Jamboree in the Hills 2012 technical schematic

What makes Jamboree in the Hills so special?  I've given this some thought and considering the big event is finally upon us, I've resurrected some age-old Jamboree observations.  This top 10 list should serve as a general guide for obtaining a better understanding of what Jambo's truly all about.

* The musicians - Yep, one of the most routine conversations (other than Ford vs. Chevy or Skoal long cut vs. regular) revolves around who's up next on the main stage.  It's Sunday afternoon.  Ah, Scooter McGee and The Taverns are on at 3:10.  Or maybe it's the hottest new country act The Lawnmowers w/ special guest Keith Porter.  They're good, too.  The sad truth - nobody knows who the fuck these people are.  What used to be recognizable line-ups are now 1 or 2 headliners proceeded by a bunch of nobodies.

* Much discussion revolves around what constitutes a true Jambo veteran. "I been coming here every year since 1982.  Never miss a Jambo.  I schedule my vacation every year for mid-July."  This naturally segues into what constitutes "real country music."  I prefer the old school guys... Waylon and Janie Frickie.  You probably like that new pop, sugar-coated country stuff... Kenny Chesney and Faith Hill.  That ain't real country.  You wouldn't know cuz youz a young pup.

* The inevitable discussion of inclement weather.  Remember last year.  "It was hot and sticky... like my balls.  We got all sunburnt.  It was worth it though.  Toby Keith tore it up.  Remember the mud slides from 3 years back.  Yep, Little Jimmy got all that broken glass embedded in his hip.  He was a trooper though.  Didn't go to the emergency room til Monday morning.  Camped straight through and drank it off.  He got a "JAMBO" tattoo over all the scarring.  Looks damn good." 
Year 2012 will be fondly remembered as the Jambo of torrential downpours.  Or as West Virginzers and Bell-Dirty residents would say, "God was laughin' so damn hard, he was pissin' all over the place." 

* The daily running of the rednecks - Come 6am we do what's right.  While all the panzies are still sleepin, we stayed up all night and got extra drunk.  More injuries.  Mostly twisted ankles and a face full a mud.  If you return to the campsite covered in mud, you'll be honored with the equivalent respect afforded to any military veteran.

* Discussion of beer purchase and transportation.  "Oh, we bought two different kinds of beer.  Charlie only likes Miller Lite.  He was pissed off last year when all we had was Bud Light.  But Busch Light's good enough for the rest of us.  We don't really care.  It's all 'bout the music and hangin' with friends.  Yep.  Good country folk.  That's what Jamboree's all about.  We got the beer from a gas station on the West Virginia side.  Across the river they sell beer anywhere, anytime, cept after 2am on a Saturday night.  So we dumped everything in this old bathtub and put these here wheels on it.  And we decorated it with these confederate flags and some Michelin Tire bumper stickers."  By the way, get rid of that impostor Obama!  He's a Muslim!

* The strange desire to be photographed with musicians you've never even heard of.  "Oh, that's my cousin Tisha.  She's with the drummer from The Rubberneckers."  And every once in a while, one of the performers will head out into the crowd.  Way to embrace the ordinary folk!  Newsflash: if these people walked by you at Walmart, you would not hail them as country music superheroes.  Instead, you would snidely remark, "Look at Tex-Mex in his tight chaps and douchebag cowboy hat."

* The 'ol Jambo Bait and Switch - This one's a classic that never grows stale.  Basically, a hot chick is hovering around an empty lawn chair.  Above the chair is a sign that read "FREE LAP DANCES."  Eventually, some 20 year old testosterone laden guy thinks... "Ah yeah!  Time to get me some free tail."  Just as sits down, a large, sweaty, shirtless, mammoth-breasted man emerges from nowhere and starts bumping and grinding the fuck out of the innocent lad.  A chorus of dudes yell, "Yee-haw.  Ride 'em cowboy."  Eventually, the monster fatso grows exhausted.  The poor kid's beer spilled over long ago.  Disoriented and covered in sweat, he staggers to his feet, feigns some disjointed laughter and wanders off in the distance.  For the remainder of his life, he'll live with the painful truth.  He was Sanduskized on a Morristown hillside as a bunch of partying rednecks were screaming "CHOO CHOO!"

* Any sexual activity that takes place in an on-site port-a-jon is properly referred to as "The Jambo."  Whether it be full-blown intercourse, a blow job or the ill-advised muff munch (from a positional, directional perspective of course).  Cast aside your rusty trombones and Cincinnati bow-ties... The Jambo is a well-received act of fornication.  You will not only be praised, you will join an ever expanding list of local heroes and heroines.  Many will even sign and date their names with a black sharpie underneath the Port-a-Potty manufacturer (Johnny on the Spot, Dear John, Crapper Trapper or the more conventional Port-a-Clean.)

* The bizarre inclination for every man, woman and child to suddenly wear a cowboy hat.  All year long, you never see anyone don a cowboy hat.  Even the natural gas and oil guys from Oklahoma and Texas don't wear them.  But for some reason, as mid-July approacheth, everyone joins the East Ohio rodeo circuit. 

* Hostile man with a squirt bottle syndrome.  This is a disease that afflicts about 10% of the male Jambo population (usually ages 18-25).  Basically, it's for every guy that has ever been rejected or screwed over by an attractive woman.  They will  exact their revenge at Jambo.  For an entire week, they will arm themselves with a super soaker or some kind of militia knock-off squirt gun.   And they will violently target any woman's breasts and/or genitalia.  As they spray the woman (whether she wants it or not), they'll typically yell "WET T-SHIRT CONTEST" or "ITTY BITTY TITTY COMMITTEE."   Justice has been served, Jambo style.

Liz Cheney could be Romney's VP pick

It just dawned on me that the Republicans have a strong female VP pick right before their eyes.  And nobody's giving her the slightest bit of attention.  It's not Kelly Ayotte (R-NH).  It's Dick Cheney's daughter, Elizabeth Cheney. 

PROS:

Definitely power hungry.  She'd want it.
Would be a phenomenal hatchet woman/attack dog.  Romney could remain above the fray.
Could be perceived as an outsider and an insider.
Has held serious positions in the State Department with regard to foreign policy.
Skilled, serious orator - likely pulverize Biden in the VP debates.
Has had plenty of television exposure as a Fox News commentator.
Help big time with the female vote and make people quickly forget about the stain left by Sarah "the Alaskan buffoon" Palin.
Very hawkish on foreign policy (comfy fit for the Republican neocons that still dominate the party).
Great dynamic... surprise pick that would definitely energize the base.  Definite game changer.
She's married, an attorney, 5 kids... but only 45 years old.  Wow.

CONS:

Painful reminder of the Bush years.  The press would interpret her presence as a return to failed policies.
Doesn't help with the minority vote (blacks and hispanics).
You don't pick up any swing states.  It's more of an all-encompassing approach (which I believe to be the superior strategy).
Could get tagged with the "looking backward" rather than "moving forward."
Just what we wanted... the offspring of Dick Cheney.  A reminder that nepotism runs deep in Washington.
Potentially could overshadow Mitt.  This might not be the worst thing though because she's a woman.
Not much political experience, but no one would mind because she's smarter than the entire current crop of candidates.  Note: I said smarter, not wiser.  Personally, she scares the living fuck out of me.

I think the main problem would be the unpopularity of her father, aka Darth Vader.  Plus, Mitt will eventually have to demonstrate that he has some kind of "vision" other than lower taxes, less govt. She'd be seen as a link to the past... the failed Bush policies.  Whether or not it's deserving, I do not know.

Just something to think about.  I'm really surprised she's never been mentioned in all the VP hoopla.   The more I think about it, the better a pick she seems. When I see the others, Pawlenty and Portman (they make me so mentally fatigued, it becomes difficult to gather the strength to physically yawn).  Pawlenty ain't as bad as he used to be.  Rubio's a good fit but doesn't seem politically "seasoned" - too young.  John Thune is my dark horse pick.  I think that's where Romney's leaning.

