Mike Morsch @mmorsch35
Date night. Dinner and theater. Deciding now on which shirt I would like to spill dinner.
Is he baiting me? I think he's baiting me. I can only hope that an enthralling "we ate here, it was pretty good" post is upcoming.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Articles in Stasis
Terri Clark loves getting up close with audience
Published: Tuesday, February 14, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Oh, joy! Two Borsch trademarks: hogging an interview with a minor celeb, and talking about a concert at the Sellersville Theater. Will the intimacy of the venue be discussed, possibly with a "living room" reference?
On her last visit to the Sellersville Theater 1894, Terri Clark was very much aware of the intimacy the theater offers its performers, so much so that it made her worry about her eyebrows.
To paraphrase the creepy General from White Christmas: We have established the fact that the Theater is intimate. Can now discuss something - anything - else about this venue?
“The crowd seemed so much more up close to me,” said Clark, known for such No. 1 hits as “You’re Easy on the Eyes” and “Girls Lie, Too.” “They’re like in your lap. This time, I just need to make sure I pluck my eyebrows so they won’t be able to see the strays.”
You are close to the audience there. I get it.
Proper unruly hair maintenance aside, fans will once again get an up-close- and-personal look at Clark during her already-sold-out stop here for the “Roots & Wings” unplugged acoustic tour at 8 p.m. Saturday, Feb. 25.
What does "proper unruly hair maintenance" mean? Seriously. What does "proper" apply to? Does "unruly" apply to the maintenance or to the hair?
Although there is new music included, the show will have a similar vibe to the one the Canadian singer-songwriter performed at ST94 in October 2010. It will be just Clark and a handful of guitars onstage, singing and engaging with the crowd that appears to be sitting in her lap.
From Borsch's November 1, 2010 story about said concert: "...show that she hopes is 'like sitting in a living room at a party with someone who has a guitar in her lap.'"
Clark then describes this show, which she says will be even better than her last one (and, presumably, even more intimate).
That’s taking it up to an ever higher level, considering what Clark was dealing with the last time she was in Sellersville. She had lost her mother, Linda, to cancer just six months earlier.
Borsch mentions this in his November 1 2010 article AND his January 4 2011 article, both about the same concert. I'm beginning to wonder if we are going to learn anything about Ms. Clark that we didn't know 1 1/2 years ago.
Clark said with this new CD — her eighth studio album, which includes the song “Smile,” written for her mom and one that she sang in the 2010 show here even before it had been recorded — she took more of a fun and lighthearted approach to making the album.
Watch out, folks - it's the Borsch Dash! Can't figure out a way to smoothly integrate information into your story? Just jam unrelated bits of trivia between a pair of dashes! Make the dashed-off aside longer than the sentence containing it! The beauty of this strategy is that the information doesn't necessarily have to relate to the surrounding narrative. For instance:
"Ms. Clark - who once ran naked through the National Mall - is a big fan of smooth jazz."
JOURNALISM!
Just last week, Clark — already an eight-time Canadian Country Music Association Entertainer of the Year — scored a JUNO Award nomination for “Roots & Wings” for country album of the year. The JUNO Awards are presented annually to Canadian musical artists and bands.
This is just lazy writing. The sentence could very easily have been written: "Clark, who is already an eight-time Canadian Country Music Association Entertainer of the Year, scored a JUNO Award nomination... last week." This is further proof that Borsch never re-reads or edits his articles.
Clark, who has been an independent artist since walking away from her record deal with Sony/BMG in 2008 and doesn’t get much, if any, play time on U.S. radio now, has been able to create buzz for her new music through social network sites such as Facebook and Twitter.
See? See that? Why couldn't he have done that before? Of course, this particular sentence is already pretty bad without the dashes.
As for the ST94, Clark liked it the last time and said she’s going to like performing there again.
“The show I did there in Sellersville was one of my favorite ones on the last tour and that’s why we’re coming back,” she said. “I find the audience in that part of the country is so engaged in the singer-songwriter vibe. They really appreciate the organic side of things so much.”
From his last article: "...the northeast hillbillies in the crowd — whom Clark suggested could be considered more “sophisticated” than hillbillies in other parts of the country -..."
That doesn’t mean, though, that Clark won’t ever take to the road again with her band, even though she likes the unplugged gigs quite a lot.
“I might start staggering every other year — doing an unplugged tour and then going back and doing a band tour,” she said. “That keeps things fresh for me as well as the fan base. I did the same show for 15 years. That’s the whole reason for doing this [unplugged] tour. But I don’t want the fans to get this show now for the next 15 years. I want to bounce back and forth and keep it fresh for everybody.”
Yeah, that's the end of the article.
I found this fascinating. Except for a few sentences, you could switch the "previews" he wrote in 2010 and 2012 and not be able to tell the difference. Intimate venue, mother's cancer, alone on stage. Tell me, Mr. Borsch: is it satisfying to know that your "craft" has not evolved in the least over these two years?
By the way... if the show is already sold out... this preview seems a tad unnecessary, doesn't it?
Published: Tuesday, February 14, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Oh, joy! Two Borsch trademarks: hogging an interview with a minor celeb, and talking about a concert at the Sellersville Theater. Will the intimacy of the venue be discussed, possibly with a "living room" reference?
On her last visit to the Sellersville Theater 1894, Terri Clark was very much aware of the intimacy the theater offers its performers, so much so that it made her worry about her eyebrows.
To paraphrase the creepy General from White Christmas: We have established the fact that the Theater is intimate. Can now discuss something - anything - else about this venue?
“The crowd seemed so much more up close to me,” said Clark, known for such No. 1 hits as “You’re Easy on the Eyes” and “Girls Lie, Too.” “They’re like in your lap. This time, I just need to make sure I pluck my eyebrows so they won’t be able to see the strays.”
You are close to the audience there. I get it.
Proper unruly hair maintenance aside, fans will once again get an up-close- and-personal look at Clark during her already-sold-out stop here for the “Roots & Wings” unplugged acoustic tour at 8 p.m. Saturday, Feb. 25.
What does "proper unruly hair maintenance" mean? Seriously. What does "proper" apply to? Does "unruly" apply to the maintenance or to the hair?
Although there is new music included, the show will have a similar vibe to the one the Canadian singer-songwriter performed at ST94 in October 2010. It will be just Clark and a handful of guitars onstage, singing and engaging with the crowd that appears to be sitting in her lap.
From Borsch's November 1, 2010 story about said concert: "...show that she hopes is 'like sitting in a living room at a party with someone who has a guitar in her lap.'"
Clark then describes this show, which she says will be even better than her last one (and, presumably, even more intimate).
That’s taking it up to an ever higher level, considering what Clark was dealing with the last time she was in Sellersville. She had lost her mother, Linda, to cancer just six months earlier.
