Uncategorized – Ray Bendici

guy night out

May 122019

So on a recent Saturday night, something suddenly came up and my dinner plans fell through. It was a somewhat pleasant night (finally), so rather than sit home alone with the remote and a plate of cheese and crackers, I did something I never do: I went out to dine by myself.

Yeah, it had been a looooong week. I wanted to be around people, but not exactly with anyone. If that makes sense. Besides, didn’t Ernest Hemingway hit bars by himself all the time? And look how that worked out for him!

So I pulled up my bootstraps, mustered whatever pluck I had laying around, and found my way to a hip brew pub about 15 minutes from my house. Even though I don’t really go for any of the 117 local craft brews on tap there, I really like the food and vibe.

When I get there, the place is busy but not overwhelming. Perfect! I take a deep breath and head inside.

In the back of my mind, Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” cues up. Not that I’m the lyrical storyteller he is, but I can see pieces sort of coming together.

“It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in …”

Okay, more like six o’clock—I ain’t no 30-year-old wild man! I find a stool at the bar and then order a glass of water and mozzarella sticks because, you know, I’m a wild man like that.

I pretend to focus on the college baseball game on the TV over the bar, but I’m really glancing around surreptitiously. Couples are dining together, some laughing, some chatting, some in stony silence staring anywhere but at one another. Other couples, trios, quartets, etc. drink, eat and interact socially. The place isn’t exactly teeming with odd characters, which is fine. I don’t see any real estate novelists, although I’m not sure that anyone really has.

As an inveterate people watcher, I’ve often observed people who are alone at bars or restaurants. I try to not pass judgement, but I do tend to whip up back stories as to why they might be on their own in that particular instance. “Hey, bet that guy in the jacket is an international diamond thief who is laying up here until a fence can be found for the cache of jewels he has hidden in the sole of his sneakers.” Or “That lady at the bar with the burger and glass of white wine is a seventh-grade science teacher who just had the worst Match date at a coffee bar an hour earlier with a recently separated guy who is ‘in between’ careers and ‘temporarily’ staying with his elderly parents, neither of which was mentioned in his profile.”

I’m sure anyone watching me dip my mozzarella sticks in marinara is thinking, “Whoa, check out that super cool, bad-ass, off-duty special forces dude. I want to be with/like him.” Surely not, “Yup, there’s a dork biding his time until he’s abducted by a pack of melonheads and turned into their brood queen.”

“It’s a pretty good crowd for a Saturday …”

On one side of me is a group of a half dozen middle-aged friends/couples celebrating some event, although it could just be that it is Saturday night. They definitely have been here for a while and are well into the libations, barely this side of sloppy drunk. Overly loud, stumbling and slurring, they seem very excited about taking a number of group selfies from different angles, and then racing to post them on social media—like the college kids they still think they are do!

By the comments that I can’t avoid overhearing, I feel like they all have known and tried to outdrink/swing with one another for decades, with varying levels of success.

“Yes, they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinkin’ alone …”

Farther down the bar is a couple in which the female wearing a tattered baseball cap looks to be at least 20 years older than her purposefully mustachioed hipster date. A cougar in its natural habitat? Rowr!

Their overly aggressive public displays of affection are not sitting right with the last bites of mozzarella sticks, but I power through and order a hot dog smothered with bacon and cheese. You know, because I’m still wild like that.

“And the waitress is practicing politics, as the businessmen slowly get stoned …”

On the side of me and down a few stools is a group of grizzled bar regulars. They seem pretty focused on mixing shots and beers, and giving the young female bartenders a hard time.

I don’t catch what precipitates it, but a bartender who I think may actually be a manager (she’s been here every time I’ve been here for the past year or two) throws up her hands and loudly declares to one of the guys, “Sorry, but I’m not talking to you any more!” All his buddies chorus together like, “OOOOH! You’re in trouble.” Except the bartender doesn’t look like she is joking, and sure enough, assiduously avoids that part of the bar until the group leaves.

When it initially happens, I consciously slide my barstool a few inches away from the hyena pack so as not to be inadvertently included among them. Not to be all white knighty, but like many of you, my patience for this kind of “locker room” shenanigans is absolute zero nowadays. This isn’t helping repair the damage done by decades of societal misogyny, to say the least.

