Manayunk Free Press

Oh...Canada

2010-04-17T09:34:00.008-04:00

Back in February, while New York was getting pelted with snow storm, after snow storm...after snowstorm, MTG and I decided to do what any other reasonable couple with a few vacation days and limited funds would do, we, uh, headed north to Canada. Here are a few things I learned about Canada during this, my third trip to America's hat.

- I had one goal on this trip and that was to obtain some sort of Quebec Nordiques souvenir (a classic NHL team that moved to Colorado in the 90's). BTW, the word souvenir is French for overpriced item that will probably break in the next year or give you lead poisoning but will make friends and family back home feel like all you did on vacation was think about them. Anyway, Nordiques stuff is everywhere in Quebec City and my goal was achieved. The Quebecois really need to let it go, though. She's not coming back, dude.

- Weather predictions work different in Canada. In the States, when the weather man (I'm looking at you Hurricane Schwartz) says we're going to get 12 - 15 inches this usually means we get about 3 inches of snow (Present year excluded). But in Canada, when they predict 4 centimeters of snow they end up with about 8-10 inches of snow, and no one blinks an eye. Either my metric to standard conversion is way off, or they underestimate on a consistent basis. Or they just like to screw with the non-French speakers.

- Speaking of which, I really need to work on French. I took it in high school and in the past have been able to use it to at least get through initial greetings in France and Montreal, but this time, good God! I tried to order duck with orange sauce at a fancy restaurant and the waiter brought over a small french speaking boy wearing a beret.

- They celebrate Valentines Day in Canada. If you ever go there with your special lady friend over February 14th, secure some dinner reservations beforehand. For some reason, I just assumed Valentines Day was another fake holiday created by American marketers or the American Association of Chocolate Industry Lobbyists. Nope. Turns out it's legit. Things worked out great but not before some fancy sounding swear words were uttered. If there is one thing to remember from this post, this is it.

- It's cold up there. For reals. Starting to understand why Quebec City wanted to secede.

-We bought thermal undergarments (shirt and bottoms) for this trip...and holy crap, how have I gone the last 15 years of my life without owning any thermal undergarments. It was love rediscovered and I am still smitten as I type this.

- And finally, 200 French Canadian fourth graders can really put a damper on a romantic trip to the museum.

Soggy Nachos

2010-01-07T22:26:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you have the time to write a blog post but not the desire.
Sometimes you have the desire to write a blog post but realize that you have VH1 Classic in your cable lineup.

It's been a while, Kind Readers. I won't make any excuses for my disappearance. There has been much speculation, I'm sure.

"Is there 3 month 10 cent buffalo wing special at Doc Watsons?"
"Is it true that Ben moved to San Diego to start a Hot Dog Stand on the beach...for charity?"
"Did the soccer video lead to an arrest due to an unpaid Boyertown Elementary Library Fine for an un-returned Choose Your Own Adventure Book?"
" Is it Seasonal Affective Disorder coupled with a general malaise of living in NY in a post-Yankees Championship-world?"

Now we might be on to something. But forget about all that. To pick up where we left off the Phillies were in the World Series. Then they lost and there was much disappointment throughout the land. This was not the first time Phillies fans have been disappointed and it won't be the last. Here is a tale of earlier Phillies related disappointment.

It was 1991 and I was just a boy of about 12. I had two goals in life at the age of 12. The first was manageable. It was to collect every Cal Ripken baseball card in existence. I had three out of four rookie cards at one point so I was clearly well on my way. The second seemed simple in theory but impossible in practice. It was to get on camera at a Philadelphia sporting event and make it onto the televised game on Prism (the tv chann el that aired many of the Flyers and Phillies home games).

In theory, go to enough games, sit close to the field, be a cute kid, make a clever sign, and BAM, Delaware Valley-wide-recognition. The problem was that we only went to a handful of games every year. And when we went we sat waay up high in the 700 level. Cause that's just how my grandpop and I would roll. When I say way up, I mean it. These were the kind of seats where on fireworks night you would still look down towards the field for the fireworks display. The players looked so small from up there I once mistook Steve Jeltz for Von Hayes. You get the idea.

This all changed in 1991 when my Grandpop got tickets for his Corporate box seats through his employer. We got to the game and instead of climbing up, up, up and stopping along the way for oxygen, the usher led us down, down, down until we found ourselves in the front row on the third base line in shallow left field. Holy poop. I got Wes Chamberlain's autograph during warm-up (don't care what you think of Wes, I have his autograph)! The Philly Phanatic accidentally kicked me in the head when he jumped over the rail into our seats! For a second, I felt bad for all the kids stuck up there in the 700 level and emphatically looked up in their direction but couldn't see them as there were clouds in between us.

This was my big chance to make it onto Prism. As always, I had taped the game on our home VCR and honestly, I'm not sure what I was looking forward to more, the game, or getting home to watch the tape of the game to see if we'd made it on TV.

The game was great and being so close to the action gave a whole new perspective. Around the sixth inning I got hungry and I had heard rumors that they had expanded snack selection in the lobby area of these fancy seats. Intrigued by the possibility of Pretzel Bites that came with both spicy mustard and cheese whiz I set out to the concession stands with ten dollars in my pocket.

When I returned (if I recall, with nachos and a baseball helmet sundae) there was commotion around our seats and my Grandpop, Mom, and mom's friend were laughing it up. Something had gone down and I was curious to find out. When I asked, I was told that there was a foul ball down the third base line and while running full speed in pursuit two Montreal Expos (perhaps Spike Owen and Ivan Calderon?) collided RIGHT in front of our seats and writhed on the ground for a good five minutes while the trainers came out to work on them. It's amazing how quickly you lose your appetite for Nachos when you realize you've just blown your chance at achieving one of your two life's goals.

I somehow found a way to enjoy the rest of the game and raced to the VCR when we got home, fast forwarded to the sixth inning and sure enough, there was Grandpop, mom, and mom's friend laughing and waiving to the camera as Marquis Grissom stood over his injured teammates. I gave up a good 3 minutes in the living room of thousands of households across the Delaware Valley for some soggy nachos.

Retiring # 7

2009-10-25T07:03:00.003-04:00

You may recall that a few weeks back I received the news that my old soccer number, 7 - the number I wore through two grueling years as a member of the Light Blue team of the Boyertown Youth Soccer League - would be retired by Coach/Reader Nate and the Under 6 Light Blue Team that he now coaches. The ceremony was scheduled for 10/17 at Washington Elementary and I promised that I would have some words for the team at the ceremony. Well it was raining on 10/17 and again yesterday, so I've taken it upon myself to assume that the game has been moved to this morning. Coach Nate, please play the following video for the kids at the half. GO LIGHT BLUE! (Two notes regarding the video: Yes, I do have a life. Yes, I also have a long train commute.)

Finally, Facebook Fans of the MFP will soon have access to the extended directors cut which = more obscure Boyertown references, more rambling, and more time wasted!

Behind Enemy Lines

2009-10-22T07:00:00.004-04:00

It's that time of year again. After Jimmy Rollins gave us all a reason to buy brand spankin new undies on Monday night (nice call, Matt) with his improbable come from behind walk-off base hit in the bottom of the ninth, the Phightin Phils found themselves just one win away from their second straight World Series appearance.

As such, Rocco and I found ourselves grabbing a bite and an adult beverage and trying to get into New York's only true Philly bar, Wogies. No dice, so we ended up across the street at The Greenwhich Treehouse, which is essentially the overflow room for Wogies (you can even order Wogies food to be delivered to the Treehouse).

Needless to say, the Phils housed the Dodgers like a drunk La Salle kid houses a Black Taco, and away we go. It wasn't as exciting as being in Philadelphia but finding a street just four blocks from my apt in New York with two bars spewing Phillies fans into the street in in celebration is pretty a.o.k. in my book. This might be the only street in New York I'll be safe on if everything unfolds as it should and the New York Yankees are the Phillies' opponent in the World F-ing Series.

While I love New York, I hate the Yankees. Always have, always will (Sorry, Dom). The Yankees, with their three expensive free agent signings during last off-season, are essentially trying to buy their way into the World Series' pants. They are that guy who showers expensive dinners and gifts upon a woman just so he can get some action and then discards her because he's been with many women many times and he knows he can get there again with other women simply by pulling out the black AmEx.

The Phillies, on the other hand, and their fans for that matter, hadn't been laid in a long, long, looong time before last October. It was lonely. Very. And now that the Phillies were with her last year, they have realized how amazing the warm embrace of a woman feels and they are doing everything they can to have her stay with all of us for another year. Respecting her and keeping things exciting have gone a long way in making this a possibility. The Phillies are more of an old school, making trades and building from within kinda guy. Instead of breaking out the black AmEx they break out the Black Taco. And I like it that way.

On the walk home last night I snapped the above photo on my phone. So, was the Empire State Building lit up in Phillies Red last night? You decide....Actually, I know you guys are tired from celebrating last night so I'll answer that for you. It was.

A Series of Reflections: Springsteen at the Spectrum

2009-10-21T07:00:00.000-04:00

I went to one of the final Bruce Springsteen shows at the Spectrum in Philadelphia with my mom, sister, and step-dad last week. A few thoughts on that experience.

1. Ok, I know Nils Lofgren is an exceptional and technically proficient guitarist. The guy can handle an axe like I handle a chicken finger (aggressively and with hunger in his eye, but with just enough care to be able to savor its delights). However, is he a soulful/passionate guitar player? He has to be, right? I mean he played on one of the most raw, passionate, in the moment albums of all time, ever. And yet, I didn't get that feeling at the Bruce show. I'm not sure these concerts showcase Nils' ability to create a mood with a guitar. I guess it's tough when you're sharing the stage with FOUR other guitarists, including Little Stevie. Sorry Bruce, but I'm not sure I see the need to have five guitarists playing the same chord progressions at the same time.

2. I love Dancing in the Dark and I don't care what you think of that. This song is great, especially the way they played it last week, using a deep driving baseline. I wanted to be Courtney Cox.

3. Springsteen is the Man (or the Boss, if you prefer). There is no disputing this. Love him or hate him, the guy simply owns the audience possibly more than any front man I've ever seen with the exception of every New Kid on the Block at Dorney Park in 1988. Bruce clearly could have been a successful preacher if this whole Rock n Roll thing didn't pan out (it did) and if he started a cult I'd be worried that my mom would move to Utah in a hungry heartbeat (rimshot). He walked into the crowd at one point and she walked toward him arms outstretched without so much as a glance back toward her husband and children.

4. While waiting in the porta-potty line with my Mom the following conversation took place:

Boss Groupie # 1: Springsteen at the Spectrum, it doesn't get any better than this!

Boss Groupie # 2 (aka my Mom): I knoowww. I''m gonna cry when they knock this place down (editors note: The Spectrum is being destroyed in November). I have soooo many stories about this place.

BG1: Mee tooo.

BG2/Mom: I brought my kids tonight so they can see a real concert. My son is 30. (points to me, standing with my back turned)

Ben Sherman: (turning around to face the embarrassment/conversation) I was conceived in the Spectrum. She's not kidding about having stories.

BG1 (looks scared and out Bruce groupied): Umm...

BG2/Mom: He wasn't...but he could have been.

Letters to the Editor: Undies (brand spanking new ones)

2009-10-14T16:07:00.000-04:00

A few months ago, shortly after I moved to New York, I received an e-mail from my Aunt. She had a suggestion for how to transfer my undergarments in the move to new york.

You see, back when I was a youngin of about 14 or 15, I went to Disney World with my aunt, uncle, cousins, nana, pop pop, etc but my dad and step-mom didn't go with. To ensure I was prepared for the week-long trip and wouldn't crumble in their absence they stocked me with a suitcase full of embarrassing(ly high fashion) checkered shorts (one lime green pair proved especially able to stop the Disney crowds in their tracks) as well as eight days worth of Fruit o" the Loom socks, white t-shirts, and tighty whitey briefs. In their original packaging. Brand. Spanking. New.

All of this was packed tightly within a couple of brown paper bags from our local grocery store (Weis' Markets) and then packed within my suitcase. Double bagged, so to speak. As I'm sure you can imagine, when I opened my suitcase to unpack upon arrival at our hotel in the greatest place on Earth, my aunt and her family were dumbfounded, scared, and mostly highly amused at the still packaged undergarments within the contents of my suitcase. I'm sure there are many reasons why I had all this packed (maybe my Dad thought Space Mountain would be so scary that I would repeatedly sh!t myself?) but regardless of the intent, the result has been years of ridicule from my aunt.

Her letter to the editor and my response are below. If you have a question, comment, or blackmail for the editor you know where to send it.

------------------------------------------------------------

Hey Ben,

I stopped by your dad's tonight and he mentioned you were moving. Here is a tip for you. Don' t pack your socks and underwear - just buy new when you get there!! Also, I have extra Weis' grocery store paperbags if you are looking for something to pack your stuff in.

Have fun!

Your Aunt

Dear Aunt ,

I am glad you still find my ability to prepare for the unexpected (in this case the possibility that my undies would disintegrate due to the high speed/elevation of 32,000 feet while flying to Florida and that Disney would only be selling stupid Goofy boxers when I would have wanted Mighty Duck tighty whities) amusing after all these years.

I'll have you know that one of the things that stinks about living in a shoebox in new york is having to walk down five flights of stairs and then to the end of the block in hopes that there will be a washer available at the laundry mat. For someone who already hates doing wash this doesn't help the cause. As a result, I recently ran out of socks and undies and was faced with the prospect of buying new (as you suggested), wearing some of MTG's, or doing laundry. The second choice is clearly not an option (since MTG hides her undies from me after "the incident") so I bit the bullet and did wash this past Saturday. I should be all good for a few weeks.

You should know, however, that if I were to choose to buy new socks and underwear rather than do wash or steal my girlfriend's, that new york city is, I imagine, the best place on earth to live. I estimate that I have at least ten sock/underwear merchants within a four block radius (many selling Michael Jackson emblazoned undergarments in these times) and that if given 30 minutes I could secure a brand new pair of socks and underwear at any hour of the day or night. Don't believe me? Then go ahead and challenge me. Text me, any time, day or night and I will respond within 30 minutes with a picture message of a brand new pair of socks and underwear.

Thanks for your concern,

Ben

p.s. Sorry for the delay in responding but I've been busy unpacking boxes and my Weis' paper bags.

Photograph O' the Week

2009-10-08T21:58:00.003-04:00

Baixa, Lisbon
Girlfriend, Annoyed

This photograph turned out pretty well and both MTG and I really like it, but if memory serves, at the time, one of us was none too pleased that the other one was stopping to take photographs at 1 a.m. Lisbon Standard Time. You can probably tell which one of us was p!ssed if you look really close.

In the News...

2009-10-08T12:30:00.000-04:00

Here's what's been happening while you've been busy doing stuff that I don't talk about below.

Irish parents struggling through a recession are now required to send their children to school with a toilet paper roll as well as a packed lunch. Especially thrifty parents are packing toilet paper and jelly sandwiches.

A circus showman who bought a $35 million ticket to the International Space Station said it's been worth every penny, though he thought it odd that NASA uses a cannon to get people into space.

Brett Favre threw 3 touchdowns against his former team, the GB Packers. Not bad, considering he retired at the end of the first half only to come out of retirement for the second.

Detroit Tigers star Miguel Cabrera apologized for being drunk last weekend while the Tigers were trying to clinch the AL Central title noting that rooting for the Tigers is what led him to drink.

Sarah Palin is urging President Obama to increase US presence in Afghanistan and is also urging the Wasilla town council to increase its neighborhood watch presence in Russia.

President Obama thanked counterterrorism teams for "making real progress" in disrupting extremist networks. Meanwhile Democrats approaching an election year thanked President Obama for "making fake progress" in everything.

An Alabama woman was arrested after she let her daughter ride in a cardboard box on top of their van. Police had pulled the woman over when they noticed a brand new refrigerator riding shotgun.

The Press Guess

2009-10-05T06:03:00.001-04:00

You might not believe this, but the MFP is read almost exclusively by men (or perhaps manchildren). The comments suggest this, the Facebook page suggests this, and the fact that even MTG doesn't read this blog more than once every two months (usually when she's looking for something to yell at me about). I need to lure in women readers since studies show that women are the decision makers in 74% of American households (citation needed...if you know how I can prove this baseless claim please include in the comments). Without women, the MFP will never take over the world which is one of our stretch goals in the MFP's five year strategic plan. What do women love more than rainbows and princesses? Celebrity gossip.

And so, Kind Readers, I bring to you the MF Press Guess.

You might be familiar with the Gawker Stalker. If not, it is a feature on Gawker.com where 15-year old girls and other people who are celebrity obsessed submit their celebrity sightings in New York and L.A. and these sightings are then posted to Gawker.com for others to quench their thirst for celebrity. Here is an honest to goodness example of an entry currently posted to the Gawker Stalker:

Katie Couric

Columbus Cir

Sep 24th, 2009 @ 12pm

@ the new york running company in the Time Warner center. Katie was in her business attire with an assistant. She was very down to earth and tried on flip flops. She walked barefoot in the store. Shooked my hand and very nice. i will not wash my hands today

I sh!t you not this is the kind of stuff that women eat up. I'm not willing to turn the MFP into breeding grounds for discussion on ponies and tea parties, but if it means that women will begin flocking to the MFP after their morning visit to Perez Hilton, I'll post about celebrities. The problem is that I am not good at recognizing celebrities. With the amount of time I've spent in in New York in addition to other such hot spots such as Piscataway, NJ and Orlando, FL I'm pretty sure I've crossed paths with a celebrity or two without noticing. I'm just not good at recognizing people that I've only seen on film or t.v. One time while flying first class from New York to London I was sitting next to Madonna and she asked if I could watch the African baby she was with while she practiced her dance moves to Papa Don't Preach in the isle. I didn't recognize her and thought I was just sitting next to a high school cheerleader who was baby sitting. Only later, when I saw our picture getting off the plane in the British tabloids did I realize it was Madonna (this story is completely fabricated but meant to serve as an indicator of just how oblivious I am to celebrities). Well, now that MTG and I have made the big move to nyc I'm expecting that one or the both of us will occasionally see a celebrity.

However, unlike the Gawker Stalker which just tells us where a celebrity was spotted, the Press Guess will have a scoring scale! Here's how it will work. Celebrity Press Guess entries will be scored on a scale from 1 - 10 based on three factors. The factors will be: (1) Celebrity Status: Celebrity Status is determined by how much of a Celebrity the individual is and will be scored on a scale from 1-10 where 1 is the lowest level of celebrity and 10 is the highest level of celebrity. For example, most reality based celebrity would be scored a 1 while Jack Nicholson is a solid 10; (2) Celebrity Certainty: Celebrity Certainty is determined by how certain the spotter is that the individual they saw is in fact the celebrity they believe that individual to be. This is again scored on a scale of 1-10 with 1 being the least certain and 10 being the most certain. Let's again use Jack Nicholson as an example if you spot him coming out of one of his movie premiers that would be considered a 10 because you can be quite certain that it is indeed Jack whereas a shirtless guy who kinda might be Jack Nicholson jumping rope in Washington Square would be on the lower end of the certainty scale since the individual in question kinda looks like he could be Jack and everyone knows Jack is too busy getting laid to jump rope. (3) Celebrity Activity: Determined by the awesomeness of the activity the Celebrity is involved in. Jack eating a cheese sandwich equals a 3 whereas a shirtless Jack jumping rope in Washington Square (not for a movie) is a solid 8.

An example to give you an idea of how the scoring works.

Spotted: Neil Young (10+)
Activity: drinking beers at Iezzies (10)
Certainty: DNA evidence taken from his empty glass (10)
Score: 10.0

This is one of the only perfect 10.0 Press Guess scenarios I could think of. If this ever happens, the MFP will no longer be updated as they'll be wiping my brains off the bar of Iezzies along with Nickarelli's dentures.

Got it? Good. Now let's try a few real entries based on the first two months in New York.

Spotted: Susan Sarandon (8) She's a big star for sure.
Activity: In workout gear having a conversation with some people who live on our street (6) bonus points for being on our street.
Certainty: MTG heard that Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon live or lived on our street. This woman's voice sounded like Susan Sarandon but all I got a view of was the back of her head. Also could have been a neighbor trying out her Susan Sarandon Halloween costume. Her calves were exposed but she never shows her calves in her films. (2)
Score: 5.33

Spotted: Pink (4) I don't know, is Pink still popular? Whatever, she's from Bucks County so this didn't seem like a big deal.
Activity: Walking up Broadway in Soho with three other equally tattooed and short-haired friends. (3) Again, just walking along like everyone else. Couldn't she have been yelling at people or something?
Certainty: Again, MTG gave me the hand squeeze that used to mean, "I love you. You are my soul mate," but which has devolved to a point where it now means, "Shut the hell up already about the fact that the Flyers take too many penalties to make a deep playoff run, there is a celebrity walking in front of us!" She then informed me that it was Pink (never would have known, otherwise). And, why yes, it was. Same shoulder tattoo. (8) Still a chance that another 20-something women made the same unfortunate mistake in choosing a tattoo.
Score: 5.0

Spotted: Helena Christensen (this just became a post for the men) and Paul Banks (lead singer of Interpol) (7) This is a tough one. You may remember Helena as a Victoria's Secret model. I don't so much. I remember her as that girl who starred alongside Chris Isaak in the video for his song Wicked Game. Isaak is an inspiration in striking while the iron is hot. If Tivo had existed when this video was released I would not have gone outside once that entire summer. I'm actually a big fan of Interpol but didn't even recognize Banks until I got back home and googled Helena Christensen. They are dating. It was him.
Activity: While out for a walk in the West Village MTG and I crossed paths with them. Completely unspectacular except for the fact that we were the only four people on the street. Again, I had no idea. (3)
Certainty: (9) I thought, wow she looks famous or wealthy, but that's pretty much every human and some animals (may have spotted Hooch from Turner and Hooch on another walk). MTG was like, "that was Helena Christensen." and yeah, it was. I thought Banks was her assistant which is pretty sad since I've seen Interpol in concert multiple times. I'm obviously I'm not a fanboy. Word to the wise to any teenage boys reading this blog. Start a band. Now. Do it.
Score: 6.3

Eat it up, Ladies.

Photograph O' the Week

2009-10-01T23:15:00.003-04:00

This week's Photograph O' the Week is NOT brought to you by the year 1975, though I can see how you would make the mistake based on the lamp, turntable, and television. No, this is 2009 in our new(ish) place which is pretty much all set at this point.

