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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
