Outtakes from the Guff'ner's interview

You may have already seen the Sarah Palin Turkey Shoot - the Q&A session that was held at the turkey farm where the Guff'ner pardoned a turkey in standard White House fashion. Long story short, after the ceremony, the farm workers resumed their normal activities while the Guff'ner continued to answer questions for the press. As a result, Sarah winds up on YouTube casually talking about politics while a worker procedes to slaughter and drain birds behind her.

Intellectual heavyweights such as Slate's Bill Smee criticized the Guff'ner for this. It would be nice and easy to dismiss him as an idiot, but he produced this wonderful video that is too good to not share. So I'll show the vid, then point out his idiocy.

Outtakes from the Guff'ner's Turkey Shoot interview

OK, now that we've had our fun, let's get down to reality.

The Guff'ner is granting an interview. She is facing the camera. It is quite unlikely that she picked that spot when the, ahem, machinery in the background was actually in use. She does not have the standard-issue international-celebrity entourage that some politicians carry around with them, so there is no over-excited under-employed film major hanging around framing spots. The press starts asking questions, she answers.

If you look verrrrry carefully, you will notice that the Guff'ner is facing the camera. At no time does she turn her head towards the worker behind her. The camera, on the other hand, is facing the Guff'ner and the worker.

Of all the people involved, those that know that a bespectacled and besweatered worker is sticking turkeys into a chipper-shredded are a) the worker, b) the camera operator, and c) the interviewer. The turkey-mauler is just doing his job; he does not appear to be involved in media relations. So when you get down to it, the only people that are sufficiently qualified to determine that the Guff'ner is in an awkward situation and aware of the same are the people conducting the interview.

Usually camera operators look into the camera to see what they are filming. It helps to ensure that some of the minor details -- like whether the camera is pointing at the subject, is upright, is in focus, and is actually recording -- are not missed. In fact, camera operators have been known to alert their subjects when there is a problem with the shot. In this case, it's obvious no such warning was issued.

You could try to posit that the camera operator wasn't paying attention to the actions behind the Guff'ner, but there is one small problem ...the camera operator has moved the camera so that the Guff'ner is not the center of the image. She is standing to the left of the focal point. The camera was moved for the purpose of getting the turkey-shredder into the shot.

This was not the act of a rogue ex-vice presidential candidate, this was the act of a rogue cameraperson.

Mr. Smee, if you happen to come across my blog while Googling yourself late at night, please note that there is a significant difference between being caught doing something stupid and being set-up so it appears that you are doing something stupid. While the Guff'ner has had her stupid moments, this is clearly not on her.

Oh, and the fact that you didn't realize this was a set-up doesn't speak highly to your qualifications.

The Funky Fresh Senior Choir

Putting your multiple personalities to good use

Politricks

I finally figured it out.

I finally discovered, after all this time, the fundamental difference between the two major-party campaigns ... and it only took two years!

Each candidate has come out and stated what he would do with taxes, health care policy, foreign policy, and so on. But both candidates have also come out with cheap shots and bold-faced lies about their opponents. Both have also lied about themselves.

In short, this "most historic election of all time" has been pretty much politics as usual.

But there is a huge difference between the candidates that only becomes evident when you realize what all of this campaigning has really been about. Each man is asking every one of us to go into a little curtained-off makeshift closet and pull his lever.

This is nothing new ... men young and old have been asking for this throughout history. And men have often come up with grandiose plans to get people to pull their levers, often talking a big game or being less-than-truthful in the process.

(Yes, I know I took this in an inappropriate direction, but bear with me.)

Let's be honest, when the campaigning is over and the realities of Washington set in, whichever one of these clowns gets elected today is going to wind up screwing you. If you take a moment to embrace the nature of this particular metaphor - immature as it may be - you realize something profound. By voting for either one, you are doing something for them that helps them far more than it will help you. And when it's all over, you won't feel respected the way you thought you might.

The big difference between these campaigns is Obama has been able to say just the right things (or the wrong things in just the right way ... wink, wink, nudge, nudge) to make the average voter feel excited about getting a chance to run behind a curtain and pull his lever. At the same time, McCain has taken a far less sexy approach that has reminded too many voters of why their mothers told them not to talk to strangers. At this point in the campaign, to the average voter he seems smarmier, more desperate. Almost creepy.

After all this time, all these ads, all these interviews, world tours, SNL appearances, debates ... after all that, it comes down to perception. And so today we go to the polls to decide which come-on line got us best.

Today it's "Yes, I can respect you in the morning" versus "hey, kids, I've got some tax breaks for you in the back of my van."

R-E-S-P-yadda yadda yadda

Nothing irks adults more than when children give them the respect they deserve.

Palin Representin' da' A-K-49. Woot-woot!

What do ya' know ... Saturday Night Live is funny again.

Many props to the Guff'ner for this one.

Strange Days

October 14, 2008, goes down as a unique one for me.

For the first time in my life, my circle of acquaintances had a birth and a death on the exact same day.

I got both pieces of news when I got to work this morning. Festive decorations on a cubicle, heartfelt sorrow in an email. The Alpha and the Omega all at once.

Both families are in my prayers, albeit very different prayers for each.

Critical Thinking

Sometimes I love critics, although much less so when it is I that is being critiqued. Rabid sharks are seldom as biting as some critics. Consider this line, from Slate Magazine's review of Michael Myers' new movie, The Love Guru:

This tale of a guru who brings joy to all who meet him is the most joy-draining 88 minutes I've ever spent outside a hospital waiting room.

Ouch.

Windfall prophets

Dave Ramsey, my new favorite financial guru, had an interesting comment on Big Oil yesterday. After spending $75 - the maximum amount the local gas station would authorize on a debit card at the pump - to fill the tank of his "politically incorrect" truck about three-quarters of the way, he went into the gas station's store to buy a drink. His little bottle of water cost him a buck.

It got me to thinking a little bit. If Big Oil should be punished for its windfall profits, I wonder what the calculation is on a bottle of water, 'cuz it's freakin' free. It's water. All they did was put it in a bottle. It's water ... and it's a dollar

For 8 ounces, it's a dollar, which, by the way, is $16 a gallon.

