Podcast? Podcast!

It's finally here, the first Excellency Fiddlesticks Podcast! I kept it short and sweet (about 18 minutes), no bells or whistles. Give it a listen and let me know what you think.

Episode 1 can be found here.

Stay tuned....

....big announcement:


For those of you who constantly wonder to yourselves "What does the author of this site actually sound like, and how can that sound be audibly communicated to me via thoughts, musings, and anecdotes?", well, take heart. Your wait is almost over....

For today, it is announced....the introduction of The EFCast!

Stay tuned here for the first installment, which should be up in a day or three.

Adventures in Navigating

In keeping with my gadget buying strategy, which consists of "buy [said gadget] 3-5 years after the rest of the world has one", I recently purchased my first GPS. This particular model does not have some of the fancier features, like real time traffic (this will become an issue later). It was a gift for my wife, and while it didn't go over like the bowling ball Homer gave Marge (with "HOMER" engraved on it no less) for her birthday, suffice it to say it ended up being as much, if not more, a gift for me as for her.

I tested it out on some short drives, to places I already knew how to get, just to see how it would take me before moving on to actual long trips. A few observations hit me right away:

1. The Voice. A big decision to make for many. Without fail, all men will choose the female voice they find sexiest. Is there any doubt I'd pick the British or Australian lady, than assign an appropriate name to? No, there is no doubt at all. I call her "Keelie". (Ladies, this is an excellent way to learn more about your man. If he chooses Helga, the German authoritarian, for example, there might be some unresolved issues he needs to work out. YOU VILL TURN NOW!)

2. Arrival Time. What is this, some kind of challenge? You might have used some convoluted algorithm to determine that I will arrive at my destination at 8:32, but all that does is guarantee I will quickly yell "Bullshit! I can get there by 8:31!" Thanks Garmin, for having us idiots nearly mow down pedestrians just to prove you wrong. My lawyer is now on speed dial for the inevitable lawsuit.

3. "Recalculating..." - Another challenge for the obnoxious (like me) is to deviate from Keelie's directions, just to see how she responds. The goal is to see how many times you can make her say "recalculating" before either giving up completely on you and shutting herself off, or better yet cursing you out in that wonderful accent (Her: "TURN LEFT YOU BLOODY WANKER!" Me: "You sound so freaking hot"). So far I've not been able to produce either response, but it's certainly not for a lack of trying. Part of me is also secretly hoping for a Twilight Zone moment where it becomes self aware and starts being really specific when addressing me, ("John, you really should have shaved this morning.") More on this as it develops.

What struck me most of all, however, was how quickly I became dependant on the device, and what effect that will ultimately have. Map reading and navigating will soon become a lost skill, like knowing how to keep score at the bowling alley, or properly folding a newspaper while commuting. Mapquest? That's for PUSSIES! Fire up Keelie and let her guide me there!

This all became evident while returning from Eastern PA a few weeks back. Logic told me that taking the George Washington Bridge on a Sunday afternoon was a bad idea, but I wasn't 100% sure of an alternate route, and Keelie was telling me to go there so I blindly obeyed. The result? A trip which could've/should've taken a scant 3-4 hours took more like 7-8. During a pounding thunderstorm. Basically, THE RIDE FROM HELL.

Keelie and I fought that night, and likely will again. The trust we shared simply isn't there anymore. How can I listen to her after what she put me through?

Oh who am I kidding, Keelie, you know I can't quit you. C'mon, let's go for a drive.

Song Of The Day - 6/14/10

The Darkness

"I Believe In A Thing Called Love"

Permission To Land

2003

Wow, a new entry! I must confess, since I started using Twitter, blogging just seems so last year. Exceeding 140 characters? Come on, how much time do you think one has during the day?

Anyway, I've been sitting on this one for awhile now, and every time it pops up on shuffle I remind myself about putting up this SotD. Enjoy.

First time I came across this was while seeing this video. Watching it at that time, I thought it had to be a joke. There was no other explanation - the stringy haired lead singer (Justin Hawkins) with the stereotypical bad British dentistry, the 70's era one piece suit front slit down below the navel, the headband, the whole Cock Rock vibe - no question, this was a Spinal Tap homage.

I had to admit though, the song was spot-on. If these guys were doing a parody, it was a damn fine parody. It didn't hurt that the video was flat out awesome, loaded not only with the elements mentioned above, but also with laser shooting guitars, a wind-in-the-face guitar solo in front of a 10 story stack of amps, giant mutant crustaceans, a spaceship, and our (allegedly) sexy lead singer singing on a circular bed a la Austin Powers. Did I mention the part where he is naked?

Repeated listening resulted in an absolute love of this song. It's a perfectly crafted throwback to mid-70's glam/metal, without a shred of the self-important bullshit that affected so many bands of the time.

The Darkness, predictably, couldn't ride this wave for very long. Like many of the singers whose style he appropriated, Hawkins went into rehab for alcohol and cocaine abuse, and left the band shortly after completing his stint in 2006. He was last seen fronting a new band, Hot Leg. The remaining members formed a band called Stone Gods, from whom little has been heard.

The Darkness' All Music entry:

http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&sql=11:jbfrxqq0ldke~T1

Whereby I Unwittingly Freak Out Some Traumatized Folks

I recently had the privilege of participating in a charity fashion show, acting as as escort for my daughter. I wasn't modeling anything, rather a mere accoutrement. In the spirit of the season however, the organizer asked that I suit up in a Dracula costume. I couldn't say "yes" fast enough - this was going to be cool. Anytime a Dad can embarrass his teen aged kid, he goes for it.

