Patrick: It was just so embarassing. I didn’t know what to do.
Steve: Happens to us all mate.
Jeff: All of us, in our time, are visited by the melty man.
Patrick: The what?
Jeff: Don’t say his name, Patrick. Don’t even think his name or he will rise from the shadow dimensions to do his evil work on your terrified pants.
Patrick: [chuckle] Terrified pants?
Steve: [gravely] There’s nothing funny about the melty man, Patrick.
Patrick: [face falls] You know about the melty man, too?
Steve: [in a "duh!" voice] We all know the melty man.
Patrick: Who is he?
Steve: The archenemy of trouser confidence.
Jeff: Professor Moriarty. In groin form.
Steve: Darth Vader
Jeff: Without the helmet.
Patrick: [terrified and shocked] What does he do?
Jeff: Patrick, you *know* what he does.
Patrick: [looks down] Oh right.
Jeff: You’re in bed with a woman. Everything’s going fine. That’s when the melty man strikes.
Steve: Suddenly you find yourself thinking, “Maybe she’s really bored”.
Jeff: Maybe you’re licking her neck too much. Are you over-wetting her neck?
Steve: Are you spending an equal amount of time on each breast? I mean, what if one breast gets ahead?
Jeff: Should you be switching between them really quickly or should you squish ‘em both together and do them at once
[demonstrates]
Patrick: [frowns]
Steve: Or should you skip one breast completely just to save time?
Jeff: She’s wriggling about. Is that a good sign or is she just trying to draw her neck?

1) I visited Adrian Balboa’s grave site.  As you see, the dearly departed rock to the venerable pugilist’s paper chin was never scissored until Rocky VI (Rocky Balboa).  This is the actual prop used in the film AND there’s signage to the effect that it is there on Ridge Ave.  In the back of my head I think I asked the grave stone to say “Yo!” as I took the picture…

2) If a grave stone falls over in the cemetery and you’re there to hear it, but not see where it fell, does it really happen?  As you walk around Laurel Hill Cemetery, you will see many family vaults and grave markers in sad condition.  It’s not so much due to lack of caring by the cemetery or a societal statement about our treatment of the dead, but a matter of fact…and time.  Pollution, geology, and mother nature turn many stones vulnerable to degeneration in the form of worn off chizelled letters and uprooted stones.  You will find toppled grave markers; sometimes broke in numerous spots.  Yet, however, no human remains find their way to the surface. 

Among authorities (preservationalists, academics and others), there is a movement/philosophy to leave these stones, sculptures, markers left alone.  If one tries to fix the works, more damage may be done…more irreparable damage, than good will become of staying or reversing the effects of time.  Instead, I think, what’s going on is to document (photo, description) and research (log, publish) the pieces as they are so to snap shot them for the future.

“Fffoooommpphhh!!!” sounded the grave stone as a century of standing tall came victim to softened and shifted earth. 

 I know whats I hoid – I just aint seen it – know whut Im sayin?

3)  The Confedarate General that surrendered Vicksburg, The South’s Gibraltar, is burried in Laurel Hill Cemetery.  That’s ol’ JC Pemberton to you and me.  Born in Philadelphia, he married in to a Virginia family.  Being that the family business was very tied into the South’s economy, he chose the South for the Civil War.  Moved down there, joined the cause and with his connections, was made a Gentleman General.  (I confess that I don’t know if that is a real term or not, but I have this vision of sipping libations on the wrap around porch of the plantation and a deal was struck over cigars that he would, being a man from and of means, obtain a commision of  ”general”)  I don’t know about his battle experience, but to witness relentless bombardments, diseased soldiers and residents, and hunger pangs that rat stew just couldn’t saisfy, it’s no wonder he flew the whites.

Incidently, after the war, he wasn’t accepted any where.  The North wouldn’t accept him back: why?  He chose the South, the limey Benedict Arnold!  The South wouldn’t accept him back: he gave up a key position along the Mississippi that if held, could have changed stuff for them.  He did it on purpose; Once a Yankee, always a Yankee! 

So there!  All you all non-awarding-trivial-pursuit-playing-hub-denyers can believe me now!!  Cause I KNOW you heard me then!!!….(I wasn’t too loud, was I?) 

4) I call it visiting the Lewis’.  I found this family plot that over looks the Schuykill River a ways back and enjoyed their view so much, I made “friends” with them.  You know, give em a quick “hey, how yoo dooin”.  I mean, what’s the harm?  I know no body else is comng around for them.  What’s a cup of coffee and a paper and a visit?   I believe it means a lot to them.