Look, I understand the situation in a sense—the bartenders are all female and all busty, or at least dressed to give the impression of being busty. (Think Renaissance faire, but without the ill-fitting corsets, smoked turkey drumsticks and the “Huzzah!”s.) And of course, they’re being friendly to try and boost their tips ….

BUT that isn’t an invitation for anyone to be crude and/or offensive. And yet somehow not everyone understands that, no matter how much it’s pointed out. Sigh.

When I get my tab later, I ultimately make sure the tip exceeds 20 percent, you know, because that’ll somehow make up for some other guy being a dick. Even though I know it doesn’t work like that.

“There’s an old man sitting next to me, making love to his tonic and gin …”

At some point, a guy who I’d peg as in his mid 60s comes in and sits down next to me at the bar. I can tall by his posture that he wants to engage me in conversation, but I’m tired and just trying to mind my own business. When my full dinner arrives—the aforementioned hot dog smothered in bacon and cheese (Hey, I ran 5 miles this morning!), he leans over and says, “Now that looks GOOD!”

I say, “Yeah, it does, thanks!” And I politely end the conversation there. He leans in as if to invite more conversation, but again, I’m just not feeling like a lot of conversation tonight. He then drains his second beer in about 2 minutes, gets up and quickly departs, letting the front door slam behind him. Not quite sure what was going on there, just happy I avoided it.

I polish off my dinner, debate about having dessert, and decide I’m not that much of a wild man tonight. I pay my tab, take another look around ….

“Oh, la la la, di da da, la la, di da da da dum …”

Yeah, I guess I’m finally feelin’ alright. I nod to the bartender, go out the door, and head home for what’s left of Saturday night.

monster mashup

Apr 292019

So the other night I was watching House of Dracula—one of the first crossover horror films. Like, think The Avengers, but with the classic Universal monsters: Dracula, The Wolfman and Frankenstein’s Monster.

Also like The Avengers, the movie was a commercial success, although not quite on the same scale. It features Lon Chaney Jr. in his iconic role as eternally tortured Lawrence Talbot (aka The Wolfman), whom he transformed into numerous times throughout the 1930s and ’40s.

Glenn Strange was the Frankenstein Monster—and I always like to point out that in Mary Shelley’s original book, Frankenstein is the doctor’s name, and arguably the real monster of the story.

Rather than Bela Lugosi, Dracula is portrayed by John Carradine, who is the patriarch of the Carradine acting family that includes sons David (“Kung Fu” and Kill Bill), Robert (Lewis from Revenge of the Nerds) and Keith, who has dozens of great roles and is father to the criminally underrated Martha Plimpton (Goonies and “Raising Hope’). Thems some good acting genes!

So as I gander around at the entertainment landscape, it’s apparent that we’ve hit a weird mental block when it comes to monsters since we see the same ones over and over and over again. Every other show/movie is about vampires or zombies. Or vampire zombies. Or even worse, zombie vampires. And don’t get me started on the number of serial/axe/slasher/torture killers on TV shows and in movies—pretty sure they outnumber the number of victims at this point.

Endlessly tapping the same veins for terror is just lazy, especially when there is now a new generation of monsters terrorizing us in real life, an assortment horrific creatures sallying forth from the darkest of places to plague us. Among them …

Social Medusas—Rather than having snakes for hair, this genderless gorgon deploys a tangle of cellphones, tablets and other digital devices to incapacitate, essentially turning people to social stone as they endlessly check their messages, play games and eschew human interaction.

Super Egos—An insidious pseudo-intellectual entity that craves digital validation with tweets, posts and snaps to draw an infinite stream of upvotes, likes, retweets and responses. Catchphrase: “I post, therefore I am.”

Gully Bulls—A cadre of crazed freaks who suck intelligence from the rest of us by falling prey to every half-baked conspiracy, from global warming and moon landing denial to anti-vaxxing and essential oil pyramid schemes.

