Diffie takes New Found Road to bluegrass
Published: Tuesday, February 22, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive editor
The Twitter preview of this article revealed that Diffie will be performing at the Sellersville Theater, of all places! Shock! Gasp! Will he compare the show to being in someone's living room and praise the intimacy of the venue?
Most of the article is a summary of Diffie's music career. The real meat comes here, toward the end:
This is Diffie’s first appearance at the Sellersville Theater and he’s looking forward to playing at the venue, which has hosted many county music performers over the years.
“To me, these kinds of shows can turn out to be some of the best times we have when we’re singing,” said Diffie. “It’s kind of like being in someone’s living room. You feel like you can relate to people more and kind of talk to people individually.”
You gotta be kidding me. Either the country stars Borsch interviews are a spectacularly unimaginative lot, or he's fabricating their comments.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Surprise! Borsch's Wife Has Superior Fashion Sense
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Attempt to buy new pair of 'Chucks' gets off on the wrong foot
Published: Tuesday, February 22, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Because a shoe goes on your foot, see.
Much of what The Blonde Accountant says makes sense. Unfortunately for her, sometimes I prefer to make nonsense.
Uh-oh. Yet another column about how Borsch's wife knows more about fashion than he does. What a creative man!
Take shoes for example. There is an entire closet in our house devoted to shoes. Her shoes. She can be considered, without a doubt, a distinguished Imelda Marcos fellow at the University of Heel and Toe. She sports a master’s and a doctorate in footwear fashion.
Women own multiple shoes! And men never put the toilet seat down! HAW!
It is on our shoe store excursions that I fall woefully outside my element and I do not quibble over that. The shoe store — while a necessity of life — holds no special appeal to me.
So it was with no sense of pending conflict that I followed her into the shoe store last weekend, content with my usual moment of browsing followed by the ever-present desire to locate the nearest bench and nap peacefully and without incident.
How many of his "columns" have referenced sleeping on benches while others shop? Definitely a motif in the Borsch symphony.
And then I stumbled past the display that featured black, high-top Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars on sale for $36 a pair. Commonly known as “Chucks,” these canvas sneakers have been around forever. My dad had a pair of white Chucks back in the 1960s and I believe he wore them for 30 years. They were just that cool. Today, Chucks have become somewhat of a fashion statement for young people.
Oh no! Could it be that our zany protagonist will buy a pair?!?
Keep in mind that shoe sales have commonly been the spontaneous trigger for The Blonde Accountant’s Happy Feet Dance, an aspect of the shoe store experience that I actually enjoy and someday hope to get on video to share with you all.
This will never happen, because this "dance" does not exist.
Chucks for $36. How great is that? Happy dance, happy dance, happy dance.
See? Only in his diseased dome are do these dances have any reality.
My first inclination was to try on a pair and pirouette across the shoe store to where The Blonde Accountant was shopping to show her how good I looked. But me pirouetting across the shoe store might raise eyebrows because — and I know this may be hard to believe — I am not that graceful. So I decided to wait for her to make her way back toward the men’s section and surprise her with my find.
“You look ridiculous,” she said without hesitation as she came around to the aisle where I was standing, pant legs hiked up to show off the glorious pair of spanking brand-new black, high-top canvas Chucks.
The Blonde Accountant is too much the prototypical "straight man" to be real. She never laughs, never jokes, never plays along. She is eternally bland, practical, and reserved. I would rather read a column written by her.
It was not the first time I had heard that. In fact, I’ve spent most of my life looking ridiculous, so I am quite used to that type of reaction, especially from women.
I guess the only fashion statement that black canvas high-tops Chucks make for old guys is that, “Yes, I am an idiot.”
I can't disagree.
“Wait. These are cool shoes. They’re classic. And they’re on sale!” I said as I broke into my version of the Shoe Sale Two-Step. (I would add that the lightweight Chucks appear to be perfectly conducive for just about any aspect of the Happy Dance.)
But she turned without further comment and headed toward the check-out counter with her shoe selections, leaving me holding nothing but my pant legs.
That's a vaguely disgusting sentence, out of context.
It appears that my innocent desire to have a pair of Chucks — which I probably haven’t had since I was a kid — failed to take into account that The Blonde Accountant has spent quite a bit of time trying to teach me a sense of style when it comes to clothes. For her, the Chucks do not fall into the category of How I’d Like To Have My Husband Look When I’m Out in Public With Him. They have fallen into the same category as Hawaiian shirts and Panama hats, which is to say they are on the Mike Restricted List of Idiotic Fashion Statements by 51-Year-Old Husbands.
Wait, he's only 51? We've got at LEAST 11 years until he retires. Kill me.
Of course, I reached out to family and friends for help on this one. Older Daughter thought the Chucks were OK for me to purchase, as did Daughter of Blonde Accountant. Younger Daughter and Son of Blonde Accountant fell into the other camp. My Facebook friends were mostly all pro-Chucks, but my Facebook friends do not often have to be seen with me in public.
Much to their relief.
I even called Dad of Blonde Accountant for some help.
“Did you ever wear Chuck Taylors?” I asked him on the phone.
“Ya, when I was 10,” he said.
Thanks Pop-Pop, that was absolutely no help at all.
Truth: Dad of Blonde Accountant hates Borsch with a passion. And how was that statement no help? He answered the question! "Wear Chucks?" "Yes. Here's when." Doesn't Borsch, ya know, interview people for a living?
I have continued to lobby for the Chucks but I’m thinking about a change of strategy. Instead of buying a pair for stylin’ and profilin’ purposes, I have decided to take a more logical approach. I’m going to use them for my regular walking workouts once the weather allows me to get outside full-time.
So intead of buying the shoes and wearing them, he's going to... buy the shoes and wear them. Nice.
After reading this column (she always gets the first read and nothing appears in print without her OK), she turned to me and said:
Before we start this made-up exchange... If it's true that TBA has "first read" on all his columns and still allows them to be published, she's just as much to blame for this as he is.
“Ok, I’ll make a compromise deal with you. You can buy the Chucks, but you can’t wear them anywhere.”
“Not even in the house?’ I said.
“Nope. You can leave them in your closet.”
Would a real wife suggest such a thing? Maybe. But this begs the question: how did the column originally end, before TBA read it and offered that "compromise"? It's obvious that Borsch has never re-read or revised anything. Therefore I must conclude that the above exchange, like all the others, never took place.
Well, I guess compromise is indeed the key to a successful marriage. I may save the driving time to the shoe store and actually just leave the $36 in my closet.
Because when it comes right down to it, The Blonde Accountant is right. She is the shoe expert and she knows how she wants me to look when we’re out in public.
Oh! This comes as something of a let-down, doesn't it? I thought for sure we'd get a scene where he buys the shoes, and maybe the person at the register gives him an odd look, or a colleague mocks his choice of footwear. In fact, just about anything would be better than: "Can I buy these shoes?" "No, they wouldn't look good." "Hey yeah, you're right."
After all, shoes make the man. All the Chucks will do is make me look like a heel.
How exactly did he arrive at this realization? Just a couple paragraphs ago he really wanted these shoes. No big epiphany?
Published: Tuesday, February 22, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Because a shoe goes on your foot, see.
Much of what The Blonde Accountant says makes sense. Unfortunately for her, sometimes I prefer to make nonsense.
Uh-oh. Yet another column about how Borsch's wife knows more about fashion than he does. What a creative man!
Take shoes for example. There is an entire closet in our house devoted to shoes. Her shoes. She can be considered, without a doubt, a distinguished Imelda Marcos fellow at the University of Heel and Toe. She sports a master’s and a doctorate in footwear fashion.
Women own multiple shoes! And men never put the toilet seat down! HAW!
It is on our shoe store excursions that I fall woefully outside my element and I do not quibble over that. The shoe store — while a necessity of life — holds no special appeal to me.
So it was with no sense of pending conflict that I followed her into the shoe store last weekend, content with my usual moment of browsing followed by the ever-present desire to locate the nearest bench and nap peacefully and without incident.
How many of his "columns" have referenced sleeping on benches while others shop? Definitely a motif in the Borsch symphony.
And then I stumbled past the display that featured black, high-top Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars on sale for $36 a pair. Commonly known as “Chucks,” these canvas sneakers have been around forever. My dad had a pair of white Chucks back in the 1960s and I believe he wore them for 30 years. They were just that cool. Today, Chucks have become somewhat of a fashion statement for young people.
Oh no! Could it be that our zany protagonist will buy a pair?!?
Keep in mind that shoe sales have commonly been the spontaneous trigger for The Blonde Accountant’s Happy Feet Dance, an aspect of the shoe store experience that I actually enjoy and someday hope to get on video to share with you all.
This will never happen, because this "dance" does not exist.
Chucks for $36. How great is that? Happy dance, happy dance, happy dance.
