There's often a strange sense of detachment you have, sitting someplace, Norwich, Connecticut, that's more or less a backwater, unless you're from Preston (there's hospital joke in there someplace and it's on the voters) viewing national events and realizing the turbulence and turmoil happening on the big stage is reflected here.
The large splash when the Greedies who ran the Wonder Bread/Hostess Snacks company (and ran it into the ground) has ripples in a little tiny pond like here because we have/had one or more of the thrift stores that sold the DODs (day old doughnuts). Make no mistake, I, too am a capitalist (just not a very good one), not to be confused with other people who are free-market whores (but who are very good at it, if that's of any solace).
Speaking of which, for all of his bow-tied snarkiness, George Will that clueless bozo, despite his acerbic assertions to the contrary, is a rich bastard-apologist by profession. I think I've been grudging for him since he decided he was a Bruce Springsteen fan and misread Springsteen about as badly as is possible to do without actually being Ronald Reagan. My theory at that time was Will's bow tie was so tight it cut off the blood flow to his brain. I know better now.
As I said, we have/had a Hostess shop locally-don't go there much anymore but we did. A penny saved is a penny earned and my last name rhymes with it so I spend a good deal of time figuring out ways to stretch them as far as they'll go. As the Twinkies Tsunami gained momentum, local reaction, as angry and less than informed as so much of it was/is nationally, made its way into our community discussion much like it did yours.
And now of course, there's this which has reduced me to efforts at slow and even breathing and full exhalation so as to slow the rise of gorge in my veins. The same insouciant, inconsiderate 1% who looked askance at the vagrants and vagabonds of Occupy Wall Street sixteen months ago when the latter were coming for their Grey Poupon have offered all of us another example of how to rob without a gun and why rules are for people who simply don't know better.
Which is odd because I dimly remember talk of a rule someplace, I believe it was Golden or perhaps that was just the calf. Now it has been replaced by one involving hooves and legs but we are all equal, though some more equal than others. Next up will be the Number of the Beast who will soon enough be howling like an idiot wind.
-bill kenny
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Our Supplies of Surprise Are Running Low
We sort of had our first snowfall in New England the other day, at least the part I live in. I see myself as a 'Jersey Guy' though technically, arithmetically, I've lived longer in Southern New England than anywhere else on earth in my entire life, which is quite an expanse of days when added together. Strange Days indeed.
I tend to think of CT Guys (is there even such a thing?) as folks who drive Volvos, wear deck shoes instead of sneakers, have ball caps from yachting clubs and drink Michelob-though NOT all at the same time. Yep, my people-though they're probably not too thrilled about the use of that pronoun.
I wouldn't even mention the sort-of-snow not only because if you pay it attention it never goes away, but because we'll probably have far more of it by the end of this sentence, much less the end of the winter. Although, and I'm smiling as I write this, if we have last winter again, somehow my heart will carry on (I have never stopped).
Memory plays tricks on us geezers so maybe we had more snow all of last winter than we had the other day, but I think not, and I'm not upset about it. I made my wife and children promise years ago to NEVER get me a sled for Christmas so I don't care if there's ever snow and for most of last winter, it worked out great for me. If you're a penguin or a polar bear, get yourself an agent and a lawyer (insert Cold Case Files joke here).
And we needed that around here (here being Planet Earth). In New England we have all four seasons. Always have to my knowledge and always will, though after I shuffle off this mortal coil what you do is your business. And yet in recent years, the first snow becomes a cry to man battle-stations. Soon, our humble technology permitting, we'll broadcast live the descent of the first snowflake to the earth-perhaps if we can have one that Tweets, that can be live, too. And of course, we'll have an app for your smart phone as well.
Phones may as well be smart as we never are. Once the weather models on TV start talking about snow we flock to the stores to buy milk and toilet paper not always in proportionate amounts to one another or to anything resembling reality. And let's not forget this year, we have the Mayan End of the Calendar hanging over our heads-so any snowstorm could be our last one, if the end of time is actually next month. That every day's the End of Days for some goes unnoticed as we line up cheek to jowl in express lanes whose lines stretch to the horizon with our purchases.
