I'm a little tired from my friend's wedding last night - yes, Wagonsux, I was there - so before I post about the big event, I figured I'd take y'all back from another quality post from Middie Back!, my first blog. This post was originally written on January 30, 2004. Enjoy!
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As a kid, some of my fondest memories involve Saturday morning cartoons. Yes, I am a card-carrying member of Generation X. I don't want to sound like a curmudgeon, but today's cartoons lack a certain style. "Pokemon", "Recess", and "Pepper Ann" couldn't hold "Looney Toons'" anvil. As sure as it is accepted that McDonald's fries are the best, it is also sure that "Looney Toons" is the king of animation. Although I could sing the praises of Bugs, Daffy, and Porky Pig until I am blue in the face, these legends of cinema are not my focus today. Today I write about mere "filler". Today I come to praise "Schoolhouse Rock".
For the two or three of you (ninety percent of my audience, by the way) who are unfamiliar with S.R., allow me to give you a brief synopsis. "Schoolhouse Rock" is a collection of campy 70's musical cartoons with a message. Their subjects run the gamut from history to grammar, from mathematics to science. They were essential to my academic development, and I would refer to them while taking tests in grade school: "A noun is a person, place, or thing . . ." In the words of Chevy Chase (from "Spies Like Us"): "Got me through high school."
As I grew older, many of my childhood joys became tired, soulless shadows of their former selves. While cleaning the old homestead, I found my VHS tapes of "The Rock" and decided to give them a once-over. Imagine my surprise when I realized that they were just as enjoyable today as they were when I was ten. To be honest, I always thought many of the lyrics were sung by the immortal Ray Charles, and not Jack Shelton (GENIUS!), even though their voices are similar. I still can't pick an adverb out of a police lineup, but I can tell you how to "Unpack Your Adjectives".
The greatest joy of reliving these cartoon classics was watching my three year old son, Kyle, sit in front of the television, mesmerized by "Conjunction Junction" and "Interjections". Hopefully, it will start him down the road of learning-he already loves visiting the local library-and keep him away from the all-too-common view that school is a chore.
Showing posts with label Middie Back. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Middie Back. Show all posts
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
A Blast From The Past
With the help of Techno-Yoda Rachel, I have found my very post from my very first blog, "Middie Back!" Originally posted on January 29, 2004, it was lost forever when I deleted the blog. Luckily, the internet is forever, and Rachel found my old stuff through the Wayback Machine. The title of the blog was "Middie Back!" and the subtitle was "Some rants and ravings from the dumbest guy in his college clique." Prepare to be thoroughly underwhelmed . . .
Why Are We Here?
A profound question that has plagued both man and beast for eons. The answer to this particular question is two-fold: either you have logged on to my blog by mistake ("Undo!, Undo!"), and are looking for something of substance (i.e., illegal music downloads), or, you feel obligated as a friend/family member/pet to read my posts. Oh well. Whatever puts the tushies in the seats. Welcome aboard.
Why "Middie Back!"?
It's a lacrosse term used when a defensive player enters the offensive zone. The player will yell, "Middie Back!" to let his teammates know to cover his now vacant defensive position. I've always liked the term because it's a.) catchy, b.) familiar, since I played (and now coach), and c.) not lost in translation off the field. "Middie Back!" is a testosterone-driven plea for help - a Dr. Phil-less way for a guy to ask a friend for support. Since I haven't written anything worth reading since college (and even then, the jury was out), I may feel the need to shout "Middie Back!" to the audience if I get flustered. Practice makes perfect, and I hope my writing steadily improves. Thanks in advance for your patience.
Why Am I "The Dumbest Guy In His College Clique"?
I was lucky enough to attend Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia (currently #3 in the nation in men's basketball). Trust me, I was out of my league since day one. A pal from high school introduced me to "a few good men" (and women!), and we all quickly became friends. One thing led to another, and by sophomore year, my "clique" collectively joined the school newspaper (shout out to "The Hawk"). After spending countless hours in that cramped, dingy office, I realized that I was surrounded by some of the brightest people I have ever met. (Dr. Phil Alert!) Although I always felt inferior to them intellectually, they never judged me, and were always ready to lend a helping hand. For that I am grateful. I dedicate this blog to them. Thank you Tom, Chris, Donna, Bill, Matt (The Boy), Dawn, Pat, Heather, Marika, Michelle, Topher, and Alex. Go Hawks!