I think Big Water should be punished for windfall profits! Deer Park, you're going down! Costco brand water, you need to be taxed!

He then goes on to point out that a grande latte from Starbucks is $53 a gallon. Perhaps it's time to go after Big Coffee, too.

Be Seated

I hate when I get accused of being lazy just because I put something off for a few days or several months. You know - like posting.

(True, sometimes it is because I'm lazy, but that doesn't mean I have to like being accused of it.)

Yet sometimes the reason has nothing to do with laziness. For example, I have a whole bunch of stuff that needs to be organized. I also have developed a pretty good framework for how I want to organize it. I just need to put the organizational system into place, then all the organizing will be easy. My problem - and thus the delay - is finishing the system. You see, I'm a perfectionist; I'm just not very good at it. But here the problem is crazy, not lazy.

Then there are other reasons. The driver's seat of my car, for instance, broke. Apparently there is a weld in the frame of the seatback that snapped at some point. When this first happened, the seat leaned to right a little bit but still held up OK. After a while, something snapped again and suddenly I could no longer incrementally adjust the reclining angle of the seat. Also, if I leaned too hard, the seat would make a Pop! and suddenly it would recline a lot. When this happened, I would have to get out of the car, pull the lever that allows you to recline the seat, and give the seat back a big shove forward.

Lately, however, the seat turned terminal. The seat back had all the structural integrity of wet cardboard and it had to be replaced. This led to the conversation that I had been avoiding. I took Hubert (I drive a mid-90's Buick ... it's an old man's car, it needs an old man's name!) to the local dealership and asked for an estimate.

I know what you're thinking at this point. First, I don't know why, oh why, you are still reading this. Second, you are getting ready to point the lazy finger at me for not getting an estimate sooner.

But you see, I already had an estimate; I just needed one from the dealer. And as I had estimated, the dealer's estimate was indeed higher than my estimate of the dealer's estimate. See, I hadn't been putting this off out of laziness, I had been putting this off because I'm cheap.

Fortunately for me, the service manager on duty that day was also cheap. He suggested I check with salvage yards to see if I could track down a new, er, replacement seat that way.

(One good thing about driving an old man's car is there are always plenty of parts available from salvage yards. Many old men drive either too slow or too fast, which means there are a lot of cars out there that are OK except for the tremendous front-end or rear-end damage. As they used to say about chicken nuggets, parts is parts.)

Sure enough, I found a seat.

All it took was a couple hours of work, a trip to the local auto parts store to find the special ratchet attachment for the one freaking star-shaped bolt, and some colorful metaphors and voila! I had replacement seat in my car for a good $1,000 less than it would have been to have the dealer do it.

And to prove laziness was not the issue, the next day I uninstalled and reinstalled the seat again.

(That aforementioned one freaking star-shaped bolt is used to attach the seat belt to the frame of the car. The seat belt receptacle on the replacement seat was incompatible with the seat belt on the car. I didn't realize this until Saturday night when we drove to the store. As I was driving, my seat belt, which I had clicked into the receptacle, started retracting. It clicked, it just didn't latch.)

I'm actually going to have to uninstall and reinstall the seat one more time. The upholstery on the seats don't match, so there is a slight deviation between the fabric on the various seats.

(By slight deviation, I mean the back and passenger seats are maroon, the driver's seat is beige.)

That's a repair for a different day, however. Perhaps even a different month.

Imagine That

My son leads a secret double life. Typical third-grade boy by day, once school is out (and if there’s nothing good on TV) he sheds his cover and becomes Super Terrific Imaginary Action Hero Boy.

The life of a super terrific imaginary action hero boy can be an arduous one, fraught with danger, destruction, and, of course, lots of explosions. One day he might have to save the world from imaginary mutant dinosaurs, the next he may have to rally the good, ahem, metamorphing robots to repel an attack from the bad ones. The following day he may be an imaginary mutant dinosaur out to destroy the world. And of course there are the standard battles to wage that only involve humans ... who happen to be armed to the teeth with automatic weapons and laser guns.

Whatever the nature of the task facing a super terrific imaginary action hero boy, there are always two common elements: automatic weapon fire and mass destruction. The automatic weapon fire is essential because of the need for cool sound effects. That telltale tshtshtshtshtsht sound of an imaginary machine gun can be heard no matter what a boy is playing. "OK, Billy, you be the Pope and I'll be Buddha. Tshtshtshtshtsht!"

Incidentally, not every boy grows out of the sound-effects stage. Ms N gives me guff every time I pick up one of our cats. It's not a conscious act, but every time I hoist them off the ground I make a "Tshew" sound.

As for mass destruction, well, every third-grade boy worth his fruit snacks is a walking mass of destruction. Whether he's causing it or trying to prevent it, a super terrific imaginary action hero boy faces destruction of Biblical proportions every day.

It's a thankless imaginary job, but with great imaginary power comes great imaginary responsibility.

As I was getting ready to work on a household project, I heard my son downstairs. He was engaged in an epic battle that stretched from the living room to the dining room. There was even a sneak attack against the enemy’s flank in the hallway. Before long, the imaginary battle worked its way up the stairs and right to the edge of the room I was in.

"So how's the battle going?" I asked.

"Good," he replied, before unloading another imaginary clip into his surging imaginary foes.

"Are you winning?"

"No," he answered. He switched to a more laser-sounding weapon.

"Oh," I replied. Sensing a fatherly advice type moment, I figured I'd dispense some fatherly advice. "Well, keep fighting the good fight and I'm sure you'll prevail."

"Yeah," he answered, firing a few more rounds. "That's the way it usually works out."

Research and Dev-Hell-opment

"Annoying as Hell" seems like an understatement, what with the nasty reputation Satan has built up over the centuries.

Annoying? Hell is not supposed to be a nuisance; it's supposed to be agonizing! It's supposed to be, well, Hell.

But when you think about it, over time (and what is eternity if not lots and lots of time?) some annoyances become unbearably tortuous.