We painted our living room walls "elephant gray" which sounds pretty cool but I guess I didn't do my paint research so I didn't realize that "elephant gray" is girl code for "really more like a purple that your boyfriend won't notice until it's too late and the paint is dry and he is too lazy and cheap to repaint the walls, gray." And that's pretty much exactly what happened. Luckily I know a little trick to make any room darker. That trick is called playing Neil Young's Tonight's the Night.

So yeah, the place has pretty much all settled and organized for some time, with the exception of MTG's closet which is "getting done soon, lay off!" or so that's what I'm told. So this is an open invite to all of you out there. If you are going to be in nyc and need a place to stay, if you want to come to nyc and visit/crash at our place for a day/weekend/month, you are more than welcome. Just be willing to humor me when I ask you what color the living room walls are.

Numbers

2009-09-30T20:41:00.005-04:00

Not having fun.

8 - Number of glasses and dishes MTG and I have broken since moving into our new place. I honestly can't tell you the last time I broke a glass prior to moving here. I once dropped a full Heineken due to a mix-up when passing it to a friend in a nb lounge, but other than that I had to be about fifteen. That has all changed now that I share a 400 square foot space with another human being. I think we've broken 2 plates, 2 wine glasses, one Pat O'Brien's Hurricane glass (MTG is still on the sh!t list for this one), and 3 drinking glasses. You just can't even turn around in here without knocking something off a table (read: it's not a proper fight with your significant other unless you see the fear in their eyes as a glass smashes against the wall).

53 - Number of days/nights my once beloved Puma Speedcat (sneakers) spent out on the fire escape. On the day we moved in, I got caught in a torrential downpour while moving stuff into the apartment. The next day the sun was out and it was 90 degrees so I put my Pumas on the fire escape to dry out. I promptly forgot all about them and it seemed the only time I would remember would be during another rain storm. I finally brought them inside this week. I'm glad the bird that began nesting (?) in left shoe found it as comfortable as I have. I think they might need to be retired/bronzed at this point.

1 - Number of mornings I've awoken fully clothed and wearing the same clothing (including shoes) that I wore out the night before. Two weekends ago several friends from Philadelphia were up in nyc so I met up with them Friday and Saturday night. I guess I got started a little too early with the champagne on Saturday night and without MTG around to be my better half I did not know when to say when. I got home and called MTG while laying on the bed and am pretty sure I had every intention of making chicken fingers with honey mustard sauce. I guess it was not meant to be because I woke up Sunday morning fully clothed down to my shoes (oxfords if you need to know). Again, not sure the last time I did that but it's been a while. Even when I spent every weekend on the couch at buddy Sean's Fowler street residence, I at least had the wherewithal to remove my shoes before curling up with some All Start Chicken Fingers and The Big Lebowski. Good times. (Dave, this is as close as you're getting being that you didn't get arrested).

210 - Number of dollars I've spent on traffic tickets since moving to New York. You read all about my run in for not wearing my seat belt. What you don't know is that before I had even hit "publish" on that post, I had racked up another two tickets. Coming back from MTG's parents place on Labor Day I was pulled over in NJ (again I had not actually broken any traffic rules to get pulled over). The cop informed me that my registration was expired and when I tried to explain that I had recently moved and hadn't had a chance to update it/wasn't driving my car except at that very moment, he got out his little statute book and looked up the law about notifying the NJ DMV of a change of address. And in that instant one ticket turned into two tickets, which seems to be a theme with me. I'm just going to stop writing about this now because I'm getting worked up just thinking about it. FYI, you have just 5 days to notify the NJDMV of a change of address (in state or out of state).

Breaking the Law, Breaking the Law!

2009-09-08T07:00:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago I had a Summer Friday, which is one of the great perks of my job. In the summer, I work an extra hour every day (which I would normally be working anyway) and then get every other Friday off. I get six of these each summer and this year, with moving, they haven't exactly been adventures in spontaneity. This particular Summer Friday was no different, and I had big plans to go to Ikea to buy MTG and myself a new bed, eat Swedish meatballs, and then return and put the bed together. Since Ikea is in Elizabeth NJ, I drove my car into Manhattan after work on Thursday so that I could drive to Ikea on Friday morning. I found a parking spot on our street but per the street sign I would have to be out of the spot by 8:30 a.m. Friday to make way for the street cleaning vehicle.

After an exciting night of painting the bedroom, Friday minoring came around and at 8:27 I told MTG that I was running out to move the car and to hit up Dunkin Donuts for some coffee, purposefully omitting that would also grab some donuts because I wanted to surprise her. I'm romantic like that. I scurried down our apartment building's five flights of stairs and across the street to my car where the street-cleaner had not yet arrived but there was a dump truck behind me and another car trying to squeeze through the tight opening. I hopped in, fired up the Saab and took off to the end of the block. At the light I made a left onto 7th Avenue and joined the frenzy of cabbies and commuters breaking every traffic law in the book and some that haven't even made the book yet because New York City is always years ahead of the curve. Before I even made it a block south I noticed a police car with his sirens on a few cars behind and one lane to my left. He squeezed into the space behind me, so, thinking he needed to get by me, I signaled (NO ONE signals when switching lanes in Manhattan) and moved over to my right one lane. The cop also changed lanes so I moved over one more lane - he followed, and I got that sinking feeling in my stomach and pulled over to the side of the road. Of course, he did the same.

While I sat and waited for the cop to approach my window, I watched the cabbies zip by at speeds 20 mph over the speed limit, blow red lights, and throw down tire spikes in front of passing vehicles, and I was overcome with a sudden and dreadful fear. The source of this fear was based in two primary worries.

(1) In the frazzled month that was July, my lease wasn't the only thing to expire; there was also the issue of my NJ vehicle registration. In the pre-move cleaning process I must have inadvertently discarded the online registration form, which meant that I would have to actually visit the dreaded DMV. Obviously time was limited and what free time I did have I spent eating pizza in my living room while an Indian couple I met through Craigslist dismantled furniture in my spare bedroom. So, I basically said, "F@!* it, I'm not going to be driving for a while anyway." The lapsed registration on its own wouldn't normally have any greater repercussions than a fine, but coupled with my # 2 worry I thought things could get a little hairy.

(2) Back in 2004 myself and some friends went to see the Black Crowes at the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York. Prior to the concert we ate at a deli and each of us had a Bud Bomber (16 ounce can) with our pastrami on rye. The sandwiches went down quicker than the beer and we decided to nestle our cans in the safe and discreet abode of a brown paper bag for the quick jaunt over to the Hammerstein. As we neared the venue a cop approached us and two out of the three of us (the unnamed other pounded and discarded the evidence when he saw the cop approaching without warning his friends) may or may not have gotten a citation for open container.

One of the distinct memories I have of that night (other than spotting the Olsen twins in the balcony and wondering who was skinnier, Mary Kate or me) was the cop informing us that it was very important that we mail in our payment for this citation and telling us flat out that if we did not submit payment, "then don't bother ever coming back to New York City, because, if you do and you get in trouble, you WILL go to jail!" Of course, I took this warning with utmost gravity, and promptly may or may not have paid that citation...ever.

So there I sat in my car with the four ways on while the cop approached from behind, and I thought about these two worries, and then I thought about poor MTG and how I wouldn't be able to call her from jail because I hadn't memorized her new phone number yet. I thought about how for years she would need to explain to people that I just went out for coffee and said I'd be right back. She would cling to some semblance of hope that I was having trouble find a parking spot, that the line at Dunkin was really really long, or that there were language issues in placing my order, but after years of waiting and denial she would force herself to move on and start a relationship a man who lost his girlfriend when she ran out for Domino's. The two of them building a relationship on a mutual distrust of pick-up, opting only for delivery for the rest of their wistful lives. I thought about how just five minutes ago I couldn't think of a worse way to spend one of your last Summer Fridays than to spend it at Ikea and The Container Store but how in just two hours I would realize that spending one of your last Summer Fridays in prison and fending off sexual advances from career criminals is far far worse than Ikea and the Container Store. I thought about Swedish Meatballs. I thought about many things but I definitely thought that this would all end with my car impounded and me in prison, possibly for many years, an example Mayor Bloomberg could hold up to the masses as someone who did not take the city's seemingly petty fines seriously.

The officer approached my window and I greeted him politely as I always welcome police officers. He asked me if I knew why he pulled me over, which I did not. "You weren't wearing your seat belt," he informed me. I looked down and saw that, as always, my seat belt was fastened. Then I looked out the window, focusing on the traffic beyond the officer, and saw a cabbie tearing down 7th Avenue, steering his yellow chariot with his feet, talking on his cell phone, and shooting fireworks out the window with his free hand. With the aforementioned worries on my mind, I mostly bit my tongue and only stated that I had just pulled out of my parking spot and that I always wear my seat belt. "License and Registration," he demanded. "I guess Giuliani and Bloomberg really have cleaned up this town," I thought to myself, and then I shuffled through the glove compartment for my expired registration. I wondered if I should mention the expired registration issue but decided to play dumb and handed him the expired card along with my NJ license. He returned to his car to run my plates.

I spent the next five minutes watching the complex dance of the Manhattan morning traffic pattern, resigned to the fact that I would be spending at the very least, the rest of the day in jail. I did some more thinking, but I mostly just sat and waited, listening to a Kurt Vile album since I wasn't sure what the music would be like in prison. The officer returned and handed me my license and expired registration along with a citation in the amount of $130 for not wearing my seat belt. "No points but you gotta wear your belt," he groused and then headed back to his car.

Who knows what he found when he ran my name/license but I was pleased to find a new sense of freedom, even if I now owed $130 for driving a half block without wearing my seat belt.

Blowing Out the Candle

2009-09-03T12:26:00.001-04:00

Kind Readers,

Amongst huge fanfare, the MFP turns one today. This is the 75th post, which isn't a bad rate in my opinion since I figured I would post maybe six times and then get bored and go back to listening to Neil Young records in the safety of my own dirty apartment with no connection to the outside world - and maybe we'd all be better off if that is what happened. Instead we have 75 useless, mildly amusing, often grammatically incorrect posts describing my aversion to social graces and my love of all things buffalo wing flavored (correlation does not equal causation).

To celebrate, I've created a Facebook page for the MFP, so you can now "become a fan" of the MFP on the site that has become America's second favorite way to pass time (eating is still # 1). Honestly, I'm not really sure why I'm creating the MFP Facebook page other than to give all (7) of you Kind Readers a way to let your freak flag fly and show your support of this waste of cyberspace we call the MFP. I will post updates when there is a new post on the MFP and will generally let you know when I am brushing my teeth and what kind of ketchup I'm putting on my hot dog at some BBQ you're not invited to. It will be splendid. I am also creating a Twitter page, though I really kind of hate Twitter (great in theory but ruined by how it's used) so who knows how that will turn out. Anyway, join the cause if you'd like.

Facebook: http://tinyurl.com/mz3hzd
Twitter: http://twitter.com/MFPress

Your humble (and awesome) editor in chief,

Ben Sherman

P.S. I wonder if the Evil Mets Kid is on the DL this year.

Honors

2009-08-26T22:55:00.004-04:00

A few days ago my day was brightened when I received the following e-mail from MFP reader Nate:

As many of you are aware I am coaching my daughter's U6 soccer team this fall. Looking over the past history of the Light Blue (Cologne) Team. I came across a legend in past rosters, our own Mr. Ben Sherman. Ben wore jersey number 7 and I believe it's time for no one to wear that number again (at least this year, because Im handing out the unis, and I have extras). A formal ceremony will be held following our 10am game on October 17th. The game is behind Washington Elementary. Orange slices will be provided!

It's true, my soccer career lasted exactly two years and both seasons I was a member of the Light Blue (or Baby Blue as our opponents called us) team in the Boyertown Youth Soccer League. One year our team was sponsored by Gilbert Printing and while I'm not sure if Gilbert is still in the printing business, I'd like to thank them for our sweet uniforms. We had the coolest shirts in the league, not only because they were light blue, but also because they had pin-striped numbers. I wore number seven.

I played mid-field and was by no means a guy who put up big stats. In two years I netted just two goals, and while this is soccer and goals come about as often as U.S. based endorsements for soccer players (read: not very often), that's still a pretty low tally total (Editors Note: I could have/should have had three but there was a kid named Craig on the team who beat the goalie with a shot and it was an easy tap in for me but I let it roll slowly into the net off of Craig's foot. Partly because I'm a nice guy but mostly because Craig's mom paid him $10 for each goal he scored and I got $5 bucks for my generosity). But I wasn't there to score goals, I was there to set up plays. I could see the field and was a tenacious gnat on defence. You might think this was enough to make the All-Star game at season's end, and most of the parents agreed that I should represent the team Light Blue, but unfortunately our coach, whose son/my teammate would later become a convicted cat killer, valued stats and cherry pickers over someone who actually knew the game but couldn't put the ball in the net due to his chicken legs. So after a huge blow up between the coach and I in the parking lot of Dairy Queen after the finale of my second season I left the soccer pitch for the bright lights and cold ice of the hockey rink where playmaking was valued.

Am I bitter? You're damn right I am. But Reader Nate has offered me redemption. Frankly, it's about time someone with the brains/balls to do this found himself in a position of power within the Light Blue organization. They've been driving that team into the ground since the late 80s. Due to my busy schedule, I'm not sure I'll be able to make the ceremony on October 17th, that is unless the team is able to charter a private jet or helicopter that can drop me off behind the kickboard at Washington Elementary. If you decide to go this route, Nate, might I suggest financing my trip with a bake sale outside of Saville's Diner (Ames is closed so that's no longer an option). I would concentrate on the cream cheese and chocolate cupcakes as they always seemed to fly off the folding table. Either way, I intend to prepare some words of wisdom for your team to be presented at halftime of the October 17 game. Best of luck in your quest to return the Light Blue team to their rightful place in the upper 1/3 of the Boyertown Youth Soccer League (but not too close to the top).

Cultural Learnings

2009-08-25T23:07:00.002-04:00

For the most part, July was a blur of throwing things that I didn't even know I owned into a dumpster and selling 95% of my other worldly possessions on Craigslist, but I was still able to gain valuable insight into other cultures, an activity my grandmother would be proud of. I consider myself a fairly worldly guy - I mean, I've experienced the beach culture of Rio de Janeiro, been led into the desert by a cross-eyed berber and have come very close to a full-body cavity search at the Italian border, and yet, I added two new wrinkles to the brain in July.

1. I sold a lot of stuff on Craigslist. In fact, I had a good operation going. You meet a lot of weird people when you sell stuff on CL and that's to be expected and part of the fun should you survive. However, an Indian couple came over to buy a dresser, and while they appeared to be amongst the most normal of all my CL encounters, they did do one thing that really confused and slightly annoyed me. They showed up, took a look at the dresser, paid me....and then said they couldn't fit it in the car so they'd have to take it apart first. Did I have the tools to do so. Um, I guess. I provided the tools and they spent the next 40 minutes in my spare bedroom taking apart the dresser while I sat in the living room watching Seinfeld, eating pizza, and holding in my bodily gasses. I just thought this was a bit weird. What if I had to be somewhere (like going back for a second slice)? I look to my Indian reader(s) - is this a cultural thing?

2. Hey did you guys know that sometimes when there is an extremely loud argument in a foreign language between a man and a woman and the woman is screaming and crying out in what sounds like a plea for help and there are loud banging sounds that sound like it could be the woman being thrown against the wall and you call the cops because you don't want to wake up to a dead neighbor and feel terrible guilt about it, thus ruining your morning viewing of Fox 5 Good Day New York, that sometimes it is nothing more than a brother and sister arguing in their native language over something probably stupid like whose turn it is to pick mom up from bridge club? Yeah, neither did MTG and I until we called the cops on my neighbors across the hall in NJ. It got pretty uncomfortable during chance meetings in the stairwell from that point forward so MTG and I did what any other couple in our situation would have done. We moved out of state.

P.S. I think I will finally win the ongoing battle with our new bedroom wall and will have my shelving/small desk area installed tomorrow night and I will once again have an area to post to the MFP. Lots of updates in the pipeline including a ceremony in honor of yours truly. More to come on that Thursday (I hope).

The Facts

2009-08-07T17:52:00.003-04:00

I moved to New York City.
I moved to New York City to live in an apartment with a girl.
That girl is MTG.
That apartment is just 400 square feet.
That 400 square foot apartment is on the 5th floor of a walk-up building.
All of this should eventually lead to slightly amusing blogging material.
For now it has only led to extremely sore calf muscles and long nights of painting.
I have more pressing responsibilities than to write MFP blog entries.
Such as finding the best buffalo wings within a four block radius.
For now all I know is that there are three 24-hour diners within a 1 block radius of the 400 square foot apartment.
This is splendid.
More to come...

In the News...

2009-07-15T12:59:00.002-04:00

I know you've been watching the Sotomayor confirmation hearings on the edge of your couch. Here is what else is happening all around you.

Officials are investigating how a foot-long hole opened in the top of a Southwest Airlines jet, forcing the aircraft to make an emergency landing. They are particular interested in speaking with the parents of any teenage boys who own a pellet gun and live behind the clouds.

The world's longest golf course, stretching along 850 miles of desert highway with holes at 18 towns, opened in Australia. After two holes John Daly is shooting a 60-day suspended license and 6 months probation.

A blogger who admitted to leaking part of the Guns N' Roses album Chinese Democracy was sentenced to a year of probation. Legal experts note, however, that one year could turn into 13 years and increasingly bloated public appearances.

Police said a homeowner in Maine used a nonalcoholic beer to entice an intoxicated intruder to leave. The intruder apparently didn't realize that it was a nonalcoholic beer until he heard all the cool kids laughing about it in study hall on Monday.

Lithuania approved a censorship bill that aims to keep information about homosexuality away from children, angering gay rights activists who called the measure homophobic, and Bert and Ernie who had just applied for travel visas to Lithuania.

A recent study shows that household cats can exercise control over humans with a certain type of meow, however the researches were not available to elaborate as their attention was focused on chasing balls of yarn around the laboratory.

A drunk dad was arrested in Las Vegas for having his 11-year-old son drive him home, though the son said it was only fair as he is usually the one hopped up on pixie sticks and gobbstoppers and unable to drive.

Scientists have found seven key genes that together can predict how aggressive a patient's brain cancer will be. There is dispute over the naming of the test, as one of the genes, Simmons, has demanded it be named the Kiss Army Brain Cancer Test.

Britain's National Health officials are urging teachers to emphasize that sex can be healthy and pleasurable instead of simply explaining the mechanics and warning about diseases. In order to get students to open up about the topic in the classroom teachers will also be encouraged to distribute free ecstasy and pints of beer.

Robert De Niro was a victim of an art scam by a New York gallery, the Manhattan District Attorney's office said. The gallery stated they were simply trying to get financial retribution for a scam De Niro pulled on them known as "every De Niro movie since 1997."

A Canadian boy celebrating his third birthday was unhurt and apparently unfazed after he floated 8 miles down a river riding atop his toy truck. In other Canadian news, the Royal Canadian Army has announced that plans for its first ever amphibious all-terrain vehicle are now in production.

Faced with a fall in tourist numbers due to the financial crisis and a reputation for unfriendliness, the Paris tourist board has asked residents of the city to smile. A similar campaign in England recently yielded a 70% decrease in tourism.

A wallet stolen by a pickpocket 27 years ago while the owner watched the New York City Marathon was found and returned to the owner with most of its contents. While pleased, the owner was really hoping someone would return the 5 hours of her life she spent watching a marathon.

Icy winter roads are often considered the most dangerous for motorists, but new research says that it is actually the safest season. Upon hearing the news, Old Man Winter exclaimed, "Ha! Now give me my keys back, damnit!"

More than 43,000 children are injured in slips and falls in bathtubs each year in the United States and parents should consider bathing their children less often, according to a recent study sponsored by the Coalition of Children who Fear they Will be Sucked Down the Bathtub Drain.

German Efficiency

2009-07-13T19:15:00.010-04:00

Some things, when combined, seem so natural together it seems like God must have intended it that way. I'm thinking peanut butter and chocolate, the Allman Brothers and summertime, and pitching in a professional baseball game and LSD. Okay, maybe that last one only applies if you're Dock Ellis. Other things do not combine so well. In this camp we have sedatives and heavy machinery, small children with poor depth perception and ambition to jump into a pool, and Jon and Kate Gosselin. Last Thursday I discovered another combo we can place into the latter camp: the metric system and beer drinking.

Philadelphia has a new German Beer Hall called Brahaus Schmitz and I'd been meaning to give it a try. I had off on Friday and so did buddy Mark so we headed over to Brahaus Schmitz for some schnitzel and some nice German beers. The food was excellent and they have one of the finest draught beer selections in Philadelphia. The servers and bartenders all wear that traditional German attire; you know what I mean. If not, or you are a hetero male and have some free time just google image "dirndl" and you can thank me in the comments (seriously, go now. I just did it and now this post is going to take an extra 3 minutes to write than if I didn't image search dirndl).

My only complaint, if there is one, is that you can't really have a German beer hall in this area of Philadelphia in that there is not enough room. It is really a restaurant with a large bar. There are no long common tables where you can mingle with strangers or a back yard beer garden. They do a nice job, however of making you feel like you're in a true German beer hall with the high ceilings, and the lighting, and the wood, and the dirndl. Dirndl is a really fun word to say by the way. And it's also fun to type it into google image search. Did I mention the dirndl?

But back to the point of this post. You can get your tasty German beer...wait for it...in a litre mug. In fact you're pretty much encouraged (if not by the staff then by your inner Franziskaner Beer Monk). Which should be a good thing, unless you have other friends who stop by just before you finish that first litre mug. And a waitress, who playfully encourages you to drink up lest you be perceived to have the drinking capabilities of a twelve-year-old Swiss girl. And your eyes are thirstier than your blood alcohol content. Then it becomes a bad thing - in a good way. You find your mind buzzing quicker and with less effort than you thought possible. German efficiency.

Not Brahaus Schmitz but buddy Steve staying gold with some litre beers at a Munich beer garden many moons ago.

In the News...

2009-07-09T12:32:00.006-04:00

In case you've only been watching one of the 134 channels that have covered nothing but the death of the King of Pop in the last two weeks, the MFP brings you some other things that have been in the news.

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Lean times in Pamplona, Spain as economists have reported that the poor economy has impacted the annual running of bulls. One disgruntled bull griped, "now they expect four of us to do the same amount of goring 6 bulls used to perform. It's bullshit is what it is."