AWGs—The most entitled of all monsters, Angry White Guys want to oppress everyone not them and run roughshod over decency, tolerance, equity—all in the name of making things “great again,” you know, when they irresponsibly wielded power with cruelty and avarice.

Anticreators—A multiplying horde of ignorance who constantly reproduce but take no responsibility nor exerts any interest or control over its progeny, which continues to grow, sucking more resources from the rest of us and creating more waste.

Drama Llamas—A myopic cretin who turns every molehill into a mountain, finds crisis in the casual, and feeds off sowing chaos into calm. They appear to be a perpetual victim of circumstance, but before you realize it, you’ve been drawn into the spirals of their mania.

Private Pirates—Surreptitious electronic critters who continually steal bits of your privacy for their nefarious purposes by asking for your name, email, phone number, shoe size and dental history for every site, purchase or service in creation. Via security cameras, they watch every breath you take and every move you make. Your phone gives them access to your face and thumb print, your home “assistant” constantly monitors your every word, and your web browsers track the nuances of your web habits. (Too bad for you I just randomly linked to adult diapers) They watch everything you do, everything you say, everything you’re thin—

OH GOD, THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE YOUR OWN HEAD!!!

Okay, that might be a bit too silly. I’m overreacting and overreaching. These are just a bunch of made-up monsters that aren’t really all that monstrous. As per usual, this is just me being stupid ….

Then again, with every good monster, the victim never sees it coming, do they?

the coolest frontier

Apr 152019

I’m sure you’ve already seen it, but just in case you haven’t:

Courtesy of the Event Horizon Telescope Collaboration

Yup, the headline-grabbing “picture” of the colossal black hole at the center of galaxy Messier 87—although it’s actually the stuff around the black hole because, you know, something that neither emits or reflects light can’t be seen or photographed. And some of what you’re seeing is dust, gases and other material that’s swirling around and behind the black hole because the massive gravity bends light around it and under it … and ….

Okay, I’ll let this guy explain what you’re gawking at and blow your mind in the process. (Note: I’ve never taken hallucinogenic drugs in my life but if I did, it’d probably feel like this)

If you’re mind isn’t warped yet, this comes (paraphrased) via Reddit:

Its event horizon is 3 million times the size of our planet, which means it’s larger than our entire solar system.

It weighs 6.5 billion times more than our sun.

And the light we’re seeing is so old (55 million years) that when it was taken, our world was basically entirely covered in forests because of the Palaeocene–Eocene Thermal Maximum. Europe and North American were rainforests. Alaska was temperate forests (and even palm trees). Even the poles had forests (Antarctica had sub-tropical rainforests).

Hammerhead sharks wouldn’t evolve for another 30 million years, the earliest versions of modern mammalian orders (bats, primates, elephants, modern rodents), same for birds. Snakes grew 42 feet long. It was a crazy time.

We can barely mentally handle the 4,500 years since the great pyramid was built. This is over 12 thousand times farther back.

After I saw this, I started thinking that since the black hole we’re seeing is from 55 million years ago, if you were there (and not being crushed by its gravity), you’d hypothetically see Earth from 55 million years ago. And since black holes bend light and time, it seems as though if you’re going to figure out time travel and go into past, it involves somehow getting to a black hole faster than light, and then somehow looping back to Earth. Oh, and math. LOTS of math ….

This, as Joopiter pointed out to me, apparently is kind of the plot of Interstellar, which I’ve never seen.

D’oh! Oh well. Great minds and what not.

Anywhoo, I’m a huge fan of space and space exploration. To wit: One of the most amazing photos in humankind:

This is a picture of NASA’s Curiosity rover and its parachute as it was landing on Mars, taken by the Mars Reconnaissance orbiter. That’s right—one human-built spacecraft taking a picture of another—WHILE ON ANOTHER PLANET 33.9 MILLION MILES AWAY! Not science fiction, science FACT!

More amazing science and space reality: We’ve “seen” the evolution of seeing disputed dwarf planet Pluto in 20 short years, going from a blurred image to a high-def picture. (And Pluto ♥s us!)

Speaking of planets that love us, recognize this tiny dot as seen through the rings of Saturn?

