So, I moved over Nor'Easter/Halloween weekend and have been living in my new digs at the shore for two months.
Shore living rules. It's like year-round idiot summer camp. I ride my purple with pink hibiscus flower decals and white walls beach cruiser down the middle of the street and hightail it to the curb when one of a dozen cars that constitute traffic approaches. People run, ride bikes, paddle board and surf in all weather. If the tide has been out for a few hours, the sand is packed enough to ride on. And a few weeks ago, I rode into a murmuration -- the freakin coolest thing ever -- of a few hundred sandpipers.
I harbor no ill will toward Philadelphia. I love that town. But man, living there can really wear you down. There are so many just haggard, miserable sons of bitches there, it became too much for me to take. To listen to the crows at the corner store, kids at the dog park and anyone at the local watering hole you learn quickly that everything's a hassle, everything sucks and everything is stupid. It was like living in middle school, except the obese kids run the show and they hate everyone and anything that isn't equally sunless.
My pre-gentrification neighborhood used to be cool. Little ethnic pockets with insane restaurants and all kinds of funny, neat, new people to meet. But as the economy tanked further, the mom and pop shops went out of business, families moved in with other families across town to make ends meet, and the city budget covered less and less.
Poverty doesn't breed anything good, and slather it on top of a particular culture of people who have nothing positive to say to begin with, and it is a fucking drag. Every day. Getting on public trans and listening to people bitch and moan endlessly, never offer any small nicety or help to another, and whine about the whys and hows of their great big tragedy of an existence.
I prefer to be the most negative person in the room. And in F-Town and the surrounding area, I wasn't in the top 10,000.
A couple of years ago I saw a tv weather report from Buffalo, N.Y. A pretty, smiling girl in pink snowboarding pants and an aqua- and turquoise-print jacket was sitting on top of a 22-foot mound of snow made by a frontloader clearing a parking lot. She was wearing massive ski goggles and her microphone was dwarfed by enormous gauntlet-style boarding gloves. It was snowing like a bastard and the wind kept warping the mic reception.
She had a huge smile on her face the whole time she reported 24 inches of snow that had fallen the previous day and the 12 or so more inches that were en route. Yes! Your commute tomorrow should be a mess! And make sure you break the ice on top of water bowls for outdoor pets or livestock, so that they can drink unimpeded! And be sure to cover your faces because the winds are forecasted to top out at 50 mile an hour gusts!
Then she slid down the snow pile and threw a snowball at her cameraman.
It was the cutest, happiest weather report I've ever seen, and it made me long for the '70s, when inclement weather meant SNOW DAY! Everybody report to the hill I live on with skis, sleds, tobaggans, flying discs, upside-down skateboards, stolen lunch trays and whatever else you can find! Snow day meant AWESOME. People who commuted to work let us skitch off their bumpers. Random strangers would sneaker slide down hills next to you and grab your hand to make a chain.
I lived at the bottom of the second-largest hill in town, so you know my Mom was noodling down our angled driveway in treaded after-ski boots carrying a tray of hot chocolates with marshmallows and whipped cream for everybody. My folks were also the first ones on scene when the inevitable genius overcorrected imprecise sled steering and went careening off the road into the ravine.
I recently swung back through my hometown on my way home from work and noticed some new bits of construction: two big speed bumps at the bottom of the hill. I applaud the installation of the speed bumps for the purpose of controlling traffic. There is no way to measure accurately the number of cars that've bottomed out crossing my street and landing in the basin of the hill, other than the awesome damage to the road surface. Especially during the summer, the road would go quickly from smooth surface to practically gravel in a few weeks' time. I had no idea so many Jersey residents even owned Monte Carlos.
But then it hit me. Speed bumps covered by SNOW. YES. Talk about catching air, you don't need a big block Chevy engine to launch off a speed bump at the bottom of a hill. Admittedly, the .375 drag coefficient couldn't hurt, but there are TWO bumps in quick succession.
As far as hometown construction improvements go, this one is aces. A few years ago, I assume in an attempt to accomodate both people with disabilities and parents [nannies] with strollers, the town dropped corner curbs down to street level. The unfortunate and completely hilarious downside to that master stroke is that they flood, and in the winter, freeze into solid ice. So, no one in a wheelchair or scooter can get on the sidewalk via the ramp; and from what I've witnessed firsthand, stroller pushers now approach over the tall part of the curb and go across lawns. Your only other option is to hug the street gutter until you get to somebody's driveway.