Borsch mentions this in his November 1 2010 article AND his January 4 2011 article, both about the same concert. I'm beginning to wonder if we are going to learn anything about Ms. Clark that we didn't know 1 1/2 years ago.
Clark said with this new CD — her eighth studio album, which includes the song “Smile,” written for her mom and one that she sang in the 2010 show here even before it had been recorded — she took more of a fun and lighthearted approach to making the album.
Watch out, folks - it's the Borsch Dash! Can't figure out a way to smoothly integrate information into your story? Just jam unrelated bits of trivia between a pair of dashes! Make the dashed-off aside longer than the sentence containing it! The beauty of this strategy is that the information doesn't necessarily have to relate to the surrounding narrative. For instance:
"Ms. Clark - who once ran naked through the National Mall - is a big fan of smooth jazz."
JOURNALISM!
Just last week, Clark — already an eight-time Canadian Country Music Association Entertainer of the Year — scored a JUNO Award nomination for “Roots & Wings” for country album of the year. The JUNO Awards are presented annually to Canadian musical artists and bands.
This is just lazy writing. The sentence could very easily have been written: "Clark, who is already an eight-time Canadian Country Music Association Entertainer of the Year, scored a JUNO Award nomination... last week." This is further proof that Borsch never re-reads or edits his articles.
Clark, who has been an independent artist since walking away from her record deal with Sony/BMG in 2008 and doesn’t get much, if any, play time on U.S. radio now, has been able to create buzz for her new music through social network sites such as Facebook and Twitter.
See? See that? Why couldn't he have done that before? Of course, this particular sentence is already pretty bad without the dashes.
As for the ST94, Clark liked it the last time and said she’s going to like performing there again.
“The show I did there in Sellersville was one of my favorite ones on the last tour and that’s why we’re coming back,” she said. “I find the audience in that part of the country is so engaged in the singer-songwriter vibe. They really appreciate the organic side of things so much.”
From his last article: "...the northeast hillbillies in the crowd — whom Clark suggested could be considered more “sophisticated” than hillbillies in other parts of the country -..."
That doesn’t mean, though, that Clark won’t ever take to the road again with her band, even though she likes the unplugged gigs quite a lot.
“I might start staggering every other year — doing an unplugged tour and then going back and doing a band tour,” she said. “That keeps things fresh for me as well as the fan base. I did the same show for 15 years. That’s the whole reason for doing this [unplugged] tour. But I don’t want the fans to get this show now for the next 15 years. I want to bounce back and forth and keep it fresh for everybody.”
Yeah, that's the end of the article.
I found this fascinating. Except for a few sentences, you could switch the "previews" he wrote in 2010 and 2012 and not be able to tell the difference. Intimate venue, mother's cancer, alone on stage. Tell me, Mr. Borsch: is it satisfying to know that your "craft" has not evolved in the least over these two years?
By the way... if the show is already sold out... this preview seems a tad unnecessary, doesn't it?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Double-Dipping Confusion
My return may end up being a brief one, if this is the kind of product I have to deal with...
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Stick a fork in those Super Bowl buffet double-dippers
Published: Tuesday, February 07, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
This column is not only insufferably long, but suffers from the following defects:
1.) Overall confusion on the definition of the term "double-dip"
2.) Variations on the term "double-dip" are used no less than 14 times
3.) Seinfeld covered this topic fifteen years ago
The highlights:
I am not a double-dipper, at least not in front of anyone. In my younger days, though, I was notorious for drinking directly out of the milk jug. That was, until I got caught one time and spent the next three days picking plastic out of my ear, unceremoniously put there by someone who was drinking out of the same jug, only not directly.
... What? Re-write that last sentence, but this time, have it make a lick of sense. Does it surprise anyone that he drinks milk directly out of the jug? It shouldn't. He probably also spills milk on himself and snorts it out of his nose.
But my dad was a shameless world class double-dipper — the Kobayashi of Double-Dipping as it were — and it was his dinner table indiscretions over the course of many years that eventually convinced me that I would, for the most part, not follow in his footsteps.
Please note - at no point in this column does Borsch provide a definitive explanation of exactly what "double-dipping" is, despite using the phrase in almost every pharagraph. As it turns out, he seems a little confused on the definition himself.
And my pop wasn’t even subtle about it. When it came time for seconds — or even after the meal was over — he would take his fork and pick right out of the bowls of food that were left on the table.
One wonders how someone could, in fact, be subtle about getting up, walking back to a buffet table, taking additional food, and sitting back down. And just so we're clear - "double-dipping" apparently means using your own utensil to pick food out of communal bowls.
Per Urban Dictionary: Favorite behavior of crude diners. Involves dipping your... chip into a sauce, taking a bite... and then re-dipping the half digested item back into the sauce.
This drove my ex-wife completely stark-raving crazy-go-nuts, so much so that she would go to great lengths to make sure my dad’s fork didn’t poison anyone else’s food at the table. This was after I had politely asked my dad to stop doing it and he had politely promised to comply only to forget and revert back to old habits every time Thanksgiving rolled around.
If you're curious as to why this woman is his ex-wife, you haven't been paying attention.
Here’s how bad it eventually got: One Thanksgiving at our house, my ex had prepared the entire meal with all the trimmings, which anyone who undertakes the preparing of the Thanksgiving meals knows is no small task.
To minimize the effectiveness of my pop’s double-dipping, she prepared a series of extra, smaller bowls of each of the meal’s offerings. My dad got his own platter of turkey, his own bowl of mashed potatoes, his own dish of green-been casserole and his own pumpkin pie.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Just to make sure that he includes as much dull, plodding detail as possible, this story goes on for TWO MORE PARAGRAPHS. Sheer torture.
These days, I am fortunate in that I am the only one in my house who will eat leftovers. Once the meal is finished, if there is any food left, I am secure in the knowledge that if I choose to double-dip, it is affecting only me. The greatest advantage to that arrangement, of course, is the fact that I get all the leftovers, which is perfectly fine with me.
He's operating on the theory that, if he just uses the terms "leftovers" and "double-dip" enough, it will magically transform from "not funny" to "very funny." He's like a modern-day humor alchemist.
It seems to me, though, that policing the double-dippers at a well-attended Super Bowl party may be a bit more problematic than it would be at one’s own dinner table. There can be a lot of kibitzing, imbibing of spirits and mulling about at a Super Bowl party and policing the food area between expensive commercials can be challenging, especially amidst all the distractions from goofy monkeys, cute babies, cute dogs, Elton John, Madonna, Clint Eastwood and Jerry Seinfeld.
I literally can't believe we're still talking about this. This topic has no interest. It almost has negative interest - the more I read about it, the less I wish I knew.
The column then undergoes a strange transformation - our earlier definition of "double-dipping" changes so that it now conforms with the more traditional meaning.