A Boston-area inventor sued Kimberly-Clark on Tuesday, contending that the maker of Kleenex tissues and Huggies diapers had violated his patent for a device to detect bad breath. The forty-seven year old man claims that he has been using his device, which he calls a nose, since the early 1960s.

'The Ledge,' the new glass balconies suspended 1,353 feet in the air and which jut out 4 feet from the Sears Tower's 103rd floor Skydeck will open to public today, July 9 and will be closed to the public by mid-afternoon for cleaning of the mess left by all those who vomit and p!ss their pants immediately upon looking down.

Plans for the world's largest wind farm, which was to be located in Texas, have been scrapped, energy baron T. Boone Pickens said Tuesday. Pickens explained that it was a pointless venture, noting that the farm wouldn't even be the largest source of hot air in Texas, now that George W. Bush has returned to Crawford.

German police called to clear a road of a dead badger found the animal in question had in fact gorged itself on over-ripe, fermented cherries and, blind drunk, staggered out into the middle of the road. David Hasselhoff reportedly has no recollection whatsoever of dressing up as a dead badger.

Consumer groups are urging for stricter labeling for bottled water. The suggested mandatory labels would read, "Hey moron, you can get this for free, right over there (arrows in all directions)"

A drunk man sparked a slow-speed police chase after stealing a tractor to get home from a nightclub after his girlfriend left without him. When police asked him why didn't immediately pull over, he stated that he had a ho to plow.

Police say a man in Connecticut has been arrested because he showed up at a dental office naked. It is unclear if he has an attorney...or pants.

Australian children's author Mark Macleod's latest book hopes to encourage young, and older, souls to find God in the simplest of things. And to think, all this time God has been hiding in Arthur Kade's brain.

A Delaware man faces drunken driving charges after he was pulled over for speeding in northeastern Maryland and a sheriff's deputy noticed he wasn't wearing any pants. Delaware Police state that the man apologized for speeding but asked if they could hurry up and write the ticket as he was running late for a dentist's appointment in Connecticut.

Lenny Dykstra, the former star center fielder for the Philadelphia Phillies, has filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection, court records show. In addition to curtailing his jet set lifestyle, he will also reportedly change his nickname from "Nails" to "Push pins."

Getting Learned

2009-07-08T21:47:00.005-04:00

Here at the MFP we encourage the continuous adult learning. A few weeks back I had two great learning experiences I'd like to share with the class.

1. I learned that my friends throw great parties but don't buy enough beer. Mark and Jen had a lovely co-bday party at Jen's house in Queen Village. It was beautiful evening out on Jen's deck but everyone hung around later than usual rather than going out and eventually the beer was kicked. Next thing I know I'm breaking my "no shots policy" with some chilled shots of tequila. I saw someone using a shaker so I thought the tequila was cut with another beverage. Wrong, but it was chilled. Tequila is also probably the liquor I would avoid the most if given a choice due to over-imbibing at a high school graduation party. I certainly felt the two shots at Jen's later in the night but at no point did I feel I was in danger of losing my burger.

2. I decided that I wanted to start playing roller hockey again so I found an add on craigslist (not just for "massages" anymore) and joined a pick-up game that is played each Sunday morning from 9:30 - 11:00 at an indoor rink twenty minutes outside Philadelphia. I went to bed early Saturday night and Sunday morning I was up early and grabbed an iced coffee and tater tots (breakfast of champions) for the ride out to the rink. I showed up fully aware that I was out of shape but maybe not quite ready for 90 minutes of skating in full gear with just three subs in a building without air conditioning. I have to say, I fared pretty well - netting a couple of very nice goals. But around the 75th minute things began falling apart as each shift i came off with side-stitch and feeling overheated. Then, in the 83rd minute as I sat on the bench, I pulled a Kenna, that is I profusely vomited into a trashcan (thank god there was a trash can there so I didn't have to use the penalty box) while a 20 year-old kid looked on, terrified. Iced coffee and tater tots do not a good pre-game meal make.

Also, a special b-day shout out to Barny, MFP reader and contributor. Sorry we couldn't make it to the rafting trip but I was busy heaving into a trashcan and then at a family b-day party.

Sunday Night Sonnets: 30 Glorious Minutes (in my stomach)

2009-06-23T19:38:00.005-04:00

Iced coffee and tater tots breakfast, yum;
A lovely combo to start this fine morn.
Salt of the tot at the base of my tum
Chased down with coffee is better than p0rn.
Simple, yet tasty, I think as I drive.
I pop and then drink, again and again.
Lobster could not make me feel this alive;
Keep your challah toast - I'll stick with my Zen
But if you should choose this meal as your own
It is best to keep your whole morning clear,
To avoid a grumble, maybe a moan
Stay on your couch, stay there, right on your rear.
For these flavors, while divine as you chew,
When combined with hockey might make you spew.

Recognize this Shirt?

2009-06-09T19:49:00.006-04:00

If you saw me in person even once between the years of 1996- 2001 your answer to the question in subject line is almost certainly, "Yes!" I wore this Detroit Red Wings shirt at least once a week during college and often twice a week (and after the Great 6B Fire of 2000 once a day is probably a more accurate statement). There are many reasons why I loved this shirt, none of them involve a love of the Detroit Red Wings, and a few of them are sad, and since we don't talk about sad things here on the MFP (only uncomfortable things), these reasons will not be discussed. After college I grew up (read: lost the shirt) and stopped wearing my beloved Red Wings Shirt.

Tonight, the shirt was dug out of the closet as the Detroit Red Wings have the chance to eliminate the Pittsburgh Penguins and win the Stanley Cup. I didn't blog about the Stanley Cup playoffs because I was at first too busy watching it, and then later, once the Philadelphia Flyers were eliminated by the Penguins, I was too busy crying and getting face stitches. Obviously I am a Flyers fan - a big Flyers fan - and so of course I strongly dislike the Penguins. Especially Sidney Crosby. Evgeni Malkin is okay in my book since he is not overrated and mostly plays the game the way it should be played. I'm not saying I want to grab beers with the guy but it could probably be fun to scare small children with him.

I'm not quite willing to say "Go Wings!" but uh, I really don't want to see Crosby raise the Cup.

Photograph O' the Week

2009-06-05T07:59:00.008-04:00

Although you wouldn't know it from the weather, the unofficial begin to summer has already come and gone with Memorial Day now two weeks behind us. I am a fan of all four seasons, but summer is by far my favorite (because it's the best) kind of like I was a fan of all five Spice Girls but Ginger was by far my favorite (because she seemed the easiest).

This week's Photograph O' the Week celebrates the arrival of the best season with a photograph that includes some staples of summer. Namely, boardwalks, bikinis, American Flag themed clothing, and feminine-poses. The photo also stars one of the Kind Readers of the MFP, Big Rob (whose birthday is this Sunday). As always, there is a story behind the photograph. I'll leave most of the details to the imagination, but a series of escalating bets led to Big Rob sporting the "bikini shirt" on the Ocean City, NJ boardwalk. Keep in mind that Ocean City is a dry town, so the influence of alcohol was not a factor. Bravo, sir!

Letters from the Editor

2009-06-03T21:17:00.003-04:00

June 3, 2009

Obnoxiously Inebriated Girl at The National Concert
1234 Coors Lite Way
Whichever Town Your Parents Live, PA 191??

Dear Obnoxiously Inebriated Girl,

Subject: The National Concert at the Electric Factory on May 29

Let me begin by offering my sincere apologies for not writing this letter sooner. I know it's been almost a full week since our encounter, but I figured I would give you ample time to recover from the nasty hangover you surely have been dealing with since last Saturday Morning. Allowing for mailing time, I'm hopeful you can see straight by the time you receive this.

I think I speak for all four members of our party, when I say it was an absolute pleasure meeting you last Friday. Don't worry if you're confused; we won't be hurt if you don't remember us. After all, we didn't even meet until five songs into the show. There I was, standing with my girlfriend, packed into the crowd but with enough room to breathe and, more importantly, good sightlines for my vertically challenged girlfriend. It was a nice crowd, respectful of both the band and fellow fans. You really should have been there for this portion of the show but I understand if you were at McFaddens or Tiki Bobs (sorry, Buckethead Saloon) getting in the last Coors Lite special.

That was pretty awesome how you just wedged your way right in between my girlfriend and me. How did you know I wanted to listen to the show without her whispering sweet nothings into my ear. It was a little uncomfortable once you began bumping up against me and if I were a man with a bigger ego I may have thought this to be intentional. But no, I'm quite sure you had no idea I was even there. You did notice my girlfriend though after you dropped your phone (the first of many times) and realized you had your armpit directly in her face. Your excuse was so adorable though and we couldn't get mad at you, "Sorry, but I LOVE this song."

I love The National. Don't you just love the song Ada? I know you do because you yelled it out when they started playing Ada! You must really really love that song because you kept yelling out, "Ada! Ada! Adaaaaa! Ada! I looooovveeee this song! Adalahclkhhhhhhaaaaa!" Running time of the song is 4:03 and I'm guessing you professed your love of the song for at least a good 2:10 (hey you had to save some time for texting. You know who else I bet loves the song Ada? Probably the other 3,000 or so people at the concert! But none of them love it as much as you because nobody else yelled for 2:10 of the song.

I hope all of your cell phone pics of the band came out great but I fear most of them ended up being of the bald spot of the guy in front of us. I know you were confused that none of the pics were of the band, but you were swaying pretty bad when you would raise your hand, usually resulting in a phone being pointed directly at the ground in front of you instead of the stage.

If I can ask just one question. What was the deal with removing your plaid trucker hat, leaning forward, and shaking your bleached blonde mane all around like we were at a Brett Michaels show? Is this how the kids show they are ready to party these days. I wasn't counting but I'm not exagerrating when I estimate that you did this twelve times over the course of an hour. By this point you had moved onto another couple and I'm pretty sure the girlfriend appreciated you whipping her boyfriends face with your hair and backing up into him each time you tried to stand steady and check a txt message.

Hey, I hope I'm not being preachy and the fact that I was so subdued doesn't make you think I'm just 30 and boring. I've had a blast dancing/singing at my share of shows. Once at a Neil Young concert, when I was about 17 a couple in their 30s was visibly scared of me when I was getting spastic during Sedan Delivery. But that was their problem as I wasn't in their space, loud, or drunk. Guess what, I've even been drunk at a concert or 2 (hundred)...but again, there is a considerate way to do it.

Anyway, I'm really glad you enjoyed your first concert, err, I mean National concert. Next time you should come for the whole thing - I mean, you know, cause you LOVE them! Also, if you were not drunk and instead just suffer from a brutal combination of late stage Parkinson's and Turrets, please disregard this letter.

Warmest Wishes,

Ben Sherman

Enclosed (an awesome version of Sedan Deliver...seriously watch it -especially from 3:30 - 5:00 and tell me Neil Young is not an OGRE. Song was released in 1978, kind readers!)

Travel Tips and Tales: Portugal (with Photographs)

2009-05-24T16:38:00.007-04:00

We made it back from Portugal just in time to enjoy a three-day weekend. Well played on my part. I thought I'd take a few moments to share some things I learned while in Portugal. We spent our first three nights in Lisbon, then caught a train to Lagos, on the coast in the Algarve region, where we spent two nights, and then bussed it back to Lisbon for one final night.

1. I learned I still have it. "It" being the look of someone who is looking to score drugs at all times. Back when I backpacked Europe with my friends in 2001 I was always the first to be offered drugs in every city/country we visited Keep in mind I was with Simeon of simeons.net so this was quite a feat. Usually, I was barely out of the train station before I heard the magic words "Hashish, coke, marijuana?" Of course I always declined but I took a bit of pride in the fact that I looked like I had disposable income while backpacking. I guess a bit of my skinniness/looking cracked out features also played a part, but whatever. Once I was this close to being on the receiving end of a full body cavity search while alone on an Italian train.

But now, I'm older, wiser, and more "responsible looking" (read: I don't have an open container of beer at all times). Surely, I wouldn't be picked out of a crowd by the degenerate drug dealers of Portugal, right? Not so much. About 15 minutes after getting settled in our apartment in Lisbon I ran out to the store for some supplies and was immediately offered "hashish, coke, marijuana." I thought for sure that this wouldn't happen (or at least not as much) when walking around with MTG. Again, not so much. I was offered drugs at an alarming rate, even when MTG was present. Final score was something like Lisbon: 27 Lagos: 0.

I'm pretty sure that the my terrible facial hair and face stitches gave me some seediness points that are factors a drug dealer considers before offering up drugs. Regardless, I think MTG was impressed/turned on by the fact that I am dangerous enough to be offered drugs. Thank you, drug dealers of Lisbon.

2. Don't let MTG lead you through fields/trails. In Lagos, we were hiking along the beaches which are separated by cliffs/rocks/fields and MTG decided to take the lead. She took decided to follow a worn path in a wheat field stating that it must go back to the road since it is worn down. We followed the path and ended up at an extremely creepy/abandoned house with no outlet to the road or anywhere for that matter. I had heard that there is no crime in Lagos*. That may be mostly true but if there has been crime in Lagos, I'm pretty sure it took place at this house. It's a good bet that the path was worn down from the Police walking back and forth to the crime scene. We eventually got back to the road once I was back in charge.

* I didn't find out until we returned that the whole Madeleine McCann kidnapping thing took place at Praia de Luz, which is about 3 miles from the creepy house. Whoops.

MTG leads us toward certain death

3. MTG is abusive. Multiple times she "accidentally" hit my chin/face stitches, including once when she threw my watch and scored a direct hit to the face stitches. I've decided not to press charges but I'm just saying she's abusive.

4. You know how you always have this romantic/idealistic vision of Europe, where everyone sits around cafes sipping espresso discussing the work of Pessoa? Well that's all true. But what you don't realize is how they're also just as obsessed with smut and tabloids as we are. On the bus ride back to Lisbon, the Portuguese woman next to me was engrossed in a tabloid story about Octomom. At least there is one area where we are ahead of Europe. Also, there was a LOT of smut channels on our t.v. at our apartment in Lisbon and MTG may have accidentally ordered Hard Bird. Can't wait to get that bill.

Pessoa: Genius poet or just an art fag?

5. When faced with the prospect of being left with a pile of unusable foreign currency and extreme exchange fees you will buy pretty much anything you can get your hands on. Case in point, our last night in Lisbon we went to the best fado club in Lisbon - food was mediocre and overpriced but the music was great. After the show, we still had cash to burn and found ourselves buying a 20 Euro CD/DVD set of fado hits of the guitarist for that night. I mean, sure the dude autographed it at the bar, but still, that's like 30 bucks for something that probably won't get a lot of play.

Actually, after dude autographed the CD we tried to leave without paying (I guess we forgot because we were so flustered being in the proximity of greatness) and the woman at the front reminded us that we still owed the 20 Euros. We paid and luckily I smoothed things over with a smooth Bonnie and Clyde of fado clubs joke that the woman laughed at. Though in retrospect, she probably has no idea who Bonnie and Clyde are and was probably just praying that the scary American thief with face stitches wasn't going to hurt her.

I have an autographed CD/DVD of this guy's music. Asking just 30 Euros.

Also, If you want to see the rest of the 400+ photos from the trip just shoot me an e-mail and I'll send you a Picasa invitation to view. Til next time.

Things Your Girlfriend Doesn't Like to Hear Two Days Before a Romantic Getaway

2009-05-13T12:40:00.000-04:00

"How do you feel about going to Portugal with a guy who has face stitches?" This was the question I posed to MTG at approximately 7:50 on Monday night, almost precisely 48 hours before our Lisbon bound plane is scheduled to leave the ground at EWR.

At 7:30 all was right with the world and I was playing roller hockey with a couple of people at the local park rink. Just a minute earlier we were going to call it quits but I agreed to play for an additional 10 minutes after a quick water break. At about 7:31 I caught a puck in the chin and soon realized I had a pretty deep cut (because I am a man I did not fall to the ground and simply checked for blood while skating...there was blood, plenty of it).

The 40 something Russian man who was on my team and provided a questionable first aid kit suggested I go to the hospital to see if I needed stitches. I really had no idea if I was stitch-worthy since I've only had stitches once before (just a centimeter or so behind my new trophy) but I tended to trust my new Russian friend since he had a few pronounced scars on his face. I was sure his scars were distinguishable evidence of a vodka fueled brawl within the cramped confines of a Ukrainian bar in the early 90s, though he shattered my assumptions when he explained that the were the result of a sailing mishap while out at sea - and an example of how a wound might heal without the benefit of some stitches.

After phone discussions with MTG (her brother and sister are both nurses) I was still tossing around the idea of just throwing a band-aid on it and calling it a day when MTG got back to my place at around 9:00 p.m. and informed me that yes, I needed stitches. I hadn't eaten yet so I grabbed the last few pretzels in the cabinet and headed out to the hospital while she stayed behind since she needed to pack for our trip*.

Below is a timeline to take you through the key milestones of the rest of my night:

9:20 p.m.: I arrive at St. Peter's Hospital in the nb. I sign some forms and take a seat as I'm instructed.

9:24: There are a lot of people here. This is going to take forever.

9:36: My name is called. I go up to the front desk. Wow this isn't so bad I naively think on the way up. The strap a bracelet on me and tell me to take a seat.

10:20: My name is called again. This time a nurse takes my blood pressure and informs me that I will need stitches. I tell her it happened playing hockey. She asks me a series of questions including, "Do you use any street drugs?...Sorry, but we have to ask everyone. Athletes like yourself are always a no." This is funny on several levels. I guess playing roller hockey three times a year makes me an athlete. I'll take it. Then I comment that I guess Correll Buckhalter has never been admitted to this hospital. She stares blankly at me and wonders if I need oxygen. She takes my blood pressure and says it is a bit high. I explain that I was just watching Nancy Grace in the waiting room. I am sent back out where someone will be with me "shortly."

10:25: A very obese couple in their early 20s walk into the ER carrying McDonald's bags and drinks. They head into the back to presumably visit a friend who is in the hospital. I imagine them smuggling in a quarter pounder with cheese like a girlfriend visiting her incarcerated boyfriend might smuggle drugs or a shiv into the prison.

10:30: I realize I will be here for a while and begin reading Outdoor magazine (good read).

11:00: My name is called again. I place Outside on the table in front of me and look at the other poor saps in the waiting as if to say, "Suck it, b!tches!" Finally...I get complete some more forms and present my insurance card. I am told to have a seat and someone will be with me.

11:04: I return to my seat to find Outside has been thefted by another obese couple. Seriously? The only outside they're familiar with is the outside of a Boston creme donut. I am an athlete g0d d@mnit!

11:10: Everyone seems to be accompanied by a loved one. I am alone. It's cool though, I understand MTG had to pack for our upcoming trip.*

11:17: I decide I'll tell people in Portugal that I got my stitches in a street fight defending the American border from swine flu and hard workers. I'm hoping for lots of pity and maybe even some airplane wings or a chance to sit in the cockpit on the flight over.

11:20: Two hours, nice. Why do so many people here (patients checking in not staff) know each other? How often do people go to the ER? These are not people who know each other from visiting sick parents, these are people who know each other from checking into the ER for things like "skin irritation" and "bad headaches"

11:40: My name is called again. This time I am taken to the promised land. I am given a seat on a cot behind a screen and told that Dixie will be my nurse.

11:50: Holy crap the obese couples friend is in the area next to me. And, drum roll please...here comes the male half of the obese couple with FRESH/MORE McDonald's. I can honestly see his belly hanging over his pants and below his t-shirt. Don't these people know that McDonald's is bad for you?

12:10 a.m. (next day): First MTG ditched me and now Dixie. Did they remember to tell her? I am lonely. I wish I had someone to feed me french fries. Some people are truly blessed.

12:25: Dixie arrives: She is not wearing Crocs and my respect for her grows. I know they're comfortable and you're on your feet all day but how can I trust you with my health when you're wearing these ridiculous clown shoes. She comments on my sunburn and then asks if I got hurt playing hockey. Then she tells me a doctor will be with me shortly.

12:35: I begin texting Simeon of simeons.net since he is on the west coast and I'll know he'll be up listening to DMB or having his wife pull names from a hat for a soccer drawing.

12:40: The doctor sees me. I get my five stitches. That actually hurt a little bit. Dixie returns and gives me a Tetanus shot which I am scared crapless of (I hate needles) but it doesn't hurt at all**

1:10: I sign my papers and leave the hospital. I still haven't eaten and I'm hungry like the wolf.

1:15 a.m.: A 24 hour McDonald's drive thru appears on the way home. God Bless America.

So yeah, I'm going to Portugal in a few hours and I have some nice stitches on my chin. This is par for the course since I almost always have an injury while on vacation (usually of the foot variety). Also, I can't shave due to the stitches, and as we all know, I can't grow respectable facial hair. If you have any ideas of what style of facial hair I should go with while in Portugal, let me know.

The MFP will be dormant for a week while I'm away since I will be without computer. I had hoped to get some posts lined up for auto-release while I'm away, but five hours in the ER will really put a damper on your plans.

* As of writing this (at 12:30 EST Wednesday, May 13) just three hours before we leave for the airport, MTG still hasn't finished packing.

**Apparently tetanus shots like to creep up on you like a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20. Felt fine at first, but my arm is straight buckled two days later!

Mothers Day at the Phillies

2009-05-10T22:09:00.009-04:00

Last year my Mom mentioned that she wanted to go to the Phillies game on Mothers Day one year. Lucky for her, I was also quite interested in seeing the Phillies on Mom's Day, so I scored some tickets on Stub Hub a few months back and my Sister and I surprised my Mom today and took her to the game (we told her we were going to brunch...but just left out that we were going to brunch at Chickie and Pete's at "the Bank").

First the bad: Brett Myers starts against the Braves at games I am attending are not a good combination. This is the second game I've attended this year with Myers starting against the Braves and they were both losses. Today was not Brett's fault although he hit and/or gave a little chin music to 3 Brave's batters. Also, I have 3rd degree farmer's sunburn.

The good: You really can't have a bad day at the ballpark. Our seats were great; Four rows back in home run territory in right/center field. Unfortunately, no homers today but we're focusing on the good here. My Mom and Sister loved the seats and I think Mom said it best when she called my Step-dad, "Dennis, the seats are great. I could spit in the bullpen!" (She didn't).

