Where does the good go

Archive for April, 2010


Friday, April 30th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

What exactly are the inane comment Friday rules?

Me and the Mets

Thursday, April 29th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

A few months ago, I somehow found myself living at the Harrahs Resort in New Jersey. It wasn’t a bad life so far as lives go. I had a clean bed every night and a warm shower every morning. Plus, and here’s the real awesome part about living in a hotel, everyday they give you rewards points for you to spend on stuff. So, now, on top of the clean bed and warm showers, I could get sandwiches and lattes and candy and chips! I even found this men’s clothing store which sold Patriots stuff! So whenever the evil lady dealer would sit down at my table, I would get up and go shopping with my rewards dollars. If it said Patriots on it, I now own two of it.
And then one day, some eight weeks ago, I saw something completely and totally awesome: A Mets starter jacket complete with patches from both World Series wins AND all our penants. It was a little bit garish BUT, and this was the BEST part, it reversed into a simple Blue jacket with orange trim and “Mets” across the front in white curvy letters! It was like TWO Mets jackets! GIMMEE.
Sadly, I had been burning through my rewards points like…well, like they were free money in a hotel! So I only had like 70 rewards points. The jacket was $125 American dollars.
Aw man.
I tried to haggle with the store owner, with whom I was PRACTICALLY on a first name basis:
“Look, Habib. People down here are Phillies fans. And most visitors down here are gonna be Yankees fans…or women who are here to buy their husbands ties and fancy shirts and whatnot. I am the ONLY person who will EVER buy one of those jackets from you and you have THREE of them! Come on!”
Habib was not impressed.
“Well, you can use your points and then pay for the rest with cash.”
I nearly choked on the free candy I was eating. Does he NOT understand the hotel economic system? I use cash to play POKER at the casino. The casino gives me reward points to buy jackets in stores!
I walked away.
Every week I went back and looked at the three jackets hanging on the wall and tried my argument on whoever was manning the register. I would get that jacket and I would NOT be using cash! Bastards.
Then, one day, I’m walking back to my room and I stop dead in my tracks.
Where there once were three jackets, NOW there were TWO!
Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. I paced up and down. This wasn’t happening!
Ok, fine. There were still two jackets left, I just had to earn rewards points…um…faster!
I played and played and played. I was almost there when I went home to Brooklyn last week. I figured I’d buy the jacket the next time I went down to Jersey.
Then Tuesday night the Mets took over first place in the NL East. I did a little dance and decided to go to the Wednesday afternoon game at Citifield. I looked up ticket prices and with the service charges and delivery fees (FOR AN EMAIL) I was all “the game’s better on TV anyways. Hmph. Stupid grapes.”
Anyway, I woke up wicked early on Wednesday and decided that was a sign! I would just go to the ballpark and get tickets there!
I tried to GPS directions and Olga informed me that no such destination existed. So, I called Citifield and after twenty minutes of holding, the nice man informed me that I should just use Olga’s directions to Shea. “It’s right next door.”
I still felt uneasy. But as I neared the destination, I found myself in the middle of a veritable caravan of Mets fans! Choo choo! (Wait, is that the sound a caravan makes?) I pulled into the parking lot (paying twenty bucks for game I did not yet have tickets to.) The parking lot attendant pretty much offered to park my car for me rather than watch me pull in and out time and again trying not to hit the cars next to me.
“Sorry, it’s a new car…I’m not used to it yet.”
He rolled his eyes at me.
But as I walked to the stadium, I forgot all about him!
Shea! Or whatever we call Shea 2.0!
I just had to get tickets! Haaaaaaad to!
I waited on line and crossed my fingers. When I got to the window I sheepishly asked for something in the $25-40 range. The lady surprisingly found me a seat for exactly $40! Imagine that!
After being subjected to a pretty thorough physical patdown, I went inside. First stop: Hall of Fame musuem.
They have our World Series trophies inside and as I waited behind this Asian dad and his two kids, I overheard the girl say “It’s like the one they gave the Yankees last year, remember daddy?”
“Yes, honey. But we’re at the Mets stadium, so we don’t talk about the Yankees here…okay?”
I suppressed the urge to say “damn straight”!
The place was crowded with kids, none of whom, so far as I could tell, wanted to be there!
Spoiled brats! I didn’t get to go to my first major league game till I was 23 AND I had to go to a Yankees game! (Where I not only booed them, but cheered when they lost! Yup, I’m charming.)
One girl was clapping gum and sighing “Mr. Friedman. Is this it or do we have to watch the game too?”
The answer disappointed her.
I took some geek pictures of me and a bust of Mookie Wilson and decided I was gonna buy a new Mets ballcap.
“THIRTY DOLLARS??” I said in my best middle aged dad from an eighties TV sitcom voice.
“Do you take total rewards points, by any chance?”
I settled on getting a keychain.
It was an extremely windy day. I had on a turtleneck, my David Wright jersey and a jacket, but I was still cold. I ran back to my car to grab a sweatshirt out of my overnight bag.
Uh oh.
The only sweatshirt I had was one of the many items I had bought with rewards dollars…and it didn’t say Mets…
I went back to the stadium and took my seat.
Again, I was mostly surrounded by kids. In front were a mom, her dad and her two toddlers. They were both bundled up from apple cheeks to toe in Mets gear. SOO CUTETASTIC!
Next to me was a mom and her three kids: two like 8-9 year old boys and their 5-6 year old sister. I laughed as she tried to teach them to cheer for the Mets without being totally nasty to the Dodgers.
“No, sweetie, he’s not a bad man, but we just want him to lose.”
Followed by exchanges like:
“Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s a Met.”
“Let’s go Ike!”
The Mets jumped out to an uncharacteristic early lead. I was freezing my face and hands off!
With a comfortable 4-1 lead, I went off to get me some Shake Shack.
I don’t know why I assumed this would be indoors. It wasn’t. I don’t know why I thought I’d just walk in and get a burger. I didn’t.
Instead I freezed some more on a line and then watched Maine give up like 18 hits in a row, walk 45 batters And the Dodgers score eleven fifty runs! Arrghh! MAINE!! I leave you for 25 minutes and you panick???
I grabbed my food and ran back to my seat. Can I tell you that my burger and my milkshake were the same temperature? SAME!
(Why’d you get a milkshake if you were so cold, Dawn? Shut up, Question McAskalot. Mind yer business.)
I couldn’t take the cold anymore.
I turned my sweatshirt insideout and put it on.
The Mets got back on track and by the 8th, we had a commanding lead.
A dude in the front row, after doing his “we just scored a run” dance, turned around to look at me.
“Is that a Patriots sweatshirt”?
“Er…yes! I’ve been watching the Story of Us! I want to show my support for the rebels! I hate the British sooo much!”
He laughed.
Whew. Though with a frozen face and frozen fists, I woulda fared pretty well in a fight.
People began to file out, but I stayed and watched KRod wheeze out the final out in the ninth before I got up.
Surprisingly, I did not crack in half.
I made it back to my car and headed to Atlantic City. I was gonna get my schmancy Mets jacket right now!
I speeded to the hotel. I ran straight to the store and Wham!
I fell to the floor, shook my fist at the sky and yelled “Kkkkhhhhaaaannnnnnnn!”
And then I looked for a puppy to kick.