You tell me if this would be OK at your Super Bowl party: I am partaking of the celery sticks and onion dip. (This would be your party, not mine. At my Super Bowl party we serve cocktail weenies, pizza rolls, the special family chip dip and Girl Scout thin mints for dessert.) I take a piece of celery — one that is too long to fit into my mouth in one bite — and dip the end of the stick into the onion dip. I then bite that stick in half, flip it over to the other end that doesn’t have any dip on it, and then dip again.
This whole "crisis" can be avoided by spooning a small amount of said dip onto your plate for your own personal use. That would, however, require thought - something that causes Borsch to break out in a cold sweat.
I see nothing wrong with that. Technically, I have not double-dipped the end of the celery that has come in contact with my mouth. But my sense is that most of the rest of you would flag me for a double-dip violation. In days of yore during my first marriage, the celery stunt would have gotten me my own table out in the garage for Thanksgiving.
The fact that Borsch can use the term "first marriage" makes me fear for all of humanity.
So I understand that some people are uncomfortable with double-dipping, which is why I don’t do it to anybody but myself. Really, though, can I even double-dip myself? Isn’t that what I do every time I eat anyway?
One time I watched a hip replacement on TV. It was sheer brutality - splitting flesh and muscle, sawing through joints, hammering and drilling into bone... Reading this column is a lot like watching a hip replacement.
My guess is that if the Eagles could win just one Super Bowl anytime soon, we could stick a fork in the double-dipping issue, at least for as long as it takes to have one big party.
Why? How does the Eagles winning the Super Bowl makes your one hypothetical situation okay? And make up your mind - does "double-dipping" involve the use of a fork or a chip/veggie?
Since this is the type of effortless slop that became so common toward late 2011, I might return to the shadows. Only time (and the next Borsch column) will tell...
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Stick a fork in those Super Bowl buffet double-dippers
Published: Tuesday, February 07, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
This column is not only insufferably long, but suffers from the following defects:
1.) Overall confusion on the definition of the term "double-dip"
2.) Variations on the term "double-dip" are used no less than 14 times
3.) Seinfeld covered this topic fifteen years ago
The highlights:
I am not a double-dipper, at least not in front of anyone. In my younger days, though, I was notorious for drinking directly out of the milk jug. That was, until I got caught one time and spent the next three days picking plastic out of my ear, unceremoniously put there by someone who was drinking out of the same jug, only not directly.
... What? Re-write that last sentence, but this time, have it make a lick of sense. Does it surprise anyone that he drinks milk directly out of the jug? It shouldn't. He probably also spills milk on himself and snorts it out of his nose.
But my dad was a shameless world class double-dipper — the Kobayashi of Double-Dipping as it were — and it was his dinner table indiscretions over the course of many years that eventually convinced me that I would, for the most part, not follow in his footsteps.
Please note - at no point in this column does Borsch provide a definitive explanation of exactly what "double-dipping" is, despite using the phrase in almost every pharagraph. As it turns out, he seems a little confused on the definition himself.
And my pop wasn’t even subtle about it. When it came time for seconds — or even after the meal was over — he would take his fork and pick right out of the bowls of food that were left on the table.
One wonders how someone could, in fact, be subtle about getting up, walking back to a buffet table, taking additional food, and sitting back down. And just so we're clear - "double-dipping" apparently means using your own utensil to pick food out of communal bowls.
Per Urban Dictionary: Favorite behavior of crude diners. Involves dipping your... chip into a sauce, taking a bite... and then re-dipping the half digested item back into the sauce.
This drove my ex-wife completely stark-raving crazy-go-nuts, so much so that she would go to great lengths to make sure my dad’s fork didn’t poison anyone else’s food at the table. This was after I had politely asked my dad to stop doing it and he had politely promised to comply only to forget and revert back to old habits every time Thanksgiving rolled around.
If you're curious as to why this woman is his ex-wife, you haven't been paying attention.
Here’s how bad it eventually got: One Thanksgiving at our house, my ex had prepared the entire meal with all the trimmings, which anyone who undertakes the preparing of the Thanksgiving meals knows is no small task.
To minimize the effectiveness of my pop’s double-dipping, she prepared a series of extra, smaller bowls of each of the meal’s offerings. My dad got his own platter of turkey, his own bowl of mashed potatoes, his own dish of green-been casserole and his own pumpkin pie.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Just to make sure that he includes as much dull, plodding detail as possible, this story goes on for TWO MORE PARAGRAPHS. Sheer torture.
These days, I am fortunate in that I am the only one in my house who will eat leftovers. Once the meal is finished, if there is any food left, I am secure in the knowledge that if I choose to double-dip, it is affecting only me. The greatest advantage to that arrangement, of course, is the fact that I get all the leftovers, which is perfectly fine with me.
He's operating on the theory that, if he just uses the terms "leftovers" and "double-dip" enough, it will magically transform from "not funny" to "very funny." He's like a modern-day humor alchemist.
It seems to me, though, that policing the double-dippers at a well-attended Super Bowl party may be a bit more problematic than it would be at one’s own dinner table. There can be a lot of kibitzing, imbibing of spirits and mulling about at a Super Bowl party and policing the food area between expensive commercials can be challenging, especially amidst all the distractions from goofy monkeys, cute babies, cute dogs, Elton John, Madonna, Clint Eastwood and Jerry Seinfeld.
I literally can't believe we're still talking about this. This topic has no interest. It almost has negative interest - the more I read about it, the less I wish I knew.
The column then undergoes a strange transformation - our earlier definition of "double-dipping" changes so that it now conforms with the more traditional meaning.
You tell me if this would be OK at your Super Bowl party: I am partaking of the celery sticks and onion dip. (This would be your party, not mine. At my Super Bowl party we serve cocktail weenies, pizza rolls, the special family chip dip and Girl Scout thin mints for dessert.) I take a piece of celery — one that is too long to fit into my mouth in one bite — and dip the end of the stick into the onion dip. I then bite that stick in half, flip it over to the other end that doesn’t have any dip on it, and then dip again.
This whole "crisis" can be avoided by spooning a small amount of said dip onto your plate for your own personal use. That would, however, require thought - something that causes Borsch to break out in a cold sweat.
I see nothing wrong with that. Technically, I have not double-dipped the end of the celery that has come in contact with my mouth. But my sense is that most of the rest of you would flag me for a double-dip violation. In days of yore during my first marriage, the celery stunt would have gotten me my own table out in the garage for Thanksgiving.
The fact that Borsch can use the term "first marriage" makes me fear for all of humanity.
So I understand that some people are uncomfortable with double-dipping, which is why I don’t do it to anybody but myself. Really, though, can I even double-dip myself? Isn’t that what I do every time I eat anyway?
One time I watched a hip replacement on TV. It was sheer brutality - splitting flesh and muscle, sawing through joints, hammering and drilling into bone... Reading this column is a lot like watching a hip replacement.