You should since you’re in this picture! Yeah, that’s Earth, taken by the Cassini spacecraft while it was near Saturn in 2017. I think you’re on the left, sorta near the top somewhere ….

Again, mind blown.

Not surprisingly, I hate that our generation is the first in all of humankind to actually see up close these celestial wonders that humans have stared at and worshipped and pondered through the millennia. Mainly because too many people sort of shrug and say, “That’s cool—but look, Dina Lohan broke up with her online boyfriend!

*sigh*

Some days we don’t deserve the awesomesauce that is science.

But if you think about it, exploring outer space is like exploring our innermost space, our brains. Both are complex environments that we don’t fully understand and are subjects of a tremendous amount of research. Both are critical to life, yet vastly unexplored and unappreciated. Either can be hard to access, dark and cold, but also beautiful and full of wonder. The past is always on display in each. Oh, and there are some huge empty voids in both, to be sure.

As much as I’d love to explore space, I’m not sure I have the skills necessary to be an astronaut—then again, the vast majority of people come up short as there has only been a total of 257 NASA astronauts EVER, which is about 0.00007 percent of the current population. (And if you can’t figure out the math on that, your odds are even lower.)

The good news (for me, anyway) is that I don’t need any special abilities to blast off and explore my own inner space, and maybe even stumble upon my own black hole. Even if it can be equally hazardous at times.

And I can still drink all the Tang I want!

i feel spiffy

Mar 102019

Neat-o. Ducky. Peachy keen. Copacetic.

I’m feeling all of these words right now, ya’ dig, daddy-o? Because they all used to be far out, groovy, the bee’s knees, and even the cat’s pajamas!

Although I’m not quite sure what’s so terrific about an insect’s leg joints, or why a feline needs bedclothes. Ditto the appeal of edible seeds that grow in long pods on certain leguminous plants which are no longer warm but not stone cold, either. (I’ll pause here while you do the math on that one.)

So as you might suspect, I like to think twice about the phrases, words and terms we use in everyday conversation and don’t normally think twice about. For example, it’s always great to have options, but why is anyone skinning a cat in the first place? Wouldn’t a strongly worded ferral be more effective than a referral? And why do people insist on taking a dump when it’s better to just leave one behind, and preferably in the proper porcelain receptacle?

Part of the fun of language—and English, in particular—is that it’s always evolving, which means some words and terms get left behind. For example, in high school, my favorite English teacher Mrs. Scinto used to lament that we don’t praise others enough for having couth, but instead only point it out when they lack it.

Speaking of word-appreciating favorites, here’s some sung-word play from Pete Seeger.

[Side note worth noting: You can’t have “crazy” without r-a-y.]

Anyway, in the spirit of the aforementioned folk legend—who shares my birthday, or should I say, shares my calendar birth date, as I came along a few years before he did—here are a few of my own word-play observations.

Fact: A dentist doesn’t put a dent in anything … other than your wallet!
Does anyone practice second, or even third, aid?
Catching a cold makes it sound so much more intentional than it usually is.
Why do roosters crow but crows caw?
How many incomplete strangers have you met? Also: Most strangers aren’t all that strange.
When was the last time you ordered the irregular-sized coffee or fries?
Not sure there’s a market for it, but it’d be fun to write for misfortune cookies.
So where exactly is Not-So-Great Britain?
On the surface of it, a kidnapper sounds like someone who should be welcome at daycare centers.
From what part of the tid does the bit come?
By the laws of prefixes, shouldn’t construction and destruction be the same thing? Should a new building project be a prostruction? And speaking of, should you project something if you agree since you object when you don’t?
I’m still waiting to have licit sex. I think.
If you hear something for the first time, is it dundant? Related: Do you have to fute a statement before you can refute it?
Why are type A personalities never described as laid-forward?
If a “prelude” is something before the beginning, and an “interlude” is something in the middle, than why is “conclude” a verb?
I’ve been happy to thus far avoid numerous mitigated disasters. Tangentially, if there were more gruntled workers, there might be less incidents of workplace violence. And it’d probably help if we were more chalant when it came to the feelings of others.
For the record: I have never seen fire come out of a fire hydrant.
I’ve used the phrase, “This isn’t my first rodeo” numerous times when I’ve never actually been to a rodeo. And I’m still waiting for the first time I’m feeling over the weather.