Disclaimer: the thought of Liz Cheney as VP literally terrifies me.  Pretty much a clone of her dad.  Downright horrifying.

the singing anti-Romney ad... Part I

Sandwiched between 40+ critical electoral votes (OH & PA), I've seen my fair share of high-powered political attack ads.  But this new Obama ad is brutal...

Of course the images of shuttered plants and laid off workers are powerful.  So why not contrast them with offshore Caribbean/tax haven island hotspots.  Absolutely devastating.  But the most debilitating blow is the condescension.  It's difficult to make an ad that completely mocks and dehumanizes your opponent without seeming over-the-top.  UNLESS, you use the other guys words throughout.  With this ad, they not only use his words, they use his stilted, ill-advised singing voice.  Not since the pic of a hemelted Dukakis riding around in that army tank have we seen such an effective ad.  Personally, I liked the one of a shifting, flip-flopping John Kerry windsurfing off the coast of Nantucket.  But neither holds a candle to this new Obama ad.

As luck would have it, Gigi called me yesterday and asked me if I had any good questions for Mitt.  WPXI gets to interview him today and throw a couple questions his way.  Here's the question I would ask him...

"Gov. Romney, you're currently in the process of selecting a vice presidential running mate.  This could be regarded as the most important decision you'll make during your Presidential campaign.  With regard to the vetting process, how many years of tax returns will you request from your VP candidate."

This one's a killer for a few different reasons.  There's really no good answer.  Very reminiscent of the "how many times a day do you beat your wife" question.  If you try to pivot away, it makes you look like you're trying to hide something.  And it's pretty obvious that unless you reside in Antarctica, Mitt has some potentially incriminating info in those tax returns.  Not necessarily anything illegal, but certainly some shit that could be used for the smear campaign of the century.

This is a hardball question.  Very specific in nature.  Not much room for a nuanced or vague response.  Of course Mitt's pretty sharp and would likely pivot.  But he could stumble if he isn't prepped for this specific question.  It's one that may have slipped by his coaching team.  If so, I could envision his automated, robotic tendencies being exposed to his detriment.

Not only does the question draw attention to the fact that Mitt has only released one year of tax returns (instead of the customary 20 or so), it opens everything up for a potential investigation into every financial statement of the VP running mate.  Talk about a disastrous roll-out when you're trying to ignite the conservative base (assuming it's John Thune or maybe Pawlenty).  I imagine that Pawlenty is squeaky clean (and lame), but who really knows about Thune?  That's who I think it'll be.  Incidentally, if I'm correct - good choice.   Remember when they rolled out Palin and she was instantly bombarded with all the book banning, militia, troopergate, wacko-prayer stuff.  You won't get all that with Romney's veep, but it wouldn't hurt to hammer home the tax return stuff... again... and again.

Plus, the question itself, if asked with the proper inflection makes it look like Mitt's hiding something.  He's this shady businessman, corporate raider.  Instead of Monte Burns, he's Monte Romney.  Oh my god, you could frame Romney and his running mate like Burns and Smithers.  That would be sick!

Dear god, it's more mocking and dehumanization.  Perfect, all-encompassing analogy focused at the right age bracket (30-50 year olds).  Tough to launch a counter-attack, too.  Especially when your entire campaign is being run by establishment Republicans.  Lately, Mitt has been upset.  He's calling for an official apology and complaining about the negative campaigning.  Weak strategy.  He has gotten the "it's a distraction" part right, but you need to fight back with substance.  Or you can personally mock and ridicule Obama, but that's an uphill battle because Obama will always dominate in the likability category.

Back to the tax return question.  You could also frame it, "your father, a former politician, was a strong proponent of releasing tax return info.  Why aren't you willing to follow in his footsteps?"  This one packs a punch as well, but I'd stick to the VP line.  More pertinent and potentially damaging.

Of course, Mitt can just say, "Well David, that's up to the vetting team whom I have the utmost confidence in."  But I think there's a chance he might stumble.  He might not be ready for this SPECIFIC line of interrogation.  Could make for a killer sound-byte throughout the rest of the campaign.  Could be that one youtube, gotcha moment that calls out for the release of everything.  Either way, I don't see the tax return issue subsiding.  It's the gift that keeps on giving - especially, if you're David Axelrod.

Romney has obviously made a political calculation that he'd be better off taking the criticism rather than releasing all the info.  Romney's pretty sharp.  I'm sure he has weighed the pros and cons in his head about 738 times.  But the tax return issue is just one that won't magically disappear.  It's not the halo over Joe Paterno's head.

Alright.  I think I'm going golfing.  I'll turn this blog into a part I/ part II.  The second part will be an anti-Obama conceptual ad designed exclusively for my hero... Mittens Willard Romney.  It could take some time to devise a strong anti-Obama theme.  After all, how do you top that one of Romney competing on American Idol.  Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.  Sure Mitt, that's my favorite song too!

perpsective on America

I just saw this on facebook.  You will either wholeheartedly agree with this introspective guy and think he is a brilliant genius... or you will be repulsed by his condescending attitude, lack of patriotism and complete, utter arrogance.  There will be no middle ground.  Take a guess what I think of him...

a cure for cell phone addiction / Celltac

On average, here's my cell phone stats.

I make 4-5 calls per day.
I receive 4-5 calls per day.
I text 4-5 times per day.
I receive 4-5 texts per day.

So that's about 16-20 individual interactions with my cell phone per day.  A voice in the distance murmurs, "Saf, you must not be very popular.  I get over 50 calls per day and 46 of them are from my mother!  And I text like all get out!  My girlfriend texts me like 50 times an hour.  And everyone one of them has a ♥ symbol."  To which I respond, "I copy and paste heart symbols like the dickens.  Now, I must die."  But somehow, someway, I will accept my unpopular human status and migrate forward (Obama style).

Surely you've seen the infamous zombie apocalypse teenage cell phone addiction photo on facebook. 

Kids these days.  Seems like they're "addicted" to their cell phones.
Ya know.  Uh huh.  Yeah.  Right.  Cool.  HTC.  LOL.  K.

But let me tell ya somethin.   It's causing little Janie her fair share of problems.  She's on that cell phone 24/7.  All day, all night.  It's dominating her entire existence.  The calling, the texting, the googling, the sexting, the voicemailing.  Our beautiful little girl seems to have taken a turn for the worse... and there's absolutely nothing we can do about it.  We've tried EVERYTHING (except removing the offensive cellular appendage, of course).  Little Janie has gained weight.  Her social and communication skills have demonstrably weakened.  She often seems sullen and depressed.  Her grades have slipped too.  And we detected this odd scent emanating from her bedroom.  I'm not sure what it was but I vaguely remember a similar smell when Bob Seger played the convention hall back in '78.  (cue "oh take those old records off the shelf")  And she got her tongue pierced.  I fear her labia is next.  And now we think she might be sexually active and/or trying to get pregnant.  She's acting like one of those wild teens on Maury Povich.  For the love of God.  Someone help us!  We're Janie's parents.  We love her soooo much but we're at our wits end!  Once again, let us reinforce the notion - "WE'VE TRIED EVERYTHING."

So what are we gonna do about poor little Janie?  How are we gonna get her back on track?  We need help!

Poor little Janie (poor little Pinkus - Kramer).

I am equally confounded with little Janie's big problem.  In the United States, there are two acceptable response patterns.  First we must seek to demonize Janie's dilemma.  This comes in the form of administering fault and filing lawsuits.  We must find someone who's responsible and sue the living fuck out of them (and their secondary, tertiary and subsidiary representatives).  But before we sue the cell phone companies and their wireless cohorts, we must get Janie the help she so truly deserves.

So I say it's time for a new creation.  I thought of it this morning.  It's a new wonder drug designed to cure Janie of all her cell phone related symptoms.  The anxiety, the weight gain, the disrespect, the mood swings... all of it can be solved with one simple prescription.  Have you heard of this new miracle drug?  It's called...