I'm wondering if this is how the dinosaurs met their end. Were they staring up at the sky wondering what had happened to the sun when cavemen, wearing yachting caps and driving Volvos, descended on them like Plague and Pestilence. Suddenly Wilma and Betty weren't quite so giggly anymore and Darwin had his proof. Again.
-bill kenny
I tend to think of CT Guys (is there even such a thing?) as folks who drive Volvos, wear deck shoes instead of sneakers, have ball caps from yachting clubs and drink Michelob-though NOT all at the same time. Yep, my people-though they're probably not too thrilled about the use of that pronoun.
I wouldn't even mention the sort-of-snow not only because if you pay it attention it never goes away, but because we'll probably have far more of it by the end of this sentence, much less the end of the winter. Although, and I'm smiling as I write this, if we have last winter again, somehow my heart will carry on (I have never stopped).
Memory plays tricks on us geezers so maybe we had more snow all of last winter than we had the other day, but I think not, and I'm not upset about it. I made my wife and children promise years ago to NEVER get me a sled for Christmas so I don't care if there's ever snow and for most of last winter, it worked out great for me. If you're a penguin or a polar bear, get yourself an agent and a lawyer (insert Cold Case Files joke here).
And we needed that around here (here being Planet Earth). In New England we have all four seasons. Always have to my knowledge and always will, though after I shuffle off this mortal coil what you do is your business. And yet in recent years, the first snow becomes a cry to man battle-stations. Soon, our humble technology permitting, we'll broadcast live the descent of the first snowflake to the earth-perhaps if we can have one that Tweets, that can be live, too. And of course, we'll have an app for your smart phone as well.
Phones may as well be smart as we never are. Once the weather models on TV start talking about snow we flock to the stores to buy milk and toilet paper not always in proportionate amounts to one another or to anything resembling reality. And let's not forget this year, we have the Mayan End of the Calendar hanging over our heads-so any snowstorm could be our last one, if the end of time is actually next month. That every day's the End of Days for some goes unnoticed as we line up cheek to jowl in express lanes whose lines stretch to the horizon with our purchases.
I'm wondering if this is how the dinosaurs met their end. Were they staring up at the sky wondering what had happened to the sun when cavemen, wearing yachting caps and driving Volvos, descended on them like Plague and Pestilence. Suddenly Wilma and Betty weren't quite so giggly anymore and Darwin had his proof. Again.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Advice Isn't the Only Thing that Begins with "A"
Advice can often be like a summer rain shower during your vacation. While you appreciate the necessity of it, concede its importance and understand its benefits, you wonder about the timing and duration while hoping it's actually intended for someone else, somewhere else. It's easy to offer and sometimes hard to accept.
We listen to it with difficulty, with reluctance or with resentment. Sometimes we listen to it the way a dog hears: not paying attention as mumbling and murmuring goes on and then someone says our name and we look up. It's at that point when I wonder where the rubber squeak toy in my mouth came from, but your mileage may vary.
Last Monday evening, at a session before the City Council's regular (and first meeting since the election) the aldermen and women had an information meeting with the Norwich Community Development Corporation (NCDC), the City Council's designated development agency.
When you buy a ticket, you get the whole ride. As one of a handful of citizen-residents who attended the informational meeting, I'm glad I remained seated and kept my arms and head inside because the presentation by Bob Mills, NCDC's Executive Director, covered not just the topic du jour, an update on the economic development initiatives for downtown the voters funded two years ago, but a larger and longer view of possible paths ahead and suggestions on how the Council might decide on which route to choose.
From where I sit at Council meetings, and I attend a reasonable number of them, I see a City Council whose composition is very similar to its predecessor, populated by neighbors with the best of intentions but who continue to struggle at times to craft a system that will engage the greatest number of people and agencies whose time and talents can benefit the city as a whole and the Chelsea District especially.
I have a copy of the NCDC Strategic and Action Plan 2013-2015 and would encourage you to get one on line or stop into their offices at 77 Main Street and review a copy of your own to see what areas of concern and concentration the City Council's action agency sees as opportunities and challenges. Then consider a modest suggestion as if you were a member of the City Council.
Two City Councils and one mayor ago, the Administration, Planning and Economic Development (APED) Sub-Committee was dissolved (not without strenuous and eloquent objections). APED had been an effort by an even earlier City Council to build consensus and facilitate collaboration (both short and long term) among the various volunteer committees in concert with the professional municipal departments.