I also got to test out my new camera and got some great shots of the game. Two of which are featured in this post.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms. I hope you had a good one. And since this is a Mother's Day post, I'll leave you with one more quote from my Mom today that had me hunched over in laughter. My Mom was reminiscing about attending Phillies Picture Day (where the Phillies take photos with fans and autograph stuff before a game) with her friend in 1992:

"And then out come Darren Daulton and Wally Backman with their noses in the air...I mean who the hell is Wally Backman? Walkin around like his shit don't stink!"

Classic - and I can't say I'm surprised. After all, Wally Backman was a NY Met for most of his career.

The Phillie Phanatic flashes his "Wally Backmans"

Photograph O' The Week

2009-05-08T08:00:00.003-04:00

I need your help, Kind Readers.

While in New Orleans my sister and I were on our way back to our hotel at 8 p.m. one night and we haaad to walk down Bourbon Street to get to our hotel. While standing there drinking our beers in the street - I mean, on our way back to the hotel, we saw the person in this week's photograph walk by. The back of the person's red shorts read "Sexy." Indeed. The person walked passed us and then paused to remove what appeared to be a diaper and disposed of said diaper in a trash can. My sister and I both snapped a photograph but only hers came out as my camera has difficulty capturing the image of humans of questionable gender.

I have spent many a sleepless night since returning from NoLa tossing and turning while my mind races in an effort to determine whether this was a man or a woman. I still have no idea. Part of me thinks this was some sort of guerrilla marketing campaign or social experiment. My sister and I have decided that we'll let others decide the sex of the person in the photograph and have been keeping track since returning from the trip.

Please leave your vote in the comments section and feel free to leave your reasoning (or lack thereof) as well. Yes we can (determine the sex of this individual)! Your vote counts!

Good Readers, I Hear Your Cries

2009-05-07T21:25:00.004-04:00

I turned 30 in mid April - damn you Fountain of Youth, you failed me. Since turning 30 I grew lazy and have been watching a lot of hockey and mourning the death of Bea Arthur. As a result I've been neglecting the MFP. Well, no more.

An outpouring of concern for my general well being was expressed by many (or three) MFP readers who have begged me to resume reporting, stating that their lives are not the same and they're not sure they can go on in a world without frequent MFP updates. I will oblige.

I've got lots to write about and hope to be more dilligent in updating the MFP. I can't wait to get started again. I'll start tomorrow. (I'd start tonight but this wine that MTG left here is oh so yummy).

Please forgive me (or don't I don't really give a damn cause this wine is oh so yummy).

Regards,

Ben Sherman

Who Wants to go see the World F-ing Champions on Sunday

2009-04-03T07:00:00.003-04:00

UPDATE: CONTEST CLOSED: Congratulations to Mark "the Hairy Hungarian" from Philadelphia, who was the first (and only so far) to respond with Lenny "Nails" Dykstra. Please tune in for future contests where I will give away far less impressive prizes such as the opportunity to take Ben Sherman to lunch (on you!).

Ok, here is the deal. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to purchase tickets to the Phillies Opening Day, which is this Sunday, April 5 at 8 p.m. vs. the Braves.

Somehow, I never got around to asking anyone to go and imagine lots of you would like to go. So I'm going to offer up the chance to buy my extra ticket through the MFP.

Just a couple ground rules.

- You have to be able to meet me in Philadelphia (either center city or at the stadium) on Sunday.

- You have to go to the game with me (i.e. no scalping the ticket, giving it to your friend, or trading it for sexual favors).

To have a chance at the ticket just e-mail manfreepress@gmail.com with the answer to the following question. Which former Philadelphia Phillie's inside the park home-run led me to believe that my mom and step-dad were being brutally murdered in the living room of our house?

I will either offer the ticket to the first person to respond correctly, or I will enter the first 5 correct responses into a random drawing.

A few more details. The ticket is $20 and is nosebleeds...but none the less in the bank! Should be awesome regardless.

Sorry if this is tacky but I didn't know who to ask to go. Actually, I'm not sorry at all...

Travel Tips and Tales: New Orleans, Louisiana, USA

2009-03-28T16:08:00.007-04:00

Ben Franklin statue in New Orleans. I must say Ben's breasts were quite perky for his age.

No thanks to the wealth of suggestions I got from your comments (I hear the troll den is nice this time of year Maygone but I wanted some sun…or at least some light.) I did in fact go on vacation last week...to New Orleans…with my sister. We have distant relatives down there, my sister was on spring break, and I had not been there since I was fourteen years old. Despite these factors, I decided to give it a go, and I’m glad I did.

I had been to Nola (as the cool kids call it) twice before; once at age eleven and again at age fourteen. When I was eleven I remember my Great Aunt having a crawfish boil at her house. A crawfish boil is where you take crawfish, potatoes, corn, brussel sprouts, mushrooms, sausage and pretty much anything else you can get your hands on in the backyard and throw it into a huge vat full of boiling water and season everything with generous Cajun spices. It is similar to a New Brunswick Fat B!tch in that they both have many ingredients but couldn't be more different in the fact that it actually tastes good sober (I would know because I didn’t start drinking until I was 12) and you don’t wake up crying the next day because you had unprotected s8x with an upperclassman the night before. I remember like yesterday when I was eleven and those Cajun spices hit my virgin tongue, raised on Pennsylvania Dutch cooking where seasoning consisted of butter and black pepper, and opened my eyes to a new world. For those few brief days in 1990 crawfish was king instead of chicken fingers.

My greatest memory from the second trip was when all the adults (read: parents, grandparents, and everyone else over age 14) went to Bourbon Street to get drunk, see b00bs and have fun in general, while me and my cousins, who were all under 10 at the time, went to see Free Willy 2. Seriously. Utter disgrace to fourteen year-olds everywhere and while I did cry, I blamed it on the Cajun spices in my eyes.

My previous experiences left me with three goals for trip # 3 to the Big Easy. (1) See some great live jazz. (2) Experience those great Cajun spices once again and (3) get drunk and see b00bies on Bourbon Street.

The trip was awesome. Our extended family came through big and hosted an amazing backyard crawfish boil on our last day in town. If my tongue was a virgin at age eleven, then thanks to my world travels my tongue now has more STDs than Tara Reid (metaphorically speaking, people). I mean, I’ve had “pizza” in Morocco so I’ve been exposed to all kinds of flavors. Yet, the crawfish boil still delivered. And yes, you’ve got to suck dem heads.

I also saw a nice amount of great live music, including plenty of jazz and even a 90’s cover band where I called a Matchbox 20 song right before they played it. It should be noted, however, that whenever we went to see jazz my sister’s feet mysteriously started hurting and she wanted to go back to someplace closer to the hotel (read: Bourbon Street). Do we have any podiatrist readers? Is this a common disorder among 21 year-old women?

On a sadder note, I did not see b00bies on Bourbon Street. This is mostly a joke and I wasn’t really looking per say, but I did feel a bit robbed when my sister caught a glimpse of some soccer mom’s baby-feeders. Honestly, the whole Bourbon Street scene is a bit cheez (and that is putting it nicely) but the surrounding area is really cool.

A few other important lessons/observations from the trip to Nola.

1. We went on a Voodoo Tour one night. There were ten total people on the trip and we were twenty years younger than the rest of the group. We were also 20 times less drunk. These people were smashed. One woman in particular, I believe from Alabama, was so drunk and it was hilarious. It wasn’t until she almost threw up on my shoes mid-tour that I notice that her outfit consisted of white denim shorts, an unbuttoned (wide open) white denim jean jacket and a bra. Not even a sexy bra. Just a good ole fashioned brassiere. Some choice quotes from her:

In reference to the tour guide mentioning the use of the back door of the church: "We all need a little back door action once in a while."

In reference to her tramp stamp (tattoo on lower back): "It gives my husband somewhere to aim."

In reference to the song Dixie being written by a Northerner and the Star Spangled Banner written to the tune of an English drinking song: "We are sooo good at that (stealing songs). Just yesterday, I heard a Wham song done in a heavy metal way."

It is my biggest regret, that even though I was carrying around three cameras on this trip, I did not get a photograph of this woman. No excuses. Just dropped the ball.

2. If you're travelling with your sister I recommend securing a room with two beds sometime prior to the point at which you check-in to the hotel. I booked through Hotwire and was so busy before the trip that I hadn't called. When we arrived I made the request and they stated that they would see what they could do. A few minutes of fear passed quietly as my sister and I imagined sharing the bed like the Griswold kids in Christmas Vacation. Luckily, they had a room with two beds (so we got to share two different beds over the course of the trip).

There's a lot more to say but I've already written too much and I'm tired. This is all you're getting. So go to New Orleans. It is a great city and they'd love to have you. Also, one final thank you to all our family from down there for being such great hosts.

MFP Business Pages: Start Buying Shoes, You're Going to Need Somewhere to Put Your Money

2009-03-05T21:56:00.008-05:00

I think we're all aware by now that, simply put, the economy is in the proverbial crapper. The bailouts, American ingenuity, and return of Sigfried and Roy have thus far not been able to pull us out of this financial despair. The job reports continue to spell doom as layoffs continue to rise. The banks and American stalwarts such as GM continue to tumble. Ponzi schemes are ruining those who "wisely invested." And there is no sign of relief even though every few months finance experts try to reassure us that the worst is behind us.

For those of us who have joined the working world in the last several years, all of our "responsible" investing has gone for not. We've contributed to our 401k since day one ensuring that we're contributing enough to take advantage of the company match just like we were told any responsible adult should do. At this point, I've contributed to my 401k for each paycheck over the last five years. I would have been better off stashing my money in a shoebox under my bed, spending it all on a get rich quick scheme (and grown an awesome mustache in the process), or "investing" my money by purchasing Barrels' autographed baseball card collection for a cool four hundred bucks (I've really just been looking for an excuse to link to that great post).

Through it all, I've stayed relatively calm. Sure it's a buzzkill watching your investments and 401K go down instead of up even as you contribute money every two weeks that you could be otherwise spending spending on useless crap at Zerns. I'm calling party foul on Ben Bernake. But really, we're all (relatively) young and have plenty of time before retirement. The market will surely recover, right?

And then today I saw an article on msn.com that changed my 'it's cool, everything will be fine" mindset. Today, the Dow had its lowest close since April 15, 1997. Holy crap people; start buying your iTunes downloads and cute Urban Outfitters outfits in bulk. We are screwed!

1997 was a long-a$ time ago. Things were different then. The Phillies stunk, the President getting a bj in the oval office wasn't a big deal yet, and Americans were willing to get on a flight that also had Muslim passengers. Sure, some things were exactly the same; Miley Cyrus wasn't wearing any clothes back then either - but that's because she was in diapers. Point being, it was a long time ago and frankly, it's depressing that the Dow is at the same level now as it was then. In fact, it was so long ago that I was a senior in high school.

There are many ways to demonstrate from an economic perspective, using fancy charts and bar graphs, where we were in 1997 and how we've returned back to that level, even though we should be well beyond that point. Well we don't have the budget for fancy schmancy pie charts at the MFP but we do have a boatload of pictures. And we all know a picture is worth a thousand words...or 2.3 pie charts. So, I present to you, the MFP's effort in showing just how long ago 1997 was:

That's right, I'm posting this photograph taken in April of 1997, of myself, a friend from high school, and my senior year Trig teacher, Mr. Smith, as an educational tool to show you that 1997 was a looong time ago and the Dow returning to that same level is NOT GOOD. Before you funny guys start posting comments like, "are you sure this isn't from 1987? Cause you look like you're 8," and other such comments pointing out that I looked really young, I want you to realize that I'm posting this photo at the risk of ruining my relationship with MTG once she realizes that I wasn't always this dashingly handsome and good at math, to help you understand the magnitude of the current financial crisis.

On a related note, I'm pretty sure Mr. Smith has something to do with the financial meltdown as he was a terrible teacher (notice the blackboard is so clean it doesn't look like there's been an equation on it all year) and I'm quite sure that a few investment bankers graduated from Boyertown and probably passed through his classroom.

On an unrelated note, that was my favorite shirt in high school (other than my red wings t-shirt). It was from the Gap and it was awesome. Obviously, this was well before I discovered that wearing skin tight t-shirts would make me look more muscular and would make weird girls who were probably just boys trapped in girls bodies like me. Also, further evidence that 1997 was a long time ago is that uni-brows were really cool, as you can tell by the fact that both me and my friend have one. And we were cool. I swear. Um. Yeah.

In closing, I'd like to thank MFP reader/contributor, Barny, for making this post possible by submitting this photograph (yesterday, no less) to manfreepress@gmail.com for Photograph o' the Week consideration. Remember, your submissions do not need to include me in the photo. Keep them coming.

Photograph O' the Week

2009-02-26T23:20:00.004-05:00

I can't believe it's been three years since a cross-eyed Berber led me into the Sahara (click on the photo to see the level of cross-eyedness; it's a wonder we didn't end up going in a circle). We spent the night in the Sahara and I'll post more about that experience in a future Travel Tips and Tales post.

Also, check out the facial hair I'm sporting. I shaved two days later (after I was arrested by the Moroccan Police on suspicion of paedophilia) and it was the most facial hair I've ever had. And it was pathetic. My sister had more facial hair when she came out of the womb. I wonder if I can grow more now (it's been three years).

I just might get the chance to find out in a week and a half. I have vacation the week of March 9 and I still have NO idea what I'm going to do. I was thinking about heading to Austin but can't find any cheap flights. I might buy some cheap airfare to California. I might wait until the last minute and just see what deals are out there. I might just save some money and drive somewhere for a few days. Do you have any ideas? Do you want to join me? Let me know, I'm all ears at this point.

Betting on the Oscars

2009-02-22T19:17:00.002-05:00

According to the general consensus, the Oscars, like most award ceremonies, are a let down every year. They are boring, nothing eventful happens, and it's a bit painful to watch those who toil away behind the scenes get pushed off the stage by the orchestra before they even utter their first thank you or cry their first tear.

Three years ago I, along with some friends discovered the secret to making the Oscars fun. It's the same approach you need to take to make college football, watching horses do a lap around a track, and guessing when that chick from the accounting department is gonna pop-out that baby. You gotta bet on 'em.

We were in London after a quick jaunt through the Sahara (doing what anyone else would do after driving across Morocco...twice). We were staying at a hostel with a full service bar, which means we were pretty much staying at the hostel in the truest sense of the phrase. Anyone it was the last night of the trip and Mark, Simeon, Herb, Alex and I were hanging out in the hostel bar getting in few last pints before heading back to the States (that's European for United States of America).

Around midnight, the Oscars came on and after the first few awards we began betting small wagers on each category (even if we had no idea who the nominees were). After a few rounds, the bartender noticed how much fun we were having and wanted in. We obliged provided he placed his bets in free drinks. A few more rounds and there were about fifteen people at the hostel bar betting on the Oscars.

I remember Simeon winning about twenty-five pounds (about $50) while I lost about twenty pounds by the time all was said and done. The money lost was well worth the good times had by all. Now, I encourage everyone to bet on the Oscars (unless you lost your son's college fund betting on high-school wrestling, in that case sit this one out.

Tonight, I won't be at a bar laying down down the benjamins but MTG and I have a gentleman's bet going on that will make watching the Oscars worthwhile. The loser will pay for our upcoming Sunday night tasting menu experience at Little Fish. I already know I have this one in the bag since MTG just said Kate Winslet is "pretty but not beautiful." Clearly her judgement is blurred. Now on to the picks.

Actor in a Leading Role
MTG: Sean Penn, Milk (
BS: Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler (Not sure if Mickey has pi$$ed off the academy but he apparently hit on my friend (a straight turkish male) in Key West...so that's good enough to get my vote).

Actress in a Leading Role
MTG: Kate Winslet, The Reader
BS: Kate Winslet, The Reader

Actor in a Supporting Role
MTG: Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight
BS: Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight (seriously, no sentimental vote. dude was awesome, scary, and scary awesome).

Actress in a Supporting Role
MTG: Viola Davis, Doubt (MTG heard she was really good)
BS: Penelope Cruz, Vicky Cristina...

Animated Feature Film
MTG: Wall-E
BS: Wall-E

Art Direction
MTG: Benjamin Button
BS: Benjamin Button

Cinematography
MTG: Slumdog Millionaire (The Indian movie)
BS: The Reader (I think that you see Kate Winslet's boobs, so the cinematography simply must be recognized)

Costume Design
MTG: The Duchess (It's a period film)
BS: The Duchess (they always give it to the period films)

Directing
MTG: Slumdog
BS: Slumdog

Documentary Feature
MTG: Man on Wire (I heard it was good)
BS: Man on Wire (It was good and we saw it. You fell asleep)

Documentary Short
MTG: The Witness (I can just imagine it being selected)
BS: The Final Inch (That wine is clouding your judgement)

Film Editing
MTG: Slumdog
BS: Slumdog

Foreign Language Film
MTG: Waltz with Bashir
BS: Departures

Makeup
MTG: Dark Knight
BS: Benjamin Button

Music (Score)
MTG: Wall-E
BS: Wall-E

Music (Song)
MTG: O Sava (Slumdog)
BS: Jai Ho (Slumdog)

Sound Editing
MTG: Wall-E
BS: The Dark Knight

Sound Mixing
MTG: Wall-E
BS: Slumdog Millionaire

Visual Effects
MTG: The Dark Knight
BS: Benjamin Button

Writing (Adapted Screenplay)
MTG: Doubt
BS: Doubt

Writing (Original Screenplay)
MTG: Milk
BS: Milk

Short Film (Animated)
MTG: La Maison en Petits Cubes
BS: This Way Up

Short Film Live Action (Full Disclosure: We went to see all of these films today at the Bourse. Highly recommended to see the short films all at once if you see this offered in the future)
MTG: The Pig
BS: The Pig (We liked all of the short films but this one tackled some controversial topics and was funny and endearing at the same time).

Best Picture
MTG: Slumdog Millionaire (no comment)
BS: Slumdog Millionaire (the collective b0ner over this film won't let it lose. There will be riots in LA if there is an upset. Watch your back Button!)

Have fun and I promise this will be the last awards related post (until the ESPYs).

Photograph(s) O' the Week

2009-02-16T11:32:00.000-05:00

I present to you, as mentioned in a previous post, Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth!

As an update, I think it must be working because I'm still 29.

V-Day

2009-02-14T20:51:00.002-05:00

Happy Valentine's day, dear readers. To the women, I hope you get some flowers. To the men, I hope you just get some.

MTG and I are have reservations at Ansill.

In MFP news a Valentine's Day sonnet I prepared for MTG has hopefully brought me out of my sonnet coma. I won't be posting the sonnet since the MFP is a no-mush-zone but I will say that I achieved one of my lifelong dreams by slipping the term bone marrow into a love poem. Success!

What's in a name?

2009-02-11T23:34:00.005-05:00

As most of you know, my real name is not Ben Sherman. Ben Sherman is just a pen name I use so that my parents, employers, and baby mommas can't find this blog through a simple Google search and read all of the...well useless but slightly inappropriate stuff I post here.

Since I've started the blog many (ok, three) of you have asked, what's the deal with the name Ben Sherman? This very subject came up again this weekend while a bunch of us were hanging out in Sean's kitchen (why do we always hang out in the kitchen?) and Dave showed us the Ben Sherman coat that his in-laws bought him for Christmas.

As you may or may not be aware, Ben Sherman is a British clothing company that produces fine goods. About 3 or 4 years ago, I was walking through Bloomingdales at the local mall (cause that's how I roll) and I a glorious piece of menswear entered my gaze. It was a windbreaker. But more than just a windbreaker it was navy blue (which makes my heart flutter) and had a hood that was concealed by a zipper in the back of the neck. Further, it reminded me of the Members Only jackets I wore as a youth, and this was before you could actually buy Members Only jackets in adult sizes. If you've seen me in the last four years, then you have seen this windbreaker because I do everything but shower and make nookie in it. On the upper left breast of the windbreaker, where a mechanic's shirt might read "Pete," reads "Ben Sherman."
Normally, the fact that the windbreaker had its brand visible would have been enough to deter me because I don't like to flaunt my extreme wealth (seriously, I'm loaded) but I just had to have this windbreaker. No for real, I am so wealthy, if you don't believe me I will buy you.

The cost of this windbreaker was the second deterrent. In fact, I returned to the Bloomingdale$ several times just to visit the windbreaker before I took the plunge. I would smell it, caress it, take it to the dressing room and strip down to nothing but my boxer briefs and tube socks and drape it over my body feeling nothing but the silky smooth windbreakerness of the jacket and the eyes of the 54 year old sales clerk upon me. Then I'd shut the dressing room door.

Finally, I knew I'd have to make my move as the spring collection would surely soon be replaced by the best summer had to offer and I wasn't about to purchase a Ben Sherman tank top. I purchased the windbreaker.

Soon thereafter, some friends started referring to me as Ben Sherman and making fun of the fact that I would purchase a brand name windbreaker. It only got worse when one of our female friends mentioned that Ben Sherman clothing "isn't cheap."

The interrogations began. Friends wanted to know how much the windbreaker cost. They would not let the subject die, but I've kept the secret close to me over the years, never wavering in the face of intense questioning. Like the president of the Young Republicans of America, Yale Chapter would not dare disclose that his parents went to (gulp) state universities, this secret was between me, Ben Sherman, and the creepy sales clerk who asked if he could measure my inseam even though I was buying a windbreaker, not pants. Until now.

$120

I spent $120 on a windbreaker.

Phew, that was liberating to type. There are a lot of things I could have done with that $120. Invested it; gone to the Phillies dollar dog night and purchased $120 hot dogs; or purchased 331/3 Moroccan egg/meat pizzas and still had enough money leftover for a rug. But then I'd be down to $73; really have had a bad case of indigestion; or dead from food poisoning. Instead I have a great jacket that has protected me from the elements (provided it is above 58 degrees and is not raining too hard), and an even greater pen name (Member Only would have sucked as a pen name).

Blogging the Super Bowl XLIII and Super Bowl XLIII Advertisements

2009-02-01T16:40:00.018-05:00

Big Plans for Super Bowl XLIII? Not here. Usually I have some people over in Piscataway and my friend Rutger makes his famous buffalo wings but this year with just coming back from Jacksonville, I'm not up for having people over. I don't think anyone is really having anything here in Philadelphia (at least not that I'm aware of) and it's too far to head back to B-town for the night. Instead, I'm gonna take it easy and just watch the game with MTG at the Troll Den.