 CELLTAC 

 

I originally named it Cellulex.  But that brand name is already in use.  Turns out that Cellulux is a cosmetic treatment for cellulite and localized fat deposits.  Nice.  Love me some fat deposits.  Fat deposits = underrated.

Gigi suggested Celltac.  I think it sounds better.  Think of it as the new adhd medication, but without all the negative stereotypes.  Any licensed psychiatrist can prescribe it.  I heard they're eventually gonna be offerin' it over-the-counter at Walgreens.  Like I said, it's no big thang.  You just pop a celltac and it helps satiate all those nasty cell phone urges and temptations.  Best of all, it's just like poppin' a wint-o-green Tic Tac.  Honestly, it's not a big deal. 

The color of the pill... sea foam green of course.  Hipsters call this color C-foam.  I'm painfully familiar with this color because it's omnipresent throughout my home.  Every square inch of carpet.  Every wall, every closet, even inside the medicine cabinet.  Yep, you guessed it... sea foam green, bitches!  The original owners of the house (the Allens) must have had an affinity for this lighter color  of the spectrum (think of it in terms of vomitized green tea).  And you can even inscribe a miniature "C" on the pill.  Ka-Ching!

This is a billion dollar idea.  I kid you not.  Perfect for any big phar-marketing company.  Of course all the other drug pushing companies will devise their own generic, knock off brands.  But the FDA usually gives the original manufacturer about 3 years of distribution domination. 

The beauty of Celltac is in the commercialization and marketing.  There's an inanimate demon cell phone to blame for all your problems.  And everyone has one.  That damn cell phone is the root of all evil.  Not since Hitler blamed the Jews, has there been such a golden ticket.  I'm also reminded of the neo-cons blaming France for all the problems of the world back in 2003.  Anyone remember "freedom fries?"

Yeah, Cubbie's.  That sounds like place where I would eat.  Glad they honored our country by putting "FREEDOM FRIES" on the marquee.  Makes you want to stand in the parking lot and chant "USA!  USA!"  That liberty potato shit was so ri-dick, so preposterous, it boggles the mind.  You reflect back and are hit with a combined feeling of nausea and amazement.  Was the American public really that fucking stupid?  Yes.  Yes, I believe they were/was/are.  Trust me, Celltac is the new freedom fry, sans lard.  But it has something else - tremendous long-lasting, money-making potential.  "Freedom fries" were merely a Rumsfeldesque flash in the pan.  Although, it did manage to screw the French government out of billions in arms sales to Saddam.  Now, we supply that shit.  Once again... USA!  USA!  Way to go.

I'm not sure which company is deserving of the new wonder drug Celltac.  I call it a "wonder" drug because I "wonder" who will eventually produce this shit.  For some reason, Astra-Zeneca sounds right.  They just have a cool sounding name.  Way better than Pfizer or Merck.  It's all about the marketing anyway.  You only get a few years with your exclusive patent.  Then the FDA barges in and paves the way for every pharmaceutical company to deliver their own generic knock-off.  In time you'll see the other brands...  Phonifon, Wiretrix or Dialimel.

And the best part, it's just another social interaction pill.  You don't require the expensive research and development phase.  Just change the shape and color of a xanax, paxil, zoloft... Who the fuck would know?  Who the fuck would care?  It doesn't matter if it works.  Who the fuck would care if it works?  Just amp up the dosage for more severe cases of cell phone addiction.  Just market the living fuck outta the shit.  The general public will consume Celltac hand over fist.  They need it.

Need I remind you of the plight of Janie.  Classroom attendance, weight gain, disrespect with a capital "D."  Of course, it's all just low-yield anxiety medication regardless.   So we'll put Janie on the Celltac and hope for the best.  Somehow, somewhere, we'll find a solution to her elusive problems.  Celltac seems like a good place to start. 

Disclaimer: I truly believe that some drug company will start marketing a cure for "cell phone addiction-like" symptoms.  Coming soon.  Definitely post-stampedes.  Maybe sooner.

This blog may have been intended as a joke, but the future of the pharmaceutical industry... it's just all too real.  I've seen the pills for RLS (restless leg syndrome).  "Restless butt" syndrome ain't too far off.  In the Hill District, we call it "Restless Rump" cuz of all that junk in the trunk.

or for my hometown Northern West Virginia audience...

Hellish Affliction... Hell's Kitchen

I'll freely admit.  I have one insidiously putrid addiction.  I watch Hell's Kitchen.

Just Hell's Kitchen and occasionally I'll follow it up with Master Chef.  But let me assure you of something.  Gordo is cooking up more than perfectly seared scallops and Beef Wellington .  He has constructed a market niche which I believe deserves further exploitation.  Here's his 5 step program for ratings success...

1)  Bring together a group of commoners who have a virtually unattainable goal or aspiration.
2)  Ridicule and berate them until they cry.
3)  Exploit their petty feuds as they will eventually turn on each other (this is the most vital part - think of it in these terms... a 2012 Lord of the Flies battle reenactment in the Fox studios)
4)  Reward and punish them accordingly for their successes and transgressions (kind of like a North Korean despot... a Fox network televised God).
5)  Finally, bestow the last man/woman standing with a Klingon (Purple) Heart of Targ. 

Of course, this isn't the real prize.  It's more of a metaphorical Heart of Targ.  The ultimate non-posthumous victor is bestowed with the coveted title of head chef at Gordonathon's ritziest, new restaurant "Hellicious" or whatever.

Incidentally, this pic seems inaccurate.  First of all, those look like human "whitey" fingers.  There's no such thing as a caucasian Klingon.  And what kind of self-respecting Klingon would dine with a fork, or any utensil for that matter?  And where the fuck is the ceremonial goblet of bloodwine?  And what's with the fine dinnerware and garnish?   Suffice to say, I have serious reservations about this Heart of Targ depiction.  Perhaps I should have went with a picture of the Klingon delicacy "Gagh."

Now that's more like it.  F'in Gagh!
I'm pretty sure my readers can discern the difference between Gagh and Targ. 

Alright, enough of this Trekkie gibberish.  One reason Gordon Ramsey has a monster ratings hit on Fox... cooking shows are currently all the rage.  Average Americans might be unable to afford dining out in a posh restaurant, but they can always pick up the remote and watch others.  By the way, I always feel bad for the distinguished guests of honor who get to dine on Hell's Kitchen.  He brings in an esteemed stateswoman like Condoleeza Rice or international soccer star David Beckham.  He'll welcome them graciously and have them seated.  "It's truly an honor to have you here this fine evening.  You're an inspiration to us all."  Then he proceeds to scream his lungs out at everyone.  He'll clang the silverware and dump a plate of soupy vegetable lasagna on some blubbering girl's head.  "Do you think I'm stupid???  Get the fuck out!"  These merciless hijinks would not seem conducive to the fine dining experience.  I don't know.  It would make me uncomfortable.  But then again, I have the ability to sense even the slightest discomfort in others (George Costanza).  To which Jerry responds, "Are you sensing anything right now."

This 7 minute blurb is hit and miss...

So what's my point with all this?  Well, I think Gordon Ramsey is serving up a magical recipe.  Not necessarily just for foodie/drama television addicts.  I think you'll inevitably see others jump on this "divide and conquer" 5 step tv programming conceptual bandwagon.  That's the true genius.  Kind of like an acceptable adult version of bullying on a widespread, syndicated scale.

Imagine the possibilities.  Rookie policemen and firefighters being challenged and tormented by a master superior.  Naturally, they'd go through the same process.  How about a show for aspiring physicians in a med school environment?  Or maybe a bunch pre-law students?  How about a show called Ultimate Librarian?  You could have everyone in the library shushing each other.  Ahh, the looks of discomfort and agony from those seeking serenity.  "These books aren't going to shelve themselves, you piece of shit!"  Personally, I'd like to see a fiery, intensive lobbyist training session on Capitol Hill.  You could be the next Jack Abramoff!  And one vital suggestion... regardless of the vocational field, you should always throw in a romance/cheating angle.  That's a no-brainer.