My guess is that if the Eagles could win just one Super Bowl anytime soon, we could stick a fork in the double-dipping issue, at least for as long as it takes to have one big party.
Why? How does the Eagles winning the Super Bowl makes your one hypothetical situation okay? And make up your mind - does "double-dipping" involve the use of a fork or a chip/veggie?
Since this is the type of effortless slop that became so common toward late 2011, I might return to the shadows. Only time (and the next Borsch column) will tell...
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Where He Gets Ideas
Like the Bumble Snow Monster of the North, Mike Morsch appears to be roaring to life this winter. Just when I thought I was out... he PULLS me back in...
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Monday morning blues reveal no clues on shoes
Published: Wednesday, February 01, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Reason why Borsch is a Bad Writer #[insert Borsch-esque "hilariously" high number here]: he could have used "few" instead of "no." It would still be a horrible title, but at least you'd know he put 100% into it. As it stands, it just reminds me of Blues Clues.
I can’t imagine a better time than the first thing on a Monday morning for me to take a shoe personality quiz.
That’s what happens when a columnist doesn’t spend the proper time developing a column idea. He find himself right up against a deadline and has to force himself to stay awake long enough on a Monday morning to take a shoe personality quiz.
"He find himself"? Really?
In other words: "My apologies, folks. I got nothing." Don't try to pass it off like this is all part of the zany life of a columnist. Borsch can write about ANYTHING (or, when that fails, swipe whole paragraphs from Wikipedia) - as long as he spews out 200 words on National Cheese Day or the color of his own couch, he's golden.
He's lazy - that's the real story here.
As has been reported in this space many times, I am not the shoe expert in my house. When I first met The Blonde Accountant, I had three pairs of shoes: black, brown and sneakers. She had approximately 300 pairs of shoes housed in warehouse in her backyard.
Here's an easy way to pad out a column when you lack the creativity for an original topic: reference how many shoes your wife owns! AGAIN! Please refer to this quote from a Borsch column published on October 12, 2010:
As for shoes, The Blonde Accountant has 6,497 pairs of shoes in the warehouse she calls a closet.
The only interesting thing about this "column" so far is that TBA has apparently purchased 6,197 pairs of shoes since he first met her. At least she still stores them in a "warehouse."
Borsch goes on to mention that he only wears three pairs of shoes: black, brown and sneakers (rimshot!!!). He repeats this joke several times. Then he eats up two paragraphs describing how he once observed some OTHER guy buying shoes. So far this column has more superfluous filling than your average Thanksgiving dinner.
Despite many experiences like that, I decided that the best way to start off the work week was by taking a shoe personality quiz, with the hope that the quiz would immediately recognize it was me goofing around and just go right to the end and recommend that the shoe that best fits my personality were the red canvas high-top Chuck Taylors that I already have in my closet.
Gee... did he, by any chance, take a shoe personality quiz at some point?
February 22, 2011 "column": Outta Leftfield - Attempt to buy new pair of 'Chucks' gets off on the wrong foot. Borsch describes his quest for a pair of "black canvas high-tops Chucks." Let's count the number of times he uses the exact phrase "red canvas high-top Chuck Taylors," shall we?
Well, that was a miscalculation. The shoe personality quiz, offered by some online outfit called JustFabulous, was for women, which apparently is not the primary audience to which Converse markets its red canvas high-top Chuck Taylor tennis shoes.
Two.
Steeling my resolve to get a column out of the idea, I proceeded with the quiz anyway. At the very least, maybe The Blonde Accountant would be impressed that I was attempting to learn more about the shoes that will likely end up in her closet. (Editor’s note: She wasn’t. Her response was: “And what is your shoe personality? Moe, Larry or Curly?” That right there is why I love her, folks.)
So it's Monday morning, and he's desperately scrambling for a column idea (which, again, could literally be anything on Earth). He begins a quiz. It's for women. He takes it anyway because he can think of no other idea. Truly, this is a man who earns his pay.
The first question on the quiz was: Which celebrity’s style do you most covet? The choices were Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Lopez and Nicole Richie. (Editor’s note: There was no option to choose PeeWee Herman, so I chose Jennifer Aniston.)
Editor's note: PeeWee Herman is a noted public masturbator. He is also, apparently, Borsch's fashion plate of choice.
The second question was: Which celebrity might you look to for style and inspiration? The choices were Reese Witherspoon, Beyonce and Drew Barrymore. (Editor’s note: There was no option to choose Elton John, circa 1976, so I chose Drew Barrymore, who I believe once inspired David Letterman by jumping up on his desk and raising her shirt.)
Oh, because Elton John wears those big glasses, right? That's fresh. You know, when I think of Ms. Barrymore, it's more for her roles in "Scream" and "Charlie's Angels." But I'm not an old pervert like David Letterman or Mike Morsch.
The third question was: If you could raid any celebrity’s wardrobe, you’d invade? The choices were Eva Longoria, Jessica Biel and Carrie Underwood. (Editor’s note: It seems to me that raiding any celebrity’s wardrobe would get one a Go Directly To Jail card, but since the survey was all in good fun, I chose Jessica Biel because she is … uh …well … is it warm in here or is it just me?)
Borsch, describing talking to Kathleen Turner in a January 4, 2011 article: ...well . . . ahem. Is it getting warm in here or is it just me? From his reactions to these attractive celebs, I suspect that ol' Mike isn't just inspired by PeeWee Herman's wardrobe.
And on and on it went. I was asked about which style of shoe I like most (red canvas high-top Chucks), which shoe best embodies my fashion style (red canvas high-top Chucks) and when I go out on a Saturday night, which shoe best illustrates my personality (uh … the red canvas high-top Chucks).
Three, four and five. Recipe for comedy: (1) use a word or phrase; (2) repeat. Classic! He then suggests that his dress size would be 16, because he's big and fat. Can anyone tell that, deep down, Borsch STILL doesn't have an idea for a column?
When the quiz was all said and done — in the interest of full disclosure, I did not complete it because as it turns out, even fun quizzes aren’t all that fun to take on Monday mornings — JustFabulous suggested that it would employ a team of celebrity stylists to study my quiz results and then select a collection of shoes that the team thinks will make me absolutely giddy.
So wait... if he didn't complete the quiz, where did this suggestion come from?
So it has come to this: It’s Monday morning and I’m researching women’s shoes for a column. I believe the word “sheesh” adequately describes the experience.
With apologies to the Mamas and the Papas … Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day. Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way.
Well, alright then. When you can't think up a column, take (but not finish) an online quiz, repeat material from previous columns, and use song lyrics to wrap everything up. So was this a column about how hard it is to get column ideas? About shoes? About Mondays? Does anyone really care?
By the way, several hours ago I submitted a comment for Borsch's column: "Don't keep us in suspense - did you come up with a column idea???" As of now, it has not been approved.