So, while I'm sure drivers are in for a serious wake-up call if they contine to hit my street at 40+ mph, sledders are in for a major treat.
This week's forecast is rain, but when it comes to winter sports, I can be patient. I'll be taking the day off and sledding the hell out of that hill at the first sign of snowfall.
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And now to get 2log on this exclusive watchlist and LITERALLY land us dozens of new readers, I present you a short play.
Drug Trafficking, Cybercrime, Borders & Bird Flu A tragedy in one act
Brandywine: Hey pencilneck, do you want to do some drugs? Billy: Here? While I'm driving my new Chrysler 200 Touring? Not in this deathtrap! Don't you know that one in eight Americans die in a Chrysler? Brandywine: Don't be such a blattering mancy. Billy: OK, you convinced me. Let me just get my paraphernalia. I bought it with credit cards I stole from the internet. Brandywine: You're not special for using the internet, pickleface. We all "log in" to the informed commentary of Brian Ross on the ABC news blog, "The Blotter" Billy: Uh oh! To do this many drugs, we need to go someplace empty. Brandywine: How about that Borders bookstore that recently closed?
Billy and Brandywine have a drug montage.
Billy: Yummers! HORK!
Billy caught bird, swine, and Spanish flu from smoking tainted potpourri and died at the age of 11. Brandywine dropped out of school to become substitute auctioneer in the backroom of a Dairy Queen. She retired at the age of 98 and died two years earlier. They are survived by their daughters, Oskarita, Jalapeno, and Broccolisaurus 2.0.
THE END
Now that I have your attention, Homeland Security, there seems to be a terrorist risk in chamber 2730.
Merry X-mas to all! In honor of the day, I made you a very special Xword puzzle. I couldn't find an easy way to let it be played online, so instead I offer a printable PDF version here.
For the first person to complete it successfully, I'll set a future X-word puzzle in your honor.
EDIT:
Because I can't distinguish an uppercase I from a lowercase l, please change
The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. We all hear the few who are desperately loud. A stunning number of otherwise talentless people have realized they can jumpstart their career simply by yelling all the time.
With this in mind, 2log celebrates our ranking of the 10 Loudest People, who have kickstarted their career by making themselves heard.
10. Lil' Jon
The world has seen its share of musicians who lack musical talent. But only Lil' Jon was able to become a household name and win awards simply by screaming atonally and arhythmically with other musicians in the same room.
He places lowest on the list because his star has fallen presumably as his voice got hoarse. His most recent work is being a D-List celebrity on a reality show chaired by the third place screamer (see below.)
9. Will Farrell
If you're looking to get alcohol poisoning, watch any Will Ferrell movie and take a shot every time Ferrell screams. Chart his career crescendo:
2005: The impending din is foreshadowed in his star vehicle "Kicking & Screaming"
2009: Instead of writing a script for "Land of the Lost", they instead just let Ferrell and a pack of CGI dinosaurs roar back and forth for an hour and a half.
2011: Will Ferrell is brought in to shout some life into the rapidly crumbling Office.
Ferrell only places at #9, because he's also somewhat funny when using his indoor voice, and he could have possibly cut a successful career in a parallel and more civilized universe.
8. Jim Cramer
If your job was to peddle financial advice, but your financial advice caused people to lose money, you might contemplate a new career path. Cramer instead opted to shout his financial advice louder. Cramer has reduced the discourse surrounding complex financial transactions to that of an episode of Pee Wee's Fun House.
Our heart goes out to you if you lost your life savings betting on Bear Sterns the day before it collapsed because Cramer's screaming bullied you into it. If ratings drop, I fear Cramer will start pressuring you to buy General Electric or he'll sacrifice a kitten on camera.
7. Regis Philbin
Regis Philbin manages to toe the thin line between screaming excitedly at all times in his life and yet somehow not doing it at eardrum-shattering levels. As the world record holder for most time in front of a camera, he's probably calculated the exact maximum volume he can hit without causing audio equipment to spike.
In his record-setting time in front of the camera, he's kept up a consistent frenzied pitch of astonishment the entire time. After a quarter decade hosting a talk show, he still manages to shout in excited disbelief every time a celebrity chef demonstrates a new way to mix a vinaigrette. Mr. Philbin hits the #7 mark not solely for volume, but duration.