The Super Bowl is like Christmas to some men, so maybe you think I'm pathetic for watching it with a girl. But with the Eagles just falling short, I'm just not as in to it this year. But we have some good beers, chips, vegetables, and MTG has agreed to feed me buffalo wings while wearing nothing but lingerie while I lounge on her couch (Note: all but one of these things is true....gonna be tough to go through the Super Bowl without buffalo wings).

I always enjoy watching the ads in addition to the game, so this year I'm going to live-blog my thoughts on the commercials (and possibly game?) as they air. So if you find yourself bored out of your mind (maybe you're watching the game with your girlfriend, too?) tune in later to read my pointless thoughts on this year's batch of overpriced Super Bowl commercials.

Game Prediction: Steelers over Cardinals 27-17.

Pre-kickoff:

6:15: Kurt Warner just won the Walter Payton award. Dawkins was robbed. I have not seen Brenda Warner since Kurt's last Super Bowl run. Wasn't she a brunette with short hair back then? Looking good as a blonde, Brenda!

6:16: Faith Hill singing America the Beautiful. Larry Fitzgerald takes a seat after the first verse. Rest that Patriotism, Larry. Save some for the game.

6:19: National Anthem by Jennifer Hudson. Her rendition is great. Larry Fitzgerald kicks up the footrest on his Lay Z Boy.

6:23: GI Joe movie coming out. I'll pass (until it comes to dvd and I secretly watch it 3 times).

6:24: Off to pick up the wings from Doc Watson's. Couldn't even get through to Moriarty's

1st Quarter:

6:36: Pittsburgh driving and making it look easy. TD!

Wings in hand and I've just opened a Bells Best Brown Ale. Yumm.

First commercial coming up: Missed the Bud Light spot (stupid, funny I'm guessing)?.

Angels and Demons movie (Yawn).

The Audi spot with the car chases throughout the years was good I thought.

Scratch that on the TD. Make it a field goal.

2nd Round of commercials.

Forever Young Pepsi spot was cool though it's kind of a formulaic model of compare the old to the new. And what's up with Pepsi changing their symbol to be so Obamaesque.

Ah, Doritos wins the race to the first commercial to feature a strike to the groin. Good on, Frito Lay! I'm guessing we'll see at least one more.

6:48: Didn't take long. Second kick to the groin courtesy of the Conan O'Brien Bud Light ad. I saw Conan and my hopes were high. Then Bud Light kicked me in the balls. I hope Conan got duckets for this ad cause it was crap.

Michael Cera and Jack Black movie. I hope there's never a Michael Cera backlash. I hope he grows old and continues to be funny. Hope.

6:59: Is Ben Roethlisberger the new Brett Favre? Like a kid running around on the playground having fun.

7:01: If you would have told me I would have seen a Vin Diesel commercial tonight I would have not have believed you. Seriously, he's still around?

Mr. Potatohead is in an unhappy marriage? Depressing but unsurprising. I always knew he was getting some on the side.

It took a whole quarter of football before a commercial with monkey's? What's wrong with you Super Bowl? MTG says Valvoline will need to sell a whole lot of motor oil before getting return on investment for this spot.

Another terrible Doritos commercial. I've eaten enough Doritos to know that good things do not happen when you bite into a Dorito. These commercials are terrible so far.

Pedigree Dog Commercial with all the people with exotic pets = winner so far. I thought this was a really good ad. Funny, unique and delivered a clear message.

7:10: Budweiser Circus Horse Love Ad: Would have been better if it ended with a love scene under the big tent.

7:28: I really liked the Cars.com ad showing the confident boy who grew up into a man who couldn't buy a car before going on cars.com. Maybe I just liked the storytelling style but I thought this was pretty good. A little light on what cars.com actually does for you, but a good Super Bowl ad in that it held my attention.

Our wings were pretty bad but they're gone. On to the hoagie.

This game has been pretty boring but Arizona is making it more interesting and Breaston's punt return has made things considerably more interesting.

7:35: The Hundai commercial was decent and I bet there has been a fair share of yelling in within the walls of the luxury car maker corporate boardrooms about Hundai...that and the fact that they don't serve sashimi in the meetings due to budget cutbacks.

Confession time: I'm a sucker for the E-Trade Baby Ads. This one was just alright, but I thought last year's where the baby came into some "coin" and spent it on a clown was comic gold. I guess the baby had a rough year like the rest of us. He's probably wearing cloth diapers now.

Bud Light skiing commercial gives me a chuckle. Still on my first beer so I'm not sure why I chuckled.

H&R Block: Wait so is this an ad for H&R block or are they trying to tell us that the IRS will come after you even if you're dead..

Jay Leno ad: MTG wonders aloud if the show will be as boring as the commercial. I wonder to myself if she's cold in that teddy.

Cheetos: I've missed Chester Cheeto. MTG eats Cheetos "and doesn't give a d@mn." They've nailed their target audience with this ad

That interception return was amazing. Simply amazing.

Half-time:

Bruuuuuce: I love Springsteen. No apologies. The Boss ripped it up. He played live which sad to say is quite a bonus for the Super Bowl Half-time show. If memory serves even Petty and Prince were both lip syncing. Would've been nice if Big Clarence Clemmons would have shown a little nipple a la Janet Jackson, but a guy can't have everything I guess.

3rd Quarter:

8:36: Maybe I just have a stupid sense of humor but I thought the Denny's chimerical (with the mob guys talking about a hit, while getting smiley face pancakes) was hilarious.

The Monster.com add immediately following with the stuffed Elk (?) on the wall was also pretty good in my opinion.

4th Quarter:

9:25: I'm back. MTG was surfing the web for a while.

The Career Builder, You Might Hate Work ad was pretty funny.

The Cash4Gold Ad was entertaining but more sad than anything to see two of my childhood heros (M.C. Hammer and Ed McMahon...he promised the possibility of incredible wealth) hit rock bottom and agree to humiliate themselves as part of a Super Bowl ad.

Looks like the Cardinals are going to try to make this a game.

9:34: The Magrubber/Pepsubber, Pepsi commercial was weird enough for me to like but aren't MacGyver jokes old by now? Good news for Chuck Norris, you'll have a spot in Super Bowl ads in five years.

9:48: Holy Larry Fitzgerald. This game is turning into something special. I'm gonna sit back and enjoy the rest of this.

10:11: Turned out to be a great game. Commercials were not so great. Time for The Office!

Travel Tips and Tales: Jacksonville/St. Augustine, Florida

2009-01-29T21:40:00.001-05:00

I love to travel. I don't travel as much as I once did but I've done my fair share in the past and will do so in the future, I'm sure. I've wanted to share some irreverent travel tips with the readers of the MFP so expect to see the occasional Travel Tips and Tales post that chronicle trips of the past/present/future.

Currently, I'm in Jacksonville, Florida for work, but I've been able to sneak in some pleasure while I'm here as well. I've been to Florida many many times. Other than Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York, I've probably spent more time in Florida than any other State in the good ole U.S. of A. Florida is a curious place. It's 40% backwoods, 35% suburbia, 25% retirees. If it was a cocktail it would be some combination of a Meister Brau infused Appletini topped off with a bit of gin, lemon juice, and club soda (Tom Collins). Sounds unappealing to say the least and I think many people feel that way about Florida. I myself wouldn't want to live here permanently, but it's a nice enough place to visit (especially when it's January and snowing in PA/NJ/NY).

Today, my coworker and I had some found time and we drove down to St. Augustine, the oldest continuously populated European founded city in the U.S. I was very impressed. It is a relaxing town with lots of great architecture, sights, and restaurants. And...they even have their own Orioles ('The O's') Nest. Some notes on Jacksonville/St. Augustine:

Downtown Jacksonville seems to be a bit of a drag. I drove into the riverfront to grab something to eat on the way to the airport and there was not much going on....at all. Back when I had an internship with Kraft Foods in the summer of 2003 it was very possible that I was going to end up working at a Kraft Plant in Jacksonville upon graduation. the next year. Luckily (?) Kraft was way behind the whole Atkins diet/ trans-fat fad and they had a terrible year and did not extend job offers to any of the HR interns. If not for Oreos, I might have been living in Jacksonville for the past five years. Scary.

In St. Augustine, the Old Jail, which has some historical significance according to the trolley guy trying to sell us tickets, has a flashing neon sign that reads "The Old Jail." Something not quite right about that, but oh so Florida.

I almost hate to slip this little nugget deep within this post but there was a significant event that took place in St. Augustine that has possibly changed my life/future as I know it. As many of you know, in April I will turn the big 30. I'm actually not that concerned about hitting 30 (it's just a number...unless you were born in the Middle Ages or are a modern day Hollywood actress in which case, it's the end) even if I've had a few nightmares about turning thirty. But hey, it's unavoidable, passage of time, maturing with age, all that other crap that makes you feel okay about getting older.

Then, while driving around St. Augustine, we came upon Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth (also with a neon sign welcoming you...and your wallet). You know the story. Fountain = Eternal Youth. Boom, if I drink from this fountain, I stay 29 forever. No turning 30 in April. Over 25 so still old enough to get the discounted car insurance but not quite 30 so I don't have to deal with all the responsibility associated with being in your 30s. Thank You, Mr. Ponce.

But wait, there are like three people in between us and the Fountain of Youth and they're all asking for money. Eight bucks seems like a steal for Eternal Youth, but I've seen enough infomercials to know that sometimes these things don't work quite as well as they lead you to believe (I'm looking at you, Jack Lalanne Power Juicer). Plus, Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth does not take Corporate American Express cards (Visa, if you bring back that ad campaign from the early 90s start with Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine).

We tried to convince the workers that we couldn't stay and we just wanted to take a quick peak inside at the park, but they just kept directing us to the Fountain Gift $hop. After much back and forth, my coworker finally convinced the two front entrance workers that we only had ten minutes so we wouldn't be taking full advantage of the park. They allowed us to poke our heads in the park free of charge, provided we didn't go near the building housing the Fountain of Youth itself; they were adamant about this.

We poked our heads in the park and then continued walking toward the building housing the Fountain. There was another worker guarding the Fountain (we'll call him Chip, because he looked like someone named Chip). Chip enthusiastically greeted us and asked for our tickets for access to the Fountain building. We explained that we only had ten minutes, (now eight minutes) and that we didn't have tickets. Unlike his superiors on a power trip at the front gate, Chip waived us right into the Fountain of Youth building and told us he set out some cups of Fountain Water for us to drink.

We entered the building and found a scene much like that of the It's a Small World ride in Disney's Magic Kingdom. Cheesy paintings, check. Motorized characters moving about (in this case Native Americans chopping wood), check. Fake plants/rocks, check. And there, in the middle of it all, was the Fountain of Youth. I can't explain it. All of you should immediately journey to St. Augustine to experience it for yourself. It is hard to believe that something so precious and containing such vitality can be delivered out of this "fountain" housed in what is essentially a theme park. But they charge $8 admission so it must be legit, no?

As promised, Chip had set out dixie cups filled with the glorious promise of Eternal Youth. I took the cup in my hands and drank it down in a single gulp. It tasted awful (and did I catch a hint of Meister Brau?), but I challenge you to find me a medicine that tastes good. After devouring the water and snapping a few photos we were out of the building and thanking Chip for his hospitality while trying to slip past the front entrance workers before they could smell the Fountain on our breath and alert the authorities.

We successfully stole Eternal Youth from the Fountain of Youth. I've already invested the $8 I did not spend on admission. I figured I'm going to need to grow that money considering I'm going to live forever. I've felt quite sprightly the last few days and while nobody has commented on my boyish good looks for the ripe old age of 29, I can see in their eyes that they are thinking I look d@mn good for 29. I hope this worked. I'm banking on it.

And Chip, if you're reading this and you were fired, well, I'm sorry.

Photograph O' the Week

2009-01-24T13:19:00.004-05:00

In my last post I referenced getting head lice from a monkey in Morocco. Within mere hours, interweb wizard Simeon of Simeons.net fame contributed a link in the comments section to a photo of the aformentioned event. This week's Photo O' the Week is compliments of Simeon.

In reality, I did not contract head lice from the monkey but I did get the respect of several Moroccan men and three young German children who thought it was the funniest thing ever. I'm betting they took stories of the strange, sickly, redheaded man with a monkey on his head back to Germany. I wouldn't be surprised if I have a Hasselhoffian level following in Bavaria.

Simeon's submission of a photo reminded me that I've wanted to reach out to you, the readers for Photograph O' the Week submissions. I don't always want to post an embarrassing photo of my youth, and while I have plenty of photographs that are destined to one day appear as MFP Photograph O' the Week, I know that some of you guys have great photographs as well.

So here's the deal. If you have a photograph you would like to see posted as MFP POTW, please e-mail it as an attachment to manfreepress@gmail.com. The photo can be of anything but it should be something from your personal colllection. There are no limitations on content (people, places, things, abstract ideas...whatever). No promises that your photograph will end up posted (most of them will probably end up in my blackmail folder) but I'm sure some reader submissions will make the cut. Submit away.

Are you down with B.I.G.? (cause my grandmom is)

2009-01-21T21:05:00.003-05:00

Whether you voted for him or not, yesterday was a monumental day in the history of the United States. The inauguration in and of itself was quite spectacular, I think we can all agree with that. When I'm alone in the car I often listen to talk radio. I like to hear all opinions so I'm open to the extreme right talk shows just as much as the extreme left talk radio programs. Throw in some moderate programs and you'll hear all kinds of crazy callers. Listening to these programs is one thing, but if you start calling? Well, it's probably time to get rid of some of your cats.

One thing that has bothered me since the election is the folks who call into these stations and try to pose their opposition to Obama as based in some rational disagreement with his proposed tax structure or some other policy when it's obvious that really they don't like him because he...um...looks different than many of us (read: he is black). I certainly don't think this is the case with most Republicans/conservatives, but it's clearly the "thought process" for some of the crazy b@stards out there who were just sure he would fill out his Cabinet with members of the Wu Tang Clan (R.I.P. ODB).

One of the goals of the MFP is to encourage its readership to become more well-rounded human beings. Get outside your comfort zone. Experience other cultures. You might learn something and if nothing else you'll have a great story about that time you caught head-lice after a monkey sat on your head in Morocco.

Even my grandmother, at the tender age of 70, continues to take steps to experience other cultures and I think a recap of her Saturday night can help us all understand the small ways in which we can each take steps to become better human beings.

It was Saturday night and my Grandmom and her husband, Len (just a few years ago I would have written boyfriend which just would have been weird for all of us involved here) decided to catch a movie, because when you get old, you pretty much return to your teenage years and go to movies and hangout at diners, though there is (usually) less shoplifting and hopefully far less back-seat canoodling.

They wanted to catch the new Clint Eastwood flick (an inspiration to old people everywhere), Gran Torino but neglected to check the showtimes. They arrived at the movie theatre at 5:30 and the next showing wasn't until 7:15 so they decided to head over to LoneStar Steakhouse for dinner (much better than killing the time with some back-seat canoodling, in my humble opinion). The LoneStar experience did not go well (forgotten orders and undercooked steak) and they left at 7:10 with their free meals in to go bags (kind of like shoplifting).

Back to the theatre and Len, gentleman that he is, waited in line for the tickets while my Grandmom warmed up in the snack line. Len came inside and informed my Grandmom that Gran Torino was sold out. Since they were already out, and you can only watch so much Price is Right and Golden Girl reruns in a 24-hour period, my Grandmom suggested they see a different movie.

My Grandmom saw a list of movies and was exited to see Notorious on the list...surely a remake of the 1946 Cary Grant classic, she thought....surely. They purchased two tickets (can't believe the kid behind the counter didn't think twice) grabbed their popcorn and found their seats in the theatre. As my Grandmom tells it, at this point she thought it was a "different crowd" for a Cary Grant remake, but it wasn't until the movie started that she realized there would be no Ingrid Bergman replacement in this film.

The film began, and of course, they had purchased tickets to Notorious, the new biopic on rapper Notorious B.I.G. (aka Biggie, Christopher Wallace, etc, - you know, that dude you thought gave you street cred when you were a freshman in college). I'm pretty sure the rest of the theatre was packed with different (read: young and black) moviegoers than my Grandmom and Len. You might say that my Grandmom and Len were the complete opposite of the rest of the crowd much in the same way that Cary Grant is the complete opposite of Notorious B.I.G. As out of place as they felt, they felt like they couldn't leave so they stayed for the entire film.

My Grandmom has since informed me that this Biggie character was a drug dealer, degrading to women, a thug, and not an all around good guy. She also went on to explain the East Coast/West Coast hip-hop conflict in great (concerning) detail and told me all about some other character named Tu-Pac Shakur who Biggie was once friends with but who might have ultimately played a part in the assassination of Biggie.

If you can believe it my Grandmom is not really a fan of thug-life and I doubt she rush out to buy tickets to the DMX biopic (should it ever come to fruition), but the point is, she rode out an uncomfortable situation amongst a subculture she was not familiar with and came out of the experience with some new found knowledge.

Oh and in case you're wondering I just called my Grandmom to get her overall opinion of the film. She gave it 1/4 out of 4 Glocks*. Not a great review, but if you decide to check it out anyway please consider parental guidance because she says it should be rated X instead of R.

*She did go on to note that black people might like it more, though she doesn't mean that in a bad way.

Top 4 Things I Learned in 2008

2009-01-06T22:53:00.000-05:00

Well, I missed the deadline for the 2008 year-end list extravaganza, but better late than never, right? One of the goals of the Manayunk Free Press is to help our readers become better humna beings. If I'm going to learn from my mistakes, I think you should, too.

Here are the top 4 things I learned in 2008 (or at least the first 4 things I thought of). I'm going with 4 because top 5 and top 10 lists are too predictable (plus I forget what # 5 was going to be and need to get a post up). Without further adieu (blabbering):

1. Rock Band leads to bad decisions

I was introduced to the video game Rock Band in 2008 and played twice. Both times I was "going to play for a little bit." Both times I saw the sun come up the next morning.

The first time was when I went to Dallas to visit Rocco. Hurricane Ike was also visiting Dallas so after visiting the JFK museum we decided to seek shelter in Rocco's place. He suggested we play Rock Band to pass the time. "Ok, just for a bit, I don't want to spend all my time in Dallas playing video games." I didn't, but I did spend approximately 43% of my time in Dallas playing video games.

Over x-mas I stopped into the O's in Boyertown to meet up with Phil, Barny, Ricky, and Ricky's brother, Brian, who was home from Vanderbilt. Ricky invited me back to his place (which is four blocks from the O's) to play Rock Band with the rest of the crew. Brian has a custom Rock Band drum kit and it was clear that he plays often (Brian, you should see someone about your addiction. Or start playing real drums, too). It was 11 p.m. "Ok, just for a bit, I don't want to be out too late." Fast forward to 4 a.m. and I am horizontal and half-asleep on Ricky's couch singing "The End" by The Doors into the Rock Band mic while the rest of the band rocks out. Also, they don't have "The End" by The Doors. I don't remember what song was actually playing but we passed the level. I slept on Ricky's couch that night.

2. Do not post a photograph of your mom wearing a leather miniskirt on the internet.
Seriously, before posting a photograph on the internet, look closely. Is your mom wearing a leather mini? If you answer yes, do not post said photograph on the internet. Just. Don't.

3. It's really really hard to write a sonnet every Sunday
Mad props to Shakespeare. They will return in 2009 but not every week.

4. A man purse is socially acceptable...
...provided your girlfriend is wearing heels and is "only carrying a small handbag and so can't bring flats with (her)."

How did you spend the early hours of 2009? I spent the last hours of 2008 at my friend Jen's NYE party (which was a blast) and then at National Mechanics (which should have been serving sushi since it was like Tokyo during rush hour it was so packed).

MTG looked beautiful in her new dress but just haaad to wear high heels. I knew this would be trouble since the shelf-life of MTG in heels is 1 hour 45 minutes, max. But, as promised, I was sipping on the Samichlaus beer featured in the Holiday Beverage Guide (potent!)while she got ready and didn't want to put up much of a fight.

We exited National Mechanics at about 1:10 a.m. and it was clear we wouldn't be catching a cab since there were 43 other couples on the corner of 3rd and Chestnut trying to catch a cab when there were none to be found (Cabbies get down on NYE, too). We walked about one block before MTG just couldn't go any further. Unless you were nestled up by the fireplace (jealous) you know that it was about six degrees with the windchill on NYE so I didn't want to wait for a cab since neither of us were dressed for the weather.

Next thing you know I'm taking off my shoes (representing with moccasins as I do at all formal events) and giving them to MTG so she can walk faster (or just walk, period). We walked the twelve or so blocks back to the Troll Den with her wearing my moccasins and me wearing, well, dress socks. We must have been quite the sight as we spent the entire walk arguing (read: yelling) over who was colder (I was). As it always goes, an available cab finally drove passed as we reached MTG's block. Also, I am pretty sure caught crack addiction from the Philadelphia streets.

Next year I'm carrying a man purse to put her flats (scratch that, running shoes) in.

Holiday Beverage Special

2008-12-31T12:09:00.007-05:00

$6 Nutmeg is integral to a fine glass (cup) of eggnog

One of the great things about the holiday season is all of the tasty beverages that are out there for our enjoyment. Seriously, pack up your Coronas and Miller Lites in the attic with your shorts and tank-tops and try one of my top-five - scratch that, let's make it a top-six since there are six slots in a six pack holder - picks for the holiday season. Also, I don't take notes in a little pad when I drink these so I can't really offer any more in terms of descriptors other than giving the MFP seal of approval.

La Chouffe: Belgian Golden Ale which probably isn't built for the holiday season but for some reason that is when I want to drink it. Plus there is a gnome on the bottle and who doesn't want to drink when confronted by a gnome.

Smuttynose Winter Ale: I don't think I've ever had a Smuttynose beer I didn't like. Granted (Granite?) I think I've only had three or so but I intend to have more. This one is no different.

Anchor Steam Christmas Ale: Each year, Anchor Steam comes out with a new Christmas Ale. Last year's was amazing and probably one of my favorite beers ever. This year is just very good.

Samichlaus: Full disclosure, I have not consumed this beverage...yet. I saw this listed on Joe Sixpack's Fresh Air NPR holiday ale list (looks like we'd get along nicely) and picked one up yesterday at The Foodery. This super-beer is 14% abv. That's three times your standard beer. I plan on sipping on this guy tonight while MTG gets ready to go out.

