tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87093783521745280542024-02-19T10:28:23.857-05:00Conshohocken FreedomLiving next to Philly.Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-3140677370264353672009-01-14T23:40:00.002-05:002009-01-14T23:49:04.453-05:00The Essence of SchwenkMy friend Kelsey whined at me during a Gmail chat the other day, complaining that I've been spending too much time writing for America in 100 Days, and not enough writing here at Conshohocken Freedom. Sorry, Kelsey. I hate to disappoint you.<div>If I had anything to write about, it would be about how stupid the Steelers are, and how stupid our friend Brent is for being from Pittsburgh and being a Steelers fan. Usually I'd be ripping on the next team on the Eagles' schedule, which in this case is the Cardinals - but the Steelers are so stupid that I can't even begin to think about Arizona.</div><div><br /></div><div>But Brent knows how stupid he is, and I don't want to spend my time writing about it right now. Instead, I'll share with you an old video of a friend of mine from college, who decided to take a breather during a gave of 100-cup beirut. Sorry it's sideways, but it still gets the point across; my favorite part is when he waves to the people across the street.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre; "><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QCKU2P7PZHg&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QCKU2P7PZHg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 10px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><div>But shhh... don't tell him.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-74392942933654176642009-01-07T22:33:00.002-05:002009-01-07T22:37:37.083-05:00Happy new monthFrankly, I prefer to celebrate 12 times a year.<div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I know it's been a while, and I don't have much energy to write, after savoring every bite of one of the most delicious meals of my life this evening, courtesy of Nectar in Berwyn. But here's a video I just stumbled upon in a moment of googleboxing, which isn't quite the old Orson Welles video but it's close.</div><div><br /></div><div><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-Ei7LqbYb8M&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-Ei7LqbYb8M&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Enjoy! And question reality every now and then.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-57217091995559461192008-12-03T22:27:00.004-05:002008-12-03T23:12:40.474-05:00Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcd-VcpcHIctk2og5lDKVnh5R-0NvflpVGomDdxtHuOvlUnaFf65D183mljI1GvU89ch4W7wjA2RcZLW5BjcSBIpmzSZ0G7r4MWDdy4tA5CFL4A532nf0bf_Zn8o-9NA0NPZKtsCFqwE/s1600-h/zelda.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcd-VcpcHIctk2og5lDKVnh5R-0NvflpVGomDdxtHuOvlUnaFf65D183mljI1GvU89ch4W7wjA2RcZLW5BjcSBIpmzSZ0G7r4MWDdy4tA5CFL4A532nf0bf_Zn8o-9NA0NPZKtsCFqwE/s320/zelda.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275772018261512386" /></a>I was never so privileged as many of the kids I knew growing up, with regard to various material goods. On second thought, maybe privileged isn't the right word - maybe spoiled is a better one. Regardless, my parents didn't waste a whole hell of a lot of their money buying useless crap for me. Sure, they spent enough to keep me entertained, but I was usually near the end of the train when it came to buying new stuff. The big new video game system would come out and everyone would be talking about it and making me feel generally left out but indignant at the same time. And eventually I'd get to play it at someone's house, or wait the necessary amount of time for a newer, more advanced system to come out so that I could buy the old one at a get-this-out-of-my-store discount price. It all worked out in the end.<div>Well, during high school, my friend Kyle was heavy into video games, for any system you could think of. At one point he had Playstation, Nintendo 64, Sega Dreamcast AND its predecessor, the rarely-seen Sega CD, all hooked up to his TV at the same time. And with a little direction from my friend Kyle, I got my filthy mitts on a used N64 and a short stack of games.</div><div>Sure, I had played more than my share of Goldeneye. Weeks worth, in fact. I was even fairly adept with its spinoff game, Perfect Dark. I knew Slippy, Falco and the rest of the Star Fox gang. And I'd enjoyed long hours of Mario 64 and MarioKart 64 on more occasions than I could number.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I'd never played the Ocarina before.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69d_tf2X3HQabLNl3J4-AKT_NKl5VVPrD_I4UGDMbvcC_YyFnBpSvvfKqylLg95Zn9fs-JeHnnaM60ctpsTXK9H8zDpLoaEbJ4dIfWRFZZHHqFP7SQdqDx7ENifMwBMCj5sz5is6gznY/s320/The_Legend_of_Zelda_Ocarina_of_Time.jpg" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">By the way, right around here is where I'd like to bitch for a second about blogger.com, the site that hosts Conshohocken Freedom. They've got a great, free service that I figured out pretty quickly. But just recently, all of my posts have this really annoying behavior when I put images in. The one at the very top lets the text wrap around it, but none of the subsequent ones do. They used to, all the time. It's a goddamn disgrace.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, this was and continues to be the game to trounce all games, one that designed by marvelously clever Japanese programmers to incorporate content suitable for practically any age, confounding puzzles and challenges (for even a moderately intelligent high schooler), fierce battles with various creatures and an endless array of irritatingly catchy tunes.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The game is based upon the classic Zelda theme of elf-boy must save princess. On the way, I spent more than a month twisting and toiling through this seemingly endless game, eventually giving way to the extremely helpful video game guide. I don't know if I would have made it without that guide, frankly. There are so many portions of the game, so many accessible areas, and so much stuff to do that if you can get it started, you're not going to stop until you beat it.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I thought of this because I brought it over to my girlfriend Bernadette's house the other day so I could play it when she's doing homework. In my mind, there is no topping this game, no matter how much money it costs or how new it is.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And don't try to convince me otherwise.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-65072637672832112902008-11-19T16:36:00.004-05:002008-11-19T17:00:02.914-05:00The Flash<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYgUy3bRimSYmaLIT97LBwcWrC1qLU5THGrtwDzMsvnkQ2ZJnG7FWxSR8X0RXoHF56aksvBlImTNBzfvAfO-tgPLFehk2gYPxfWVlY7Fkw9ncA0tFy1iy7ncwE71U_J2bOGo1UUUQl1c/s1600-h/flash.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYgUy3bRimSYmaLIT97LBwcWrC1qLU5THGrtwDzMsvnkQ2ZJnG7FWxSR8X0RXoHF56aksvBlImTNBzfvAfO-tgPLFehk2gYPxfWVlY7Fkw9ncA0tFy1iy7ncwE71U_J2bOGo1UUUQl1c/s320/flash.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270486356921534530" /></a>Today I was driving home from work at the P.R. company, along my typical route at typical speeds. One leg of this 20-or-so-minute drive involves a few miles on Barren Hill Rd., a winding, two-lane road passing by houses and few residential streets. It's hard to drive the speed limit on this road (35 mph), especially when there's on one in front of you, but going too fast (i.e. 50 mph or more) is not an option either, as the road is not a straight shot in any way.<div>So I'm cruising along at around 42 or 43 mph, about 2/3 of the way along Barren Hill Rd. when an approaching car flashes its high beams at me, five times in rapid succession. My first instinct was that either my lights weren't on, or that my high beams were on and the approaching driver didn't appreciate it.</div><div>But this didn't make any sense, as it was 4:30 in the afternoon (too early for headlights to be necessary and too early for high beams to blind anyone). My low beams were on.</div><div>Then I realized that this car was doing me a rare but invaluable favor. The flash can mean three things: fix your lights, go ahead (i.e. at a stop sign) or SLOW DOWN, there's a cop up ahead. In this instance it could only mean the last of the three, and I knew it.</div><div>It may not have been entirely necessary, as I wasn't going all <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">that</span> fast. But I heeded that car's warning and took it down to about 36 or 37 mph. And sure enough, about 500 feet later, there he was. A cop car sat at an angle in a driveway, ready to pounce at any moment.</div><div><br /></div><div>So three cheers to that random stranger in the passing car. Despite the fact that this sort of maneuver is morally suspicious and clearly illegal, that driver stuck his or her neck out and saved me quite a bit of hassle, as well as possibly a speeding ticket and points on my license.</div><div>Thank you, sir or madam, for your thoughtfulness and courtesy. I hope I can return the favor someday.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-871192569147036812008-11-11T10:20:00.005-05:002008-11-11T11:24:01.578-05:00Eating in Conshy: Sit-Down BreakfastAfter living here in town for more than a year now, I've provided myself with plenty of opportunities to sample the local fare. There are plenty of places to get a bite on the go, and considerably fewer for sitting down to eat. Luckily, the former of the two of usually my preferred method, and I've indulged on many, many occasions.<div>And as near as I can tell, I've pretty much exhausted the options for <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">sit-down </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">breakfast</span>. With two categories to consider, here is my judgement.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first is the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">401 Diner</span>, named for its address on Fayette St. This place has the look of an old school diner from the outside, and inside follows suit, with a jukebox that skips incessantly and waitresses whose voices are baritone or bass from decades of smoking. Food is reasonable in price, size and quality, but this so-called "diner" has one fundamental flaw. They are not open 24 hours a day. In my book, that's pretty much the definition of a diner, so this place loses some points for that reason alone.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The only other place in town for a sit-down meal is <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Boccella's</span>, a small, quaint operation at 521 Fayette St. This place first caught my eye after the day of the Pennsylvania democratic primary, when Hillary Clinton came to town and got a chicken cheesesteak here. Myself being an ardent Barack Obama supporter, it made me avoid this place for a time.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbzYQpRZe8z7HdomDZ5WXR5_W0YG7GqCDQ4AZNFOW42xZ5Bb7NDyC2qNBZiSeTppCr4BvxnhRgBlVNIHgN6KUsSXZMVP0zgEv-kAY5Tk-fdgEGCIqbrVZbGttFAUaI_mhXK4dyeYIrO6E/s400/hilldogg.JPG" /></div><div>But soon I caved, going here one morning with Bernadette and our co-worker Shar. They had a very good breakfast menu, inside a comfortable atmosphere (though somewhat small) with young servers. This is usually a warning sign for me of trouble to come, as none of them looked older than 16. But these kids were on.</div><div>While the 401 Diner wins with regard to hours (open for dinner every night with breakfast all day), they lost those points for not being a 24-7 operation. And Boccella's, while nowhere near to a 24-7 place (closing as early as 3 pm some days), beats the crap out of that stupid diner. Their food is superior by leaps and bounds, their service is friendly and expedient, and their prices are just as reasonable.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, the best dine-in breakfast in town is at <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Boccella's</span>.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-30631832785936162052008-11-04T11:48:00.005-05:002008-11-07T07:37:10.455-05:00Barack Obama for President<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pjf3HP7HR7JaVMHf5MFg_xDcfpw3DDc0HST506zfrBNPragtHmvawCDQKGtb8LkhrJwfgRPCD5BRGJqtMF5CaP5iWYpEgN4ifuUN00LYhDO6q8XMhHI-o3_YYRogHq5pgfo6aP0EWWs/s1600-h/barack-obama-mosaic-portrait.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pjf3HP7HR7JaVMHf5MFg_xDcfpw3DDc0HST506zfrBNPragtHmvawCDQKGtb8LkhrJwfgRPCD5BRGJqtMF5CaP5iWYpEgN4ifuUN00LYhDO6q8XMhHI-o3_YYRogHq5pgfo6aP0EWWs/s320/barack-obama-mosaic-portrait.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264846871836907762" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">Today's the day, dear readers, and this is my official endorsement.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After two consecutive elections in which the correct choice was undeniably clear, yet both times forsaken for the single worst president I think I'll ever have to live through, I have very little faith remaining in the common sense of my fellow Americans. Our own inability to see through the bullshit has left us in a dire state of need. We need another Republican driving this country into the ground just about as much as I need a fucking bullet in my head.</div><div style="text-align: left;">But I have not lost all faith. After all, just two years ago, Pennsylvanians came together to oust former senator Rick Santorum, the most vile, sinister piece of shit who has ever spoken in English. And we did so by a wide margin - a sign, perhaps, that we're coming to our senses.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Thousands of Americans and nearly 100,000 innocent Iraqi civilians have been killed since we marched into war in Iraq, scorned, lied to and taken for idiots by a crafty, arrogant Bush administration. Billions upon billions of dollars have been squandered in this conflict, which was supposed to pay for itself in oil...which, by the way, has been the bane of our wallets and pocketbooks in these past years.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The gap between rich and poor in America is greater now than it has ever been. Our environment has been neglected to a dangerous point, both nationally and globally. And in the eyes of the rest of the world, we are not the America we used to be. We're a bunch of assholes with the shittiest president we've ever had, and we've lost any place of reverence in the global community.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Fuck you, George Bush. I wish I could take the whole country by the hand and chant it in unison. But to be frank, the notion of a black president is something that many would have thought impossible even a few years ago. If electing Barack Obama isn't a big, fat "fuck you" to George Bush, then I don't know what is.</div><div style="text-align: left;">So mark it down. Conshohocken Freedom gleefully endorses Barack Obama for President of the United States.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now get out and vote!</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-76995085170463939552008-11-02T18:05:00.000-05:002008-11-02T18:04:09.752-05:00Sightseeing<div style="text-align: justify;">You're probably all really mad at me for not having written anything for so long. I'm sorry. In the meanwhile, it's not as if I've been lounging around watching cartoons and drinking soda. God knows I'd prefer nothing else in the world, but no - aside from my usual heavy workload, I've been out doing stuff. Let's talk about it with the help of a few photos.