Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow . . . someplace else
Published: Tuesday, December 28, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
I'm curious as to why this isn't labeled as an "Outta Leftfield" entry. Are there certain columns that Morsch doesn't feel merit that prestigious designation?
Nothing takes the good cheer out of a Christmas quite like a nor’easter. It’s like Mother Nature (a nasty old biddy), Old Man Winter (a Major League crumb bum and a ratfink) and the Grinch (he really is a heel) had a meeting and decided that my driveway was going to be the ground zero of every winter storm on the entire eastern seaboard.
I don't recall the Grinch having any particular influence over weather patterns.
A foot of snow in Delaware? Three feet in Mike’s driveway. Three feet of snow in Boston? Eight feet in Mike’s driveway. Really, I get so much snow in my driveway from every nor’easter that Weather Channel reporter Jim Cantore is starting to have his mail forwarded to my house.
Um... why? Wouldn't Jim Cantore have a harder time getting his mail if it's at Morsch's house, buried in snow?
He rambles on a while about how much more snow he gets than everyone else. Then he comes out with this paragraph:
No, for the good folks in the rural Heartland, a “mid’wester” is called a tornado, which is a trailer park’s low-pressure system combining with a silo’s high-pressure system to create an atmospheric condition that encourages a group of people to become partial to bib overalls as a formal fashion statement and say “y’all” a lot. And for the record, I do not have to shovel “y’alls” off my driveway.
Just try reading that without going cross-eyed and stupid. It can't be done.
I complain every year about the excessive snow.
See this past February's column about how much he hates shoveling.
My routine is always the same: Start shoveling about two hours into a storm, gripe and moan, shovel again two hours after that, gripe and moan some more, shovel again the next morning, then gripe and moan that my efforts from the previous evening have all been for naught.
This is sort of like his "I missed the eclipse" post - just wait until the storm stops, you fool!
Although my lower back has taken quite a beating, my griping and moaning skills have improved significantly over the years with all the shoveling practice I’ve been getting. One would think I’d just go out and buy a dadgummed snowblower, but that would take away all the fun out of griping and moaning. Besides, a snowblower can’t do the job of my preferred method of clearing snow — a flamethrower — but apparently neither Lowe’s nor Home Depot carry those.
Seriously though... why DOESN'T he buy a snowblower? Problem solved. Unless he's genuinely that frightened of running out of material for his column.
So instead of focusing on the shoveling this year, I’m going to gripe and moan about a few other things: local weather forecasters and snowplows.
Weathermen always get the weather wrong, and snowplows plow in your driveway cut, right? Har dee har har har.
With the latest storm, 75 percent of the “computer models” that the weather people consulted just 24 hours in advance had the nasty weather heading harmlessly out to sea. Then just like that, the prediction went from zilch to 12 to 20 inches of snow.
Huh? If a prediction is off by that much … get new computers!
You tell 'em! I bet nobody has ever made these arguments before. Ever.
I do, however, have one bit of advice for both of them: When it’s snowing sideways, go inside and report from the comfort of the television studio. We know the weather stinks. You have told us that. Now go inside. If you are going to stay outside and mess up your hair, at least have the courtesy to deliver a flame thrower to my house while you’re out.
Again, we've heard all this before. A million billion times.
My other complaint this winter season is the guys who have snowplows attached to the front of their pickup trucks. Again, this one seems pretty simple: When it snows, drop the plows and help out your neighbors, your community and the workers who have been up all night clearing roadways.
Actually it's hardly that simple. Most of those trucks belong to independent operators who plow out convenience stores, gas stations, etc. They're not just community-minded citizens.
On the way to work the day after the big storm, I saw three pickup trucks with plows and none of them had the blades dropped. Why have a snowplow attached to the front of your pickup if you’re not going to drop it when it snows? Plow something, you jamokes! Otherwise, all you have is one stupid-looking hood ornament.
And once again, our author completely misses the point. He gets a bonus point for using "jamokes," however.
There you have it, the start of the Whining in a Winter Wonderland Complaining Season.
If I could move to where it didn’t ever snow, I would. But in the meantime, I really, really need to find a flamethrower.
Or a snowblower. Honestly.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Mostly Someone Else's Material
When it comes to alarm clocks, apparently the butler did it
Published: Tuesday, December 21, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
We all know what's coming - some hilarious riffs on British people, fancy words, nice suits, etc. I'm taking bets on whether he'll use the name "Jeeves" at any point.
An alarm clock is an annoying necessity. In fact, one alarm clock in the bedroom is not enough for The Blonde Accountant and me, it takes two alarm clocks, set about a minute apart, to get us moving in the morning.
The comma after "and me" needs to be a semicolon for this sentence to sound halfway correct.
When I say “us,” I mean “her.” Fortunately for me, I sleep like a dead rock. In general, it takes a yeoman’s effort from the fife and bugle corps of a marching band to get me to even roll over and snort in the morning.
This doesn't make sense either. He says it takes two alarm clocks to get "us" moving. Then he says that "us" means his wife... but then he says that's because he sleeps so soundly. So really, by "us" he means "him."
Assuming the neighbors would not take too kindly to a marching band parked on my front lawn every morning though, we opt for the two-alarm method.
And so, three paragraphs in, we've finally established how many alarms they use.
Frankly, I rarely hear the alarms anyway, but if I did, I don’t think I’d choose the standard buzz, ring or music options. However, I did happen across an alarm that in theory, I might like The Blonde Accountant to try, courtesy of the website thinkgeek.com.
Ah, yet another "Morsch finds an amusing item on the Internet" column. It's been too long.
It’s called the “Good Morning Sir Alarm Clock,” and for just a mere $69.99, she can be awakened by the “wonderfully dry and proper Englishman,” Stephen Fry, English actor and writer, reprising his role as “Jeeves,” the “gentleman’s gentleman.”
We are warned, though, not to call this alarm clock voice a butler, despite the fact that Jeeves “can buttle with the best of them.”
For those of you that bet on using the name "Jeeves" - nicely done. Note that all the humor in his column thus far is written by somebody else.
Just once, I’d like to see a resume that included the line, “I can buttle with the best of them” in the experience section. I would seriously consider interviewing that person just to hear what qualifications it takes to properly buttle.
It's a joke, and the thing is a gag gift. Again, it's not funny to "mock" something that's meant as a joke to begin with.
When I mentioned to The Blonde Accountant that maybe she needed a new alarm clock and that this one might just be the ticket, she asked if Jeeves addressed women as well as men.
Why of course it does. If a website can think geek, it certainly should be able to think geekette as well.
Is it funny to add "ette" onto a word to make it feminine? Morsch apparently thinks so, because he does it every other entry.
Jeeves will awaken you — sir or madam — with a variety of phrases:
Note that once again, everything that follows is comedic material created by someone else.
— “I am delighted you have survived another night.”
— “I’m afraid the staff has absconded, sir/madam, and it is my day off. I trust it would not be too onerous, sir/madam, to make your own exquisitely sliced toast and perfectly cooked breakfast?”
— “Let us seize the day and take it roughly from behind, as the Colonel used to say in his unfortunate way.”
— “The rising and shining cannot be postponed indefinitely. Though shining is not compulsory in this intractable world, the rising eventually is.”
Did we really need FOUR quotes? I think we get it after, say, the first two.
For the record, I’m not sure an alarm clock that tried to wake me up by using the words absconded, onerous, compulsory and intractable would succeed where a marching band would fail.
Then why did he want to buy it?
Those fancy words are more suitable to awaken The Blonde Accountant, the more reserved and proper half of the marital equation and the one more likely to employ a butler when she wins the lottery. Not only does she get up before any rooster, she is not a menace to polite society and never will be, which is good because I’d hate to be married to someone just like me.
"Duhh, gee, I'm just a big bumblin' slob, and my wife's all prim and proper!" How many variations on this same joke have we suffered through over the months?
I’d be more apt to stir in the morning if the voice on my alarm clock was a drill sergeant, say like R. Lee Ermey and he said things like:
I'm hoping for at least five hilarious examples of what R. Lee Ermey would say.
— “Hey you snoring and slobbering bum, haul your keister out of bed right now before I bury my boot in your ear.”
— Yo jerkwagon, your undershorts are on fire and I’m about ready to open up a gas can on your behind.”
— “You gotta be bleepin’ me, you steaming pile of bear fur! What part of wake the bleep up don’t you understand?”
He missed a quotation mark in the second one. I like how he can only come up with three examples on his own, after he used four from the clock. He also stole "jerkwagon" from the recent Geico commercial in which Mr. Ermey says "jackwagon."
R. Lee Ermey would never say "undershorts" or "bear fur" (???) anyway.
Given that it’s the holiday season, the “Good Morning Sir Alarm Clock,” would have made a good gift this time of year had I thought ahead. While I usually do my holiday shopping for stupid gifts from my friends at stupid.com —
Shouldn't that be "stupid gifts FOR my friends"? Unless he's buying things for his friends to give to him...
where I can get the inflatable mooning Santa or the eggnog bubblegum — I can see that when shopping for that special someone next year, I should probably include thinkgeek.com on my list of places to shop. I’m sure The Blonde Accountant would much prefer something like the Star Trek Enterprise pizza cutter or the Screaming Monkey Slingshot rather than some bling from a stuffy old jewelry store.
Honestly, we're not going to get a single use of the phrase "pip-pip cheerio" or anything? This topic should really be bringing out his ethnocentric side.
You will note that when choosing gifts like the Starship Enterprise pizza cutter and the Screaming Monkey Slingshot, I did not violate the cardinal rule of Stupid Husband Shopping that states: “Buy no gift for your wife that has a cord.”
WaHOOOOOO! Yes! I was waiting for that next "dumb husband" joke, and here it is!
Which, I believe makes me a gentleman’s gentleman in the area of husband awareness. Now, if I can just learn how to buttle with the best of them.
And he finishes it off with yet another joke he took from the alarm clock.
Published: Tuesday, December 21, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
We all know what's coming - some hilarious riffs on British people, fancy words, nice suits, etc. I'm taking bets on whether he'll use the name "Jeeves" at any point.
An alarm clock is an annoying necessity. In fact, one alarm clock in the bedroom is not enough for The Blonde Accountant and me, it takes two alarm clocks, set about a minute apart, to get us moving in the morning.
The comma after "and me" needs to be a semicolon for this sentence to sound halfway correct.
When I say “us,” I mean “her.” Fortunately for me, I sleep like a dead rock. In general, it takes a yeoman’s effort from the fife and bugle corps of a marching band to get me to even roll over and snort in the morning.
This doesn't make sense either. He says it takes two alarm clocks to get "us" moving. Then he says that "us" means his wife... but then he says that's because he sleeps so soundly. So really, by "us" he means "him."
Assuming the neighbors would not take too kindly to a marching band parked on my front lawn every morning though, we opt for the two-alarm method.
And so, three paragraphs in, we've finally established how many alarms they use.
Frankly, I rarely hear the alarms anyway, but if I did, I don’t think I’d choose the standard buzz, ring or music options. However, I did happen across an alarm that in theory, I might like The Blonde Accountant to try, courtesy of the website thinkgeek.com.
Ah, yet another "Morsch finds an amusing item on the Internet" column. It's been too long.
It’s called the “Good Morning Sir Alarm Clock,” and for just a mere $69.99, she can be awakened by the “wonderfully dry and proper Englishman,” Stephen Fry, English actor and writer, reprising his role as “Jeeves,” the “gentleman’s gentleman.”
We are warned, though, not to call this alarm clock voice a butler, despite the fact that Jeeves “can buttle with the best of them.”
For those of you that bet on using the name "Jeeves" - nicely done. Note that all the humor in his column thus far is written by somebody else.
Just once, I’d like to see a resume that included the line, “I can buttle with the best of them” in the experience section. I would seriously consider interviewing that person just to hear what qualifications it takes to properly buttle.
It's a joke, and the thing is a gag gift. Again, it's not funny to "mock" something that's meant as a joke to begin with.
When I mentioned to The Blonde Accountant that maybe she needed a new alarm clock and that this one might just be the ticket, she asked if Jeeves addressed women as well as men.
Why of course it does. If a website can think geek, it certainly should be able to think geekette as well.
Is it funny to add "ette" onto a word to make it feminine? Morsch apparently thinks so, because he does it every other entry.
Jeeves will awaken you — sir or madam — with a variety of phrases:
Note that once again, everything that follows is comedic material created by someone else.
— “I am delighted you have survived another night.”
— “I’m afraid the staff has absconded, sir/madam, and it is my day off. I trust it would not be too onerous, sir/madam, to make your own exquisitely sliced toast and perfectly cooked breakfast?”
— “Let us seize the day and take it roughly from behind, as the Colonel used to say in his unfortunate way.”
— “The rising and shining cannot be postponed indefinitely. Though shining is not compulsory in this intractable world, the rising eventually is.”
Did we really need FOUR quotes? I think we get it after, say, the first two.
For the record, I’m not sure an alarm clock that tried to wake me up by using the words absconded, onerous, compulsory and intractable would succeed where a marching band would fail.
Then why did he want to buy it?
Those fancy words are more suitable to awaken The Blonde Accountant, the more reserved and proper half of the marital equation and the one more likely to employ a butler when she wins the lottery. Not only does she get up before any rooster, she is not a menace to polite society and never will be, which is good because I’d hate to be married to someone just like me.
"Duhh, gee, I'm just a big bumblin' slob, and my wife's all prim and proper!" How many variations on this same joke have we suffered through over the months?
I’d be more apt to stir in the morning if the voice on my alarm clock was a drill sergeant, say like R. Lee Ermey and he said things like:
I'm hoping for at least five hilarious examples of what R. Lee Ermey would say.
— “Hey you snoring and slobbering bum, haul your keister out of bed right now before I bury my boot in your ear.”
— Yo jerkwagon, your undershorts are on fire and I’m about ready to open up a gas can on your behind.”
— “You gotta be bleepin’ me, you steaming pile of bear fur! What part of wake the bleep up don’t you understand?”
He missed a quotation mark in the second one. I like how he can only come up with three examples on his own, after he used four from the clock. He also stole "jerkwagon" from the recent Geico commercial in which Mr. Ermey says "jackwagon."
R. Lee Ermey would never say "undershorts" or "bear fur" (???) anyway.
Given that it’s the holiday season, the “Good Morning Sir Alarm Clock,” would have made a good gift this time of year had I thought ahead. While I usually do my holiday shopping for stupid gifts from my friends at stupid.com —
Shouldn't that be "stupid gifts FOR my friends"? Unless he's buying things for his friends to give to him...
where I can get the inflatable mooning Santa or the eggnog bubblegum — I can see that when shopping for that special someone next year, I should probably include thinkgeek.com on my list of places to shop. I’m sure The Blonde Accountant would much prefer something like the Star Trek Enterprise pizza cutter or the Screaming Monkey Slingshot rather than some bling from a stuffy old jewelry store.
Honestly, we're not going to get a single use of the phrase "pip-pip cheerio" or anything? This topic should really be bringing out his ethnocentric side.
You will note that when choosing gifts like the Starship Enterprise pizza cutter and the Screaming Monkey Slingshot, I did not violate the cardinal rule of Stupid Husband Shopping that states: “Buy no gift for your wife that has a cord.”
WaHOOOOOO! Yes! I was waiting for that next "dumb husband" joke, and here it is!
Which, I believe makes me a gentleman’s gentleman in the area of husband awareness. Now, if I can just learn how to buttle with the best of them.
And he finishes it off with yet another joke he took from the alarm clock.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Incredible Ignorance
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Not moonstruck by lunar eclipse
Did you know that "moonstruck" is defined as "mentally deranged, supposedly by the influence of the moon; crazed."? So the topic of the column must surely be how Morsch isn't driven mad by the influence of the eclipse. That, or he didn't bother to figure out what the word meant before he used it.
I just happened to be awake for the total lunar eclipse early Tuesday morning so I thought I’d take a look.
He "just happened" to be up at 2:00 AM? What kind of hours does he keep? There isn't much to note here until he lists his "impressions" of the eclipse:
(1) It’s really cold on my back deck in mid-December.
(2) Rare total lunar eclipses don’t move very quickly at all.
(3) It’s really, really cold on my back deck in mid-December. In fact, it's not fit for witches or brass monkeys.
Ho dee ho ho ho. How typical that he would turn his nose up at such an event. And what's with the "brass monkeys" thing? I can't say I've ever heard that one before.
I snuck out right at 12:30 a.m., looked toward the heavens and saw . . . the moon, doing absolutely nothing. By 12:34 a.m. I was back inside reading some more about what I was supposed to be seeing while I was freezing my patootie off on the back deck.
Four minutes - he's a true marathon man. Again, everyone I talked to yesterday said that it would happen at 2:00 AM, meaning he's an hour and a half early to the party. Is the "comedy" in this post the fact that he's bungling the whole thing?
So I waited until 12:55 a.m., bundled up, went back outside on the back deck, looked up . . . and nothing was still happening, only this time there appeared to be a lot more it.
The ignorance here is reaching truly astounding levels. We're skipping around a bit, because there's truly not much of interest.
By 1:20 a.m., I returned to the deck, looked up, and saw . . . nothing.
Still 40 minutes too early, sir.
Well, the plan worked to perfection. Fortunately, this phenomenon won’t again until Dec. 21, 2094. By then, I will have forgotten this experience and probably fall for the whole thing again.
At no point does he realize the obvious - HE WAS OUT TOO EARLY. There are pictures of it happening later. What a dope.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Not moonstruck by lunar eclipse
Did you know that "moonstruck" is defined as "mentally deranged, supposedly by the influence of the moon; crazed."? So the topic of the column must surely be how Morsch isn't driven mad by the influence of the eclipse. That, or he didn't bother to figure out what the word meant before he used it.
I just happened to be awake for the total lunar eclipse early Tuesday morning so I thought I’d take a look.
He "just happened" to be up at 2:00 AM? What kind of hours does he keep? There isn't much to note here until he lists his "impressions" of the eclipse:
(1) It’s really cold on my back deck in mid-December.
(2) Rare total lunar eclipses don’t move very quickly at all.
(3) It’s really, really cold on my back deck in mid-December. In fact, it's not fit for witches or brass monkeys.