Eggnog: Every year for the Big Baby Jesus Birthday Bash I bring the Eggnog. This year not as many people drank it but I think this year's was the best version yet. Jen, Mark and myself each had a glass and were not the same afterwards. I can't give away all the secrets but I'll tell you that Christian Brothers Brandy (La Salle grads can't use any other kind) and $6 nutmeg simply must be used.

Miller High-Life: It's New Years Eve and the economy is in the proverbial crapper. Money is tight and maybe the only champagne you can afford this year is the Champagne of Beers. There is no shame in that. Here's hoping 2009 brings you Moet, but for now, enjoy the high-life!

Bonus Beverage (it's the holidays, people): North 3rd's Mulled Wine: I don't really know what this is - Red Wine (probably cheap boxed) with some spices and then heated - but it made me feel warm, fuzzy, and nostalgic inside and basically made me feel complete as a human-being. Yum.

Hope everyone has an enjoyable and safe NYE.

Get out your F-ing Flannel

2008-12-31T11:17:00.006-05:00

Another event that contributed to this December's awesomeness took place on December 12. Myself, a bunch of friends, my sister and a bunch of her friends and even MTG's parents (though they went separately) attended the Neil Young concert at the Spectrum. This show had all the makings for a legendary night for a few reasons.

The Spectrum, a place of worship for a die hard Philadelphia Flyers kid like me, will be demolished in 2009 to make room for what will essentially be a mall. I understand progress, but what about the memories? And more importantly, where will the good people of Berks county go to see their monster truck rallies? There is a good chance that this would be my last visit to the Spectrum; other than when I chain myself to the doors to prevent the demolition, of course.

Wilco was opening for Neil. Wilco is that band I can put on my music snob hat and say I discovered before anyone else. I used to rock (twang?) out to A.M. back in high-school but somehow had never seen Wilco live. This would be a first.

Neil F-ing Young. If I start writing about Neil Young I will go on and on and on like the feedback-laden ending of a live Neil Young performance of Down By the River. Much like the live ending of DBTR, some of you would love this, but most of you would just want me to get on with it already. So I'll be brief and just express that my obsession with Neil Young, which dates back to age 15, is such that I own all of his forty to fifty-something official releases (many in multiple formats - Trans on vinyl anyone?) and that for my application essay to La Salle University (which accepted me despite this) I chose Neil Young as one of my two historical figures (living or dead) to be my guest for dinner. The other dinner guest was Ralph Molina, Neil Young's long-time drummer (Actually, it was Ben Franklin but Ralph Molina makes for a better story).

The concert most-certainly lived up to expectations. I think everyone had a great time, many of us sported flannel and/or cowboy shirts (Choosing the right flannel shirt before heading out to a Neil Young concert is almost as important as choosing the right weapon before heading into battle), Wilco was great, and Neil tore up the Spectrum (I think his rumbling feedback on Cowgirl in the Sand might have started the demolition of the Spectrum early) and closed with an incredible A Day In the Life cover. Afterwards, a bunch of us were off to Bob & Barbara's to enjoy some specials.

Sister > 21 = Old Ben Sherman

2008-12-31T09:02:00.004-05:00

Another December happening which has until now gone unreported is the fact that my little sister turned 21 on December 14. Here, she and my cousin Joe, who has grown into a certified a$$-whooper do their best Blind Willie McTell, Blind Willie Johnson, Blind Boy Fuller, you get the point, impersonations. Sister, I will only say that there were far worse photos I could have posted out here on the interweb. Have you seen your baby photograph? yikes.

Because I'm all about me, what impact does this have on my life? Really there are two significant changes; (a) I no longer have to be a bad older brother and not buy my 20-year-old sister beer. She's only asked a few times but I've always denied. I feel kind of bad about this and a bit of a square. To remedy, I think I'll buy my nine-year-old sister beer the first time she asks. Maybe I'll even encourage her to ask next week. (b) I am (getting) old (denial). I guess I can't go to Tiki Bobs or McFaddens any more for fear that I'll run into my sister. Shucks.

In all seriousness (well as serious as the MFP gets) I'm very proud of my sister - most notably her work ethic. She's worked up a storm since the age of 14, while I kicked back and our grandmom served me lemonades with little umbrellas in them until the age of 26.

Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T16:00:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope everyone is having a great Christmas. I've eaten lots of good food and have given and received lots of great gifts. The photograph above exhibits what I believe to be a common Christmas conundrum. Sometimes the best gift is one that Santa gave to another little boy or girl, not you. Such was the case in 1988 or 1989 when Santa brought my sister this little clubhouse tent. Here she is on the outside looking in while my grandpop, my cousin and myself enjoy the tent.

As for the three cans of Budweiser, yes, this photo is from Christmas morning, but what you don't know is that when we were little kids our Santa didn't like milk with his cookies he liked Budweiser. Personally, I can't blame him. So, yeah, those are Santa's floaters from the night before.

Photograph O' the Week (X-mas Eve Edition)

2008-12-24T22:10:00.001-05:00

It's Christmas Eve - remember to hang your stockings for Santa, but please, for the sake of all that is holy in this season of giving, do NOT hang your babies for Santa. This photograph shows how I spent my first Christmas Eve; hanging above the fireplace with the stockings. Not entirely surprising considering my parents were so young they still believed in Santa. They only learned seven months earlier that it isn't a stork that delivers a baby.

Now I'm off to enjoy my Christmas Eve tradition of watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation with my family.

The Amazing Healing Power of Buffalo Chicken

2008-12-16T22:54:00.006-05:00

As has been mentioned in recent posts (what few there are...sorry) work has been incredibly busy lately, doing it's best to make this December significantly less awesome than initially expected . If I had a family, a girlfriend who lived in the same state, or even a cat, I probably wouldn't be posting right now because I'd be spending quality time with them. Lucky for you, dear reader, no one likes me so I have decided to come back to you.

In addition to being busy, work has also been quite stressful lately. When I get stressed, I completely lose my appetite. This was a characteristic I discovered in infancy when I was trying to meet my deadline for learning how to crawl; in grammar school when the big spelling bee was looming (damn you Desiree Fryer); and in college during finals week. As you're probably aware I'm already built like an eleven year old girl with anorexic tendencies so losing my appetite isn't ideal.

Probably due to stress, I have not had much of an appetite over the past few weeks. Even Cool Ranch Doritos have sat in the cupboard unmolested. There have been many days I go to work, buy a breakfast bar, don't eat it, buy lunch, pick at it and next thing I know it's 10 p.m. and there sits my breakfast and lunch on my desk barely picked at throughout the day. Even my slight paunch (which I wear proudly) has suffered. This is not a positive development, as not eating is not exactly healthy, though on the plus side I've received several calls from Hollywood to serve as Calista Flockhart's stunt double in Ally McBeal, the movie (apparently not eating has also affected my mental processing as I just made an Ally McBeal joke...yikes).

And then, today, I went down to the cafeteria to find that the grill was serving a buffalo chicken wrap with celery and blue cheese. Like a pastor who loses his way only to return to the ways of the Church after witnessing a miracle (or getting busted on security cameras with a male prostitute named Devon) I felt hunger back in my stomach like God himself (or herself) had raised this little chicken in a factory farm, injected it with steroids, and plucked it from its peers to place it in front of me doused in spicy deliciousness, forcing me to salivate and to return
to my carnivores ways.

I brought the chicken wrap back to my desk. The next five minutes were a blur but when it was over there was nothing but buffalo sauce splattered across the plate and tray; the only proof that it was not all just a hunger induced hallucination. I wish I had more proof but I guess the empty plate and this smile on my face will just have to do.

Watch your back Cool Ranch Doritos.

Photograph O' the (Last) Week

2008-12-16T22:20:00.004-05:00

Christmas morning, 1984: A five year old Ben Sherman opens his final present to find a doll. A Cabbage Patch Kid. At first I was not amused. It was a doll. I was a man. Then I was told that Santa also brought a Cabbage Patch Kid to my next-door-neighbor and best friend, Justin. Then I liked my doll. His name was Jessie and I grew to love him very much. The back of this photo reads, "Ben and Jessie, x-mas, 1984." In fact, in flipping through my photo-album there are many photos of Jessie (even without me in the photo). I think my parents liked Jessie more than me.

Also, if my eyes look puffy it's because I was crying. That's what love does, kids. If you're lucky one day you'll experience that kind of love.

Photograph O' the Week

2008-12-04T23:17:00.007-05:00

For the month of December, all installments of Photograph O' the Week will be Christmas related. December is an incredible month. I love many many things about the month of December and most of them are related to x-mas. Over the coming weeks I will share with you, kind reader, several of the things that make Decembers (and this December in particular) awesome. For now, I can only offer up this photograph from 1988 prominently featuring my mom, my 1st step-dad (my sister's dad), and myself. So many things come to mind looking at this photo. Here are just a few of my thoughts.

- I wasn't quite sure what made my mom fall for Larry, but d@mn, look at that mustache. I am jealous.

- What I lack in ability to grow a mustache I make up for in style. If there is one thing I'm known for it's that I'm a good dresser. You know it and I know it. How else do you think I get the ladies. This photo proves to you that being dapper is an innate ability, not an acquired skill. I was nine here, and look at how fly I am. I am style and you are not. Stop trying.

- Nice kicks! Were those the precursor to LA Gears? Notice that the tongue of the right shoe is sticking out and the left is tucked. That meant I was dealing. (I started using by new years eve but don't judge me. I was driven to use drugs after I didn't get Excitebike for x-mas, though I guess I shouldn't complain too much since my parents did splurge on a new left hand.)

- I'm pretty sure this is from the period when my step-aunt on my dad's side was cutting my hair. I was always suspicious that she was not really a hairdresser or that she was jealous that I was cuter than her kids and tried to make me look retarded (success on her part). Looking back I think I was right. She is now a housewife. She's much better at that.

- Notice the absence of my sister. I'm not sure why she is missing but I'm pretty sure it's either because she wasn't born yet, or she was still a bit of an ugly child so we didn't allow her to be in family photographs.

In other news, let's catch up. Just an FYI that the neglect of the MFP over the last week is not an indication of lack of ideas or desire to post. But however many hours have been in this week so far, just add two more and that's how many hours I've worked this week. The well is not dry. Much more (hopefully) fun to come.

Happy December!

Thanksgiving Update:

2008-11-28T16:48:00.003-05:00

Just an update for those interested in the outcome of my Thanksgiving related events:

O's / Iezzi's: Made it to both the O's and Iezzi's. Good times with good friends. No really big sightings from high school. In fact, not many sightings from high school, period. Am I getting old (no need to post a comment, I know the answer)? Nonetheless, fun. Big Rob, you'll be happy to know that I didn't run into any a$$holes. Wait, does that mean I'm the a$$hole?

Football: We won again (8-7). Gotta thank our deep bench for this one. I played decently. A couple of catches but nothing big on offence. On defense, no receptions by receivers on my watch. Seriously, shut down corner. I am the Keith Acton of pick up football.

The big story was that the janitor at Boyertown Junior High West showed up and told us and the players on the field next to us that we couldn't play on school property. We put our best man on the job, Lt. Bob, and bob was able to stall the janitor for a good fifteen minutes. Then the janitor called the principal and vice principal who supposedly told him to get us off the field. Then, buddy Scott (not an attorney) informed the janitor that he is an attorney (not an attorney), went to Temple Law (not a graduate of Temple Law) and that he could assure the janitor, that there would not be a liability issue if injury were to occur on school property. This seemed to stall the janitor for a few more minutes but eventually a police officer arrived on the scene. Ironically, the the officer was best friends with one of our opponents brothers and had actually played in our game two years ago. He let us finish the game out but it looks like this might be the last year we play at the junior high. Keep in mind we do not play on the actual football field, and we've been playing at the school for years. It is a disappointment if this was the last year at Junior High West. More disappointing - no pukes this year (not one!).

Family: It only took fifteen minutes at the house before my mom and sister were yelling at each other with my mom waiving her arms in an animated fashion. Source of argument: "Why didn't you order anything from me from Dan's Deli?!?" vs. "What the hell am I going to order for you from a deli?!? You're a vegetarian!" In case you ever have this argument at your house, the answer is a cheese hoagie.

I've Got One Ticket to Paradise

2008-11-25T22:55:00.012-05:00

Tomorrow, sometime between 3 and and 7 p.m. I'll join my fellow transplants on America's highways in an effort to make it back to my hometown in time to join childhood friends in a game of drink, drank, drunk. Thanksgiving is perhaps one of my favorite holidays, trailing only Christmas and the night before Thanksgiving. We all know how it works; you go out to a bar with friends you don't get to see very often, get drunk, and if you've fallen from grace since high school, maybe you make a mistake and hook up with someone you made fun of in Mrs. Furman's gym class (at least this is what I had always hoped in my single days).

In Boyertown, we pretty much have this down to a science. There are just a few bars "in town" so there isn't really a decision making process insomuch as there is just a process. The process is:

Step 1: Go to "The O's" --> Get drunk
Step 2: Go to Iezzi's --> Get drunker
Then comes your big decision. Do you...
Step 3(option a): Go home?
or
Step 3(option b): Go back to "The O's"

Honestly, I don't even really know what the deal is with The O's (The Orioles Boyertown Nest) but I found this web site which I will read when I get a chance. Honestly, I think I already know all I need to know. Pool tables, darts, gambling, bowling alley, shuffleboard, free snacks, and cheap beer (we're talking $1.25, maybe $1.50 pints). If this place had a foosball table I would probably move back to Boyertown just to be close but they would never put in a foosball table since that might lead to them there fancy Europeans showin up. As you can see in the photo above, I have paid my dues (all $7 worth) for 2008. While I have not used this card yet in 2008, you can bet I will get my $7 worth tomorrow. In fact, tomorrow night is pretty much the only reason I join the O's.

I have to admit, when all my friends started going to the O's I wasn't too excited about the new hang out. It seemed kind of old and stale and since you need to be a member or the guest of a member it was lacking one of the things I like about going out to bars which is that you never know who you're going to see. Plus, as a single guy (this is BMTG) the O's not exactly a hotbed of single women (no offence meant to any single ladies who frequent the O's and are reading this...I think you're beautiful). However, once you spend some time at the O's and get used to all of the awesomeness the place exudes (pool tables, darts, gambling, shuffleboard, etc...) you can't help but love it there. Add to the variables the fact that you're in a committed relationship, and well, it's paradise.

As great as the O's is, I really hope we make it to Iezzi's for a few beers. Iezzi's is just a few blocks away and is essentially the bar I grew up on. It is my hometown bar of choice. It is small, cramped, cozy, full of characters from all walks of life, and always throws the unexpected at you. It's the bar at which I broke out in hives after doing a shot of Rumple Minze
just after the 2001 Super Bowl. It's the bar at which a man dressed head to toe in Dale Earnhardt gear pushed my bar stool (with me on it) half-way across the bar for no other reason than I looked at him the wrong way and/or he overheard me talking about books. And yet, those are really the only two bad memories of the place. It's always packed with old friends and the occasional old teacher; Nickarelli (the father of a kid I used to go roller skating with) will take his false teeth out and put them in a beer in between hitting on the youngest girls in the place; people are always buying each other drinks, etc. I could go on and on.

A few other things I'm looking forward to over the long weekend:

Football: Every year, my friends and I play the class below us in a game of football early Thanksgiving morning. We have not lost yet, but they have been gaining on us. This is also a notable event in that it is the point in each year when I realize that I am in terrible shape and vow to get into shape immediately (operative term: each year). Admittedly, I am not an offensive dynamo. I do have pretty good hands but I'm just so out of shape and my friends are pretty good athletes that they make me look like Rudy. I am also a pretty decent cover man on defense, but when it comes down to it what I'm really known for is wearing shorts and argyle socks in 20 degree weather. I also hold the record for most consecutive years puking (remember, this game is at 9 a.m. after being out until wee hours of the morning imbibing in cheap beer that I feel I must take advantage of) with two, though I have not puked in the last couple of years. My all time great play came about four years ago when I caught a bomb on the first play from scrimmage and immediately went to the sidelines and vomited while the Channel 69 News helicopter circled overhead.

Family: Predictions: I will be very glad to see my family on Wednesday night and will be eagerly anticipating the apocalypse by Friday morning. Also, my sister will cry and my mother will become animated and begin yelling, covering each sibling/step-siblings name before getting to my sisters. Finally, I will have wine pushed on me by my grandmother at dinner that I just have to try because it is "really really good wine" when in fact it is really really bad wine and can also be used as nail polish remover (if you're into that).

Safe travels to everyone hitting the highways, sky, and/or rails.

Letters from the Editor: Open Letter to my new friend in Utah

2008-11-20T22:30:00.003-05:00

11/20/08

Dear Sir,

I must admit, before I made your acquaintance, I did not have any friends living in Utah. As I'm sure you are aware (us being friends and all) I quite enjoy traveling, and yet I have never been to Utah (save for a layover that one time and I was too hungover to even remember the airport). Having friends located throughout the world is a great way for me to save money while traveling and I hope I'm not being too forward in suggesting that maybe I can stay at your place if I ever do make it to Utah. As luck would have it, I'm actually thinking about making a trip out there asap! I know we've never met in person, talked on the telephone, or even had correspondence through e-mail, and in fact, we've never communicated in any fashion, yet I can't help but assume that we're friends since I've bought you lunch four times now.

Imagine my surprise when I reviewed my Capital One credit card statement only to find that you took the liberty of using my credit card information to pay for your dining experiences over three days in late October. I must admit, initially I felt angry, violated, and disappointed in my fellow man. However, once I regained my composure I just thought, "Domino's? For real?"

Listen, I'm thrilled that my new friend is an intelligent fellow. You clearly did your legwork before lifting my credit card information. If you did not do your research, then at the very least you're lucky. You simply must be smart or lucky to have stolen the credit card information of someone who eats out an average of twenty-one times a week. And yet I, a man who considers McDonalds dollar menu one of the four major food groups, question your preference in fried delicacies.

Domino's is by far the worst of the major players in the already weak big chain pizza market. Where do you go if you want "good" pizza, Little Caesars? Perhaps you were testing the waters to ensure that the credit card transaction would go through without question before splurging on a fancy meal at The Red Lobster or IHOP? How could you possibly spend over $120 on three trips to Domino's in just two days? I know it's Utah and it probably costs a few more greenbacks since you have to put food on the table for your wives and all seventy-three of your kids. But still, one-hundred and twenty dollars?!? That's like twenty-four 555s.

In closing, while I am thrilled to have a new friend, what disappoints me most - more than your poor taste in big chain fast food and your inability to budget your pizza spending (hold the gold-plated pepperoni for god's sake)- is the fact that you decided to start what could could have been a fulfilling friendship by having lunch "on me" without inviting me to join. You may have been able to avoid the Noid but you will not be able to avoid the a$$-whooping ($120 worth) you'll get from me when I make it out to Utah. I will be there in thirty minutes or less. Guaranteed.

Warmest Wishes,

Ben Sherman

cc:Bob's Big Boy

Photograph O' The Week

2008-11-16T19:16:00.001-05:00

In the week leading up to Halloween, I had planned to do several posts discussing the finer points of one of my favorite holidays. However, as has been mentioned countless times, something else was going on. The Halloween posts will go on the backburner until next year but I do want to get one Halloween related post into 2008, so here it is.

The year was 1981 and my mom and grandmom decided that they wanted to enter me into the Oley Halloween Parade. Once they decided that they would enter me, they conspired to decide what to dress me up as. I imagine they were well aware that the farmer's daughter, KKK grand wizard, and the dude who drives Big Foot would be popular costumes in the Oley Halloween Parade, so they decided to take a more original route. Thus, the (sad?) clown costume was born. Being that my mom was nineteen at the time I guess I should just be glad I wasn't dressed as a princess or one of the Gibb brothers.

I have no recollection of this event. I suppose that is because I was just two, but I'm pretty sure even if this all took place when I was eleven I would have buried the memory deep within the id. According to those who do remember the events of that night (my mom and grandmother), I stopped as we passed the judges and presented, "just the cutest smile ever." When the parade ended, the judges approached and handed my mother an envelope containing a ten dollar bill. The envelope read, "Cutest Little Girl: First Prize."

This is what happens to little boys when there is not a father in the home. This is also most likely why I have the body of a ten-year-old girl. Confusion.

MFP on Setting Expectations

2008-11-13T22:50:00.003-05:00

That was a lot of sports related posts in a row. I need to get away from the sports theme, and so I'm headed to the other end of the spectrum. What's the opposite of sports, you ask? Well, Meg the Girlfriend, of course. MTG is not really into sports and I like it that way. During the Phillies playoffs, after a stolen base slide into second, she asked, "why do they want to get their pants dirty?" Last Sunday, while I was watching the Eagles, she yelled in from the kitchen, "Are the Eagles always on Sundays?" Again, I stress, I like it this way. After the Eagles or Flyers frustrate me with another loss (Phillies get a pass for the next 20 years) I just head to the opposite end of the spectrum with MTG and forget about the game. I've realized this will be the third straight post featuring MTG and while she would argue that every post should be about her, I feel it's dangerous territory. Also, I think I just turned this into a sports post.

But this post is not really about MTG , it's about setting expectations (or at least that's what I'm telling myself). It's important to set expectations in all facets of life and I think most of us are aware of this. If you get a job down at the plant, you don't want to produce the highest # of widgets you could possibly produce in one night on your first night (you work 3rd shift) because then your boss is going to expect that level of performance every night for the rest of your career. How are you gonna produce that many widgets every god forsaken night when you damn well know you're going to show up late, buzzed, and reeking of body oils after that Schaeffer kid from up the block convinces you to go to Baby Dolls before your shift on Thursday? Well, the same is true of relationships. In the beginning you want to put a good foot forward for sure or you might not get another chance, but I would advise you to keep that best foot hidden until things plateau. Then bust out your best sh!t and spike that relationship/widget machine to new level of awesomeness. It's also very very important that you don't give your boss/significant other the false impression that you're about to go to the new level of awesomeness, if you are not, in fact, going to the new level of awesomeness at that time. And I know this. I swear I know this. And yet, two Saturdays ago, I kinda sorta f-ed up and MTG thought I was going to a new level of awesomeness. I was not.

As I already mentioned, last Saturday night I took MTG out for dinner for her b-day. Please understand that while MTG is by no means a food snob, she loves going out to eat. One of the great things about dating MTG is that she's taught me a lot, and while most of her lessons take place in the bedroom and can't be retold in this PG-13 blog (high fives all around), one thing I can mention is that she's taught me about going out to eat at restaurants - the kinds that don't have appetizer specials.

