This is a journey into the sucking vortex of randomness and nostalgia that YouTube can allow you to get lost:
Back in the early 90's my friend Matt showed me a song called Television, Drug of a Nation (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgOWTM5R2DA) by The Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy. Somehow, it popped into my head and I looked it up. I remember the lyrics really hitting home. I just listened to it again and shook my head because I think that it still rings true, only more so perhaps.
Then through a click or two I found this old gem from MC 900 Ft Jesus: Truth Is Out Of Style (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYtlpG0hb38&feature=related ). I lingered in around his tracks for a while. There's a strange familiarity with these songs -- not sure how to describe it, but it is sort of a simplicity and rawness (not in a vulgar way) that reminds me a bit of Beck (Killer Inside Me).
Then, I somehow found my way to a series of really bad or really funny (not sure which) sexy Bollywood video clips.
This quickly degraded to boob pressing videos from Britney to Hilton. Actually, they were pretty boring (does that mean I watched them?)
OK, off to see something different. I hit the channel button.
The first button I chose, which was fairly random in that I didn't read what it was until after I picked it. OMG! It was called the ForceMeBig Channel. What is that you ask? I have no idea what the point of this video was, but it had some skinny dude in boxers showing you his profile before he shake bongs (think beer bong with a protein shake) over 4 thousand calories of a weight gain mixture shake in two tries. You watch him do this, he shows his profile before and after, cleans up his mess (and they mention he does this before his boyfriend comes home) and then he takes a nap for proper absorption. The whole thing is narrated as if it is a training or a science video with quiet music in the background. Huh?
The next one was boggling also. This guy was documenting his getting fatter by posting videos of his belly over time. Each entry had a higher weight to it. I didn't watch those -- I could see them on the side strip that shows related vids. But I did read the comments under the one I saw and was equally surprised: They all seemed positive. They ranged from, "oooh, so cute," to "I can't wait until 250." I was a bit confused, since I am trying hard to go in the opposite direction as that.
Trying to get out of that mess, I clicked on something from DadLabs titled,
What Makes a Great Babysitter? (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsLRZWimmfE) This time I at least looked before I clicked. This caught my eye because at Friday night dinner over a friend's house we were talking about how hard it is to go on vacation (without our kids) because there is nobody who can watch them overnight. We came up with the idea that we could start up our own business of having a kiddie hotel -- just like a pet hotel! Parents could drop off their kids and go on a guilt free vacation on a weekend. Our wives immediately dismissed the idea as complete idiocy. I bet they were thinking about Daddy Daycare: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgFkJCbB2ks
Not sure I want to describe the next descent into strangeness, but you wouldn't believe me if I did, so I will. This is a bizarre entry: all you see is a woman playing/caressing her high heeled shoes with her amputee arm. Not much warning there.
Next up on American Idol: Danny Noriega. Poor Danny. Every time I hear his name, I think of Manuel Noriega, former Panamanian Dictator. I wonder whatever happened to him. <---- back to Manuel in a minute. Where was I? Oh yes, Danny. I watched his audition where he sang Proud Mary. They loved it. Me, on the other hand, loved Ike and Tina's version, here recorded in 1974: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdg4xeK9F9Q&feature=related
But now it is over, and I can't stop thinking about where the hell is Manuel. Did he die? Did he get out of prison? Quick-- ask Wiki!
"The Federal Bureau of Prisons website as of February 2008, does not give a projected release date for inmate Noriega (ID # 38699-079).[6] However, he may be handed over to another country for trial or imprisonment instead of being released into the public realm."
From there I began a similar journey I shall call Wiki-creep: The random wanderings through Wiki links.
I clicked on the Bureau of Prisons link ----->lethal injection ------> decapitation. Here I came across one of the funniest lines in Wikipedia that I can remember:
"Decapitation is invariably fatal, ..."
With that, and an almost 2 1/2 hour journey of time I could have gone to bed, I will sign off.
Post script: You guessed it. I didn't sign off. I continued hitting Wiki links. Ugh. There's just so much interesting info. My, how time flies.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
My Two Dads, or, We Don't Need No Stinkin' Badges
My daughter is in Brownies, and it seems for every accomplishment she has with the troop, she gets another badge. We used to be pretty good about putting them on when she got them, but I can't remember recently doing it. I think it may have been farmed out for Grandma to do, or we've just been putting them off. There's probably a huge bag of them somewhere just waiting.
I found myself strangely thinking of these badges this past week, thinking of the badges we collect for things we have done and experienced. This week, I certainly have collected one for the Life Events: Death of a Parent Badge, Dad Version.