Today I brought my Christmas gift from Kate with me to read: Musicophilia, by Oliver Sacks.  A discussion on music and the brain.  So today I read about people who get epileptic fits from hearing certain music.  But that leads to the brain and its triggers: mentally and physically.  In relation to the brain’s functioning, it’s suggested that Beethoven could still write music after he went deaf because for his whole life he had to keep track in his mind all the orchestrations as he read a piece to himself.  Just because he couldn’t hear doesn’t mean he couldn’t remember how things sounded – that’s actually pretty deep.  People who have sight then go blind can describe images in their memory – why not sound?  Man the brain’s cool!

5) The departure.  The place closed at 4:30p.  I have scoped  ways in and out of the place for future reference, but I didn’t feel like challenging them today.  Instead I stayed as long as I could in order to maybe get a sunset picture, but to my dismay, it’s staying lighter longer.  Aw man!  What’s up with that!  Time!  Calendars!  Orbits!  Just goes to show you, you can’t trust anything today!

Actually, an odd thing happened as I was leaving.  I decreed for 2008 that I would try to find out about who The Lewis’ were, if it’s possible.  I mean, they’ve been around since the 1700′s, yo!  Now, as I wrote down some of their names, my pen died!  Out of ink in mid name – spooky, huh?  Maybe they don’t want me to know stuff?  Maybe I’ll just keep it cordial with them .  No digging up skeletons for now…(sorry,had to)….

Or, maybe they didn’t want me to write down the joke I came up with:  a skeleton returns late to his coffin after a night of ghouling around.  His skeleton wife gives him whats for.  She then gets him to recount his steps, no doubt to make sure he wasn’t straying and/or hanging with the boys.  His story takes a turn and he admits he knocked on the wrong plot when he couldn’t get in.  “Ah hah!  I knew it!  You’re boning around with another!”  “Vhat?  It Vasn’t my vault?  What a gonna do?  Kill me?!” 

1) Tina Weymouth (Talking Heads)

2) Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth)

3) Kim Deal (Pixies)

4) Josephine Wiggs (The Breeders-Last Splash)

5) D’arcy (Smashing Pumpkins)

5ive More Female Bassists that Kick ASS just as deserving, but not brought up in conversation (in my humble opinion):

1) Meshell Ndegeocello

2) Mary Huff (Southern Culture on the Skids)

3) Sara Lee (B52′s – Cosmic Thing)

4) Kira (Black Flag, Dos)

5) Sean Yseult (White Zombie)

After a year of struggle.  After a year of relying on the Native People for food.  After a year of wearing out their knees in their pants from praising and patching them with rectangular, denim iron-ons.  There was an abundance.  A surplus.  So, together with their neighbors, they came together.  They brought of themselves to share in the good fortune.

 They brought out the cordialcopia.   The horn of plenty was clanking with booze distilled from bay berries, dandelions, and potatoes.   Yes, potatoes.   Although not as refined as the vodka we drink with our kamikazes today, it is believed that these original Pant Pilgrims did start the tradition of taking your shot  with  your elbow high and hand cupped around your drinking  vessel.   Dig Uply, the archaeologist, theorizes the vessels could have been large acorn shells.  At one site, he found upside down acorns stacked like a pyramid.  The acorns were carbon dated to at least 400 years old and further spantrometer tests do show traces of booze inside of them.

Thus, the first special was celebrated in America. 

 Today, many regions in the United States have their own traditions in regards to Pantsgiving.  For example, in the Southwest region, dinner tables are adorned with coronacopias: adobe horns of plenty of Corona beer.  

 So, tomorrow, around your respective dinner tables, be sure and recount the story of the Pilgrims’ first Pantsgiving.  And one by one raise your “acorns” and toast to each other.  We all must give pants to our furtunes.  We also should give a moment to reflect on those less fortunate in hopes that they may find pants in some way.  

I raise my glass then lift my arm…And toast to Specialists both near and far:  Be it vodka, whiskey, or Jaegerbomb….Happy  Pantsgiving Everyone ! !

…a Specialist that up and moves?

A: An ex-pantriot.

 i miss you guys. 

NOBODY IS PREGNANT!

Those posts were silly-goofin’-bein’-stupid  combined with access to a keyboard and the internet. garsh!