With the ever-growing numbers of people that seem to be on the eternal damnation fast-track nowadays, there are good reasons to believe that Hades Inc would have a vested interest in finding punishments that are more cost effective and environmentally friendly.

Besides, many of the more insidious tortures are labor intensive and Beelzebub is facing labor issues. Unlike the Screen Actors Guild, the Subterranean Brotherhood of Minions and Trolls Local 666 is not under Satan's direct control. They reportedly have connections with the Teamsters, and we all know that can't be good news for management.

Alternative methods are employed according to the extent of ones pre-mortem misdeeds. Murderers and lawyers get the Pit of Eternal Fire, while people who were more "naughty" than "evil" get less extreme punishments, like the Fly of Eternal Ear Buzzing or the Unending Unreachable Itch.

The research division of Hades Inc tends to be secretive, but every once and a while rumors slip out. Here are some of the recent projects "allegedly" in development.

The Perpetual Hold
(“Your call is important to us. Due to high caller volume, your call will be answered in approximately ten … thousand years”)

The Smoke Alarm
(Doesn’t sound bad, you say? Remember, where there’s eternal fire, there’s bound to be eternal smoke)

The Realm of Loud Cell Phone Talkers

The Infinite Download

The Endless Staff Meeting

The Never-Ending “Head On” Commercial
(Apply directly to your forehead)

The Self-Losing Car Keys

The Uncooling Coffee

The Mobius Memo

And of course the dreaded Middle Seat in Coach.

Half Glassed

"Hope for the best, prepare for the worst"; that's my motto.

(Well, one of them, at least. "Buy low, sell high, collect early, and pay late" is another personal favorite. "I plan to live forever ... or die trying" is another, and it has the added benefit of being one to which I can claim ownership!)

But in practice, the words by which I live are more appropriately stated as: "Hope for the best, prepare for whatever requires the least preparation."

I've heard a tale told of a small farming town on the prairie that was suffering from horrible droughts. The townsfolk decided that with the help of the local pastor they would gather one day and pray their hardest for help from above; perhaps the Lord would answer their pleas with some much-needed rainfall.

On the prescribed day, the people gathered at the town square. Every single person showed up, but when the mass prayer was set to begin, the pastor looked disapprovingly at the crowd. "You people have no faith," he scolded, much to the astonishment of those there gathered. "Not one of you brought an umbrella."

It dawned on me that by observing the way in which someone prepares themselves, you might be able to discern that person's likely outlook on life. Preparation, after all, is a product of the expectation - or at least acknowledgment of the likelihood - of possible future events. Preparation is active risk management.

When the fire alarm goes off in many office buildings, the response of the employees is often less enthusiastic as it would be, say, in an elementary school. Teachers and school administrators have good reason to make sure that kids file out of the building in a somewhat orderly fashion, and kids usually would prefer being outside, anyways. Plus, those that evacuate to the front of the school get to see the fire truck.

Office workers, on the other hand, are less enthused about the fire truck, and often less excited about going outside. As adults, office workers are expected to handle their own evacuation. There's no lining up in single-file lines. Besides, years of experience have taught most office workers that there are far more sounding of the fire alarms than there are actual fires.

Where there's smoke, there's probably a frozen waffle jammed into a break-room toaster.

As a result, office workers are frequently non-plussed about the whole alarm-thing, and often take a moment or five to prepare themselves and their work area before actually attempting to leave the building.

A fire alarm, therefore, presents the possibility for a sociological experiment. Theoretically, the extent to which an office worker prepares him- or herself for a building evacuation could correlate to that worker's general perspective on life. An optimist and a pessimist would presumably have a different outlook on the alarm, and thus would respond differently.

One may feel that the alarm is just another in a string of false alarms. If so, this person would gather very little - perhaps their purse, keys, or cell phone. It seems reasonable to assume that the person who evacuates the office empty handed is expecting to return to the office in short time and to find his work waiting for him just like he left it.

Some people, however, leave the office during the alarm looking as if they were leaving for the day. This type of person is anticipating that his work may not be as he left it; that this alarm may be real and that their office may be at risk of being engulfed in the blaze. (Bull manure is flammable, after all)

This person, laden with shoulder bags, laptops, coats, boots, and possibly even family photos and coffee mugs, is ready to not only evacuate the building, but to leave the area altogether if that is required.

Next time your building's alarm goes off, think about how you respond, and how your coworkers respond. Who's expecting to come back and who's thinking the building might burn to the ground? Makes for interesting musing.

My own experience is that people do respond differently. The problem, though, is now one of definition. Take the guy who evacuates with all of his personal effects and car keys in hand and compare him to the guy who is just waiting to head back up and return to his work ...

Which one's the optimist?

Is your day complete yet?

They say you should learn something new every day. Since it will probably be Monday by the time you read this, and since nobody learns anything new on Mondays on their own, here's a something that came from (or at least through) the, ahem, great center of learning that is Pennsylvania State University.

(Unofficial motto: "You can't spell 'Penn State' without B-I-N-G-E")

Surprisingly, this PSU contribution to mankind's collective intelligence does not involve the consumption of alcohol. (At least not directly. I'm sure a lot of alcohol was involved indirectly!)

I'd present it without further ado, but I recently received this cool You-Tube video that I found really cool. So here is the further ado:

And now back to our story.

If you're a fan of baseball, you may think of an "upper decker" as a home run ball hit so hard that it lands in the upper tiers of seats. Well, the guys (and I am quite sure this was figured out by guys) at Penn State determined that upper deckers can involve a pastime other than our national one.

You see, there comes a time when a guy may feel a need - a really pressing need at that - to torment some other person in an unpleasant manner. It may be an act of vengeance, or it may be an act of social acceptance (sometimes it's hard to tell whether you get treated worse by guys who are friends or those who are foes). Either way, a prank is an important ritual in the life of a collegiate male.

But to be effective, a prank has to be memorable.

Of course, one way to make something memorable is to make it disgusting. And one seemingly endless source of disgusting material is the human digestive system, specifically in its final stages. In terms of disgustingness, number two is number one on most lists.

Odds are, you've used (or even owned) a toilet that is filled with blue water. That color comes from a cleaning solution that is placed in the tank. On each flush, the bowl is emptied and replenished with tinted tank water. This is typically a cleansing process.