See? Only in his diseased dome are do these dances have any reality.
My first inclination was to try on a pair and pirouette across the shoe store to where The Blonde Accountant was shopping to show her how good I looked. But me pirouetting across the shoe store might raise eyebrows because — and I know this may be hard to believe — I am not that graceful. So I decided to wait for her to make her way back toward the men’s section and surprise her with my find.
“You look ridiculous,” she said without hesitation as she came around to the aisle where I was standing, pant legs hiked up to show off the glorious pair of spanking brand-new black, high-top canvas Chucks.
The Blonde Accountant is too much the prototypical "straight man" to be real. She never laughs, never jokes, never plays along. She is eternally bland, practical, and reserved. I would rather read a column written by her.
It was not the first time I had heard that. In fact, I’ve spent most of my life looking ridiculous, so I am quite used to that type of reaction, especially from women.
I guess the only fashion statement that black canvas high-tops Chucks make for old guys is that, “Yes, I am an idiot.”
I can't disagree.
“Wait. These are cool shoes. They’re classic. And they’re on sale!” I said as I broke into my version of the Shoe Sale Two-Step. (I would add that the lightweight Chucks appear to be perfectly conducive for just about any aspect of the Happy Dance.)
But she turned without further comment and headed toward the check-out counter with her shoe selections, leaving me holding nothing but my pant legs.
That's a vaguely disgusting sentence, out of context.
It appears that my innocent desire to have a pair of Chucks — which I probably haven’t had since I was a kid — failed to take into account that The Blonde Accountant has spent quite a bit of time trying to teach me a sense of style when it comes to clothes. For her, the Chucks do not fall into the category of How I’d Like To Have My Husband Look When I’m Out in Public With Him. They have fallen into the same category as Hawaiian shirts and Panama hats, which is to say they are on the Mike Restricted List of Idiotic Fashion Statements by 51-Year-Old Husbands.
Wait, he's only 51? We've got at LEAST 11 years until he retires. Kill me.
Of course, I reached out to family and friends for help on this one. Older Daughter thought the Chucks were OK for me to purchase, as did Daughter of Blonde Accountant. Younger Daughter and Son of Blonde Accountant fell into the other camp. My Facebook friends were mostly all pro-Chucks, but my Facebook friends do not often have to be seen with me in public.
Much to their relief.
I even called Dad of Blonde Accountant for some help.
“Did you ever wear Chuck Taylors?” I asked him on the phone.
“Ya, when I was 10,” he said.
Thanks Pop-Pop, that was absolutely no help at all.
Truth: Dad of Blonde Accountant hates Borsch with a passion. And how was that statement no help? He answered the question! "Wear Chucks?" "Yes. Here's when." Doesn't Borsch, ya know, interview people for a living?
I have continued to lobby for the Chucks but I’m thinking about a change of strategy. Instead of buying a pair for stylin’ and profilin’ purposes, I have decided to take a more logical approach. I’m going to use them for my regular walking workouts once the weather allows me to get outside full-time.
So intead of buying the shoes and wearing them, he's going to... buy the shoes and wear them. Nice.
After reading this column (she always gets the first read and nothing appears in print without her OK), she turned to me and said:
Before we start this made-up exchange... If it's true that TBA has "first read" on all his columns and still allows them to be published, she's just as much to blame for this as he is.
“Ok, I’ll make a compromise deal with you. You can buy the Chucks, but you can’t wear them anywhere.”
“Not even in the house?’ I said.
“Nope. You can leave them in your closet.”
Would a real wife suggest such a thing? Maybe. But this begs the question: how did the column originally end, before TBA read it and offered that "compromise"? It's obvious that Borsch has never re-read or revised anything. Therefore I must conclude that the above exchange, like all the others, never took place.
Well, I guess compromise is indeed the key to a successful marriage. I may save the driving time to the shoe store and actually just leave the $36 in my closet.
Because when it comes right down to it, The Blonde Accountant is right. She is the shoe expert and she knows how she wants me to look when we’re out in public.
Oh! This comes as something of a let-down, doesn't it? I thought for sure we'd get a scene where he buys the shoes, and maybe the person at the register gives him an odd look, or a colleague mocks his choice of footwear. In fact, just about anything would be better than: "Can I buy these shoes?" "No, they wouldn't look good." "Hey yeah, you're right."
After all, shoes make the man. All the Chucks will do is make me look like a heel.
How exactly did he arrive at this realization? Just a couple paragraphs ago he really wanted these shoes. No big epiphany?
Writing Headlines
How much do you want to bet that the following headline was penned by Borsch?
Upper Dublin's Daddy Daughter Dance delightfully darling
He also certainly wrote this:
...dads and their little girls showed up to cut a rug and make some memories to cherish for all time.
Upper Dublin's Daddy Daughter Dance delightfully darling
He also certainly wrote this:
...dads and their little girls showed up to cut a rug and make some memories to cherish for all time.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Hey... Is it Spring Training???
Outta Leftfield: Pitchers and catchers reporting on Valentine's Day sure is sweet
Published: Tuesday, February 15, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
I know this is Borsch we're talking about... but could he focus a little less on baseball?
Boy, if you’re a Phillies fan — and we’ve got plenty of those around here given the expectations of the 2011 squad — then this past Valentine’s Day could have turned sour in a hurry for those members of the Stupid Men Club who failed to practice some basic awareness of the situation.
Wow, two never-touched-upon topics for him: baseball and how men are dumb. Let's see what revolutionary ideas he brings to the table!
See, pitchers and catchers reported for the first full spring training workouts this year on Monday, Valentine’s Day. And if, for example, you got up Monday morning and said to your sweetheart, “Hey, pitchers and catchers report today,” instead “Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” then it’s likely you are still attempting to remove a stuffed teddy bear from your ear.
He forgot the "of" in "instead of." Have we established the fact that pitchers and catchers reported yet?
Certainly, since pitchers and catchers report about the same time every year in mid-February, they have done so on Valentine’s Day at some point in the past.
Thank goodness! NOW we've established it: pitchers and catchers. Valentine's Day. Same time. Proceed.
I just don’t remember it happening before now. If it had, I would likely have gotten picked off and I would have remembered sleeping in the garage for a month.
Picked off... how does that... apply?
And since some baseball fanatics consider the day pitchers and catchers report as some sort of the unofficial beginning of spring — if it were up to me that day, along with Opening Day and every day of the World Series, would be official paid holidays off of work — one could easily get distracted by Roy Halladay, Cliff Lee, Roy Oswalt, Cole Hamels and Joe Blanton showing up for their first full day of work on Valentine’s Day.
Things I Now Understand: Pitchers and catchers have reported, and they reported on Valentine's Day. By the way, that entire section was one sentence. Marvel at how bad a writer Borsch is.
Fortunately, I did not succumb to the cluelessness of confusing Valentine’s Day with pitchers and catchers reporting, which I realize is somewhat out of character for me. No, this year I was not caught unawares and was on top of my game for Valentine’s Day, making it last the whole weekend. Among the festivities, The Blonde Accountant and I had a nice dinner at our favorite restaurant and exchanged cards and winks.
Hey wait a second. Back up there, chief - Valentine's Day... pitchers and... catchers... reporting... could these two events be taking place... on the same day? I'm thinking that Borsch winking makes his face look like a butthole with teeth.
In fact, it was such a special weekend that I opted for the Woo Hoo cologne, which I only put on for special occasions. For the record, Woo Hoo cologne does not smell like Old Catcher’s Mitt cologne, although in past years I have splashed on a bit of the Old Catcher’s Mitt around the time spring training starts. Fortunately, I did not get the two colognes confused this year.
Is it possible to have a paragraph not containing the word "catcher"?
However, the Official Rules of Gentlemanly Behavior and Decorum prevent me from commenting further on the effectiveness of Woo Hoo cologne in the romance department.
My prediction: it's about as effective as his composition skills.
My sense is that the exception to the pitchers and catchers report on Valentine’s Day rule probably applies to the Phillies players themselves.
Great goodness, man, can we move on? Please? So far 50% of the column has been four words!
Given the salaries that ballplayers earn these days, they probably get a pass from their wives and significant others if the excitement of spring training — especially one like this with the lofty expectations — overshadows a romantic holiday. I’m pretty sure The Blonde Accountant would understand the postponement of the romantic holiday dinner if I was bringing home $14 million a year. She might not even care if I got my colognes mixed up.
Quite honestly, it's a sin that this man is bringing home any dollars a year.
But my awareness this year can be traced back to when The Blonde Accountant and I got married. Back in 2007 — before the Phillies had become perennial fixtures in October baseball — she had suggested three wedding dates. Up to that point, the Phillies hadn’t been playing much baseball in October, so I had no qualms about selecting an October wedding date.
How did we get from - dare I say it - Valentine's Day to an October wedding? 2007 must have been an "off" year for The Blonde Accountant.