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Monday morning blues reveal no clues on shoes
Published: Wednesday, February 01, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Reason why Borsch is a Bad Writer #[insert Borsch-esque "hilariously" high number here]: he could have used "few" instead of "no." It would still be a horrible title, but at least you'd know he put 100% into it. As it stands, it just reminds me of Blues Clues.
I can’t imagine a better time than the first thing on a Monday morning for me to take a shoe personality quiz.
That’s what happens when a columnist doesn’t spend the proper time developing a column idea. He find himself right up against a deadline and has to force himself to stay awake long enough on a Monday morning to take a shoe personality quiz.
"He find himself"? Really?
In other words: "My apologies, folks. I got nothing." Don't try to pass it off like this is all part of the zany life of a columnist. Borsch can write about ANYTHING (or, when that fails, swipe whole paragraphs from Wikipedia) - as long as he spews out 200 words on National Cheese Day or the color of his own couch, he's golden.
He's lazy - that's the real story here.
As has been reported in this space many times, I am not the shoe expert in my house. When I first met The Blonde Accountant, I had three pairs of shoes: black, brown and sneakers. She had approximately 300 pairs of shoes housed in warehouse in her backyard.
Here's an easy way to pad out a column when you lack the creativity for an original topic: reference how many shoes your wife owns! AGAIN! Please refer to this quote from a Borsch column published on October 12, 2010:
As for shoes, The Blonde Accountant has 6,497 pairs of shoes in the warehouse she calls a closet.
The only interesting thing about this "column" so far is that TBA has apparently purchased 6,197 pairs of shoes since he first met her. At least she still stores them in a "warehouse."
Borsch goes on to mention that he only wears three pairs of shoes: black, brown and sneakers (rimshot!!!). He repeats this joke several times. Then he eats up two paragraphs describing how he once observed some OTHER guy buying shoes. So far this column has more superfluous filling than your average Thanksgiving dinner.
Despite many experiences like that, I decided that the best way to start off the work week was by taking a shoe personality quiz, with the hope that the quiz would immediately recognize it was me goofing around and just go right to the end and recommend that the shoe that best fits my personality were the red canvas high-top Chuck Taylors that I already have in my closet.
Gee... did he, by any chance, take a shoe personality quiz at some point?
February 22, 2011 "column": Outta Leftfield - Attempt to buy new pair of 'Chucks' gets off on the wrong foot. Borsch describes his quest for a pair of "black canvas high-tops Chucks." Let's count the number of times he uses the exact phrase "red canvas high-top Chuck Taylors," shall we?
Well, that was a miscalculation. The shoe personality quiz, offered by some online outfit called JustFabulous, was for women, which apparently is not the primary audience to which Converse markets its red canvas high-top Chuck Taylor tennis shoes.
Two.
Steeling my resolve to get a column out of the idea, I proceeded with the quiz anyway. At the very least, maybe The Blonde Accountant would be impressed that I was attempting to learn more about the shoes that will likely end up in her closet. (Editor’s note: She wasn’t. Her response was: “And what is your shoe personality? Moe, Larry or Curly?” That right there is why I love her, folks.)
So it's Monday morning, and he's desperately scrambling for a column idea (which, again, could literally be anything on Earth). He begins a quiz. It's for women. He takes it anyway because he can think of no other idea. Truly, this is a man who earns his pay.
The first question on the quiz was: Which celebrity’s style do you most covet? The choices were Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Lopez and Nicole Richie. (Editor’s note: There was no option to choose PeeWee Herman, so I chose Jennifer Aniston.)
Editor's note: PeeWee Herman is a noted public masturbator. He is also, apparently, Borsch's fashion plate of choice.
The second question was: Which celebrity might you look to for style and inspiration? The choices were Reese Witherspoon, Beyonce and Drew Barrymore. (Editor’s note: There was no option to choose Elton John, circa 1976, so I chose Drew Barrymore, who I believe once inspired David Letterman by jumping up on his desk and raising her shirt.)
Oh, because Elton John wears those big glasses, right? That's fresh. You know, when I think of Ms. Barrymore, it's more for her roles in "Scream" and "Charlie's Angels." But I'm not an old pervert like David Letterman or Mike Morsch.
The third question was: If you could raid any celebrity’s wardrobe, you’d invade? The choices were Eva Longoria, Jessica Biel and Carrie Underwood. (Editor’s note: It seems to me that raiding any celebrity’s wardrobe would get one a Go Directly To Jail card, but since the survey was all in good fun, I chose Jessica Biel because she is … uh …well … is it warm in here or is it just me?)
Borsch, describing talking to Kathleen Turner in a January 4, 2011 article: ...well . . . ahem. Is it getting warm in here or is it just me? From his reactions to these attractive celebs, I suspect that ol' Mike isn't just inspired by PeeWee Herman's wardrobe.
And on and on it went. I was asked about which style of shoe I like most (red canvas high-top Chucks), which shoe best embodies my fashion style (red canvas high-top Chucks) and when I go out on a Saturday night, which shoe best illustrates my personality (uh … the red canvas high-top Chucks).
Three, four and five. Recipe for comedy: (1) use a word or phrase; (2) repeat. Classic! He then suggests that his dress size would be 16, because he's big and fat. Can anyone tell that, deep down, Borsch STILL doesn't have an idea for a column?
When the quiz was all said and done — in the interest of full disclosure, I did not complete it because as it turns out, even fun quizzes aren’t all that fun to take on Monday mornings — JustFabulous suggested that it would employ a team of celebrity stylists to study my quiz results and then select a collection of shoes that the team thinks will make me absolutely giddy.
So wait... if he didn't complete the quiz, where did this suggestion come from?
So it has come to this: It’s Monday morning and I’m researching women’s shoes for a column. I believe the word “sheesh” adequately describes the experience.
With apologies to the Mamas and the Papas … Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day. Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way.
Well, alright then. When you can't think up a column, take (but not finish) an online quiz, repeat material from previous columns, and use song lyrics to wrap everything up. So was this a column about how hard it is to get column ideas? About shoes? About Mondays? Does anyone really care?
By the way, several hours ago I submitted a comment for Borsch's column: "Don't keep us in suspense - did you come up with a column idea???" As of now, it has not been approved.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Not So Fast...
"Ugh," my brother said to me, "I logged onto the Souderton Independent page and guess whose gigantic, grinning face I saw?"
Since my retirement in the Fall, the menace known as Michael Morsch has been relatively silent. He would regurgitate concert promos every once in a while, but in general he remained the unamusing, uninspired hack he had become by late 2011.
Until I followed my brother's lead and found this:
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Perfect banquet - Short speeches, great dessert, lots of yuks
Published: Thursday, January 26, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Laughter described as "yuks" in the headline? How could I resist?