The guys at Penn State came up with a new way to use a toilet in a prank, and it involved no cellophane whatsoever.

See, cleaning solution is not the only thing that can color the toilet water. In fact, virtually anything water soluble in the tank will wind up in the bowl on the next flush. (If you really want to confuse someone, sneak into their bathroom with a packet of Kool-Ade. You don't need college football to have an orange bowl.)

Without getting too crass, we'll explain the upper decker as such: "the deposit, usually as a prank, into a toilet tank of that which would normally be deposited into the bowl."

A poo bomb.

And now you know something you didn't know before. Your day is complete.

There's always a catch

It wasn't my favorite, but it will do.

The greatest play in Super Bowl history now joins the ranks of the Immaculate Reception, the Catch, the Holy Roller, the Music City Miracle, the Miracle at the Meadowlands, the Hail Mary, Ghost to the Post, Wide Right, and several others (See: NFL Lore). The play now has a name:

Catch 42.

Of the other suggestions that received mention, my personal favorite was "The Boston Strangler". But I can see how that one could draw some criticism, what with the trivialization of mass murder and all.

I found another one to be incredibly funny, but it would never have worked as a play name. More likely, we'll see this on You-Tube soon. Imagine if you will three replays of that final catch - one from each angle - timed to match the audio from everybody's least favorite commercial. (You know the one where the woman just repeats the product name and slogan three times in a row.)

Head On:
Apply directly to the forehead.

My entry, "The Maracle" failed to earn any mention, which is about as much mention as it deserved. I'm like that guy in Not Another Teen Movie who's lifelong ambition was to inspire group applause by being "The Guy" who starts clapping slowly in those first moments after somebody has borne their soul to someone else in a public setting when the bystanders are too stunned by what has just transpired that they don't know how to react. Three or four times during the movie he starts it up - clap ... clap ... clap - only to be told that it was not the time. Finally, when the time does come, he gets all excited, readies his hands, and then gets upstaged by some other guy who starts the slow clapping.

The point of that rambling analogy was to say that I'm a pretty creative guy until there comes a time when creativity is needed. Oh well, I guess there's worse things than not getting the clap.

So I missed getting to name the play ... at least my list of titles for the Patriots season got read on NYGiantscast, which means I get some street cred out of this!

One-derful

As a numbers guy, I notice when certain patterns emerge in seemingly random numbers.

For example, I found it quite memorable when my purchase at a convenience store, after sales tax, wound up being exactly $10.00. I also found it amusing when, after my winnings were applied, I wound up with 666 credits on a slot machine in Atlantic City.

I used to happen to glance at clocks at 11:56 (both am and pm) a statistically improbable number of times. Any '80s Giants fan recognizes those numbers ... Phil Simms and LT.

Needless to say, I found it notable that the last time I glanced at my watch, it was 1:11.

But there's a difference between notable and blogworthy, and three ones on a watch are not blogworthy. Unless, of course, you consider the last time I looked at my watch, which was 120 minutes earlier ... 11:11.

Lunatic Eclipse

This morning we were watching the early, early news - you know, the news they show before sane people wake up. The anchor, when covering last night's lunar eclipse, gave a somewhat unexpected analysis.

"An eclipse occurs when a giant dragon in space swallows the moon," he said, "or whenever the moon passes through the shadow of Earth, whichever you choose to believe."

Fit to be tied

OK, so this is not the final tally, and this doesn't count mailed ballots, disputed ballots, hanging chads, or any of the other things that alter the vote total, but it's fun none-the-less. The initial results from the Democratic Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious Tuesday primary vote in Syracuse, NY was:

Barack Obama	6,001
Hillary Clinton	6,001

Yep. A tie.

Close, but no Super Bowl ring

Possible titles
for the story of the
2007 Patriots:

Eighteen Wins and One Giant Loss
(Seen on T-Shirt)

Eighteen and D'oh!
(NFL.com)

Path to Perfection
- The Patriot's Journey to the 2007 AFC Championship

Eighteen and Uh-oh

Eighteen and Oops

Eighteen and Oh-F@&#!

Perfuct

One-defeated

Eighteen and Uh-Oh

The Giants won Super Bowl 42 XVII to XIV! In the process, they knocked off the golden boys of football, the previously undefeated New England Patriots. The much-maligned Eli Manning became Super Bowl MVP, the all-but-anointed Tom Brady became very well acquainted with the turf.

Shortly after the win in Green Bay, a friend of mine sent me an email saying he was seriously considering not attending our Super Bowl party. With my passion for the G-Men, he reasoned, regardless of who won the game, I would be insufferable. I am happy to report that I was, indeed, sufferable.

Well, I did get wrapped up in the game a little bit ...

Like in the fourth quarter, when the lead changed three times. My foot was twitching throughout, turning my sofa into the vibra-couch.

In the Giants drive following their first touchdown, Manning broke out of the pocket on third down and, while scrambling, tossed the ball over a defender to Plaxico Burress. The throw was off and Plax couldn't bring it in.

"Oh, deary me," I said.

My buddy, an Eagles' fan, tried to assure me. "What are you so concerned about?" he asked. "They've got the lead. All they have to do is keep up what they're doing."

"You don't know those Patriots," I said, "and you obviously don't know the Giants."

Sure enough, after the G-Men punted, the Brady Bunch proceeded to march all the way down the field and score, putting the Pats up 14-10.

But then, with just over two and a half minutes left, Eli and the Giants' offense began their drive into history.

SEE ITAn integral part of that drive was a play that will go down in Giants and Super Bowl lore. A furious Patriot pass rush came crashing through the Giant offensive line. The pocket collapsed around Eli, engulfing him. Yet somehow he managed to break free from the grip of a would-be sacker and he scrambled to the right. Looking downfield, he found David Tyree, a special teamer who fills in on certain passing plays. He threw a high pass Tyree's way. A Patriot defender leaped for the ball as well, and the two players each fought for the pass.