So that's the gist of my idea.  Just steal Gordon Ramsey's idea, dress it up a little and mass produce some more reality tv crap.  I don't know any Hollywood producers, but if you do, feel free to steal my idea.  It's just the American cycle of theft and exploitation.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.  The key to success is the aforementioned 5 steps.  So start steppin'.

One last thought.  I've grown exhausted and disgusted with the homely-wannabe-silly-whiny-thuggish personalities on Hell's Kitchen.  I just can't take it anymore.  I mean... I understand why the producers are drawn to these nimrod goofs, but sometimes they make me shake violently with rage and contempt.  It's just something about that oafish, ginger from Murfreesboro, Tennessee.  When he does that Flavor Flav impersonation...  "Ahhh yeah."  I cringe in horror.

important dates #5

On July 10, 2012 I added an additional political component to my concerns regarding the artificially generated stampedes.  I sent out 9 letters to the 7 elected officials that specifically represent my interests in the state of West Virginia. 

2 letters to my House of Delegates representatives
1 letter to my state senator
1 letter to my congressional representative
1 letter to the governor
4 letters to the United States Senators (addresses in both Washington DC and Charleston, WV)

Enclosed was content from 3 previous letters relating to my correspondence with West Virginia University President James P. Clements and Marshall University President Stephen J. Kopp.  Also enclosed was a response letter from the WVU Police Chief, Bob Roberts.

For the exact content, search this blog on "important dates, important dates #2, important dates #4."

I also had another conversation with Lou Marciani (Director for the National Center of Sports Safety and Management) on July 6, 2012 at 4:45 pm for 11 minutes.  He was quite gracious and appreciative.  He claimed I had made an impact raising awareness and given "us all a lot to think about."  We discussed how emergency evacuation protocol had been irreparably compromised and the inherent difficulty pertaining to  tackling the problem from a mitigation standpoint.  But when pressed to address the actual issue, he seemed disinterested.  When I spoke of the magnitude of the problem, he said, "There's only so much you can do.  I wouldn't lose any sleep over this."  Throughout the conversation, he was pleasant and conciliatory but I got the distinct impression he was trying to give me the "brush off."  I've been on the receiving end of this approach from others as well.  Although I appreciate him taking the time to call, I believe he timed the actual phone call to coincide with the end of the work day.

On July 8, I met with one of my elected officials and their spouse.  We discussed the artificially generated stampede for roughly one hour.  It was an insightful, back and forth discussion.  

As of today (July 10, 2012), I'm in possession of 30 letters from NCAA Division I university leadership.  There still has been no response from anyone affiliated with the National Football League or Nascar/Indy Racing.

unruly youth

I had a recent conversation with a friend of mine, Andilla.  Is that her real name?  In this day and age where all children are a unique, precious gift from god and must be named accordingly... perhaps.

We had a brief discussion about the obnoxious, arrogant, self-absorbed tendencies of human beings in the 16 yr. > 23 year old range.  I hate to sound like one of those elder geezers, wagging my finger and waving a cane, "Listen up sonny, you'll rue the day you crossed paths with old man Saf."  But honestly, what the fuck is wrong with this segment of humanity?  Where did this new breed of human beings spawn from?  They almost seem genetically mutated.  Their sole purpose... to shock, disturb and annoy.

Let's take a moment to reflect on societal "advancements."  Music videos, internet accessibility and cell phones. 

Yeah, I know.  Our generation had its seedy music videos.  We grew up with visions of that girl in the "Home Sweet Home video" having her top pulled off (at the 3:51 mark)...

But nowadays, I don't think they even have music videos.  They just merge some regurgitated song with the latest Jersey reality episode.  Why spend all that money on production when you can simply unveil the latest mega-hit to visions of Snookie throwing a banana split in the face of some bartender that cut her off?   And the music is either blippy, annoying synthetic sounds or it's all metal-based, gutteral grunts.  Even worse are the bland, repetitive commercial refrains.  There's no rhythm, no melody, no passion, no inspiration, no talent.  It's all about the perceived personality of some dumbshit.  She's a pasty white, freckled, chunky thug from Chattanooga who stumbled into the set of American Idol.  For Christ sake, she's drunk on oxycontin.  Good gravy.  Hey, wait a damn minute!  Let's give her chance.  Turns out, underneath it all, she has this amazing heart.  OMG, her operatic, inspired voice?  Who woulda thunk it?  Not meeeee.  And her rise to fame... did you know she suffers from type 2 diabetes. And there's a rumor on the internet that she had a swastika tattoo... but she had it removed.  It was the dying request of her beloved grandmother who raised her because her alcoholic mother fell off a ferris wheel, plummeting to her demise.  It's this rich tapestry of tragic events that make her exceptionally special.  Now, instead of the swastika, there's a new tattoo sporting her son's name COLTON.  You see... she got that hateful scar covered up.  Now, when she looks at it she's reminded of how much she has to live for.  It's all about the pre-packaged story.  Why bother having talent when all you need is a cover story and some zany, ultra-choreographed dance move for the sheeple?  And the teen masses will scream and cry as she emerges from the lead stretch limo.  Her family and entourage are in the accompanying 5 limos.  Now that's poignant.  I can see why America fell in love with female superstar and stunning, new sensation... Ticky Jo.  Dial 1-900-VOTE4JO if you support Ticky (only $1.99 per vote.  And you'll also be the lucky recipient of several special, exclusive offers).

So Saf, how the fuck does this translate to "unruly youth?"  Isn't this just the latest barrage of reality tv garbage?  Well, you have to read between the lines.  When teenage kids see this shit, it has an impact.  They begun to think... what's my story?  I need to show the world my routine.  I will immerse it in shock value.  I want the attention.  I want to be important and loved.  Therefore, I will construct the story of my life.  But wait a minute, my life is drab and mundane.  The only thing that brings me a joy is stuffing my face with multiple sausage dogs at the annual Italian Festival.  So I will devise a plan.  I will pattern my behavior after a true American hero... Ticky Jo.  But I will take it to the next level.  A louder voice, meaner tattoos, bolder clothing, higher teased hair, more facial piercings, more cell phone accessories.  I will stand out head and shoulders above the rest.  My awesome presence will be a force to be reckoned with (in Benwood, West Virginia).  And when me and my posse come rollin' through town on our hot pink tri-scooters, everyone will see us coming from a mile away.  We will scream our brains out.  Secretaries on their lunch break and elderly vacationers will be horrified.  Because we are truly... the youth gone wild.

As disturbing as reality tv crapola is, there's something for worse.  Yep, you guessed it.  Internet porn.  Wait a fucking god damn minute Saf.  Aren't you a leading proponent of anything related to freedom of speech and expression?  Yes, that would be an accurate statement.  But the warped world of porn has gotten so extreme that it borders on ludicrous.  I can't fathom how someone approaching puberty would be able to comprehend this stuff.  If by some miracle, they were able to comprehend it (midget urinating on gangbang participants), then what about the ensuing rationalization process?   It all just doesn't compute anymore.  With visions of this stuff impacted in their brain, how on earth is a kid supposed to reasonably explore their sexuality?  And what about the expectations of their partner?  That's where it likely gets really creepy.  Saf, you need not worry.  When the kids see the under/over the age of 18 disclaimer, they clearly feel morally compelled to click the exit link.  This takes them back to the G rated section of the internet.  Yeah, right.  Event though my paternal instincts are solely grounded in an "Oglebay Village Father of the Year" Halloween costume from back in the day (sometime during 1999-2001), I am aware of one immutable fact.  Out of 6.8 billion inhabitants on the planet earth, not one of them has ever clicked the "exit" link.