As a veteran of the rubber chicken circuit, I can tell you that the three things one needs most for a successful banquet experience are short speeches, good dessert and someone at the table with whom you can yuk it up for the entire evening.
Now, I didn't go to school for journalism like Borsch did. But isn't it poor form to repeat your headline practically word-for-word in the first paragraph? Borsch goes on to describe how he got to "yuk it up" with a guy at his table named Bob.
I had never met Bob and his wife, Ellen — a perfectly lovely couple — before the banquet. I promised that if I wrote about them, I wouldn’t use their last name. Besides, everyone in the Indian Valley probably knows Bob and Ellen, which lets me off the hook because I forgot to ask them what their last name was anyway. Some reporter I am.
See, that's a problem. He's not a reporter anymore - he's the executive editor and self-aggrandizing columnist. He has (one would assume) a decent number of real reporters in his employ. Why isn't he sending these people out to interview celebrities, review concerts, etc? Especially since he's just as bad at reporting as he is at editing and writing?
But I knew right away that Bob and I were going to hit it off when I saw him dipping his napkin in his water glass, then dabbing at his shirt.
That’s right, good old Bob is a spiller, just like me.
He's returning to true form here, people. Spilling things! Hilarious!
“I spill something on myself every time I eat,” said Bob.
“Me too,” I said. “My wife carries one of those Tide sticks in her purse and I have to use it at every meal we eat out.”
Remember that episode of The Simpsons where former President Gerald Ford moves in, and he and Homer get along really well because they're both clumsy and dumb? This is sort of like that, but a lot less amusing.
Oddly enough, and what I didn’t tell Bob because I didn’t want to spoil the illusion that I was a Major League spiller, was that I rarely, if ever, spill anything on myself when we eat dinner at home.
Major League = Unnecessary Baseball Reference. He's jumped right back in the saddle.
So at banquets and restaurants, I’ve taken to just tucking my napkin up into my collar like a bib to cover my front. I am way past the point of worrying whether anyone thinks that looks goofy in favor of a more reasonable dry cleaning bill.
True to form, Borsch will now drive this "I spill things on myself" bit (which - hard to believe, I know - he HAS mentioned before) as far into the ground as possible.
Bob decided, after spilling some of the fruit cup on his shirt, that tucking his napkin up under his chin was a good strategy for the rest of the meal, so he willingly followed my lead.
“I’ll bet we’re the only two in here tonight who have our napkins tucked into our collars,” he said.
Is it any wonder this man is reviled? Here he is, attending the Indian Valley Chamber of Commerce banquet at a country club, and he's wearing a bib and blundering about with some moron next to him.
As we chit-chatted, Bob would spill something and I would drop my napkin. Then we’d hardy-har-har about it. Then I would spill something and he’d drop his napkin. And then we’d hardy-har-har some more.
Dropping napkins: an endless source of amusement. How exactly did their napkins get dropped in the first place? Shouldn't their elephantine double chins have wedged those things firmly in place?
We discovered that we both like baseball and that Bob still plays in an over-60 softball league.
Apparently it took him longer to mention baseball in conversation than it did to mention it in this column. Wonders will never cease.
I only got into trouble with Bob a few times during the course of the evening. One was when I told him that I went to school at the University of Iowa. Bob, a college wrestling fan, apparently is not a big fan of Iowa and its string of NCAA national wrestling championships in the 1980s under legendary Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable. So we went round and round about that.
Got that? The school was "Iowa," and the coach was "Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable." Good writing.
Har-har-hardy-har-har, guffaw-guffaw and snicker-snicker.
What is funny about this? "Hey, I attended the University of Iowa." "I don't like them, nor do I like their coach, Iowa's Dan Gable." I assume the side-splitting comedy is contained somewhere in the phrase "we went round and round about that." Too bad we, the audience, will never know what it was. Bob then asks Borsch if he fishes:
“No, I’m not a fisherman,” I said. “I don’t mind sitting in a boat with a line in the water, but I really don’t like baiting the hook.”
“Wussie,” said Bob.
Giggle-giggle, hardy-har-har (accompanied by elbow nudges and a back slap or two).
First of all, in real life, nobody does the elbow nudge thing. Second, outside of Beavis and Butthead, nobody would laugh this much just because the word "wussie" was utilized.
I certainly don’t agree with him on his Iowa approach, but since my official stance on worms has always been that they’re “yucky,” he’s probably right about the fishing thing.
Tee-hee, ho-ho-ha-ha-ha.
Hey Borsch - remember when you talked about the wrestling thing and the fishing thing in the previous paragraphs? Yeah. You don't have to repeat that in THIS paragraph. It was even less funny the second time around.
The evening was delightful — due in large part to Bob and Ellen —
Wait - what did Ellen spill on herself?
and was made even more special because the Souderton Independent was named the 2011 Cornerstone Award winner as the small business of the year by the chamber. Congratulations to my hard-working colleagues at the Souderton Independent and thanks to my friend Sharon Minninger, executive director of the chamber, and the group’s board for the honor and for putting on a superb banquet. I will be happy to spill something on myself at any of the chamber’s future events.
As long as I get to sit next to Bob.
Sharon Minninger needs to cultivate better friends. In true Borsch fashion, he does an excellent job of TELLING us that things are funny, but a horrible job of SHOWING us that they are. Imagine the following exchange:
Morsch: Hey, I went to this great banquet. The speeches were short, the food was great, and I sat next to this hilarious guy.
You: Oh yeah? What were the speeches about?
Morsch: Never mind about that.
You: How was the food?
Morsch: Good cake. But this guy Bob, he was great. We both spill things on ourselves.
You: You don't say so.
Mosrch: Yeah! We dropped our napkins and stuff. It was hilarious.
You: Oh?
Morsch: Then we went round and round about college wrestling. I thought I was gonna bust a gut.
You: Sounds... great.
Morsch: And THEN we talked about fishing! Bob called me a 'wussie.'
You: Do people even use that word anymore?
Morsch: Yeah, so did I mention we talked about wrestling and fishing?
You: You did mention that, yes.
Morsch: Oh. So anyway, it was just amazing.
Welcome back, Borsch. You're just as terrible as you always have been.
Since my retirement in the Fall, the menace known as Michael Morsch has been relatively silent. He would regurgitate concert promos every once in a while, but in general he remained the unamusing, uninspired hack he had become by late 2011.
Until I followed my brother's lead and found this:
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Perfect banquet - Short speeches, great dessert, lots of yuks
Published: Thursday, January 26, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Laughter described as "yuks" in the headline? How could I resist?
As a veteran of the rubber chicken circuit, I can tell you that the three things one needs most for a successful banquet experience are short speeches, good dessert and someone at the table with whom you can yuk it up for the entire evening.
Now, I didn't go to school for journalism like Borsch did. But isn't it poor form to repeat your headline practically word-for-word in the first paragraph? Borsch goes on to describe how he got to "yuk it up" with a guy at his table named Bob.