Ho dee ho ho ho. How typical that he would turn his nose up at such an event. And what's with the "brass monkeys" thing? I can't say I've ever heard that one before.
I snuck out right at 12:30 a.m., looked toward the heavens and saw . . . the moon, doing absolutely nothing. By 12:34 a.m. I was back inside reading some more about what I was supposed to be seeing while I was freezing my patootie off on the back deck.
Four minutes - he's a true marathon man. Again, everyone I talked to yesterday said that it would happen at 2:00 AM, meaning he's an hour and a half early to the party. Is the "comedy" in this post the fact that he's bungling the whole thing?
So I waited until 12:55 a.m., bundled up, went back outside on the back deck, looked up . . . and nothing was still happening, only this time there appeared to be a lot more it.
The ignorance here is reaching truly astounding levels. We're skipping around a bit, because there's truly not much of interest.
By 1:20 a.m., I returned to the deck, looked up, and saw . . . nothing.
Still 40 minutes too early, sir.
Well, the plan worked to perfection. Fortunately, this phenomenon won’t again until Dec. 21, 2094. By then, I will have forgotten this experience and probably fall for the whole thing again.
At no point does he realize the obvious - HE WAS OUT TOO EARLY. There are pictures of it happening later. What a dope.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
The Season of Giving
Being a jolly old elf more complicated than just fitting into the suit
Published: Tuesday, December 14, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Oh my. Are we to be treated to how Morsch also can't play Santa Claus effectively?
Several years ago, a friend asked that if I could fit into the suit, would I mind playing Santa for an event he was organizing. Excuse me … if I could fit into the suit? I thought Santa suits started at XXXL and worked their way up from there.
I'm guessing there will be lots of these, so let's keep count: Fat Joke #1.
I politely declined because at the time, I was 40 pounds heavier and didn’t need to be reminded of that by the presence of a red suit that wouldn’t fit. How come it’s always fat guys who get asked to play Santa? We’re not all jolly and we don’t particularly like that “bowl full of jelly” comparison.
Because Santa is fat? How come it's always the black guys who are asked to play blacks? Fat Joke #2.
Besides, having never done the Santa gig before, I would have been woefully unprepared for the task. On the surface, it looks like an easy job. Once the red suit and beard are in place, one just needs to show up, say “Ho-ho-ho!” a lot and listen to what the kids want for Christmas.
Turns out it’s a little more involved than that, according to the Lansdale Borough Council’s Parks and Recreation Committee. The committee, which has been looking for prospective Santas during the holiday season for its Santa House, is offering some tips for wannabe Kris Kringles.
Ooh, maybe this isn't a "can't do XXX" article! We may be looking at yet another "talk about a story from the Internet" article!
Included in the list are things like not wearing jewelry, watches, aftershave, cologne or irregular shoes that might give away one’s identity. I assume by “irregular shoes,” the committee means that since Chuck Taylors are not generally recognized as Santa’s preferred winter footwear, something other than black boots might spoil the fun for the kids.
I would think that black boots would be included with the basic Santa costume, but Morsch is missing the point. They're advising the person not to wear something that would give away their identity.
Other tips include addressing groups with generic terms like “folks,” using a straw to take a drink so nothing spills on the beard or suit and making sure to not only remember the names of the children but also the names of Santa’s nine helpers.
These things all make sense. By "helpers," do they mean the reindeer?
That’s a lot to remember, especially if Santa starts sipping cold adult beverages through a straw. If that happens, be prepared for the list of Santa’s helpers to include “folks” like Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen . . . and Grumpy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy, Groucho, Chico, Harpo, Zeppo, Gummo and Chuck Taylor.
Shockingly he doesn't invoke a "Moe, Larry and Curly" reference. I think I heard this bit on ALF once... but nice, classy reference to getting drunk in front of children. And it's NOT a lot to remember.
It occurred to me that other tips not included by the parks and recreation committee should be in the areas of bad breath and sanity.
"Tips.. in the areas of"? That doesn't sound right. After long absences, both alcohol and bad breath make their return to "Outta Leftfield"! This really is the season of giving.
First of all, Santa probably shouldn’t have coffee breath. Some kids are frightened by the mere presence of Santa, and blowing bad coffee breath right up a kid’s beezer can do nothing to alleviate those fears.
"Beezer"? That's just stupid.
Plus, it’s probably not good for little kids to get a caffeine high from secondary coffee breath.
And Santa probably should not be batspit crazy, although it’s a short journey to crazy-go-nutshood if one has to sit in a mall or store and listen to Christmas songs like “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” 847 times during the Santa shift.
"Batspit"... does this man ever exhaust his vast reservoir of substitute swear words? I would also like to note that numbers beginning with "8" seem to be designated as "funny" ones.
My brother-in-law had it right. The only non-fat guy I’ve ever known to don the Santa apparel, he had a pretty sweet deal in our central Illinois hometown for years being the parks and recreation department’s Grand Poobah of Santas back in the early 1990s.
Another hilarious made-up title!
He got paid, for one thing, but he also had the correct temperament for the job and didn’t drink coffee while on duty.
Plus it was great to have a Santa in the family. When Older Daughter was little, Uncle Mark would sneak out the garage door at my folks’ house without her knowing it, get in full Santa regalia, and then come in the front door, working the jingle bells overtime. (Editor’s note: I think she’s still unsure that it was Uncle Mark, so don’t tell her.)
But you just told everyone in the world (and possibly Older Daughter), via your Interenet column. So way to ruin a treasured childhood memory, sir.
Although the look on her face was always one of pure joy when Santa came through the front door, she always seemed a bit puzzled as to how Santa knew she was at Pawkaw and Granny’s house and not at her own. That, and the fact, that he walked right in the front door and didn’t come down the chimney, never mind that Pawkaw and Granny didn’t have a chimney in their house.
You don't need a comma after "the fact." Although these pointed questions are presented as being totally unique and amusing, I'm sure that every kid in the world has wondered the same thing.
Still, despite meeting the minimum girth requirements, I’ve never had the inclination to belly up to the volunteer Santa trough. I don’t drink coffee, so that wouldn’t be a problem, although come to think of it, garlic breath probably isn’t any easier on little kids.
Fat Joke #3.
So to recap both the parks and recreation department tips and my own additional suggestions, prospective Santas should remember every kid’s name, drink through a straw, lay off the coffee before going on duty and not be crazy.
Ha... ha... ha. Totally worth it.
Because for this gig, everybody knows that yes, Virginia, there really is a sanity clause. And it will be tested.
What?
Published: Tuesday, December 14, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Oh my. Are we to be treated to how Morsch also can't play Santa Claus effectively?
Several years ago, a friend asked that if I could fit into the suit, would I mind playing Santa for an event he was organizing. Excuse me … if I could fit into the suit? I thought Santa suits started at XXXL and worked their way up from there.
I'm guessing there will be lots of these, so let's keep count: Fat Joke #1.
I politely declined because at the time, I was 40 pounds heavier and didn’t need to be reminded of that by the presence of a red suit that wouldn’t fit. How come it’s always fat guys who get asked to play Santa? We’re not all jolly and we don’t particularly like that “bowl full of jelly” comparison.
Because Santa is fat? How come it's always the black guys who are asked to play blacks? Fat Joke #2.
Besides, having never done the Santa gig before, I would have been woefully unprepared for the task. On the surface, it looks like an easy job. Once the red suit and beard are in place, one just needs to show up, say “Ho-ho-ho!” a lot and listen to what the kids want for Christmas.
Turns out it’s a little more involved than that, according to the Lansdale Borough Council’s Parks and Recreation Committee. The committee, which has been looking for prospective Santas during the holiday season for its Santa House, is offering some tips for wannabe Kris Kringles.
Ooh, maybe this isn't a "can't do XXX" article! We may be looking at yet another "talk about a story from the Internet" article!
Included in the list are things like not wearing jewelry, watches, aftershave, cologne or irregular shoes that might give away one’s identity. I assume by “irregular shoes,” the committee means that since Chuck Taylors are not generally recognized as Santa’s preferred winter footwear, something other than black boots might spoil the fun for the kids.
I would think that black boots would be included with the basic Santa costume, but Morsch is missing the point. They're advising the person not to wear something that would give away their identity.
Other tips include addressing groups with generic terms like “folks,” using a straw to take a drink so nothing spills on the beard or suit and making sure to not only remember the names of the children but also the names of Santa’s nine helpers.
These things all make sense. By "helpers," do they mean the reindeer?
That’s a lot to remember, especially if Santa starts sipping cold adult beverages through a straw. If that happens, be prepared for the list of Santa’s helpers to include “folks” like Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen . . . and Grumpy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy, Groucho, Chico, Harpo, Zeppo, Gummo and Chuck Taylor.
Shockingly he doesn't invoke a "Moe, Larry and Curly" reference. I think I heard this bit on ALF once... but nice, classy reference to getting drunk in front of children. And it's NOT a lot to remember.
It occurred to me that other tips not included by the parks and recreation committee should be in the areas of bad breath and sanity.
"Tips.. in the areas of"? That doesn't sound right. After long absences, both alcohol and bad breath make their return to "Outta Leftfield"! This really is the season of giving.
First of all, Santa probably shouldn’t have coffee breath. Some kids are frightened by the mere presence of Santa, and blowing bad coffee breath right up a kid’s beezer can do nothing to alleviate those fears.
"Beezer"? That's just stupid.
Plus, it’s probably not good for little kids to get a caffeine high from secondary coffee breath.
And Santa probably should not be batspit crazy, although it’s a short journey to crazy-go-nutshood if one has to sit in a mall or store and listen to Christmas songs like “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” 847 times during the Santa shift.
"Batspit"... does this man ever exhaust his vast reservoir of substitute swear words? I would also like to note that numbers beginning with "8" seem to be designated as "funny" ones.
My brother-in-law had it right. The only non-fat guy I’ve ever known to don the Santa apparel, he had a pretty sweet deal in our central Illinois hometown for years being the parks and recreation department’s Grand Poobah of Santas back in the early 1990s.
Another hilarious made-up title!
He got paid, for one thing, but he also had the correct temperament for the job and didn’t drink coffee while on duty.
Plus it was great to have a Santa in the family. When Older Daughter was little, Uncle Mark would sneak out the garage door at my folks’ house without her knowing it, get in full Santa regalia, and then come in the front door, working the jingle bells overtime. (Editor’s note: I think she’s still unsure that it was Uncle Mark, so don’t tell her.)
But you just told everyone in the world (and possibly Older Daughter), via your Interenet column. So way to ruin a treasured childhood memory, sir.
Although the look on her face was always one of pure joy when Santa came through the front door, she always seemed a bit puzzled as to how Santa knew she was at Pawkaw and Granny’s house and not at her own. That, and the fact, that he walked right in the front door and didn’t come down the chimney, never mind that Pawkaw and Granny didn’t have a chimney in their house.
You don't need a comma after "the fact." Although these pointed questions are presented as being totally unique and amusing, I'm sure that every kid in the world has wondered the same thing.
Still, despite meeting the minimum girth requirements, I’ve never had the inclination to belly up to the volunteer Santa trough. I don’t drink coffee, so that wouldn’t be a problem, although come to think of it, garlic breath probably isn’t any easier on little kids.
Fat Joke #3.
So to recap both the parks and recreation department tips and my own additional suggestions, prospective Santas should remember every kid’s name, drink through a straw, lay off the coffee before going on duty and not be crazy.
Ha... ha... ha. Totally worth it.
Because for this gig, everybody knows that yes, Virginia, there really is a sanity clause. And it will be tested.
What?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Getting Lee-tarded
Morsch is going out of his mind about Cliff Lee signing with the Phillies. This kind of Twitter explosion hasn't happened since we got Roy Oswalt.
I think Cliff Lee should wear No. 28 next season.
about 11 hours ago via Twitter for Android
... Okay. A gentleman known as MVShaw replied, "Batboy?"
@mvshaw Werth was No. 28
about 11 hours ago via Twitter for Android in reply to mvshaw
Jokes are always funnier when you explain them. Nice that Morsch can go from lamenting Werth's departure in his "Roy-Roy" post to crowing about it here.
So now Kyle Kendrick does what?
about 11 hours ago via Twitter for Android
Probably stays. Even I know that the Phils are shopping "Fat" Joe Blanton.
My tickets are already paid for. Hahahahahahahah!
about 11 hours ago via Twitter for Android
... Okay. Does he think prices going to increase due to Lee being on the team? Like he pulled off an amazing "buy-low" maneuver here or something.
Halladay will give No. 34 back to Lee and just wear a middle finger symbol duct taped to his back.
about 10 hours ago via Twitter for Android
... Okay. Why? Is he notorious for flipping off the fielders playing behind him?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Doesn't matter who wears No. 34
Here we go! Why settle for a few incomprehensible Twitter posts when you can get an entire "blog item" (as he now calls them) on the subject?
Cliff Lee vacated the Phillies jersey No. 34 when he was dealt to the Seattle Mariners a year ago.
In his place, the Phillies traded for Roy Halladay, who chose to wear No. 34 as well. All he did with that number last season was win 21 games, pitch a regular-season perfect game, a post-season no-hitter and snag the 2010 National League Cy Young Award.
Lee wore #34 once before, with the Indians. The way Morsch portrays himself as a die-hard baseball fanatic, you'd think he would have some interesting trivia on how each pitcher selected his number (e.g. Barry Zito wearing #57 because it creates a "shelf" for his name to sit on). But no - just the facts, ma'am.
The guess here is that Halladay will give Lee back No. 34 and pitch next season with a middle-finger symbol duct taped to the back of his shirt.
If they liked it once, they'll love it twice!
Because after watching Halladay compete for a year, that’s what he thinks about his opponents, how much he cares about winning and how little I suspect he cares about what number is on his back.
Halladay cares so much about winning that he... gives winning the middle finger? Or is Morch trying to say that Halladay expresses his competitive nature and passion for victory via the middle finger? Who does that?
And I think Halladay is too classy and professional a guy to even mentally flip off his opponents.
If you were up late Monday night and engaging in social networking, it was indeed an exciting time to be a Phillies fan.
No, I have a life and a job.
I grew up in Chicago Cubs territory, and believe me the Cubbies have never generated as much interest and excitement as the Phillies did last night, unless of course the late, great Cubs Hall of Fame broadcaster Harry Caray had consumed a case of Budweiser during a ballgame.
Wow, I was sure we would be treated to yet another digression on how he grew up watching the Cubs, but liked the Cardinals, but was really a fan of the Pirates, or some such nonsense.
The Twitter crowd was absolutely out of its collective mind. Rumors started floating through Twitter late in the evening about the Phillies getting Lee and it was equal parts excitement and wariness. Some thought it was just some Twitter shenanigans designed to work the faithful into a lather.
So out of its mind that it declared that it had already paid for its tickets and then laughed maniacally? So out of its mind that it suggested Halladay wear the middle finger on his back, and then wrote a blog post about it?
Then word started filtering in from more official baseball media sources that first the Yankees, and then the Rangers, had been informed that they were out of the running for Lee. And the aforementioned lather became a full-blown eruption.
As hilarious as this story about how Morsch discovered the Lee deal is... when are we going to get to the actual comedic material? Heck, when are we going to get to the POINT?
It was a lot of fun to see the immediate reaction of the Phillies fans on Twitter. I was still reading comments until 2 a.m. It’s a great story.
It's a shame that none of this "great story" found its way into your blog, sir.
And there’s a whiff in the air that general manager Ruben Amaro Jr. may not yet be done wheeling and dealing.
So, um... what happened to the whole "uniform numbers" thing?
Given this stunning set of circumstances, at what point today will the Phillies be forced to cut off season ticket requests?
Ha! Season ticket requests... that slays me. What a great bit! That was a joke, right?
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillies
I think Cliff Lee should wear No. 28 next season.
about 11 hours ago via Twitter for Android
... Okay. A gentleman known as MVShaw replied, "Batboy?"
@mvshaw Werth was No. 28
about 11 hours ago via Twitter for Android in reply to mvshaw
Jokes are always funnier when you explain them. Nice that Morsch can go from lamenting Werth's departure in his "Roy-Roy" post to crowing about it here.
So now Kyle Kendrick does what?
about 11 hours ago via Twitter for Android
Probably stays. Even I know that the Phils are shopping "Fat" Joe Blanton.
My tickets are already paid for. Hahahahahahahah!
about 11 hours ago via Twitter for Android
... Okay. Does he think prices going to increase due to Lee being on the team? Like he pulled off an amazing "buy-low" maneuver here or something.
Halladay will give No. 34 back to Lee and just wear a middle finger symbol duct taped to his back.
about 10 hours ago via Twitter for Android
... Okay. Why? Is he notorious for flipping off the fielders playing behind him?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Doesn't matter who wears No. 34
Here we go! Why settle for a few incomprehensible Twitter posts when you can get an entire "blog item" (as he now calls them) on the subject?
Cliff Lee vacated the Phillies jersey No. 34 when he was dealt to the Seattle Mariners a year ago.
In his place, the Phillies traded for Roy Halladay, who chose to wear No. 34 as well. All he did with that number last season was win 21 games, pitch a regular-season perfect game, a post-season no-hitter and snag the 2010 National League Cy Young Award.
Lee wore #34 once before, with the Indians. The way Morsch portrays himself as a die-hard baseball fanatic, you'd think he would have some interesting trivia on how each pitcher selected his number (e.g. Barry Zito wearing #57 because it creates a "shelf" for his name to sit on). But no - just the facts, ma'am.
The guess here is that Halladay will give Lee back No. 34 and pitch next season with a middle-finger symbol duct taped to the back of his shirt.
If they liked it once, they'll love it twice!
Because after watching Halladay compete for a year, that’s what he thinks about his opponents, how much he cares about winning and how little I suspect he cares about what number is on his back.
Halladay cares so much about winning that he... gives winning the middle finger? Or is Morch trying to say that Halladay expresses his competitive nature and passion for victory via the middle finger? Who does that?
And I think Halladay is too classy and professional a guy to even mentally flip off his opponents.
If you were up late Monday night and engaging in social networking, it was indeed an exciting time to be a Phillies fan.
No, I have a life and a job.