The deal is that on her birthday I choose a nice restaurant, make reservations and then we walk to the restaurant and megan doesn't know the restaurant until we get there. This year I made reservations at Friday, Saturday, Sunday, a romantic little place that MTG had mentioned during one of her, "we should go here, we should go here, we should go here" sessions. Fri, Sat, Sun (as the cool kids call it) is on 21st and Spruce. MTG's house (troll den) is on 10th and Spruce. You probably don't need a map to figure out that to get to Fri, Sat, Sun, the plan was to walk out of the troll den and head straight down Spruce to 21st Street. Good plan right? Not so much.

See, there is this other restaurant called Vetri. Vetri is MTG's dream restaurant. It's quite possible that MTG talked about Vetri on our very first date, and I can say with absolute certainty that she's yelled it out during "intimate moments." The problem is that Vetri isn't a "hey, it's my girlfriend's b-day. Let's go somewhere nice" kinda place; it's more of a "hey, I just hit the Powerball, let's go to Vetri. It's a good thing I'm the only winner and don't have to split the money cause then I couldn't go to Vetri" kinda place. And this other restaurant, Vetri? Yeah, it's on Spruce between 13th and 14th.

We stepped out of the troll den and made a right onto Spruce. I love surprising people, and hadn't yet realized my fatal error, so I was smiling and giggling like a school-girl on nitrous oxide as we walked down Spruce. MTG asked why I was being so giddy and I just said something that further dug me a hole like, "Oh, I just hope you like the place." Then MTG started acting weird like she suddenly knew where I was taking her but decided to play dumb. We continued to walk down Spruce. I pretended like we were heading into a crappy fast food joint. We stopped to laugh, then gazed into each others eyes and continued on. Then we crossed 13th and I realized my error as my eyes fixed upon the hanging sign for Vetri. Inside my head, I panicked. What had I done? All this work to set reasonable expectations and here I was throwing it all away because I hadn't planned a detour around Vetri!

"We're not going there," I uttered.

Luckily, MTG is forgiving and explained that she never would have expected to eat there for her b-day anyway but I had convinced her it was a possibility since I acted so weird and we walked right by it. We had a lovely dinner at Friday, Saturday, Sunday but let's be honest, after walking passed Vetri it was kind of like taking the kids to Morey's Pier in Wildwood but driving by Disney World on the Way.

Remember kids, don't let all that work you've done setting expectations get flushed down the toilet because you didn't go on google maps.

Note: Map not to scale

Sunday Night Sonnets: Victorious by Association

2008-11-12T22:16:00.001-05:00

Victorious by Association

One could argue that I've basically held
The World Series trophy in my own hands
Thanks to my girlfriend and something that smelled
As if I had touched the Prize from the stands
See, Chase has a place on Washington Square
And Doorman whose palms must surely be greased
Each Christmas season by the millionaire
I'm guessing a grand at the very least
While walking on by Meg suddenly slips
We look to the ground, hope for a loose strap
Air from our lungs and a curse from our lips
As our gaze meets the wet mushy dog crap
But here comes the Doorman to the rescue
And hands me the wet wipes to clean up Meg's shoe

Ok, so clearly, I cannot stop thinking about the Phillies winning the Series as evidenced by the fact that this week's Sunday Night Sonnet stars Chase Utley's Doorman. As you may or may not know , Chase Utley (from what I've heard) lives in the penthouse of one of the buildings on Washington Square. Well, on Saturday MTG had an appointment at her hair salon (also on Washington Square) to get her bangs trimmed (going into too much detail here) so I agreed to go with to get some exercise and to see how the other half get their hairs did (other half = those who don't go to the Hair Cuttery).

It was raining and MTG put on flip flops for the walk. I thought this was a curious decision since it was wet and chilly outside but if MTG is okay with her outfit, you just don't ask questions. So just as we were walking by Chase Utley's building and I'm pointing and dropping F-bombs, MTG slipped. Like, a lot. We looked down at the pavement a few feet behind us and sure enough, some scumbag didn't clean up after his dog. I'll spare the gory details but this was pretty much a Category 5 dog poopy. It was probably the worst pile of dog sh!t I had witnessed in person (there is some weird stuff on the internet) since that unfortunate day in 8th grade when I came home from school to discover that our cocker spaniel, Shelley, had eaten three whole sticks of butter and crapped it out all over our house, and I realized that I would have to clean it up because there was no way I could wait until my my mom got home from work and then tell her that "I hadn't noticed it." I didn't know what to do at first so I let MTG use me as a pillar (aren't I a good boyfriend?) while she tried to shake off her fip flop. I also started laughing.

Then, Chase Utley's Doorman noticed the commotion (read: me doubled over in laughter while MTG cried) and ran inside. At first, I thought they were putting the building in lockdown mode so Mr. Utley wouldn't have to smell dog f@#%ing sh!t, but then the doorman reemerged with some wet wipes for MTG. As he handed me the wet wipes our hands touched. Now, I'm pretty sure that the Doorman high-fives Chase Utley after big games and I know that Chase Utley can't be a stiff so at the very least he probably slips a bunch of benjamins into the Doorman's hand around Christmas and Flag Day. So, yeah, I pretty much touched the Trophy.

Photograph O' the Week

2008-11-06T22:17:00.006-05:00

One thing that I've failed to mention in the hubbub (sp?) of post-World Series pandemonium is that this past Monday was Meg the Girlfriend's birthday (she's almost legal now!). Now, the MFP has a strict no-mushiness policy that I intend to adhere to unless something on the level of John Ritter's death occurs and I need someplace to cry tears in written word form. However, I will just say that if there were not a no-mushiness policy I would mush the sh!t out of this post. I should also mention that I didn't forget or delay her b-day in the real world. We had a nice dinner last Saturday night at Friday, Saturday, Sunday and I think I even succeeded in the gift department. This weekend she's having a party at her place where she will try to squeeze waay too many people into her comfy abode. I've gotta say, the troll den is looking pretty nice in there. I for one, can't wait to trash the place.

This is also a test to see how often she reads this blog (not very often). You'll know the answer as soon as the Photograph is removed at the subject's request.

World Series Special Finale: A Multimedia Essay on Alcohol, Adrenaline, and Victory

2008-11-05T21:45:00.037-05:00

It's practically a week later and if it were not for work being so busy right now, I think I would have just regained human status today. The World Series and subsequent celebration (read: three day bender) was one to remember, if I hadn't already forgotten most of it. But it's time to move on. It's time to get back to our daily schedules where we complete such adventurous tasks as paying bills, sleeping (remember that!) and deciding what kind of roll we want from the sandwich line at work.

To close out the World Series Special I've decided to present a Super Spectacular Multimedia Essay on those last few days of Game Five and the resulting Philadelphi Phillies World F@#%ing Champions Parade. Tune in tomorrow when the MFP returns to its regular scheduled programming.

Monday, October 27, 2008

8:45 p.m. The crowd at Jose Pistolas on 15th between Spruce and Locust. Game 5 underway

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

9:15 The crowd at Jose Pistolas for Game 5 Part Deux. Note: I had only been to Pistolas once before this game. Not a bad place but on night 2 the bartender kept cutting to music during commercial and we had to listen to Nas for the first couple pitches of each inning while we yelled at him to get a DJ Clue.

Approx 9:30 p.m: Pedro Feliz knocks in the eventual game winner to the great joy of main line suburbanites who will now have something to talk to their housekeepers about.

10:05: Jose Pistolas goes wild as Lidge gets the final out! Sorry for the poor lighting, you can barely see the two girls flash their breasts in celebration.

10:15: (First off - you should be ashamed you pervert. I hope your eyes hurt from squinting.) Secondly, We spill out onto Broad Street to celebrate.

Bottle rockets (there were real deal fireworks too, but I didn't catch any on film). Also, MTG asks why people are trying to shake down the traffic lights. Alcohol, Adrenaline, and Victory.

10:33: Some dude making sure that several years of jazz dance classes and those rope climbing skills developed in Junior High gym class weren't for nothing (two birds with one stone, dude - impressive).

10:36: Uh, oh. Let the celebratory one-upmanship begin. Tony Little, here grabs a flag and climbs a traffic light. He loses his shirt on the way up cause he knows how great his abs will look under the halogen street lamps. That red light means stop removing clothing.

11:34: People are now scaling walls, you know fire is just around the cor...

11:35: ner...Oh Sh!t. Fire, time to get out of dodge. (Note: there is an F-bomb in this video so watch the volume if you're at work)

11:40: Luckily the fires don't get bigger than a few dumpsters and never spread to the streets and/or people. But if they did it would have looked like this.

Just a cool photo I captured. Either a Phillies fan celebrating on broad or Bill Podbutsky looking for a "miracle" ticket to the Phish show.

Friday, October 31, 2008 (Parade)

10 a.m: People shotgun beers before we head to Broad Street. I don't shotgun because I want to last the day and go out for Halloween at night (and mostly because I'm a ladyman) but am a couple of mimosas deep.

11:30: A bit more bubbly and I'm feeling generous so I grab a twelve pack for my sister and try to meet up with her at City Hall. Unfortunately, 2,000 other people with twelve packs are also (presumably) trying to find their sisters at City Hall and phone lines are jammed. I don't find her.

11:45: Still carrying a full bottle of champagne and a twelve pack I cut over to 12th St. and hustle down to Lombard and Broad for a better vantage point. On the way the beer feels heavy so I crack one open (to lighten the load of course).

A building is under construction and people make their way inside and punch out the vinyl window coverings for a better vantage point. They think they are clever but are soon removed by the police.

12:45 The parade comes by. Unfortunately I used my film camera for this part so you'll have to do with this photo.

1:15 The crowd after the parade on the way back down Lombard.

3:00 Back at Mark's things get weird (funny I don't remember doing angel dust) when a fairy girl and her husband stop by to use the bathroom. On the way out I discover that her and I graduated from Boyertown high school the same year. We don't know each other since she went to vo-tech and I was scared of people but next thing you know we are fast friends pounding beers and talking about her lock-jaw problems.

4:30 Seriously, I don't even remember the angel dust.

5:30 I become certifiably drunk as I start taking close-up photos of the cool 90s tie I am wearing. And no, I did not begin the day wearing a tie.

Can't wait til next time

Vote or Die

2008-11-04T19:30:00.003-05:00

Did you vote today? You still have a few minutes to get to the polls, so if not, do it now! Although the Manayunk Free Press is endorsing Barack Obama, this is not a political blog. I want the MFP to be a place where Democrats, Republicans, and Green Party folk (read: hippy tokers) can come together to read about and discuss things other than politics (like buffalo wings and music that makes you cry tears). However, we do hope you cast your vote, regardless of who you vote for today. If for no other reason I want you to vote because Puff Daddy told me to vote or die and I love each and every one of you (yes, even you dad) and would hate to see you meet an untimely demise just because you were too lazy to vote. Sorry to get all Pete Wentz on you there.

I was kind of hoping that my voting experience would lead to a great story for the blog but I'm sorry to say there were no fisticuffs between Obama and McCain supporters at my polling station (a grammar school). In fact, there were only two other people there. The only highlight I can report is that I saw a great "hugs not drugs" poster hanging on the wall and the second grader who drew the thing must have been high as a kite off magic marker fumes if the amount of marker used and the psychedelic presentation were any indication. I'm thinking he changed his mind once he figured out that the magic marker could turn him into spiderman, while the best a hug can do is add an extra half degree of body warmth which is not such a good superpower.

In summation, get out the vote or PDiddy will send this guy after you (look what he's done to his own child, you think he won't come after you?)

Sunday Night Sonnets (Haiku Edition): Please Try Back Later

2008-11-03T20:28:00.001-05:00

Please Try Back Later

Why did you come here?
Did you expect a sonnet?
Not this week. Bite me!

World Series Special: Phils!

2008-10-30T11:41:00.005-04:00

I'm retiring "go phils!" until next April; until then, it's just "Phils!" since they've already gone as far as they can go. Thanks, guys.

I had other WS specials on the way, and maybe I'll still get around to them, but this past week has been crazy between work and family stuff, and traveling to Philadelphia/Boyertown to watch the Phillies with other fans. I've put over 900 miles on my car in the last seven days.

I watched the game clincher (both parts a & b) at a bar one block from Broad Street and it was unbelievable. The final strike out and the next five minutes or so, high fiving friends and strangers everywhere was probably the best part in my opinion. I even provided those around me with a good old fashioned beer bath when we won. Then we went to Broad street for the mayhem. People were scaling buildings and sitting on top of traffic lights. Eventually, some cars were flipped and storefront windows broken, which the MFP does not condone. I was in bed by 12:30 or so as I needed to make the trip back to nb for work. I took a bunch of photos and video but I can't post them yet because I havent' been to my apartment in a week. For now, I'll post the only photo I from the thick of it. The photo was taken on the phone of MFP contributer, Alex! Thanks, Alex!

Tomorrow is the parade and I'll get some photo's/video up next week.

Congrats to Philadelphia sports fans everywhere! We've waited way too long for this. Drink it up.

Sunday Night Sonnets (World Series Edition): Tonight's the Night?

2008-10-27T14:59:00.004-04:00

Tonight's the Night?

Don't count your chickens before they are hatched
But don't you just feel this could be the year?
One for the ages, too good to be matched
Champagne on the ice and with it some beers?
Grab your Phils hat, and throw on some Phils red
Don't care if you're new, just get on the bus
Yell and cheer, raise Billy Penn from the dead
The White Sox did it, so why can not us?
Our pitcher went yard, that must be a sign
The bats are now hot, some breaks gone our way
Our ace on the mound, the stars are aligned
Lets end this tonight, so what do you say?
Should tonight, the Bank deposit a win
We'll tear down the curse, like the wall in Berlin

Photograph O' the Week: World Series Edition

2008-10-24T08:15:00.001-04:00

Tough one for the Phils last night, but we'll get em next time. At least that's the attitude I had when I played first base (John Olerud style - you can never be too safe) for the Phillies back in 1984. My testicles wouldn't drop for another three years.

World Series Special Part 1 of ?/Things that Scared Me in My Youth That Never Should Have Scared Me in My Youth

2008-10-22T19:34:00.003-04:00

In approximately one hour the World Series will get underway. I will throw on my "Steve Fn Jeltz" Asphalt Salsa baseball shirt (thanks Barny) and be armed with my 2008 playoff run standbys: my old school tube t.v., my boneless buffalo wings from Applebees, my Magic Hat Jinx Fall Brew, and my shadow. These have served me well so far on the Phils' 2008 playoff run. Hopefully I'll make it to the greater Philadelphia Metro area for most of the rest of the WS games, but for the opener it will be me and my wings in Piscataway.

I am not a sportsblogger. I'll leave the sportsblogging to Barrels at Stagefright, Lynch at Simeon of PearlJam and the many other Philadelphia sports blogs that do it better than I ever could. But I am most certainly a Philadelphia sports fan. I've followed the Flyers, Eagles, and Phillies since I was about five, longing for a championship like the rest of us who call Philadelphia home(ish). I hope this is the year. All of these teams have provided great memories over the years, but instead of recounting play-by-play what happened at a game I attended in 1990, I'm going to tell you stories with tangential sports content since that is more in line with the mission statement of the MFP (or at least that's the story I'm sticking to).

Go Phils!

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It was July 24, 1990 and the Phillies were hosting the Mets at Veterans Stadium. Because I was eleven and had recently purchased a Sega Genesis using about $110 dollars in cash and the remaining $50 in coins (true story - the folks at Electronics Boutique were none too pleased), the Phillies had taken a back seat to Altered Beast.

While I sat in my bedroom fixated on my thirteen inch Magnovox (that was a tv brand, sickos) my mom and step-dad were watching the Phils on the tv in our living room which was adjacent to my bedroom. I should mention that my mom is a diehard Philadelphia sports fan. I mean, she gets, or used to get, waaay too into it and an Eagles loss would have her hitting the Peach Schnapps for days.

So, there I was, in the midst of my quest to defeat the evil Demon God Neff, when all of the sudden I hear my mom scream. A blood curdling scream - the kind you'd expect to hear if you had the balls to watch those Faces of Death videos. A scream so loud it brought me out of my Altered Beast induced haze. I looked to the wall to see what would come next. After a short pause my mom screamed "RUUUNNNNN!!!" Becoming scared that the Libyans, a Demon God, or our crazy rifle wielding neighbor across the street had broken into our house I sprung to my feet and waited to see what would come next. Again, my mom screamed, "BENNNNN, RUUUUUUNNNNN, BENNNN!!!" Fight or flight took over, and (no surprise here) I got the F out of that house. I threw open my bedroom door leaving my Bon Jovi poster swinging in my breeze and sprinted out the back door without so much as a glance toward the living room. Up the back yard and through the woods I went. I passed the new housing development in our neighborhood, I think I made it as far as the water tower before stopping to catch my breath (this was the little kid equivalent of running from Philadelphia to Baltimore). There I sat, convinced that my mom and step-dad had been victims of a grizzly murder over the small amount of pot my step-dad kept in his sock drawer.

After about a half-hour, I decided it was safe to head back to the house (I based this decision off the fact that murders in the movies never lasted longer than twenty minutes). I was worried; I wanted to grab my Sega Genesis and hide it in the woods before the cops confiscated it as evidence. I opened the back door expecting to find our dog whimpering over the bodies of my parents. Instead, I found my mom and step-dad sitting on the couch, swearing at the tv as the Mets' David Cone struck out the side in the 5th inning.

"Where did you go?" my mom asked. "I was yelling for you to come out of your room. You missed Lenny Dykstra's inside the park home run."

Sunday Night Sonnets (Wednesday Edition): Bring it

2008-10-22T12:59:00.000-04:00

Bring it

Early Sunday morning, a brisk fall day
Down the sidewalk to grab a bite to eat
Old woman on a Rascal heads our way
Hat upon your head, slippers on your feet
Trinkets on your handlebars bring a smile
We’ll be three wide on a path built for two
A good deed done feels good once in a while
Kind youth that we are, we make room for you
Then, in a move I do not understand
You turn toward us and push us to the road
Take the sidewalk and claim it as your land
But why would you, we followed elder code!
If a game of chicken, you so desire
Next time I’m game; I'll slash that rascal tire

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Firstly, I'd like to apologize for the delay in getting this week's Sunday Night Sonnet to the presses. Ironically, although Sunday Night Sonnets are usually written on Mondays during lunch, this one was started on Sunday Night and I still didn't finish it until just now. Please forgive me it's been a crazy busy week.

The inspiration for this week's Sunday Night Sonnet came Sunday morning as Meg the girlfriend and I walked to Marathon Grill for MTG's current obsession (replacing mussels for the time being), raspberry chocolate ,low-fat yogurt, blah blah blah, smoothies.

On the short walk there some little old lady on a rascal scooter came from the other direction. There was plenty of sidewalk but she was in the middle and so we "scootched" over toward the street. However, instead of moving toward the inner side of the sidewalk, or even staying in the middle, the lady turned toward us and I had to walk into a tree bed and almost fell into oncoming traffic. It was as if she was expressing her powers on the pavement like a forty-something man with a small d!ck and an H2 Hummer does on the highway. I think she even smiled deviously as she passed us.

Photograph O' the Week

2008-10-17T12:46:00.000-04:00

This week's Photograph O' the Week celebrates that tonight, good buddy Rob's band, Problem Solving, returns to the stage. Problem Solving was all the rage in the early to mid 2000s but has not played in quite some time (over a year and a half?) due to marriages, moving in with girlfriends, shopping at Target and other things that rip the very soul from a rock n'roll band.

The iconic image dates from 2/3/06 when Problem Solving played at Abilene's on South Street. Sadly, Abilene's is now the Miami Cafe (let's just say the place wouldn't last in Boyertown) but my beer gut is better than ever. In the midst of an adrenaline rush fueled by an ecstatic version of "Social" I tore away my snap-on western shirt to showcase my homemade homage to the band on stage and and let my freak-gut fly.

If you are into the items featured in this week's Photograph O' the Week: awesome t-shirts, pabst blue ribbon, rock n' roll, and thumbs-ups, then I encourage you to follow me down into the sea tonight at the Khyber(2nd and Chestnut).

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Herczeg won last week's caption competition with "Morrockyan Balboa". Good enough that it might deserve two beers (+PBRs are dirt cheap).

Please tune in next week when the MFP will devote at least two posts to the World Series bound Philadelphia Phillies.

MFP Classifieds: Lunch Pass

2008-10-14T07:52:00.000-04:00

One of the best things about my senior year of high school was that like all seniors (without a home arrest ankle device), I was entitled to leave school premises during the lunch period as long as I had my Boyertown Area Senior High School Lunch Pass. I wish I could say that I took full advantage of the Lunch Pass but the truth is I was a nerd and my Nana (that's a ladyman way of saying grandmother) lived about two seconds from the high school, so most days I just went to her house and ate a cheese sandwich on Wonderbread cut in four triangles while sipping on a lemonade and watching The Young and the Restless.

However, once in a while the cool kids would let me come out with them (thanks, guys) and it was some of the best times of my high school career. One time during the last week of senior year we went to Carsmelo's II (Carmelo's Pizzeria II) and the manager pulled out a bottle of liquor from behind the counter and gave us all shots with our Pizza. Amazing(ly irresponsible)!

A few weeks ago I found my old Lunch Pass while cleaning out some old wallets and while I may have squandered a period of my senior year by getting all wrapped up in finding out if Christine would have Victor Newman's baby (she didn't), now that I'm back in possession of my Lunch Pass I want to do something to remedy my guilt over wasting all those good times. And I think I can do that by selling my Boyertown Area Senior High School Lunch Pass to someone who wouldn't otherwise be eligible for those good times - A Boyertown Area Senior High School Underclassman. And so, the following has been posted to the For Sale - General sections of the Lehigh Valley and Philadelphia Craigslist pages (because oddly enough, there's not one for Boyertown. weird, right?).

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Lunch Pass for sale (Best Offer)

This is a 100% authentic Boyertown Area Senior High School Lunch Pass

As I'm sure you're aware, Boyertown Area Senior High School Seniors are allowed to leave school premises during the lunch period, provided they are in possession of a lunch pass card (at least this is how things worked back in 1997), which begs the question to Freshmen, Sophomores, and Juniors:

Are you sick and tired of hearing the Seniors brag about the great meals and all the freedom (a God-given right to all Americans, including underclassmen, by the way) they had out on the town while you sat in the stuffy cafeteria and ate a California Burger with tater-tots, a cheese stick, and an apple brown betty for the third time in as many days?