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcsHlvyMzYORAwV3hqfP32e2UfzYUtV6XpbrZvII-Yh0aboNEPTuChyphenhyphen09_GuSRSUrZUgbQjWcEL3KvtufPfG8ndSXTGrwckNEDq2yU2VLGIdEhKu9_pcWGI2PLDd3-BObaO4985NzHXY/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+005.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258106179282332114" /><div style="text-align: center;">This photo features the line, in which I was standing, outside The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. This was way back on October 8th. I'd traveled up to enjoy this marvelous Comedy Central program from the studio audience, rather than the boring old "watch from home" scenario.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfueHF7eOaiyqhnFIfWbmFgkVImHOsCiEmkgpKaxG-Z9iwfXPTt2gsWX4B6Jf6VzPN0KpVth55b5T5mkyC4ikohtxDxj0Ztn8XRP02U59Z1vjqldUkAeJfB-dB8ATzzHhuxftdAFFmdng/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+003.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258108686783682418" />This is Dave, the cool-as-Tom-Jones fellow using his textular device on the left. To his sideis Ian, doing his best monkey impression on the right. These two gentlemen, along with Ian's dad (Papa J), were the impetus and accompaniment for this little journey.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pht31VhuVS8kgfUeQ3Y-5X-QzVjZb9m_okWP7f2set0bGV_vdpUmdh3NB6I-W-Ma3Ca786NRduQEV8w2A30RDvlFme9epgRitt9_HSMgunuJdfmxPzN80LbDqUSWlg7HK5omccOfviM/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+011.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258108698618422338" />...And here we have the all-too-appropriate sign over the door.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now, here's where we hit a snag. We were informed on numerous occasions that we were obligated to turn off and put away any electronic devices that could record any of the performance in any way - cameras, cell phones, Ipods, anything. This was, of course, a huge disappointment for me, and I realized that I'd feel like a huge jackass if I didn't at least try.</div><div style="text-align: left;">So from my right pocket, I pulled my camera out just slightly, cleverly turning off the flash. And I managed to snap three photos, of quality ranging from poor to marginally visible due to the severity of the situation. I was, at this point, pretty satisfied with myself.</div><div style="text-align: left;">But of course, I had to push it. After Jon Stewart put on a very good show, with Michelle Obama as the clearly exhausted but very amicable and gracious guest, the crowd of close to 200 began to disperse. An usher/intern type person had thanked us for our attendance and directed us toward the exits. And in the fray, I thought I had a fantastic opportunity for a photo. I popped my camera up and snapped a killer shot of the stage, only to look back at the usher/intern girl as she pointed directly at me and sent a security guard my way, who promptly made me delete my photos. Huuuuge bummer.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuXH0xo2uTb4fXO-jqc78DQvv2uG4SocIU8QNVB9vOSobLkjgowc6jxID-ATlglZOJJRbZ-VCOqtBMUx1a5X2qcEUVV1icyP36JtPvwD6nVaq_zvFCNUfCObHNDXB9Z_i9xtBr4wHyT7g/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+013.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258108719676509794" /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">This ended up being the most concrete proof of my visit. But things soon took a turn for the better; once the show was done, I parted company with my crew and galloped headlong into the depths of the city.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjyHlNImjAZf8x1P1dhXzsL7VQdgL9DpbhGfbU5vc6Vn7hBYdSWbXOQ-0QVUuyb4nGIFjCmQa5hU7TGhtYVrrOT7lNw2Pa9Qo0GXgEOPwSgdgHKX5wy4panAPmk8-cscCYT6UTqRBP9VA/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+019.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258108731279564146" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I was able to meet up with a handful of friends, including (from left to right) Kelsey, Bill, myself and Cheese. The bunch of us date back to college, to my fraternity days in Phi Mu Delta at Susquehanna University. Also included in the evening were my friends Tats (another fraternity brother of mine) and Noah, not pictured here.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJw7AfwinK_Xw3P09ccLzh7Bjq2hjp_YY87S9Vf177uRwFXMcjqQJCW5WNQJ6AQixm3H7uUMS_9XGASumWLXiOvVdsQIhwy6iijWboQxQ9UNlt17_9Q_a4Y8rwxd5Jle6OnT05mpC9xs/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+016.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258108744286693410" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We insulated our stomachs with delicious pizza from a place called Ultimate Pizza, at 401 E. 57th Street, just a few blocks from Cheese's and Tats's apartment. Buffalo chicken on the left, BBQ chicken on the right. Buffalo was better.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidnj5TcGlLvfrIq3Fio61VPbnfp82gWw864KahKEWMWO4JwA7ovtdWak7m_gE-SdJSbWeXY_GwjFkWGZuBGau8hss5KV4jw110wDwph8T7rBsAbtqGRUaAPcX2TjmeIPcu9xQHKmz0NHU/s400/DSCN1708.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259278564749983714" />...Aaaaand here's the drinking establishment where we enjoyed a few beverages.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszaCes6hMidj-PGn8zzSsiwZ3gHVo_qF0u-8vJ70FgaModWtD7XPna1ZeyEA8Gr5FHwlbGSgd1SCfnh93UYs00Vw6Ze_UEboIQzildW7xkEn1umrfK5P8lp6UUkEqUiM_k6f8pNzYwLg/s400/DSCN1714.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259281021648898482" />Now, as is usually the case, I had to be home in time to work at 4:30 the next afternoon, so I would have to make some moves the next morning in order to make it home in time. They began with this, an immaculate scribbling of directions on the front of this Chinese menu, courtesy of Tats and his flawless sense of direction.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieXb9RhRpZegfZ0tEC3TGiANN9whJ6BzInnJQJf1pzXatAGxVfjpG-0ec-lSPDBoLYF1dfmp_Mcx3eewSOFv5UfABnsuCi4q4NsHjso0uFVV7KqmJ3pFmV7DVRhGJmg9MOF6onPa8b6p4/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+035.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260743258359654194" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Rode the subway with my new metro card, a brilliant invention that Philly's opposite-of-beloved SEPTA just cannot seem to wrap its mind around. I purchased this metro card from a machine, one that operated 24 hours a day, another concept that seems just slightly out of SEPTA's reach.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Long story shorter, I made it home with plenty of time before work. Interestingly enough, the wait was shorter for a Greyhound from the Port Authority to Center City Philadelphia (about 35 minutes in line) than the wait for a SETPA train from Market East to Conshohocken (about 50 minutes, even on a weekday).</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The sightseeing continued three days later, on a Saturday that was also to include a day at work, only this time beginning at 2:30 or 3 or something. Again, let's go to the photos.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSpxbyg2f0j69AtiL3YNFdLXnrjtKua8oqBZNUwIdpgC7mY7T2EPKVGA_agurIbWkQzr6GuNWEDHQe-z4SWijPkheR6uidK0io1oX4YTTEGoH3HY4fh_x2x8Gcz6xjPPWIL8XQu0cYag/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+039.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260756875046730914" /><div style="text-align: center;">I didn't catch this girl's name. This girl was a volunteer for the Obama campaign, handing out stickers that acted as admission to a big Barack Obama for President campaign stop in Germantown, in Northwest Philadelphia. This was one of four local stops of which his campaign had notified me through email.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNu84zI8U8fJHxrIQbXH7t15mxu9Y05l1zevaP4z2TBuYCOzx03VkeRNd3l6qvJUvPRXauJuhF3ekmuzRRyEDynmsRj9VPoE4BlWl0E9FLQTbMZQx2kmZPAscrofZz5srVQr0qKHbjWno/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+041.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260758595272552546" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The email said that the doors would open at 9:00 for the 11:30 event. I didn't think it would be too big a deal if I showed up at 9:15, which I did. But after parking about eight blocks from the site of the speech, passing car after car checkered with Obama/Biden stickers, I encountered this, the line. This line stretched around for another five blocks or so, bringing my foot travel at this point to about thirteen blocks - several above my comfort level.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkAeRHkorXE7xSbLTAEkyTVd9qeuxtTEk5vyGK8Hl85FEVFpYXBrxV4sbwNshQHdkIfUAuxb6Ul4TyIBY4RjVzEoaGDyLr34SUOmjvsvZHHQ0D1xP7gVi4Q8ga08kP8HbgAebeXkDFuo/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+043.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260761030192851586" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The line began to fill in behind me within minutes. We crawled slowly forward, one step at a time with long, frequent breaks between movements. I ended up standing in line for more than two hours, with an ever-growing line snaking through the streets of Germantown behind me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRMpZv4CHbYstH-hB8UTxYQDP_5uT1zYYvndhrZJQxm5f0JmycPt9Mqhen4EVOd_0wyQo8B8lrZKKEIHhfadwrA6yTYwgl79cmtsNZO6I7OFHHcITZMI8zBnli-KXdfdoR0_BM4wLsE8/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+054.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260763411120286066" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">As I approached Vernon Park, the site of the rally, a sizeable crowd had collected across the street. I assume these were the people who'd shown up far too late and didn't try to brave the line. Who's the wiser between me and them, I'm not 100% sure.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBZwbNzG2vfNxxiL0Y7Tr077OUlDb_YD3qRtmv-1hliY0EjA9s7YwWwvQ23hlTCWxaT0XuVKM66Vo2PjDk_ZzgZWmfN1m4Y977XXbwd9pNbi-kTF61KgNhGTcsorRw6Zo8ULevua3yEs/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+056.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260765385746169186" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Finally in, a few minutes after the scheduled 11:30 start. The volunteers outside were nice enough to warn us that there would be an "airport-style security checkpoint" on the way in, which I'd anticipated, but still took as a friendly gesture. The park supposedly holds as many as 10,000 people, but I have no idea how many they managed to pile in before the rally finally began, around 11:45, considering how close I was to missing some or all of it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYA6DYoAcCCXrbgGV2bYK73NcbhvCUlgLXhyphenhyphenXHKQv5m6iX9kh0Lrybf7DArh7tuVZfJdNn3UOCr14xrxsDi1B4PvXKrxY1Ljygm7kwuIjR3bs2MsfsB-iYcfRAAQ8wmNeSXRsGoBmTfg/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+059.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260768189699885026" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4k_Kvh9w-KGOCq3ksxZRMzn36acn4eF1snFzAB2D1F18OcwCME2NKlGceOa9hg4pWfPAsic4U8oc-Kwtsx8JKESAtLteoRGD7fc4dSQXHOKdF7dZ8unlnqQlTuT3Biqv27Mxl94kFk0/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+062.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260769153901694434" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDIrRcZ16GyEruggPV0YsDf9t6DL0WHswOB34AUV1B8B8U98LhzyNaL3ZN4TnfkjynNVAdPJTazRkO75RQGNLdqi4ywtBsdIckHNGMKtMNBCWGcaS5fvGrJr1Kb66dqYSqOSIJ_HInkr4/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+069.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260770162654309362" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There were some big names who came out to start things off, including Mayor Michael Nutter, Senator Bob Casey and Governor Ed Rendell, all good people who each took a brief turn at the microphone. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRmKTZb2Ua9MckNc9HdtBpEsUW8C41IR-vPxFzZ7RCnQl21jguy0ZEEoAx8NJRfi7o76xQZ67HOQLJx5iI3it4GngQa01c-pPTRODAvt4u4weig_nmhw3Y_Nxhr9t66zPz4GD1qTPQXc/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+072.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260772761633588770" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGyPaAIjlG5i05cLiYeWciWX2uOq7j1mdlVflrlBe7bs-wvASzUIq7kK8upn9oNDqNEd-GtPWRCdQWqa2hSLP-Lbq2I1FbSKmQTL3CzeGUK4qdN-G6PMTPova49_yAAX1l53pVH9EeefY/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+079.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260779145881279458" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicGDtHF31e4ps6eobStRHmbT6IQn27SYkAv0fKGIje8w_qABl5GIRjxszhFAURJ0P_9lhrp5kI6ocGf3G7Y5v_cCURqI0FuVKfHFF34HTNOMEr5A5YEpJlDPigu3kSIjTvVlk6zrIFzc/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+090.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260780357052916066" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Soon, Senator Barack Obama came out and delivered a fiery speech, frought with motions with his right hand. He talked about Wall Street tanking, John McCain being a dick and how stupid you'd have to be to not vote for him. In lighter terms than I've used, of course, but that's the jist of what he went over. A rousing speech that lasted about a half hour, it was well worthy of the afternoon I devoted to it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After a weekend filled with work at the restaurant, I would usually be dilligently zipping off to my P.R. job in Mt. Airy on Monday morning. However, this weekend I'd arranged for the day off in order to make room for a third sightseeing adventure, and the last one I'll mention here.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrteGwN5mEd7Iv_-o-uaXIoekn6Qw5VXu01vFQp85ybEFpQgAn1wD9_5E5biYKqgG-cccec8TGqCvYecxKPrQfts2Vd7lWTvCdJ_Ao1At6AMKqvlimu6a2Gcg7QPLgdlgRoGyJV5ZR6-8/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+075.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 379px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260783782469186466" /><div style="text-align: center;">Here's a sight from Monday, October 13, during my drive west to State College, Pa. for a concert billed as "Change Rocks". The show would feature the Allman Brothers Band (or the remnants thereof, plus Warren Haynes) opening for The Dead, or a rare reunion of the surviving members of the Grateful Dead - Phil Lesh, Mickey Hart, Billy Kreutzmann and Bob Weir, referenced above. Big fucking deal for me, as I happen to be a huge fan of the Grateful Dead and an avid collector of their music, in case I haven't already had that conversation with you before.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtqSFlFgLqNMWwB8-Mv3_ZjeNweM_88NiziOT69nx5tDQRupN0Ki63WYBesAfhYzd-BJb9Nlcp3aCEZ8oaX_pPMjQuVgrm16DseFnYCpKMdvcZRubqO6c0YOnV7oZR2LKh9aNaSPpcyzk/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+088.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260787536387404658" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">On the right we have Ryan Miller, a guy who I graduated from high school with and worked with at John Harvard's Brew House in Wayne, Pa. for several years before they closed in December. Nice guy. To the right of him stands Jami Salvucci, sister of Joey Salvucci, my good buddy and former (and future) roommate, pictured all the way to the right. At this point the sunglassed guy talking to him was asking us for a beer, if I remember correctly.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXfKmgGI0iiRhmEbUzhsjGLvv4jbyYSLc7Qz4TQEFPjF1GAUXtI0d1naFnVjVkewA-5n3i31-K9acJVDsHVW_bZinjto_p7nPPws19-uZ5f_HV0cVxn7VgVhW_Lwh_vPypfGlykWoKS4/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+094.