I grew up in Chicago Cubs territory, and believe me the Cubbies have never generated as much interest and excitement as the Phillies did last night, unless of course the late, great Cubs Hall of Fame broadcaster Harry Caray had consumed a case of Budweiser during a ballgame.
Wow, I was sure we would be treated to yet another digression on how he grew up watching the Cubs, but liked the Cardinals, but was really a fan of the Pirates, or some such nonsense.
The Twitter crowd was absolutely out of its collective mind. Rumors started floating through Twitter late in the evening about the Phillies getting Lee and it was equal parts excitement and wariness. Some thought it was just some Twitter shenanigans designed to work the faithful into a lather.
So out of its mind that it declared that it had already paid for its tickets and then laughed maniacally? So out of its mind that it suggested Halladay wear the middle finger on his back, and then wrote a blog post about it?
Then word started filtering in from more official baseball media sources that first the Yankees, and then the Rangers, had been informed that they were out of the running for Lee. And the aforementioned lather became a full-blown eruption.
As hilarious as this story about how Morsch discovered the Lee deal is... when are we going to get to the actual comedic material? Heck, when are we going to get to the POINT?
It was a lot of fun to see the immediate reaction of the Phillies fans on Twitter. I was still reading comments until 2 a.m. It’s a great story.
It's a shame that none of this "great story" found its way into your blog, sir.
And there’s a whiff in the air that general manager Ruben Amaro Jr. may not yet be done wheeling and dealing.
So, um... what happened to the whole "uniform numbers" thing?
Given this stunning set of circumstances, at what point today will the Phillies be forced to cut off season ticket requests?
Ha! Season ticket requests... that slays me. What a great bit! That was a joke, right?
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillies
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Summaries Are Not Funny
Not-so-classic Christmas songs short on cheer, big on yuks
Published: Tuesday, December 07, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Stop saying "yuks." And "nyuks." Neither is particularly clever.
We all have our favorite Christmas songs. I like “Deck the Halls” because the words are easy to remember — every other line is “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.” Even a bad singer like me — I make Barney Fife sound like Pavarotti — can fake the fa-la-la-la-las.
Hey, he's a bad singer, too! Who would have thought?
Another favorite is “Holly Jolly Christmas” by Burl Ives, a fellow Illinois native, folk singer and actor who everyone knows as the voice of Sam the Snowman, the narrator in the TV classic “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” (I’ve always loved how the snowman character was created to resemble the real-life Ives, including mustache and goatee).
File that little aside under "pathetically common knowledge."
And “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” by Vince Vance and the Valiants, as sung by Lisa Layne, always puts me in the holiday mood. Vince Vance isn’t from Illinois, but he does have one of the coolest haircuts in show business history, if one subscribes to the Don King School of Hairstyling philosophy.
But among all the classics we hear this time of year, there are a few that, well . . . aren’t so classic. Some of them are just downright silly, which admittedly can be appealing after six or seven eggnogs.
It's painful enough seeing Morsch try to be funny. How much more painful will it be to see him try and describe something he finds funny?
Songs like “Yellow Snow,” “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” and “Percy, The Puny Poinsettia” have a bit of a sideways slant on the holiday season. You can check them out on YouTube to see if they are appropriate for the office party.
"Yellow Snow"... how typical that this involves a pee joke. [Editor's note: Multiple pee jokes, actually.]
A portion of the lyrics of “Yellow Snow” — sung to the tune of “Let It Snow” — go like this (feel free to sing along):
It's "A portion of the lyrics GOES," not "go." He puts virtually the entire song here, which I cut to keep things at a reasonable length.
What wonderful holiday sentiments, huh? Nothing promotes holiday cheer quite like taking a classic Christmas song and changing the words to include the dog’s business. You will want to make sure you have one of those hard, scratchy doormats out in front of your house to give Santa ample opportunity to clean off his shoes before he delivers gifts to your house.
I thought he found this song amusing. Why is he busting on it?
Fortunately, “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” doesn’t have anything to do with negotiating the dog’s front-yard obstacle course. It’s sung by Yogi Yorgesson, the Scandinavian Swami (real name Harry Stewart). It’s a fun song sung by a guy with a great stage name. Some of the lyrics include:
Yet again, he feels the need to include a lengthy section of the song, courtesy of the apparently legendary Mr. Yorgesson. One thing I note - the song contains the word "knucklehead," a Morsch favorite.
Working yust, yolly and yerk — as well as other “Y” words throughout the rest of the song — tickles me.
Truly, the creativity it takes to put "Y" at the beginning of various words surpasses even Morsch's formidable comedic skills.
And I applaud the fact that a Christmas song includes the word “knucklehead.” It would be a perfect holiday song for the Swedish Chef character from the Muppets to sing to The Three Stooges.
Way to work in a Three Stooges reference. That's something we've never seen before.
As for “Percy, The Puny Poinsettia,” it starts out as a bit of a sad and pathetic Christmas tale:
More lyrics here. None of these sound particularly amusing in print.
Well, that certainly is sad. As the song progresses, though, Percy is saved by a poor little girl, who takes him home and sets him beside the Christmas tree, where he is “as proud as a flower can be.” It’s not a particularly cheerful holiday song, but it does have a happy ending, a kind of a Charlie-Brown’s-sorry-Christmas-tree feel.
I agree! That's why "Percy, The Puny Poinsettia" is such a perrenial Christmas favorite. Radio stations practically play it to death, don't they?
So if you ever get tired of listening to the old standards, give a listen to some of these more obscure titles. At the very least, the creative songwriting ought to be good for a giggle or two.
Just like the creative writing contained in this column! Right? ... Right? (Crickets)
The only shortcomings these offbeat Christmas songs have is that there don’t seem to be any “Fa la-la-la-la, la-la la-la” lines, which is probably just as well. Why, my high-pitched warbling will only annoy the dogs to the point that they’ll create more yellow snow.
You heard it hear first, folks - Morsch's singing is so bad that it makes dogs lose control of their bladders. Question: does a summary of three purportedly amusing Christmas songs count as humor? Maybe if you toss a few pee jokes in it does.
Published: Tuesday, December 07, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Stop saying "yuks." And "nyuks." Neither is particularly clever.
We all have our favorite Christmas songs. I like “Deck the Halls” because the words are easy to remember — every other line is “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.” Even a bad singer like me — I make Barney Fife sound like Pavarotti — can fake the fa-la-la-la-las.
Hey, he's a bad singer, too! Who would have thought?
Another favorite is “Holly Jolly Christmas” by Burl Ives, a fellow Illinois native, folk singer and actor who everyone knows as the voice of Sam the Snowman, the narrator in the TV classic “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” (I’ve always loved how the snowman character was created to resemble the real-life Ives, including mustache and goatee).
File that little aside under "pathetically common knowledge."
And “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” by Vince Vance and the Valiants, as sung by Lisa Layne, always puts me in the holiday mood. Vince Vance isn’t from Illinois, but he does have one of the coolest haircuts in show business history, if one subscribes to the Don King School of Hairstyling philosophy.
But among all the classics we hear this time of year, there are a few that, well . . . aren’t so classic. Some of them are just downright silly, which admittedly can be appealing after six or seven eggnogs.
It's painful enough seeing Morsch try to be funny. How much more painful will it be to see him try and describe something he finds funny?
Songs like “Yellow Snow,” “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” and “Percy, The Puny Poinsettia” have a bit of a sideways slant on the holiday season. You can check them out on YouTube to see if they are appropriate for the office party.
"Yellow Snow"... how typical that this involves a pee joke. [Editor's note: Multiple pee jokes, actually.]
A portion of the lyrics of “Yellow Snow” — sung to the tune of “Let It Snow” — go like this (feel free to sing along):
It's "A portion of the lyrics GOES," not "go." He puts virtually the entire song here, which I cut to keep things at a reasonable length.
What wonderful holiday sentiments, huh? Nothing promotes holiday cheer quite like taking a classic Christmas song and changing the words to include the dog’s business. You will want to make sure you have one of those hard, scratchy doormats out in front of your house to give Santa ample opportunity to clean off his shoes before he delivers gifts to your house.
I thought he found this song amusing. Why is he busting on it?
Fortunately, “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” doesn’t have anything to do with negotiating the dog’s front-yard obstacle course. It’s sung by Yogi Yorgesson, the Scandinavian Swami (real name Harry Stewart). It’s a fun song sung by a guy with a great stage name. Some of the lyrics include:
Yet again, he feels the need to include a lengthy section of the song, courtesy of the apparently legendary Mr. Yorgesson. One thing I note - the song contains the word "knucklehead," a Morsch favorite.
Working yust, yolly and yerk — as well as other “Y” words throughout the rest of the song — tickles me.
Truly, the creativity it takes to put "Y" at the beginning of various words surpasses even Morsch's formidable comedic skills.
And I applaud the fact that a Christmas song includes the word “knucklehead.” It would be a perfect holiday song for the Swedish Chef character from the Muppets to sing to The Three Stooges.
Way to work in a Three Stooges reference. That's something we've never seen before.
As for “Percy, The Puny Poinsettia,” it starts out as a bit of a sad and pathetic Christmas tale:
More lyrics here. None of these sound particularly amusing in print.
Well, that certainly is sad. As the song progresses, though, Percy is saved by a poor little girl, who takes him home and sets him beside the Christmas tree, where he is “as proud as a flower can be.” It’s not a particularly cheerful holiday song, but it does have a happy ending, a kind of a Charlie-Brown’s-sorry-Christmas-tree feel.
I agree! That's why "Percy, The Puny Poinsettia" is such a perrenial Christmas favorite. Radio stations practically play it to death, don't they?
So if you ever get tired of listening to the old standards, give a listen to some of these more obscure titles. At the very least, the creative songwriting ought to be good for a giggle or two.
Just like the creative writing contained in this column! Right? ... Right? (Crickets)
The only shortcomings these offbeat Christmas songs have is that there don’t seem to be any “Fa la-la-la-la, la-la la-la” lines, which is probably just as well. Why, my high-pitched warbling will only annoy the dogs to the point that they’ll create more yellow snow.
You heard it hear first, folks - Morsch's singing is so bad that it makes dogs lose control of their bladders. Question: does a summary of three purportedly amusing Christmas songs count as humor? Maybe if you toss a few pee jokes in it does.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Seeing a Concert? What?
Monday, December 6, 2010
It's May in December
Dan May
Couldn't he have gone one tiny step further and entitled the post "It's May in Dancember"? That would have been even more funny.
doesn’t mind working on his birthday. So there he was Saturday night at the sold-out PSALM Salon on his 52nd birthday doing what he loves best — singing and performing.
Ah, it's been at least a month since Morsch blogged about attending a local concert! Today is the gift that keeps on giving. [Editor's note: It's been even longer! He hasn't seen one since October 28.]
The non-profit Philadelphia Society for Art, Literature and Music is the brainchild of Jamey Reilly, PSALM chairman. Essentially, he and wife Suyun have turned their living room into a 60-seat entertainment venue for music, dance, comedy, performance art and literary readings, reminiscent of the old-world salons of Europe. (www.psalmsalon.com)
Shamless Promotion Alert? Anyone? No? Okay then.
The Blonde Accountant and I have been there a few times — to see our favorite Philly singer-songwriter Dan May — and it’s truly a unique experience. In fact, if it was my house, I’d take the concept a step further. I’d get a big recliner and call it “Mike’s Chair” in which I could sit and watch all the wonderful performers who grace the stage.
So in this amazing fantasy, Morsch hosts Dan May concerts in his home and sits in his own chair. He truly has a vivid imagination.
We have been Dan Fans (www.myspace.com/danmaycd) for a while now.
Shameless Promotion Alert, surely! No? Alright.
And we’re PSALM Salon fans as well. For us to be able to see talented artists in a comfortable and intimate setting makes for an ideal date night, although I’d still opt for the recliner option if Jamey offered it, and I would encourage him to do so, but only for me, of course.
Explain to me again how this man has found not one but TWO women who will say "I do." If you have time, you can explain how he can jam so many commas into a single sentence.
There was even a birthday cake for Dan, which he shared with all those in attendance during the intermission and after the show. That’s another unique aspect of the PSALM — getting to spend time with the artists one-on-one.
Since we've reached the last paragraph of this "post," I think it's fair to assume that he isn't going to review the show or relate an entertaining tale. No, he's just advertising for concerts that this guy holds in his living room.
I would encourage you to explore Dan’s music and the PSALM Salon. It’s certainly a place where you can have your cake . . . and eat it, too.
Unless it doesn't happen to be Dan May's birthday. Then you don't get any cake.
Labels: Dan May, Mike Morsch, Montomgery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, PSALM Salon
It's May in December
Dan May
Couldn't he have gone one tiny step further and entitled the post "It's May in Dancember"? That would have been even more funny.
doesn’t mind working on his birthday. So there he was Saturday night at the sold-out PSALM Salon on his 52nd birthday doing what he loves best — singing and performing.
Ah, it's been at least a month since Morsch blogged about attending a local concert! Today is the gift that keeps on giving. [Editor's note: It's been even longer! He hasn't seen one since October 28.]
The non-profit Philadelphia Society for Art, Literature and Music is the brainchild of Jamey Reilly, PSALM chairman. Essentially, he and wife Suyun have turned their living room into a 60-seat entertainment venue for music, dance, comedy, performance art and literary readings, reminiscent of the old-world salons of Europe. (www.psalmsalon.com)
Shamless Promotion Alert? Anyone? No? Okay then.
The Blonde Accountant and I have been there a few times — to see our favorite Philly singer-songwriter Dan May — and it’s truly a unique experience. In fact, if it was my house, I’d take the concept a step further. I’d get a big recliner and call it “Mike’s Chair” in which I could sit and watch all the wonderful performers who grace the stage.
So in this amazing fantasy, Morsch hosts Dan May concerts in his home and sits in his own chair. He truly has a vivid imagination.
We have been Dan Fans (www.myspace.com/danmaycd) for a while now.
Shameless Promotion Alert, surely! No? Alright.
And we’re PSALM Salon fans as well. For us to be able to see talented artists in a comfortable and intimate setting makes for an ideal date night, although I’d still opt for the recliner option if Jamey offered it, and I would encourage him to do so, but only for me, of course.
Explain to me again how this man has found not one but TWO women who will say "I do." If you have time, you can explain how he can jam so many commas into a single sentence.
There was even a birthday cake for Dan, which he shared with all those in attendance during the intermission and after the show. That’s another unique aspect of the PSALM — getting to spend time with the artists one-on-one.
Since we've reached the last paragraph of this "post," I think it's fair to assume that he isn't going to review the show or relate an entertaining tale. No, he's just advertising for concerts that this guy holds in his living room.
I would encourage you to explore Dan’s music and the PSALM Salon. It’s certainly a place where you can have your cake . . . and eat it, too.
Unless it doesn't happen to be Dan May's birthday. Then you don't get any cake.
Labels: Dan May, Mike Morsch, Montomgery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, PSALM Salon
Werthless
Monday, December 6, 2010
Happy-happy, Roy-Roy
A column about Roy Halladay? I would protest that it isn't even baseball season, but hey. It's better than yet another entry in the "things men can't do" canon.
I spent the better part of last weekend thinking that I did something to hork off Phillies pitcher Roy Oswalt. Take a look at the photo accompanying this blog item. Does Oswalt look happy to see me? It’s like I told him his dog just died or something.
Roy OSWALT. My mistake. This isn't the first time he's used "hork off," but I wish it was the last.
The hurler was among the many stars that appeared at a big ballcard
"Ballcard"? This is even more ridiculous than "ballglove."
show at Valley Forge Convention Center over the weekend. Among the Phillies who attended were Shane Victorino and Ryan Madsen, along with former Phils’ greats Mike Schmidt, Steve Carlton and Pete Rose.
Were they all kind and gracious? I'll bet they even went so far as to take pictures with fans.
Recently crowned National League Cy Young Award winner Roy Halladay and Cole Hamels were also scheduled to attend in what was billed as an “H2O” event, a nickname given to the Halladay-Hamels-Oswalt starting staff of the Phillies.
Unfortunately, Halladay postponed (and hopefully will be rescheduled in a few weeks) and Hamels canceled his personal appearance but was signing mail-order autographs.
Cole Hamels - not a gracious man.
The Blonde Accountant had purchased me an Oswalt autograph ticket for my birthday, so I was among the throngs of autograph seekers and baseball card treasure hunters on Saturday. (The find of the day was a 1967 card of Pirates Hall of Famer Willie Stargell — my favorite player as a kid — for $5.)
So far our only bit of comedy has been a reference to a dead dog. This isn't exactly the most dynamic entry in the history of "Outta Leftfield."
My time with Oswalt was brief. The whole thing lasted maybe 30 seconds. The only thing I said had to do with a request as to where he would sign my item. I then lumbered around the table on arthritic knees and a balky back to pose for the picture that you see.
He lumbered around on his balky back? I'd like to see how he did that. Roy Oswalt - perhaps only a semi-gracious man.
When I looked at the picture afterwards, I thought, “Hey, I took a shower.” Roy Oswalt doesn’t even know who I am. So why does he have the Sad Sack mug?
Look at the bizarre "smile" on the face of Morsch. I'd be terrified to pose with him too.
Then the news broke Sunday evening that Oswalt’s teammate Jayson Werth had signed a seven-year deal with the Nationals for $126 million. No doubt Oswalt prefers Werth playing behind him in right field and providing run support when Oswalt is on the hill.
Pitchers always appreciate a guy who bats a heafty .186 with runners in scoring position! Read that last sentence again. "Oswalt prefers Werth... when Oswalt is on the hill." Huh? Nice editing, there, skipper. And to whom does he prefer Werth?
So I’m guessing of all the things that could make Roy Oswalt grimace, having his picture taken with me likely doesn’t make the list.
Guess again.
But losing a middle-of-the-lineup teammate to a division rival for a mountain of coin could sour one’s disposition.
That, or maybe his lunch just wasn’t sitting right.
So what was the point of this post? "Oswalt looks unhappy in a picture, maybe because of Jayson Werth. Or maybe he had indigestion." And I'm sure the Phillies will be much more terrified of Werth (27 HR, 85 RBI) than they were of recently departed slugger Adam Dunn (38 HR, 103 RBI).