In what can only be described as indescribable, Tyree trapped the ball against his helmet with one hand long enough to get his other hand up there. Then, as they fell to the ground, he tightened his grip on the ball, maintaining possession and securing a key first down.

"Jolly good show," I said.

Saturday, Ms N and I decided to do our part to stimulate the economy; we bought a 42" LCD HDTV. Watching the Super Bowl on a screen like that is just shy of heavenly. Of course, it made for an interesting predicament towards the end of the game. I surprised everyone in the room on the final play of that Giant drive when I yelled "Touchdown!" as Manning took the snap from Shawn O'Hara. Sure enough, Eli lofted a beautiful 13 yard pass over Hobbs and into the sure hands of Plaxico.

"How did you know that?" I was asked.

"I heard the kids going 'Wooo!'" I replied.

Comcasts' HD signal is about 6 seconds behind the regular feed. The kids were in the other room watching on a regular TV; they saw the end of the play as we saw the beginning of it. I "banished" them into the living room with the rest of us for the remainder of the game.

The Giants went up 17-14, but they still left the Boys of Beantown 35 seconds and 3 timeouts, which is exactly the type of scenario that wannabe legends dream of. The defense still needed to hold one more time. In a game that is played six seconds at a time, 35 seconds is a long time for a storybook team playing out a storybook season.

Fortunately, the Giants defenders don't spend much time reading storybooks.

On that final drive, which featured three wonderfully defensed passes, unharolded Giant Jay Alford made a play on second down that seemed to be a tribute to all the teams that tried and failed to bring down the Patriots during the season. He broke through the middle of the offensive line and hammered into Tom Brady, lifting the hapless quarterback off his feet and pummeling him into the turf. It was the fifth sack for the Giants and the 14th time that Brady was knocked down during the game.

"That must smart," I said.

So now the Giants are Super Bowl Champions, the '72 Dolphins are still the only undefeated team in history, and the Patriots are now the "other guys".

Even worse (from their perspective - better for the rest of us), they become the answer to all sorts of trivia questions with negative connotations. And being that Giants fans tend to be Yankee fans while Patriots fans tend to be Red Sox fans, there is in some sense a feeling that the G-Men helped avenge those whose hearts were crushed in the 2004 ALCS, when Boston came back from a 3-game deficit to win the best-of-seven series 4-3.

In the grand scheme of things, losing after winning the first three games is not nearly as painful as losing after winning the first eighteen. The Yankees now have the second-biggest choke in recent sports history.

The Patriots are not the first team to go plus-17. The '72 Dolphins were the first to do that. They were not the first team to go 18-1. The '85 Bears did that. The difference, of course, is the Bears' loss came in the regular season (to Miami).

The Bears won their Super Bowl ... against the Patriots.

"Life with disgrace is dreadful."
- Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson

"Ha-HA!"
Nelson (from the Simpsons)

Tastier than kissing everyone in the room ...

... Just not nearly as fun.

Remember George Costanza's infamous double-dip debacle? Well that led to some honest-to-goodness scientific study on the health ramifications of double-dipping.

Thanks to Clemson University Professor Paul L. Dawson, the guy who debunked the mythological "five-second rule", we now know that double-dipping does indeed transfer microbial bacterium from mouth to dip.

So this Super Sunday, make sure you practice safe dipping habits and hope that your fellow partygoers do not suffer from Costanzitis.

Techonomics

Thanks to the guys at Technorama for finding this gem ...

Freudian, perhaps?

DISCLAIMER: While this post primarily picks on a single candidate in the current presidential campaign, I am not making any statements in favor of or against any candidate. This is commentary about the public actions of a public figure, not campaign promotion.

Given enough time, I will do my best to pick on all the candidates to the fullest extent possible.

Senator Hillary Clinton unleashed her Super-Dooper-Mega-Galactic-Mondo-Prima-Ultra-Wonder Tuesday ads upon the defenseless electorate recently and, in doing so, made a stunning admission.

The ad, seen here (at least until the campaign pulls the ad from You-Tube), is the standard run-of-the-mill political bit. About 22 seconds in (for those Hillary haters who can't bear to watch the whole thing, just drag the slider about three quarters of the way across), Hillary describes the various roles she has filled in the American political process.

In her words, she has been "a public servant, an activist, and now, a senator".

Did you cringe?

For those who didn't (or for those aforementioned haters who were too busy cringing about Hillary in general and missed the subtlety), Hillary has just announced that she is no longer a public servant; she is now a senator.

To be fair, Hillary is not the only politician to get confused about the role of government – and, by extension, members of the government – in a democracy. It's a misconception that has plagued politicians for as long as there have been democracies. Lately, however, campaign managers have been savvy enough to a) keep their subjects sufficiently well heeled so as to reduce the risk that the candidate might blurt out their real opinions before the votes are cast, and b) take whatever steps necessary to bury, deflect, diffuse, or distract attention from such gaffes whenever they occur.

(At least until they get into office. At that point, all bets are off. Previous office holders were kind enough to leave behind a process that makes it tremendously hard to lose your office, no matter how incompetent you may prove to be.)

The Clinton campaign put this statement in the closing of an advertisement designed for Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Tuesday, the make-or-break day in the presidential primaries. An ad! That they paid for!

The United States of America is a republic. We are a representative democracy. Take special note of that word: "representative".

To borrow from a certain animated ogre, our government is like an onion; it has many layers (and often brings us to tears).

It is comprised of elected officials, appointed officials, and, of course, a whole bunch of government employees. This is just as true at the federal level as it is at the state and local level. It is easy for the average person to consider many government employees as "public servants". Trash collectors, firemen, and police officers, for example, serve the public very visibly. Soldiers serve the public. The Department of Motor Vehicles employees serve the ... well, they are supposed to serve the public.

(And, of course, the IRS serves the public, albeit on a platter.)

It should not be lost on anyone, though, that the "officials" – both appointed and elected – are also public servants. They are representatives of The People, chosen by The People (or the by the people chosen by The People) to manage the government, which itself exists to serve - not to rule - The People.