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260793703695856626" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's Sarah, that brilliant maker of culinary miracles.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnfyqGRUC9KXJoN2OcOpiTYqiMkpccbyVCuA-0-oxWVkjMzsGE7uJqc51WiU5zxIaek3IEPYUjja-_eWE3s4kGGHmPx-OrvOKPCYj9l1kqN8als0me1pNFP0WaIzgOznVVbM3hSab9JWA/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+099.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262560004929729410" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">On the left, Coleen, a good friend and opener of minds as a philosophy professor. On the right, Dolla Bill, whose mind Coleen is in the process of opening further.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYd7c5qY4j45nNaoQx2ngO8bm9Ucn9z740_W1H8Y9e9Himz-M2wypdgIa0gUpiK8g87CkHf7F0PYggLKe6YIDLqitH0qe1eMgQwtvLPZrbIkAHVU6NvSdt1I4eL69143YhsnB8oI4e1Og/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+129.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264195001497703234" /><div style="text-align: center;">After some time in the parking lot, we made our way into the Bryce Jordan Center. At this point, I was getting a little tired of waiting in lines.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJBUpPrv33Czbl3d0qYFR-kb3jrC3EnAIjl_kHjganz_uV4G60f86wcE3mSCpe8I5JsBYzGoMK4feoatAdfrAJIh24p4KykexZYjKrskWl2spHYfv-Pb6SbzUi26lBh8_1jdo0cy_TfU/s400/Daily+Show-Obama-Change+Rocks+133.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264195166978382690" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Though we were rewarded with a pleasant view.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And as a fitting end, upon entry to the venue, I was forced to remove the batteries from my camera. Naturally. Wouldn't want me taking any photos of the most terrific concerts I might ever be fortunate enough to see in my entire life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The show was great, with the Allman Brothers Band opening, Barack Obama speaking during the break (not in person, just on a big screen), and The Dead (Bob Weir, Phil Lesh, Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann with Warren Haynes and a few others) played a setlist from out of a dream. A magical evening that I'm sorry to say I wasn't able to document for posterity.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On a side note, don't expect me to ever put this many photos into one post again, because it took fucking <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">forever</span>.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-70104553179848384072008-10-27T19:34:00.005-04:002008-10-27T22:54:09.118-04:00New Web Site, BitchesToday saw the launch of <a href="http://www.americain100days.com/">America in 100 Days</a>, a new home for my writing. Note, I didn't say THE new home, just A new home. This is the site where I will document my upcoming road trip across the country, as well as the planning leading up to it and the possible or likely destinations which lie in our paths. Sarah and Joey will be welcome to publish their own material therein as well, which I'm not sure that they will.<div>Bearing in mind that this will be mostly me writing, I'm trying to make a legitimate travel blog of it. So I might curb my language juuuuust a tad. For posterity's sake. Otherwise, this will take up some free time (of which I have very little), but I will continue to rant and rave about various nonsense here on Conshohocken Freedom as often as humanly possible.<br /><div><div><br /></div><div>Long and the short of it, there's my excuse for a dry couple of weeks here on Conshohocken Freedom. I swear I have a very long post to put up very soon.</div></div></div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-16083302764771964432008-09-30T09:17:00.003-04:002008-09-30T10:20:49.609-04:00Things I Hate: MoshingI'm sure you're all familiar with The Colbert Report, a show on Comedy Central that I'd gladly list among my favorite programs on TV. There are plenty of reasons I enjoy it as much as I do, but one in particular makes his show especially enjoyable. Stephen Colbert employs a variety of ongoing series within his show that are all so funny, that regardless of whether it's "Threatdown", "The Word" or "Better Know a District" (my personal favorite), I'm always excited to see the next part in any of them. So I figure, why not try to do that here, with a handful of series like "Drink This Beer" or "Raise Your Glass", or today's "Things I Hate"? So expect to see more of this kind of thing in the near future. And full credit to Stephen Colbert (and his writers) for the concept. Feel free to interview me anytime.<div><br /></div><div>Now, on to my little riff here. Last Saturday, September 20th (a long time ago, I know), I was fortunate enough to be in attendance for a ridiculous concert at the Electric Factory, featuring none other than the Mars Volta. The last time this group played in Philly was at the TLA, a venue on South Street that sells out good shows immediately, without fail.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuLZtx0TAsnQFFCitDLjmuNq1qlHOy56mgBr-n-eBa1tC9ZdBVC0kbaHxS3zDdmbRy_kAAoCb2tGIfdX_35SEir3uc6oWxIKI8rGxxA7B0SXNkQLquoTYDbdXwCorJI9NnPnPjp_UZQ0/s320/Phils+vs.+Braves,+09-24-08+006.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251815890180856210" /><div> Naturally, I was intensely excited to have a ticket to see this heavy, crazy, louder-than-I-usually-tolerate band, whose concerts had been talked up significantly to me by my roommate, Ian. He'd turned me on to their music, which I've been listening to religiously for almost the last year or so.</div>And their performance was everything I'd hoped it would be, featuring a handful of their best songs (all of which have impossible names to remember, like "Viscera Eyes" and "Meccamputecture"). I was enjoying the show extremely - I was in a very good place for about the first half of the show.<div><br /></div><div>Then, all of a sudden, three fucking morons come smashing forward through the crowd, leaping and pushing and smashing and disturbing a whole section of concert-goers.</div><div>Moshers. Those motherfuckers. You can't yell at them to stop pushing you, because they're not going to do it. You can't push them back, because it just encourages them. But we were a full 100 feet from the stage, and these assholes had to stop directly next to me for their little piss-me-off fest. Well, it fucking worked, and I stormed outside in a fit of rage to inhale a cigarette.</div><div>Once I came back in and found my company, we watched from further to the rear, never getting back into the good spot we'd been in, both physically and mentally. A big fucking bummer it what it was.</div><div>To those people who ruined my Mars Volta experience, I say, grow the fuck up. Nobody pays $50 a ticket to have a bunch of lugheads push you all over the floor.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Off to work. Later.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-25878857169354602122008-09-18T04:00:00.001-04:002008-09-18T07:45:40.082-04:00Raise Your Glass: Richard Wright (1943-2008)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6eG2OgyTCIQrsNG04lvO0x9jUZLEsSf7XzZnJuW_TdYjYGdLCoLTiD0fcQUtzdWEMdRTgVp-8WRvZ7a8JTNe6JGg1B4LPVy0KKjvzwBeiMj_0Hp-nuGrRNuEzHRincF3GVCxdmYkP8s/s1600-h/Pink+Floyd.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6eG2OgyTCIQrsNG04lvO0x9jUZLEsSf7XzZnJuW_TdYjYGdLCoLTiD0fcQUtzdWEMdRTgVp-8WRvZ7a8JTNe6JGg1B4LPVy0KKjvzwBeiMj_0Hp-nuGrRNuEzHRincF3GVCxdmYkP8s/s320/Pink+Floyd.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247152496870747538" /></a>I have to take a moment now to make note of the passing of one Richard Wright, a British keyboardist and founding member of Pink Floyd. Wright played with this mind-blowing band through the years that saw them produce some of the most incredible music I've ever been a party to. Their most well-known album, Dark Side of the Moon, was released in 1973 and discovered by me around 2000. This album played an huge role in my musical upbringing, which from there spread through the entire Pink Floyd catalogue, up through Animals and down through The Wall. This eventually gave way to The Beatles, and The Doors, and Neil Young, and of course, the Grateful Dead. And the rest is history.<br /><div>So raise your glass. This guy changed the world.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-22384014722177688252008-09-17T16:55:00.006-04:002008-09-18T19:34:33.275-04:00Reebok updateMy good friends from college, George and Sarah, dropped by a few days ago as they were passing through Conshy. While they were here, Sarah remarked on the catfish swimming around the bottom, a catfish that you faithful readers may remember from a previous <a href="http://conshohockenfreedom.blogspot.com/2008/07/reebok-attacks.html">post</a>. I told her about Reebok's history of savagery and cannibalism within the confines of these 65 gallons of water, of the scores of fish (well, maybe six or seven) that had been lain to rest within the fearless, gaping gullet of this vicious beast. And I pointed to a small red fish (and by small I mean about 2 1/2 inches long), noting that his size and slimness made him look like the perfect next victim. We all got a good laugh.<div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZMBbe4XNOjjZOZ1PEGV7TEtCcfvhfJwkkSImK5BW6URa_gQJNhsJ2gbToVczMQ_UHDVq53QmmIPPq_O4Miv1j3wzG7v45yCSPlfmKkN9NjyokaDFn1nDczey_2-F01SsuF0nSlbabSE/s320/Reebok+09-16-08+006.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247098789561427154" /></div><div>Well, not three days later, that poor little fucker was gone. And Ian discovered his absence at a relatively early stage of the digestion process, bringing my attention to it as I arrived home from work last night. In the photo shown here, you should note the large bulge, right around the belly area. As I snapped photos Reebok swam slowly and gleefully around the floor of the tank, at this point the largest fish of them all. He is the undisputed king of this little aquatic world and he continues to assert himself as such.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just an update. I know you've all been wondering.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-50050766889986786702008-09-15T19:50:00.013-04:002008-09-16T21:56:49.467-04:00Mondo's Wedding"<span style="font-style: italic;">You know, sometimes in life, you gotta marry people, bury 'em and have babies too</span>."<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>-Chuck <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Hemcher</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVotRbu_UCHUpyV3s8ALTSC5HlcDenEbBvXi-zwklQ25eezxPeKW9EYziuq1w6x7Ksa-PvUJ_Fq4z2p0PGqwDAUNJwGEchgpIXvZFh4V3Mq_bqRir7Ylm5i0BgXTzOyRly7KZUbnY2Ln4/s320/Mondo's+Wedding+002.jpg" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246592686027785762" border="0" /><div>This weekend allowed me a rare day off from the restaurant, one on which I'd have no time whatsoever to relax.</div><div>This was the day of my co-worker, Monica (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mondo</span>)'s wedding to her fiancee John, with myself and three co-workers - Bernadette, Erin and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Shar</span> Lee (pictured here) - on the guest list. The clouds were thick, and the ceremony was supposed to be outdoors, somewhere in Bucks County. So the four of us conglomerated together at work for a beer, and eventually got on the road.</div><div>The scenic side of Bucks County is a marvelous thing to behold. Thriving in foliage and rich in color, the drive up the turnpike and north on 611 made this 45-minute jaunt into the countryside seem a little more like a vacation. We checked in at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Plumsteadville</span> Inn, which bore a charming exterior and a huge, completely vacant parking lot. We found our way inside, greeted by a vacant receptionist's desk, and wondered aloud (louder as the moments passed) if there was anyone home.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSumB0ePPSaF3NvMP-LIR9JljX3IozJLiu6KcTSkR3dG3MBKUnewzfgThquF4f55ALypENT4k9PYcG2p1mhA58fVzwiGbjtygfjYJsKvaKFPOwG2sf1x2IC5sntCRMd-Pf43_2GQ4i7s/s320/Mondo's+Wedding+103.jpg" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246603365569767394" border="0" /><div>I tried calling the number on their business card, which made the phone sitting directly in front of me on the desk start ringing. After about 10 minutes of waiting, we found someone cleaning a room who came downstairs and took care of us. We walked up a staircase toward our room, and met with this eerily familiar (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">red rum...</span>) hallway. All four of us caught the reference immediately - I wondered if they didn't leave it looking like that just as some kind of sick joke.</div><div>More on that crazy fucking place later. For now, we were running late, and these three girls got ready for this wedding at (relative) lightning speed. Once we were on the road, we were in line to arrive right on time for the 3:00 ceremony, which was apparently going to last only about ten minutes or so. But of course, our directions failed us, as did the signage, and we ended up driving in circles and calling people for directions. Eventually, finally, we found a sign for our destination - the Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Sant</span> Airport in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Erwinna</span>, Pa. - and followed it through winding roads and into the depths of<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Bucks County. When we finally arrived, it was almost 3:30 but the ceremony hadn't quite started yet, according to the dude in the parking lot who directed us toward where we needed to go. We made it by about five minutes, and enjoyed a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">very</span> brief ceremony (closer to five minutes) with no prolonging God talk. Better yet, my seat for the wedding itself and for the reception were one and the same. We had beers in front of us the whole ceremony. It was glorious.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFN-0pDZrWZ3IlSygCM9UVfh6rluTkwBVg_Mq7QVpAyn-8qQ-QB4TEHGPZ1yhf1kbJrmYtBds2Of9Y0AHFr_L8_Rfg_aL1AKcbtUSjCTfyHOpRVV9Kc9_btpPiYu3FiVwSwnBhJia_2bE/s320/Mondo's+Wedding+060.jpg" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246611721841069618" border="0" /><div>So we spent the next five hours or so eating (briefly) and drinking (more than we ate) and even dancing. Bern (pictured center) got me on my feet for a couple of slow songs, and I got my extra kick of motivation when Otis Day's "Shout" came on.</div><div>Afterwards, we traveled deeper into the wild toward a place called the Indian Rock Inn, apparently another B&B, like the Shining place where we'd dropped our stuff earlier but decidedly less creepy. The bar was small, and there was one middle-aged woman behind the bar with no help, twisting off bottlecaps with her bare fucking hands and getting visibly more irritated with each person in wedding clothes who walked through the door. Once things settled down a little and everyone had their first round, I asked about food, which she said wasn't available at that hour (9:00 on a Saturday). But then food started coming out for people at cocktail tables, and Bern, sensing my growing rage within, asked the woman who brought their food out, who was happy to give us a menu, saying they'd kept the kitchen open late because they knew we were coming. Let this be a note to any large group of people going to a restaurant: call ahead. And do it because cool things like kitchens staying open late can happen with enough notice, and the staff isn't pissed off at being jumped by a huge group of people all wanting drinks at the same time.