Jewish or Italian delis. You know, either hanging salamis or hanging Prosciutti. Not Karl Ehmers. Karl Ehmers had wursts of every variety. Bratwurst. Tirolerwurst, Bierwurst, Serenaaltschulwurst. If you Google wursts, Karl Ehmers is still number one.


But I digress...

I learned to love Veal Loaf before I learned to love soda milk. I had no idea what it was, nor did it ever occur to me that there was anything strange about Veal coming in Loaf form. All I knew was that it was always warm (despite the fact that it came from a cold deli case) and it tasted great with ketchup on wheat bread.

Tonight I looked up a recipe for Veal Loaf. Here goes:

Chopped Veal, Powdered Cracker, Butter, Mace (which evidently is a spice similar to nutmeg), Egg, Chopped Pork, Salt and Pepper.

Thoughts?

P.S. Karl Ehmer closed down the farm years ago and sold the land to a developer. They built pretty typical tract housing, featuring starter homes with no basements. Word was that there was some concern that the land might be infected with Anthrax.

Other items found in our house circa 1985

I'm not going to deny what my brother wrote earlier. It was all true. The Diet Coke, the Soda Milk, the People Magazine. If Doc Brown showed up with the Delorean and offered to bring you back to our childhood home, you'd find that those were all pretty typical items at the crib on Walnut Hill.

Here are some of my favorites from back in the day:

Five Alive- you don't see this much, but it used to be one of my drink boxes. That and Crantastic.

(Diet) Canfield's Chocolate Fudge Soda- I always thought it was pretty gross, but for some reason there always seemed to be a couple cans in the pantry. Maybe because no one ever wanted to drink it.

Freihofer's Chocolate Chip Cookies- Greatest chocolate chip cookies ever. And sadly, very unavailable South of the Mason Dixon line.

Stouffer's Macaroni and Cheese- Unbelievably good frozen macaroni and cheese. So good, that when The Barefoot Contessa's recipe for Mac 'n Cheese didn't work out as planned at Thanksgiving a couple of years ago, Mom substituted Stouffer's. Everyone loved it (especially me, who knew at bite one what I was eating).

Eating Out With Jen Bablow

Last night I had the pleasure of dining with an old friend. Let's just call him Jen Bablow. Bablow, who beginning today is assuming the post of Assistant to the Chicago Bureau Chief (just for reference, the Chicago Bureau Chief position is currently held by Delicious E.), admitted that he's not a regular visitor to this site. He said the chief reason was that he wanted to read about people he knew, not celebrities. Jen asserted that if Flappy Days started covering, say, him, traffic would go through the roof. I'm dubious, but just in case Bablow's correct, here are a few nuggets on the newest member of the Flappy Days family:

1. He loves Hugh Grant movies. He'll go by himself if he must. In particular, he really enjoyed Notting Hill. I think he was disappointed by Mickey Blue Eyes, but who wasn't. I never saw it myself- I protest anything that degrades James Caan any further (which includes anything featuring Scott Caan not called Varsity Blues).

2. One of his favorite all time songs is Funky Nassau, from everyone's favorite sequel, Blues Brothers 2000. Listen to it here.

3. Bablow self-diagnosed himself lactose intolerent. He figured this out years ago after dining at Gino's East in Chicago. Unfortunately, this was after consuming a pizza that looked like this:

If you'd like to know more about Bablow, or have stories of your own, please feel free to comment.

US Weekly vs. People Magazine: class versus trash?

I'm not embarrassed to admit that Brosephus and I grew up with People Magazine and Diet Coke (and television - lots and lots of television). Our mother loved Diet Coke and People Magazine, ergo, so did we. Before you call child services, you should know that for the first 8-10 years of our life, that Diet Coke would be consumed as "Soda Milk" - milk and soda mixed into one delicious beverage, the idea for which our mother may or may not have gotten from watching "Laverne and Shirley". I never actually bought a People subscription for myself (I don't have a desperate need to learn Al Roker's diet secrets or Roma Downey's cruelty-free make-up regimen), but I do happily flip through them anytime I'm back at the homestead. People really was the forerunner of the current crop of celebrity tabloids, but I never felt quite as disgusted as I do after reading a People as I do after reading, say, US Weekly. Some friends and I were discussing why this might be, and I suggested that it was because People balanced out all of their trashier celebrity tabloid pieces with a handful of human interest stories in every issue. For every article on Kate Hudson's latest romantic betrayal, there was one about a mom in Indiana who miraculously saved her toddler by lifting a 18-wheeler with her bare hands. You know, a little uplift to offset the depressing "downpull" of celebrity navel gazing. The wifey-to-be treats US Weekly like crack, and enjoys the sick thrill of a magazine completely bereft of human interest. I was trying to quantify how I felt about it all and came up with this: US Weekly is People's whorey little sister.

Seems pretty close to the mark.

Memo to McCain: It's actually a series of tubes

At a recent stop on his campaign, Senator McCain was asked about his vice presidential search. He replied: "You know, basically it's a Google. What you can find out now on the internet - it's remarkable." Senator McCain, with all due respect, if you hope to win the youth vote, you're going to have to stop adding extraneous "a"s and "the"s in front of commonly used modern words. And yes, it *was* remarkable how much information could be found on the intertubes... in 1998. Now - not so remarkable. Of course, we're not electing a Technologist-In-Chief, but c'mon now - does this guy not have advisors to warn him away from such gaffes?

R.I.P.: Jim McCay

Of the two balding brothers here at Flappy Days, I am clearly the one less interested in sports. (Case in point - I have absolutely no idea what or whom Brosephus is talking about in the post below.) This has started to change in the last couple years as I've developed a taste for bloodsports (specifically, MMA, and more specifically, the UFC), but throughout our childhoods, it was always Brosephus who collected baseball cards, who watched Monday Night Football with our college-football-playing (and coaching) father, and who read the sports pages (I was much more interested in...anything else). I still get surprised credit from him when I bust out obscure sports knowledge whose source is a mystery even to me (pulled out of my ass, most likely. Although, the fact that I know that Jaromir Jagr used to play on the Penguins lost its luster, oh, about 7 seven years ago).

So it's really saying something when an icon of the sports world dies and I actually recognize them. Jim McKay passed away last week, and the world will forever be richer for his oft-quoted formulation: "the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat."

Rest in peace, Mr. McManus.

Prince and Sally O'Malley now have something in common

Once in a while, a celebrity birthday really puts one's own mortality into perspective. Last week, Prince turned 50. Before you know it, the Olsen twins will be shilling for Depends. Life moves fast.

Introducting Garth Breen, Mike Breen's Evil Twin

For me, Game 1 of the 2008 Final's wasn't so much about the return of the Celtics-Lakers rivalry as it was about Mike Breen's goatee. Why did I not notice this? I feel like I've watched my share of the NBA Playoffs, and yet here we are in Game 1 and I had on idea that Breeny was sporting chin music.

Check out the before and afters, they remind me very much of Michael Knight's evil twin brother Garth Knight (propers to Chuckles on his epic Halloween costume back in '96) from Knight Rider:

It left me a little stunned, actually. Why would a broadcaster choose to grow such weak-ass facial hair on the verge of calling one of the biggest (from a ratings standpoint, at least) NBA Finals of all time? Does he think it makes him look more mature, perhaps maybe even a little more dangerous?

I'll always have much love for Mike Breen. The last time the Lakers and Celtics met in the Finals, Mike was the voice of the Marist Red Foxes, who at the time were my favorite college basketball team . While Larry and Magic duked it out on the main stage, Breen was calling Rik Smits and Drafton Davis' names for local cable access.