I had never met Bob and his wife, Ellen — a perfectly lovely couple — before the banquet. I promised that if I wrote about them, I wouldn’t use their last name. Besides, everyone in the Indian Valley probably knows Bob and Ellen, which lets me off the hook because I forgot to ask them what their last name was anyway. Some reporter I am.
See, that's a problem. He's not a reporter anymore - he's the executive editor and self-aggrandizing columnist. He has (one would assume) a decent number of real reporters in his employ. Why isn't he sending these people out to interview celebrities, review concerts, etc? Especially since he's just as bad at reporting as he is at editing and writing?
But I knew right away that Bob and I were going to hit it off when I saw him dipping his napkin in his water glass, then dabbing at his shirt.
That’s right, good old Bob is a spiller, just like me.
He's returning to true form here, people. Spilling things! Hilarious!
“I spill something on myself every time I eat,” said Bob.
“Me too,” I said. “My wife carries one of those Tide sticks in her purse and I have to use it at every meal we eat out.”
Remember that episode of The Simpsons where former President Gerald Ford moves in, and he and Homer get along really well because they're both clumsy and dumb? This is sort of like that, but a lot less amusing.
Oddly enough, and what I didn’t tell Bob because I didn’t want to spoil the illusion that I was a Major League spiller, was that I rarely, if ever, spill anything on myself when we eat dinner at home.
Major League = Unnecessary Baseball Reference. He's jumped right back in the saddle.
So at banquets and restaurants, I’ve taken to just tucking my napkin up into my collar like a bib to cover my front. I am way past the point of worrying whether anyone thinks that looks goofy in favor of a more reasonable dry cleaning bill.
True to form, Borsch will now drive this "I spill things on myself" bit (which - hard to believe, I know - he HAS mentioned before) as far into the ground as possible.
Bob decided, after spilling some of the fruit cup on his shirt, that tucking his napkin up under his chin was a good strategy for the rest of the meal, so he willingly followed my lead.
“I’ll bet we’re the only two in here tonight who have our napkins tucked into our collars,” he said.
Is it any wonder this man is reviled? Here he is, attending the Indian Valley Chamber of Commerce banquet at a country club, and he's wearing a bib and blundering about with some moron next to him.
As we chit-chatted, Bob would spill something and I would drop my napkin. Then we’d hardy-har-har about it. Then I would spill something and he’d drop his napkin. And then we’d hardy-har-har some more.
Dropping napkins: an endless source of amusement. How exactly did their napkins get dropped in the first place? Shouldn't their elephantine double chins have wedged those things firmly in place?
We discovered that we both like baseball and that Bob still plays in an over-60 softball league.
Apparently it took him longer to mention baseball in conversation than it did to mention it in this column. Wonders will never cease.
I only got into trouble with Bob a few times during the course of the evening. One was when I told him that I went to school at the University of Iowa. Bob, a college wrestling fan, apparently is not a big fan of Iowa and its string of NCAA national wrestling championships in the 1980s under legendary Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable. So we went round and round about that.
Got that? The school was "Iowa," and the coach was "Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable." Good writing.
Har-har-hardy-har-har, guffaw-guffaw and snicker-snicker.
What is funny about this? "Hey, I attended the University of Iowa." "I don't like them, nor do I like their coach, Iowa's Dan Gable." I assume the side-splitting comedy is contained somewhere in the phrase "we went round and round about that." Too bad we, the audience, will never know what it was. Bob then asks Borsch if he fishes:
“No, I’m not a fisherman,” I said. “I don’t mind sitting in a boat with a line in the water, but I really don’t like baiting the hook.”
“Wussie,” said Bob.
Giggle-giggle, hardy-har-har (accompanied by elbow nudges and a back slap or two).
First of all, in real life, nobody does the elbow nudge thing. Second, outside of Beavis and Butthead, nobody would laugh this much just because the word "wussie" was utilized.
I certainly don’t agree with him on his Iowa approach, but since my official stance on worms has always been that they’re “yucky,” he’s probably right about the fishing thing.
Tee-hee, ho-ho-ha-ha-ha.
Hey Borsch - remember when you talked about the wrestling thing and the fishing thing in the previous paragraphs? Yeah. You don't have to repeat that in THIS paragraph. It was even less funny the second time around.
The evening was delightful — due in large part to Bob and Ellen —
Wait - what did Ellen spill on herself?
and was made even more special because the Souderton Independent was named the 2011 Cornerstone Award winner as the small business of the year by the chamber. Congratulations to my hard-working colleagues at the Souderton Independent and thanks to my friend Sharon Minninger, executive director of the chamber, and the group’s board for the honor and for putting on a superb banquet. I will be happy to spill something on myself at any of the chamber’s future events.
As long as I get to sit next to Bob.
Sharon Minninger needs to cultivate better friends. In true Borsch fashion, he does an excellent job of TELLING us that things are funny, but a horrible job of SHOWING us that they are. Imagine the following exchange:
Morsch: Hey, I went to this great banquet. The speeches were short, the food was great, and I sat next to this hilarious guy.
You: Oh yeah? What were the speeches about?
Morsch: Never mind about that.
You: How was the food?
Morsch: Good cake. But this guy Bob, he was great. We both spill things on ourselves.
You: You don't say so.
Mosrch: Yeah! We dropped our napkins and stuff. It was hilarious.
You: Oh?
Morsch: Then we went round and round about college wrestling. I thought I was gonna bust a gut.
You: Sounds... great.
Morsch: And THEN we talked about fishing! Bob called me a 'wussie.'
You: Do people even use that word anymore?
Morsch: Yeah, so did I mention we talked about wrestling and fishing?
You: You did mention that, yes.
Morsch: Oh. So anyway, it was just amazing.
Welcome back, Borsch. You're just as terrible as you always have been.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Victory?
They don't make Outta Leftfield like they used to.
This blog began out of a sense that a great injustice was being perpetrated on the reading public. There was an editor whose own writing skills were abominable; there was a humor columnist whose comedy consisted mainly of tired cliche and Three Stooges references. Like the Joker wondering how a man dressed as a bat can get all of his press, I wondered how a man with such an obvious, horrifying lack of talent could possibly be published.
Thus Inta Rightfield was born. And I've gotten a lot of enjoyment out of it. Since March of 2010 I have made 168 posts, most of them dealing with the Patron Saint of Poor Local Journalism, Mike "Borsch" Morsch. From his terrible article about baseball cards to his constant harping on local concerts, Borsch has provided me and my twos and threes of readers with near-endless unintentional enjoyment. My ultimate goal: to crush him - to deflate his obviously rampaging ego - with the knowledge of how truly mediocre his own talents are.