The problem with this though, is that I already collected that badge a year ago: my stepfather, Nick DeLuca, died of Liver Cancer on New Year's Eve. Just the month before on a whim, we took a ride together out through the country, where he showed me places he knew. It wasn't said, but there was a sense of bonding, an acceptance, a love that was present and poignant. A few weeks later after going to the hospital to get some pain checked out, he was sent home with an advanced stage of cancer. He already knew. He was ready. I took care of him in his last days of hospice care. I was lucky that I had off for the winter break. He was ready and he let go.
On Tuesday, February 12, 2008, a little after 10 p.m., my dad, Rick Selvin, let go of ravages of illness that has dogged him since last June. It was a strange illness, and knowing his past history, I thought it would be just one of his many attempts of knocking on Death's door and running away before he answered.
You see, like a Phoenix, the bird that rises up from it's own ashes, my Dad seemed to come back from the brink. Each time he reinvented himself, not always for the best, but always his own self. He was married three times, survived non-Hodgkins lymphoma, had beaten extreme obesity, had heart attacks and eventually had a heart transplant, and to top it all off, kidney failure. It seemed that no matter what happened to him, he always came back and never lost the humor that put it all into perspective.
When my dad received his heart, he said he asked G-d for just 10 years. This last September was the 10 years. Probably because of the anti-rejection immuno-suppressant medication he had to take, he got an infection that usually only AIDS patients get, and with that, the doctors couldn't find it. His condition rapidly deteriorated into a frail shadow of a man where the barest whisper was an exhausting effort.
In January, he left the hospital for a stint in a rehab facility, and I thought he would be on his way to gaining strength. Last week, that ended when they sent him back for what would be the last straw: liver failure. It was just too much for his body to handle, and with the liver gone, kidneys not working, feeding tube, pain medications, there was no other intervention.
When I saw him last week, I thought he looked better than the last time in December. His face was fuller and the look in his eyes was back. The eyes were the key to his soul and you could see it then. He was there. But his voice was still barely a whisper.
By this time I knew what the news meant: It was the liver. And I knew from past experience that nothing good can come from a broken liver. Once again hospice care was put into place, only this time, going home was not a viable option. He was indeed ready.
Funny word viable. Seems an ironic word to use.
But with my dad's sense of humor, I think he would appreciate it. Just like what he put into a profile that I found on the web: "As of this writing, to the best of my knowledge, I am still alive."
Well, this I have to say: Nick and Rick, my two dads, in my heart, you are still alive. Nick, I will always remember your strong compassionate guidance, the consistency I needed, the family trips, the bakery and the times you let me in behind the scenes of the business, and of course, your chair. Dad, I will always remember your sense of humor and the corny jokes that went with it, your mastery as a wordsmith, your talent as a musician that I always looked up to, your interest in science and generally anything interesting, and the ability to look back and realize that it is never too late to change and say you're sorry.
I love and miss you both.
I found myself strangely thinking of these badges this past week, thinking of the badges we collect for things we have done and experienced. This week, I certainly have collected one for the Life Events: Death of a Parent Badge, Dad Version.
The problem with this though, is that I already collected that badge a year ago: my stepfather, Nick DeLuca, died of Liver Cancer on New Year's Eve. Just the month before on a whim, we took a ride together out through the country, where he showed me places he knew. It wasn't said, but there was a sense of bonding, an acceptance, a love that was present and poignant. A few weeks later after going to the hospital to get some pain checked out, he was sent home with an advanced stage of cancer. He already knew. He was ready. I took care of him in his last days of hospice care. I was lucky that I had off for the winter break. He was ready and he let go.
On Tuesday, February 12, 2008, a little after 10 p.m., my dad, Rick Selvin, let go of ravages of illness that has dogged him since last June. It was a strange illness, and knowing his past history, I thought it would be just one of his many attempts of knocking on Death's door and running away before he answered.
You see, like a Phoenix, the bird that rises up from it's own ashes, my Dad seemed to come back from the brink. Each time he reinvented himself, not always for the best, but always his own self. He was married three times, survived non-Hodgkins lymphoma, had beaten extreme obesity, had heart attacks and eventually had a heart transplant, and to top it all off, kidney failure. It seemed that no matter what happened to him, he always came back and never lost the humor that put it all into perspective.
When my dad received his heart, he said he asked G-d for just 10 years. This last September was the 10 years. Probably because of the anti-rejection immuno-suppressant medication he had to take, he got an infection that usually only AIDS patients get, and with that, the doctors couldn't find it. His condition rapidly deteriorated into a frail shadow of a man where the barest whisper was an exhausting effort.