Finally, my disgust with cell phones.  Saf, I didn't know you had a problem with cell phones?  I thought you were the downloader of apps, the texter of giants, the dialer of douchebags.  Not quite.  I've often spoken of my revulsion to the technological self-absorption.  It's just another extension of this never-ending self-importance and narcissistic lust.  Every kid has to feed their insatiable ego.  And it's getting so much worse.  It seems every member of society requires that incessant reassurance.  Not only must everyone be interested in me, everyone needs to have visible proof that others find me equally intriguing.  They will see me intensely engrossed in the cell screen at all times.  I have no inclination to speak to the other people seated at the table.  For I must converse with my cellulite friends.  The cellular existence must take precedence above all else.  All those tangible experiences are for losers. 

One thing strikes me as painfully obvious.  There will come a time when the confusion of the virtual world is violently exposed.  And it will likely ravage society in ways that very few have ever conceived possible.

Roger Waters - July 3, 2012 / Consol Energy Center

So ya

Thought WE

Might like to

Go to the show

That pretty much sums it.  Me, Gig and Elyssa hit the Roger Waters concert at Consol last night.  We went down there with pretty much nothing.  Actually, I take that back.  We had 4 signs, 2 turkey wraps (comprised of leaf lettuce, mozzarella, plum tomato, and a hint of Dijon), a bottle of red wine and a Captain & coke.  I didn't take pictures of the food or beverages.  But I did use the camera on my I-phone for the first time...

  

Gig's friend Elyssa was in town from Sacramento and she was committed to getting in.  But we were going to stick to our guns.  Speaking of guns, Roger Waters was fast and furious last night with the machine gun fire.

Completely bad ass.  Let me give you an idea of what I'm talking about ("Bear" on Maury Povich when he's proven not to be the father).  Here's another snippet from the In The Flesh opener.  

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" - additional comment from Bear in regard to the second paternity test.

Of course this is from the United Center in Chicago, but you pretty much get the gist of it.  So how much did we pay to see this spectacle?  As you may have surmised, we made $20... and parked for free at the Church of the Moops on the cusp of the hood.  We literally flew into our parking spot much like that plane crashed into the wall.  As Gig ripped up the emergency brake, a young, white thug scrambled for his life.  Initially obscured by a van (belonging to the hallowed Pixburgh Moops), I think he was either taking a piss or rolling a doobie.  Either way, we freaked him out a little.  I don't think we've ever made it to the venue so quickly.  Probably about 5 minutes from her house to an outer Moop.  Not bad.

We immediately ran into Danno and G Max who were also sans tix.  We all began to pound the pavement in the usual quest.  The gals sported the signs, but to no avail.   It seemed harder than usual.  Not many tickets floating about.  Probably because Wednesday was the Fourth of July.  AJ and Cousin Mike strolled by and offered some fleeting condolences as crunch time quickly approached.  About ten minutes til 8 pm, the other 3 got nervous and walked to the upper box office.  Then, as luck would have it, Danno spotted a ticket lying on the ground.  Badda Bing, Badda Boom.  Apparently, I stepped right over it.  You'd think I'd be more cognizant of the immaculate ground score. But alas, my mind was elsewhere.  Anyway, he quickly sold it for $80 and then bought a ticket in 114 (alongside the perimeter of the wide screen which pretty much morphed into "the wall").  The others coughed up the obligatory $100 per ticket.  Ouch.

I went back to the lower level and ran into Tim the Scalper.  He said, "Your woman's way up there in line.  I think she's gotta a line on some tix."  Before I could respond, a small, very pregnant looked at me.  With a gruff voice, she barked, "You need a ticket.  Here ya go.  What the fuck am I gonna do with it ???"  As I thanked her profusely, she muttered, "That's cool.  Have a good one!"

Sweet.  Now we had three freebies.  Right at crunch time too.  So I ended up selling my extra to Tim for $20 and we hurried in.  We then met up with everyone in the Captain Morgan lounge.  What happened next, I was unprepared for.  The tickets Gig got from those guys were section 112, row f'in B (that's row "B" as in "Bitchin" or "Bitchtastic.").  And they were aisle seats to top it off.  For those unfamiliar with the layout of Consol, these were some of the absolute best tickets in the house.  They were listed as comps but they had to be in the $220 face value zone.  Badda Boom, Badda Bing.  We hung out for the first set and then I ventured to the other seats with the townies.  I figured Elyssa would enjoy the second half in the kill zone.

So what did I think of the concert?  First off, it really wasn't a rock concert.  It was more of a performance or masterpiece, if you will.  I refuse to even rank it in my top shows.  I will always consider it separate.  Too many highlights to mention.  I will say this... at one point, my eyes welled up and I almost cried.  For those unfamiliar with my emotional state, I cried once back in 1992 and another time in second grade.  Other than that, I rarely break down in tears.  My mother said "I cried a little bit when I was an infant, but other than diaper related issues, "I was a good baby."

Mother should I trust the government

Mother will they put me in the firing line

I'll guess we'll see what happens.  If my hunches about history are accurate, those lyrics could be prophetic.  So glad I got to see Roger Waters.  In retrospect, he was most definitely on the bucket list.
Not only that, but the Pirates took control of first place last night with a ninth inning run to beat the Houston Astros (5-4).  Once more time... "Now that's I'm talking about."

So I woke up at 5:30 am and hoofed it back to Wheeltown.  I crashed the Freedom Race - a 5 mile journey through delightful downtown Wheeling.  Man, it was a hot one.  For those who give a damn, I did it in 45:03.  That's an unofficial time though. "Unofficial" because I didn't cough up the mandatory $20.  I know, I'm horrible.  Truth be told, this is the first time I've ever ducked an entry fee.  Don't worry - there wasn't a charitable cause.  I suppose you could make the argument, "I really know how to put the "free" in "freedom" (it being the Jewish 4th of Jew-lie).  We also call this putin' the "yahoo" in Benjamin Netanyahu).
 

Jimmy Buffett concert "review" - Niagara Pavilion / Burgettstown, PA (June 28, 2012)

I was just up in the realm of Starlake Amphitheater.  Some call it Post-Gazette.  Others Niagara.  If you insist on that angle, I prefer Generic Viagra Pavilion.  Has a nice ring to it.  Anyway, roughly 20,000+ (70% of which are imbeciles) descended upon Burgettstown last night.  For the most part, these people are an odd mixture of irreverent douchebags and wannabe calypso rockers.  You know the type of people who delight in going to one of those Texas-themed roadhouse restaurants and aggressively discard peanut shells on the floor.  They just can't resist. It's so much fun.  It's even encouraged.  Everyone's doing it.  Because we're all just that crazy.  Honestly, it's just another way to "amp up" the party.  Rest assured, they're are other ways.

1) Call the waitress "Darlin."
2) Ask if the potato skins have "baked potato appeal."
3) Periodically yell, "Yee-Haw" and then pretend it wasn't you.
4) As you're waiting in line, tell the person standing next to you, "Oh, I can't wait to strap on the old feed bag."
5) And of course... reminisce about prior Jimmy Buffett and Kenny Chesney concerts.  We saw Buffett here in '97.  He "blew the roof" off the place.  Yeah sure, of course he did.  What the fuck does that even mean?

Anyhoo, it got me to thinking.  At the Buffett shows, you see so many people bite the dust.  The EMTs are out in full force.  It's really an overtime, non-stop, EMT-extravaganza.  And at the venerable lake, when you go down, you get a face full of dusty rocks, smoky soot and remnants of parking lot shit all up in yo face.   So naturally, I comprised a list this evening...

It's divided into 2 parts (injury and death):

Top 5 ways to die at a Jimmy Buffett concert:

5) Strangulation - You decide to take a piss in the woods.  In midstream, you the hear the faint sounds of "Cheeseburger in Paradise."  Fuck it... the concert has begun.  He's opening up with a surprise cheeseburger.  Holy shit!  Instinctively, you run toward the venue, but your coconut bra becomes entangled on a tree limb.  As the song ventures toward its crescendo, you struggle to break free from the intransigent, mighty oak.  No such luck.  No show for you.  You just got choked out!  (Buffett style).  Do not confuse this with rectal impalement by tree.  We call that getting "Buffetted in the butthole."  As Mr. Miyagi solemnly said in Karate Kid Part II, "Don't know, never been attacked by tree."