Finally, look at the picture again. Does anyone else see a bit of a smile at the left corner of Oswalt's mouth? Kind of smug, surely, but not the furious scowl Morsch seems to imagine.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillies
"Phillies," but not Werth or Oswalt, huh? The worst thing about this column is that someone named "JAJinPA" made the following comment:
LOL! Thanks for the smile today.
Oh JAJinPA... what a life you must lead.
Happy-happy, Roy-Roy
A column about Roy Halladay? I would protest that it isn't even baseball season, but hey. It's better than yet another entry in the "things men can't do" canon.
I spent the better part of last weekend thinking that I did something to hork off Phillies pitcher Roy Oswalt. Take a look at the photo accompanying this blog item. Does Oswalt look happy to see me? It’s like I told him his dog just died or something.
Roy OSWALT. My mistake. This isn't the first time he's used "hork off," but I wish it was the last.
The hurler was among the many stars that appeared at a big ballcard
"Ballcard"? This is even more ridiculous than "ballglove."
show at Valley Forge Convention Center over the weekend. Among the Phillies who attended were Shane Victorino and Ryan Madsen, along with former Phils’ greats Mike Schmidt, Steve Carlton and Pete Rose.
Were they all kind and gracious? I'll bet they even went so far as to take pictures with fans.
Recently crowned National League Cy Young Award winner Roy Halladay and Cole Hamels were also scheduled to attend in what was billed as an “H2O” event, a nickname given to the Halladay-Hamels-Oswalt starting staff of the Phillies.
Unfortunately, Halladay postponed (and hopefully will be rescheduled in a few weeks) and Hamels canceled his personal appearance but was signing mail-order autographs.
Cole Hamels - not a gracious man.
The Blonde Accountant had purchased me an Oswalt autograph ticket for my birthday, so I was among the throngs of autograph seekers and baseball card treasure hunters on Saturday. (The find of the day was a 1967 card of Pirates Hall of Famer Willie Stargell — my favorite player as a kid — for $5.)
So far our only bit of comedy has been a reference to a dead dog. This isn't exactly the most dynamic entry in the history of "Outta Leftfield."
My time with Oswalt was brief. The whole thing lasted maybe 30 seconds. The only thing I said had to do with a request as to where he would sign my item. I then lumbered around the table on arthritic knees and a balky back to pose for the picture that you see.
He lumbered around on his balky back? I'd like to see how he did that. Roy Oswalt - perhaps only a semi-gracious man.
When I looked at the picture afterwards, I thought, “Hey, I took a shower.” Roy Oswalt doesn’t even know who I am. So why does he have the Sad Sack mug?
Look at the bizarre "smile" on the face of Morsch. I'd be terrified to pose with him too.
Then the news broke Sunday evening that Oswalt’s teammate Jayson Werth had signed a seven-year deal with the Nationals for $126 million. No doubt Oswalt prefers Werth playing behind him in right field and providing run support when Oswalt is on the hill.
Pitchers always appreciate a guy who bats a heafty .186 with runners in scoring position! Read that last sentence again. "Oswalt prefers Werth... when Oswalt is on the hill." Huh? Nice editing, there, skipper. And to whom does he prefer Werth?
So I’m guessing of all the things that could make Roy Oswalt grimace, having his picture taken with me likely doesn’t make the list.
Guess again.
But losing a middle-of-the-lineup teammate to a division rival for a mountain of coin could sour one’s disposition.
That, or maybe his lunch just wasn’t sitting right.
So what was the point of this post? "Oswalt looks unhappy in a picture, maybe because of Jayson Werth. Or maybe he had indigestion." And I'm sure the Phillies will be much more terrified of Werth (27 HR, 85 RBI) than they were of recently departed slugger Adam Dunn (38 HR, 103 RBI).
Finally, look at the picture again. Does anyone else see a bit of a smile at the left corner of Oswalt's mouth? Kind of smug, surely, but not the furious scowl Morsch seems to imagine.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillies
"Phillies," but not Werth or Oswalt, huh? The worst thing about this column is that someone named "JAJinPA" made the following comment:
LOL! Thanks for the smile today.
Oh JAJinPA... what a life you must lead.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Update: He Still Hates Palin
Russia gets 2018 World Cup. Does that mean that Sister Sarah now has a front row seat from her porch?
about 22 hours ago via web
Nothing beats years-old references to out-of-context quotes.
@KeithOlbermann Russia gets 2018 World Cup. Does that mean that Sister Sarah now has a front row seat from her porch?
about 22 hours ago via web in reply to KeithOlbermann
Nothing beats sucking up to a pompous twit who nobody watches.
@billmaher Before you leave Peoria, go to an Italian place called Avanti's and order a "gondola." And bring one back to Philly for me.
about 14 hours ago via web in reply to billmaher
Nothing beats living up to every single stereotype of the modern newspaperman (dumb, hopelessly liberal, and thinking that celebrities are your personal friends).
about 22 hours ago via web
Nothing beats years-old references to out-of-context quotes.
@KeithOlbermann Russia gets 2018 World Cup. Does that mean that Sister Sarah now has a front row seat from her porch?
about 22 hours ago via web in reply to KeithOlbermann
Nothing beats sucking up to a pompous twit who nobody watches.
@billmaher Before you leave Peoria, go to an Italian place called Avanti's and order a "gondola." And bring one back to Philly for me.
about 14 hours ago via web in reply to billmaher
Nothing beats living up to every single stereotype of the modern newspaperman (dumb, hopelessly liberal, and thinking that celebrities are your personal friends).
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
One Joke per Column Redux
Outta Leftfield: Cyber Monday may put professional schleppers out of business
Published: Tuesday, November 30, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Have I mentioned that I hate Yiddish words like "schlep" and "schmuck," etc? They might have been funny back when Mel Brooks was still making good movies, but they've fallen on hard times since then.
Schleppers beware: The primary role of the hapless husband — that of toting the bags on shopping excursions — is being threatened by this Cyber Monday business.
Come on. We covered the "husbands carry bags and push shopping carts" angle in his last column!
As one who has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of schlepping — especially during the holiday season — I have built what many consider to be an impressive resume in the craft: Vice President in Charge of Moping Around Looking for a Place to Sit Down at the Mall; Executive Director of Yawning and Napping; chief author of the pamphlet “How to Avoid Becoming Your Shopper’s Personal Coat Rack Outside the Fitting Room”; and Honorary Grand Pooh-bah of the Whining Husbands Hall of Fame.
I think Morsch has been reduced to two jokes: 1.) Men can't do anything; and 2.) Long made-up titles.
Why, because of my years of complaining to mall management about the hard benches, I am relatively certain that I am responsible for there being padded chairs and couches at Montgomery Mall for all the schlepping husbands. If I can only convince mall officials that there is a critical need for big-screen televisions and refrigerators stocked with cold adult beverages to complement the padded furniture, then the schlepper’s shopping experience would be complete.
Is this going to be like his "Rule No.1" post - will he just use the word "schlep" constantly and expect it to be amusing?
But now, for the past five years or so, Cyber Monday has all but eliminated the need for professional schleppers,
Yep, looks like he will.
just as we were getting used to the comfy chairs. Instead of running after wide-eyed wives lugging massive purses filled with coupons from store to store, we have been reduced to Wine Serving Interns as the wives sit at home on the couch, laptops at the ready, ordering our socks and undershorts online. (Online undershorts. Tell me those won’t ride up.)
Why is "Wine Serving Interns" capitalized? And why is there no hyphen between "wine" and "serving"? And why does he have to say "undershorts" not once but twice?
And besides, sitting down and trying to get comfortable has always been the schlepper’s bailiwick. There is no time for the shoppers to sit comfortably and relax; they must sprint from sale to sale throwing filled shopping bags over their shoulders for us to catch.
Haw haw haw. "Bailiwick." Funny word.
Cyber Monday — the term used by online retailers — is the Monday after “Black Friday” and generally recognized at the beginning of the online holiday shopping season. (Maybe there ought to be a ceremonial throwing out of the first shopping bag or something.)
This counts as an unnecessary baseball reference. For the record, I checked Wikipedia, but for once in his life Morsch did NOT steal this paragraph from them.
Media estimates predicted a record 106.9 million Americans would shop online Monday. That’s a lot of potential schleppers that could be out of work this holiday season. I do hope that mall management doesn’t see that figure and decide to reduce the number of comfy chairs at the mall. We fought long and hard for that advancement.
Thank goodness he specified "comfy chairs at the mall". I would have thought that "mall management" might have reduced the number of chairs in, say, the hospital.
One theory on why online sales increase on Cyber Monday is that people see items in malls over the weekend — not the schleppers, of course; we are busy napping and see very little of anything at the mall —
What do you want to bet that 100% of schleppers are MEN? Because there has never been a lazy woman. Not ever.
then wait until Monday when they can compare prices, avoid long lines at the checkout counter and take advantage of things like free shipping.
Free shipping? Phooey. Free schlepping is much more cost-effective than any free shipping deal could be.
What? This doesn't even make any sense.
Besides, where’s the sport in online shopping? See, one of the advantages that schleppers enjoy is that the more schlepping
Is he doing this on purpose? Is he testing just how poorly he can write something and still have it published?
and sitting we do at the mall, the less time we have for home improvement projects. If the professional shoppers in our life can shop from the convenience of their own couches, there will be nothing for us to schlep. I will end up painting the bathroom every other weekend, depending of course on which color paint is on sale online.
I hate this. I really do.
Another disadvantage I see to Cyber Monday shopping has to do with the number of goofs who camp outside retail stores for three days prior to Black Friday just to save a few bucks on a blender.
I'm looking forward to seeing how he connects the two ideas.
One of the reasons there are very few professional schleppers in this crowd is because there is section in the Professional Schleppers Handbook that clearly states: “Professional schleppers will not, under any circumstances, camp outside in late November and freeze our patooties off in the hopes that TV reporters who have no real news to report are doing Black Friday Idiocy stories and will stick our sorry mugs on the television.” (I’m paraphrasing, of course.)
The word "schlep" is not funny when it's used once. What makes anyone think that it will be funny when you use it so many times in the same column? "Patooties" isn't funny either.
I would hate to see the schleppers — their usefulness curtailed at the malls because of the increased online shopping — being forced to look for schlepping opportunities amongst the overnight camping crowd.
Jeez Louise would you stop already?!? This one is seriously starting to annoy me.
We schleppers make a clear distinction between dozing off in the comfy chairs inside the heated mall and trying to grab a quick nap in freezing temperatures on a retail store’s parking lot three days before the big blender sale.
Alright, we have variations on the word "schlep" and references to comfy chairs at the mall. I find more interesting column topics lodged in my stool.
So all you professional shoppers just cut it out with this online shopping stuff. Get off the couch and get a little exercise. Go out to the mall and run around like your hair is on fire.
And be sure to wake the professional schleppers when it’s time to go home and not paint the bathroom.
He used "schlep," or a variation on it, TWENTY times in this column. By the way, did you know that "schlep" can be defined as "someone or something that is tedious, slow, or awkward"? I think that's the perfect fit for this column and its author.
Published: Tuesday, November 30, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Have I mentioned that I hate Yiddish words like "schlep" and "schmuck," etc? They might have been funny back when Mel Brooks was still making good movies, but they've fallen on hard times since then.
Schleppers beware: The primary role of the hapless husband — that of toting the bags on shopping excursions — is being threatened by this Cyber Monday business.
Come on. We covered the "husbands carry bags and push shopping carts" angle in his last column!
As one who has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of schlepping — especially during the holiday season — I have built what many consider to be an impressive resume in the craft: Vice President in Charge of Moping Around Looking for a Place to Sit Down at the Mall; Executive Director of Yawning and Napping; chief author of the pamphlet “How to Avoid Becoming Your Shopper’s Personal Coat Rack Outside the Fitting Room”; and Honorary Grand Pooh-bah of the Whining Husbands Hall of Fame.
I think Morsch has been reduced to two jokes: 1.) Men can't do anything; and 2.) Long made-up titles.
Why, because of my years of complaining to mall management about the hard benches, I am relatively certain that I am responsible for there being padded chairs and couches at Montgomery Mall for all the schlepping husbands. If I can only convince mall officials that there is a critical need for big-screen televisions and refrigerators stocked with cold adult beverages to complement the padded furniture, then the schlepper’s shopping experience would be complete.
Is this going to be like his "Rule No.1" post - will he just use the word "schlep" constantly and expect it to be amusing?
But now, for the past five years or so, Cyber Monday has all but eliminated the need for professional schleppers,
Yep, looks like he will.
just as we were getting used to the comfy chairs. Instead of running after wide-eyed wives lugging massive purses filled with coupons from store to store, we have been reduced to Wine Serving Interns as the wives sit at home on the couch, laptops at the ready, ordering our socks and undershorts online. (Online undershorts. Tell me those won’t ride up.)
Why is "Wine Serving Interns" capitalized? And why is there no hyphen between "wine" and "serving"? And why does he have to say "undershorts" not once but twice?
And besides, sitting down and trying to get comfortable has always been the schlepper’s bailiwick. There is no time for the shoppers to sit comfortably and relax; they must sprint from sale to sale throwing filled shopping bags over their shoulders for us to catch.
Haw haw haw. "Bailiwick." Funny word.
Cyber Monday — the term used by online retailers — is the Monday after “Black Friday” and generally recognized at the beginning of the online holiday shopping season. (Maybe there ought to be a ceremonial throwing out of the first shopping bag or something.)
This counts as an unnecessary baseball reference. For the record, I checked Wikipedia, but for once in his life Morsch did NOT steal this paragraph from them.
Media estimates predicted a record 106.9 million Americans would shop online Monday. That’s a lot of potential schleppers that could be out of work this holiday season. I do hope that mall management doesn’t see that figure and decide to reduce the number of comfy chairs at the mall. We fought long and hard for that advancement.
Thank goodness he specified "comfy chairs at the mall". I would have thought that "mall management" might have reduced the number of chairs in, say, the hospital.
One theory on why online sales increase on Cyber Monday is that people see items in malls over the weekend — not the schleppers, of course; we are busy napping and see very little of anything at the mall —
What do you want to bet that 100% of schleppers are MEN? Because there has never been a lazy woman. Not ever.
then wait until Monday when they can compare prices, avoid long lines at the checkout counter and take advantage of things like free shipping.
Free shipping? Phooey. Free schlepping is much more cost-effective than any free shipping deal could be.
What? This doesn't even make any sense.
Besides, where’s the sport in online shopping? See, one of the advantages that schleppers enjoy is that the more schlepping
Is he doing this on purpose? Is he testing just how poorly he can write something and still have it published?
and sitting we do at the mall, the less time we have for home improvement projects. If the professional shoppers in our life can shop from the convenience of their own couches, there will be nothing for us to schlep. I will end up painting the bathroom every other weekend, depending of course on which color paint is on sale online.
I hate this. I really do.
Another disadvantage I see to Cyber Monday shopping has to do with the number of goofs who camp outside retail stores for three days prior to Black Friday just to save a few bucks on a blender.
I'm looking forward to seeing how he connects the two ideas.
One of the reasons there are very few professional schleppers in this crowd is because there is section in the Professional Schleppers Handbook that clearly states: “Professional schleppers will not, under any circumstances, camp outside in late November and freeze our patooties off in the hopes that TV reporters who have no real news to report are doing Black Friday Idiocy stories and will stick our sorry mugs on the television.” (I’m paraphrasing, of course.)
The word "schlep" is not funny when it's used once. What makes anyone think that it will be funny when you use it so many times in the same column? "Patooties" isn't funny either.
I would hate to see the schleppers — their usefulness curtailed at the malls because of the increased online shopping — being forced to look for schlepping opportunities amongst the overnight camping crowd.
Jeez Louise would you stop already?!? This one is seriously starting to annoy me.
We schleppers make a clear distinction between dozing off in the comfy chairs inside the heated mall and trying to grab a quick nap in freezing temperatures on a retail store’s parking lot three days before the big blender sale.
Alright, we have variations on the word "schlep" and references to comfy chairs at the mall. I find more interesting column topics lodged in my stool.
So all you professional shoppers just cut it out with this online shopping stuff. Get off the couch and get a little exercise. Go out to the mall and run around like your hair is on fire.
And be sure to wake the professional schleppers when it’s time to go home and not paint the bathroom.
He used "schlep," or a variation on it, TWENTY times in this column. By the way, did you know that "schlep" can be defined as "someone or something that is tedious, slow, or awkward"? I think that's the perfect fit for this column and its author.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
A Lame List
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The best-ever TV theme songs
Prediction: he will pick "Hawaii Five-0" as the best ever. Morsch has particularly atrocious taste in pop culture, so this should be good.
A Facebook conversation this week touched off a discussion of the best television show theme songs of all time.
I'm guessing that this conversation involved the same three people he references in every other column. I guess the whole "you, my audience, will decide my topics" post really meant "you, the handful of people who actually talk to me, will decide my topics."
A couple of friends chimed in that the “Dr. Who” intro is the best TV theme song. A lot of sci-fi fans share that feeling. Part of the reason is that when Delia Derbyshire created the theme, it was innovative electronic music for its time.
No way is this original knowledge on his part. A Google search for "Dr. Who theme" brings up Wikipedia: The original 1963 recording... is widely regarded as a significant and innovative piece of electronic music. What a dope.
I was not a “Dr. Who” fan,
How much do you want to bed that Morsch doesn't "get" The Far Side either?
so I was unfamiliar with the theme song until listening to it on YouTube. It’s OK if you like that kind thing, but it really didn’t do much for me in the way of supplanting my favorite television theme songs.
I am so excited to hear this. I'm hoping "The Beverly Hillbillies" appears somewhere.
A few other favorite themes mentioned in the discussion included “Law and Order: UK,” “The Prisoner,” “Sanford and Son,” “The Dukes of Hazzard,” “The Brady Bunch,” “Green Acres” and “The Beverly Hillbillies.”
I swear to goodness I didn't skip ahead and read that. "Dukes of Hazzard" is great, though.
My top five, in order, are “Hawaii Five-0,” “Cheers,” “Gilligan’s Island,” “M*A*S*H*” and “The Partridge Family.”
BINGO. I know this man backwards and forwards. My only disappointment is that he doesn't specify whether he likes the "And the rest" version of the Gilligan theme or the "Professor and Mary Ann" version. On second thought, he probably doesn't know the difference.