Why Are We Here?
A profound question that has plagued both man and beast for eons. The answer to this particular question is two-fold: either you have logged on to my blog by mistake ("Undo!, Undo!"), and are looking for something of substance (i.e., illegal music downloads), or, you feel obligated as a friend/family member/pet to read my posts. Oh well. Whatever puts the tushies in the seats. Welcome aboard.
Why "Middie Back!"?
It's a lacrosse term used when a defensive player enters the offensive zone. The player will yell, "Middie Back!" to let his teammates know to cover his now vacant defensive position. I've always liked the term because it's a.) catchy, b.) familiar, since I played (and now coach), and c.) not lost in translation off the field. "Middie Back!" is a testosterone-driven plea for help - a Dr. Phil-less way for a guy to ask a friend for support. Since I haven't written anything worth reading since college (and even then, the jury was out), I may feel the need to shout "Middie Back!" to the audience if I get flustered. Practice makes perfect, and I hope my writing steadily improves. Thanks in advance for your patience.
Why Am I "The Dumbest Guy In His College Clique"?
I was lucky enough to attend Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia (currently #3 in the nation in men's basketball). Trust me, I was out of my league since day one. A pal from high school introduced me to "a few good men" (and women!), and we all quickly became friends. One thing led to another, and by sophomore year, my "clique" collectively joined the school newspaper (shout out to "The Hawk"). After spending countless hours in that cramped, dingy office, I realized that I was surrounded by some of the brightest people I have ever met. (Dr. Phil Alert!) Although I always felt inferior to them intellectually, they never judged me, and were always ready to lend a helping hand. For that I am grateful. I dedicate this blog to them. Thank you Tom, Chris, Donna, Bill, Matt (The Boy), Dawn, Pat, Heather, Marika, Michelle, Topher, and Alex. Go Hawks!
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
A Programming Note
Some say you should never make decisions in anger.
Some people don't know me very well. The last time a brouhaha erupted like the one late last week, it was the beginning of the end for Middie Back! Blogging turned out to be more stressful than it was worth, so I quit and shut it down - throwing away almost a year of work. This time, I will not make the same mistake. Despite what many may think, I have put a lot of work into this blog; 804 posts in a little over a year. When people criticize it, I get offended. That is my right. The last time I checked, this was my blog, and I can do with it what I please. You don't like it? I don't give a rat's ass.
So, what I have done is enable Comment Moderation - a kickass option created by Blogger to filter out unwanted comments - an option I should have exercised from the beginning. From now on, all comments must be approved by the blog administrator (read: me) before it is seen by the blogosphere. You want Fascism, you got it.
One reader thinks that "Everyone has 'lived' in this blog with little to no disagreements for a long time. Seriously, take a look at some of the responses; there's a lot of butt-smooching going on; Wyatt's butt is big enough, but c'mon. Some of the comments should have "Shiny, Happy People" playing in the background." That was not necessarily the case, but it will be from now on. You folks haven't seen Fascism yet!
Some of you will be offended by the comment moderation, and stop visiting here. For that, I am sorry, but it is a necessary evil. The only other option was to eliminate all comments forever. I will not do that because a family member wants to rip this blog and its readers at every turn. On the other hand, some of you will believe that eliminating comments from a few lunatics is vindication of the rest. That is not the case, either. If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times: I write for me, not you. If you have a problem with that, there's the door.
End of rant.
Some people don't know me very well. The last time a brouhaha erupted like the one late last week, it was the beginning of the end for Middie Back! Blogging turned out to be more stressful than it was worth, so I quit and shut it down - throwing away almost a year of work. This time, I will not make the same mistake. Despite what many may think, I have put a lot of work into this blog; 804 posts in a little over a year. When people criticize it, I get offended. That is my right. The last time I checked, this was my blog, and I can do with it what I please. You don't like it? I don't give a rat's ass.
So, what I have done is enable Comment Moderation - a kickass option created by Blogger to filter out unwanted comments - an option I should have exercised from the beginning. From now on, all comments must be approved by the blog administrator (read: me) before it is seen by the blogosphere. You want Fascism, you got it.
One reader thinks that "Everyone has 'lived' in this blog with little to no disagreements for a long time. Seriously, take a look at some of the responses; there's a lot of butt-smooching going on; Wyatt's butt is big enough, but c'mon. Some of the comments should have "Shiny, Happy People" playing in the background." That was not necessarily the case, but it will be from now on. You folks haven't seen Fascism yet!