Then the Phillies made the playoffs. In fact, in 2007, had the Phils advanced through the postseason, they would have ended up playing in the seventh game of the National League Championship Series to decide who would go to the World Series the very day of the wedding.
HA! Wait wait wait... so the point of his story is that there was only the most tenuous imaginary connection between the date of his wedding and the Phillies being in the playoffs? I guess what counts is that HE sees the connection.
It didn’t happen because the Phils lost in the first round, but the lesson was not lost on me — never let the baseball season interfere with the important stuff.
I'm confused - so you should intentionally try to schedule important things on days that sports might be played? This "lesson" makes no sense.
That’s why I was able to set aside my enthusiasm over pitchers and catchers reporting and concentrate on Valentine’s Day. Sleeping in the garage this time of year can get a bit chilly in the Northeast.
So what I'm getting from this story is that two important events occurred on the same date... but what are they? What are they? Will someone please tell me?
The Phillies gave their fans a big Valentine’s Day present Monday by trotting out the five pitchers, dressed in their red jerseys, for a collective press conference, guaranteed to get the faithful all amped up for the season.
Red jerseys are an unconventional choice for Phillies players, huh?
But whether it’s Valentine’s Day or the first day of spring training,
SOMEBODY STOP THIS MAN! STOP HIM!
one word can describe having them both fall on the same day this year: Sweet.
Eight. That's the number of times Borsch told us on what day what people reported. What buffoon ever thought this man could write?
Published: Tuesday, February 15, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
I know this is Borsch we're talking about... but could he focus a little less on baseball?
Boy, if you’re a Phillies fan — and we’ve got plenty of those around here given the expectations of the 2011 squad — then this past Valentine’s Day could have turned sour in a hurry for those members of the Stupid Men Club who failed to practice some basic awareness of the situation.
Wow, two never-touched-upon topics for him: baseball and how men are dumb. Let's see what revolutionary ideas he brings to the table!
See, pitchers and catchers reported for the first full spring training workouts this year on Monday, Valentine’s Day. And if, for example, you got up Monday morning and said to your sweetheart, “Hey, pitchers and catchers report today,” instead “Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” then it’s likely you are still attempting to remove a stuffed teddy bear from your ear.
He forgot the "of" in "instead of." Have we established the fact that pitchers and catchers reported yet?
Certainly, since pitchers and catchers report about the same time every year in mid-February, they have done so on Valentine’s Day at some point in the past.
Thank goodness! NOW we've established it: pitchers and catchers. Valentine's Day. Same time. Proceed.
I just don’t remember it happening before now. If it had, I would likely have gotten picked off and I would have remembered sleeping in the garage for a month.
Picked off... how does that... apply?
And since some baseball fanatics consider the day pitchers and catchers report as some sort of the unofficial beginning of spring — if it were up to me that day, along with Opening Day and every day of the World Series, would be official paid holidays off of work — one could easily get distracted by Roy Halladay, Cliff Lee, Roy Oswalt, Cole Hamels and Joe Blanton showing up for their first full day of work on Valentine’s Day.
Things I Now Understand: Pitchers and catchers have reported, and they reported on Valentine's Day. By the way, that entire section was one sentence. Marvel at how bad a writer Borsch is.
Fortunately, I did not succumb to the cluelessness of confusing Valentine’s Day with pitchers and catchers reporting, which I realize is somewhat out of character for me. No, this year I was not caught unawares and was on top of my game for Valentine’s Day, making it last the whole weekend. Among the festivities, The Blonde Accountant and I had a nice dinner at our favorite restaurant and exchanged cards and winks.
Hey wait a second. Back up there, chief - Valentine's Day... pitchers and... catchers... reporting... could these two events be taking place... on the same day? I'm thinking that Borsch winking makes his face look like a butthole with teeth.
In fact, it was such a special weekend that I opted for the Woo Hoo cologne, which I only put on for special occasions. For the record, Woo Hoo cologne does not smell like Old Catcher’s Mitt cologne, although in past years I have splashed on a bit of the Old Catcher’s Mitt around the time spring training starts. Fortunately, I did not get the two colognes confused this year.
Is it possible to have a paragraph not containing the word "catcher"?
However, the Official Rules of Gentlemanly Behavior and Decorum prevent me from commenting further on the effectiveness of Woo Hoo cologne in the romance department.
My prediction: it's about as effective as his composition skills.
My sense is that the exception to the pitchers and catchers report on Valentine’s Day rule probably applies to the Phillies players themselves.
Great goodness, man, can we move on? Please? So far 50% of the column has been four words!
Given the salaries that ballplayers earn these days, they probably get a pass from their wives and significant others if the excitement of spring training — especially one like this with the lofty expectations — overshadows a romantic holiday. I’m pretty sure The Blonde Accountant would understand the postponement of the romantic holiday dinner if I was bringing home $14 million a year. She might not even care if I got my colognes mixed up.
Quite honestly, it's a sin that this man is bringing home any dollars a year.
But my awareness this year can be traced back to when The Blonde Accountant and I got married. Back in 2007 — before the Phillies had become perennial fixtures in October baseball — she had suggested three wedding dates. Up to that point, the Phillies hadn’t been playing much baseball in October, so I had no qualms about selecting an October wedding date.
How did we get from - dare I say it - Valentine's Day to an October wedding? 2007 must have been an "off" year for The Blonde Accountant.
Then the Phillies made the playoffs. In fact, in 2007, had the Phils advanced through the postseason, they would have ended up playing in the seventh game of the National League Championship Series to decide who would go to the World Series the very day of the wedding.
HA! Wait wait wait... so the point of his story is that there was only the most tenuous imaginary connection between the date of his wedding and the Phillies being in the playoffs? I guess what counts is that HE sees the connection.
It didn’t happen because the Phils lost in the first round, but the lesson was not lost on me — never let the baseball season interfere with the important stuff.
I'm confused - so you should intentionally try to schedule important things on days that sports might be played? This "lesson" makes no sense.
That’s why I was able to set aside my enthusiasm over pitchers and catchers reporting and concentrate on Valentine’s Day. Sleeping in the garage this time of year can get a bit chilly in the Northeast.
So what I'm getting from this story is that two important events occurred on the same date... but what are they? What are they? Will someone please tell me?
The Phillies gave their fans a big Valentine’s Day present Monday by trotting out the five pitchers, dressed in their red jerseys, for a collective press conference, guaranteed to get the faithful all amped up for the season.
Red jerseys are an unconventional choice for Phillies players, huh?
But whether it’s Valentine’s Day or the first day of spring training,
SOMEBODY STOP THIS MAN! STOP HIM!
one word can describe having them both fall on the same day this year: Sweet.
Eight. That's the number of times Borsch told us on what day what people reported. What buffoon ever thought this man could write?
Lessons from the Master
I enjoy observing pomposity. Join me, won't you? Lileks is writing a book, and if he does say so himself:
This thing has been so briskly paced and tightly constructed I realized I had to admit what would be obvious to the reader . . . but of course when you admit these things, the reader knows there must be more.
Ah, The Master Novelist! No wonder he's a permanent fixture on the NYT Best-Seller list. Here's another big surprise:
...part of the charm – I hope – of this novel is the digressions, the side stories, the little unessential things that give you the place and the time, the people, the flavor of 1980.
Wow, you mean to say that he's doing something set in THE PAST? Gasp!
I’ve spoken before about the Difficult Middle, the part of the book where you’ve set everything up, and you have to fill time with hugger-mugger until you can get to the galloping last third, where it’s peril / revelation / escape / peril / revelation / victory.
Ah yes, the classic parts of a story:
1.)Beginning
2.)Difficult Middle
2a.) Hugger-Mugger
3.) Galloping Last Third
3a.) Peril
3b.) Revelation
3c.) Escape
3d.) Peril
3e.) Revelation
3f.) Victory
You can lose the reader with too much padding, or you can use the Difficult Middle to bring your secondary characters to life, get a few points across, hang meat on the bones.
Duuuuh, gee, can you??? He then laments, for the 500th time, that a collection of disjointed, rambling short stories he wrote about a guy - FROM THE 1950's! - named Joe Ohio got rejected.
I’d have the same trepidation here, but the book has a secret weapon. The sort of hook that makes editors feel Brilliant for buying it.
Why, it's the greatest story ever told!
As for poor Joe, well, your support of the site is sufficient. When it’s all done next year perhaps I’ll try to sell it again; by then it will be a 150,000 word work, and surely there’s an editor who can understand the idea of a novel in short-story form. Or vice versa.
Ah, if only there was someone smart enough to appreciate how great it is! To even understand its revolutionary structure! Then, a day later, describing writing the end of his precious Joe Ohio saga:
...and then Joe did something simple, so perfect, and my hands were actually shaking as I wrote the last few sentences. I wrote the last one and I felt myself tear up, and I stepped back from the table and looked at it, and said:
That’s the end of the story.