My wife did a bang up job on the makeup, as you can see. The whole thing was over in about 30 seconds, but was fun and worthwhile nonetheless. But that's not where this story ends.

Time constraints were such that we had to go directly from the fashion show to my daughter's ballet class. I had originally expected to have enough time to get out of the costume, remove the makeup, and still get there in time, but....things didn't pan out that way. I got the cape off, but had to leave on the makeup. No big deal, right? I figured I could have some fun with it, maybe growl at another driver, or better yet, another driver's kid in the back seat!

What I didn't expect was the decided lack of reaction I received. Sure, I got a few second glances, likely accompanied by thoughts of "Eh, it's almost Halloween, no big deal", but overall nobody seemed at all fazed by the Goth Dad driving along the highway.

After dropping her off, we headed back to the highway, and upon hitting the on ramp noticed some commotion up ahead. An accident had occurred, and pretty recently since there were no cops or EMT's around. It was quickly obvious that this was only a fender bender and each of the people involved was out of their respective vehicles, and talking on cell phones. After carefully navigating past the debris in the road, thus slowing the car to a crawl, I looked over at the woman comforting one of the other passengers. Again, it should be stressed that nobody was in any danger. It should also be emphasized that by this time I had completely forgotten the fact that I was dressed like the lead singer of The Cure.

I made direct eye contact with the woman, hopefully offering up some sympathy, saying, with my eyes, "It's okay, help is coming and I'm glad to see everyone is okay".

To say the woman didn't fully understand my implied thoughts would be an understatement, to say the least. Her expression was an odd blend of "What the...?", with a dash of "END TIMES ARE UPON US!" thrown in. I can only imagine what she told her significant others once this day had ended. Perhaps she now has a story to tell for Thanksgiving dinners for years to come. No need to thank me, ma'am, it's what I do.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

Where I Receive Misguided, Undeserved Sympathy

I run about 6 foot 3 on a good day. Thus, any form of public seating was very likely not built with my dimensions in mind. The train in which I ride each day is no exception (see above for an example of the seats, minus the video screen, naturally).

However, when having the desire to snooze, I am rarely denied. The solution is to slide my back down in the chair, and press my knees on the back of the seat in front of me, which allows my head to rest comfortably on the headrest of my seat. This allows for a nice 10-15 minute nap on the way home each day and, on rare occasions, on the way in. The only consequence is the tendency for the circulation to be cut off from my lower legs. Whether or not this will casue me long term damage is somethign I choose not to think about, so strong is my desire to sleep.

Today was one such occasion. After displaying my ticket, I assumed the position, nestled in the ear buds, and slowly drifted off. Normally, the body clock senses when we are approaching my stop, and forces me awake well in advance, leaving time to get the blood flowing back to the lower extremities.

Today, though, the body clock must have been a bit out of sync. I recall being jostled shortly before my stop, and thinking "still have time....", then closing my eyes again. Bad move. The next thing I remember was being suddenly awakened as the train was stopped at where I was to get off. Luckily, the train was not going any further, lest I find myself in Grand Central Station.

I quickly scrambled my stuff together, and got up in an attempt to get off the train as quickly as possible. But there was a slight issue here - namley, the fact that both of my legs were pretty much dead from the knees down. After rising unsteadily to my feet, grabbing my gym bag from the overhead rack and securing my laptop bag on my shoulder, I tried to take a step forward. Not working very well, but full of pluck, I gamely Igor'ed my way forward thru the now empty train......I had, by my calculations, about 30 seconds or so to get my ass out of here. Lumbering forward, with slight feeling returning to one leg, I approached the vestibule. I had made it, and was about to be free at last!

But, but.....seeing the crowd of people walking past on the platform, and knowing I had to have some clearance to move while also having little to no confidence that I wasn't about to do a face plant, forced me to hesitate. Seeing a small opening, I managed to drag my right foot behind me and lurch onto the platform. Here is where the strange, sympathetic looks began from the other commuters. As I limped forward, the feeling inching its way back into my blood deprived legs, I noticed that the faces of those around me. In my mind, they were showing an incredible amount of sympathy/empathy for the obviously stricken, but barev and proud, man lumbering toward the escalator. Embarassed at the reaction, I finally hobbled to the moving steps, and hopped aboard.

Sensing the ordeal was about to end, I bided my time as the stairs slowly rose...and rose. Reaching the top, I took the big step toward non-moving ground, and nealry went straight on my ass. The right leg had relapsed! Now I got to limp anew, a bag on each shoulder, through the crowded train station, receiving more sympathetic stairs from passers by. I'm guessing most people thought me either brave, or stupid, I'm not sure which.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was actually about 2 minutes, the blood flow returned, and the rest of the commuters resumed ignoring each other, as they do. Being ignored never felt so good.

The Rules, Once Again

Just making sure I have it straight:

 

If you're a singer, and you say you're not proud of your president/ashamed to be from the same state, etc., well, by goly, you're an un-American scuzzball who hates Liberty.  Insulting a president during a time of war is UNPATRIOTIC!  What are you, French?

 

But, it's perfectly okay to call your president a racist.

 

Just another example of Glen Beck's Common Sense!