In January, he left the hospital for a stint in a rehab facility, and I thought he would be on his way to gaining strength. Last week, that ended when they sent him back for what would be the last straw: liver failure. It was just too much for his body to handle, and with the liver gone, kidneys not working, feeding tube, pain medications, there was no other intervention.
When I saw him last week, I thought he looked better than the last time in December. His face was fuller and the look in his eyes was back. The eyes were the key to his soul and you could see it then. He was there. But his voice was still barely a whisper.
By this time I knew what the news meant: It was the liver. And I knew from past experience that nothing good can come from a broken liver. Once again hospice care was put into place, only this time, going home was not a viable option. He was indeed ready.
Funny word viable. Seems an ironic word to use.
But with my dad's sense of humor, I think he would appreciate it. Just like what he put into a profile that I found on the web: "As of this writing, to the best of my knowledge, I am still alive."
Well, this I have to say: Nick and Rick, my two dads, in my heart, you are still alive. Nick, I will always remember your strong compassionate guidance, the consistency I needed, the family trips, the bakery and the times you let me in behind the scenes of the business, and of course, your chair. Dad, I will always remember your sense of humor and the corny jokes that went with it, your mastery as a wordsmith, your talent as a musician that I always looked up to, your interest in science and generally anything interesting, and the ability to look back and realize that it is never too late to change and say you're sorry.
I love and miss you both.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The Waiting is the Hardest Part
I've got that old travelin' bug.
When Jaime and I travelled across Europe BC (read that, Before Children), we had an amazing time. Having kids, mind you, didn't stop us from travelling -- our daughter turned one on the flight to Hawaii -- but it most likely is the case for not going anywhere really significant again, other than marathon car rides up and down the east coast of the US and out to San Francisco (ok, I take that back).
Last year, I decided that I just had to go to England to do some research for a novel I am writing, so I worked it out with the family so I could go for a couple of weeks, solo. From the moment I had the "go ahead" I began to plan the trip like I never planned before. It almost became an obsession (planning like that usually isn't my nature), but it was fun and I was damn sure I wasn't going to waste any time while I was there.
Well, the trip I took last year was fantastic, and I will most likely write some travel experience posts about it and other trips here. But it certainly won't be the last trip we take. My wife has figured that we can swing a family trip this summer to Israel. She's amazing at making things happen. If it wasn't for her, I probably would not have backpacked 9 1/2 weeks across Europe. She used to live in Israel, I have family there, and we've talked about going--going with our kids. And now, we've already bought the tickets! (and to top it off, I will be returning to England for a layover of over 2 weeks to do some more research!)
The only problem is that we will go in about 6 months from now. That's a 6 month incubation period. That's 6 months of anticipation, delayed gratification, yearning, and just plain thinking about it.
I've already checked out books and videos from the library, dusted off the foam-core board with maps and papers that mark of things to do and days of the trip. I've even started researching places to stay within the Couchsurfing.org community. (btw, if you have not heard or checked out couchsurfing, it is a really cool way to meet and stay with people where ever you travel -- I HIGHLY recommend it!) See some references in earlier posts, too.
So, if any of you out there has travelled with your kids on a major trip and lived to tell, I'd be interested in hearing about your experiences -- good and bad.
When Jaime and I travelled across Europe BC (read that, Before Children), we had an amazing time. Having kids, mind you, didn't stop us from travelling -- our daughter turned one on the flight to Hawaii -- but it most likely is the case for not going anywhere really significant again, other than marathon car rides up and down the east coast of the US and out to San Francisco (ok, I take that back).
Last year, I decided that I just had to go to England to do some research for a novel I am writing, so I worked it out with the family so I could go for a couple of weeks, solo. From the moment I had the "go ahead" I began to plan the trip like I never planned before. It almost became an obsession (planning like that usually isn't my nature), but it was fun and I was damn sure I wasn't going to waste any time while I was there.
Well, the trip I took last year was fantastic, and I will most likely write some travel experience posts about it and other trips here. But it certainly won't be the last trip we take. My wife has figured that we can swing a family trip this summer to Israel. She's amazing at making things happen. If it wasn't for her, I probably would not have backpacked 9 1/2 weeks across Europe. She used to live in Israel, I have family there, and we've talked about going--going with our kids. And now, we've already bought the tickets! (and to top it off, I will be returning to England for a layover of over 2 weeks to do some more research!)
The only problem is that we will go in about 6 months from now. That's a 6 month incubation period. That's 6 months of anticipation, delayed gratification, yearning, and just plain thinking about it.