Alright, time to wrap this up .. you know, because who the heck wraps something down?

gone squatchin’?

Mar 032019

So okay, I really don’t know how to explain what you’re about to because it can only be described as ridiculously unpossible. Let’s let the notorious EAP take a crack at it …

“For the most wild yet homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not—and very surely do I not dream.”

Yeah, that’s straight Poe, lifted without edit (but with credit) from “The Black Cat.”

Anywhoo, a few weeks ago I started getting texts from a random number. Of course, I ignored the messages at first, figuring it was a scammer or some sort of Russian-fueled AI bot. But one text sorta caught my eye—it was a bit … odd … and didn’t seem like a scam. Or if it was scam, it was incredibly original. And then I got another intriguing one. And then another.

Eventually, my well-documented curiosity reared its irrepressible head, and like Poe entreating the stranger who came rapping, gently tapping, at his chamber door, I responded. And then they responded back, and then I responded to the response, and so on. But rather than crafting one of the most iconic poems of the English language, I instead made an iconic new … uh … friend?

An unlikely new one at that, to say the least.

Short story long, I was eventually able to confirm the identity of my new text pal after exchanging multiple messages, info, images and more. And trust me, it’s just … weird. And it’s crazy. And .. well … did I mention it’s weird?

Okay …

You know what? It’s just easier me to share some screen shots. I won’t waste your time with all the “getting to know you” exchanges, and just sort of jump in to where it starts getting interesting.

My responses are in blue on the right. And I apologize in advance for my new friend‘s comments on the left, but I feel like this … needs to be shared? Yeah, let’s go with that.

Yeah … it’s been going on like this for a few weeks now.

Yeah, so much #winning.

Anyway, my friend seems happy to overshare, so I assume there will be more to this at some point. Yay?

a bridge too far

Jan 202014

So I was not really surprised to hear that New Jersey governor Chris Christie’s staff has been indulging in bully-like behavior, using their power to block lanes of the George Washington Bridge and cause enormous traffic issues for the good people of Fort Lee—all in alleged retaliation for the mayor of Fort Lee not supporting Christie’s last gubernatorial run …

Yes, another donut can solve any problem.

By the way, something is rotten with this story right off the bat. Why would the Democratic mayor of Fort Lee be expected to support the Republican governor of New Jersey in his bid for re-election? Aside from political whores like Joe Lieberman, who endorses across party lines? No, my friends, there’s more to this that will eventually come out …

Now there are new allegations that Gov. Christie’s administration has threatened to withhold Superstorm Sandy relief funds from towns that didn’t “play ball” with particular development plans. I think it’s appropriate to say when it rains, it pours.

Well, while we wait for the next revelation to present itself, here are:

The Top 10 Potential Chris Christie Scandals

1. The “accidental” public release of a Snooki sex tape.

2. Falsified the birth certificate of Jon Bon Jovi—who was actually born in Idaho.

3. Use sand imported from Connecticut to replenish the Jersey Shore.

4. Substituted frozen yogurt for frozen custard on the boardwalk.

5. Coordinate port-o-potty “issues” at the next Springsteen concerts in retaliation for this:

6. Blocked the delivery of god-damned snacks to the New York Jets practice facility.

7. Exorcised the Jersey Devil.

8. Banned “working girls” from entertaining during Super Bowl week.

9. Approved Atlantic City casino applications in exchange for illicit campaign contributions—and unlimited Brony merchandise.

10. Knows the final resting place of Jimmy Hoffa and Donald Trump’s original hair.

summer camp

Jul 262013

What I did on my summer vacation …

Go to New York Jets training camp in Cortland, N.Y.!

Yeah, I’m a nerd like that.

Here are some pics … enjoy!

Jets head coach Rex Ryan, rockin’ the green Chuck Taylors—

Jets rookie—and hopefully, soon-to-be-starting—quarterback, Geno Smith

That “other” QB …

an unwelcome guest

Mar 192013

So I couldn’t help but ignore the fact that after I wrote about how eagerly I am anticipating spring this week, Mother Nature decided to take a big white dump all over the Northeast on Monday night. Not only did she make a mess, but she made me miss a lecture being given by one of my favorite people, Dr. Kenny Feder.