Lileks has no style of his own. He can ape Hemingway with his little sentences; he apes Cormac McCarthy with bunches of "ands." But that's all he can do. Not an original bone in his body. Although I thought this was funny:
But the story absolutely has to stop where it stops, at the Reichenbach Falls Cafe – oh, but I’ve said too much.
I chuckled - if this guy stuck with humor, he'd be tolerable. Check out the comment left by some guy named RPD:
Hmmn, the Reichenbach Falls Cafe. Is that named after where Sherlock Holmes died, or is there a town in Ohio named that?
RPD and Mike Morsch would get along really, really well.
This thing has been so briskly paced and tightly constructed I realized I had to admit what would be obvious to the reader . . . but of course when you admit these things, the reader knows there must be more.
Ah, The Master Novelist! No wonder he's a permanent fixture on the NYT Best-Seller list. Here's another big surprise:
...part of the charm – I hope – of this novel is the digressions, the side stories, the little unessential things that give you the place and the time, the people, the flavor of 1980.
Wow, you mean to say that he's doing something set in THE PAST? Gasp!
I’ve spoken before about the Difficult Middle, the part of the book where you’ve set everything up, and you have to fill time with hugger-mugger until you can get to the galloping last third, where it’s peril / revelation / escape / peril / revelation / victory.
Ah yes, the classic parts of a story:
1.)Beginning
2.)Difficult Middle
2a.) Hugger-Mugger
3.) Galloping Last Third
3a.) Peril
3b.) Revelation
3c.) Escape
3d.) Peril
3e.) Revelation
3f.) Victory
You can lose the reader with too much padding, or you can use the Difficult Middle to bring your secondary characters to life, get a few points across, hang meat on the bones.
Duuuuh, gee, can you??? He then laments, for the 500th time, that a collection of disjointed, rambling short stories he wrote about a guy - FROM THE 1950's! - named Joe Ohio got rejected.
I’d have the same trepidation here, but the book has a secret weapon. The sort of hook that makes editors feel Brilliant for buying it.
Why, it's the greatest story ever told!
As for poor Joe, well, your support of the site is sufficient. When it’s all done next year perhaps I’ll try to sell it again; by then it will be a 150,000 word work, and surely there’s an editor who can understand the idea of a novel in short-story form. Or vice versa.
Ah, if only there was someone smart enough to appreciate how great it is! To even understand its revolutionary structure! Then, a day later, describing writing the end of his precious Joe Ohio saga:
...and then Joe did something simple, so perfect, and my hands were actually shaking as I wrote the last few sentences. I wrote the last one and I felt myself tear up, and I stepped back from the table and looked at it, and said:
That’s the end of the story.
Lileks has no style of his own. He can ape Hemingway with his little sentences; he apes Cormac McCarthy with bunches of "ands." But that's all he can do. Not an original bone in his body. Although I thought this was funny:
But the story absolutely has to stop where it stops, at the Reichenbach Falls Cafe – oh, but I’ve said too much.
I chuckled - if this guy stuck with humor, he'd be tolerable. Check out the comment left by some guy named RPD:
Hmmn, the Reichenbach Falls Cafe. Is that named after where Sherlock Holmes died, or is there a town in Ohio named that?
RPD and Mike Morsch would get along really, really well.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Borsch Gets Dumber
Ah, baseball - the thinking man's game. Is it any wonder that Borsch, who presumably has been watching it since childhood, is as bad at discussing it as he is at everything else? From Twitter:
Wouldn't making Blanton the No.1 increase the odds of winning four out of every five? Doc vs. No. 2, Lee vs. No. 3, Oswalt/Hamels vs. 4-5?
Michael Morsch, you are a stupid, stupid man. I thought you were dumb before, but now... NOW... Well, there aren't words for how idiotic this idea is.
Halladay, Lee and Oswalt are all #1s. Hamels is a solid #2, or he could be an ace for, like, Pittsburgh. Joe Blanton is a decent pitcher - a #3 or #4 guy. In baseball, you try to counter their best pitcher with your best pitcher. With Blanton going as the fifth starter, you have a middle-of-the-rotation type against the crappiest guy on the other team. That's a great match-up, and it gives you a better than average chance to win all five games.
Repeat: IT GIVES YOU AN ADVANTAGE IN ALL FIVE GAMES.
Now take Borsch's dumbass fart of an idea. Start Blanton against every other ace in the league. "Fat" Joe Blanton against Adam Wainwright. Tim Lincecum. CC Sabathia. Ubaldo Jimenez. In other words, an almost guaranteed loss.
So you go from having an advantage in all five games, to having virtually no chance to win one of them. Brilliant.
Wouldn't making Blanton the No.1 increase the odds of winning four out of every five? Doc vs. No. 2, Lee vs. No. 3, Oswalt/Hamels vs. 4-5?
Michael Morsch, you are a stupid, stupid man. I thought you were dumb before, but now... NOW... Well, there aren't words for how idiotic this idea is.
Halladay, Lee and Oswalt are all #1s. Hamels is a solid #2, or he could be an ace for, like, Pittsburgh. Joe Blanton is a decent pitcher - a #3 or #4 guy. In baseball, you try to counter their best pitcher with your best pitcher. With Blanton going as the fifth starter, you have a middle-of-the-rotation type against the crappiest guy on the other team. That's a great match-up, and it gives you a better than average chance to win all five games.
Repeat: IT GIVES YOU AN ADVANTAGE IN ALL FIVE GAMES.
Now take Borsch's dumbass fart of an idea. Start Blanton against every other ace in the league. "Fat" Joe Blanton against Adam Wainwright. Tim Lincecum. CC Sabathia. Ubaldo Jimenez. In other words, an almost guaranteed loss.
So you go from having an advantage in all five games, to having virtually no chance to win one of them. Brilliant.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Meaningless
It's been a while since we've visited Lileks World, that happy place where everything is full of Meaning and Importance and the past is and endless parade of film noir cliche. Let's dive right in...
Yes, I watched “On the Beach,” because I seem to be on an inexplicable Cold War horror-story jag. Not something I really want to indulge, but perhaps it’s good to see these movies when you’re not in the mood, when the tropes and assumptions seem bygone and archaic.
"On the Beach" - a nuclear war destroys the Northern hemisphere, and those in the South (specifically Australia) figure out how to spend their last days as the radiation cloud brings nuclear winter to the rest of the globe. It's a classic. Lileks naturally sneers at it through his enormous nostalgia-tinted glasses.
"Tropes" and "assumptions" mean practically the same thing in this context, as do "bygone" and "archaic." Does he calculate his IQ by the word or something?
“On the Beach” is a very curious movie. It’s set in Australia, after some global war that killed everyone, left San Francisco intact, and unleashed a cloud of radiation moving inexorably towards Australia, where it will finish its work.
San Francisco - undoubtedly one of the "first strike" targets in any nuclear scenario. Does he know this was based on a book?
So everyone dies. Even Gregory Peck and Ava Gardner. That’s how bad war is. It’s difficult to imagine the audience getting up after the credits, gathering their coats, and thinking well, pie? Some coffee? I’m starved! It would make everyone want to go home and sit in a room and brood and decide there’s just no bloody point, is there?
Lileks is missing the "bloody point" of the entire story: there's no point in nuclear war, but there IS a point in how we spend our last days. Was he even paying attention?
Is there? I mean really, the getting up and going to work, the things you sign, the lunch at the counter, the long slog of the afternoon, the jostling trainride home, the children in the living room who can barely eke out a hallo because they’re transfixed by the television, a few minutes with a Bond novel before bed, then the whole damned thing again.
Ah yes, he's assuming the character of a prototypical Lileks World Everyman of the Past. Everyone took the train, ate lunch at "a counter," and read James Bond novels (?). Convenient to boil down an entire era into a few trite stereotypes, isn't it?
In the movie, Australian society did not collapse. Right up to the end: carrying on. Stiff upper lip. Men in clubs drinking port, watching a gent play pool, dreadful business with this cloud, eh wot?
Ha! British people! Or... Australian people! They're all the same, I suppose.
The street scenes have no cars; everyone’s on bikes, or walking. But they’re wearing suits. They’re natty. They’re keeping up appearances as everything declines, and in the end when they go to the dispensary for the suicide pills, the ties are as tightly knotted as a Sunday morn.
End-of-the-world fuel shortage. Thus, no cars. Normally you'd think keeping it together until the end would be admirable. I guess here it's... amusing? "Square"? Seriously, what's his point?
You might think that the very idea of sudden flamboyant immolation would cause all the norms to be unraveled, almost on the spot.
... But that's not what they're threatened with. Slow, steady radiation poisoning isn't very "flamboyant."