Am I going to need an Arizona tag?

Wednesday, April 28th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Yup, I am.

The Arizona House of Representatives recently approved a provision requiring President Barack Obama to prove that he is a natural-born citizen before the state agrees to place him on the ballot in 2012. He must have his birth certificate approved by the state’s attorney general in order to run in the next election.
The provision was added to a separate bill in a 31-22 vote. There is still a formal vote that must occur for the provision to pass. Democratic Rep. Kyrsten Sinema says that the bill is making Arizona the “laughing stock of the nation.”

Good morning, Riggs

Wednesday, April 28th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

First place team says “Where are your Phillies now?”

Jingle Bells (by guest blogger Alceste)

Wednesday, April 28th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

I am not sure if I liked this poem back in school (i.e., a scary long time ago when I first read it). From a literary perspective, it is rather mechanical and forced, and I am not even sure if I was ever interested in it enough to really think about all the verses (it was, of course, just about a bunch of bells).

But as I’ve gotten older, it’s probably the one poem I remember the most frequently (aside from the 5 or 6 lines of Terence This is Stupid Stuff that I still know). It is the progression of the verses — and the manic repetition of the bells — as Poe descends toward his own madness and death that has stuck with me. Nowadays, I hear the poem in my head being read by someone who starts off as a little mad. With each verse, the reader picks up speed and becomes even crazier and more manic as he cannot escape the sound of the bells.

With that reading in mind (and before folks start thinking Dawn Summers is not in fact the craziest person to have ever posted on this blog) [I resent that! -Ed.], here is Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Bells”:

The Bells

Edgar Allan Poe

Hear the sledges with the bells –
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells –
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.


Hear the mellow wedding bells –
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! – how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells –
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!


Hear the loud alarum bells –
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now – now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells –
Of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells –
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!


Hear the tolling of the bells –
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people – ah, the people –
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone –
They are neither man nor woman –
They are neither brute nor human –
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells,
Of the bells –
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells –
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells –
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells –
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Alceste, an expert rockband guitarist, lives in Jersey City and usually blogs here. I use the term usually very loosely.

Not so random question

Tuesday, April 27th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

How likely is it that Vinnay remembers that yesterday: the Sabres were bounced from the playoffs, he busted out of the BBT5 event he won last week or the heartbreaking end to his torrid romance with a hot brunette? If this were twitter, I’d add a glugglug hashtag. Also, if anyone knocked on your door last night claiming to be the gestapo…um…it was probably Vin.

Signs you need to eat a cookie

Tuesday, April 27th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Amy Winehouse bruises ribs in fall.

Hilarious bit

Tuesday, April 27th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

You should know that when it comes to youtube, I am an old lady who has just learned to forward emails. Natch, specifically, I am my 65-year-old mother who has just learned to foward e-mails to my 29 year old daughter. My blackberry buzzes and I’m like “Yay…lemon…no, no I will NOT forward this to 21 of my friends for luck all week!” And then later that day, when my mom calls, expressing dismay that I have not called her, even though, for all I know, she could be DEAD! Dead and rotting her apartment while no one notices and two weeks hence the fire department will have to axe the door down after a neighbor smells her rotting corpse through the door…she will then add: “oh, did you get that email I sent with the 10 funniest types of women? Wasn’t that funny?”
So, in that vein: I find the funniest things on youtube! There is a dancing banana and a fat white boy with glasses singing some foreign song and chair dancing as he lip syncs and then there is this:

Not so random thought

Monday, April 26th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

The people I text message with need to be less funny or I will never leave the house and have in person conversations again.

Letter from Arizona Hispanics

Monday, April 26th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Yeah, I might have buried the lede.