I also liked, in no particular order, “The Flintstones,” “Love, American Style,” “Bonanza,” “High Chapparral,” “Bullwinkle and Rocky,”
It's "Rocky and Bullwinkle."
the original television version of “Mission Impossible,” “The Odd Couple,” and, I take a lot of ribbing for this one . . . “The Lawrence Welk Show.”
This has to be the lamest list in history.
It seems like there are fewer memorable television theme songs these days. In fact, I have to think hard just to whistle one. But I can still sing all the words to “Go Go Gophers.”
Off the top of my head, I'd guess that's because most shows already have barely 20 minutes to tell a story and can't afford to waste time on a 3-minute song introducing the characters.
Go figure.
Was that a joke? Working off the "Go Go Gophers" theme? If so, it's the only one in the entire post.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
The best-ever TV theme songs
Prediction: he will pick "Hawaii Five-0" as the best ever. Morsch has particularly atrocious taste in pop culture, so this should be good.
A Facebook conversation this week touched off a discussion of the best television show theme songs of all time.
I'm guessing that this conversation involved the same three people he references in every other column. I guess the whole "you, my audience, will decide my topics" post really meant "you, the handful of people who actually talk to me, will decide my topics."
A couple of friends chimed in that the “Dr. Who” intro is the best TV theme song. A lot of sci-fi fans share that feeling. Part of the reason is that when Delia Derbyshire created the theme, it was innovative electronic music for its time.
No way is this original knowledge on his part. A Google search for "Dr. Who theme" brings up Wikipedia: The original 1963 recording... is widely regarded as a significant and innovative piece of electronic music. What a dope.
I was not a “Dr. Who” fan,
How much do you want to bed that Morsch doesn't "get" The Far Side either?
so I was unfamiliar with the theme song until listening to it on YouTube. It’s OK if you like that kind thing, but it really didn’t do much for me in the way of supplanting my favorite television theme songs.
I am so excited to hear this. I'm hoping "The Beverly Hillbillies" appears somewhere.
A few other favorite themes mentioned in the discussion included “Law and Order: UK,” “The Prisoner,” “Sanford and Son,” “The Dukes of Hazzard,” “The Brady Bunch,” “Green Acres” and “The Beverly Hillbillies.”
I swear to goodness I didn't skip ahead and read that. "Dukes of Hazzard" is great, though.
My top five, in order, are “Hawaii Five-0,” “Cheers,” “Gilligan’s Island,” “M*A*S*H*” and “The Partridge Family.”
BINGO. I know this man backwards and forwards. My only disappointment is that he doesn't specify whether he likes the "And the rest" version of the Gilligan theme or the "Professor and Mary Ann" version. On second thought, he probably doesn't know the difference.
I also liked, in no particular order, “The Flintstones,” “Love, American Style,” “Bonanza,” “High Chapparral,” “Bullwinkle and Rocky,”
It's "Rocky and Bullwinkle."
the original television version of “Mission Impossible,” “The Odd Couple,” and, I take a lot of ribbing for this one . . . “The Lawrence Welk Show.”
This has to be the lamest list in history.
It seems like there are fewer memorable television theme songs these days. In fact, I have to think hard just to whistle one. But I can still sing all the words to “Go Go Gophers.”
Off the top of my head, I'd guess that's because most shows already have barely 20 minutes to tell a story and can't afford to waste time on a 3-minute song introducing the characters.
Go figure.
Was that a joke? Working off the "Go Go Gophers" theme? If so, it's the only one in the entire post.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A Joke to be Thankful For
The pressures of shopping for the Thanksgiving meal on a stupid man like me.
Recent column topics: "Doesn't know how to use tissues"; "Doesn't know about cars"; "Doesn't know how to organize his closet"; and now "Doesn't know how to cook"? I'm actually starting to miss the posts about baseball.
Outta Leftfield: The pressure and payoff of the Thanksgiving meal
Published: Tuesday, November 23, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
When it comes to the planning and preparation of the holiday meal, husbands would be well served if their contributions were limited to the eating of said meal.
I guarantee that he refers to Thanksgiving as "Turkey Day" at least once in the course of this column.
Fortunately, I have learned over the years that the only time I should open my mouth on this subject is when I’m stuffing it with stuffing.
But for those who host the Thanksgiving meal, the planning and preparation can be pressure-packed. It is at those times that we as husbands and partners need to be as helpful and supportive as possible.
Check out that alliteration! Someone must have gotten the Writer's Tip O' The Day Calendar for his birthday this year.
The first rule of holiday meal planning is to just shut up and do what you’re told.
So in the span of three paragraphs, we've been told three times that men shouldn't say anything about the holiday meal.
Actually, that’s the first rule of being married, the first rule household chores,
He forgot the "of" in "first rule household chores."
the first rule of home projects and the first rule of assessing the female hind end in a pair of jeans. Truth be told, if we men just paid attention to Rule No. 1, we would be allowed to watch even more sports on TV. We really should have a meeting and adopt that into the Stupid Man Club Bylaws.
Rule No. 1 for hilarity - create elaborate names for fictional organizations!
This year, we are again hosting the family Thanksgiving dinner, which only adds to the madness that is The Blonde Accountant’s life. Not only does she work full time, take care of the house and deal with the trials and tribulations of living with two teenagers and me, she’s always hosted the Thanksgiving meal. And she does so with grace and style.
Wow, I can't imagine working, living with people, and celebrating holidays all at once.
So I decided to do my part to help with the festivities and volunteered to be Vice President in Charge of Pushing the Grocery Cart,
They get funnier by the word.
which fits perfectly into my wheelhouse
Unnecessary use of baseball lingo.
because I perform that duty every week at the grocery store. The holiday grocery cart, however, is a bit of a different beast because we have a tendency to overdo it when comes to the holiday feast to the point that the possibility exists that a second cart will be needed. But I am the muscle and I know my role.
"The holiday" sentence reads like a diseased bowel - long, twisted and crappy.
And when I say “we” have a tendency to overdo it, I of course mean “me,” because I also realize that everything that happens in the grocery store is my fault and I accept that without comment. (See Rule No. 1.)
Rule No. 1 is "shut up and do as you're told." I don't understand how that applies. In fact, I don't even understand what he's saying. Is he picking out the food (a clear violation of Rule No. 1)? Or is he just being blamed?
Certainly, we are thankful for all that we have and that we are in a position to share a bountiful meal with our loved ones. We have eight, maybe nine family members who are scheduled to join us on Thanksgiving.
The complication, however, is that we sometimes end up with enough food for 38, maybe 39 people. I never know where I’m going to find the extra chairs and tables.
He puts food on chairs?
This year, the bird itself and the cranberry sauce seemed to be the most problematic menu items.
“I need about a 15-pound turkey,” said The Blonde Accountant.
I was sure this was a lead-in to a Fictional Conversation. No such luck - yet!
Unfortunately, the store was stocking only 12-pounders and 22-pounders during our time there, which is of course my fault. This created a bit of consternation for The Blonde Accountant as I struggled to maintain the integrity of Rule No. 1.
Hey, it will be funny if you keep referring to this Rule No. 1 thing. Please do so at lease once every other paragraph.
A nice gentlemen working at the grocery store — apparently he was Assistant Butcher in Charge of Stocking the Turkeys in the Freezer — was standing near us during The Blonde Accountant’s harumpfing portion of the turkey dilemma and witnessed the exchange.
Chalk up our third elaborate fictional title.
“You stay here with the 12-pound turkey, I’m going to the other freezer to see if they have bigger ones,” said The Blonde Accountant.
As she vacated the area, the butcher sauntered over to me, got real close to my ear, like he was revealing a state secret about turkeys, and whispered: “I had a lady earlier today who wanted a 20-pound turkey. I had one that weighed 19.97 pounds. She wouldn’t take it because it wasn’t 20 pounds.”
“Did you say anything to her?” I asked.
“No, I just shut up,” he said.
Atta boy. We need to get that guy to the next meeting of the Stupid Man Club to vote aye on Rule No. 1.
It's highly unlikely that this guy would initiate such a conversation. But I appreciate the monumental effort Morsch exerts to make the whole thing seem like a work of Swiftian genius.
We ended up with a 22-pound turkey, which was really no surprise to me.
When we got to the cranberry aisle, The Blonde Accountant exclaimed: “Oh, we need cranberry sauce!” Kind of like she had almost forgotten about it.
“Who eats cranberry sauce in our family?” I asked, which certainly could have been considered a minor infraction of Rule No. 1.
I want to revise my "Rule No. 1" for comedy to read: "Repeat the same joke fifteen times."
“Nobody,” she said as she put the cranberry sauce into the cart.
Hmmm. See, if I would have further questioned the cranberry decision, I risked being flagged for excessive man stupidity as well as violating Rule No. 1.
Alright, that's quite enough, sir.
The answer is quite simple, of course: Cranberry sauce is a traditional part of the Thanksgiving meal and we are thankful to have it grace our table.
Fortunately, I like turkey, so eating the leftovers through the end of March shouldn’t be a problem. As for the cranberry sauce, we will try to share it with someone less fortunate, someone who maybe even likes cranberry sauce.
I don't understand the flow of the last two paragraphs in the least.
There are a lot of things to be thankful for this time of year. One of those is that I have a wife who on top of everything else puts a tremendous amount of love and effort in the holiday meal for her family.
Flag me if you must for a rules violation, but I’m not shutting up about how thankful and appreciative I am about that.
For the record, I'm incredibly disappointed that he didn't say "Turkey Day," and that he deprived us of one last uproarious "Rule No.1" reference.
Recent column topics: "Doesn't know how to use tissues"; "Doesn't know about cars"; "Doesn't know how to organize his closet"; and now "Doesn't know how to cook"? I'm actually starting to miss the posts about baseball.
Outta Leftfield: The pressure and payoff of the Thanksgiving meal
Published: Tuesday, November 23, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
When it comes to the planning and preparation of the holiday meal, husbands would be well served if their contributions were limited to the eating of said meal.
I guarantee that he refers to Thanksgiving as "Turkey Day" at least once in the course of this column.
Fortunately, I have learned over the years that the only time I should open my mouth on this subject is when I’m stuffing it with stuffing.
But for those who host the Thanksgiving meal, the planning and preparation can be pressure-packed. It is at those times that we as husbands and partners need to be as helpful and supportive as possible.
Check out that alliteration! Someone must have gotten the Writer's Tip O' The Day Calendar for his birthday this year.
The first rule of holiday meal planning is to just shut up and do what you’re told.
So in the span of three paragraphs, we've been told three times that men shouldn't say anything about the holiday meal.
Actually, that’s the first rule of being married, the first rule household chores,
He forgot the "of" in "first rule household chores."
the first rule of home projects and the first rule of assessing the female hind end in a pair of jeans. Truth be told, if we men just paid attention to Rule No. 1, we would be allowed to watch even more sports on TV. We really should have a meeting and adopt that into the Stupid Man Club Bylaws.
Rule No. 1 for hilarity - create elaborate names for fictional organizations!
This year, we are again hosting the family Thanksgiving dinner, which only adds to the madness that is The Blonde Accountant’s life. Not only does she work full time, take care of the house and deal with the trials and tribulations of living with two teenagers and me, she’s always hosted the Thanksgiving meal. And she does so with grace and style.
Wow, I can't imagine working, living with people, and celebrating holidays all at once.
So I decided to do my part to help with the festivities and volunteered to be Vice President in Charge of Pushing the Grocery Cart,
They get funnier by the word.
which fits perfectly into my wheelhouse
Unnecessary use of baseball lingo.
because I perform that duty every week at the grocery store. The holiday grocery cart, however, is a bit of a different beast because we have a tendency to overdo it when comes to the holiday feast to the point that the possibility exists that a second cart will be needed. But I am the muscle and I know my role.
"The holiday" sentence reads like a diseased bowel - long, twisted and crappy.
And when I say “we” have a tendency to overdo it, I of course mean “me,” because I also realize that everything that happens in the grocery store is my fault and I accept that without comment. (See Rule No. 1.)
Rule No. 1 is "shut up and do as you're told." I don't understand how that applies. In fact, I don't even understand what he's saying. Is he picking out the food (a clear violation of Rule No. 1)? Or is he just being blamed?
Certainly, we are thankful for all that we have and that we are in a position to share a bountiful meal with our loved ones. We have eight, maybe nine family members who are scheduled to join us on Thanksgiving.
The complication, however, is that we sometimes end up with enough food for 38, maybe 39 people. I never know where I’m going to find the extra chairs and tables.
He puts food on chairs?
This year, the bird itself and the cranberry sauce seemed to be the most problematic menu items.
“I need about a 15-pound turkey,” said The Blonde Accountant.
I was sure this was a lead-in to a Fictional Conversation. No such luck - yet!
Unfortunately, the store was stocking only 12-pounders and 22-pounders during our time there, which is of course my fault. This created a bit of consternation for The Blonde Accountant as I struggled to maintain the integrity of Rule No. 1.
Hey, it will be funny if you keep referring to this Rule No. 1 thing. Please do so at lease once every other paragraph.
A nice gentlemen working at the grocery store — apparently he was Assistant Butcher in Charge of Stocking the Turkeys in the Freezer — was standing near us during The Blonde Accountant’s harumpfing portion of the turkey dilemma and witnessed the exchange.
Chalk up our third elaborate fictional title.
“You stay here with the 12-pound turkey, I’m going to the other freezer to see if they have bigger ones,” said The Blonde Accountant.
As she vacated the area, the butcher sauntered over to me, got real close to my ear, like he was revealing a state secret about turkeys, and whispered: “I had a lady earlier today who wanted a 20-pound turkey. I had one that weighed 19.97 pounds. She wouldn’t take it because it wasn’t 20 pounds.”
“Did you say anything to her?” I asked.
“No, I just shut up,” he said.
Atta boy. We need to get that guy to the next meeting of the Stupid Man Club to vote aye on Rule No. 1.
It's highly unlikely that this guy would initiate such a conversation. But I appreciate the monumental effort Morsch exerts to make the whole thing seem like a work of Swiftian genius.
We ended up with a 22-pound turkey, which was really no surprise to me.
When we got to the cranberry aisle, The Blonde Accountant exclaimed: “Oh, we need cranberry sauce!” Kind of like she had almost forgotten about it.
“Who eats cranberry sauce in our family?” I asked, which certainly could have been considered a minor infraction of Rule No. 1.
I want to revise my "Rule No. 1" for comedy to read: "Repeat the same joke fifteen times."
“Nobody,” she said as she put the cranberry sauce into the cart.
Hmmm. See, if I would have further questioned the cranberry decision, I risked being flagged for excessive man stupidity as well as violating Rule No. 1.
Alright, that's quite enough, sir.
The answer is quite simple, of course: Cranberry sauce is a traditional part of the Thanksgiving meal and we are thankful to have it grace our table.
Fortunately, I like turkey, so eating the leftovers through the end of March shouldn’t be a problem. As for the cranberry sauce, we will try to share it with someone less fortunate, someone who maybe even likes cranberry sauce.
I don't understand the flow of the last two paragraphs in the least.
There are a lot of things to be thankful for this time of year. One of those is that I have a wife who on top of everything else puts a tremendous amount of love and effort in the holiday meal for her family.
Flag me if you must for a rules violation, but I’m not shutting up about how thankful and appreciative I am about that.
For the record, I'm incredibly disappointed that he didn't say "Turkey Day," and that he deprived us of one last uproarious "Rule No.1" reference.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Impossible Lack of Observation
My wife got a new SUV. This week's column deals with just how very little I know about moving vehicles.
Hey, here's a fresh new idea! Honestly though, "things I don't know" is probably Morsch's largest pool of possible topics.
Outta Leftfield: Inability to answer new-car questions exposes his true colors
Published: Tuesday, November 16, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Here’s how little I know about cars: I’m not even sure what color the one is that has been parked in my driveway for the past five years.
Impossible.
The Blonde Accountant got a new car last weekend. Actually, it’s an SUV because accountants are in most cases better compensated in life than are journalists, most of whom still go to work in a horse and buggy because hay is more affordable than gasoline these days.
The horse and buggy is just about the only thing more out-dated than the printed newspaper.
The new ride is what I would call a maroon color and replaces one that I always thought was a blue, or at the very least, a charcoal blue-gray something-or-other.
Oh ho, what wacky lack of knowledge will Morsch come up with next!
So it came as no surprise that our weekend dinner table conversation centered on the new vehicle and its advantages over the one it replaced. Quite innocently and in passing, I happened to mention the color of the old car as blue.
Fictional Conversation Alert! TBA will correct Morsch; Morsch will still not understand the TBA; she'll put him down; he'll make an ironic comment.
“No, it wasn’t blue, it was sage green,” said The Blonde Accountant, a statement confirmed by both the kids.
“What in tarnation is sage green? That car was blue,” I insisted, believing even at my advanced age, I can still recognize the difference between blue and green.
"Tarnation"?
That of course led me down a path for which I was unprepared.
“What color is our couch?” she said. “What color are the walls in our bedroom? What color are my eyes?”
Wow, she's really calling him out. Can it be that he doesn't know the color of ANY of these things? And aren't all men equally as oblivious? Ha! Oh, what a world.
Duh. I don’t know sage green from the Green Hornet. I have no idea what color the couch is, even when I’m sitting on it. And I didn’t realize the bedroom walls were painted. Hard to believe sometimes that I am a formally trained observer.
He brings up a good point - how DID he get his job?
“Green, green and green,” I responded, figuring green was the answer of the day at that point. “Uh, and your eyes are beautiful, too,” I said.
It was all I could muster given the fact that we went from talking about the color of the old SUV — that we no longer own or care about given the shiny new vehicle now parked in the driveway — to talking about eye color.
That's a big shift alright. I mean, to go from talking about colors to talking about colors. Who wouldn't be thrown?
Fortunately, I was somewhat redeemed the next day when I asked the neighbor lady what color the old car was and she confirmed that she thought it was indeed a blue-gray charcoal. Of course, she couldn’t answer what color The Blonde Accountant’s eyes are, but the neighbor lady got in quite a bit less trouble with her answer than I did.
So the neighbor knows what color the car is, but Morsch doesn't know the color of the couch in his own house?