Some of you will be offended by the comment moderation, and stop visiting here. For that, I am sorry, but it is a necessary evil. The only other option was to eliminate all comments forever. I will not do that because a family member wants to rip this blog and its readers at every turn. On the other hand, some of you will believe that eliminating comments from a few lunatics is vindication of the rest. That is not the case, either. If I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times: I write for me, not you. If you have a problem with that, there's the door.
End of rant.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
A Middie Back! Moment
As The Man can attest, my previous blog, Middie Back!, was comprised mostly of political diatribes and constant vitriolic secretions of bile. Every Friday was "People I Hate" day, where I took my anger out on the public, instead of putting it in the happy box. Thankfully, I am now a kindler, gentler blogger, who usually leaves politics and hatred to the experts (read: not me).
Today, however, we're going back in time. Strap yourselves in.
Last night I sprint into roll call only to find out that my a**hole sergeant put me on the wagon. Normally, that would make me break out the duct tape for my skull, but I was paralyzed with rage. See, last week, I did the sergeants a huge favor by working inside. The usual toad was "off sick" (read: drunk, sleeping, or a combination of the two), and I had to bail them out. No problemo, but don't immediately screw me afterwards.
Not only did the good (read: jerkoff) sergeant screw me last night, but he didn't even grease me up, nor did he give me the common courtesy of a reach-around. As my partner and I were heading out to the wagon, we realize that last night was "bringdown" night. I verbalized my thoughts succinctly: "F**K!!!" On bringdown night, the district wagon must trek over to the prisons, load up the truck with the prisoners/human detritus, and bring them down to the district court. It's about a three-hour job.
At 3am, we start over to the Detention Center. The guard meets us outside, and says that we can't even enter the grounds until 5am - meaning any chance of us getting home on time is nixed. He tells us to park the wagon and "chill out" for two hours. Sure thing boss, 'cause these vans are just perfect for sleepin'. ASS!!!
Five o'clock rolls in, and I'm getting "the twitch." Barney Fife lets us into the receiving area and we ask the flunky how long we'll have to wait for the felons. "Oh, they won't be down until at least 6am, guys. Have a seat and relax." I verbalized my thoughts succinctly: "F**K!!!" Okay, I am disarmed in a lobby where prisoners are roaming free. Do ya think I'm gonna take a nap, you jackass?
The 6am guests of the state start trickling down, and we notice that three of our five scumbags are here. That's when the next rocket scientist mentions that the other two are in the infirmary (and, no, Bill, I am guessing the doctor isn't a hottie, like on Prison Break). It is gonna be at least fifteen more minutes. The time is now 6:30am, and we are supposed to report off at 7:15!
By 6:40, we are loaded and ready to go. Luckily, Gerry makes like Jeff Gordon and weaves in and out of rush hour traffic to get us to HQ by 7am. After herding the assclowns into their temporary cells, we make like sheep and get the flock outta there. My last comment to my partner was, "F**k this job!"
And f**k you, sarge! See if I ever do you a favor again.
Today, however, we're going back in time. Strap yourselves in.
Last night I sprint into roll call only to find out that my a**hole sergeant put me on the wagon. Normally, that would make me break out the duct tape for my skull, but I was paralyzed with rage. See, last week, I did the sergeants a huge favor by working inside. The usual toad was "off sick" (read: drunk, sleeping, or a combination of the two), and I had to bail them out. No problemo, but don't immediately screw me afterwards.
Not only did the good (read: jerkoff) sergeant screw me last night, but he didn't even grease me up, nor did he give me the common courtesy of a reach-around. As my partner and I were heading out to the wagon, we realize that last night was "bringdown" night. I verbalized my thoughts succinctly: "F**K!!!" On bringdown night, the district wagon must trek over to the prisons, load up the truck with the prisoners/human detritus, and bring them down to the district court. It's about a three-hour job.
At 3am, we start over to the Detention Center. The guard meets us outside, and says that we can't even enter the grounds until 5am - meaning any chance of us getting home on time is nixed. He tells us to park the wagon and "chill out" for two hours. Sure thing boss, 'cause these vans are just perfect for sleepin'. ASS!!!