Give everyone the possibility – nay, the probability of global annihilation, and men would look in the mirror, consider that the future either held attenuated decline or sudden abolition, and decide to hell with it.
Sure, James. Your version is so much better! Tell you what: write your version of "On The Beach" where people say "to hell with it." Wait 60 years and see if people are still reading it like they're reading Nevil Schute's novel. You can then set about improving other classic works of literature.
Since there were unspoken penalties for that, we just had wide sideburns and open-necked shirts and the invention of Casual Friday.
The hell? Is he really suggesting that the possibility of nuclear war was directly responsible for the creation of Casual Fridays at work? I'd enjoy seeing how he arrived at that conclusion.
Yes, I watched “On the Beach,” because I seem to be on an inexplicable Cold War horror-story jag. Not something I really want to indulge, but perhaps it’s good to see these movies when you’re not in the mood, when the tropes and assumptions seem bygone and archaic.
"On the Beach" - a nuclear war destroys the Northern hemisphere, and those in the South (specifically Australia) figure out how to spend their last days as the radiation cloud brings nuclear winter to the rest of the globe. It's a classic. Lileks naturally sneers at it through his enormous nostalgia-tinted glasses.
"Tropes" and "assumptions" mean practically the same thing in this context, as do "bygone" and "archaic." Does he calculate his IQ by the word or something?
“On the Beach” is a very curious movie. It’s set in Australia, after some global war that killed everyone, left San Francisco intact, and unleashed a cloud of radiation moving inexorably towards Australia, where it will finish its work.
San Francisco - undoubtedly one of the "first strike" targets in any nuclear scenario. Does he know this was based on a book?
So everyone dies. Even Gregory Peck and Ava Gardner. That’s how bad war is. It’s difficult to imagine the audience getting up after the credits, gathering their coats, and thinking well, pie? Some coffee? I’m starved! It would make everyone want to go home and sit in a room and brood and decide there’s just no bloody point, is there?
Lileks is missing the "bloody point" of the entire story: there's no point in nuclear war, but there IS a point in how we spend our last days. Was he even paying attention?
Is there? I mean really, the getting up and going to work, the things you sign, the lunch at the counter, the long slog of the afternoon, the jostling trainride home, the children in the living room who can barely eke out a hallo because they’re transfixed by the television, a few minutes with a Bond novel before bed, then the whole damned thing again.
Ah yes, he's assuming the character of a prototypical Lileks World Everyman of the Past. Everyone took the train, ate lunch at "a counter," and read James Bond novels (?). Convenient to boil down an entire era into a few trite stereotypes, isn't it?
In the movie, Australian society did not collapse. Right up to the end: carrying on. Stiff upper lip. Men in clubs drinking port, watching a gent play pool, dreadful business with this cloud, eh wot?
Ha! British people! Or... Australian people! They're all the same, I suppose.
The street scenes have no cars; everyone’s on bikes, or walking. But they’re wearing suits. They’re natty. They’re keeping up appearances as everything declines, and in the end when they go to the dispensary for the suicide pills, the ties are as tightly knotted as a Sunday morn.
End-of-the-world fuel shortage. Thus, no cars. Normally you'd think keeping it together until the end would be admirable. I guess here it's... amusing? "Square"? Seriously, what's his point?
You might think that the very idea of sudden flamboyant immolation would cause all the norms to be unraveled, almost on the spot.
... But that's not what they're threatened with. Slow, steady radiation poisoning isn't very "flamboyant."
Give everyone the possibility – nay, the probability of global annihilation, and men would look in the mirror, consider that the future either held attenuated decline or sudden abolition, and decide to hell with it.
Sure, James. Your version is so much better! Tell you what: write your version of "On The Beach" where people say "to hell with it." Wait 60 years and see if people are still reading it like they're reading Nevil Schute's novel. You can then set about improving other classic works of literature.
Since there were unspoken penalties for that, we just had wide sideburns and open-necked shirts and the invention of Casual Friday.
The hell? Is he really suggesting that the possibility of nuclear war was directly responsible for the creation of Casual Fridays at work? I'd enjoy seeing how he arrived at that conclusion.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
(Boring) Slice O' Life
Borsch's preview of his latest "effort," per Twitter:
A dad's perspective on teen daughter's first formal high school dance.
Just for fun, I'll make a few predictions. This column will include:
1.) A mention of Borsch's own childhood growing up in rural Illinois.
2.) A reference to scaring/intimidating the daughter's date.
3.) His wife will correct him on some simple point of etiquette.
Outta Leftfield
No noogies needed in the lead-up to first formal high school dance
Published: Wednesday, February 09, 2011
By Mike Morsch
GAAAAAAAH!!! Nice shirt.
Most dads — and in this instance, stepdads — have their own set of rules about young suitors knocking on the door and attempting to woo the teenage females of the household. Nobody but the dads pays any attention to these rules, but they should. We know what we’re talking about here because we used to be teenage boys ourselves — albeit a long time ago — and we know what those guys are thinking.
We are heading in the predictable, cliched direction I was hoping for. Bravo, Borsch.
That high school rite of passage — the formal dance — is usually the first opportunity we dads get to employ the rules. My rules aren’t actually for the young men, because they won’t pay any attention to them anyway. No, my rules are for the young women who live under the same roof as I and for those with the same last name as me.
Regardless of whether the "I" and "me" are correct, that was one horrendous sentence. I like how he's placing the burden of responsibility entirely on the female because "boys will be boys."
They are very simple rules and there are only three:
(1) Do not bring home any jamokes like your mom did.
"Jamokes"! I've never heard him say that before.
(2) Exercise due diligence in your advanced scouting of potential suitors.
(3) And rest assured I will embarrass you by giving your date a noogie if there is even a hint of him stepping out of line.
The "advance scouting" thing in #2 smacks of baseball... and what the heck does it mean, anyway? Isn't it basically the same thing as #1? I'm going to count #3 as a fulfillment of one of my predictions.
I’m sure other dads have other rules (some of which have already been turned into a sitcom) that are likely more intimidating than dishing out noogies to knuckleheads.
"Knuckleheads"! I've never heard him say that before. I like how he references the now-defunct John Ritter's now-defunct sitcom, too.
But I believe the embarrassment factor is more effective than, say, a kick in the hind end. With the way the guys wear their pants these days that would end up being a kick in the back of the knees, which is fine by me because I can’t lift my leg up any higher anyway.
Old guy/parent cliche #1 - Complaining about how kids wear their pants so low nowadays.
Because she goes to an all-girls school, Daughter of Blonde Accountant was responsible for securing a date to her first formal dance as a freshman. I’m sure that is a daunting task in and of itself for a 15-year-old, and the end result was that we got down to the week of the dance and her mother and I had very little information about the young man or the upcoming shindig.
The boredom factor here just jumped to 9.
With only 24 hours to go before the big dance, lack of solid information brought out the first threat — that I would give the guy a noogie as soon as he set foot in my house if we didn’t get some more details. Who is he? Where does he go to school? Where does he live? What are the names of his parents?
That noogie joke is SO FUNNY it almost makes me forget that he used it just a couple paragraphs ago!
Well, it all got straightened out eventually and we got our answers. The Blonde Accountant connected with the other mom and the logistics of the evening were formalized.
... Oh. That's... a relief? I guess? I was hoping the situation would provide for some more comical threats and whatnot.
Daughter of Blonde Accountant looked stunning in her formal evening wear as we waited for the young man and his mother to arrive at our house for the picture taking session prior to departing for the dance.
Nice, succinct writing there Borsch.
I know kids love having their pictures taken during milestones in life and I believe the 784 shots that I got of the flower exchange should sufficiently preserve the memory for all those interested.
That number is hilariously high! Over seven hundred pictures! Wahoooo!
I am happy to report that upon first impression, the lad appears to have had the benefit of good genes and stellar parenting. He was tall and handsome, polite, had a firm handshake, was a spiffy dresser and had the same haircut I had in 1975. What’s not to like? No noogie needed, which is good because I probably would have suffered some knuckle damage trying to get through that head of hair.
Thank goodness - I'm so glad everything turned out so well and, you know, unamusing.
The Blonde Accountant was tabbed to drive the early shift, which included a pregame soiree at another house with several other young couples. I was slated to drive the late shift, which as it turned out included an unplanned after-event at a pizza joint.
Show of hands - does anybody still use the phrase "pizza joint"?
Not wanting to intrude, I sat in the car and waited for the kids, listening to ’70s music on the radio and trying to recall my first formal high school dance. I believe my ensemble for the evening included a blue velvet bowtie. I don’t recall the girl’s dad giving me a noogie, so I must have presented well enough despite the tie.
I'm counting that as fulfilling my first prediction. I also like the picture of Borsch sitting forlornly in his car the whole time... wouldn't he just offer to pick them up later?
After we dropped the young man off at his home, Daughter of Blonde Accountant chimed in.