For over a year, Borsch has made it easy. It's hard not to take pleasure in critiquing a man so obviously pompous, opinionated and incompetent. Check on these paragraphs, for example:
It was around 11:30 p.m. Wednesday when The O’Jays broke into one of the group’s biggest hits, “Love Train.” Given the lateness of the concert, a half hour later and that song could have easily turned into “Midnight Train to Georgia” for those of us who were still awake at that hour.
Go ahead and read through that again. Just savor how absolutely horrible that second sentence is. Honestly, could he have phrased that any more clumsily and confusingly?
But that took nothing away from a show that served up a good portion of “Philly soul” as we knew it in the 1970s, with a dose of Motown worked in for good measure Wednesday at the Mann Center for the Performing Arts in Philadelphia.
Writing that bad takes real effort. But now the well seems to be running dry.
Case in point: his October 11th blog piece called "It's nice to be nice to the nice," which extolled the virtues of Penn State fans at a recent football game. Like most of his recent efforts, it didn't make much of an attempt to be clever or funny. It was just the boring story of Borsch going to a game and thinking the fans were friendly. He didn't even take the opportunity for an obvious "Happy Valley/Happy Dance" comparison.
And then there's his latest official column, entitled "Wrestlers join business in effort to put headlock on dreaded disease." First of all, why would he choose "headlock"? If he's the wrestling fan he claims to be, he should know that this dreaded disease could break out of such a hold with three quick elbows to the midsection. Second, in MS Word, the column takes up 17.5 inches of space. Only 6.5 inches (37%) relate to the actual subject. The remaining 63% of the article is a story about a young Borsch reporting on a wrestling match.
So the Borsch state of the union is: sluggish production. Few attempts at comedy. Jejune topics. A curious avoidance of his popular writing crutches ("men are dumb" topics, hot dog references, Hall and Oates, etc).
My conclusion? I've gotten to him. I've tagged his annoying writing tics so accurately that he's trying to get by without them. Unfortunately for him, without his Three Stooges and his spilling things and his "yuks," he's got nothing. So when he does manage to crank something out, it's a thinly-disguised advertisement for local football or a pathetic washed-up celeb puff piece.
So, for the time being, I'm going to declare this little project a success and sign off. But rest assured - should the forces of Borsch rise again to cast a shadow over the heart of the Delaware Valley... call me.
I'll be there.
For those interested, a summary of the main Inta Rightfield labels is below:
112 - Outta Leftfield
37 - Unnecessary Baseball References
36 - Twitter Posts
26 - Not Really a Column
19 - Men are Dumb
13 - Attending a Concert
13 - Poor Journalism
13 - Beer
12 - Gracious Celebs
11 - Poop
10 - Elaborate Made-Up Titles
8 - The Three Stooges
8 - Dumb Politics
8 - Yuks
7 - Hot Dogs
6 - Spilling Things
5 - Mustard
3 - Hall and Oates
3 - Rampant Plagiarism
2 - Bad Breath
2 - Seven Kinds of Something
1 - Made-Up Holidays (I must have missed some of these)
This blog began out of a sense that a great injustice was being perpetrated on the reading public. There was an editor whose own writing skills were abominable; there was a humor columnist whose comedy consisted mainly of tired cliche and Three Stooges references. Like the Joker wondering how a man dressed as a bat can get all of his press, I wondered how a man with such an obvious, horrifying lack of talent could possibly be published.
Thus Inta Rightfield was born. And I've gotten a lot of enjoyment out of it. Since March of 2010 I have made 168 posts, most of them dealing with the Patron Saint of Poor Local Journalism, Mike "Borsch" Morsch. From his terrible article about baseball cards to his constant harping on local concerts, Borsch has provided me and my twos and threes of readers with near-endless unintentional enjoyment. My ultimate goal: to crush him - to deflate his obviously rampaging ego - with the knowledge of how truly mediocre his own talents are.
For over a year, Borsch has made it easy. It's hard not to take pleasure in critiquing a man so obviously pompous, opinionated and incompetent. Check on these paragraphs, for example:
It was around 11:30 p.m. Wednesday when The O’Jays broke into one of the group’s biggest hits, “Love Train.” Given the lateness of the concert, a half hour later and that song could have easily turned into “Midnight Train to Georgia” for those of us who were still awake at that hour.
Go ahead and read through that again. Just savor how absolutely horrible that second sentence is. Honestly, could he have phrased that any more clumsily and confusingly?
But that took nothing away from a show that served up a good portion of “Philly soul” as we knew it in the 1970s, with a dose of Motown worked in for good measure Wednesday at the Mann Center for the Performing Arts in Philadelphia.
Writing that bad takes real effort. But now the well seems to be running dry.
Case in point: his October 11th blog piece called "It's nice to be nice to the nice," which extolled the virtues of Penn State fans at a recent football game. Like most of his recent efforts, it didn't make much of an attempt to be clever or funny. It was just the boring story of Borsch going to a game and thinking the fans were friendly. He didn't even take the opportunity for an obvious "Happy Valley/Happy Dance" comparison.
And then there's his latest official column, entitled "Wrestlers join business in effort to put headlock on dreaded disease." First of all, why would he choose "headlock"? If he's the wrestling fan he claims to be, he should know that this dreaded disease could break out of such a hold with three quick elbows to the midsection. Second, in MS Word, the column takes up 17.5 inches of space. Only 6.5 inches (37%) relate to the actual subject. The remaining 63% of the article is a story about a young Borsch reporting on a wrestling match.
So the Borsch state of the union is: sluggish production. Few attempts at comedy. Jejune topics. A curious avoidance of his popular writing crutches ("men are dumb" topics, hot dog references, Hall and Oates, etc).
My conclusion? I've gotten to him. I've tagged his annoying writing tics so accurately that he's trying to get by without them. Unfortunately for him, without his Three Stooges and his spilling things and his "yuks," he's got nothing. So when he does manage to crank something out, it's a thinly-disguised advertisement for local football or a pathetic washed-up celeb puff piece.
So, for the time being, I'm going to declare this little project a success and sign off. But rest assured - should the forces of Borsch rise again to cast a shadow over the heart of the Delaware Valley... call me.
I'll be there.
For those interested, a summary of the main Inta Rightfield labels is below:
112 - Outta Leftfield
37 - Unnecessary Baseball References
36 - Twitter Posts
26 - Not Really a Column
19 - Men are Dumb
13 - Attending a Concert
13 - Poor Journalism
13 - Beer
12 - Gracious Celebs
11 - Poop
10 - Elaborate Made-Up Titles
8 - The Three Stooges
8 - Dumb Politics
8 - Yuks
7 - Hot Dogs
6 - Spilling Things
5 - Mustard
3 - Hall and Oates
3 - Rampant Plagiarism
2 - Bad Breath
2 - Seven Kinds of Something
1 - Made-Up Holidays (I must have missed some of these)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