What all of this illustrates is my total lack of interest in cars.
It would if he only failed to note the color of the car... does this also illustrate a total lack of interest in the bedroom, his wife, and the couch?
That is because I really could care less about anything to do with a car other than having it start when I turn the key and for it to get me where I need to go without breaking down along the way.
The extent of my car maintenance program includes brushing the sandwich crumbs off the car seats and onto the floor mats.
Oh Morsch! You never miss an opportunity to make a "spilling food on myself" joke, do you?
And that’s why shopping for a new car is no fun at all for me.
Here's a fresh, original topic: people don't like shopping for new cars. Would you believe I've never, ever heard anyone discuss this before?
I have on more than one occasion walked into a car dealership, pointed to the cars in the lot, and said, “Do you have any horses?”
(Insert Rimshot)
I do not have a preference on leather vs. cloth seats; I don’t care about a sun roof; and I am only slightly concerned about how many miles per gallon the vehicle gets only because I prefer not to have to fill it up every other block.
Hey, who was the columnist who was just ranting about how a horse and buggy is better than a car because of how expensive gas is?
I do not care what color it is, although my sense is that the next time I need a new car, I can pretty much guarantee it won’t be sage green. I do not need to have that conversation ever again.
Sir, your audience demands that you have this conversation again! The laughs it produces are worth their weight in gold.
When the old car does not run anymore, that’s when I will go looking for a different car. In fact — and I hate to put this in writing because it will be used against me some day — Younger Daughter is the likely beneficiary of my next car purchase because she will get the one that I am driving now, which is of course a charcoal blue-gray something-or-other color. (Same as the couch, I think.)
To paraphrase the creepy old general in White Christmas: "We have established the fact that he doesn't care much about cars."
Still, it’s kind of nice to have a new vehicle in the driveway, which I will likely get to drive occasionally if I can just be a little more prepared the next time the eye color question comes up.
Suggestion for preparation: observe the color of your wife's eyes.
In fact, since my car and the sandwich crumbs inside it are 5 years old now, you might say that the new vehicle makes me a little green with envy.
"Green with envy" - did he use that one in his post about the color of the doctor's office? Nope, he didn't. And I can't believe he missed that opportunity. But there's one opportunity he didn't miss: working in a final "spilling food" joke.
Hey, here's a fresh new idea! Honestly though, "things I don't know" is probably Morsch's largest pool of possible topics.
Outta Leftfield: Inability to answer new-car questions exposes his true colors
Published: Tuesday, November 16, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Here’s how little I know about cars: I’m not even sure what color the one is that has been parked in my driveway for the past five years.
Impossible.
The Blonde Accountant got a new car last weekend. Actually, it’s an SUV because accountants are in most cases better compensated in life than are journalists, most of whom still go to work in a horse and buggy because hay is more affordable than gasoline these days.
The horse and buggy is just about the only thing more out-dated than the printed newspaper.
The new ride is what I would call a maroon color and replaces one that I always thought was a blue, or at the very least, a charcoal blue-gray something-or-other.
Oh ho, what wacky lack of knowledge will Morsch come up with next!
So it came as no surprise that our weekend dinner table conversation centered on the new vehicle and its advantages over the one it replaced. Quite innocently and in passing, I happened to mention the color of the old car as blue.
Fictional Conversation Alert! TBA will correct Morsch; Morsch will still not understand the TBA; she'll put him down; he'll make an ironic comment.
“No, it wasn’t blue, it was sage green,” said The Blonde Accountant, a statement confirmed by both the kids.
“What in tarnation is sage green? That car was blue,” I insisted, believing even at my advanced age, I can still recognize the difference between blue and green.
"Tarnation"?
That of course led me down a path for which I was unprepared.
“What color is our couch?” she said. “What color are the walls in our bedroom? What color are my eyes?”
Wow, she's really calling him out. Can it be that he doesn't know the color of ANY of these things? And aren't all men equally as oblivious? Ha! Oh, what a world.
Duh. I don’t know sage green from the Green Hornet. I have no idea what color the couch is, even when I’m sitting on it. And I didn’t realize the bedroom walls were painted. Hard to believe sometimes that I am a formally trained observer.
He brings up a good point - how DID he get his job?
“Green, green and green,” I responded, figuring green was the answer of the day at that point. “Uh, and your eyes are beautiful, too,” I said.
It was all I could muster given the fact that we went from talking about the color of the old SUV — that we no longer own or care about given the shiny new vehicle now parked in the driveway — to talking about eye color.
That's a big shift alright. I mean, to go from talking about colors to talking about colors. Who wouldn't be thrown?
Fortunately, I was somewhat redeemed the next day when I asked the neighbor lady what color the old car was and she confirmed that she thought it was indeed a blue-gray charcoal. Of course, she couldn’t answer what color The Blonde Accountant’s eyes are, but the neighbor lady got in quite a bit less trouble with her answer than I did.
So the neighbor knows what color the car is, but Morsch doesn't know the color of the couch in his own house?
What all of this illustrates is my total lack of interest in cars.
It would if he only failed to note the color of the car... does this also illustrate a total lack of interest in the bedroom, his wife, and the couch?
That is because I really could care less about anything to do with a car other than having it start when I turn the key and for it to get me where I need to go without breaking down along the way.
The extent of my car maintenance program includes brushing the sandwich crumbs off the car seats and onto the floor mats.
Oh Morsch! You never miss an opportunity to make a "spilling food on myself" joke, do you?
And that’s why shopping for a new car is no fun at all for me.
Here's a fresh, original topic: people don't like shopping for new cars. Would you believe I've never, ever heard anyone discuss this before?
I have on more than one occasion walked into a car dealership, pointed to the cars in the lot, and said, “Do you have any horses?”
(Insert Rimshot)
I do not have a preference on leather vs. cloth seats; I don’t care about a sun roof; and I am only slightly concerned about how many miles per gallon the vehicle gets only because I prefer not to have to fill it up every other block.
Hey, who was the columnist who was just ranting about how a horse and buggy is better than a car because of how expensive gas is?
I do not care what color it is, although my sense is that the next time I need a new car, I can pretty much guarantee it won’t be sage green. I do not need to have that conversation ever again.
Sir, your audience demands that you have this conversation again! The laughs it produces are worth their weight in gold.
When the old car does not run anymore, that’s when I will go looking for a different car. In fact — and I hate to put this in writing because it will be used against me some day — Younger Daughter is the likely beneficiary of my next car purchase because she will get the one that I am driving now, which is of course a charcoal blue-gray something-or-other color. (Same as the couch, I think.)
To paraphrase the creepy old general in White Christmas: "We have established the fact that he doesn't care much about cars."
Still, it’s kind of nice to have a new vehicle in the driveway, which I will likely get to drive occasionally if I can just be a little more prepared the next time the eye color question comes up.
Suggestion for preparation: observe the color of your wife's eyes.
In fact, since my car and the sandwich crumbs inside it are 5 years old now, you might say that the new vehicle makes me a little green with envy.
"Green with envy" - did he use that one in his post about the color of the doctor's office? Nope, he didn't. And I can't believe he missed that opportunity. But there's one opportunity he didn't miss: working in a final "spilling food" joke.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Animal Kruelty = Komedy
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Granny vs. The Fighting Conch
A promising title, which shockingly doesn't contain a pun. I guess he couldn't think of a way to work "shell" or "crab" in.
Grandmothers toting tweezers probably ought not to be going after Florida’s Fighting Conches, which by the way is not the nickname of a high school football team but an actual sea creature.
"Toting tweezers" - Morsch has been particularly fond of "t" alliteration lately - see the "Teens Tackle Terror" title of his previous post.
My mom is in Florida for a month hanging with one of her pals and putting her toes in the sand. That’s one of the benefits that comes with retirement I guess, something I won’t likely realize for quite some time.
... Unfortunately for the literate world. Case in point: his clumsy use of the word "realize." He's trying to use it in the sense of achieving something. Instead it sounds like he's saying he doesn't realize what the benefits of retirement are (which he clearly does).
As native Midwesterners, we have some hillbillies in the family tree. Although we have traveled a bit over the years and are no strangers to warmer climates and sandy beaches, we don’t have an ocean in Illinois, which I realize may come as a surprise to some of you. As a result, our rural upbringing did not provide us much in the way of proper Fighting Conch (pronounced “konk”) etiquette. We are, however, very schooled in all things stinkbug.
Problems with this paragraph:
1.) What does the fact that they have hillbillies in their family tree have to do with anything else in the paragraph?
2.) He says that, although they are "no strangers" to beaches, his people don't know much about them since they didn't grow up right next to an ocean. What?
3.) The constant references to that stinkbug article he wrote way back when. The only thing that gets more shout-outs is the "Magic of Baseball Cards" column.
The Florida Fighting Conch — Strombus alatus — is essentially a sea snail in a decorative shell. The Illinois Vacationing Granny — Feistyius Oldladyius — likes to collect decorative shells. You may be able to see where this is going.
From Morsch's June 16 article on the wandering yaks: former Vice President Dick Cheney (Latin name: Grumpius oldguyus), not to mention Mr. Rogers (Latin name: Nottheguyus withthesweatersus). Nice to know he doesn't observe even a six month moratorium on recycling material.
He also screws up his own joke. By adding the "ius" to the end of "feisty" and "oldlady," he's telling us to pronounce them (phonetically) "feistee-eeus" and "oldladee-eeus."
So during a phone call this week, Granny was telling me of her recent shell-hunting expedition on the south Florida beach near her condo.
“I put all the shells in the sink to clean them and one of them was moving,” said Granny. “So I got out my tweezers and tried to pull the dadgummed thing outta there, and boy did it start hissing and squealing at me.”
I guess hokey old expressions like "dadgummed" run in the family.
Fighting Conches apparently do not like being yanked from their home with a pair of tweezers, and in addition, they likely will raise quite a ruckus when someone tries to do so.
By the way, that’s all new information for me, my mom and the rest of the Corncob Crowd from Calico County.
I had to Google the phrase "Corncob Crowd from Calico County," because I thought that it was a reference to some stupid old 1970's variety show. Nope. It's just some stupid thing he made up himself.
Granny decided it was best to let nature takes its course and placed the highly agitated conch on the back deck. Her thinking was that after a few days in the sunshine, the critter would buy the farm and could then be easily tweezed from the coveted shell.
Am I the only one who thinks that's rather cruel? Children and old people - the nastiest creatures on earth.
No such luck. After three days, the conch was still giving Granny seven kinds of heck for the armed and attempted home invasion, so she took it to the beach and tossed it in back the drink.
"Armed and attempted?" We all remember how walking on cement floors plays "seven kinds of hooey" with Morsch's knees. Then from last week's column: ...mostly because I didn’t want to catch seven kinds of heck. Apparently Morsch doesn't observe even a six day moratorium on his material.
Since she still has a few more weeks of vacation, further beach expeditions are pending. No doubt with tweezers at the ready. I anxiously await her next report.
Wow, what animals will she try to cruelly put to death next? Maybe she should give Mike Vick a call.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Granny vs. The Fighting Conch
A promising title, which shockingly doesn't contain a pun. I guess he couldn't think of a way to work "shell" or "crab" in.
Grandmothers toting tweezers probably ought not to be going after Florida’s Fighting Conches, which by the way is not the nickname of a high school football team but an actual sea creature.
"Toting tweezers" - Morsch has been particularly fond of "t" alliteration lately - see the "Teens Tackle Terror" title of his previous post.
My mom is in Florida for a month hanging with one of her pals and putting her toes in the sand. That’s one of the benefits that comes with retirement I guess, something I won’t likely realize for quite some time.
... Unfortunately for the literate world. Case in point: his clumsy use of the word "realize." He's trying to use it in the sense of achieving something. Instead it sounds like he's saying he doesn't realize what the benefits of retirement are (which he clearly does).
As native Midwesterners, we have some hillbillies in the family tree. Although we have traveled a bit over the years and are no strangers to warmer climates and sandy beaches, we don’t have an ocean in Illinois, which I realize may come as a surprise to some of you. As a result, our rural upbringing did not provide us much in the way of proper Fighting Conch (pronounced “konk”) etiquette. We are, however, very schooled in all things stinkbug.
Problems with this paragraph:
1.) What does the fact that they have hillbillies in their family tree have to do with anything else in the paragraph?
2.) He says that, although they are "no strangers" to beaches, his people don't know much about them since they didn't grow up right next to an ocean. What?
3.) The constant references to that stinkbug article he wrote way back when. The only thing that gets more shout-outs is the "Magic of Baseball Cards" column.
The Florida Fighting Conch — Strombus alatus — is essentially a sea snail in a decorative shell. The Illinois Vacationing Granny — Feistyius Oldladyius — likes to collect decorative shells. You may be able to see where this is going.
From Morsch's June 16 article on the wandering yaks: former Vice President Dick Cheney (Latin name: Grumpius oldguyus), not to mention Mr. Rogers (Latin name: Nottheguyus withthesweatersus). Nice to know he doesn't observe even a six month moratorium on recycling material.
He also screws up his own joke. By adding the "ius" to the end of "feisty" and "oldlady," he's telling us to pronounce them (phonetically) "feistee-eeus" and "oldladee-eeus."
So during a phone call this week, Granny was telling me of her recent shell-hunting expedition on the south Florida beach near her condo.
“I put all the shells in the sink to clean them and one of them was moving,” said Granny. “So I got out my tweezers and tried to pull the dadgummed thing outta there, and boy did it start hissing and squealing at me.”
I guess hokey old expressions like "dadgummed" run in the family.
Fighting Conches apparently do not like being yanked from their home with a pair of tweezers, and in addition, they likely will raise quite a ruckus when someone tries to do so.
By the way, that’s all new information for me, my mom and the rest of the Corncob Crowd from Calico County.
I had to Google the phrase "Corncob Crowd from Calico County," because I thought that it was a reference to some stupid old 1970's variety show. Nope. It's just some stupid thing he made up himself.
Granny decided it was best to let nature takes its course and placed the highly agitated conch on the back deck. Her thinking was that after a few days in the sunshine, the critter would buy the farm and could then be easily tweezed from the coveted shell.
Am I the only one who thinks that's rather cruel? Children and old people - the nastiest creatures on earth.
No such luck. After three days, the conch was still giving Granny seven kinds of heck for the armed and attempted home invasion, so she took it to the beach and tossed it in back the drink.
"Armed and attempted?" We all remember how walking on cement floors plays "seven kinds of hooey" with Morsch's knees. Then from last week's column: ...mostly because I didn’t want to catch seven kinds of heck. Apparently Morsch doesn't observe even a six day moratorium on his material.
Since she still has a few more weeks of vacation, further beach expeditions are pending. No doubt with tweezers at the ready. I anxiously await her next report.
Wow, what animals will she try to cruelly put to death next? Maybe she should give Mike Vick a call.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Monday, November 15, 2010
Echo Effect
Outta Leftfield: Teens tackle terror while terror turn tables on timid taxi driver
Published: Tuesday, November 09, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Hmm. I'm really wondering whether a "taxi driver" will factor into this story at all.
Actually not too much to report on this one. The basics: Morsch takes his daughter and her friends to a haunted prison attraction that, on a previous trip, had frightened him. I'm going to skip around, because vast portions of this entry are just plain boring.
The teenagers apparently have a surplus of bejeebers and they were perfectly happy to part with a boatload of them in the name of having a good time. I do not understand that approach but was willing to be the taxi service that delivered them to their fate as long as I got to stay in the car.
What approach? Running the gauntlet of Morsch's tortured prose gets more exhausting by the day.
The Philadelphia prison’s attraction — “Terror Behind The Walls” — is recognized by those who recognize such things as one of the scariest Halloween-themed attractions in the country. Frankly, the only aspect of this attraction that I was even remotely interested in was the “Comfort and Safety of the Parking Lot” portion of it.
Hey, will Morsch be going in? Or will he be, like staying in the car? He should really clarify this a little. Is "recognized by those who recognize" supposed to be funny? If not it's a complete waste of language.
It was not my first visit to the prison. I took the kids to see it about six years ago, when Younger Daughter was 10 years old and Older Daughter was 16. It was their idea, not mine, but I had to dad up on that one and actually go inside the prison.
I get that self-deprecation is sort of his schtick, but come on. Stupid, smelly, rude, loud, lazy, physically gross, and now cowardly. Are his readers supposed to find this endearing? There's an entire paragraph about how he swears at the costumed monsters and hides behind his kids.
The end result of that trip was that the monsters did their job and Younger Daughter was so scared that we only made it through half the attraction before skeedaddling the premises, and in a hurry. That’s probably the quickest I’ve gotten out of Dodge for anything in the past two decades.
You can't "skeedaddle the premises." You can skeedaddle from.
That experience, though, did nothing to dissuade the now 16-year-old Younger Daughter from returning to the scene of the puddle.
Add "peeing his pants" to the list of self-ascribed Morsch defects.
This time, however, she surrounded herself with other teenagers and I was relegated to chauffeur and cash machine, which was fine with me. I had no intention of contributing another puddle to the prison’s efforts.
That's two pee jokes in one paragraph, and yet another mention of the fact that he is staying in the car and not going in. Can we move on?
The place was packed, so I dropped the teens off at the front gate and began what looked like it could be a futile search for a parking space. After several passes around the prison and surrounding neighborhood (the parking lot was full),
Good LORD, he just said "the place was packed" one sentence ago! It occurs to me that Morsch is like an unfunny version of Seinfeld. While that show could take the trivial parts of life and make them hilarious, Morsch takes the trivial parts of life and makes them downright unbearable.
I got lucky and scored a space right in front of the prison, about 30 yards from the front gate.
From that vantage point, I got an up-close look at the people standing in the long lines waiting to get inside. I also found that with the crack of the passenger-side windows, I could hear the reactions of the people who had just experienced the terror and were headed back to their cars in the parking lot.
“Better bring an extra diaper, you’re going to need it!” shouted one jamoke to the people waiting in line.
"Jamoke": classic Morsch over-used word. I bet Morsch uses the diaper reference to work in a poop joke.
It turned out to be a perfect spot for people watching.
Why? Is it because you can get "an up-close look at the people standing in the long lines," as you said a few sentences ago? Try submitting an effort like this in any college composition class. A teacher would rip it to shreds.