Spiteful bitch!

Thus, as I was shoveling the sloppy mess out of my driveway on Tuesday morning, I thought it was time to channel my best Reb Tevye and have A Chat with Mother Nature . . . .

Me: So, I can’t help but notice that despite everyone wanting to move on to Spring, you’re insisting on keeping the dial cranked up to 11 on winter.

Mother Nature:

Me: Yeah, that’s what I thought you might say, which is fine. I didn’t figure you owed me an explanation as to why you would continue this aberrant behavior. I’m guessing you’re still pissed about the whole global-warming, climate-change thing, and that’s why you’re choosing to smite us with multiple hurricanes, blizzards, earthquakes and all sorts of extended nasty weather, right? That, or you’re still angry over the whole Chiffon incident. Hey, I wasn’t involved with that! No need to hold a grudge.

Mother Nature:

Me: Ahh, okay. You’re acting just like I would—holding your tongue and trying to take the High Road, which we both know that I’ve become synonymous with, and rightly so. Don’t try to steal my act, Missy!

Mother Nature:

Me: Yeah, whatev. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and who can blame you for wanting to be more like me? So I guess it’s safe to say that despite my pleas and the calendar’s scheduled insistence, it’s not going to get all Springy here any time soon. You know you’re not endearing yourself to anyone, aside from people like my whore of a sister who now lives in Florida and insists on calling me every time it snows to just laugh and hang up, right?

Mother Nature:

Me: Yeah, it gets more and more hysterical every freakin’ time—hahahaha ha … ha …. hah. So all of us who live in places where we can appreciate all your beauty via the changes in season can go pound snow. is that it? For the record, I think your handiwork in October in Connecticut makes it the greatest place on the planet to be . . . .

Mother Nature:

Me: So flattery isn’t going to cut it? Fine. I guess that’s it, then? Screw the groundhog and the rest of us, it’s just going to continue to be March as usual, a month of teasing nicer weather but giving us damp cold, fierce wind and a landscape that’s mostly brown and muddy, you know, aside from when you really want to screw with us and throw down some white, like last night. Well, they’ve always said, “Mother Nature’s a bitch.” I guess it’s true.

Mother Nature: [*on the wind*] Jeeeeerk …

Me: Wait, what? Did you actually say something?

Mother Nature:

Me: Okayyy then. Well, thanks again for dragging me out of a warm bed early and into a cold rain before 7 a.m. In appreciation, I’m going to burn some styrofoam later, or find me a baby seal to club! Something to get get you back. So take that! Yeah! I’m gonna learn you!

Mother Nature:

Me: That’s right! I can hear you quivering in your … uh .. robes? Although I’m the one shivering in my boots right now. Okay, you win *this* round. Next time, though—no more Mr. Nice Guy. I’m really gonna find a baby seal … or at least some styrofoam. (I think we got some in the basement.) Just watch your step!

Mother Nature:

Me: [*a single tear rolls down my cheek, a la Chief Iron Eyes Cody*] I freaking hate snow.

jerk of the week: putting a “foot” in football

Nov 282012

Although many professional athletes act like jerks on the field, court, pitch, etc., every now and then you’ll get a guy who behaves so badly on a regular basis, it transcends the game he plays.

Let’s just say this week’s JERK OF THE WEEK was a “shoe in” for the award.

If you’re following along in your program, he’s #90 of the Detroit Lions—

Ndamukong Suh

Yes, to paraphrase the old Johnny Cash song, what we have here is a jerk named Suh.

Now, this will not be a surprise to anyone who follows the NFL as Suh was suspended for two games last year after he stomped on a member of the Green Bay Packers who was on the ground during last Thanksgiving Day’s game! He was also recently voted by his fellow players as “the dirtiest player in the NFL,” and that was all *before* this past Thursday’s game and the jerktastic act he perpetrated on Houston Texans quarterback Matt Schaub.