4) Urinary related - I refuse to name names, but there was a limo/party bus crew at the 2005 PNC Park Jimmy Buffett concert.  They had the infamous Walmart port-a-toilet in the vehicle.  Needless to say, it was getting repeatedly filled to the brim with reckless abandon.  Choosing a location to dump the urine was an easy task.  Some next door tailgaters had one of those shallow, kiddie wading pools.  Whenever they departed to scope out the scene, someone would discreetly empty the toilet's liquid content into the pool.  Sure enough, when the unknowing victims returned from their drunken escapades, they'd jump in the pool and whimsically splash about.  It was a good 'ol fashioned pee party.  Granted, this is not a way to die.  But the limo crew could have died from uromysitisis if they had decided to "hold it." (in an early Seinfeld episode, Jerry's looking for the lost car in a parking garage and a cop arrests him for public urination).   Uromysitisis is some serious shit!  He could have died.

3) Broken neck/concussion - Your sloppy, drunk-ass friend (ironically, his name is Dick) stumbles into a spirited game of cornhole (in  Pennsylvania they use the more sophisticated term "bean bag toss").  He does a face plant directly into the actual "hole" in the board.  Fortunately, it's the "Eat Shit Pitt" one, not the "Let's Go, Mountaineers" one.  But he literally has become one with the board.  You will become one... with the board (Jean Luc Picard - Star Trek Next Generation).

As he struggles to his feet, his head is literally jutting out from the board.  He's wearing the cornhole game as if it were mere garb.  The crowd begins to chant, "Eat Shit, Dick. Eat Shit, Dick."  Suddenly, he lunges forward and falls back to the ground.  His neck violently snaps.  We call this being "adorned with board."

2) Marijuana related - No one has ever died from marijuana.  WRONG!  There's always this one frat dude at every Buffett show.  He prides himself on the fact that he has NEVER done illegal drugs.  But he also prides himself on the ability to drink 10 Miller Lites per hour.  So at that rate... 4 hours of tailgating = 40 beers.  Although he has never smoked, he's having the time of his life... so he impetuously asks his friend Tootie for a drag off her cigarette.  But unknown to him, it's a deadly hand-rolled marijuana cigarette.  That one toke puts him in a coma.  He just got smoked out!  We call this "wasted away again in marijuanaville."

1) Death by Parrot Pecking and Winged Suffocation - There's always this one older, bearded man.  He slightly resembles Jerry Garcia, wears a tweed jacket and is smoking a pipe.  This old-schooler brings an actual, live parrot to the concert.  He has trained to parrot to say, "son of a son of a sailor."  I was standing nearby when some drunken bimbo got in an argument with the parrot.  She verbally tears into the bird, "That's Saf.  He's ain't no sailor."  (slurring her words badly) "That's a son of a son of a Saf, you stupid bird."  Well, the bird has had enough of the taunting and verbal abuse.  It launches itself toward the girl's face and violently starts pecking.  She tries to ward off the frenzied attack, but to no avail.  The parrot opens its wing span and engulfs the bleached bimbette's head.

Top 5 ways to be seriously injured at a Jimmy Buffett concert

The first 3 ways are exclusively vision related.

5) Lime-related injury -  That new flavor of the month, Bud Light Lime just ain't gonna cut it.  Not for a jolly-man show!  Did Trinity remember to pack the ziplock bag filled with meticulously cut lime wedges?  Of course, she did.  Cuz it's not a true Buffett show without a case of Corona.  Unfortunately, her boyfriend Toby gets a little carried away.  He needs that one extra lime.  He goes for the squeeze and Trinity gets some pulp in the eye.  God damn-it, that stings!  "Hey, pulp can move baby!" (George Costanza).  

4) Sand in the eye - Some Buffett-infused tailgaters really know how to bringeth the sights and sounds of Miami Beach.  And they bring that heralded joy straight to the Burgettstown, PA exit conveniently located off route 22.  They pull up in a massive GMC Envoy.  On the back window, someone has written "Life's a beach!"  "Buffett or bust!"  How inventive.  Not to be outdone, their personalized license plate reads "CHZBRGR" - I can die now.  Anyway, some body builder dude jumps outta the back seat and rips open a giant back of sand.  An hour in to the tailgate, some little, scrawny kid tries to make a sandcastle replica of something that resembles Heinz Field.  The muscle ripped, steroid man kicks sand in the kid's face.  We call this getting "Mr. Fuji'd."

Mr. Fuji is the salt throwing heel from Tokyo, Japan.  Just FYI - his tag team partner was Mr. Saito and he hailed from... drumroll please... Osaka.  F'in Osaka.  If the mother fucker can't speak the language, he don't deserve to hold the title belt.  I hope Rick Martel and Tony Gonorrhea kick their asses.  Multiple dropkicks can serve as a legitimate finishing maneuver.

3) Shark fin tears the retina - Yep, someone went that extra mile and made real, mammoth shark fins from plaster of paris.  These aren't the crappy, inflatable knock-offs.  They're attached to the hood of the  Caddy, kind of like Boss Hog's horns.  Sure enough, some youthful Buffetteer accidentally turns his head.  Wrong place, poor judgment, bad timing - all the elements of any evening spent at a Parrothead show.  The fin mercilessly rips through the delicate cornea.  No lasik for you (Soup Nazi in paradise).

2) Carbon monoxide poisoning - This one sometimes results in death, but usually just burnt mouth.  It's the same fraternity dude from the marijuana incident.  He passes out next to the ample shade of the limo.  As he starts to awaken, he triumphantly wraps his mouth around the exhaust pipe.  When the emergency med techs arrive to treat him for 2nd degree burns, he hazily replies, "Man, I thought it was a beer bong."

1) Limbo concussion/foot burn - Yep, gotta join the party.  Time to doooo the limboooo.  But it's just too low and you is too fat.  It wasn't meant to be this way.  So inevitably the question arises, "Just how low can you go?"  Well... you try your best, but fall straight backwards.  Your skull violently bounces off the lot pavement.  As you rise to your feet and start to regain composure, someone offers you a super-duper Jager-jello shot.  You reply, "Nah, I'm gonna take it easy for a bit.  Then, you calmly turn around and step right in a pile of hot coals.  There's a simple name for this one.  It's just called the "ol' one two."

Hope you enjoyed the annual Buffett show.  I tried to snag a free ticket but was declined on 4 separate occasions.  Sucked.  Somehow... some way...  I will try and summon the pieces of my shattered life and move forward.

CNN WTF

In one of the most heavily anticipated Supreme Court rulings over the last 100 years or so, my only question is this...  how did CNN manage to fuck everything up?  Talk about Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.  Tom Hanks, try this one for size...

10 minutes later!  Aren't these supposed to be the best and brightest minds in the world of journalism?  For Christ sake, these are the journa-jisms that cover the U.S. Supreme Court.  They're supposed to be the cream of the crop.  Maybe they should start using the hobos who hang outside West Virginia Business College.  My hunch is they'd be chain smoking on the steps outside the Supreme Court and the conversation would unfold like this...

Bubba Ray:  "They're a sayin' the verdick's in!"

Jimbo: "Well daggum-it, whadda we do now?"

Bubba Ray: "I got an idear.  Let's just wait and see what the other news station says.  And den we'll just copycat their stupid asses!"

Jimbo: "Yeah!  Great idea, Bubba!"

This would be the Fox News approach.  Seriously, why even bother to try and break the news first when you already know it's all about the slant and spin?  At least, MSNBC got it right.  I guess Fox did as well (about 15 minutes later).  Fuck it... 2 out three ain't bad.