6. Oprah Winfrey
The only lady to crack the list knows how to excite a crowd. Here's 25 years of her screaming celebrity guests.
5. R. Lee Ermey
Ermey served 11 years in the army and never rose past the rank of Staff Sergeant. I'm not disparaging his military service, but merely commenting that we may never have heard of the foot soldier in his previously unremarkable career path.
Fortunately, he got a lucky break when he screamed his way onto the set of Full Metal Jacket. He's since transformed himself into a successful Hollywood character actor as screaming military guy. After twenty five years of screaming, he was eventually promoted to Gunnery Sergeant, to match the rank of his fictitious Kubrick persona.
4. Chris Matthews
Want to start a career as a political commentator, but lack any interesting political insight or interviewing talent? Chris Matthews faced this dilemma some years back. He overcame this by pitching the network execs on a show where he just yelled at his guests.
I expect the only way we can see him displaced from the airwaves is if Gwen Ifill decides to cold clock one guest per show.
3. Donald Trump
Mr. Trump once styled himself a businessman, but failed stunningly at every one of his ventures. I don't even know how it's possible to lose money running a casino, but Mr. Trump found a way. So why do people listen to him? Probably because he's always yelling.
In addition to being loud in speech, his entire personality is needlessly loud. As a real estate developer, he's fond of using an unusual amount of gold to make his buildings stand out. He spends much of his wealth frivolously suing people for pointing out he's not as rich as he pretends. In an example of his outsized ego, he's named his multiple businesses and properties after his surname, i.e. Trump Towers, Trump Magazine, Trump Vodka. And for consistency sake, how does he self-brand himself? Curiously, he chooses "The Donald" over the ubiquitous "Trump."
2. Gilbert Gottfried
"Jafar, help, I'm molting!" Did you know that the voice you just read that in is not actually Gilbert's real voice. So committed is he to the voice that made him famous, that few people actually know this fact. I wonder if he talks normally around his wife, or if he read his wedding vows like the Aflac duck.
You must give him credit for his foresight, though. Imagine a younger silver-tongued Gottfried choosing to start talking like a bird being strangled. His friends surely called him crazy and asked him to knock it off. Gilbert clearly got the last annoying laugh, as his commitment to this voice is clearly all he has going for himself.
As a shouter, he's edged only slightly by the documentarian who recorded his telling of the Aristocrats joke...
1. Penn Jillette
If you average out Penn and Teller, the two speak at a reasonable conversational tone. It's telling that the only person Mr. Jillette can work with can't get a word in edgewise.
It's clear, and even admitted by Mr. Jillette, that he is loud, overbearing and obnoxious. But if you've seen any of his D-list cameos, it's clear that his pathological problem goes well beyond this. It's not just that he steamrolls over everybody else in the room. It's that he's quick to anger, and manages to set himself off over the course of his own monologue. Once he opens his mouth, he'll quickly decay into an angry shouting monologue for previous little reason, as seen here.
This is more dangerous because it seems that his mouth simply never closes. I wouldn't be surprised if his wife routinely finds he's unable to come to bed because he's stuck in a midnight shouting match with the refrigerator.
A few years back he apparently realized nobody pays much attention to a magic act, no matter how loud the magician. Fortunately for Penn, it coincided with a time when fundamentalist atheists were lavished with media attention to bellow anti-religious opinions. The likes of Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens are an incredibly loudmouthed bunch to start with, but Mr. Jillette still managed to scream his way into the club. It helped his convictions that the only thing he worships is the words that come from his mouth.
Most people wouldn't give the time of day to a magician's opinions on life, the universe, or anything. Even shouting wouldn't be enough to get a David Copperfield or GOB Bluth attention. Jillette's voice is indeed an unrelenting force, earning him top spot on the list.
How dare you, spawn of Satan, refer to the 17-foot spruce in front of the Statehouse as a "holiday tree"?!
As the Roman Catholic Church has rightly pointed out, you are nefariously attempting to secularize the holy day of Christmas. After all, as all good Christians know, the most sacred part of Jesus's birth was when Joseph and Mary draped festive candles on the pine tree growing in the desert outside the stable in Bethlehem.
What's that you say? Lighting a "Christmas" tree during Advent is putting the cart before the horse? The real culprits for secularizing the holiday are "Christmas" sales and "Christmas" music on the radio starting the day after Halloween?