Anyway, like many, I was laid back on the couch after having gorged myself on turkey, mashed potatoes and apple pie, when this play sent me to the edge of my seat because I couldn’t believe what just happened. (And no, this isn’t Mark Sanchez running into his own lineman’s butt—that “joy” was still hours away for me.)

Here’s the clip—

Yeah, that kick to Matt Schaub’s groin was about as accidental as John Wilkes Booth’s revolver going off in the presidential box of Ford’s Theater, and only a little less vicious. I can’t help but think of “Oww! My Balls” from Idiocracy.

Suh wasn’t flagged by the refs, nor was he fined by the league, but given his past transgressions and visual evidence, it’s pretty darn clear that he meant to do it.

Interestingly, after the Lions blew the game in overtime, Suh was ticketed by Detroit police for reckless driving—the perfect end of the perfect day for a perfect jerk.

Speaking of perfect jerks, I know where you can find 15 of them, only a few of whom may have kicked unsuspecting foes in the groin. (I’m looking at you Benedict Arnold and William Stuart!)

Here’s hoping it doesn’t happen to any of you!

why am i off on monday?

Oct 082012

So Monday is Columbus Day, and like many, I am off from work. But why?

Let me preface what you’re about to read with this: I’m not complaining about having a paid day off from work—as Erma Bombeck (or was it Anna Quindlen?) has said, “No one at the end of their life looks back and says, ‘I wish I had spent more time at the office.'”

I mean, I get that it’s to honor Christopher Columbus and the “founding of America,” but why do we need a day off for that? As my son says, “How can you ‘discover’ something if there are already people there when you arrive?” The evidence also shows that there were (at minimum) Viking explorers who arrived here long before Cristoforo Colombo washed up on the shores of a place he called San Salvador (the natives had been calling it Guanahani). Heck, he wasn’t even looking for the place—he was trying to get to get to Southeast Asia! He also thought the lands he had found were the outskirts of the Orient and continued to believe so, even after others had proved otherwise, which is just more fodder as to why exactly do we celebrate this.

I guess Columbus’s fame comes from being the impetus for the European colonization for the Americas, which, by the way take their name from Amerigo Vespucci—the guy who realized that this was a “New World” and acted accordingly. It seems as though his birthday (March 9, same as my non-whore sister) should be the day we commemorate, you know, since we live in the United States of America. Just sayin’.

But again, why are we celebrating this day? I get Washington and Lincoln’s birthdays—great men who were critical to the founding and preservation of our nation. Independence Day and Thanksgiving have deep historical implications. Other holidays have religious connections—Christmas, Easter, Yom Kippur, Ramadan, etc. I even understand Veteran’s and Memorial Day—the former to honor those who have served our country while they are still alive to appreciate it, the latter to honor those who have made the ultimate sacrifice to protect our freedom.

But this day is set aside to celebrate the birth of a guy who “accidentally” stumbled into a place where people had already been living for centuries? I can name a half dozen people off the top of my head who deserve to be commemorated before Columbus because of their contributions to and impact on our nation.

Thomas Jefferson
John Adams
Benjamin Franklin
Franklin Roosevelt
Susan B. Anthony
Philo Farnsworth (look it up and tell me I’m wrong)

I’m sure you can name a few others …

But the question of whether it’s a misnomer or not aside, why do we need a whole day off to boot? It’s not like there’s anything special going on, aside from a few furniture store sales. A few cities, like New Haven, have actual Columbus Day parades, but those are almost always held on Sunday. No one gathers the family together for a feast of roast beast and who hash, and to raise a mug to ol’ Cristoforo. No one dresses like Columbus (or even a Bahamian native), and there’s no Columbus Day pageant full of Columbus-related verse and song. (“In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue,” is a single line, not even a full poem!) Heck, there aren’t even fireworks and I think if there’s *one* thing we can agree on as a country is that we don’t need much of an excuse blow stuff up! (Minor league baseball games, birthday parties, bar mitzvahs, mall openings, etc.)

So really, after thinking about all this, Columbus Day is really a day off for no reason and with nothing to do . . .

Yeah.

I’m good with that.

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