</div><div>I got wings (phenomenal) and quail, which I hadn't eaten in something like ten years. It wasn't what I remembered it to be, thanks mostly to an overpowering honey glaze and slightly tougher meat. Still, it goes down as one of the greatest late night (as in the last thing the kitchen will be doing all night) meals I've ever enjoyed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back to the Plumsteadville Inn. This place was really fucking weird, as I've already showed above with the photo of the hallway. Let's call that Exhibit A. Moving on from there...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURgrGiIxtKYIxjikWJbJUhbUQu8EvEJ2RzbjC6hSwcouFyWWkznOHBO5deU09wHsUgYBPadbLtVPqlXnHT7SJoTe2rjXdY7DRAOuu9_-FynLaRB_WpTWQO9UM-W6lR_ro58e_KzUq5uQ/s1600-h/Mondo's+Wedding+094.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURgrGiIxtKYIxjikWJbJUhbUQu8EvEJ2RzbjC6hSwcouFyWWkznOHBO5deU09wHsUgYBPadbLtVPqlXnHT7SJoTe2rjXdY7DRAOuu9_-FynLaRB_WpTWQO9UM-W6lR_ro58e_KzUq5uQ/s320/Mondo's+Wedding+094.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246788085316711458" border="0" /></a>Exhibit B: <span style="font-weight: bold;">The television</span>. As you can see in this picture, the grainy, jumpy picture on the screen of this awfully small (no more than 13") television is provided by none other than an old-fashioned, god-fearing <span style="font-style: italic;">antenna</span>. If I'm not mistaken, these things won't even work about six months from now. We dug deeper into this mystery while we were drinking at the Indian Rock Inn, where the bartender (who, I should mention, did improve her demeanor considerably once everyone had a drink and she realized how much money she was making) informed us that Comcast cable is not available in these here parts. Verizon FIOS is available about three miles away, but that's three miles away. So satellite is the only way to go, and apparently the Plumsteadville Inn had not utilized this option.<br />I just had to mention this because I haven't used an antenna to get TV reception in probably ten years. And the only thing it picked up was Chris Wallace interviewing the "master" political strategist Karl Rove on FOX, which made me want to drink gasoline.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGtt0ANcHFjSDbwP9qgBANOO1rf8k8aWzaUO7ZxDmmgYA9SowiEBUIRj2ni2TCWYZ4hvW89C8XGgXqorYhFnpuWeCaoMR6J_PAZa2tAeVTcR2wJqhzOySjiV7aYpECs-B_skpxy8LHHk/s1600-h/Mondo's+Wedding+098.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGtt0ANcHFjSDbwP9qgBANOO1rf8k8aWzaUO7ZxDmmgYA9SowiEBUIRj2ni2TCWYZ4hvW89C8XGgXqorYhFnpuWeCaoMR6J_PAZa2tAeVTcR2wJqhzOySjiV7aYpECs-B_skpxy8LHHk/s320/Mondo's+Wedding+098.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246795327872017026" border="0" /></a>Exhibit C: <span style="font-weight: bold;">The beds</span>. We had originally planned to have three occupants - Bern, Shar and myself. So twin beds, rather than a larger bed and a cot, made more sense for fairness's sake. Then we talked Erin into staying, so we figured we could stash two of us on each of the "twin beds" we'd been promised.<br />This turned out to be just barely possible. These were comfortable beds but were hardly more than two feet wide. Granted, we probably shouldn't have expected for four people to be comfortable in one room, but jeez, those beds were small.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmJiCpj8jduY9SCVFYnsOBSMzMkeKr-QyNQ1jWf8Fnj7G1sYwjOP8zGxXUFQV-nSY0bzRy27lNh_y3RH3ilrcQ8Fp-9sh0NWXiFeCRLuvb8fGnKwn16GfUPoQjL9Yi40euaD7tqCsX8E/s1600-h/Mondo's+Wedding+096.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHmJiCpj8jduY9SCVFYnsOBSMzMkeKr-QyNQ1jWf8Fnj7G1sYwjOP8zGxXUFQV-nSY0bzRy27lNh_y3RH3ilrcQ8Fp-9sh0NWXiFeCRLuvb8fGnKwn16GfUPoQjL9Yi40euaD7tqCsX8E/s320/Mondo's+Wedding+096.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246793976167850850" border="0" /></a>Exhibit D: <span style="font-weight: bold;">The closet</span>. This is easily the most convenient place to get murdered that I've ever seen. This closet, mere feet from Exhibit C, reached back a good five feet and enjoyed enough room to store an entire wardrobe. It stayed dark no matter how light the room was, because the light switch for this particular closet was, well, a dead end. And beyond this big, creepy closet, there was a second closet about half its size (much less creepy, though) in the bathroom, as well as a giant bureau with about ten drawers. Whoever thought all this was necessary is a complete lunatic.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83Pdh1XTjA9eKaMluvFtvZfPOuatB81Zkgah8WE9PXHBKGcxAf_TbWKVnXwBD3feiNXXh20p3D32KBl2P-UIwlmqEhlHpYU1BVmebte_erd6v5wfwESjlF4T6LvO7RHeBXT8NLM7EyNU/s1600-h/Mondo's+Wedding+102.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83Pdh1XTjA9eKaMluvFtvZfPOuatB81Zkgah8WE9PXHBKGcxAf_TbWKVnXwBD3feiNXXh20p3D32KBl2P-UIwlmqEhlHpYU1BVmebte_erd6v5wfwESjlF4T6LvO7RHeBXT8NLM7EyNU/s320/Mondo's+Wedding+102.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246799139231590514" border="0" /></a>Exhibit E: <span style="font-weight: bold;">The sink</span>. What the fuck. Look at this goddamn thing. I can understand that this place might be going for the "charming" or "antiquated" effect. Fine. But there was a point in time when people realized that they can make their water pour not just hot or cold, independent of each other (as was the case with this ridiculous device). The sinks we have today can make all kinds of water - warm, tepid, cool, you name it.<br />These devices make our lives much easier, and allow us to wash our hands comfortably, rather than alternating from uncomfortably cold to blisteringly hot.<br />There's a point at which we need to embrace change for its most basic reason - intelligence. But whoever had the great idea of leaving this stupid sink installed is probably not too big on the whole "intelligence" thing.<br />If the bar had been open at any point during our visit, I might have had better things to say, because the bar looked like a very cool place to throw some back. Alas...<br /><br />All in all, a fun way to spend the bulk of the weekend. Congratulations to Mon & John, and thanks to them for giving me something to write about.<br /></div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-17756970269875139392008-09-13T10:23:00.004-04:002008-09-13T10:40:24.512-04:00America in 100 Days<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8eJlkbQXJxqyvhf8I3LV1EYiWQq7ZPi6ghqiyln5QJwu444VQY6x3TiQYQOLsVj6GzFg62NlcxFIcfn3XGI9WAZ711CaU5Otymjq8JOBrRX5ati5LwU0A9Deau9YHhNDeQbtIMLRoU00/s1600-h/america100.gif" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><img style="text-decoration: underline;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8eJlkbQXJxqyvhf8I3LV1EYiWQq7ZPi6ghqiyln5QJwu444VQY6x3TiQYQOLsVj6GzFg62NlcxFIcfn3XGI9WAZ711CaU5Otymjq8JOBrRX5ati5LwU0A9Deau9YHhNDeQbtIMLRoU00/s400/america100.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245511460329400386" /></a>Pretty sweet, don't you think? Thanks to Joey's deep Phi Sigma Kappa roots, his good friend and fraternity brother Eric Perinotti (also my friend, as confirmed by Facebook) whipped up this pretty little icon for our trip. Hats off to him for being the man.<div>The plan for our trip west has evolved considerably since we conceived the idea (which you can read more about <a href="http://conshohockenfreedom.blogspot.com/2008/05/great-american-road-trip.html">here</a>). We've altered our trip route to include a few scenic Florida destinations, including Key West and Pensacola. We've purchased a domain name (www.americain100days.com) and two years of web hosting, to develop as a medium with which to document every step of this great adventure (and possibly a way to help finance it). And now we've got this logo.</div><div>Good start. Still eight and a half months to go.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-10111373706257551172008-09-11T09:37:00.003-04:002008-09-11T10:05:27.077-04:00Cable NewsOne thing I look forward to every Christmas (or Jimmy Buffett day, as I prefer to call it) is the 24-hr marathon of "A Christmas Story" on...I'm gonna say TBS. Whatever network it is, the movie plays from like 10 at night on Christmas Eve, for a full 24 hours. As soon as the movie ends, it plays it again. It's one of the most pleasant parts of the holiday, a holiday meant to bring families and loved ones together and so on. A very warm, enriching experience.<div><br /></div><div>Today is not Christmas. Today is 9/11. And right on cue, I turned on the TV this morning to see the all-too-familiar spectacle of the two main towers of the World Trade Center, aflame, spewing billows of black smoke into the Manhattan skyline. Why, might you ask, would that be on TV?</div><div>Because MSNBC, the sensitive empathizers that they are, decides every year that just one day of 9/11/2001 wasn't enough. No, and they didn't get enough scared people to listen to them go on and on about it in the months after it happened, either. No sir.</div><div>In lieu of actual news coverage this morning, and every 9/11, they replay the tape of their live coverage from the morning of 9/11/2001. They match it up to real time, and press play, and let us all sit here and remember how fucked up that morning was.</div><div>Guess what? I'm pretty fucking sure I remember without you assholes making a morning of TV out of it again. Even stupid, shitty Fox News doesn't take it as far as MSNBC. All Fox News is doing is showing video of George W. Bush at memorials to mark the occasion.</div><div>What's probably going on is a little case of 9/11 envy. The advent of Fox News came on 9/11/2001, when they realized their purpose: to talk about 9/11 <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">endlessly</span>. Show footage of frightening Muslim radicals, tell people they've got antharax in their mailbox and, eventually, nestle the terror alert snugly next to the time of day and stock ticker.</div><div><br /></div><div>MSNBC, Fox News and CNN - they're all full of shit, and they all want your attention so they can fill your head with their opinions, and they'll scare the shit out of you if that's what it takes to get you to watch them. Or, on the right day, they'll shamelessly turn a national tragedy into a push for ratings. Whoever came up with that idea deserves a firm kick to the groin.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-61284201659636325332008-09-09T15:31:00.005-04:002008-09-10T13:01:20.786-04:00Drink This Beer: Dogfish Head Punkin AleGoing along with my theme of shorter, more frequent blog posts, it makes sense for me to bring to your attention any particular strokes of brilliance in, say, movie-making (such as in my last post) or other regular parts of my lifestyle - such as, in this case, beer.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lJ_TIeLJTrfI9K7CLY1vHIqgC_p-XrkSuXk4We2iUMQUPvuYDbYI_26sxMO22Fr8Lk7q74PsQmwlSyHNVfr3MUhsJanOa1bif9vcKz01brliBtycwPVJBxTSYgL3-MwCq8DAwoC-U_s/s1600-h/Radiohead+08,+Conshy+fire,+Kelsey+%26+Bill%27s+visit+157.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lJ_TIeLJTrfI9K7CLY1vHIqgC_p-XrkSuXk4We2iUMQUPvuYDbYI_26sxMO22Fr8Lk7q74PsQmwlSyHNVfr3MUhsJanOa1bif9vcKz01brliBtycwPVJBxTSYgL3-MwCq8DAwoC-U_s/s320/Radiohead+08,+Conshy+fire,+Kelsey+%26+Bill%27s+visit+157.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244107952504836386" border="0" /></a>This is Dogfish Head, a beer brewed out of Rehobeth Beach, Delaware - the least famous of all 50 states, including South Dakota. Dogfish Head is probably best known for their IPA - specifically, their 60-Minute and 90-Minute IPA's, both of which will set the wallet back a pretty penny but make up for it and more on the palate. And for those of you who don't know (including me, until just now when I looked it up on Wikipedia), the 60-Minute and 90-Minute monikers are based on the length of time during which the wort is boiled, and as the time is extended, the hops being added to the wort lend more flavor to the final product. Makes sense.<br />This batch is one I'd never seen before the other day, when I sauntered into A. Piermani & Sons (my friendly local beer distributor) and saw this delicious, unique box sitting unassumingly on the shelf. It had no price tag, but shit, this is September - and to my knowledge, just about as early as you can hope to find a case of Pumpkin or Octoberfest beer on the shelves. Granted, I had enjoyed a case of delicious Sam Adams Octoberfest the weekend prior. But Sam Adams and a small craft brewery like Dogfish Head are two very different things. After all, Sam Adams <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> the largest American-owned brewery in the country (with Yuengling a close second).<br />This was not a cheap case, as I should have guessed by the absence of a price tag on the side. That is not a point that I allow to play into my decision-making process, however, when I shop at Piermani's. I live a fairly frugal life, rarely tossing any money away on buying new electronics, expensive clothes, etc. I have more t-shirts than I'll ever need, most of which are relics from college. But I love beer. And thus far, I've never balked at a beer purchase unless it's <span style="font-style: italic;">unreasonably</span> expensive - as in over $50 or so.<br />This case came to $46.75. That's almost two dollars a bottle. And handing over my debit card, I remembered the only other time I'd paid that much for beer: about two months ago, when I bought a case of Weyerbacher Merry Monk's, a 9% ABV belgian wheat beer that took me more than three weeks to finish.<br />This one won't take so long. It's 7% ABV, a deep amber color with a fresh, roasty malt flavor, a reminder of Autumn on the way. It's stronger (smarter) than your average beer, but very well balanced - unlike the far-too-overwhelming flavor of the Merry Monk. It bears a strong resemblance to the Sam Adams Octoberfest, but with a richer flavor and obviously more alcohol.<br />Only problem is, you're gonna have to be within spitting distance of this small Delaware brewery in order to get your hands on it. If you can, and you've got nearly fifty dollars to spare, don't hesitate for a second.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">UPDATE</span>:<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Just stumbled across a good mainstream guide to the Philly beer scene. Check it out <a href="http://www.philly.com/philly/restaurants/beer/">here</a>.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-3403802736232798662008-09-03T14:57:00.007-04:002008-09-03T18:40:45.329-04:00Movie Recommendation -The King of Kong: A Fistful of QuartersOkay. It's been more than two weeks since my last real, solid hunk of time (and inspiration) that would bring me to write a good blog post. I like to get into detail, and I get carried away with writing when I can actually get started. So this will be the first of what should hopefully be many smaller posts in the future, to fill these long, unnecessary voids between thoughts and happenings in my life and Conshohocken. <div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241871966973710978" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1z2jVUIFrDh_SG3jJwpk_cXFqi-ro0JjCFNSTn4hs727ka5C7WceiMj0y9QlCAVg1-1GDfceE0-WJQKsZMFJezNJN4EedhWdZchB4XXWZaPyr4cDJZLGXKIQzaAfJC7J_SeASTicc7Q/s320/6a00b8ea06758adece00e398d7e4880005-500pi.jpg" border="0" /> <div>Today I'd like to tell you about a hilarious movie that I viewed recently, a documentary called "The King of Kong." It follows a long-standing rivalry between a couple of hilarious, and more importantly, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-STYLE: italic">real</span> people regarding the all-time high score in arcade Donkey Kong. This movie contains absolutely no third-person narration, only interviews with all the ridiculous characters who take part in this ridiculous story. I call them "characters" and a "story" because they're literally right out of a comic book. Every single person in this movie, save the "challenger" Steve Wiebe, comes off as either a super-eccentric or just a straight-up lunatic. And they're all video game nerds, which makes them even funnier.