I've already checked out books and videos from the library, dusted off the foam-core board with maps and papers that mark of things to do and days of the trip. I've even started researching places to stay within the Couchsurfing.org community. (btw, if you have not heard or checked out couchsurfing, it is a really cool way to meet and stay with people where ever you travel -- I HIGHLY recommend it!) See some references in earlier posts, too.
So, if any of you out there has travelled with your kids on a major trip and lived to tell, I'd be interested in hearing about your experiences -- good and bad.
Friday, December 14, 2007
The Idea of Friend, Loss, and a Red Sweatshirt
I revisited the memory of a friend recently.
You know that empty feeling you get
when you think of the way it was
and that which you no longer have?
I was discussing poetry with my 5th graders
defining terms like symbol, life, and friendship.
Then it hit me, what is a friend?
They gave me the standard answers.
They gave me what they thought it should be.
And that was ok for them.
Because their friends were real,
immediate like concrete and fire.
Then I walked down the staircase
with them following me
and I looked out the window on the landing
and felt the familiar aching
that accompanies the rememberences and knowing
that your friend is gone.
I am not sure when the first time I noticed,
but at some point I saw the red sweatshirt
on the tree stump.
I thought it was odd sitting there
without its owner.
I stretched my neck to see
if I could divine a pathway to the stump
but it looked overgrown with brush
all around it.
I remember the first rainy day
when looking out,
I saw it still and soaking.
And in the first snows
I waited to see its redness
peer out from the melt.
Each time I went downstairs
there it was for me to see.
Reliable, like the old man
sitting on the bench
by the general store.
Like being greeted at the door
by your dog
so happy it can hardly contain itself.
I began to smile whenever I went downstairs.
I had so many questions for it.
How did it get there?
Did it have anything on it?
What size was it?
Where did it come from?
Does anyone else notice it?
Is it lonely?
It was still there after each vacation:
Winter, spring break, summer.
And then one day it was gone.
I felt my stomach drop when I noticed.
At first I thought it had been perhaps blown off
and tried to get a better angle and view.
And then I was angry.
Angry that it was gone,
didn't say goodbye.
And I missed it.
I felt a little silly,
but I allowed myself the indulgence.
For this red sweatshirt
was a friend.
You know that empty feeling you get
when you think of the way it was
and that which you no longer have?
I was discussing poetry with my 5th graders
defining terms like symbol, life, and friendship.
Then it hit me, what is a friend?
They gave me the standard answers.
They gave me what they thought it should be.
And that was ok for them.
Because their friends were real,
immediate like concrete and fire.
Then I walked down the staircase
with them following me
and I looked out the window on the landing
and felt the familiar aching
that accompanies the rememberences and knowing
that your friend is gone.
I am not sure when the first time I noticed,
but at some point I saw the red sweatshirt
on the tree stump.
I thought it was odd sitting there
without its owner.
I stretched my neck to see
if I could divine a pathway to the stump
but it looked overgrown with brush
all around it.
I remember the first rainy day
when looking out,
I saw it still and soaking.
And in the first snows
I waited to see its redness
peer out from the melt.
Each time I went downstairs
there it was for me to see.
Reliable, like the old man
sitting on the bench
by the general store.
Like being greeted at the door
by your dog
so happy it can hardly contain itself.
I began to smile whenever I went downstairs.
I had so many questions for it.
How did it get there?
Did it have anything on it?
What size was it?
Where did it come from?
Does anyone else notice it?
Is it lonely?
It was still there after each vacation:
Winter, spring break, summer.
And then one day it was gone.
I felt my stomach drop when I noticed.
At first I thought it had been perhaps blown off
and tried to get a better angle and view.
And then I was angry.
Angry that it was gone,
didn't say goodbye.
And I missed it.
I felt a little silly,
but I allowed myself the indulgence.
For this red sweatshirt
was a friend.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Signs of the Times
My favorite traffic sign has always been "Slow Children." That was until I went to England and was introduced to what I think has been a treasure trove of funny signs. The first one I came across that almost had me snorting was "Caution Plant Crossing."
Then I nearly had a fit when I saw "Heavy Plant Crossing."
Watch out for that rhododendron!
Then there is this one from my Couchsurfing friend in South Shields, Michael, about undressing.
I had seen the "MIND THE GAP" signs before on T-shirts, but didn't know what it meant. I thought it was an advertising slogan for the Gap that I wasn't familiar with. Another sign I thought was funny was one that said, "Way Out," instead of Exit.