One monster — who I can only describe as Beetlejuice on stilts (and probably several cups of coffee) — noticed me and stuck his face into the passenger-side window.
I can't fault the author too much for this, but the character's name is "Betelgeuse." For once in his life, he didn't have time to Google this? I'm sure this is the lead-up to an epic Morsch Fictional Conversation.
“Hey, buddy,” he said.
“Hey,” I said.
Funny?
That’s all you got pal? Why that didn’t scare me at all.
No. Not funny.
I had stayed outside the attraction this time specifically because I did not want to have to find a 10-year-old to hide behind. Now I had the monsters coming out to my car for criminny sakes.
Is there an echo in this column? Because it seems like the entire thing as been Morsch making a statement in one paragraph and then repeating it in the next one.
I must admit at one point, when [another monster] was crouched in front of my car, I considered blasting the horn in his ear. I had a fleeting thought that it would be funny if I could actually turn the tables and startle the monster. I would have considered it a little bit of payback from six years ago.
No, see, there's a difference. That was guys being paid to dress up and frighten people. This would be Morsch being a total douche.
But I resisted that urge, mostly because I didn’t want to catch seven kinds of heck from the Federated Brotherhood of Monsters and Ghouls Union. I don’t need a whole group of monsters latching onto my pant leg.
First rule of fictional organizations: as the name becomes longer, the laughs generated by it increase exponentially! Note the use of "seven kinds of heck," because he's used it before, and gosh darn it, he'll use it in next week's column too.
It sure sounded like they had a good time. Me, I can think of better ways to have fun, ones that don’t require I bring along an extra diaper.
And we get the pee joke hat trick to end the story. By the way, how exactly did the monsters "turn the tables" on Morsch?
Published: Tuesday, November 09, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Hmm. I'm really wondering whether a "taxi driver" will factor into this story at all.
Actually not too much to report on this one. The basics: Morsch takes his daughter and her friends to a haunted prison attraction that, on a previous trip, had frightened him. I'm going to skip around, because vast portions of this entry are just plain boring.
The teenagers apparently have a surplus of bejeebers and they were perfectly happy to part with a boatload of them in the name of having a good time. I do not understand that approach but was willing to be the taxi service that delivered them to their fate as long as I got to stay in the car.
What approach? Running the gauntlet of Morsch's tortured prose gets more exhausting by the day.
The Philadelphia prison’s attraction — “Terror Behind The Walls” — is recognized by those who recognize such things as one of the scariest Halloween-themed attractions in the country. Frankly, the only aspect of this attraction that I was even remotely interested in was the “Comfort and Safety of the Parking Lot” portion of it.
Hey, will Morsch be going in? Or will he be, like staying in the car? He should really clarify this a little. Is "recognized by those who recognize" supposed to be funny? If not it's a complete waste of language.
It was not my first visit to the prison. I took the kids to see it about six years ago, when Younger Daughter was 10 years old and Older Daughter was 16. It was their idea, not mine, but I had to dad up on that one and actually go inside the prison.
I get that self-deprecation is sort of his schtick, but come on. Stupid, smelly, rude, loud, lazy, physically gross, and now cowardly. Are his readers supposed to find this endearing? There's an entire paragraph about how he swears at the costumed monsters and hides behind his kids.
The end result of that trip was that the monsters did their job and Younger Daughter was so scared that we only made it through half the attraction before skeedaddling the premises, and in a hurry. That’s probably the quickest I’ve gotten out of Dodge for anything in the past two decades.
You can't "skeedaddle the premises." You can skeedaddle from.
That experience, though, did nothing to dissuade the now 16-year-old Younger Daughter from returning to the scene of the puddle.
Add "peeing his pants" to the list of self-ascribed Morsch defects.
This time, however, she surrounded herself with other teenagers and I was relegated to chauffeur and cash machine, which was fine with me. I had no intention of contributing another puddle to the prison’s efforts.
That's two pee jokes in one paragraph, and yet another mention of the fact that he is staying in the car and not going in. Can we move on?
The place was packed, so I dropped the teens off at the front gate and began what looked like it could be a futile search for a parking space. After several passes around the prison and surrounding neighborhood (the parking lot was full),
Good LORD, he just said "the place was packed" one sentence ago! It occurs to me that Morsch is like an unfunny version of Seinfeld. While that show could take the trivial parts of life and make them hilarious, Morsch takes the trivial parts of life and makes them downright unbearable.
I got lucky and scored a space right in front of the prison, about 30 yards from the front gate.
From that vantage point, I got an up-close look at the people standing in the long lines waiting to get inside. I also found that with the crack of the passenger-side windows, I could hear the reactions of the people who had just experienced the terror and were headed back to their cars in the parking lot.
“Better bring an extra diaper, you’re going to need it!” shouted one jamoke to the people waiting in line.
"Jamoke": classic Morsch over-used word. I bet Morsch uses the diaper reference to work in a poop joke.
It turned out to be a perfect spot for people watching.
Why? Is it because you can get "an up-close look at the people standing in the long lines," as you said a few sentences ago? Try submitting an effort like this in any college composition class. A teacher would rip it to shreds.
One monster — who I can only describe as Beetlejuice on stilts (and probably several cups of coffee) — noticed me and stuck his face into the passenger-side window.
I can't fault the author too much for this, but the character's name is "Betelgeuse." For once in his life, he didn't have time to Google this? I'm sure this is the lead-up to an epic Morsch Fictional Conversation.
“Hey, buddy,” he said.
“Hey,” I said.
Funny?
That’s all you got pal? Why that didn’t scare me at all.
No. Not funny.
I had stayed outside the attraction this time specifically because I did not want to have to find a 10-year-old to hide behind. Now I had the monsters coming out to my car for criminny sakes.
Is there an echo in this column? Because it seems like the entire thing as been Morsch making a statement in one paragraph and then repeating it in the next one.
I must admit at one point, when [another monster] was crouched in front of my car, I considered blasting the horn in his ear. I had a fleeting thought that it would be funny if I could actually turn the tables and startle the monster. I would have considered it a little bit of payback from six years ago.
No, see, there's a difference. That was guys being paid to dress up and frighten people. This would be Morsch being a total douche.
But I resisted that urge, mostly because I didn’t want to catch seven kinds of heck from the Federated Brotherhood of Monsters and Ghouls Union. I don’t need a whole group of monsters latching onto my pant leg.
First rule of fictional organizations: as the name becomes longer, the laughs generated by it increase exponentially! Note the use of "seven kinds of heck," because he's used it before, and gosh darn it, he'll use it in next week's column too.
It sure sounded like they had a good time. Me, I can think of better ways to have fun, ones that don’t require I bring along an extra diaper.
And we get the pee joke hat trick to end the story. By the way, how exactly did the monsters "turn the tables" on Morsch?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Disgracing James MacArthur
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
End of the original 'Book 'em' era
Morsch disgraces the memory of James MacArthur. He has truly sunk to a new low.
I was saddened to learn of the recent death of James MacArthur, who played Detective Danny “Danno” Williams, the right-hand man of Jack Lord’s character Steve McGarrett on the television show “Hawaii Five-0.”
He actually mentioned (and tagged!) Hawaii Five-0 in another post. The only problem is that it's tagged as "Hawaii 5-0," so there's no way to connect the two. Another savvy move by our favorite blogger.
The original television series, which ran from 1968 through 1980, was one of my favorites as a kid and the attraction lasted into my college years. No matter what was going on with my schedule of toga parties, I always tried to find time to catch the show. At the very least, I tried to get in on the last few minutes of the episode, just to hear McGarrett say to Williams, “Book ’em Danno, murder one.”
McGarrett really didn't say it that often. Per Morsch's previous post on this subject: I spent many a night ditching the books in college... primarily just so I could hear Steve McGarrett say “Book ’em, Dano!” at the end of each episode. Ignore the "Dano" and focus on how this guy's terrible style varies so little from post to post.
Although I never got to meet MacArthur, I did get the opportunity to meet another “Hawaii Five-0" regular before the end of the original show’s run.
Really? Was he friendly and gracious? Did he take the time to greet fans after the event?
In 1979, our college baseball team’s spring trip was to Hawaii. (It was a good time to be a baseball player in Iowa in 1979.)
What was a good time? 1979? How nonsensical is this statement?
We were there for 10 days and were scheduled to play 10 games against the University of Hawaii.
Many of those games were played during the day, which left us the evenings to explore as much of Hawaii as we could with our limited free time.
My folks went along on the trip, and one evening we attended a nightclub act by Al Harrington, who played Detective Ben Kokua, another cop in McGarrett’s crew, for several years on the show. (On rare occasions, McGarrett would ask Ben to “Book ’em.”)
There's a website that analyzes the Five-0 series episode by episode. There are maybe only two or three instances of Steve saying "Book 'em" each season. I love how Morsch is trying to sound like an authority here. Stick with the Stooges, pal.
In addition to his television gig, Harrington was a singer and dancer in Waikiki, and along with Don Ho, helped define Hawaii’s entertainment industry in the 1970s and 1980s.
Because the history of the Hawaiian entertainment industry is funny! ... Right?
I got to meet Harrington after his show and asked him to sign my program, which he did. He signed it, “Book ’em Mike.” Given that I was such a big fan of the show, I got a kick out of that.
What a kind, generous, gracious man that Al Harrington is, taking the time to sign that autograph.
Unfortunately, I haven’t been back to Hawaii since.
All the main actors on the original “Hawaii Five-0” are gone now. I’ve watched the new version of the show Monday nights on CBS and it’s OK. Hawaii is still Hawaii, so the scenery is still fabulous. And the McGarrett character still says “Book ’em Danno” to the Williams character.
What is this post about? The death of James MacArthur? Al Harrington? Morsch's trip to Hawaii? "Hawaii Five-0"?
As with a lot of things, in this instance though, the original still outshines the remake.
"I was sad that MacArthur died. I never met him, but I met someone on the same show as him while I was in Hawaii once. I liked that show. The new version of the show is okay, but not as good as the original."
I'd like to linger on this last sentence for a moment. It would make sense if it read "As with a lot of things, the original still outshines the remake." But the inclusion of "in this instance though" destroys it. It's a complete contradiction. It's like saying, "Quite often, but fairly rarely."
Labels: Hawaii Five-0, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
End of the original 'Book 'em' era
Morsch disgraces the memory of James MacArthur. He has truly sunk to a new low.
I was saddened to learn of the recent death of James MacArthur, who played Detective Danny “Danno” Williams, the right-hand man of Jack Lord’s character Steve McGarrett on the television show “Hawaii Five-0.”
He actually mentioned (and tagged!) Hawaii Five-0 in another post. The only problem is that it's tagged as "Hawaii 5-0," so there's no way to connect the two. Another savvy move by our favorite blogger.
The original television series, which ran from 1968 through 1980, was one of my favorites as a kid and the attraction lasted into my college years. No matter what was going on with my schedule of toga parties, I always tried to find time to catch the show. At the very least, I tried to get in on the last few minutes of the episode, just to hear McGarrett say to Williams, “Book ’em Danno, murder one.”
McGarrett really didn't say it that often. Per Morsch's previous post on this subject: I spent many a night ditching the books in college... primarily just so I could hear Steve McGarrett say “Book ’em, Dano!” at the end of each episode. Ignore the "Dano" and focus on how this guy's terrible style varies so little from post to post.
Although I never got to meet MacArthur, I did get the opportunity to meet another “Hawaii Five-0" regular before the end of the original show’s run.
Really? Was he friendly and gracious? Did he take the time to greet fans after the event?
In 1979, our college baseball team’s spring trip was to Hawaii. (It was a good time to be a baseball player in Iowa in 1979.)
What was a good time? 1979? How nonsensical is this statement?
We were there for 10 days and were scheduled to play 10 games against the University of Hawaii.
Many of those games were played during the day, which left us the evenings to explore as much of Hawaii as we could with our limited free time.
My folks went along on the trip, and one evening we attended a nightclub act by Al Harrington, who played Detective Ben Kokua, another cop in McGarrett’s crew, for several years on the show. (On rare occasions, McGarrett would ask Ben to “Book ’em.”)
There's a website that analyzes the Five-0 series episode by episode. There are maybe only two or three instances of Steve saying "Book 'em" each season. I love how Morsch is trying to sound like an authority here. Stick with the Stooges, pal.
In addition to his television gig, Harrington was a singer and dancer in Waikiki, and along with Don Ho, helped define Hawaii’s entertainment industry in the 1970s and 1980s.
Because the history of the Hawaiian entertainment industry is funny! ... Right?
I got to meet Harrington after his show and asked him to sign my program, which he did. He signed it, “Book ’em Mike.” Given that I was such a big fan of the show, I got a kick out of that.
What a kind, generous, gracious man that Al Harrington is, taking the time to sign that autograph.
Unfortunately, I haven’t been back to Hawaii since.
All the main actors on the original “Hawaii Five-0” are gone now. I’ve watched the new version of the show Monday nights on CBS and it’s OK. Hawaii is still Hawaii, so the scenery is still fabulous. And the McGarrett character still says “Book ’em Danno” to the Williams character.
What is this post about? The death of James MacArthur? Al Harrington? Morsch's trip to Hawaii? "Hawaii Five-0"?
As with a lot of things, in this instance though, the original still outshines the remake.
"I was sad that MacArthur died. I never met him, but I met someone on the same show as him while I was in Hawaii once. I liked that show. The new version of the show is okay, but not as good as the original."
I'd like to linger on this last sentence for a moment. It would make sense if it read "As with a lot of things, the original still outshines the remake." But the inclusion of "in this instance though" destroys it. It's a complete contradiction. It's like saying, "Quite often, but fairly rarely."
Labels: Hawaii Five-0, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
The Point
I'm not very popular among the Greeks - at least if the comments from all the people named Anonymous are any indication. Well I don't really like Greeks either; democracy is overrated and their banking system sucks. But there are a couple things I'd like to say to them nevertheless.
Here's the story. Reading my local newspaper, I came across a column by a guy named Morsch who is unquestionably the worst published writer ever. His "humor" column was full of terrible jokes, obvious puns, poor grammar and embarrassing misspellings. What's more, this fellow was apparently a newspaper editor.
How on Earth could he be paid to edit when he obviously doesn't edit his own work? And how could he be assigned a humor column when he's so painfully unfunny?
For my own amusement, I started jotting down comments about this guy's terrible column, which he entitled "Outta Leftfield." And again, purely for my own amusement, I decided to archive these in an online blog so that maybe, some day, Morsch will find it and realize just how terrible his efforts really are.
And that's it. If you don't get it or don't like it, there are plenty of blogs about photos or newborn children or family vacations for you to enjoy.
Here's the story. Reading my local newspaper, I came across a column by a guy named Morsch who is unquestionably the worst published writer ever. His "humor" column was full of terrible jokes, obvious puns, poor grammar and embarrassing misspellings. What's more, this fellow was apparently a newspaper editor.
How on Earth could he be paid to edit when he obviously doesn't edit his own work? And how could he be assigned a humor column when he's so painfully unfunny?
For my own amusement, I started jotting down comments about this guy's terrible column, which he entitled "Outta Leftfield." And again, purely for my own amusement, I decided to archive these in an online blog so that maybe, some day, Morsch will find it and realize just how terrible his efforts really are.
And that's it. If you don't get it or don't like it, there are plenty of blogs about photos or newborn children or family vacations for you to enjoy.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Stats are Significant
I was listening to Mike and Mike in the Morning on ESPN Radio the other day. They were discussing the benching of Donovan McNabb in the last 2 minutes of a game the other week. During their (predictably pro-McNabb) discussion, Mike Greenberg asked Mike Golic if the Redskins were "a better team" with McNabb, and whether they would be "as good without him." Golic replied that they would absolutely not be as good without McNabb as they now are with him.
Really?
Jason Campbell 2009-2010 Stats (16 Games)
QBRat 86.4; Comp Pct 64.5; 226.1 YPG, 7.1 Y/A, 20 TD, 15 INT
Donovan McNabb 2010-2011 Stats (8 Games)
QBRat 76.0; Comp Pct 57.4; 246.4 YPG, 7.1 Y/A, 7 TD, 8 INT
It seems like the Redskins actually got WORSE at quarterback with McNabb.
Really?
Jason Campbell 2009-2010 Stats (16 Games)
QBRat 86.4; Comp Pct 64.5; 226.1 YPG, 7.1 Y/A, 20 TD, 15 INT
Donovan McNabb 2010-2011 Stats (8 Games)
QBRat 76.0; Comp Pct 57.4; 246.4 YPG, 7.1 Y/A, 7 TD, 8 INT
It seems like the Redskins actually got WORSE at quarterback with McNabb.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Poor Choice of Topic
Outta Leftfield: Rule book for home paper product usage may be necessary
Published: Tuesday, November 02, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
A few days ago, Morsch posted this on Twitter: Anybody misuse household paper products? Like wiping up spills with tissues or blowing one's nose with a paper towel? I knew we were in for it.
A Facebook friend wrote the other day that she had a question she had been meaning to ask me for some time. My first thought was, "Oh, this sounds serious."
Uh-oh, it's a woman writing! Surely whatever she has to say will baffle Morsch, as well as any red-blooded male reader.
"Ask The Blonde Accountant about the correct usage of home paper products. I have a pet peeve about using them for what they were made for. My husband laughs at me. Yesterday he wiped up a spill with a Kleenex. Kleenexes are for noses, paper towels are for spills. And toilet paper should never be used for blowing one's nose," wrote Cheryl.
Shades of the "I can't organize my closet" column. This is not even a funny premise.
Just as I thought, a serious question. And naturally, it's not a question being asked directly to me, but to the wise one in our household.
The wise one! Because women are always the wisest, right?
Rest assured that I do not consider it a slight at all. I am used to being Vice President in Charge of Very Little Other Than Lightbulbs and Trash at my house.
Wahoooo! What man can't relate to that?
Scientific research (I asked a few other Facebook friends) reveals that it may be another one of those "Guy Things."
Can we get a new topic please?
For example, I am quite content attending to my nose with a paper towel. When that happens, The Blonde Accountant always flags me for Improper Use of Paper Towels. Not only am I scolded, but I must move an additional 15 yards away from her the next time I do it. But it is my nose, and I'm pretty sure she would agree that it's my paper towel once I have used it in that manner.