Five o'clock rolls in, and I'm getting "the twitch." Barney Fife lets us into the receiving area and we ask the flunky how long we'll have to wait for the felons. "Oh, they won't be down until at least 6am, guys. Have a seat and relax." I verbalized my thoughts succinctly: "F**K!!!" Okay, I am disarmed in a lobby where prisoners are roaming free. Do ya think I'm gonna take a nap, you jackass?
The 6am guests of the state start trickling down, and we notice that three of our five scumbags are here. That's when the next rocket scientist mentions that the other two are in the infirmary (and, no, Bill, I am guessing the doctor isn't a hottie, like on Prison Break). It is gonna be at least fifteen more minutes. The time is now 6:30am, and we are supposed to report off at 7:15!
By 6:40, we are loaded and ready to go. Luckily, Gerry makes like Jeff Gordon and weaves in and out of rush hour traffic to get us to HQ by 7am. After herding the assclowns into their temporary cells, we make like sheep and get the flock outta there. My last comment to my partner was, "F**k this job!"
And f**k you, sarge! See if I ever do you a favor again.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Bring On The Juggys!
For those of you not familiar with my work - although SYLG is a new blog, I also had a critically-acclaimed success with "Middie Back!" - I am a red-blooded American geek. Like most geeks, I love movies, especially if they involve comic books and/or superheroes. For the most part I have been satisfied with the recent crop of superhero flicks - Daredevil being the exception; I refuse to see anything starring Ben Affleck - and really enjoyed both Spider-Man films, as well as the Blade trilogy.None of these projects, however, can hold a candle to X-Men and X2. The mere thought of seeing a live-action Wolverine made me giddy as a schoolgirl, and director Bryan Singer didn't let me down. Singer decided to forego X-Men 3, in order to man the helm of Superman Returns (with the delicious casting of Kevin Spacey as Lex Luthor), but I was floored when I heard that uber-villain Juggernaut (pictured above) would be cast in the sequel.
Now that I was drooling like Homer Simpson, I decided to check out IMDb to see who would fill the 7-foot-plus Goliath's boots. I clicked on the X-Men 3 link, looked up the cast, and . . . passed out. When I regained consciousness, I realized that I was not dreaming, and (to my delight) English actor Vinnie Jones won the role!
Okay. You folks have no idea who Vinnie Jones is, do you? Well, you may have seen him in Gone in Sixty Seconds as "The Sphinx," or in EuroTrip as "Mad Maynard," but those who enjoy a good, albeit lesser-known film, you would recognize him as "Bullet Tooth Tony" in Mr. Madonna, er, Guy Ritchie's masterpiece, Snatch.
Why am I getting all dizzy over the casting of a little known Brit? See Snatch. Today. Right now. I'll send you my copy. Snatch is a great film with a lot of great performances, but Jones' character steals the movie. If Jones can pull off Juggernaut, in my book, he will be a god!
Oh, by the way, I also noticed that Kelsey Grammer, of all people, has been cast to play Dr. Hank McCoy, aka Beast. I'm not so sure of this choice, but I'll reserve judgment for the time being.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Back In The Saddle Again
See what happens? You can't take six months off without the whole world going to hell in a handbasket. After I pushed the red self-destruct button on my previous venture, "Middie Back!", Scott Peterson was found guilty (I think he did it, but he should have been acquitted on the flimsy evidence), Michael Jackson was put on trial (I think he's guilty, too, but will be acquitted thanks to flimsy evidence), and the Philadelphia Police Department still hasn't promoted Detectives (I'm still patiently waiting at #18 on the list)!
Well, I would love to say that I'm back by popular demand, but lying on the first post doesn't exactly set a good precedent with the readers. In fairness, my cousins Barb and Grant always say they enjoy my writing, and I appreciate it, but they blew it with me when they moved from Vancouver (home of the upcoming Winter Olympiad) to Florida. Just kidding! Although watching Olympic hockey in person would have been awesome.
Oh yeah, the NHL is still on lockout, but don't even get me started on that issue.
Thanks much for checking back, and I'll try not to screw up this blog.
Well, I would love to say that I'm back by popular demand, but lying on the first post doesn't exactly set a good precedent with the readers. In fairness, my cousins Barb and Grant always say they enjoy my writing, and I appreciate it, but they blew it with me when they moved from Vancouver (home of the upcoming Winter Olympiad) to Florida. Just kidding! Although watching Olympic hockey in person would have been awesome.
Oh yeah, the NHL is still on lockout, but don't even get me started on that issue.
Thanks much for checking back, and I'll try not to screw up this blog.
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