</div><div>Watchable documentaries are few and far between, and even fewer of them are laugh-out-loud hilarious. This one manages a rare notch in both categories. And it's only 90 minutes long or so, which means you can watch it late at night and hopefully stay awake through the whole thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's all for now. I am at work, after all. Look forward to a good post about visitors from New York, coming soon.</div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-18668577541022966742008-08-14T16:55:00.009-04:002008-08-14T19:41:45.556-04:00The Great Conshohocken Fire of 2008About 5:15 yesterday afternoon, I was home relaxing on the couch after a brainbusting day at my P.R. company. I had the evening off, and was planning on a drive up to Bensalem for the standard weekly visit to Joey & Sarah's house. My good friend Jon, who works just a stone's throw from my house, had dropped by for a post-workday beverage on his way home, and at 5:15, he was on his way out the door, with me right on his heels.<div>Jon walks out the door, and fifteen seconds later, pops his head back in saying, "Hey Tom, you see what's going on out back? You got a big fuckin' fire behind your house."</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQOIrbFTLG5tIeyAGLGOQ-WZo_QDO3rLJt-sp_MhsdmFGJxRqCpaZu_esL35QQPvrvd03wqlwSQh2FKUVY-cMtePCzrbs9ayKOqOBwbFlQ_nB7NAyj_TGnpKUL938l0NfEULKLMFeKWo/s320/DSCN1333.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234482893210546994" />Sure enough, I run outside, and there's a big fuckin' fire behind my house (pictured right). From my vantage point, on 8th Avenue, it looked as though the fire was coming from Hector Street, about four blocks away...and what would be almost exactly the location of my friend Ryan's house, whose name has been mentioned in these pages <a href="http://conshohockenfreedom.blogspot.com/2008/07/reebok-attacks.html">before</a>. </div><div>Immediately, I was on the horn calling Ryan to make sure that he was okay, that he was aware of a big fuckin' fire in Conshohocken and whether he could verify whether or not it was emanating from his house.</div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fu-9xtctjXvaXGeM10Ba92KKaWOuGego9BmTOwx1MURgn_8tACqWhbWguj6jVXD3Bbe0lFnbkXEcGlJvtNXWyPALYHMl9dhhBiHuGWbSskXVqyGDseLFDEuVSIGuZz7SbWfnKC0nyvE/s320/DSCN1334.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234489729110283266" /><div>He answered, said he was fine but was in his car on the way back to his house - was maybe two minutes away, and could see a big fuckin' cloud of smoke coming up from the ground in the general direction of his house, and didn't know if his house was safe or not. He'd call me as soon as he knew.</div><div>Immediately, my mind flashed back to senior year at college, when after a post-bar keg party at my friend Kelsey's house, the woodstove caught fire and burned the entire house beyond repair, destroying nearly every singular possession of kelsey, as well as those of his three roommates. It was a terrible situation, but one in which nobody got hurt, and kelsey and his roommates were flooded with donations, both from individuals and from random "fundraisers" (i.e. a keg party with a ten-dollar entry fee, with proceeds going to the four unlucky residents). Quite a situation, one that I'd prefer not to see happen to anyone whom I care about - or don't, for that matter.</div><div>Within a moment, Ryan had called me back and told me it wasn't his house, but this was indeed a fuckin' fire and a half. He was safe, everything was fine but the parking from his end. </div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjICLaRZC-VckAKCqnbw5_kpy71PKFYLmBBeQwcDZhUOizA00Rgw0VS7hp6DHULMo_enrRMpH1nPl5Gg2Bdss5vGoYBKnRnWJ7UGHE0eiA2b4IjsWTjjF7YivqKR9_Ms5gtl_JXUha-8/s320/DSCN1344.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234490701031884882" /><div>It seemed that a fire had broken out at a nearby construction site, where some new riverfront property was being built. The building collapsed, and in doing so it ignited a neighboring building, a condominium complex. This building, as I learned afterwards, was occupied and evacuated very quickly. Unfortunately, given the time of day when this incident occurred, a fair amount of homeowners were in transit from work and were unable to enter their condos upon arrival. And a very sad result of this was that many pets were lost in this fire - how many exactly, I have no idea. </div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18a7H9J5gfNy57kUTiJNnlt_sT10LtRYDe8X8BO8rYZCwv6zytSZwdXfIHdMnIOb4PF_wRkO_uoQDTO0tKdAmQuIWuyGC16lJos-G7RBYy-SprHTUtEE7OC9mfQQXvGWUTLuQbc-UuAA/s320/DSCN1353.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234499463763731330" /><div>Beyond that, the fire - an eight-alarm fire - destroyed nearly 200 condos and displaced more than 370 people (according to <a href="http://abclocal.go.com/wpvi/story?section=news/local&id=6325577">6abc.com</a>), a number of whom were at my restaurant later that evening, "...trying to get their lives back together," according to my boss, Chuckie.</div><div>But thankfully, no humans were killed, and the last time I heard, the only injury was a minor smoke inhalation. But wow, what a spectacle to have seen in person - let alone on television, which showed a non-stop video feed from an encircling helicopter that looked like hell had spilt over. </div><div><br /></div><div>So count your blessings. Nothing I have is permanent, nothing I am is permanent. And in a world in transit, an ever-changing world full of wonder and mayhem, we should all feel fortunate to have all that we do.</div><div><br /></div><div>I counted mine, over a flawless, home-cooked dinner with people I love.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5QduLyXP5_QqdcpC_U2HafMFN4vHGGGFpUFaGLN8RWHLIbyho-iYtTB06ROJJIATZx1YHAr-JqF5C-Sq9ajUlw7G9w6Se7VWUCMEvYmwUULV1TGS8HD4SV41PUCsSDeFBjMPEX89y78/s400/n9341754_43333849_1042.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234501301605023106" /></div>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-34124678947636551762008-08-05T16:22:00.013-04:002008-12-11T10:36:37.593-05:00Vacation Weekend, pt. 2Sorry, sorry. I'm a busy guy. What do you think I do, sit around writing blogs all day?<br />Anyway, part 2 of my super fun vacation weekend takes us to the 26th and 27th of July, Saturday and Sunday. Remember, this weekend was my summer break from work, in lieu of the otherwise standard trip to Ohio for Gratefulfest that I've ruled out for this year. Hence, I stayed around home and did fun stuff all weekend.<br /><br />Saturday brought me over to my friend and fraternity brother Mark Armstrong's house, who lives just over the bridge in West Conshohocken. I picked him up along w<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumMVDGv34U6lnXE-D7Z70cBMLrh0rUe6xfl_iJ9O0b8bIt9-1HE7ocJFLjWiN5AWis9LkAJnC4esXB7pKLYfKpMAsfnkt6F3MEu5jZheZLTzU-VTXF3peoOrmH_k3xaemEWBgZuGg-Lc/s1600-h/Vacation+weekend+109.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231137264002625554" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumMVDGv34U6lnXE-D7Z70cBMLrh0rUe6xfl_iJ9O0b8bIt9-1HE7ocJFLjWiN5AWis9LkAJnC4esXB7pKLYfKpMAsfnkt6F3MEu5jZheZLTzU-VTXF3peoOrmH_k3xaemEWBgZuGg-Lc/s320/Vacation+weekend+109.jpg" border="0" /></a>ith his younger brother Tom, and Tom's girlfriend, whose name eludes me at this stage in the game. And the four of us, accompanied by melodious tunes from Jerry Garcia's guitar, made the treacherous drive down 76 to Citizens Bank Park for a good ol' Phightin' Phils game. This was an afternoon game, starting at 4:05 against the Atlanta Braves, giving us enough time (but not too much time) to spend preparing ourselves in the K Lot. There, after buying some of the last standing room tickets available (at about 1:15) we met up with a handful of old friends, many from my fraternity at school, Phi Mu Delta, which we got closed down for three years thanks to our unquenchable thirst for sweet, sweet Mama Alcohol.<br />We drank, ate food courtesy of my big (frat) brother Erik's girlfriend Karen's very friendly parents, played buckets, and drank some more before oozing our way through the gates.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMCwSf3L0k59ev6_w5eBsE5lobEFQpOkCLEZ4hEDNMlsao-cfjVMZZBmox_5Truvp7XKmz5vQr6HRpwc1wcDK9GLvz3bhUlgqp666_Z9Ztgi9YqOrSELQO7VXHOWtfrAxLZzBLIrlNWc/s1600-h/Vacation+weekend+112.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231138908197692946" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMCwSf3L0k59ev6_w5eBsE5lobEFQpOkCLEZ4hEDNMlsao-cfjVMZZBmox_5Truvp7XKmz5vQr6HRpwc1wcDK9GLvz3bhUlgqp666_Z9Ztgi9YqOrSELQO7VXHOWtfrAxLZzBLIrlNWc/s320/Vacation+weekend+112.jpg" border="0" /></a>I was looking forward to this game particularly for the fact that Cole Hamels was starting. Hamels was, at the beginning of the year, considered to be the Phils' ace, though nowadays it's looking more and more like Jamie Moyer is...but anyhow, this was the first time I'd be seeing Hamels pitch in person. And unlike at the beginning of most games, my stomach was completely full of hot dogs and a hamburger from the parking lot. So I didn't waste my usual $15 or so on food that, inevitably, comes from the first vendor I see rather than walking all the way to Chickie's & Pete's or something. There are good places to get food in Citizens Bank, but I'm an impatient man, and usually I'll settle for whatever makes me walk the least.<br />Anyway, we were standing room only, so we got a spot out in left center field, pretty close to Harry the K's, which wasn't so bad thanks to the 'sauce'. The Phils broke out a 3-0 lead after a few innings, but without a whole lot of commotion. It wasn't really the most exhilarating game I'd ever seen, but at least we were winning.<br />All that changed in the top of the 4th, as Hamels began to fall apart. Baserunner after baserunner got on and came across, and after a gut-wrenchingly long inning, Cole had been pulled and the Phils were down 9-3. It was so bad that a few people we'd come with took off completely, before the game was even halfway through.<br />Not me, motherfucker. I stayed, and for what turned out to be a really good reason. Once the bottom of the 5th rolled around, the Phils' bats exploded for a 7-run inning capped by a 3-run home run by...shit, Greg Dobbs, maybe? I don't remember, to be honest. But it made for a great scoreboard shot.<br /><br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAabk7jZ8WpGUI_IWG7tqEONRhz9pO95QD5lqpVR4mEhwaUjMeaCU_EWUPvl8OEJ3yHfmHq7ejjOuc1rqkXwMNznllTfef3QVnec4EhtnlYLfRm95tzXHGaYsqgLOlRlk4OQQ01YeqZk/s1600-h/Vacation+weekend+162.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231137994104480802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEAabk7jZ8WpGUI_IWG7tqEONRhz9pO95QD5lqpVR4mEhwaUjMeaCU_EWUPvl8OEJ3yHfmHq7ejjOuc1rqkXwMNznllTfef3QVnec4EhtnlYLfRm95tzXHGaYsqgLOlRlk4OQQ01YeqZk/s320/Vacation+weekend+162.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Stupid Braves.<br />Anyway, the Phils won by that same score, and we piled into the car and drove back to Erik's house to continue drinking. And we did, and caught up with people we hadn't seen for a long time, and so on, and so forth. Granted, I'd been drinking all day, but with my health and safety in mind - always following the drink-per-hour rule. Once I started to feel like I might be approaching that .08 level, I hopped into the car and called it a night, bearing in mind that I had to be up relatively early the next day.</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZEGuyloPAg2D8d5Z-ZJXQL6UpO7XNQx1H8xArD5X96QTPivlpEcqFmRcpinw3-ap73XeYNJxCwbmzFibAiCTIuwtquKl3IXrEub1dq1s4i_GDsbou081kZmcHl-jJTWg5_HsROXvKTA/s1600-h/Vacation+weekend+210.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231142914393623090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZEGuyloPAg2D8d5Z-ZJXQL6UpO7XNQx1H8xArD5X96QTPivlpEcqFmRcpinw3-ap73XeYNJxCwbmzFibAiCTIuwtquKl3IXrEub1dq1s4i_GDsbou081kZmcHl-jJTWg5_HsROXvKTA/s320/Vacation+weekend+210.jpg" border="0" /></a>To go here. A handful of my coworkers and I showed up at our restaurant bright and early at 10 am, and took a leisurely drive up the Northeast Extension to Dorney Park & Wildwater Kingdom in Allentown. Only about an hour drive, during which I discussed politics and Socrates with our busboy, Kevin, while his girlfriend sat quietly in the backseat, no doubt bored out of her skull.</p><p>When we arrived there were about eight of us or something, and we slowly made our way into the park. This place, let me tell you, this place was a stark reminder of America as a melting pot of cultures and races. Never in recent memory have I seen such a mix of white people, black people, Indian people, Asian people, Hispanic people, everybody but albinos. I didn't see one albino, or for that matter, one Amish person the whole time I was there. Quite an eye-opener, on one level or another. </p><p>Well, we sat down on a ride, and I got prepared to clench my insides and hope for the best. But alas, before the ride took off, the straps popped open and voice came over the loudspeaker saying, "Sorry, we have to shut down the ride for the weather." Sure enough, it had begun raining steadily, to the point that within minutes the clouds were really letting loose, and we retreated into a tacky joint that was trying to be a sports restaurant. The food was pretty terrible and equally overpriced, but very filling, and took long enough for us to wait out the storm and come outside to improving skies.</p><p>We hit a few rides, the ones that opened first - a sort of tilt-a-whirl thing, and then the Dominator, which brought us up about 300-400 feet and dropped us into a brief state of weightlessness. Pretty cool, as your stomach isn't full of nachos and cheeseburger. Mine was, which made the ride considerably less fun.</p><p>Then came the demon hellride, Voodoo. It's apparently one of their newer roller coasters, this abominable thing shaped kind of like a U with a really long bottom part. We started in the middle, with out legs dangling out beneath us, and after a "3...2...1" countdown over the speaker, we were violently shot backwards at, immediately, no less than 50 mph up one side of the ride. It bent us forward, while still travelling backward, and took us up a good 125 feet in the air so that we could stare helplessly at the ground beneath us before shoo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVVTnl6DEwy7ZRkRFDwYz-rEF09G6zPi8ei0CXfflL2TZdVHiC1ZomphwUouuijWMNiYFSoSkvpojvoxK1-udwzpNqdiszWv3DhPWo_2C_xYW1LYAuezvpYWBWjG8QG8fBreymwj98-5c/s1600-h/Vacation+weekend+209.