Archive for October 2008

Unflattering Politician Photo of the Week: Plumbing Edition


I’m a wannabe millionaire plumber from the heartland of Real America; what’s not to love?

 Joe “The Plumber” Wurzelbacher hit the campaign trail in Ohio this week with John “The Maverick” McCain and Sarah “The Crazy Governor Lady” Palin.

I kinda felt sorry for Wurzelbacher during the media’s initial build-him-up-then-tear-him-down love affair with the plainspoken lug from Toledo. He’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the box, and there he was with the national press camped out on his front lawn after he was mentioned, like, four thousand times during the third presidential debate.

But now, he seems to be bringing this on himself. Don’t get me wrong: plumbers, Joe or otherwise, have just as much right to spout inane half-baked political opionions as cable news pundits or Barbra Streisand do. At this stage though, it might be best for Wurzelbacher to keep his thoughts (such as they are) to himself. Here are some actual quotes from Mr. The Plumber:

“I love America. I hope it remains a democracy, not a socialist society.”

“I’m going to go ahead and agree with you on that.” J the P in response to someone in the crowd at a McCain rally who claimed that a “vote for Barack Obama is a vote for the death of Israel.”

“You know a lot of the stuff that our government is doing right now is all about taxation without representation and you know the last time that happened a couple guys got together and threw the Brits out.”

“I have parents; I don’t need another set of parents called the government. You know, let me take my money and invest it how I please. Social Security I’ve never believed in, don’t like it.”

This stuff must resonate in Real America, but I’m a native of Fake America, so I wouldn’t know.


What Does Winning Feel Like?

phillies celebrateWinning feels like a cherry coke made with real syrup.

Winning feels like pots and pans banged together in the cold autumn night.

Winning feels like a thousand whistles going off all at once.

Winning feels like the helicopter rides your dad would give you before you got too big.

Winning feels like that photo on the right looks like.

Winning feels like — finally — not losing.

As a fourth-grader in 1980,  I lay on my living room floor wearing my yellow footie pajamas and clapping my feet together over my head in joy as Tug McGraw struck out Willie Wilson to win the World Series for Philadelphia.

Twenty-eight years later, I’m sitting alone in my attic in Rochester: not ideal viewing conditions, I grant you. I am not in Philadelphia. I am not sitting in a suburban sports bar surrounded by rabid fans, jumping up and down, screaming, cheering. I actually gave up my tickets for a Henry Rollins concert tonight so that I could be here, watching on TV from 350 miles away. 

I worried that if we actually did win tonight, it would somehow feel anti-climactic. But with one out and one on in the top of the ninth, I started feeling that feeling. That feeling that feels like winning. My stomach wouldn’t stay in its designated spot, and instead started jumping up and down inside my rib cage. My legs and feet were tingling, like they wanted to go somewhere. And when Brad Lidge struck out Erik Hinske, falling to his knees where McGraw had leaped in the air, it was deja vu all over again.  

Tonight I am 36 and, sadly, do not own a pair of footie pajamas. But I’m so happy, the only thing I can think to do is clap my feet together over my head.  


It Ain’t Over Till … It Ain’t Over

The World Series entered some kind of weather-induced limbo last night, just as my Phils were on the verge of possibly, maybe, hopefully winning the city’s first major sports championship in 25 years.

Watching the game on the big screen at the Distillery sports bar here in Rochester, I couldn’t help recalling that old feeling from November 2000, when a nation went to bed not knowing who had won the presidential election or even if  it had been won at all. Let us hope this hanging chad of a baseball game is not an ominous portent of next Tuesday night. 

By the way, the Distillery has more than 30 televisions. Guess how many were tuned to baseball. THREE!! Really, Distillery? Really? Given the choice between Monday Night Football and the possible concluding game of THE WORLD SERIES, you go with the Colts at the Titans? Honestly, sometimes I don’t know what this country is coming to.


The Rebirth of the Goddess

Since I started this blog more than four years ago, it has been published using the Internet equivalent of two cans tied together with a piece of string (read: Textpad and an FTP client). I convinced myself that this DIY-ethic somehow lent an air of old-school, punk, riot-grrrl cred to the proceedings. In fact, it became a royal pain in the ass.

No RSS feed, no easy way to archive or search past posts, no widgets: my lovingly hand-crafted blog had been painted into a retro corner. No more, I say! Enter WordPress, which I have to say has so far proved very easy to install and customize.

Welcome to Goddess 2.0!