“Did you like him?” she asked.
“Yes, I did,” I answered, heartened that my approval was sought.
That's sad... like an abused dog wagging its tail at a kind word.
“Ya, he’s really nice. And not a jamoke,” she offered.
“No, he’s not a jamoke. Well done,” I said.
“Thanks. Advanced scouting.”
Two explanations for this: 1.) The above exchange is completely made-up; 2.) Daughter is mocking Borsch and he doesn't realize it. The second option is even worse, because it means he ripped off his own daughter earlier in the column.
Atta girl. Sometimes we wonder if our teenagers are listening to us. It’s a comfort to know that they are paying attention.
Even if it's only to secretly mock you, right?
A dad's perspective on teen daughter's first formal high school dance.
Just for fun, I'll make a few predictions. This column will include:
1.) A mention of Borsch's own childhood growing up in rural Illinois.
2.) A reference to scaring/intimidating the daughter's date.
3.) His wife will correct him on some simple point of etiquette.
Outta Leftfield
No noogies needed in the lead-up to first formal high school dance
Published: Wednesday, February 09, 2011
By Mike Morsch
GAAAAAAAH!!! Nice shirt.
Most dads — and in this instance, stepdads — have their own set of rules about young suitors knocking on the door and attempting to woo the teenage females of the household. Nobody but the dads pays any attention to these rules, but they should. We know what we’re talking about here because we used to be teenage boys ourselves — albeit a long time ago — and we know what those guys are thinking.
We are heading in the predictable, cliched direction I was hoping for. Bravo, Borsch.
That high school rite of passage — the formal dance — is usually the first opportunity we dads get to employ the rules. My rules aren’t actually for the young men, because they won’t pay any attention to them anyway. No, my rules are for the young women who live under the same roof as I and for those with the same last name as me.
Regardless of whether the "I" and "me" are correct, that was one horrendous sentence. I like how he's placing the burden of responsibility entirely on the female because "boys will be boys."
They are very simple rules and there are only three:
(1) Do not bring home any jamokes like your mom did.
"Jamokes"! I've never heard him say that before.
(2) Exercise due diligence in your advanced scouting of potential suitors.
(3) And rest assured I will embarrass you by giving your date a noogie if there is even a hint of him stepping out of line.
The "advance scouting" thing in #2 smacks of baseball... and what the heck does it mean, anyway? Isn't it basically the same thing as #1? I'm going to count #3 as a fulfillment of one of my predictions.
I’m sure other dads have other rules (some of which have already been turned into a sitcom) that are likely more intimidating than dishing out noogies to knuckleheads.
"Knuckleheads"! I've never heard him say that before. I like how he references the now-defunct John Ritter's now-defunct sitcom, too.
But I believe the embarrassment factor is more effective than, say, a kick in the hind end. With the way the guys wear their pants these days that would end up being a kick in the back of the knees, which is fine by me because I can’t lift my leg up any higher anyway.
Old guy/parent cliche #1 - Complaining about how kids wear their pants so low nowadays.
Because she goes to an all-girls school, Daughter of Blonde Accountant was responsible for securing a date to her first formal dance as a freshman. I’m sure that is a daunting task in and of itself for a 15-year-old, and the end result was that we got down to the week of the dance and her mother and I had very little information about the young man or the upcoming shindig.
The boredom factor here just jumped to 9.
With only 24 hours to go before the big dance, lack of solid information brought out the first threat — that I would give the guy a noogie as soon as he set foot in my house if we didn’t get some more details. Who is he? Where does he go to school? Where does he live? What are the names of his parents?
That noogie joke is SO FUNNY it almost makes me forget that he used it just a couple paragraphs ago!
Well, it all got straightened out eventually and we got our answers. The Blonde Accountant connected with the other mom and the logistics of the evening were formalized.
... Oh. That's... a relief? I guess? I was hoping the situation would provide for some more comical threats and whatnot.
Daughter of Blonde Accountant looked stunning in her formal evening wear as we waited for the young man and his mother to arrive at our house for the picture taking session prior to departing for the dance.
Nice, succinct writing there Borsch.
I know kids love having their pictures taken during milestones in life and I believe the 784 shots that I got of the flower exchange should sufficiently preserve the memory for all those interested.
That number is hilariously high! Over seven hundred pictures! Wahoooo!
I am happy to report that upon first impression, the lad appears to have had the benefit of good genes and stellar parenting. He was tall and handsome, polite, had a firm handshake, was a spiffy dresser and had the same haircut I had in 1975. What’s not to like? No noogie needed, which is good because I probably would have suffered some knuckle damage trying to get through that head of hair.
Thank goodness - I'm so glad everything turned out so well and, you know, unamusing.
The Blonde Accountant was tabbed to drive the early shift, which included a pregame soiree at another house with several other young couples. I was slated to drive the late shift, which as it turned out included an unplanned after-event at a pizza joint.
Show of hands - does anybody still use the phrase "pizza joint"?
Not wanting to intrude, I sat in the car and waited for the kids, listening to ’70s music on the radio and trying to recall my first formal high school dance. I believe my ensemble for the evening included a blue velvet bowtie. I don’t recall the girl’s dad giving me a noogie, so I must have presented well enough despite the tie.
I'm counting that as fulfilling my first prediction. I also like the picture of Borsch sitting forlornly in his car the whole time... wouldn't he just offer to pick them up later?
After we dropped the young man off at his home, Daughter of Blonde Accountant chimed in.
“Did you like him?” she asked.
“Yes, I did,” I answered, heartened that my approval was sought.
That's sad... like an abused dog wagging its tail at a kind word.
“Ya, he’s really nice. And not a jamoke,” she offered.
“No, he’s not a jamoke. Well done,” I said.
“Thanks. Advanced scouting.”
Two explanations for this: 1.) The above exchange is completely made-up; 2.) Daughter is mocking Borsch and he doesn't realize it. The second option is even worse, because it means he ripped off his own daughter earlier in the column.
Atta girl. Sometimes we wonder if our teenagers are listening to us. It’s a comfort to know that they are paying attention.
Even if it's only to secretly mock you, right?
Monday, February 7, 2011
Borsch Tweets the SuperBowl
Cocktail weenies, pizza rolls, mozzarella sticks and chip and dip. I am ready for the commericals. Baseball starts soon.
As I should have suspected, Borsch is almost fanatical about not being interested in football. It's all the more tragic because as a big, fat, dumb guy, he's practically already the perfect football fan.
Super Bowl prediction: Cliff Lee will throw for two TDs and run for another.
Guuuuuuuuwhaaaaaat??? But Cliff Lee is a baseball player! What a zany prediction! Seriously though... this guy can't enjoy one football game - the biggest of the year - without pining for baseball at every turn?
I like Joe Buck. A baseball guy.
No, he can't.
Joe Buck is the human equivalent of an early sports-talk video game that only has two phrases for any one activity. A player walks onto the field? "Here comes X." A player does something? "Here's X" or just "X." A pass is made over the middle? "Over the MIDDLE!" He's a boring, stiff, humorless dope.
Borsch loves him.
My stepson was cheering for the result of the coin toss. I don't know what else to say about that.
Because it's a fun part of the game? It's as much a part of football as, say, a pinch hitter is a part of baseball.
A-Rod at the Super Bowl. Well, I guess that could be considered some baseball news.
The heck? I don't spend the World Series eagerly awaiting a one-minute shot of Peyton Manning.
Now that we've had a look at A-Rod, can a shot of somebody feeding Boog Powell hotdogs be far behind?
I had to google Boog Powell to get this reference. He's a baseball player, of course. And he's fat. Therein lies the comedy.
Anytime a commercial can get by with saying the word "rack," well . . . .
Oooh, the word "rack" is so racy! How do they get away with this stuff, right?
I think Cliff Lee probably would have put on a better halftime show.
This is not only the sixth baseball reference, but the second Lee reference. If baseball references were the "joke" of these SuperBowl tweets, I'd say they've worn rather thin by now.
Al Swearingen playing Blackbeard in the next Pirates movie.
Apparently a reference to a character from the HBO show Deadwood whose name is actually Al Swearengen. I've never seen the show, but this is proof that an Internet search engine can spell better than Borsch.
As I should have suspected, Borsch is almost fanatical about not being interested in football. It's all the more tragic because as a big, fat, dumb guy, he's practically already the perfect football fan.
Super Bowl prediction: Cliff Lee will throw for two TDs and run for another.
Guuuuuuuuwhaaaaaat??? But Cliff Lee is a baseball player! What a zany prediction! Seriously though... this guy can't enjoy one football game - the biggest of the year - without pining for baseball at every turn?
I like Joe Buck. A baseball guy.
No, he can't.