Unfortunately, the current administration disagrees, as does the party leadership on both sides of the aisle. The Republican and Democratic overlords have demonstrated through their actions in the White House and Congress (and in many governors' mansions, mayor's offices, and state and local legislatures nationwide) that while they certainly serve some people, they don't serve The People. But most of those same politicians at least pay enough lip service to public service during the campaigns to convince the voters that they are, at minimum, the lesser of the two evils on the ballot.

Representatives and senators do have a leadership role within the government, but since the government exists to serve The People, the Capitol Hillbillies' role in America is to flip the switches, turn the knobs, and pull the levers on the largest public service machine in the country. As the CEO of a multi-trillion dollar organization, the President has power. However, as a democratically elected leader (s)he does not own that power. The power comes with the office and the office is owned by The People.

The role of the President is not Public Leader, it is Head Servant. (And the previous president delegated that role to an intern!)

Regrettably, it seems that not only did Senator Clinton's statement make it out of her campaign headquarters unnoticed; it seemingly failed to attract scrutiny from the media and, at the time of this writing, hasn't seemed to cause much of a stir amongst the people. It may be that the public isn't paying much attention or is already suffering from campaign fatigue. Or it may be that people just don't know any better.

One could easily argue that the statement itself is innocuous. It sounds like it was part of a speech, and on the stump politicians often stumble through words. Petty bickering over grammatical technicalities from live public speaking events is futile, for there are too many opportunities for inadvertent slips of the tongue. Those gaffes are legitimate fodder for mockery, not serious debate.

But again, this was an ad … that they paid for.

After careful consideration, after paying for the production process, after getting their choice of words, footage, backdrops, message, etc., these are the words they chose to share with the voters.

I was a public servant, now I am a senator.

Also of interest:

The campaign also released their Spanish language ad Neustra Amiga, which embraces the stereotypical notion that if you are going to advertise to Spanish-speaking viewers, you must deliver your message in the form of a telenovela promo.

Spoiler Alert: Blue Wins

The Civil War, presented in a manner suitable to our current ADD generation.

Air Farce One

My son has taken to flying.

The big Christmas gift of the year was the Estes remote control Air Force One. It has a three-and-a-half foot wingspan and supposedly can fly over 1000 feet. I say "supposedly" because until this past weekend, we didn't realize the tremendous advantage that throwing the plane up would make.

(Yeah, I know ... it seems obvious in retrospect. But to be fair, the launch system involves an elastic cord and a spike that anchors into the ground. An upward throw didn't seem right at first.)

So this time out, we threw up. (As would anyone who was riding in that plane.)

The plane is made out of Styrofoam, so it is somewhat protected in the event of a crash. That is fortunate, because we crashed that plane over and over again. And it wasn't only cartwheel-type crashes in the grass, Alex managed to hit three different goal soccer goal posts, a chain link fence, and he almost had a perfect landing on the bleachers (save for the collision into the metal support that knocked off two engines and the tail).

Good flight, not-so-good landing

If these trial runs are any indication, my son will not be piloting the real Air Force One anytime soon. Landing after painful, high impact landing, he managed to knock off the President, Vice President, Speaker of the House, President Pro Tempura, Secretary of State, and so on throughout the line of succession.

Were it not for the fact that the batteries finally ran out, we were one flight away from inaugurating Raul, the White House gardener, as the next ruler of the free world.

And wouldn't that have made that whole fence-across-America thing look ridiculous!

Somebody's special day

Today is somebody's special day ...

Yep, today is a special day for 49ers fans everywhere!

Today marks the 19th anniversary of Super Bowl XXIII, the classic game in which Joe Montana led the San Francisco 49ers 92 yards in the waning minutes before throwing a pass directly through the hearts and the defense of the Cincinnati Bengals. The touchdown-scoring throw ended up in the hands of receiver John Taylor and put the 49ers up 20-16 with just 34 seconds left in the game. The Bengals failed to put together a last-ditch miracle drive of their own, thus falling short of their mission to avenge their previous defeat to those same 49ers just IV years earlier in Super Bowl XIX.

Oh, and it's also Alaska Jen's birthday.

Congratulations '9ers fans, and happy birthday, Alaska Jen.

Shouts of the regular kind

As I previously mentioned in the post you are most likely to read after this one, I am watching the Giants-Packers playoff game. It is now between the third and fourth quarters, and the Giants have a 3 point lead.

As a huge, huge (you should see my waistline) Giants fan, I am in the midst of an emotional roller coaster right now. This will either be the best or most painful day I've had in a while.

Either way, I suspect that by the end of the game I will have a whole load of wooden nickels in my underbritches.

UPDATE: 2:48 remaining, the Giants just punted to Green Bay, and the score is tied.

Also, I found a wooden quarter.

UPDATE II: 0:00 remaining, the Giants just missed a field goal, the game is in overtime.

I have a new wooden coin collection.

UPDATE III: SUPERBOWL!!!!!!!

Giants 23, Packers 20 (OT)

Shout-Outs

So, while I'm watching my beloved New York Giants take on the Packers, the -2 degree weather, and the officiating crew, I figured I'd take this moment to shamelessly promote ...

ME!

Yes, I know this belongs squarely within the realm of meaningless accomplishments, but for the first time ever I have been mentioned in a podcast!

No, I am not one of people hitting someone with sticks (or one of those getting hit by the sticks); I gave Short Cummings Audio a really good review on iTunes and he gave me an on-cast thanks. This simple act by a podcaster demonstrates how it doesn't take much to make the world a better place. Be nice to others, be gracious, be respectful ... it's not hard at all and it makes such a difference in these rough and tumble times.

I tell ya, people should thank me more often!

Cellph Destruct

I have a truly good, positive, heartwarming post in the works about my day today, which itself was very good and positive and heartwarming. But there was an event that occurred in the midst of all the good, positive, heartwarming stuff that was in no way good, positive, or heartwarming ... but I can't help sharing it with you anyways.

CONTENT ADVISORY
This post is rated "I" for crass, sophomoric, and off-color subject matter. It is intended for immature audiences only.

Now, I normally wouldn't write about this type of event, but this is a special circumstance. I got a chance to make a total stranger truly, truly regret using his cell phone in an environment in which no cell phone should ever be used.

It all started with a buffet table.