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231143303073724114" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVVTnl6DEwy7ZRkRFDwYz-rEF09G6zPi8ei0CXfflL2TZdVHiC1ZomphwUouuijWMNiYFSoSkvpojvoxK1-udwzpNqdiszWv3DhPWo_2C_xYW1LYAuezvpYWBWjG8QG8fBreymwj98-5c/s320/Vacation+weekend+209.jpg" border="0" /></a>ting us forward to do the same thing on the other end. Only on the other end, it fucking twisted us around in loops to further add to the nausea. It did this three times, but the last time we got held facing toward the ground, those motherfuckers made it pause for a split second at the top, so that our bodies slumped against our chest coverings and we all really felt like we were going to die. It was a goddamn nightmare. This ride was the kind of thing that someone who enjoys roller coasters would probably <em>love</em>. But fuck you if you're one of those people. I was not amused in any way, shape or form. It reminded me of why I never go to see horror movies: if I'm gonna be paying $10 for a ticket, and $12 for soda and popcorn, and not be able to drink alcohol, then I better be able to have a really good, amusing time, filled with laughs and enjoyment aplenty. I have a very stressful life and I don't see the appeal in paying money to enter into a private environment, only to get freaked out and come close to an anxiety attack. Fuck horror movies, and fuck roller coasters. It'd been a long time since my last visit to a theme park, and guess what? I don't enjoy roller coasters on any level, period, and I felt like a real asshole for paying 40 fucking dollars to ride them.</p><p>Thankfully, I was with a fun little group of people, all of whom were committed to having a good time. So we kinda seperated into three or four groups, and mine made our way into the water park. This was my kind of park, frought with leisurely attractions like a pool that people floated along underneath waterfalls and stuff. This part was doubtlessly more fun, but the lines were brutally long, and I couldn't escape the feeling that I was swimming in half super-chlorinated water, half child urine.</p><p>And at 5:00, I jumped into my car and drove home to call it a weekend. Definately a nice three days off, and since then I've been right back into the fray, working like a bee to save up money so that Joey and Sarah and I can make up for the fact that this year, I just don't get to have a vacation. Next year, however, will be very, <em>very</em> different.</p>Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-12592786533135340702008-07-31T15:14:00.006-04:002008-12-11T10:36:38.018-05:00Vacation Weekend, pt. 1I've been out of school for more than a year now, always having been fully aware that the first year out would be one of the roughest. Since August, excluding a short three-week period between restaurant jobs over the winter, I've been on a seven-day-per week work schedule, splitting the time between whichever restaurant it is at which I happen to be working, and a "professional" endeavor - first an internship with a tourism magazine, and now as an associate at a public relations company. It's a lot of work, and my days off are few and far between. This past weekend was the exception, as I took off Friday through Sunday for a super fun vacation at home. While I might have liked to have gotten a little rest, the weekend was jam-packed with exciting activities that I simply couldn't resist. Let's start with Friday.<br /><br />After a leisurely afternoon highlighted by a rigorous lawn-mowing, I hopped into the car and headed down to Penn's Landing for a show at the Festival Pier. I had company, my buddy Ryan and the infamous Jennie Doyle, as well as one of Ryan's roommates. This was just my second visit to the Festival Pier, my first being a Phil <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Lesh</span> and Levon Helms show about a month, month and a half ago. I warned my passengers that my last visit, I parked at an incredibly lucky metered spot at the front of the venue, and that getting parking would probably not be so easy this time.<br />Lo and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">flippin</span>' behold, the second-to-last metered spot was breathtakingly unoccupied. I popped <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ol</span>' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cassidy</span> into the spot and got change for the meter across the street at a gas station, and we made our way in.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKO-x1BWyUC_XN66o7DQurZPHQQTHDl4Zi_rwVvXyn0YQPWIHvJ2zpnJ98-lFZzBcQmmO7B8M2RADgoej_KlLZB4-HV5BXkwZ2LNYNy8tQcdm2etV7pLP4b0bjVGQIOLBAo5dxuwfik4/s1600-h/Vacation+weekend+036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKO-x1BWyUC_XN66o7DQurZPHQQTHDl4Zi_rwVvXyn0YQPWIHvJ2zpnJ98-lFZzBcQmmO7B8M2RADgoej_KlLZB4-HV5BXkwZ2LNYNy8tQcdm2etV7pLP4b0bjVGQIOLBAo5dxuwfik4/s320/Vacation+weekend+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229262452452187122" border="0" /></a>This was a show I was looking forward to in that I knew very little about what kind of experience would bloom. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Umphrey's</span> McGee (left) and Sound Tribe Sector 9 were playing, two bands who draw crowds similar to my usual fellow audience members at, say, Dark Star Orchestra shows or Bob Weir & <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Ratdog</span> shows. The difference was that I'd only seen <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Umphrey's</span> perform live once before, and never seen Sound Tribe. So I was largely going in blind, and very excited about what might transpire.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Umphrey's</span> opened, and they rocked. Some extremely funky, electronic jams came vibrating forth from the stage, the bass and drums as loud as, and probably louder than, any noise code could possibly allow. I got a spot relatively close and felt the ground hum loudly beneath me with every beat.<br />They played long, energetic jams, with the only exception being the only song I could name - a cover of the Beatles' "Dear Prudence". And their single-set performance went a full ninety minutes, all of us fully aware that they had to save some energy for a late night performance at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">TLA</span> a few hours afterwards. If they were holding anything back, I wouldn't have known it, because this was as good as I could have hoped for.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BK-bPv3_ms-nOUM-8m4xhakh6X7uiOhvUdp-HVdEufXZpxwpTqnAq-TfIDSCYf9Y4SU_mFomACPCQqHqNsM-6vrhE3sseARtgw2LwRizFbtuo2VQz3a8tvMvQEs8Tmn1YNyXZOHFTA0/s1600-h/Vacation+weekend+091.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BK-bPv3_ms-nOUM-8m4xhakh6X7uiOhvUdp-HVdEufXZpxwpTqnAq-TfIDSCYf9Y4SU_mFomACPCQqHqNsM-6vrhE3sseARtgw2LwRizFbtuo2VQz3a8tvMvQEs8Tmn1YNyXZOHFTA0/s320/Vacation+weekend+091.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229268557252165234" border="0" /></a>Sound Tribe Sector 9 (right) know how to throw it down, and I know this for a fact, thanks to a somewhat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">sizable</span> collection of their music available for free on the <a href="http://www.archive.org/search.php?query=collection%3Aetree%20AND%20creator%3A%22Sound%20Tribe%20Sector%209%22">Internet Music Archive</a>. They're from Atlanta, and also have a funky, electronic thing going on, similar to what you might hear at a Disco Biscuits concert (but minus a considerable portion of the annoying <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Bisco</span> crowds). I'd gotten my hands on their New Year's 2004 show and played the hell out of it - some really awesome music that was really working the audience. My anticipation was very high for these guys.<br />And as I expected, I wasn't disappointed. The band put on a smooth, bass-driven performance with an outstanding light show. The crowd clearly not a sellout, and it seemed like the people who were there were the ones that really, <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> wanted to be there. Everyone danced as hard as I did, and everyone got along extremely well. There was a sense of harmony in the audience, broken only briefly when a miscreant hippie went sprinting through the crowd, followed quickly by a security guard. Ryan summarized it well when he said, "Wow, that guy really didn't want to get caught."<br />My only complaints included the brevity of the second show. Sound Tribe played one set and only one set, which lasted a <span style="font-style: italic;">maximum</span> of ninety minutes. Second, while there are only a handful of song I'd know if I heard them, well, they didn't play any of those. And the vendors at Festival Pier are as expensive as any other place, only with a beer selection about as limited as a carnival.<br />Otherwise, I was smiling start to finish. If you go to this venue, here's some advice: look for metered parking in front of the venue, and if it's not available, try parking at Dave & Buster's. If I remember correctly it was about $8 compared to $20 at the venue itself, though I don't know if that's okay with the Dave & Buster's people. Somebody, try it and tell me what happens.<br />And as usual, have your drinks before you go in, rather than buying them inside. While paying $6 for an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">MGD</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">pounder</span> is a little better than at a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Phils</span> game, it still leaves a shitty taste in your mouth (as does the beer).<br /><br />And look at that, it's 4:15 and time for me to get ready for work again. I'll get into Saturday and Sunday's thrilling activities in my next post, coming tomorrow afternoon.Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-13262572370057816362008-07-15T10:28:00.008-04:002008-12-11T10:36:38.929-05:00Reebok AttacksMonday rolls along, and I put in a day at the office. Afterwards, my good friend John Clay ambled his way over to my place for a nice night of beer drinking and Home Run Derby watching. Clay was kind enough to bring over a case of Rolling Rock bottles, unaware of the fact that I'd gone and purchased a case of Leinenkugel's Sunset Wheat. The two cases had to share what limited space I had in my fridge, and Clay and I commenced our consumption.<br />After a while, after what seemed like hours worth of nonsensical crap playing on the television before they let the Derby begin - complete with a fucking 3 Doors Down performance (blecch) - the competition began, and our boy Chase Utley did not put on his best showing and was quickly eliminated.<br />Not long afterwards, another friend of mine from college, Ryan Stauffer, walked in the front door. Ryan lives just blocks away from me here in Conshohocken, and doesn't go out much during the week as he has a real-person job every day. But he dropped in just at the right time, just in time to see Josh Hamilton of the Rangers go on a spree of homers. The guy hit 28 in the first round, smashing Bobby Abreu's former record of 24. Quite an entertaining show, but nothing compared to what came next.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykfTER5MmpX-t5n1pZOPhJJz10EL6fPRiqx-Kg-g30O6aU8MOyawiuXf-7XWkW_qrFB2knzgPfTYTwilBmv3YLH-yLsBln815R3Jsskurb1f-a2ZBcg9fM0eSffOJMXU_irqi1zjnEtY/s1600-h/DSCN0906.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykfTER5MmpX-t5n1pZOPhJJz10EL6fPRiqx-Kg-g30O6aU8MOyawiuXf-7XWkW_qrFB2knzgPfTYTwilBmv3YLH-yLsBln815R3Jsskurb1f-a2ZBcg9fM0eSffOJMXU_irqi1zjnEtY/s320/DSCN0906.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223248039122237698" border="0" /></a>This, on the left, is Reebok. Reebok is one of more than ten assorted fish that inhabit our living room fish tank. He's a catfish, one that grows very large in the wild (upwards of 100 pounds), and our most expensive fish at purchase time ($50, split between me and my roommate Dave).<br />Reebok, as you may notice, has another fish sticking out of his mouth in this photo. This was brought to my attention by Ryan, who sat not three feet away from the tank and noticed a big commotion all of a sudden. We get up to look, and the little motherfucker has another fish crammed into his mouth, its head sticking out, its gills still moving and it struggling to free itself from Reebok's gaping jaws. Every now and then it would make a concerted effort to swim free, at which time Reebok would simply bash it against the wall or the floor to shove it further into his mouth.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UuHAecEPS9vfK9yezPUJo6xAqqq_PkcArCjHfUIxJDwRuExPrhOpAfx3lt7U1Pl28DEPqwB5XfWTqKw15JnUAVjrGsZn_WrIlT1Gm_wd_z0kkOkyKSsYK05Yaaz993zQDtArmX8LfNc/s1600-h/DSCN0910.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UuHAecEPS9vfK9yezPUJo6xAqqq_PkcArCjHfUIxJDwRuExPrhOpAfx3lt7U1Pl28DEPqwB5XfWTqKw15JnUAVjrGsZn_WrIlT1Gm_wd_z0kkOkyKSsYK05Yaaz993zQDtArmX8LfNc/s320/DSCN0910.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223252506332071634" border="0" /></a>Before long, a few other fish were starting to throw themselves into the fray. This orange guy pictured here is a Parrot Fish (referred to here as a Habok Fish), which generally doesn't bother Reebok for any reason, as Reebok is usually a bottom feeder and the two don't cross paths too frequently. Here, you'll notice the Habok smashing itself against the head of the half-swallowed fish, either as a show of support for Reebok, as a jealous attempt to get in on the kill (which was not dead, mind you), or a show of protest against Reebok and his fucking fierce domination of our fish tank and everyone inside.<br /><br />Reebok's appetite for blood has been whetted in recent weeks, when either Ian or Dave brought home two very small fish, both of which looked slightly similar to tiny sharks. One day, we come downstairs and one of them is missing. Reebok, in the meanwhile, is completely engorged, his belly fatter than it's ever been, and sticking out of his mouth is the tailfin of one of those baby sharks, which he was still in the process of swallowing whole and digesting. And the <span style="font-style: italic;">very next day</span>, the other baby shark is gone too, swallowed whole by Reebok, whose belly was so fat that I thought he was going to die. He hadn't even pooped the first one out, and he had already swallowed the second.<br /><br />But until today, we'd always assumed that Reebok, the timid bottom-feeder who danced in the water for us and who looked too cute to harm another fish, had just eaten those baby sharks after they were already dead. We didn't think him capable of murder.<br />But here he was, with a live fish in his jaws for m<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPeiTW2rbw9zaK_W4OnFVLcuHWpyUncqs49r2mSyPcf3kcUNoF9HfqCjYbS31ErXMlG9RoeuoKvPDzwjeWkFdOH__RrovlZvh05iKLbWxc_TUIQUWxfrIBw2KVRRziA8GKj0sJ9gnp1g8/s1600-h/DSCN0912.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPeiTW2rbw9zaK_W4OnFVLcuHWpyUncqs49r2mSyPcf3kcUNoF9HfqCjYbS31ErXMlG9RoeuoKvPDzwjeWkFdOH__RrovlZvh05iKLbWxc_TUIQUWxfrIBw2KVRRziA8GKj0sJ9gnp1g8/s320/DSCN0912.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223255167591329186" border="0" /></a>aybe as long as 15 minutes while it struggled for its life. And in one grand, climactic moment, the captive fish made one last-ditch effort to break free, and almost made it out. But Reebok flailed, fought, and smashed that little guy against something or just snapped its neck in his mouth. The captive fish went motionless, and Reebok released him just momentarily, allowing its lifeless body to float in front of him for a split second while he repositioned himself, and clamped down on it again, this time onto its head first. He shimmied the fish down its throat, with just the tiniest bit of tail fin protruding from his mouth (as you can barely see on the lefthand side), before swallowing the entire creature altogether.