It fell into disuse, suggested some, because everyone had a piece of the responsibility for development but no one had any authority or accountability to do any development. The Council now has an agency to execute a strategic plan and through APED or something like it, the accountable municipal partner to coordinate a more holistic and competent effort to transform Norwich. Talking about change is NOT change, it's just talk. We should be talked out by now. Money doesn't talk, it swears. Isn't it time we listened and started doing?
-bill kenny
We listen to it with difficulty, with reluctance or with resentment. Sometimes we listen to it the way a dog hears: not paying attention as mumbling and murmuring goes on and then someone says our name and we look up. It's at that point when I wonder where the rubber squeak toy in my mouth came from, but your mileage may vary.
Last Monday evening, at a session before the City Council's regular (and first meeting since the election) the aldermen and women had an information meeting with the Norwich Community Development Corporation (NCDC), the City Council's designated development agency.
When you buy a ticket, you get the whole ride. As one of a handful of citizen-residents who attended the informational meeting, I'm glad I remained seated and kept my arms and head inside because the presentation by Bob Mills, NCDC's Executive Director, covered not just the topic du jour, an update on the economic development initiatives for downtown the voters funded two years ago, but a larger and longer view of possible paths ahead and suggestions on how the Council might decide on which route to choose.
From where I sit at Council meetings, and I attend a reasonable number of them, I see a City Council whose composition is very similar to its predecessor, populated by neighbors with the best of intentions but who continue to struggle at times to craft a system that will engage the greatest number of people and agencies whose time and talents can benefit the city as a whole and the Chelsea District especially.
I have a copy of the NCDC Strategic and Action Plan 2013-2015 and would encourage you to get one on line or stop into their offices at 77 Main Street and review a copy of your own to see what areas of concern and concentration the City Council's action agency sees as opportunities and challenges. Then consider a modest suggestion as if you were a member of the City Council.
Two City Councils and one mayor ago, the Administration, Planning and Economic Development (APED) Sub-Committee was dissolved (not without strenuous and eloquent objections). APED had been an effort by an even earlier City Council to build consensus and facilitate collaboration (both short and long term) among the various volunteer committees in concert with the professional municipal departments.
It fell into disuse, suggested some, because everyone had a piece of the responsibility for development but no one had any authority or accountability to do any development. The Council now has an agency to execute a strategic plan and through APED or something like it, the accountable municipal partner to coordinate a more holistic and competent effort to transform Norwich. Talking about change is NOT change, it's just talk. We should be talked out by now. Money doesn't talk, it swears. Isn't it time we listened and started doing?
-bill kenny
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Ich möchte gerne bezahlen
Driving to work at half past five in the morning has its advantages, aside from an extra early start as part of the day shift at the fantasy factory (I called it that just in case someone from work stumbles across this). And it took less than twenty years of schoolin' so I'm almost ahead of the game.
It's pretty dark as merrily I roll along in the wee small hours and yesterday I had a chance to reflect upon one of those happenstances usually thought of as 'things you see when you haven't got a gun' which works out well at so many levels with me, it's terrifying.
After I drove through downtown Norwich and over the Laurel Hill Bridge, turning right up the steep hill overlooking the harbor (except for all the crummy scrub trees that have been allowed to grow wild if not free), beyond the city limits I passed what I guess is a one size fits all holiday light display whose message of inclusiveness, if that's what it's supposed to be, has gotten a little muddled in the translation.
I appreciate outside holiday displays-I just have NO desire to ever erect one or to help build one-that last bit is for my wife who has a very organized approach to Christmas presentations. Of course she does, she's German. My father used to almost kill himself putting together Nativity scenes, the creche, the lights, all the figures, everything that grew more intricate and complex with every passing year, which in his case (and with his acute lack of mechanical abilities (a trait his oldest has inherited) was NOT a good thing.
My dislike of holiday displays can be directly attributed to the thousands of hours I stood in the cold, along with my brothers and sisters, holding strings of lights searching for the burned out bulb after other hours of separating all this crap from a tangle in bags in the basement into which it had all been dumped the previous year on the Feast of the Epiphany. To this day, I believe whoever invented the 'in series' electrical harness for Christmas lights should be crushed to death by fruit cake. Repeatedly.