Woah woah, is that an unnecessary FOOTBALL reference? Now we really know the baseball season is over. I don't know if I've ever blown my nose with a paper towel... it strikes me as wasteful.
Household paper products - tissues, paper towels, napkins, toilet paper and baby wipes - seem to me to be mostly interchangeable. I'm a paper towel guy for just about everything because it seems to be the sturdiest of the household paper products.
This is laughable, and not in the way he intends.
Kleenexes are OK for minor work about the face - dabbing and wiping and such. But I cannot use one for any serious nose maintenance. As my Facebook friend Frank points out, one good big ole guy honk into a tissue and the dadgummed thing virtually disintegrates.
Frank is a frequent Facebook offender. And I've never disintegrated a tissue by blowing my nose, but I love the suggestion that every guy has a nose like a Howitzer.
Why, it's like blowing one's nose directly into one's hands. We men may be heathens and Neanderthals but we usually know enough not to blow our noses right into our hands.
"Heathens"? Are heathens notorious for their poor hygiene?
A Twitter friend - whom I won't identify based on The Blonde Accountant's reaction when I told her this story - offered that he once found himself out of baby wipes and immediately reached for the Armor All wipes, which resulted at him getting yelled at by his wife.
I'm really running out of things to say here. And there's a lot of fascinating paper discussion to go.
My initial reaction was, "Why would she yell at him for that?" Trying to find evidence to support the "Armor All is OK to use on a baby" approach, I looked on the Armor All website to see if baby bottoms popped up on its list of acceptable use surfaces.
We're sure to be treated to some fascinating material recycled from a website in the coming paragraph.
According to information on its site, "Armor All Cleaning Wipes have been specifically developed and tested for use on automobile surfaces." It says nothing about baby butts, so I guess it's safe to assume that the Armor All wipes are designed to be used on tires and auto interiors and not baby behinds.
Wow, I'm glad that we covered this. The Armor All website is fertile ground for comedy, and Morsch has gathered quite a crop, hasn't he?
Still, we shouldn't try to raise wimpy kids these days and a baby who has been tidied up with Armor All wipes is likely to be one tough baby. That baby could grow up to have one of those "I walked to school four miles uphill both ways in the snow" kind of stories to tell his kids and grandkids.
Or he could become one of those people who repeats cliches that were old when Harding was president!
"You think you kids got it bad, things were so tough in my neighborhood that when I was a baby my dad cleaned me off with an Armor All wipe ... and then went out and used my butt to wipe off the entire car!"
All this talk of babies and wipes and butts is starting to strike me as very foul.
In general though, the consensus among the guys is that short of using Armor All wipes on everything, paper towels can be used in any situation. Once again, in an attempt to support that theory, I typed in "good uses for paper towels other than cleaning up spills" into Google and found several other uses for paper towels.
I really hate this. How can someone think this is funny? Does he review his own work and think it's amusing? Does he think that the limitless Internet public will think so?
Among them are: as insulation; for stuffing one's bra (apparently not all women are anti-paper towel when it comes to its multiple uses; they appear, however, to draw the line at stuffing their bras with Armor All wipes);
Semi-colons are funny, I guess.
blowing your nose (I knew it); the entire roll makes a decent lumbar pillow (wouldn't have thought of that); as packing material for mailing fragile items; as table napkins (that one is a no brainer for me); and as potholders (one towel folded in half three times.)
Lists are funny.
As Facebook friend Tim pointed out, there really is no rule book for home paper products. But as we can see, maybe someone should develop one.
It looks like it would certainly be worth the paper it's printed on.
I can't think of anything to say. This was a horrible topic, first of all. I doubt even a funny person could write a column about using paper towels to blow his nose. But this one is all over the place. There's no cohesion. It reads like the diary of a goldfish.
Published: Tuesday, November 02, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
A few days ago, Morsch posted this on Twitter: Anybody misuse household paper products? Like wiping up spills with tissues or blowing one's nose with a paper towel? I knew we were in for it.
A Facebook friend wrote the other day that she had a question she had been meaning to ask me for some time. My first thought was, "Oh, this sounds serious."
Uh-oh, it's a woman writing! Surely whatever she has to say will baffle Morsch, as well as any red-blooded male reader.
"Ask The Blonde Accountant about the correct usage of home paper products. I have a pet peeve about using them for what they were made for. My husband laughs at me. Yesterday he wiped up a spill with a Kleenex. Kleenexes are for noses, paper towels are for spills. And toilet paper should never be used for blowing one's nose," wrote Cheryl.
Shades of the "I can't organize my closet" column. This is not even a funny premise.
Just as I thought, a serious question. And naturally, it's not a question being asked directly to me, but to the wise one in our household.
The wise one! Because women are always the wisest, right?
Rest assured that I do not consider it a slight at all. I am used to being Vice President in Charge of Very Little Other Than Lightbulbs and Trash at my house.
Wahoooo! What man can't relate to that?
Scientific research (I asked a few other Facebook friends) reveals that it may be another one of those "Guy Things."
Can we get a new topic please?
For example, I am quite content attending to my nose with a paper towel. When that happens, The Blonde Accountant always flags me for Improper Use of Paper Towels. Not only am I scolded, but I must move an additional 15 yards away from her the next time I do it. But it is my nose, and I'm pretty sure she would agree that it's my paper towel once I have used it in that manner.
Woah woah, is that an unnecessary FOOTBALL reference? Now we really know the baseball season is over. I don't know if I've ever blown my nose with a paper towel... it strikes me as wasteful.
Household paper products - tissues, paper towels, napkins, toilet paper and baby wipes - seem to me to be mostly interchangeable. I'm a paper towel guy for just about everything because it seems to be the sturdiest of the household paper products.
This is laughable, and not in the way he intends.
Kleenexes are OK for minor work about the face - dabbing and wiping and such. But I cannot use one for any serious nose maintenance. As my Facebook friend Frank points out, one good big ole guy honk into a tissue and the dadgummed thing virtually disintegrates.
Frank is a frequent Facebook offender. And I've never disintegrated a tissue by blowing my nose, but I love the suggestion that every guy has a nose like a Howitzer.
Why, it's like blowing one's nose directly into one's hands. We men may be heathens and Neanderthals but we usually know enough not to blow our noses right into our hands.
"Heathens"? Are heathens notorious for their poor hygiene?
A Twitter friend - whom I won't identify based on The Blonde Accountant's reaction when I told her this story - offered that he once found himself out of baby wipes and immediately reached for the Armor All wipes, which resulted at him getting yelled at by his wife.
I'm really running out of things to say here. And there's a lot of fascinating paper discussion to go.
My initial reaction was, "Why would she yell at him for that?" Trying to find evidence to support the "Armor All is OK to use on a baby" approach, I looked on the Armor All website to see if baby bottoms popped up on its list of acceptable use surfaces.
We're sure to be treated to some fascinating material recycled from a website in the coming paragraph.
According to information on its site, "Armor All Cleaning Wipes have been specifically developed and tested for use on automobile surfaces." It says nothing about baby butts, so I guess it's safe to assume that the Armor All wipes are designed to be used on tires and auto interiors and not baby behinds.
Wow, I'm glad that we covered this. The Armor All website is fertile ground for comedy, and Morsch has gathered quite a crop, hasn't he?
Still, we shouldn't try to raise wimpy kids these days and a baby who has been tidied up with Armor All wipes is likely to be one tough baby. That baby could grow up to have one of those "I walked to school four miles uphill both ways in the snow" kind of stories to tell his kids and grandkids.
Or he could become one of those people who repeats cliches that were old when Harding was president!
"You think you kids got it bad, things were so tough in my neighborhood that when I was a baby my dad cleaned me off with an Armor All wipe ... and then went out and used my butt to wipe off the entire car!"
All this talk of babies and wipes and butts is starting to strike me as very foul.
In general though, the consensus among the guys is that short of using Armor All wipes on everything, paper towels can be used in any situation. Once again, in an attempt to support that theory, I typed in "good uses for paper towels other than cleaning up spills" into Google and found several other uses for paper towels.
I really hate this. How can someone think this is funny? Does he review his own work and think it's amusing? Does he think that the limitless Internet public will think so?
Among them are: as insulation; for stuffing one's bra (apparently not all women are anti-paper towel when it comes to its multiple uses; they appear, however, to draw the line at stuffing their bras with Armor All wipes);
Semi-colons are funny, I guess.
blowing your nose (I knew it); the entire roll makes a decent lumbar pillow (wouldn't have thought of that); as packing material for mailing fragile items; as table napkins (that one is a no brainer for me); and as potholders (one towel folded in half three times.)
Lists are funny.
As Facebook friend Tim pointed out, there really is no rule book for home paper products. But as we can see, maybe someone should develop one.
It looks like it would certainly be worth the paper it's printed on.
I can't think of anything to say. This was a horrible topic, first of all. I doubt even a funny person could write a column about using paper towels to blow his nose. But this one is all over the place. There's no cohesion. It reads like the diary of a goldfish.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Surprise! Morsch Sees a Show in Sellersville
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Terri Clark: Unplugged emotion
"Morsch goes to a concert" post. Not even a question.
Terri Clark isn’t the first singer-songwriter to tour unplugged and alone. But she certainly executed the concept to near perfection Wednesday evening at the Sellersville Theater.
Another variation on his oft-used "This event is always great, and tonight's event was no exception" lead-off sentence.
Accompanied onstage by five guitars, only four of which she played during the nearly two-hour gig,
I'd be interested to know what the fifth one was for, then. But we'll probably never find out.
the Canadian-born country music star has designed a show that she hopes is “like sitting in a living room at a party with someone who has a guitar in her lap.”
There was another show that Morsch attended where the performer wanted to "come into your living room" or some such. I'm taking bets on whether Morsch, at the end of the article, will declare that she accomplishes her stated objective. [Editor's Note: It was my Wednesday, July 21 entry. Singer/songwriter Kathy Mattea: “people feel like they’ve been sitting in somebody’s living room...”]
In that regard, Clark accomplished that in spades.
Wow, I hope you got your bets in early. Nice double "that."
It’s a return to her roots, when she played at Tootsies Orchid Lounge in Nashville for tips more than two decades ago.
Did Morsch travel to Nashville? Did Ms. Clark accept tips?
What took it to the next level this time was the way she really laid herself bare to the audience, talking at length and with emotion between songs, especially about her mother Linda, who died in April after a battle with cancer.
He has said this about every other acoustic performer he has seen. A smarter man might conclude that it's a tactic used by live performers to engage the audience. He seems to conclude that it's each person's innate, mystical power.
The hootin’ and hollerin’ early in the show from the northeast hillbillies in the crowd — whom Clark suggested could be considered more “sophisticated” than hillbillies in other parts of the country — gave way to stone cold silence midway through the show as Clark detailed her mother’s illness and the impact it has had on her, both personally and musically.
Northeast hillbillies? Does that mean, like, hillbillies from Easton PA? Or is he referring to people from the northeastern area of the United States who like to act like hillbillies?
Concert tickets aren’t cheap these days, given our current economic climate.
That damn Sarah Palin! It's all her fault!
Certainly folks expect to be entertained for their money, and that’s nothing new. But everybody has lost a loved one, and when the person on stage opens up and shares that experience, people can relate. We feel like we know the person on the cover of the CD.
One problem - you have to GO TO THE SHOW to see the person "open up on stage." So should people have purchased tickets and gambled that there would be some kind of deep emotional connection established? There seems to be no logical progression from "tough economy" to "relating to losing a loved one."
The particularly poignant moment came when Clark talked about being at her mother’s hospital bedside and starting to cry. Awakened by her daughter’s tears, Linda comforted Terri with words that had to do with always being able to smile.
I hope she didn't Glenn Beck it, complete with quivering voice and fake radio tears.
After her mother’s death, Clark took those words and turned it into a song, which she performed for the enthralled ST94 crowd.
Well what a surprise! Morsch sees a concert at the Sellersville Theater. I'm going to have to go back and completely re-work my labels some day. So many new cliches are always emerging.
She hasn’t yet recorded the song, but it played big in Sellersville, as I suspect it has at other stops in the tour.
You know what they say - "As Sellersville PA goes, so goes the nation."
Meet-and-greets with people before the show, signing autographs for fans after the show — and in between laying out your heart and soul to a group of strangers who have paid to see you perform — it’s the total experience for an artist and the fans.
Woah, meeting with fans! Signing autographs! Was she gracious and nice? Did she pose for pictures perhaps? What a rarity among celebrities! [Editor's Note: Regarding Kathy Mattea, Morsch said she "was warm and engaging during the show, and friendly and kind to those who waited in line to meet her after the show."]
Someday Terri Clark will go back to full band concerts with all the bells and whistles. But at this point in her career, the “Unplugged and Alone” tour appears to be Clark’s way of not only dealing with her career changes and challenges but her personal loss as well.
I just realized that not even an attempt at a joke has been made so far.
It’s the right artist doing the right show at the right time. What more can be asked?
Regarding the Kathy Mattea concert: Maybe it was just the right artist in the right place on the right night. I know what more can be asked - THAT YOU DON'T RECYCLE THE SAME MATERIAL.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Terri Clark
I guess I understand why he labels himself and the title of his blog in every single post (he's dumb and doesn't understand labels). But why "Montgomery Newspapers"? Now get this - actual reader comments not made by me!
Reader Cindy Lou says: "You really describe the experience of these intimate shows very well." She doesn't appear sarcastic about it, either. I'm guessing Cindy Lou is not one of the world's great geniuses.
She also asks: "How many artists these days meet with each and every fan after a show?" Um, only every single one that Morsch has seen, madam.
Terri Clark: Unplugged emotion
"Morsch goes to a concert" post. Not even a question.
Terri Clark isn’t the first singer-songwriter to tour unplugged and alone. But she certainly executed the concept to near perfection Wednesday evening at the Sellersville Theater.
Another variation on his oft-used "This event is always great, and tonight's event was no exception" lead-off sentence.
Accompanied onstage by five guitars, only four of which she played during the nearly two-hour gig,
I'd be interested to know what the fifth one was for, then. But we'll probably never find out.
the Canadian-born country music star has designed a show that she hopes is “like sitting in a living room at a party with someone who has a guitar in her lap.”
There was another show that Morsch attended where the performer wanted to "come into your living room" or some such. I'm taking bets on whether Morsch, at the end of the article, will declare that she accomplishes her stated objective. [Editor's Note: It was my Wednesday, July 21 entry. Singer/songwriter Kathy Mattea: “people feel like they’ve been sitting in somebody’s living room...”]
In that regard, Clark accomplished that in spades.
Wow, I hope you got your bets in early. Nice double "that."
It’s a return to her roots, when she played at Tootsies Orchid Lounge in Nashville for tips more than two decades ago.
Did Morsch travel to Nashville? Did Ms. Clark accept tips?
What took it to the next level this time was the way she really laid herself bare to the audience, talking at length and with emotion between songs, especially about her mother Linda, who died in April after a battle with cancer.
He has said this about every other acoustic performer he has seen. A smarter man might conclude that it's a tactic used by live performers to engage the audience. He seems to conclude that it's each person's innate, mystical power.
The hootin’ and hollerin’ early in the show from the northeast hillbillies in the crowd — whom Clark suggested could be considered more “sophisticated” than hillbillies in other parts of the country — gave way to stone cold silence midway through the show as Clark detailed her mother’s illness and the impact it has had on her, both personally and musically.
Northeast hillbillies? Does that mean, like, hillbillies from Easton PA? Or is he referring to people from the northeastern area of the United States who like to act like hillbillies?
Concert tickets aren’t cheap these days, given our current economic climate.
That damn Sarah Palin! It's all her fault!
Certainly folks expect to be entertained for their money, and that’s nothing new. But everybody has lost a loved one, and when the person on stage opens up and shares that experience, people can relate. We feel like we know the person on the cover of the CD.
One problem - you have to GO TO THE SHOW to see the person "open up on stage." So should people have purchased tickets and gambled that there would be some kind of deep emotional connection established? There seems to be no logical progression from "tough economy" to "relating to losing a loved one."
The particularly poignant moment came when Clark talked about being at her mother’s hospital bedside and starting to cry. Awakened by her daughter’s tears, Linda comforted Terri with words that had to do with always being able to smile.
I hope she didn't Glenn Beck it, complete with quivering voice and fake radio tears.
After her mother’s death, Clark took those words and turned it into a song, which she performed for the enthralled ST94 crowd.
Well what a surprise! Morsch sees a concert at the Sellersville Theater. I'm going to have to go back and completely re-work my labels some day. So many new cliches are always emerging.
She hasn’t yet recorded the song, but it played big in Sellersville, as I suspect it has at other stops in the tour.
You know what they say - "As Sellersville PA goes, so goes the nation."
Meet-and-greets with people before the show, signing autographs for fans after the show — and in between laying out your heart and soul to a group of strangers who have paid to see you perform — it’s the total experience for an artist and the fans.
Woah, meeting with fans! Signing autographs! Was she gracious and nice? Did she pose for pictures perhaps? What a rarity among celebrities! [Editor's Note: Regarding Kathy Mattea, Morsch said she "was warm and engaging during the show, and friendly and kind to those who waited in line to meet her after the show."]
Someday Terri Clark will go back to full band concerts with all the bells and whistles. But at this point in her career, the “Unplugged and Alone” tour appears to be Clark’s way of not only dealing with her career changes and challenges but her personal loss as well.
I just realized that not even an attempt at a joke has been made so far.
It’s the right artist doing the right show at the right time. What more can be asked?
Regarding the Kathy Mattea concert: Maybe it was just the right artist in the right place on the right night. I know what more can be asked - THAT YOU DON'T RECYCLE THE SAME MATERIAL.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Terri Clark
I guess I understand why he labels himself and the title of his blog in every single post (he's dumb and doesn't understand labels). But why "Montgomery Newspapers"? Now get this - actual reader comments not made by me!
Reader Cindy Lou says: "You really describe the experience of these intimate shows very well." She doesn't appear sarcastic about it, either. I'm guessing Cindy Lou is not one of the world's great geniuses.
She also asks: "How many artists these days meet with each and every fan after a show?" Um, only every single one that Morsch has seen, madam.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