Well today is your lucky day because I'm offering you the chance to join the Seniors on their trips out to lunch. This is a 100% authentic Boyertown Area Senior High School Lunch Pass (1997 Edition). Okay, so I understand your hesitancy since this is a 1997 Edition. Honestly, I'm not even certain if Roy Cubbler (who authorized the 1997 Edition) is still the Principal since he was kind of old even back in 1997, but c'mon they barely look at these things anyway and I highly doubt the rules have changed that much. And might I remind you that this is 100% authentic?

So just flash this 100% authentic Boyertown Area Senior High School Lunch Pass (1997 Edition) on your way out the door (to freedom) and in just minutes you'll be kicking back with the cool kids, having a laugh, and eating real food from one of Boyertown's many fine dining establishments, including but not limited to, Rico's (Talarico's Hoagie Shop), The Grease Shop (The Grill Shop), Carsmelo's (Carmelo's Pizzeria), Hardees (Hardees), etc!

What's that? Eating isn't really your thing? That's cool, this 100% authentic Boyertown Area Senior High School Lunch Pass (1997 Edition) has many other uses. Use it to go down to the train tracks with your Senior friends and sm0ke a bowl! Get a tattoo from Harry's Tattoo Shop! Make a senior girl the talk of Prom by impregnating her during lunch period! Regardless of how you use it, the important thing is that you use this 100% authentic Boyertown Area Senior High Lunch Pass (1997 Edition) and all the freedom associated with it!

The possibilities are endless when you are in possession of a 100% authentic Boyertown Area Senior High School Lunch Pass (1997 Edition), so ACT NOW!

Please respond to add with your best offer* or for more information visit http://manfreepress(dot)blogspot(dot)com.

* can you really put a price on freedom?
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Depending on how many offers I get I might take out a full page add in the Boyertown Times or the penny pincher.

p.s. Holy Sh!t Phillies!

Sunday Night Sonnets: Upon Your Shelves (I will place my bitterness)

2008-10-13T12:55:00.003-04:00

Upon Your Shelves (I will place my bitterness)

A box, some screws, a level, and a drill
Make up a Saturday for a man who
Toils away against his own stout will
But for a girlfriend, this is what you do
You drill, you level, then try it again
While others enjoy the balmy fall day
You measure, then mark the wall with your pen
Off to the paint store suppress your dismay
In the end she has a new set of shelves
To place all her books, at least the light ones
I don't think they'll hold much more than themselves
Maybe some yarn but I wouldn't try tons
So make me hang shelves, work me like a dog
Just know that I'll b!tch about it on my blog

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There are a bunch of house type things Meg the Girlfriend really wants to complete so she can finally feel settled in her condo. Because we only see each other on the weekends we usually have plans that don't involve painting or breaking a sweat (mind out of the gutter people). Instead, our plans involve stuffing our faces (which occasionally ends with a case of the meatsweats) and imbibing in a drink or two. Well, because I am a good boyfriend, and also because I feel like I'm part of the issue since I'm always making weekend plans, but mostly because I want to decrease the probability of future MTG Sunday Night Meltdowns, I have agreed to help get sh!t done on the weekends.

I have to say I'm a little worried about entering this new phase of our relationship. Megan has already figured out that I seriously lack culinary skills, other than a penchant for making crepes and frozen pizzas and yet she stays with me. But I'm worried that once she sees that I lack home repair skills she will realize that the only thing I really offer is the occasional witty remark and the almost encyclopedic knowledge of all hot wing specials in Philadelphia. Doc Watson's during Eagles games is buy 10 get 10 (sorry, sometimes I just slip into it).

Nonetheless, I agreed to help with a variety of house items on Saturday including installing some shelves into the nook in her bedroom. It was about seventy degrees and sunny so I wasn't thrilled to be inside, but I (mostly) kept my mouth shut. Until now. I just hope her dad doesn't come see the shelves and immediately decide that I am unfit for dating his daughter when he realizes that I will have no skills to offer when the American economy completes its collapse (which at this rate should happen by Thursday) and we return to a society where growing your own food, building shelter, and wielding a weapon gets you further in life than a quick joke and an amazing knowledge of wing specials (I know - I don't want to think about it either).

Photograph O' the Week

2008-10-10T00:00:00.000-04:00

It's odd how you find pieces of home when you are far from it. Case in point when we were walking through the underground in London in 2007 and found this reminder of Philadelphia, two Hedkandi ads! Go Phils!

Since Rocco conceded, it looks as if I've won last week's caption contest. I'll be buying myself a beer this weekend. Check that, since the last rule is winner buys second round, I'll be buying myself two.

Have a good weekend.

Goodbyes and Lack Thereof (Part 3 of 3)

2008-10-08T23:00:00.002-04:00

It feels good to finally be ready to write about this and I'd like to thank you, kind readers of the MFP, for your patience in this time of sorrow.

Last week I said goodbye to my beloved 1995 Ford Explorer.

My relationship with the Explorer began long before I was its proud owner. You see, when I was about sixteen back in 1995, my grandmother on my mom's side of the family bought a "Light Willow Metallic" 1995 Ford Explorer. It's a difficult color to describe, and I'm lazy, so I'll just show you with a photo later in the post, but let's just say that it is a chick magnet, in the sense that all chicks want to drive a car this color, and chick repellent, in the sense that no chicks want to date a guy who drives a car this color. Not to be outdone, my grandmother on my dad's side of the family (Editors Note: my parents are divorced) simultaneously bought a "Light Willow Metallic" 1995 Ford Explorer. The same f-ing car. Differing only in serial # and radio station presets. I'm fairly certain that I'm the only person in the history of automobiles who can say, "oh, yeah, I remember that week my grandmothers bought matching Light Willow Metallic 1995 Ford Explorers."

The years passed by and I found myself in graduate school driving the biggest pile of sh!t car I had ever driven. This in and of itself is not uncommon among grad students being that you've now been in college for more than four years and while drug dealing is a legitimate profession as an undergrad, allowing you to lease that sweet Lexus, the most you can do with your time as a grad student is some teaching or research assistant positions. Since I was not wise enough to deal drugs as an undergrad, I had no savings and I was rolling through New Brunswick in a 1990-something Ford Tempo.

Then, lucky for me (though not so lucky for that poor dog, bless its heart), my grandmother on my dad's side became erratic on the road and the family decided it was time for her to stop driving. In a move of ultimate generosity (only slightly less generous than the plot of land in Florida she gave my cousin at the same time), my grandmother gave me her Light Willow Metallic 1995 Ford Explorer. I was ecstatic. It only had 40,000 miles on it, I would be able to tell how much gas was left in the tank, and if I was smart about it and only drove at night when the Explorer looked kinda silverish, I would be able to pick up girls. My grandmother only gave me three rules, no smoking in it, no drinking and driving, and no going over the speed limit, all of which I broke before I was even out of her driveway (just kidding Nana!).

The rest is, as they say, history. The car served me amazingly well with little to no maintenance work other than religious oil changes and the occasional love tap on the hood. It survived a break-in in my driveway. It survived me doing donuts in the snow in the middle of a secluded intersection at 2:30 in the morning (Editors Note: this activity is not condoned or endorsed by the MFP). It was my storage shed. It was the perfect tailgating vehicle. On occasion, it was my shelter (I survived two nights in the Explorer which will be detailed in future posts). Most of all, it was my escape vessel from the depths of New Jersey, in 2004 even taking me all the way to Montreal and back on a spontaneous solo road-trip (at the time that means the Explorer had been to as many countries as one of the current candidates for Vice President of the United States - unless she had been to Mexico, which I'm pretty sure she had visited, if only for the javelina hunting). Sure, it went through gas like pucks went through Phil Gehman's five-hole at the Bechtelsville hockey rink back in 1996, but all of the above made the gas money worth it.

The Explorer in happier times doing what it did best

And then, gas prices went through the f-ing roof. High gas prices coupled with impending maintenance costs, and my intense desire to become a yuppie caused me to seek out a second vehicle. A few months ago I purchased a sleek, gas-efficient, and yuppie approved 2001 Saab 9-3. I held onto the Explorer, taking it for a spin here and there but its time came last week when my mom called inquiring about it. She and my step-dad are having car problems and asked to buy the Explorer. A deal was cut. On one hand I was happy that it would stay in my family. The Explorer will be the first thing my dad's side of the family has shared with my mom's side of the family since they shared a young Ben Sherman on the weekends (that is, other than the feigned tolerance sitting just above a thinly veiled mutual dislike for one another that they have shared since 1981). On the other hand, I was scared. I imagine I experienced the same inner-battle a man in the midst of a mid-life crisis has just before leaving his wife for his sexy, young secretary. What if the Explorer continues to be reliable and looks good with another driver while my flashy new Saab gains weight and becomes needy? Then, I cried.

I took the Explorer for one last drive back to Boyertown over the weekend to hand over the title and keys to my mom. Before I left, I cleaned out the trunk and found many memories of my times with the Explorer. A dartboard; a calendar full of photos of Ronald Regan hanging out at his ranch wearing cowboy hats, riding horses, shooting shotguns, and doing other things presidents do when they lose their minds; some Cool Ranch Doritos still remaining from the time my friend Mark p!ssed me off by spilling a whole bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in the back of the Explorer on our way to a Tom Petty/Black Crowes concert. That concert, by the way, was on 6/22/2005. I hope my mom enjoys the Explorer as much as I did (without doing donuts in the snow), but more than anything, I hope that when she sells it the Doritos are part of the deal.

I said goodbye to my Light Willow Metallic 1995 Ford Explorer.

Sunday Night Sonnets: The Battle for New Jersey

2008-10-06T13:00:00.002-04:00

The Battle for New Jersey

A battleground State two men campaign for
The hearts and the minds of the working class
When both leave the stage the crowd yells "encore!"
One a prettyboy and one a bad ass
They ride round the country in their own bus
Stop in big cities and also small towns
Convince Joe Six Pack that they're just like us
On to the next day, again it goes down
I'm still not sure why we even debate
One man's a hero the other is lame
I was born to run and will clearly state
I for one do not give love a bad name
NJ admit it, Bon Jovi's a loss
But you have a winner, Springsteen, the Boss

Photograph O' the Week

2008-10-03T00:00:00.001-04:00

I could lie and say that the third goodbye is still just too difficult to write about but the truth is it has been a busy week full of Phillies playoff games and exploding sinks so I'm going to have to put the third installment of Goodbyes and Lack Thereof on the back burner. For now, please enjoy this week's Photograph O' the Week.

This week's Photograph shows us things that did not happen in Dallas with Rocco (Raghav) but which did happen in Ireland (Kilkenny to be exact) with Rocco in 2005. It also shows what happens when you use my own caption competition against me (See Week 1).

When we told folks in Dublin we were heading to Kilkenny, they warned us to beware of the hen parties. We had no idea what a hen party was but soon found out it is an Irish version of a bachelorette party but on speed and magical powers. The "hens" attacked us when we stopped into the otherwise laid back bar across the street from the hostel and were ruthless in getting us to take photographs with them and wear their hats. In the U.S., bachelorette parties will ask you to do crazy things so they can cross it off a list and if you decline, they will move on to the next group of unsuspecting guys. In Ireland, hen parties will tell you to do something crazy and if you decline, they will use physical force to make sure you do exactly what they had asked. They will also order your friend to take photographs or suffer.

My caption for this one is "Cowboy and Indian"

Also, no caption entries last week, so you can all buy your own beers!

Keep checking in, I should have some good stuff up in the next few weeks. Have a good weekend.

Goodbyes and Lack Thereof (Part 2 of 3)

2008-10-02T12:00:00.003-04:00

I spent this past weekend in Philadelphia and also up in Oley (back near Boyertown) for my Aunt's 50th birthday party. This means that I left my apartment Friday morning and did not return until Monday after work since I stayed at Meg the Girlfriend's Sunday night.

I was quite tired (I was up all hours writing a sonnet for you people) when I got home on Monday night at about 7:30 and all I really wanted to do was have a bite to eat and to sit on the couch and watch some t.v. How this differs from any other night of the week, I'm really not sure, but I was especially tired this night. I walked in the door, kicked off my shoes and since I felt like cooking, threw a frozen pizza in the toaster-oven. I needed to make a quick visit to the bathroom before claiming my spot on the couch for the night. I took two steps into the bathroom and that was all the steps required for my socks to be soaked straight through. I hopped out of the bathroom quick like and tore off my socks. Before I could even diagnose the issue there was a knock on my door.

A gentleman in his early fifties with a Polish accent announced that he was maintenance for the apartment complex and that the people in the apartment below me had water leaking through their ceiling*. He asked in broken english if I had a leak. I told him in perfect english that I was certain I did have a leak. We walked over to the bathroom (fear in both of our eyes), flipped the light switch and found my bathroom floor and bathmats soaking wet. He went toward the toilet but I heard some dripping from under the sink so I opened up the cabinets and found about THREE inches of water sitting at the bottom of my cabinet area, submerging my cleaning supplies (which were more for show than cleaning, really). Apparently, my sink did not know its limits and had vomited all over itself and my bathroom floor.

Maintenance man immediately jumped into action, grabbed the soaking towel on the floor and used it to sop up the water in the sink cabinet. He threw the submerged cleaning supplies to the side and just dove right into the mess. He sopped up water(?) and then wrung out the towel into my toilet. It was not sewage water but it certainly wasn't britta water either. After wringing out the towel, and without a breath, maintenance man went back to the sink cabinet for more sopping. It was about this point, as I stood there frozen, that I realized this fifty-year-old Polish man in hiked up shorts and suspenders was more of a man than I will ever be. While his instinct was to grab the nearest soaking wet towel and start the recovery process, mine was to yell "icky!" and cry out for my mommy.

But then I remembered that this is why I pay way too much money to live in this sh!thole. Also, there wasn't room for both of us in my bathroom, so I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and spent the rest of the time eating my frozen pizza while watching maintenance man sop and wring, sop and wring, and so on. Before, you call me disgusting, I would like to defend myself by stating that I had labored for seven and a half minutes over that frozen pizza and wasn't about to eat it cold.

Maintenance man finished up, and gave me a bunch of instructions I did not comprehend through his thick accent, though I did get the parts about not using the bathroom sink and that he would back in the morning with a new sink. Then, as quickly as he arrived, he was gone. I never got to thank him.

Monday, I said goodbye to my old bathroom sink (and cleaning supplies, and bathmats, and towels, etc.)

My "new" sink arrives Tuesday morning. Fancy!

* This is the second time I've gotten water on the people living below me. Remind me to tell the other story in a future post.

Goodbyes and Lack Thereof (Part 1 of 3)

2008-09-30T16:30:00.002-04:00

This past week has been a week of goodbyes for me and I can't say it's been easy. The next few posts will be a rundown of the goodbyes in order of difficulty (starting with the least difficult goodbye).

Today, I said goodbye to Fox 5 Good Day New York. I'm almost afraid to type this, lest you think I am not the man of intellect I present myself to be, but pretty much ever since I moved to the great state of New Jersey in 2002, I've tuned into Fox 5 Good Day New York each morning for a bit of mindless "news" along with some local happenings and information on those slacks that will be a must have come fall. The reasons are many, and chief among them is my well documented appreciation of female morning news show personalities (I've widely reported that Fox 29 Philadelphia Good Day Traffic Goddess Dorothy Krysiuk has been causing backups in my pants for years).

At the top of this list (and it is a long one) for as long as I can remember, has been Good Day New York's Jodi Applegate (pause to catch breath). Now, I'm not saying that Jodi is perfect. I'm smart enough to notice that sometimes she goes on "vacation" and when she comes back she has clearly had work done (that's Hollywood talk for plastic surgery) but she is everything I want in a female morning news show personality. She is funny, she is smart, she is beautiful, and she smells so nice. Just to clarify, it's not even a sexual thing as I don't desire to have "relations" with Jodi Applegate since it is a scientific fact that if two redheads ever "do it" that the world will end within 24-hours. And even though the world ending within 24 hours would probably lead to a breaking news special featuring Jodi Applegate, I am not quite that selfish and have too much compassion for my fellow man.

Well recently, Good Day NY has been making a lot of changes. They fired Jodi's co-anchor, Ron Corning, who was funny and I'm not saying I had a man-crush on him but I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers - or even nibbling on my earlobe for that matter. They replaced him with a guy who seems knowledgeable and is a nice enough guy but is a total stiff. I am not watching Good Day for serious news; I get that from NPR (and everything that my parents brainwashed me with before the age of ten). They also brought in some annoying entertainment girl and have made a bunch of other questionable changes.

Then, the last couple of weeks I noticed that Rosanna Scotto was sitting in for Jodi (or so I thought). At first, I assumed that Jodi was on vacation, but today I realized that she just took a vacation about a month ago. I rushed to the internet (kind of like the magic 8-ball of old but with real answers) and sure enough, her contract had expired and Good Day NY decided not to renew it. Supposedly, Jodi Applegate is now on the 11 o'clock in the morning news but after hours of deliberation I've decided against quitting my job just to watch her.

Now, I'm sure Rosanna Scotto is a nice lady and she has street cred but I just don't get this move by Fox at all. This is like if you are starting a death metal band and you can choose any guitarist you want to be in the band, and God even allows you to bring DimeBag Darryl back from the dead (because God rocks) and you say..."eh...you know what, I think I'm gonna have Dimebag Darryl be in the opening band, or maybe even just be a roadie. Now, get me that guitarist from a-ha!" And if God can bring Dimebag back from the dead I'm sure Rupert Murdoch can renew Jodi Applegate's contract, considering God and Rupert are probably members of the same country club. Sh!t just ain't right.

Today, I turned on NPR Morning Edition and said goodbye to Fox 5 Good Day New York.

Sunday Night Sonnets: Love Sonnet # 1

2008-09-29T08:56:00.005-04:00

Well, I am already regretting my promise to write a sonnet or some type of poem each Sunday. However, I am a man(child) who is true to his word, and so I persevere. Although I have a standing agreement that I will write each Sunday, I've already found inspiration to be non-committal for showing up to our weekly dates (though, in all fairness to inspiration, I hear she has been quite busy, what with a new Britney Spears album in the works). Yesterday, inspiration was especially elusive, my mind being mush after a night out on the town with Simeon of simeons.net and several other equally amusing characters.

Then, while Meg the Girlfriend* and I enjoyed a romantic dinner (and Eagles game) for two at Moriarty's Sunday Evening, inspiration finally reared her head. Although she arrived disheveled, quite late, and reeked of Ms. Spears, I did not care for she was mine. The resulting sonnet breaks one of the promises I made in the original Sunday Night Sonnet post, in that it is a love sonnet. Yet, I do not apologize for I can not hide these feelings. I will not hide these feelings.

(transcribed below for those who don't have the ability to read serial killer)

Love Sonnet # 1

Sir, there are many things you could serve me
Which would make me love you like a brother
So many options will result in glee
How can man choose one over the others?
Between a cow, a pig, perhaps a fish
They all will please when placed upon taste buds
And none will last when placed upon my dish
To be washed down with barley, hops, and suds
But none of these compare to that which makes
A civil man lick all ten fingers clean
Not cod, nor bacon, not even a steak
Though all will do and of course I am keen
I am a spice man and my heart truly sings
When served a plate full of buffalo wings.

*Since Meg the Bartender has become such an integral part of my life (in that she saved it), I feel the need to make it clear to the reader which Meg I am writing about. As such, going forward my girlfriend Megan will be referred to as Meg the Girlfriend (or MTG) for the purposes of this blog.

Photograph O' the Week

2008-09-26T00:00:00.003-04:00

This weekend, Simeon, of simeons.net fame will be visiting Philadelphia from his new home in Long Beach, CA (he's also lived in Baltimore, MD and Portland, OR within the last year). This week's Photograph O' the Week celebrates the fact that Simeon will make his triumphant return to the East Coast. MFP will further feature simeons.net and Simeon as a whole in the future, but for now let's discuss the photograph.

The above photograph dates from 2002 when we were on a 72-day backpacking trip through Europe living off baguettes and beer. The setting is the Sigmund Freud Museum where Freud both lived and held his practice. It would be more appropriate/symbolic if Simeon fell asleep in a Carl Jung museum (psychology joke) but unfortunately for appropriateness/symbolism we did not visit a Carl Jung museum (nothing personal Carl).

Details were hazy that day, let alone six years later, but from what I recall Simeon had a particularly benderous night out on the town in Vienna, Austria (or Wien if you so prefer). I do remember that the hostel had a "Bad Movie and Cheap Beer Night," but something tells me it was more than just a few cheesy Billy Crystal lines from City Slickers 2 (I guess they meant "bad" in a Michael Jackson way because that movie is life changing) to put Simeon in this kind of stupor. I'm fairly sure we were out on the town after the movie that night and Vienna was a crazy party town in that "I don't do clubs but I love pubs with working fireplaces" kind of way.

I remember the rest of us waking Simeon from his slumber early that morning and forcing him to join us on our trip to the museum. I remember Simeon telling us he didn't think he could make it. I also remember realizing once we had paid our admission that Simeon really wasn't going to make it. We started the tour but he took a seat in Freud's waiting room (again, can't make this sh!t up) to "rest his eyes," and promptly fell asleep for the duration of our visit (probably about 70 minutes). I am not embellishing when I say that some elderly Austrian folks walked into the room and studied Simeon thinking he was part of the exhibit. This would have been worth learning German for but there just wasn't time.

Also, I'll address it because I know you're wondering. The girl laughing in the background - of course none of us took the opportunity to chat her up at the expense of our friend, because if there was one thing we were good at on that trip other than drinking beers until late in the night and waking up early in the morning to get cultured, it was that we were exceptional at not talking to girls.

--------------------------------------------

Congrats to last week's MFP Caption Contest Winners (feeling generous):

Raghav ("1-0") for cutting me down to size using an inside joke that only I will get, related to a game that I created. An impressive maneuver, though I will say I served it on a platter and would have been disappointed if you didn't use it against me. More on the game later.

Herczeg ("Summer 2005 - Fire Island") for submitting a witty line for the masses (or at least the masses familiar with the greater New York metro area...basically, he said we are ladymen).

Rob, you didn't really submit a caption but I'll still buy you a drink just for sincerely asking if I popped the collar as an ironic statement rather than immediately judging.

Have a good weekend.