The display I passed yesterday had all the figures of the Magi, the angels and their good news, and the shepherds and their flock, some or perhaps all of it with motorized and moving parts, because nothing says Jesus' Birthday like a large formed plastic sheep moving its head side to side surrounded by every other imaginable animal (and a couple unimaginable ones). Someone, somewhere is building up a mess of brownie points with His Dad, let me tell you-though it's not doing a lot for me.
I seriously thought about grabbing a photo of it-why else do I have a cell phone? I never make calls and am not sure how to and I am too stumble-thumbed to be any good at texting-but I wouldn't want anyone anywhere to see a photo as a form of an endorsement so a word picture will have to suffice.
I don't think even God could imagine a more pious Nativity scene. Especially when right along side the manger (with a somewhat life-like plastic cow), and obviously part of the overall presentation is a six foot tall Santa Claus next to a palm tree, holding it steady (for his own balance, perhaps?) with his right hand while clutching a replica Bottle of the Pause that Refreshes with the other.
I was so hoping there might be a pack of Lucky Strikes in the breast pocket of his jacket, except he probably sent Donner and Blitzen to the package store for some brewskis to go with the smokes and since they're reindeer they have no clothes, thus no pockets to put the money in.
I flashed on a moment probably closer to fifty years ago where my sister Evan, perhaps in first grade, excitedly reported to Dad that 'Christmas is Jesus' Birthday' and his somewhat terse response, 'has anyone told Him who's paying for the party?'
-bill kenny
It's pretty dark as merrily I roll along in the wee small hours and yesterday I had a chance to reflect upon one of those happenstances usually thought of as 'things you see when you haven't got a gun' which works out well at so many levels with me, it's terrifying.
After I drove through downtown Norwich and over the Laurel Hill Bridge, turning right up the steep hill overlooking the harbor (except for all the crummy scrub trees that have been allowed to grow wild if not free), beyond the city limits I passed what I guess is a one size fits all holiday light display whose message of inclusiveness, if that's what it's supposed to be, has gotten a little muddled in the translation.
I appreciate outside holiday displays-I just have NO desire to ever erect one or to help build one-that last bit is for my wife who has a very organized approach to Christmas presentations. Of course she does, she's German. My father used to almost kill himself putting together Nativity scenes, the creche, the lights, all the figures, everything that grew more intricate and complex with every passing year, which in his case (and with his acute lack of mechanical abilities (a trait his oldest has inherited) was NOT a good thing.
My dislike of holiday displays can be directly attributed to the thousands of hours I stood in the cold, along with my brothers and sisters, holding strings of lights searching for the burned out bulb after other hours of separating all this crap from a tangle in bags in the basement into which it had all been dumped the previous year on the Feast of the Epiphany. To this day, I believe whoever invented the 'in series' electrical harness for Christmas lights should be crushed to death by fruit cake. Repeatedly.
The display I passed yesterday had all the figures of the Magi, the angels and their good news, and the shepherds and their flock, some or perhaps all of it with motorized and moving parts, because nothing says Jesus' Birthday like a large formed plastic sheep moving its head side to side surrounded by every other imaginable animal (and a couple unimaginable ones). Someone, somewhere is building up a mess of brownie points with His Dad, let me tell you-though it's not doing a lot for me.
I seriously thought about grabbing a photo of it-why else do I have a cell phone? I never make calls and am not sure how to and I am too stumble-thumbed to be any good at texting-but I wouldn't want anyone anywhere to see a photo as a form of an endorsement so a word picture will have to suffice.
I don't think even God could imagine a more pious Nativity scene. Especially when right along side the manger (with a somewhat life-like plastic cow), and obviously part of the overall presentation is a six foot tall Santa Claus next to a palm tree, holding it steady (for his own balance, perhaps?) with his right hand while clutching a replica Bottle of the Pause that Refreshes with the other.
I was so hoping there might be a pack of Lucky Strikes in the breast pocket of his jacket, except he probably sent Donner and Blitzen to the package store for some brewskis to go with the smokes and since they're reindeer they have no clothes, thus no pockets to put the money in.