Anyway, I heard CNN's crack-team of journalists (heavy emphasis on the word "crack") are working on some new headlines...

Breaking News: 

Jerry Sandusky innocent on all counts.  Set to replace Kathleen Sebelius as Director of the Department of Health and Human Services.

Michelle Obama to undergo sex change operation.  Will become the first ever "Second Dude."

Portugal Downs Spain on penalty kicks.  Spain is out.

Osama Bin Laden seen partying with Batboy at the 19th Hole in Wheeling, WV.  Bar tab includes bucket of Bud Light Lime and capacola sub (purposely misspelled).

Sonofsaf embraces Catholicism.  Undergoes rare crick baptismal.

-------------------

We've seen this shit happen before and I'm not talkin' Dewey vs. Truman.

Does anyone remember Gabby Giffords?  She's dead.  No wait, she's alive.  Well, it doesn't really matter I guess.  You see... she got shot (Forrest Gump explaining what happened to his friend Bubba).  

I guess my point is this.  When the real shit breaks (the stampedes), it will be utter chaos and absolute confusion.  If we can't get the most "respected, trusted" lead source to get it right when they have weeks to adequately prepare, how on earth will they have a clue when the shit unfolds in real-time.

U.S. Supreme Court sketch

Here's an artist's sketch of my brother Bennett in the U.S. Supreme Court.  He's the bearded one with glasses (seated to the right of attorney Sean Gallagher who's standing, arguing the case).  They represented the Secret Service in the case Reichle vs. Howards a couple months ago.  He wrote the brief.  And cue the drum roll please........  they were on the receiving end of a unanimous verdict.  8-0 (Justice Elena Kagan recused herself due to a conflict of interests).

If there was ever any doubt (trust me, there isn't), my brother is the complete definition of bad ass.  Just not the customary West Virginia definition.

Gockey (golf/hockey)... a great game currently embraced by no one

During my teen years, I invented an easy outdoor game.  To this day, I've never seen anyone replicate the idea.  It requires 3 things.  All inexpensive.  A hockey stick, some different colored inflatable bouncy balls (the kind you used to see at the end of the aisle in the large wire containers at the supermarket - they usually cost between $1.00 - $2.00) and a few large inner tubes (in West Virginia, we call 'em intertubes).  You can buy them from any tire wholesaler for about $6 or so.  If you'd rather not purchase intertubes, you can use discarded tires.  But intertubes are definitely superior. 

If you don't wish to purchase the rubberized inflatable balls, just swing by a McDonalds play pen and physically seize them.  As you exit, it's customary to yell, "Pink slime, mother fuckers!"  Higher end Micky D's sometimes have an indoor, urine-soaked, bouncy ball, bladder-filled fun room.  Or maybe you could hit up the local county fair kiddie zone (Sandusky style, of course) with a giant trash bag and perform some kind of "snatch and stash." 

The fundamental concept of gockey is the same as golf.  Your mission - get the bouncy ball to land inside the confines of the inner tube.  Simply tee off with a decent sized swing (similar to a light slap shot).  You can actually get the ball to fade and hook depending on your stance and the physical exertion of your swing.  And the strength of the wind is often a factor.  Just set up the inner tubes around any decent sized plot of land.  An acre is usually sufficient.  The more obstacles, the better - trees, a shed, tall grass, a pool, etc.  Hillside terrain makes it significantly more entertaining.  If you reside in Kansas, I would suggest it's time to move.  Long overdue because you suck... based solely on your decision to reside there.  But let me be clear, I do have the utmost respect for University of Kansas Chancellor Bernadette Gray-Little, despite her complete failure to acknowledge either of the letters I sent her (the first one dated March 1, 2012 and the second one dated April 20, 2012).

Par 3's, 4's and 5's are the norm.  Anything concrete or asphalt (roads, driveways, etc) is the same as landing in water (add a penalty stroke and take a drop next to where it made initial contact).  As you approach the intertube, you'll use the hockey stick to "lift the ball in" rather than take a full swing.  It's easy once you get the hang of it.  A great man once said, "Any idiot can do it.  You can do it."

Some of the inner tubes can be partially deflated (adds a new dimension and makes you strategically adjust).  Hole-in-ones are rare but happen every once in a while.  Keeping score is easy.  Once again, I must reiterate... Any idiot can do it.  You can do it.

The true beauty of "gockey" is the derivation of the root word "gock" which is a combination of gut and cock.  It's comparable to the female equivalent "gunt" (the midsection where gut merges with cunt).  Oddly enough, I am the originator/founder of the word "gock" as is well referenced in the "Art" chapter of my Odd oh Biography.  You've likely grown accustomed to hearing the more urbane, sophisticated term... muffintop.  But let me assure, the future is pure gunt.  And the future is grim.

Another cool thing about gockey is that it's pretty damn cheap.  Golf and hockey are really expensive sports for kids.  You're always upgrading and replacing clubs, shoes, gloves, skates.  And there's always the green fees and hockey association membership dues.  Not so with gockey.  The only "repair" kit you might need is a handheld air pump.  Occasionally, the bouncy balls will deflate a bit after receiving repeated Sandusky-esque hammerings.  But all in all, they're pretty resilient. 

Gockey is fun for the entire family (ages 6-60).  If you truly wish to be "lovin' the fam" (from what I can tell, anything that involves "lovin the fam" is all the new rage on facebook), I suggest you climb aboard now.  Giddey-up (Kramer)!

cotton candy... room for improvement

I've never been a big fan of cotton candy.   Considering Mayor Bloomberg's recent crackdown on giant sodas (in West Virginia we call 'em pops), I'm surprised he hasn't tried to reign in the sugar-aeration industry.  Seriously though, why do people consume this shit?  Personally, I think the stuff looks like crooked boxing promoter Don King's up-do.

Think about it.

You're at a Buccos game.  It's hot and sticky, somewhere in the realm of 7800 degrees fahrenheit.  The 2005 American Idol winner "Daughtry" is about to serve up a late-night can of whoop ass to a rocking crowd of 2,004 fans who braved a Pirates 8-2 loss to the St. Louis Cardinals.  An elderly Zelienople grandmother casually picks her nose as she lectures a group of raucous teens about fan etiquette.  The faint smell of body odor stagnates next to a Joe the Plumber lookalike.  In the all-you-can-eat outfield section, a fat slob valiantly tries to text his buddy.  The auto-correct does a fairly decent job despite the rotundity of his forefinger.   All of a sudden, a roving concessionaire cries out "COTTON CANDY... HERE !!!!"  It's some new up'n'comer trying to follow in the footsteps of the recently deceased "lemonade guy."

This self-anointed "sugar daddy" hoists a wide palette of pink mayhem above his head.  Nearby children marvel at the deceptive feat of strength (Frank Costanza).  A 9 year old preteen wearing a t-shirt that reads "Princess Hottie" yells to her father, "Daddy... gimme money!  I want cotton candy.  It's pink.  LOL.  Ya know, for boobie cancer awareness month!"  The entire section lets out a collective laugh.  Her mom jubilantly addresses the audience, "Ohh Chantilly, you're such a ham!"  She blurts back, "Mommy, I thought we were kosher."  Yet again, the crowd submits to the spontaneous chicanery.  Praise the joy.

Enough.  So here's my point.  Why is cotton candy, once termed candy floss and even "fairy floss" by the Aussies, always the color pink?  It's merely a dye-infused option.  I realize the color pink visually grabs the consumer.  But why not design the cotton candy so it's consistent with the colors of the team?  In Pixburgh, yep you guessed it, it would be black and gold.  If your team's the Ravens, then yeah... it's purple.  If you're unfortunate enough to reside in Cleveland, it's brown.  If you're at the gay pride parade, it's all the magical colors of the rainbow.

I believe this idea has merit.

A.  It's a tremendous visual.

B.  It preys upon the douchebag who wraps their entire identity around the local sports team (the most susceptible, easiest pigeon next to compulsive/impulsive purse buying women).