<br /><br />After his meal, Reebok settled quietly into the corner of the tank, occasionally swiming vertically in place in, I assume, an attempt to get the fish down inside him and the digestion process started. As was the case when we found him after his last eng<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiT2UsPMyV9abdUQvnP2_ZkMhU1CyFIRoGPSVnIMMAcCFhz7OoE5yXvfWl8-X7j9WyMF8eyU1gnUF7MMNFcNH-JpvO3XeVwTBbOVawttW_Q2M39hwBYSyMso0OYNhWFz13SaMl-FUX43c/s1600-h/DSCN0915.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiT2UsPMyV9abdUQvnP2_ZkMhU1CyFIRoGPSVnIMMAcCFhz7OoE5yXvfWl8-X7j9WyMF8eyU1gnUF7MMNFcNH-JpvO3XeVwTBbOVawttW_Q2M39hwBYSyMso0OYNhWFz13SaMl-FUX43c/s320/DSCN0915.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223257700902533042" border="0" /></a>orging, his stomach was the size of a raquetball (see photo on right), thanks to his snake-like devouring of one of his fellow fish. But now we know that, behind that adorable, playful facade that our dear Reebok puts on for most people, he's a fucking cold-hearted killer. He's got a taste for blood, and he's not going to tolerate that fish food crap any longer. It's only a matter of time before he preys on his next victim, and now he knows how to do it himself, rather than just sitting idly by and waiting for something to die naturally.<br />Beware. Or else Reebok'll fuckin kill you.Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-24464095676905018722008-07-14T18:08:00.005-04:002008-12-11T10:36:38.943-05:00Food Review: Sarah Lovelace (5 out of 5)Food: Whatever she feels like cooking<br />Location: A cozy, 2-bedroom apartment in Bensalem<br />Phone: Get it yourself<br />Date visited: Many, many different dates<br />Rating: 5 out of 5<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8m-co0ASTpKiMYTgNGfrxooAdOLVS0AQNM-lOrl-kr27G7RfrO41Te-mQ3CZhZn7LWpBuGonufW3tDiDcRWPI2WcbkXcbcMvo6faGBAYMV2-Asc61n4AWxpmxPqHF2KmDQXtUx_stzI/s1600-h/New+camera%21+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8m-co0ASTpKiMYTgNGfrxooAdOLVS0AQNM-lOrl-kr27G7RfrO41Te-mQ3CZhZn7LWpBuGonufW3tDiDcRWPI2WcbkXcbcMvo6faGBAYMV2-Asc61n4AWxpmxPqHF2KmDQXtUx_stzI/s400/New+camera%21+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222996562791136882" border="0" /></a><br />In rating dining establishments on this blog (and on Citysearch before I started writing here), I have been setting aside the 5-star rating for a place that has really worked for it. I wanted so badly to walk into John's Roast Pork and find the perfect cheesesteak, but alas, I will not give credit where it is not due, and it has not yet been due at any restaurant that I've visited.<br />So you can imagine the explosion inside my head yesterday when I realized, as I sat paralyzed by the latest culinary masterpiece that had eminated from Sarah Lovelace's kitchen of wonders, that I had found that 5-star dining establishment that I'd been searching for.<br /><br />Sarah came into my life thanks to Joey Salvucci, my roommate from freshman year in college and very good friend (although his 1400 SAT score pales and shrinks like a flaccid penis next to my 1410). The two of them (both pictured above, by the way) started dating at the beginning of our senior year, when they conveniently lived directly next door to each other (and next to Keller's, the beer distributor). Joey had a Sam's Club membership, and fuckin' milked it for all it was worth, lining his fridge and freezer with meats, cheeses and various other delicious foods, until it could hold no more. So the two of them would cook, cook, cook and honed their hands in the kitchen.<br />Nowadays, the two of them live together in Bensalem, having moved there just a month ago or so from Mt. Holly, NJ. As of just recently, both of them work at the same financial company, which is funny because Sarah just got her job and will be making more money than Joey. The three of us comprise the road trip team for next year (see corresponding <a href="http://conshohockenfreedom.blogspot.com/2008/05/great-american-road-trip.html">post</a>), an idea that developed gradually over this past Democratic primary season, which was the impetus for countless Tuesday evening drives to Joey & Sarah's over the last year.<br />And during these visits, Sarah would selflessly take to the kitchen and cook up these masterful concoctions, generally corresponding with a state that was holding its primary on the day of each of my particular visits. Idaho's primary dinner was highlighted by potatoes, Iowa's by corn, and so forth. It was a brilliant way to enjoy the ever-stressful primary season, and the meals were always outrageous in portion and divine in taste. Her many masterpieces have included chicken parmesan over pasta, appetizer night (consisting of meatballs, stuffed mushrooms, shrimp and much more), or last night's dinner, quite possibly one of the most satisfying of my entire life.<br />I arrived at Joey's on the early side, just before 5:00 after working lunch at my restaurant. Usually, I'd have taken the easy route and chowed down on salad, chili and pork sandwiches during my shift, all of which I make or retrieve for myself and therefore don't have to pay for, as the rules go. But I held on, curbing my appetite for the evening ahead next to Sarah's kitchen.<br />After a smoke and a few rounds of drinks (Rolling Rocks and various shots), Sarah began the barrage with a frying pan adorned with a birthday cake-sized slice of Brie and a box of "entertainment crackers," which was gone almost as soon as she put it in front of us. After I declined a salad, I was instead brought roughly 1/3 a head of lettuce, intact, drizzled with ranch dressing and surrounded by croutons. And the main course, the glorious climax, featured steamed broccoli, creamy mashed potatoes and two large hunks of some of the best homemade meatloaf I've ever had. I felt my stomach expanding and my pace slowing, but it was too good not to finish. I shoveled every bite into my gaping mouth (besides the broccoli - no thanks), and proceeded to lay practically comatose in the living room for the next hour.<br />This is what Sarah does every time I visit (though yesterday's dinner was among the best she's ever made), and soon we'll all be living together in Portland, Oregon. She warned me that I will get very fat, which I look forward to as much as anything else in the world.<br />So hat's off to Sarah Lovelace, the culinary supergenius whose home is the best place I know of to eat an amazing, overfilling meal.Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-20459323976165245512008-07-01T08:54:00.002-04:002008-07-01T10:05:42.673-04:00My Top 5 Dumb MoviesHappy New Month, folks, and happy 3/4 of a birthday to me. What got me thinking about this is a mystery to me, but it's something that everyone should be somewhat well-versed in. There are days when you have time off and you want to watch a good movie, but then paying attention to the movie turns into more of an ordeal than whatever it is you have a day off from. I know the feeling well, and it's been the downfall of many a movie-watching venture in my day (such as 2001: A Space Odyssey, of which I own my copy and someone else's and still have never sat through the whole thing).<br />So it's very important, for those days when your brain is only functioning at about 25-50%, to have a backlog of really stupid movies that you can indulge in. They won't hurt your brain, they won't lose your attention, and some of them are extremely entertaining. Though I must caution you that without smoking at least a little pot before watching, they may not quite have the desired effect. Here are a few of my own favorites.<br /><br />#5: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Not Another Teen Movie</span>. I was first a party to this one during Team Sunday, a weekly ritual in my fraternity house during which seven or eight people would all buck up to buy a bag of pot, smoke the whole thing together in one sitting, and watch something funny on TV, usually Adult Swim or something similar. As is the case with the Scary Movie films, and Epic Movie, and Date Movie, and whatever else, this film makes references to as many popular movies that fall into the category which it happens to be ripping on (in this case, teen movies), and does so in hilarious, ridiculous fashion.<br />Absolutely everything in this movie is exaggerated to the hilt, with a football coach who spouts the word 'goddammit' three times per sentence, an "ugly girl" who's actually just a really hot girl disguised beneath glasses and a ponytail, and a "token black guy" who literally kicks another black guy out of a party because he's supposed to be the only black guy there. My first time watching this movie saw me laughing more than I'd laughed in a good while. But I reiterate, this one especially needs an accompanying bag of weed, or else it might be a little over the top.<br /><br />4: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Pootie Tang</span>. Welcome to the first time I saw Wanda Sykes that didn't make me want to shoot her in the face. This one was a real surprise, which my current roommates Ian and Dave popped in for me during college, before I'd moved in with them. It tells the story of a boy whose romantic exploits with women began at a very young age, as evidenced by the grown woman throwing his tricycle out of her window in a fit of emotion. Pootie Tang is somewhat of a real-life superhero, who walks among us and speaks his own language ("Baby, I'm gonna sine your pitty on the runny kine"), but serves as the ideal role model for kids for some reason, and kicks people's asses with his magical belt. The story is about how his love for skanks got him into quite a pickle, and he has to crawl his way back to popular credibility. Very funny, with lots of good catch phrases ("Wa-da-tah").<br />Again, do not watch this movie sober, or you'll probably fucking hate it.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Idiocracy</span>. This one came out relatively recently, and I discovered it on Cinemax one evening at home. It's a Mike Judge movie, whose hilarious career has included Beavis & Butthead, King of the Hill and Office Space, all winners in my book. This film, which stars Luke Wilson and that stupid goddamn Maya Rudolph from SNL (whose presence was similar to Wanda Sykes in Pootie Tang - surprisingly tolerable) as two test subjects for an Army experiment. These two present-day saps are loaded up into cryogenic freezing pods for what was supposed to be a year, but due to an embarrassing pimping scandal, end up frozen for a full 500 years. And while they're frozen, human civilization becomes overwhelmed by rednecks and white trash who reproduce at frightening rates, driving down the average IQ further and further until, by the year 2505, the world is populated entirely by idiots.<br />This one has been on On Demand for a few weeks now, and I think I've been a party to it about ten times. Trust me, it's getting a little stale. But the first several times watching provided quite a bucketful of laughs, even though I wouldn't be surprised if the movie's predictions for our future were dead on. I heard that one of the most popular new names for American girls (this is no lie) is Nevaeh, which is the word "heaven" spelled backwards. If there are assholes doing that kind of shit today, then having names like Tylenol and Velveeta 500 years from now doesn't sound so far-fetched.<br />*Side note: Please join me in my quest to tell every Nevaeh I ever meet that their name is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Dirty Work</span>. Norm Macdonald at his finest, and Artie Lange at his usual, in one of the funniest, most poorly-acted movies I know. These two are best friends, as they've been since they were kids, and they "don't take no crap from nobody," as central-character Pops remarks. They've always had clever ways of getting back at people for messing with them, and when Pops needs $50K for a heart transplant, they turn their vengeance skills into a business in order to save his life.<br />Shit, I just pretty much told you the whole movie. But look for Norm Macdonald's steel-toed wit to spruce up many an otherwise normal scene, especially his reaction to treatment from fellow prisoners during a brief visit to jail. And don't miss the hilarious screaming and sound effects during the fish-spreading scene.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Dumb and Dumber</span>. You might have started reading this list and thought, "What a stupid article. I bet you he puts Dumb and Dumber as #1." Well, fuck you, you were right. But while this may be a common, almost cliched choice for tops in this category, I would argue first: Fuck you, I've never heard of a top 5 dumb movies list before, and second: This is almost too brilliant of a movie to even allow on this list. The only reason I'm letting myself get away with it is that the focus of the movie is on stupidity itself, making it that much more appropriate.<br />This movie helped to launch the career of one of Hollywood's biggest comedy stars in Jim Carrey, and I would imagine didn't hurt Jeff Daniels's career. Jim Carrey's character was maniacally funny in this film, if not one of the funniest in any movie. The movie produced an endless array of catch phrases, some of which I employ every single day of my life ("There ya go," or "Big Gulps, eh? All riiiight," come to mind). And it has been adequately accessible to me throughout my life, whether loving every minute of it as an 11-year-old, or doing the same now at 23.<br />For this quality, Dumb and Dumber lands among the greatest comedies of all time in my book, and certainly of the 1990's. Whether it can stand up to smarter comedies like The Big Lebowski, has yet to be debated here - but we'll save that for another day. For now, I have a whole day off today, so I'm off to enjoy it.Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-15026884467482578772008-06-10T09:24:00.003-04:002008-06-10T10:01:54.429-04:00ProgressBesides to congratulate Barack Obama for finally putting an end to the longest primary season ever, and to ponder on whether our country has actually come far enough that the clearly superior Obama might actually be elected, over the man who would usually be the clear favorite, I've really got very little to talk about. True, this is a huge step for America, a movement toward equality the likes of which we've never seen before. And it could open the door for a flood of opportunities for similar equalization, for women, for gays and lesbians, and for a whole host of others.<br />Not only that, but Obama will pull our nation out of the downward spiral in which it has been since before that war started, the unnecessary one in Iraq that has taken 4,000 young American men and women from their families and their lives forever, not to mention more than 100,000 Iraqi civilians as well.<br />The first amendment to our Constitution allows us to speak out against anyone we choose, including our government, when we feel the need to protest. I chose to do so in the beginning days of the Iraq War, as did Mr. Obama from his unfortunately inconsequential-at-the-time seat in the Illinois Senate. The people in power did not, the people to whom we gave our confidence in votes, and for that reason our nation is in a shitty, shitty place.<br />Nothing, and I mean nothing, is better now than it was eight years ago for this country, and that's because we've had a bumbling fucking idiot in the White House for the last seven and a half years. And the man whom he has endorsed, John McCain, will only keep us on this same path to...well, fuck, I don't know <span style="font-style: italic;">where </span>it goes, but it's not where we want to be.