Actually, it was something on the buffet table. That something wound up on my plate and, as often happens with things that wind up on my plate, it soon found itself in my stomach.

Unfortunately, whatever it was, it didn't feel like staying there.

Like most buffet tables, this one was stationed at a public event. Coincidentally, I found myself in need of a public restroom. I proceeded with great haste to the only stall suitable for such use, closed the door, and braced for the worst.

I usually try to maintain a reasonable degree of self-consciousness about public restrooms. I don't start idle chit-chat with the guy in the next stall, I don't whistle, sing, hum, or any other noisy time-passers, and I certainly try to avoid producing any gratuitous audible evidence of the nature of my business.

This time I didn't have that option.

So when I heard the guy walk into the bathroom, I felt a moderate degree of chagrin for subjecting him to conditions specifically outlined in the Geneva Conventions. That is, until I realized he was talking on his cell phone!

At that point, I felt it was my dooty (get it?) to teach this man a lesson in cell phone etiquette. And fortunately I was uniquely prepared to present this instruction.

I don't know why, but for some reason public restrooms seem specifically designed for acoustic amplification. That said, between the tiles and the porcelain, my gastronomical discomfort resulted in decibel levels comparable to those found NASA launch pads or teenagers' car stereos.

Yes, I was a sub-woofer.

As I was safely positioned behind the solid partitions, he could not see me smiling. I could hear in his voice that he was regretting his choice of venues for this particular phone call. I'm quite certain the party on the other line got wind (so to speak) of where he was. I think deaf people could have heard me.

But the simple joy I felt from being able to teach someone such an important life lesson turned to outright satisfaction when I heard him bring his call to an end. His final four words indicated that he probably chose the wrong person to inadvertently subject to my malharmonious melody.

"I love you, honey."

And being the nice guy I am, I helped him end his call on a high note!

He's the Manning!

Archie's boys shocked the football world Sunday.

The oft-heralded elder son Peyton Manning and his Indianapolis Colts fell to the visiting San Diego Chargers, thus canceling the much anticipated rematch between the Colts and the New England Patriots in the AFC Championship Game next week. In Texas about three hours later, the oft-maligned younger son Eli and his New York Giants upended the Dallas Cowboys 21-17.

Yes, that means that the Giants are going to the NFC Championship Game for the first time since 2000, when they shut out the Minnesota Vikings 41-0. As NFL Network's Rich Eisen noted, to almost everyone's surprise, Eli is "the last Manning standing."

Next Sunday the G-Men take on men with the G's; they head off to the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field to face Brett Favre for a long, long overdue chance and avenging the NFL Title game losses to the Green Bay Packers in 1944, 1961, and 1962!

(Those last two were the most painful, as Big Blue first got shut out 37-0 in cheese country, then almost got shut out again the following year at Yankee Stadium. Their only score in the 16-7 loss came from a Packer punt which they blocked and recovered in the end zone.)

It has now been 69 years since the Giants beat the Packers in the playoffs. But before the Spirit of '38 fever grips the Big Blue faithful, there a few things left to savor from yesterday. For example, T. "Terrell Owens" O. cried in the post-game interviews! (One Cowboys fan I know showed me the gift he got today from his anti-Cowboys co-workers -- a tissue box decorated with T.O. pictures.)

And did you see that look on Cowboys owner Jerry Jones' face when R.W. McQuarters picked off Tony Romo's pass in the end zone with nine seconds remaining to squash the Cowboys' final hopes? He looked like he was in the middle of a lemon and Tabasco enema. Eagles fans have actually been nice to me today! (The enemy of my enemy ...)

We'll see what next week brings. Farve is having a storybook season. Until then, I'm just livin' the dream!

Theo-illogical

I'm all about impressing my pastor.

There's a group of guys in my church who meet one morning each month with the pastor for breakfast and Bible study. Having been lured with the promise of free food, I accepted their invitation to join them this week. We enjoyed bacon, eggs, and the Baptism of Jesus.

One of the many asides in our discussion was about the presence, or lack thereof, of Joseph in the latter parts of the Gospel. He's obviously a big part of the story in the beginning of the New Testament, but after the manger scene and the arrival of the wise guys, you never hear about him again, save for a cameo appearance at the Temple when the preteen J.C. began his rabbiing.

Biblical scholars believe that the lack of mention of Joseph beyond this point indicates that he died while Jesus was a teenager. If that was indeed the case, as first-born son, J.C. would have the responsibility to care for the other children in the home until they were old enough to care for themselves, which may explain why he held off on the whole Messiah thing until he was 30.

That there were other children in the house led to our aside from the aside. You see, we Protestants are of the belief that after the whole inn thing, Joseph and Mary went on to bear children the old fashioned way. As such, we feel the brothers and sisters mentioned in the Bible where the real brothers and sisters of Jesus.

(Well, half-brothers and half-sisters, as it were.)

Pastor mentioned that Catholics hold to the premise that the Blessed Virgin Mary remained both Blessed and a virgin throughout her days. Those brothers and sisters, say the Catholics, were actually cousins who lived with Aunt Mary and Uncle Joe.

I figured this was the time to add my thoughts into the great theological debate; to join the ranks of the storied biblical scholars like ... well, like whoever those storied biblical scholars might be.

"This is twelve years later, the cousins were living in the home, and Mary was still a virgin?" I asked.

Pastor nodded.

"Well maybe that's why we don't hear any more about Joseph," I said.

We'll see if I am invited to next month's Bible study ...

It’s Podcastic

When it comes to hand-me-downs, I have little shame.

(Yeah, yeah … I have notable shame deficiencies in other areas, too; but those are fodder for other postings.)

I drive an inherited car. I compute on hand-me-down computers. I read hand-me-down books. I wear some hand-me-down clothes. (I tell hand-me-down jokes ...)

Yet every handed-down item is, by definition, comprised of one hundred percent post-consumer recycled content. The hand-me-down market turns one man's refuse into another man's treasure. The discarded items of those who stay on the cutting edge wind up not in the dumpster, but instead in the hands of us less discriminatory folks who can continue to extract value today from yesterday's goods.