C.  It's really easy.  Just change the color of the dye.

D.  Conceptually, it's the pure essence of what just about every dumbshit perceives as "fun" or a "good time."  We bought the cotton candy, because we were having a great time.  We had so much fun.

E.  Great profit margin.  Isn't that crap usually about 5 bucks for some puffy caloric-infused air on an old paper towel roll?

So there you have it.  Off the heels of A.G.S. prevention, yet another attempt to help change the world and make it a better place.  If you steal my idea, that's fine.  Just call it sonofsugar, sonofsucrose or something comparable.

important dates #4 / viral blitzkrieg / artificially generated stampede

As part of my ongoing effort to raise awareness relating to the artificially generated stampede, I mailed a batch of letters this afternoon.  They were sent to 25 individuals.  These are the people who have responded to my concerns during the time frame of March 1, 2012 > June 20, 2012.  I have accumulated  a total of 27 written responses.  4 individuals responded twice.  At this time, I will neither divulge the content of any responses nor openly document whom I have spoken with.  For this blog, I chose to omit the brief description of a "viral blitzkrieg." 

Content of the letter...


June 20, 2012


In prior correspondence, I informed you and your peers of the unique danger presented by the potential for artificially generated stampedes.  Whether it was responding to my letters or taking the initiative to contact me, you are now part of a group that has recognized a profoundly changed dynamic in stadium security.  A brief perusal of the cc list will verify that you are in good company.  Your feedback has helped reinforce two inescapable conclusions: 

    •      There is a clear and present danger in large crowds equipped with cellular communication devices.

    •      There still exists a prevailingly myopic, isolated approach to stadium security.  While there is ample concern for stadium security on an individual basis, the entire NCAA Division I community as a whole appears neglected.

In my second letter, I identified three significant ways to initiate a stampede.  Recently, I have developed an additional, even deeper concern for something I've termed a "viral blitzkrieg."

conceptual description of the viral blitzkrieg has been omitted

This represents yet another way to compromise emergency evacuation protocol.  These concerns extend to the National Football League as well, particularly the Sunday afternoon slate of games.  I notified NFL ownership and Commissioner Roger Goodell in letters dated May 1, 2012.  As of this writing, there has been no response.  

A comprehensive, unified plan to adequately handle these threats does not exist.  The state of inaction on behalf of the federal government and private industry demonstrates a severe lack of oversight and accountability.  This is largely the result of conflicting interests and the inability to recognize stampedes as a national security issue.  I realize this places you in a difficult position and I sympathize.

I originally provided seven bullet point suggestions to help counteract the problems associated with the artificially generated stampede.  In retrospect, I may have overreached.  I was viewing the dilemma you would face in the aftermath of a tragedy.  However, my basic contention remains the same.  You have a fundamental obligation to warn people in stadiums that under no circumstance would they receive an evacuation order via their cellphones.  A dialogue must be opened, even if it is a minimal one.  It needs to start somewhere.  I would strongly urge you to incorporate one of the two following statements and routinely loop either of them through your game day public address system.  Both of them should be consistent with your current stadium evacuation protocol.

    •     A stadium evacuation order can only be delivered via the public address system.

    •     Under no circumstance would you receive a stadium evacuation order from your cellphone (or cellular communication device).

Stadium evacuation procedure is an incredibly sensitive issue.  And for good reason.  Evacuations set a terrible precedent.  Other than incidents involving inclement weather, they're just simply not supposed to happen.  I completely understand this.  Yet, that does not mean the subject can be neglected.  If you still remain skeptical, simply do some empirical research.  Pose these questions to anyone:

    •      What would happen if large numbers of fans simultaneously received a text message conveying imminent danger and/or the demand to immediately evacuate?  What if the message's content had more explosive connotations?

    •      What would transpire if stadium attendees suddenly learned of stampedes at other major college football venues?  My gut instinct tells me they would immediately seek to exit.

These are real-time, real-world questions that desperately need to be addressed.  Although the artificially generated stampede is a hypothetical scenario, it is an easily identifiable generic concept.  Its premise harkens back to "shouting fire in a crowded theater."  If you doubt its inevitability, you must ask yourself a few critical questions.  Regardless of time and location, is the prediction of an artificially generated stampede a reasonable one?  Will a scenario of this nature unfold in the future?  Could cellular text messages extend beyond concerns of privacy and nuisance, resulting in matters of life or death?  An objective analysis will compel you to reluctantly admit that yes, at some point during the course of humanity, an artificially generated stampede will occur.  This might sound disconcerting, but it WILL happen because it CAN happen.  It's simply a matter of where and when, scope and magnitude.  An untold chapter in the collision of technology and humanity.

It has been a challenge being straightforward, especially when the acceptable parameters are ill-defined.  Throughout our correspondence there were certain words I was reluctant to put in writing.  And there are several pertinent issues I have purposely omitted (stampede dynamics, generational warfare, the jurisdiction of federal and state government, the nullification of OODA loops and fundamental human rights).  Suffice to say, I've left a lot on the table. 

I've tried my best to maintain a dispassionate and analytical tone.  But it's difficult when the stakes are immeasurably high and the public dialogue, nonexistent.  With regard to the subjects I have raised, I believe the status quo is unacceptable and unsustainable.  The prospect of an artificially generated stampede and the potential for the domino effect are moral issues.  If you engage in future high level discussions, I would ask to be included.  I've done extensive research and believe I'd be a valuable asset to the conversation.  These matters are time-sensitive.  I will come to you.  All I ask is that you listen.  Just listen.


Respectfully,

contact information omitted

cc:
President E. Gordon Gee, The Ohio State University
President Teresa A. Sullivan, University of Virginia
President James F. Barker, Clemson University
President Diana Natalicio, The University of Texas at El Paso
President Michael F. Adams, University of Georgia
Chief of Staff Jack G. Johnson, University of Washington
Chief of Police/Director of Public Safety, Michael Cureton, University of Cincinnati
President Richard L. McCormick, Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey
Chancellor Brady Deaton, University of Missouri
Chancellor Harvey Perlman, University of Nebraska
Office of the President, University of Southern California
Associate University Counsel Anne Murray, University of New Mexico
Interim President Robert M. Berdahl, University of Oregon
Chief of Police Bob Roberts, West Virginia University
Vice President Sherwood G. Wilson, Administrative Services, Virginia Tech
President Sue W. Martin, Eastern Michigan University
President Mohammed H. Qayoumi, San Jose State University
Vice President Kyle J. Cavanaugh, Duke University
Superintendent Lieutenant General Michael C. Gould, United States Air Force Academy
President Rodney A. Erickson, Penn State
Chief of Police/Associate Vice Chancellor Susan Riseling, University of Wisconsin
Commanding Colonel Michael J. Tarsa, United States Military Academy
Captain Brad Rhodes, Clemson University
Director Lou Marciani, National Center for Spectator Sports Safety and Security
Director Jonathan Roark, Emergency Preparedness & Business Continuity,
Texas Christian University

------------------------------------------------------

My concerns are well documented in my book.  Despite my best efforts to bring this issue to the forefront, I expect my mission will fail.  I predict a maximum of 2 people will call me and consider implementing my suggestions regarding stadium security.  I also predict the artificially generated stampedes will occur sooner, rather than later (possibly in early or mid-September of this year).  If events unfold as I anticipate, it will likely replace "jobs and the economy" as the lead issue in the 2012 presidential election.  In the aftermath of such a tragedy, American citizens will demand a thorough investigation as to why nothing was done in the realm of awareness or prevention.  When it's discovered that many in the Obama administration were cognizant of the issue and did nothing, general sentiment will turn heavily against the Democratic party.  Furthermore, assuming my hunches are accurate, I think Mitt Romney will easily win in a landslide.  Although unlikely, I would not dismiss a 538-0 electoral count victory as a possible outcome.