Joe Buck is the human equivalent of an early sports-talk video game that only has two phrases for any one activity. A player walks onto the field? "Here comes X." A player does something? "Here's X" or just "X." A pass is made over the middle? "Over the MIDDLE!" He's a boring, stiff, humorless dope.
Borsch loves him.
My stepson was cheering for the result of the coin toss. I don't know what else to say about that.
Because it's a fun part of the game? It's as much a part of football as, say, a pinch hitter is a part of baseball.
A-Rod at the Super Bowl. Well, I guess that could be considered some baseball news.
The heck? I don't spend the World Series eagerly awaiting a one-minute shot of Peyton Manning.
Now that we've had a look at A-Rod, can a shot of somebody feeding Boog Powell hotdogs be far behind?
I had to google Boog Powell to get this reference. He's a baseball player, of course. And he's fat. Therein lies the comedy.
Anytime a commercial can get by with saying the word "rack," well . . . .
Oooh, the word "rack" is so racy! How do they get away with this stuff, right?
I think Cliff Lee probably would have put on a better halftime show.
This is not only the sixth baseball reference, but the second Lee reference. If baseball references were the "joke" of these SuperBowl tweets, I'd say they've worn rather thin by now.
Al Swearingen playing Blackbeard in the next Pirates movie.
Apparently a reference to a character from the HBO show Deadwood whose name is actually Al Swearengen. I've never seen the show, but this is proof that an Internet search engine can spell better than Borsch.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Another WACKY Holiday!
Outta Leftfield:
You Know, Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day didn't just pop up
Published: Wednesday, February 02, 2011
Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Not "By Mike Morsch"... just "Mike Morsch." And why is "You Know" capitalized but "didn't just pop up" isn't?
Monday was Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. I know, I know. I missed it, too.
Ah, it's time for Morsch to poke fun at something that was supposed to be funny to begin with!
In fact, it was the 11th annual Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day — known as BWAD — and oddly enough, I have missed every single one of them. One would think that something called BWAD would have garnered my attention long before now.
Why?
Originally designed as insulated wallpaper, Bubble Wrap was introduced in 1960. But it wasn’t working out so great as wallpaper, so inventor Marc Chavannes came up with another idea for the product: to use it to protect fragile items.
Unlike certain other paragraphs in Outta Leftfield history, Morsch didn't rip this word-for-word from Wikipedia (although the bare bones are there). He neglects to include the name of co-inventor Alfred Fielding (I admit I got that from Wiki).
Well, that was a better idea. Reportedly there is now enough Bubble Wrap produced to stretch from Earth to the moon and back. That fact alone certainly lends credibility to the need to set aside a day to properly appreciate the role that Bubble Wrap plays in our society.
This isn't an actual holiday. This is a fun promotional thing, like Pretzel Day at work.
I would suggest while we’re at it, maybe we should have a Toothpick Appreciation Day and a Hey, This Winter Really Stinks Appreciation Day, the latter of which is particularly relevant this time of year. I would support both of those initiatives by taking a day off from work.
Why is winter relevant this time of year? Could it be because it's winter? The only thing Morsch hates more than winter is Sarah Palin.
“Hello boss, I won’t be in to work today because it’s Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. And I won’t be in tomorrow because it’s Toothpick Appreciation Day, or the day after because it’s Hey, This Winter Really Stinks Appreciation Day.”
Heh heh... heh. Can you imagine if I pointed out how funny it is to say the exact same thing in back-to-back paragraphs?!?
"Hello readers, you know what's funny? Saying the exact same thing in back-to-back paragraphs!"
To be followed, no doubt, by Mike Standing in the Unemployment Line Appreciation Day.
Believe me, I would be first in line to celebrate that day.
But all of that is for another time. This week we are appreciating Bubble Wrap. According to the website www.bubblewrapfun.com and other published reports, here are few fun facts about Bubble Wrap:
Hey, why write your own material when you can take someone else's, right?
One of the most unusual items protected by Bubble Wrap was an 815-pound pumpkin named “Gourdzilla,” which I must admit is some very creative pumpkin naming, for those who engage in such activity.
Wow, praise from Caesar!
Apparently at a pumpkin-dropping contest in Iowa — I spent several years in Iowa and I know there isn’t much to keep folks entertained there, hence the need for pumpkin-dropping contests — the great pumpkin remained intact after being dropped from a 35-foot crane onto a big pile of Bubble Wrap. (A giant pumpkin, a crane and some Bubble Wrap — tell me that idea didn’t originate in some bar at closing time.)
Is this even about Bubble Wrap anymore? It seems like we're wandering a bit off-course...
Just to clarify, “pumpkin dropping” differs from “punkin chunkin” in that while the droppers use a crane and Bubble Wrap, the chuckers (no evidence the participants are actually called “chunkiners”) use a catapult, slingshots, cannons and other mechanical devices to launch the pumpkins for distance. There is no mention of Bubble Wrap, although I believe the popping would add an interesting sound effect to proceedings featuring flying pumpkins.
No, it's really not about Bubble Wrap anymore. I wonder who it was who told Morsch that the phrase "add X to the proceedings" sounds smart.
As a onetime Iowa resident, I thought it important to make the distinction for city folks.
Another fun fact about Bubble Wrap is that according to an online survey at www.bubblewrapfun.com, one-third of those who are fans of Bubble Wrap prefer the “one-bubble-at-a-time” popping method. (That is my preference as well.) The second most popular method of popping is the “grasp and twist” of a whole sheet of bubbles, but that seems to accelerate the proceedings to the point of taking some of the fun out of it.
Ooh a little spin on the old formula - he didn't say ADD to the proceedings this time.
Consider for a moment that somebody has come up with the idea to devote an entire website to popping Bubble Wrap and that alone confirms that it is indeed a fun activity. In fact, if one doesn’t have any Bubble Wrap handy, one can go on the website and actually pop bubbles online.
There are websites devoted to snuff films as well. Is making snuff films a fun activity? And again, this whole "Bubble Wrap Day" is supposed to be funny. It's a joke holiday, like all the others Morsch discusses. He doesn't so much make comedy on his own as point out the comedy others have already made!
Furthering the fun factor of this product, the New Jersey company that makes Bubble Wrap — Sealed Air — offers its employees their own memo-sized sheets of Bubble Wrap to play with at their desks.
That seems like a relatively cool perk, huh? Try talking the boss into letting you do that at any other business.
That's akin to Walmart employees receiving Walmart gift cards for Christmas. It's lame.
Lest you think that January hogged all the ridiculous holidays, tucked snugly between Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day and the ever-popular Groundhog Day is Work Naked Day on Feb. 1.
Groundhog Day isn't ridiculous. Everyone loves that holiday.
Can Sit Around and Think Up Stupid Holidays Appreciation Day be far behind?
How about Sit Around and Think Up Dumb Columns Day?
You Know, Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day didn't just pop up
Published: Wednesday, February 02, 2011
Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Not "By Mike Morsch"... just "Mike Morsch." And why is "You Know" capitalized but "didn't just pop up" isn't?
Monday was Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. I know, I know. I missed it, too.
Ah, it's time for Morsch to poke fun at something that was supposed to be funny to begin with!
In fact, it was the 11th annual Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day — known as BWAD — and oddly enough, I have missed every single one of them. One would think that something called BWAD would have garnered my attention long before now.
Why?
Originally designed as insulated wallpaper, Bubble Wrap was introduced in 1960. But it wasn’t working out so great as wallpaper, so inventor Marc Chavannes came up with another idea for the product: to use it to protect fragile items.
Unlike certain other paragraphs in Outta Leftfield history, Morsch didn't rip this word-for-word from Wikipedia (although the bare bones are there). He neglects to include the name of co-inventor Alfred Fielding (I admit I got that from Wiki).
Well, that was a better idea. Reportedly there is now enough Bubble Wrap produced to stretch from Earth to the moon and back. That fact alone certainly lends credibility to the need to set aside a day to properly appreciate the role that Bubble Wrap plays in our society.
This isn't an actual holiday. This is a fun promotional thing, like Pretzel Day at work.
I would suggest while we’re at it, maybe we should have a Toothpick Appreciation Day and a Hey, This Winter Really Stinks Appreciation Day, the latter of which is particularly relevant this time of year. I would support both of those initiatives by taking a day off from work.
Why is winter relevant this time of year? Could it be because it's winter? The only thing Morsch hates more than winter is Sarah Palin.
“Hello boss, I won’t be in to work today because it’s Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. And I won’t be in tomorrow because it’s Toothpick Appreciation Day, or the day after because it’s Hey, This Winter Really Stinks Appreciation Day.”
Heh heh... heh. Can you imagine if I pointed out how funny it is to say the exact same thing in back-to-back paragraphs?!?
"Hello readers, you know what's funny? Saying the exact same thing in back-to-back paragraphs!"
To be followed, no doubt, by Mike Standing in the Unemployment Line Appreciation Day.
Believe me, I would be first in line to celebrate that day.