<br />Forget about your cornerstone issue, whether it's abortion, gay marriage, the economy, global warming, or whatever. Take a good, long look at the state of our nation on every level that you can imagine. And try to imagine what will happen to our troops, our gays, our single mothers, our students, our car-drivers, our food consumers, our workers - fuck, <span style="font-style: italic;">everybody</span> - if we have to put up with four more years of this bullshit from John McCain instead of George W. Bush.<br />My mantra for this coming general election, which I encourage others to adopt as their own, is that if you're voting for John McCain, you'd better have a fucking brilliant explanation as to why.<br />Progress has been made, and it's time to run with that progress.<br /><br />See, I knew I had something to talk about.Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-32727215217961978952008-06-02T18:51:00.002-04:002008-06-02T21:43:48.817-04:00Food Review: John's Roast Pork (4 out of 5)Food: Sandwiches<br />Location: 14 Snyder Ave., South Philly<br />Phone: (215) 463-1951<br />Date Visited: 05-30-2008, 10:15 a.m.<br />Rating: 4 out of 5<br /><br />Man, this hurts.<br />I'd hoped, nay, expected that I'd be able to hand out my first 5 out of 5 rating with a long-awaited visit to the big one - John's Roast Pork on Snyder Ave. This place is widely regarded as the best of the best, by everyone from Glen Macnow on WIP to Craig LaBan at the Inquirer. And their ridiculous hours, Monday through Friday from 6:45 a.m. to 3 p.m., had kept me from sampling their legendary wares for so long, I thought I'd drop dead when I finally got there during operating hours.<br />I did so this past Friday, during a rare afternoon off from work (to be followed, naturally, by an evening at work). I'd just bought a new bicycle the day before, and by new I mean used, but only $60 and barely used at all. Friday morning found me awake by 7:30 or so, another in a growing string of sleepless mornings. My roommate Dave and I had discussed the possibility of visiting this spot together that morning, but he'd gone and made lunch plans without me, that bastard. So at about 8:15, before I could convince myself otherwise, I hopped onto the bike and began a long, long trip into the city.<br />The Schuylkill River Trail runs right near my house in Conshohocken, apparently extending as far as Reading in one direction, and ending up at the Art Museum on the other end. It's an absolutely beautiful paved trail, usually alive with people on foot and on wheels, but quiet today due to the hour. The sunny weather made it a perfect day for an excursion like this, and I'd managed to muster some music onto my Ipod from this pitiful excuse of a computer - a Dead show that I hadn't heard yet, from August in 1972, an excellent soundtrack for this little adventure. I had a few things in a bookbag, like water, my wallet and phone...but goddammit, no camera. A major oversight on my part, for which I apologize sincerely.<br />Anyway, the ride down took just under two hours, and I pulled up at about 10:10. I caught my breath, drank some water and rested my bike against one of the tables outside. The smell of fried onions pervaded through the street outside.<br />There were a few people in line, with one guy fielding orders for roast beef and roast pork, and another guy working the grill. I waited about five minutes before placing my order with the grill guy: two cheesesteaks, fried onions, American cheese. I grabbed two bottles of Fiji water for the ride home, and paid $18 and change for the whole deal. The cheesesteaks were $7 apiece. And while I waited, I was party to an entire wall covered in accolades, awards and newspaper articles about the best cheesesteak in Philly, made in that very place.<br />Well, it was a good thing I had reading material. While I hung back to make room for other customers, my order somehow...vanished. It was never written down, only placed into the memory of the grill guy. I was that unfortunate sap who stood and watched while everybody else got their food, and mine never came up.<br />After about 20 minutes of this nonsense, I approached the counter and politely notified the cook of his error. He was quick to apologize, and said they'd be ready in two minutes. I told him to take his time, as I'd rather have them done right than fast. Five minutes later, I got my sandwiches and another apology. Fitting, I thought, that after I'd waited weeks to be able to make it to John's during business hours, I had to wait that extra 20 minutes to boot.<br />I sat down outside next to my bicycle (which, luckily, had not yet been stolen), a table over from an older woman sitting by herself with a spread of papers in front of her and a portable telephone. I opened up the wrapping to find something I've never before encountered: sesame seeds on a cheesesteak roll. The roll was tough but not too thick, the meat thick and plentiful, and the cheese was divine. This was a very good sandwich.<br />But the flaws were there. The onions lent a modestly satisfying tinge of flavor, but nothing robust, which left me slightly unsatisfied. The meat, which was sliced, chopped slightly but not dices, had a little gristle left which held the sandwich together during a few bites. And most disappointingly, I encountered no fewer than two tiny bits of bone while I chewed on the cheesesteak. Maybe this makes some people feel like they're eating fresher meat, but as for me, I'd rather not be biting down on bits of bone for any reason.<br />These mitigating factors, combined with the extraneous wait, made it impossible for me to give John's the 5 out of 5 that so many other people say they deserve. Maybe I was just that unlucky customer on this particular day, but if you're going to get my expectations that high, you better fucking put out and stick around for more in the morning, goddammit.<br />It was, however, big enough to fill me up, which I chose not to do on this particular occasion, given the long ride hope that lay before me. I finished half and wrapped the other half up and put it in my bookbag, next to the one I bought to bring home for Dave.<br />The ride home was less pleasant than the ride down, as the bike seat had become progressively uncomfortable. I stopped off in Manayunk on the way and got the seat replaced entirely, at a cost of $40, bringing the total cost of this bicycle to around $100.<br />I pulled up to my house around 1:00, a nearly five hour bike ride that spanned probably about 35 miles or something. My biggest regret was that my camera sat in my car at home the whole time. It'll be out in full force for my next review - which, now that I've been somewhat disillusioned by this particular venture, will probably be closer to home.<br />Still, 4 out of 5 ain't bad.Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8709378352174528054.post-12688269760745085272008-05-28T16:56:00.003-04:002008-05-28T18:37:12.224-04:00Concert Story: Dark Star Orchestra @ the Electric Factory, 05-25-2008Ahhh, Dark Star.<br />Had I been born ten, even five years earlier than I was, I would have used every opportunity I had to attend some of the many concerts performed by my favorite band, the Grateful Dead. Notorious for their incredible live performances, the Grateful Dead performed 30 years worth of music that remains today only in audio, occasionally in video...not in experience. Their music has brought me more joy than almost anything I can think of, and I never even got to see them play together.<br />But the fact remains, their music has changed my life in ways I could never have imagined; that in mind, it would be unrealistic for me not to wonder what kind of experience I can hear going on in the crowd in all of those old live recordings I've collected. I reiterate, I never had the chance, as Jerry Garcia died during the summer of my <span style="font-style: italic;">10th</span> year. If that's not an acceptable excuse, I don't know what is.<br /><br />Since 1999, a band that began as a local act in Chicago has turned into my favorite live music act, and has done so by mimicking the surreal art form of that same band, the Grateful Dead. This group, called Dark Star Orchestra, has taken a not uncommon concept (performing live as a Grateful Dead cover band, playing only songs that the Dead played) and embellished upon this, to the point of performing not just songs by the Dead, but entire setlists from the Dead's concert history, which spans over 2,300 individual shows with none the same as the one before.<br />Dark Star Orchestra (DSO) plays around 130 masterful shows each year, usually recreating an old Dead setlist followed by a few filler songs. The group uses their own members to correspond with the oft-changing members of the Dead's repertoire; for Dead setlists which originally included vocalist Donna Godchaux on the bill, DSO will include singer Lisa Mackey to play Donna's mpart. But during shows that didn't include Donna, Lisa can sometimes be found working the T-shirt sales booth. Clues like this, and like the list's particular song selection, spin the concert on an entire new level for hardcore fans such as myself - offering us the opportunity to guess which year the list is from. And in the meanwhile, they are outrageously talented, as close to a carbon copy of the Dead's sound as I have ever heard.<br />My mom does not approve. She's very proud of my tastes in music, for which she's more responsible than anybody. I've turned her on to some awesome tunes, but she is not down with DSO. She feels that music is about creativity, which I can agree with her about to a certain degree. But music is not only about creativity, and I believe that creativity can be (and is, in every single concert) possible amid this band's kind of imitation. They do not listen to each Dead performance and recreate it note for note, only song for song. Those of us who know the Dead know that would be certifiably impossible, especially when the band plays a three-hour show every 2 1/2 days on average.<br />But within the boundaries of each song, DSO lets their creative spirits soar, improvising and romancing every possibly variable segment of every single song. The songs are the Dead's, and DSO shows those of us who were not fortunate enough to experience the Dead in person, just the faintest glimpse of what that experience might have looked like, felt like, <span style="font-style: italic;">smelled<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>like<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span></span> And for giving me that glimpse, they are my single favorite group to see perform.<br /><br />Having amply introduced the band (love you Ma), I'll tell you about my concert experience this past weekend. I'd purchased my ticket online a couple of weeks ago, paying more than I'm used to for a Dark Star ticket, but enjoying the convenience of knowing I was getting in without a fight.<br />My usual concert buddies, Joey and Sarah, had not purchased tickets, as Joey had to visit his dad in Pittsburgh the night before and wasn't sure if he'd make it. The day of, he decided he could make it, after online ticket sales had already ended. So being the nice guy I am, I hopped into my trusty motorcarriage and trekked on down to the Electric Factory, located at 421 N. 7th St., between Callowhill and Spring Garden. The website said the ticket window would be open at 4:00, so when I arrived at about 6:15 in the afternoon, I expected they might be sold out. Instead, the website was lying, and I sat around with a friendly group of hippies until the window opened at 6:55. I bought Joey and Sarah's tickets for $30 each, about $5 cheaper than my ticket, goddammit.<br />Well, no matter. Not feeling like driving home, only to drive back after a few hours, I decided to stick around and find a good watering hole to kill my time. I took a peek at my trusty Not For Tourists Philly guide, which directed me four blocks east to Finnegan's Wake - which, once I got there at 7:15 p.m., was closed. Absolutely ridiculous.<br />There was nothing else in sight, so I marched back west until arriving eventually at...the Spaghetti Warehouse, by 11th St. No thanks.<br />From there, I headed south, hoping something might beckon to me from Chinatown. Alas, it was not to be. Every place looked exactly the same, and I really, <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>wasn't in the mood for Chinese food before a long night of dancing.<br />So at Market Street, I headed back east, enjoying a pleasant walk through lovely (though restaurant-free) Independence Park, eventually finding myself at a low-key bar called Charlie's, located by the corner of N. 3rd and...Vine? Regardless, the walk took me a fucking long time, one that I don't plan on making again anytime soon. Live and learn.<br />Inside Charlie's, a sexy, sharp-witted bartender named Rachel served me a plate of fish & chips, along with a handsome selection of beers. During my visit, Sarah arrived ahead of Joey and came in to match me on drinks, which she did very skilfully, including a few $3 kamikazes.<br />We lurched our way over to the E-Factory around 10 (the show started at 11), meeting up with a few kids on the way who were lucky that I knew where I was going.<br />We met up with Joey right outside the venue, which was swarming with tye-dye and a few unwelcome cop cars. On Joey's suggestion, we decided we'd enjoy this concert from the balcony, since we'd shown up with enough time to find a decent spot. This was the best place to enjoy the beverages, as there were cute waitresses in black shirts weaving their way through the crowds.<br />My friend Ryan, an old co-worker, called my phone knowing I'd be there. He pointed himself out to me in the audience, sitting with his girlfriend Reagan at the top of the balcony, on a <span style="font-style: italic;">couch.</span> I had no idea such an amenity existed at the E-Factory, and what a lovely surprise it was. We managed to still get a decent view of the band over the heads of a few people sitting at barstools a few feet in front of us, but fuck, we had a <span style="font-style: italic;">couch</span>.<br />The band played very well, and I expected no less. I was slightly disappointed, however, that the 11:00 start time had to give way to a mandatory 2:00 a.m. end time, by law. Each song was ever so slightly more punctuated to save time, and I could hear it. Still, this was my 15th (16th?) Dark Star show, and my first in almost a year, for reasons inexplicable. So I was thrilled to see them in almost any context. They played a solid show from January 14, 1978 - and yes, I guessed the year correctly. Highlights included a Jack Straw opener, Cassidy, Loser, Let it Grow, Candyman and Eyes of the World, including a Don't Let Go encore. It was a terrific show, and the option of standing up to dance or sitting on the couch to catch my breath was a magnificent one, indeed.<br />I'll be out to see them again soon, but I should mention that my trip home from the E-Factory that night took a full hour. In contrast, the drive back the next morning to drop Joey off at his car, took 15 minutes. Go figure.<br /><br />Since then, the three of us have begun our discussions of our upcoming trip (and by upcoming, I mean a year from now) and where we'll be going in each spot. You'll hear more about that, next time.Tom Stanleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09752406333142337105noreply@blogger.com0