26 June, 2009

Sanforized! Mark of an animal?

Who'd have thunk it, a rising star in the Republican Party, a possible presidential candidate, secretly leaving his job as governor to do the horizontal mambo with some chick he met in South America.

Knock me over with a feather! I've been a South Carolina resident for 20 years, and Mark Sanford was about the only politician in the state who I had given a damn about. Because he gave a damn, or appeared to, about something more than his own political welfare. He fought the concept of spending freely today and worrying about tomorrow tomorrow.

Though his detractors may have scoffed at the idea, bringing live pigs to the statehouse to underscore the nonsense of pork barrel spending was very creative indeed, and got the point across. Greatly criticized as well for this, he was one of the few who took a serious look at the stimulus package money, and realized the only thing being stimulated is more debt. Of course, and I believe unfairly, he was accused of rejecting stimulus money to gain national attention in an effort to forward his own political aspirations.

Thus a glimpse into the good side of Mark Sanford. But now ... oops! The animal kicks in, and in a hormone-driven rage, he puts aside the fact that he is married with four kids, that he is an elected leader of government, sworn to serve the people of his state. Instead he invokes some horribly poor judgement, and takes off to have his secret rendezvous. For anyone who thought this kind of behavior would diminish after Bubba Clinton was serviced by a fat intern, they were seriously mistaken. The beat goes on and on and on.

Our animal instincts, in many cases I presume, are just too strong. Morality is nothing; societal norms don't wash. You get an urge to do it ... do it! Like the stimulus plan, spend freely today and worry about tomorrow tomorrow.
But guess what, pal ... tomorrow will surely come. Just as sure as we will be seeing more politicians making their tearful confessions. Any sympathy for these devils? Nah, I think flogging would be more appropriate.

~PITTSBURGH starts with PITT!~

03 June, 2009

Why you don't play the bouzouki

I can play a bouzouki and you can't. Don't you want to know why? Here are some possible reasons that come to mind.

―First of all, the original bouzouki was a Greek instrument, and of course you aren't Greek, even though you may have belonged to a Greek fraternity, like to eat at Greek restaurants, and watched Zorba the Greek four or more times.

―Secondly, an Irish bouzouki, of course, was developed by Celtic musicians, but getting drunk on Saint Paddy's Day doesn't make you Irish either. Owning one of those "high-strung, dumb-as-a-roomful-of-Presidents-named-Bush" Irish Setters only makes you stupid, and rooting for "The Fighting Irish" of Notre Dame makes you the quintessential world class idiot.

―Thirdly, girls your mother may have told you that playing a bouzouki would make you flat-chested, and boys, your mother may have told you your peepee-er would fall off or you'd go blind. There is no scientific evidence to back up these claims. But I am willing to give myself up for research, if done by CSI NewYork actress Melina Kanakaredes, who of course happens to be Greek.

―Fourthly, you got confused when you tried to buy a bouzouki and bought a bazooka instead. Although it didn't look much like a musical instrument, you followed the owner's manual instructions to the letter, but when you tried to "play" your first note, you blew a hole clear through your neighbor's classic Mustang, and also took out three trailers in the park across the street.

It's true, the first and only bouzouki I've ever played was the one I built more than 25 years ago and still play today. By doing all the right research and painstakingly manufacturing your own instrument you end up with much more than something with which to enjoy making music. You learn to have the patience of Job. If you don't you will likely end up with an instrument that sounds like crap...but at least you won't be blowing up the neighborhood. Or will you?

~PITTSBURGH starts with PITT!~

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