I flashed on a moment probably closer to fifty years ago where my sister Evan, perhaps in first grade, excitedly reported to Dad that 'Christmas is Jesus' Birthday' and his somewhat terse response, 'has anyone told Him who's paying for the party?'
-bill kenny
Monday, November 26, 2012
Live Freeze or Fried
Drove behind a guy yesterday for awhile on the way into the market's parking lot who had a McCain sticker on his back bumper. Because if there's only one thing I'm worse at than being a good loser is being a good winner, I made it a point to pull in to the lot beside him and get out of my car as he did his.
Glancing at his sticker I offered, 'you must really like their french fries.' He looked at me with narrowing eyes and seemed to be scanning the sector to see if an attendant was hurrying towards us. There wasn't-I had already looked. "Of course," I added, "you can't beat Ore-Ida for tater tots."
He made a slight face and muttered something about 'everybody's a comedian' but my larger point, unmade because I went for the cheap laugh instead of the teachable moment is that the Senator from Arizona contested the 2008 Presidential election. McCain's candidacy was old news this time four years ago. Now it is just bad-mannered obstinacy.
Everyone is always running for something, I guess. With me in the room most of the rest of the occupants are heading for exits but in less than three weeks since this year's national contest, Senator Marco Rubio of Florida has started making noise like he'd like the next GOP dance. I have no idea how good a person or Senator he is though I'm sure he does fine in at least one of those areas.
The Senator would obviously be not so good at one of those carny booths where they guess your weight and age, at least the latter. I say that based on this attempt by a member of the Senate Commerce, Science and Transportation Committee to answer Michael Hainey of GQ Magazine's 'how old do you think the earth is' question. And he seemed like such a nice young man, didn't he? I didn't say smart; I said nice.
The state of Florida was a national joke in 2000 because of hanging chads and a widespread belief in your citizens' perceived inabilities to make up their minds. I'm not sure what to make of your junior Senator's attempt to currying the favor of whackjobs and wingnuts in the belief they might be registered voters by pretending scientific fact is science fiction on something as elementary as the age of the planet we both share.
If this opportunist is the best that the party of Lincoln has to offer (and in fairness, it's a little early for the crop of 2016 to start showing up), you guys and gals, but mostly guys (white guys) better keep your day jobs since you're going nowhere in a hurry. I'm unhappily surprised with you, I really am, and your latest pretty, preening poster boy is just your most recent disappointment.
You rejected any effort to work together at the national level since capturing the House of Representatives in 2010, believing instead your intransigence would help you take back the White House in 2012 and had/have no plan B when that didn't happen. It might well be the end of this decade before some of those in your party concede Romney didn't win and possibly another decade before those bumper stickers get shredded. At the point at which the Mitt hits the fan, I'll be asking if you'd like fries with that. I'm positive you will.
-bill kenny
Glancing at his sticker I offered, 'you must really like their french fries.' He looked at me with narrowing eyes and seemed to be scanning the sector to see if an attendant was hurrying towards us. There wasn't-I had already looked. "Of course," I added, "you can't beat Ore-Ida for tater tots."
He made a slight face and muttered something about 'everybody's a comedian' but my larger point, unmade because I went for the cheap laugh instead of the teachable moment is that the Senator from Arizona contested the 2008 Presidential election. McCain's candidacy was old news this time four years ago. Now it is just bad-mannered obstinacy.
Everyone is always running for something, I guess. With me in the room most of the rest of the occupants are heading for exits but in less than three weeks since this year's national contest, Senator Marco Rubio of Florida has started making noise like he'd like the next GOP dance. I have no idea how good a person or Senator he is though I'm sure he does fine in at least one of those areas.
The Senator would obviously be not so good at one of those carny booths where they guess your weight and age, at least the latter. I say that based on this attempt by a member of the Senate Commerce, Science and Transportation Committee to answer Michael Hainey of GQ Magazine's 'how old do you think the earth is' question. And he seemed like such a nice young man, didn't he? I didn't say smart; I said nice.
The state of Florida was a national joke in 2000 because of hanging chads and a widespread belief in your citizens' perceived inabilities to make up their minds. I'm not sure what to make of your junior Senator's attempt to currying the favor of whackjobs and wingnuts in the belief they might be registered voters by pretending scientific fact is science fiction on something as elementary as the age of the planet we both share.