But all of that is for another time. This week we are appreciating Bubble Wrap. According to the website www.bubblewrapfun.com and other published reports, here are few fun facts about Bubble Wrap:
Hey, why write your own material when you can take someone else's, right?
One of the most unusual items protected by Bubble Wrap was an 815-pound pumpkin named “Gourdzilla,” which I must admit is some very creative pumpkin naming, for those who engage in such activity.
Wow, praise from Caesar!
Apparently at a pumpkin-dropping contest in Iowa — I spent several years in Iowa and I know there isn’t much to keep folks entertained there, hence the need for pumpkin-dropping contests — the great pumpkin remained intact after being dropped from a 35-foot crane onto a big pile of Bubble Wrap. (A giant pumpkin, a crane and some Bubble Wrap — tell me that idea didn’t originate in some bar at closing time.)
Is this even about Bubble Wrap anymore? It seems like we're wandering a bit off-course...
Just to clarify, “pumpkin dropping” differs from “punkin chunkin” in that while the droppers use a crane and Bubble Wrap, the chuckers (no evidence the participants are actually called “chunkiners”) use a catapult, slingshots, cannons and other mechanical devices to launch the pumpkins for distance. There is no mention of Bubble Wrap, although I believe the popping would add an interesting sound effect to proceedings featuring flying pumpkins.
No, it's really not about Bubble Wrap anymore. I wonder who it was who told Morsch that the phrase "add X to the proceedings" sounds smart.
As a onetime Iowa resident, I thought it important to make the distinction for city folks.
Another fun fact about Bubble Wrap is that according to an online survey at www.bubblewrapfun.com, one-third of those who are fans of Bubble Wrap prefer the “one-bubble-at-a-time” popping method. (That is my preference as well.) The second most popular method of popping is the “grasp and twist” of a whole sheet of bubbles, but that seems to accelerate the proceedings to the point of taking some of the fun out of it.
Ooh a little spin on the old formula - he didn't say ADD to the proceedings this time.
Consider for a moment that somebody has come up with the idea to devote an entire website to popping Bubble Wrap and that alone confirms that it is indeed a fun activity. In fact, if one doesn’t have any Bubble Wrap handy, one can go on the website and actually pop bubbles online.
There are websites devoted to snuff films as well. Is making snuff films a fun activity? And again, this whole "Bubble Wrap Day" is supposed to be funny. It's a joke holiday, like all the others Morsch discusses. He doesn't so much make comedy on his own as point out the comedy others have already made!
Furthering the fun factor of this product, the New Jersey company that makes Bubble Wrap — Sealed Air — offers its employees their own memo-sized sheets of Bubble Wrap to play with at their desks.
That seems like a relatively cool perk, huh? Try talking the boss into letting you do that at any other business.
That's akin to Walmart employees receiving Walmart gift cards for Christmas. It's lame.
Lest you think that January hogged all the ridiculous holidays, tucked snugly between Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day and the ever-popular Groundhog Day is Work Naked Day on Feb. 1.
Groundhog Day isn't ridiculous. Everyone loves that holiday.
Can Sit Around and Think Up Stupid Holidays Appreciation Day be far behind?
How about Sit Around and Think Up Dumb Columns Day?
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Humorless Humor Column
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Southpaws sighted at signing
The season hasn't even started yet - heck, as Morsch himself continually points out, pitchers and catchers haven't even reported yet - and already we've got back-to-back baseball stories!
By the way, an email I just sent tried to auto-correct "Morsch" to "Borsch." I think this might be what I call him from now on.
Although most people think of Phillies Hall of Fame pitcher Steve Carlton when they hear the name “Lefty,” our friends at the Hatboro-based Philadelphia Athletics Historical Society (www.philadelphiaathletics.org) have a couple of favorite “lefties” of their own — and they’re not named Carlton.
Shameless Promotion Alert? In an October 6, 2009 blog, regarding the Athletics Historical Society, Morsch states: I am honored to be a board member of that non-profit organization. Isn't promoting an organization you belong to worse than, say, mentioning that you like a restaurant?
On Saturday at the Days Inn in Horsham, two local lefties familiar to generations of baseball fans drew a big crowd of autograph seekers.
How many autograph events does Morsch attend in a year? And does he get paid for these things?
Note: I tried to include said video here, there's something wrong with Borsch's blog - couldn't even view it. My apologies.
Curt Simmons, who along with the late Robin Roberts were the mainstays of the 1950 “Whiz Kids” pitching staff, and Bobby Shantz, the 1952 American League Most Valuable Player as a pitcher for Connie Mack’s Philadelphia Athletics, greeted fans, told stories and signed autographs for a couple of hours prior to an A’s Society auction of memorabilia.
Ah, we all remember the superhumanly kind Mr. Roberts from Morsch's insulting tribute article.
Both southpaw hurlers, who enjoyed long careers in Major League Baseball, still hail from the area.
I hate "hurlers" - it sounds like a cricket term and really doesn't translate to baseball.
Shantz, originally from Pottstown, has been an Ambler resident since his playing days ended in the mid-1960s. Simmons, a native of Whitehall Township, is co-owner of Limekiln Golf Club in Ambler.
Hilarious! Wait, this is supposed to be funny, right? Because it's a humor column?
In the interest of full disclosure, I’m a volunteer commissioner for the A’s Society. It’s a wonderful non-profit group full of great baseball people that has kept alive the memory of the Philadelphia Athletics, who moved to Kansas City after the 1954 season.
From his August 15, 2009 article: In the interest of full disclosure, I am on the board of directors for the A’s Society. Sounds familiar...
I always enjoy the events featuring retired players and it’s amazing how many fans remember them long after their playing days.
And isn't it amazing how, all these years later, people still remember George Washington and "Black Jack" Pershing and Elvis? Long after their respective careers were over. It truly boggles the mind.
This was a terrible article with not even an attempt (and let's face it - Borsch rarely makes it further than an attempt) at a joke. I'd say he's not trying anymore, but that assumes that he was actually trying at some point.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Philadelphia Athletics Historical Society
Southpaws sighted at signing
The season hasn't even started yet - heck, as Morsch himself continually points out, pitchers and catchers haven't even reported yet - and already we've got back-to-back baseball stories!
By the way, an email I just sent tried to auto-correct "Morsch" to "Borsch." I think this might be what I call him from now on.
Although most people think of Phillies Hall of Fame pitcher Steve Carlton when they hear the name “Lefty,” our friends at the Hatboro-based Philadelphia Athletics Historical Society (www.philadelphiaathletics.org) have a couple of favorite “lefties” of their own — and they’re not named Carlton.
Shameless Promotion Alert? In an October 6, 2009 blog, regarding the Athletics Historical Society, Morsch states: I am honored to be a board member of that non-profit organization. Isn't promoting an organization you belong to worse than, say, mentioning that you like a restaurant?
On Saturday at the Days Inn in Horsham, two local lefties familiar to generations of baseball fans drew a big crowd of autograph seekers.
How many autograph events does Morsch attend in a year? And does he get paid for these things?
Note: I tried to include said video here, there's something wrong with Borsch's blog - couldn't even view it. My apologies.
Curt Simmons, who along with the late Robin Roberts were the mainstays of the 1950 “Whiz Kids” pitching staff, and Bobby Shantz, the 1952 American League Most Valuable Player as a pitcher for Connie Mack’s Philadelphia Athletics, greeted fans, told stories and signed autographs for a couple of hours prior to an A’s Society auction of memorabilia.
Ah, we all remember the superhumanly kind Mr. Roberts from Morsch's insulting tribute article.
Both southpaw hurlers, who enjoyed long careers in Major League Baseball, still hail from the area.
I hate "hurlers" - it sounds like a cricket term and really doesn't translate to baseball.
Shantz, originally from Pottstown, has been an Ambler resident since his playing days ended in the mid-1960s. Simmons, a native of Whitehall Township, is co-owner of Limekiln Golf Club in Ambler.
Hilarious! Wait, this is supposed to be funny, right? Because it's a humor column?
In the interest of full disclosure, I’m a volunteer commissioner for the A’s Society. It’s a wonderful non-profit group full of great baseball people that has kept alive the memory of the Philadelphia Athletics, who moved to Kansas City after the 1954 season.
From his August 15, 2009 article: In the interest of full disclosure, I am on the board of directors for the A’s Society. Sounds familiar...
I always enjoy the events featuring retired players and it’s amazing how many fans remember them long after their playing days.
And isn't it amazing how, all these years later, people still remember George Washington and "Black Jack" Pershing and Elvis? Long after their respective careers were over. It truly boggles the mind.
This was a terrible article with not even an attempt (and let's face it - Borsch rarely makes it further than an attempt) at a joke. I'd say he's not trying anymore, but that assumes that he was actually trying at some point.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Philadelphia Athletics Historical Society
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