As such, in these more environmentally conscious days, I can hold my head high and proudly state that my proclivity towards embracing the down-handed material good makes me the embodiment of positive stewardship of the earth's precious resources. It is quite satisfying to be part of the solution.

(Not that I am an environmentalist by any means; far from it. I am about as green as a stop sign. No, my satisfaction is drawn more from the relief that I no longer have to admit to being too broke and/or too cheap to buy the stuff myself.)

So when Ms N upgraded her iPod recently (she got the spiffy new one with the tiny screen and the irritating commercial), I became the very happy recipient of a hand-me-down iPod.

It fails to bother me in the least that both my fiancé and my daughter have much nicer and newer iPods than I, nor does it bug me that engraved into the back of my iPod are the words, "This is mine. – DevineMsN."

While I would like to have the newer model, I much prefer what little cash I have staying in my wallet for the time being. And I sincerely doubt I will ever be accused of stealing from Bette Nidler.

So at first, I limited my iPod activity to listening to the songs Ms N left behind. You know, the hand-me-downs. While I’m not quite the Prince fan she is, I happened to enjoy the other songs not found in my collection, like Apache from the Sugar Hill Gang and select songs from Big E. Smalls.

(Ain’t that right, Boo? True!)

Soon I (by which I mean Ms N) started loading on songs from my CD collection. Shortly afterwards, I (by which I mean me) realized that The Economist, my favorite magazine, had an audio version, which of course, could be played on the iPod.

(Yes, The Economist.)

(Would you believe I only get it for the pictorials?)

So I tried out the audio version ... and liked it! While I found the quaint British spelling quite amusing in the printed version, having it read aloud in that accent is absolutely smashing!

(And the fact that Robin Bew, Editorial Director and Chief Economist at the Economist Intelligence Unit, tends to sound a bit like Monty Python’s Terry Jones makes it that much better. I just love getting global economic forecasts from Mr. Creosote!)

Then I started looking around for other audio. Boy howdy, there is no shortage of this crap out there on the internets! And it's all too easy to subscribe, too. Before long, I found myself subscribing to 75 separate podcast feeds.

Yes, I am a Podophile.

If I were to listen to all the downloaded content I currently have on my computer, it would take four days – six if I wanted to sleep at all.

So with all this, I have some recommendations. For political discussion, there’s Left, Right & Center, from Santa Monica NPR affiliate KCRW. There is also the Washington Post's P3: Post Politics Podcast.

Paul Douglas Boyer's Mad Money Machine is a good investing show.

For business news, I stick with The Economist audio edition and The Wall Street Journal.

The Harvard Business Review's HBR IdeaCast (We’re ideating!) has some very interesting business discussion.

And of course, no Libertarian's day is complete without the Cato Daily Podcast.

In the mean time, I can't figure out which is sillier: The Official White House Weekly Radio Address or The Official Parody of the White House’s Weekly Radio Address.

(Perhaps Discurso Radial del Presidente ... You can't figure out what El Presidente is saying here, either, but at least there's a valid reason!)

(Then again, there’s the podcast for the President's dogs.)

(Yes, really.)

Of course, if you are not as excited by global economics, investing, and politics as I am, you may be more interested in Short Cummings Audio, a great collection of humorous essays written and read by Kevin Cummings. He is one of the funniest humorists I have seen in quite some time. (Imagine Dave Barry and Tom Bodett's love child.)

Bowl of Cheese, by Jeff Cutler, was another good find.

And what podcast library would be complete without the great works of comic genius John Cleese? (Much to my chagrin, thanks to this podcast I learned that for the past 20 years I have been pronouncing his name wrong. Turns out it rhymes with wheeze, not fleece.)

If you want more than this, don’t ask me ... Ask A Ninja!

(Just don’t go to Aks a Ninja … stupid fake sites!)

Ms N was taken aback by the speed at which I latched on to podcasting, but really it is just what I was looking for. For starters, I crave content. Like good ol' Number Five from the movie Short Circuit, I need input.

Unfortunately, carrying around all the magazines, newspapers, and such I would like to have gets to be a pain. Printing out pages from sites is not only wasteful, but creates quite the mess. The iPod, meanwhile, replenishes itself every time I plug it into my PC and fits nicely into my pocket, earphones and all.

That last feature provides one of the greatest benefits. As I head into the men's room for my morning constitutional, I've found that the iPod is as inconspicuous as the Wall Street Journal isn't!

'V' for Win

This afternoon in Tampa Bay, the New York Giants notched their first playoff victory since shutting out the Minnesota Vikings 41-0 in the NFC Championship Game!

(That would, of course, be the 2001 NFC Championship Game, which was shortly followed by Super Bowl XXXV, in which the Giants fell a mere four touchdowns short of beating the Baltimore Ravens.)

(That laughing you hear in the background is Ms N, who happens to be a fan of the Baltimore Ravens.)

Today’s final score: Giants 24, Buccaneers 14. In the immortal words of Daffy Duck: "Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo-hoo! Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!!"

Football is all about strategy, and the Giants employed an ingenious one, indeed. They upended the Buccaneers by reversing their regular game plan. Unlike most games, the G-Men began the game playing with ineptitude - ceding a 7 point lead to the pewter pirates - before letting everything inexplicably fall together. Three touchdowns and a field goal later, Big Blue hushed the hometown crowd. A late TD brought the swashbucklers within 10, but avast, the scurvy bilge rats found themselves cast o'erboard into the dark depths o' Davy Jones' locker.

(Special thanks to the folks at talklikeapirate.com for providing the vocab help.)

Now the Giants are goin' down to Big D, and I do mean Dallas. (All the country music fans in my audience will get that one.) The re-rematch is set!

This is where some of the jubilation turns to trepidation. The Cowpokes beat the visiting Giants in the season-opener, and then beat the Giants again almost three months later in the Jersey Meadowlands. That doesn't bode well for the boys in blue. But I have faith, hope, and, most importantly, an abundance of denial. So as I rest my head on whatever pillow Ms N decides not to hoard tonight, I have a happy thought.

It doesn't matter what happens in the first two games, so long as you win the third.