If this opportunist is the best that the party of Lincoln has to offer (and in fairness, it's a little early for the crop of 2016 to start showing up), you guys and gals, but mostly guys (white guys) better keep your day jobs since you're going nowhere in a hurry. I'm unhappily surprised with you, I really am, and your latest pretty, preening poster boy is just your most recent disappointment.
You rejected any effort to work together at the national level since capturing the House of Representatives in 2010, believing instead your intransigence would help you take back the White House in 2012 and had/have no plan B when that didn't happen. It might well be the end of this decade before some of those in your party concede Romney didn't win and possibly another decade before those bumper stickers get shredded. At the point at which the Mitt hits the fan, I'll be asking if you'd like fries with that. I'm positive you will.
-bill kenny
Sunday, November 25, 2012
A Month from Now
I never thought I'd say I am looking forward to the start of my work week tomorrow but I actually am. I was off for the Thanksgiving holiday on Thursday which my family and I spent in Manhattan at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, along with 5.2 million other close personal friends (of someone I suppose though not necessarily of me)
On Friday, I helped my son finish his move from Stonington Borough back to Mystic, a trip he made in the opposite direction not that long ago. When people ask me why I'm such a hard ass where I live (Norwich, Connecticut) with elected leadership that is barely the former and most certainly not the latter, I think of our two children and the absolute certainty I have our daughter, like her brother, will be living other than where her parents do because we who live here continue to fail to create a place to come home to for our children to live. If you're wondering who I hold responsible, I'll give you seven guesses (and they all count).
Saturday in these parts made me smile. It was Small Business/Shop Local Saturday but proving someone has a puckish sense of humor, we had some serious parking bans in effect in our downtown area because of our annual winterfest parade. The illumination of City Hall, by the way newspaper persons, was at FIVE. I was there, trust me on that one. And it was gorgeous!
Today would be a day I could vegetate in front of the television and watch American professional football except I don't follow the sport anymore. Perhaps because I enjoy the sport the rest of the world calls football too much I can't get really passionate about muscle-bound guys who play third down in running situations only while some cretin in a booth, who used to play this same sport, calls him a 'warrior.' He isn't-he's a show biz kid and you're a moronic imbecile for lying to me about the guy's prowess and ability.
Meanwhile halfway around the world dodging bullets and ducking Breedwell innuendo we have kids, yeah people who are eighteen, nineteen and twenty years old are kids, working on mysteries without a clue for a monthly salary half of what your football 'hero' tips room service when he checks out of the hotel after an away game. Such a manly man.
A month from now, it's Christmas, a time of peace on earth and goodwill towards mankind. And fruitcake that no one knows what to do with and is too afraid to just throw out. For many of us this is the most wonderful time of the year-I've yet to be convinced, but check back in a month and, together, we'll see what if anything has changed. These are, after all, days of miracle and wonder. And batteries not included.
-bill kenny
On Friday, I helped my son finish his move from Stonington Borough back to Mystic, a trip he made in the opposite direction not that long ago. When people ask me why I'm such a hard ass where I live (Norwich, Connecticut) with elected leadership that is barely the former and most certainly not the latter, I think of our two children and the absolute certainty I have our daughter, like her brother, will be living other than where her parents do because we who live here continue to fail to create a place to come home to for our children to live. If you're wondering who I hold responsible, I'll give you seven guesses (and they all count).
Saturday in these parts made me smile. It was Small Business/Shop Local Saturday but proving someone has a puckish sense of humor, we had some serious parking bans in effect in our downtown area because of our annual winterfest parade. The illumination of City Hall, by the way newspaper persons, was at FIVE. I was there, trust me on that one. And it was gorgeous!
Today would be a day I could vegetate in front of the television and watch American professional football except I don't follow the sport anymore. Perhaps because I enjoy the sport the rest of the world calls football too much I can't get really passionate about muscle-bound guys who play third down in running situations only while some cretin in a booth, who used to play this same sport, calls him a 'warrior.' He isn't-he's a show biz kid and you're a moronic imbecile for lying to me about the guy's prowess and ability.
Meanwhile halfway around the world dodging bullets and ducking Breedwell innuendo we have kids, yeah people who are eighteen, nineteen and twenty years old are kids, working on mysteries without a clue for a monthly salary half of what your football 'hero' tips room service when he checks out of the hotel after an away game. Such a manly man.
A month from now, it's Christmas, a time of peace on earth and goodwill towards mankind. And fruitcake that no one knows what to do with and is too afraid to just throw out. For many of us this is the most wonderful time of the year-I've yet to be convinced, but check back in a month and, together, we'll see what if anything has changed. These are, after all, days of miracle and wonder. And batteries not included.
-bill kenny
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Go Big or Go Home
As a Scarlet Knight, an alumnus of Rutgers University, the State University of the State of New Jersey (our official name, by the way), I guess I am pleased the days of the underclassmen on the Division One sports teams, scholar-athletes all I'm sure, who toil on the field of folly at High Point Solutions Stadium or the hardwood court of the RAC in Piscataway to the delight of corporate patrons and sponsors and perhaps an occasional fellow-student as members of the Big East conference are drawing to a close.
That the Big Ten, their intended new affiliation, which is actually twelve schools will then be the Big Fourteen without changing their name, apparently, and with no trace of irony is almost as remarkable to me as the importance all of this crap seemingly has taken on. That all we're doing is changing the East to ten, or maybe twelve, or evern fourteen, disquiets me; maybe we're putting too much emphasis on Big. And all these numbers makes me wish we'd adopted the binary vice base ten numbering system. Take that IKO IKO.
"The purpose of an education," said 'Fast' Eddie, actually Dr. Edward Bloustein, who became the University President in the spring of 1971 addressing us freshman, the class of '74, on the green at the Voorhees Mall of the New Brunswick campus as he introduced himself, "is to learn the rules of the game better than anyone else so you can change the rules."
I guess we can treat the introductions as read now and hope the lessons have been learned because the books have been burned. We're poised to move on and become the finest college campus for, by and of professional athletes in the Western Hemisphere. And if nobody on any of the teams can read a word of the professional contract we all hope they will land, well, that's why God invented community colleges, innit?
If you can't make everyone smarter, make everyone dumber. It's probably easier, definitely cheaper and and it'll all even out in the end, assuming we're here to see it. No need to raise the Route 27 Bridge, just lower the Raritan. And, no pressure, but if you don't take the Pitt Panthers apart today, you might want to investigate on-line college classes.
-bill kenny
That the Big Ten, their intended new affiliation, which is actually twelve schools will then be the Big Fourteen without changing their name, apparently, and with no trace of irony is almost as remarkable to me as the importance all of this crap seemingly has taken on. That all we're doing is changing the East to ten, or maybe twelve, or evern fourteen, disquiets me; maybe we're putting too much emphasis on Big. And all these numbers makes me wish we'd adopted the binary vice base ten numbering system. Take that IKO IKO.
"The purpose of an education," said 'Fast' Eddie, actually Dr. Edward Bloustein, who became the University President in the spring of 1971 addressing us freshman, the class of '74, on the green at the Voorhees Mall of the New Brunswick campus as he introduced himself, "is to learn the rules of the game better than anyone else so you can change the rules."
I guess we can treat the introductions as read now and hope the lessons have been learned because the books have been burned. We're poised to move on and become the finest college campus for, by and of professional athletes in the Western Hemisphere. And if nobody on any of the teams can read a word of the professional contract we all hope they will land, well, that's why God invented community colleges, innit?
If you can't make everyone smarter, make everyone dumber. It's probably easier, definitely cheaper and and it'll all even out in the end, assuming we're here to see it. No need to raise the Route 27 Bridge, just lower the Raritan. And, no pressure, but if you don't take the Pitt Panthers apart today, you might want to investigate on-line college classes.
-bill kenny
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Fingers Crossed
Another Friday the 13th (alas, sadly without Jamie Lee Curtis ). Not that I'm superstitious, but here's something I offered six year...
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I wrote this five years ago in an effort to make sense of the unfathomable horror of the darkest day on the calendar in my lifetime. It... -
My thug name is 'Willie the Whiner,' because of my non-stop lamentations about our weather, no matter what our weather is at any giv...
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You may not have yet started to notice, but the days are getting shorter--yes, I know, hot summer nights and all that, but since we've h...