I added for good measure the picture of a mattress that I came across in the Red Light District in Amsterdam. I'm not sure if you can make out the "fine print," but it says, "Slightly used."
This one is on the Golden Gate Bridge:
Is this the natural progression after a speed-dating event?
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
My Summer Couchsurfing Experience
Last summer I got a chance to do something that I had talked about for a long time: Travel to England to do some research for a novel I am writing (the novel's topic is for a later time). Many things had to align in order for this to happen, and being a father and a teacher are two major stumbling blocks to unfettered travelling. Financially, being a teacher does not lend itself to much freedom over the summer and before having kids, I had to work through them with little break. Then, for the past few years, it has been "Camp Dad" each summer.
But this summer I decided I had to go and get it done. I got the go-ahead to go alone! (My wife gave me permission) I planned my trip itinerary and got my tickets. I spent a lot of time online looking up places to stay and was getting a bit discouraged because it was going to be quite expensive. Lodging was going to be my biggest outlay next to the flight.
Then my sister told me about an organization called Couchsurfing.com. http://www.couchsurfing.com/
Couchsurfing is a network of hosts and travellers worldwide. Its mission is for educational and cultural exchange, not a financial transaction. People open up their places and hearts to host travellers. There is no money exchanged, only perhaps a cultural exchange. What an amazing concept!
I checked it out and immediately put up a profile and started to contact people. As it turns out, I stayed with someone every night except the first night there! It was one of the most amazing experiences I ever had, and by far more meaningful than the purpose of the trip in the first place.
Here is a list of Couchsurfing experiences:
1. stayed with Erich and Olga 2 nights near Bath
2. stayed with Dave 1 night in Liverpool
3. Stayed with Michelle 1 night in Durham
4. stayed with Michael 3 nights South Shields
5. Stayed with Alex 2 nights in Amsterdam
6. stayed with Andre 1 night in Eindhoven
7. stayed with Rene 2 nights in London
8. Participated in a really cool scavenger hunt in the East End of London!
Each experience was unique and special. I slept on air mattresses, couches, and comfy beds. I stayed in one room flats, row houses and even an old vicarage.
Here are a few highlights (and in no way represents any more than a fraction of the experiences): While in Bath, Erich and Olga took me on a wonderful tour of Bristol, and then later Olga took me to Wells and Glastonbury. In Liverpool, Dave took me out to dinner at an Indian restaurant and then took me to some Beatles spots, like the Cavern, Penny Lane, and other places. Michelle showed me around Durham and treated me to a wonderful English Sunday Brunch. Michael showed me some cool stuff around Newcastle and South Shields (some good clean naked fun, too). Alex gave me a cool tour of gay Amsterdam and a few lessons on original Skinhead culture, clothing and music (probably not what you think, Oi!). Rode bikes with Andre in Eindhoven (unfortunately one of the bikes got stolen).
My London experience takes a bit more to explain. My host, Rene, was not able to meet me at the station as planned, so he sent another Couchsurfing host, Mike, to come pick me up. We then spent the rest of the day running around in a scavenger hunt looking for clues and solving riddles around the East End of London. I met a lot of other surfers and had a great time. To this day, I still keep in touch with a few of them. Rene met us later and he was able to make sure that I was prepared for my walking around London. I even ran into him in my wanderings (he was looking for me hoping to run into me) to take me to a Couchsurfing pub meeting after a Free Hugs event. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Free_Hugs_Campaign
This entry can't do justice to the amazing time I had. Each experience on its own is worth an entry itself. I look forward to hosting my own travellers and can't wait to jump back into being a traveller myself.
But this summer I decided I had to go and get it done. I got the go-ahead to go alone! (My wife gave me permission) I planned my trip itinerary and got my tickets. I spent a lot of time online looking up places to stay and was getting a bit discouraged because it was going to be quite expensive. Lodging was going to be my biggest outlay next to the flight.
Then my sister told me about an organization called Couchsurfing.com. http://www.couchsurfing.com/
Couchsurfing is a network of hosts and travellers worldwide. Its mission is for educational and cultural exchange, not a financial transaction. People open up their places and hearts to host travellers. There is no money exchanged, only perhaps a cultural exchange. What an amazing concept!
I checked it out and immediately put up a profile and started to contact people. As it turns out, I stayed with someone every night except the first night there! It was one of the most amazing experiences I ever had, and by far more meaningful than the purpose of the trip in the first place.
Here is a list of Couchsurfing experiences:
1. stayed with Erich and Olga 2 nights near Bath
2. stayed with Dave 1 night in Liverpool
3. Stayed with Michelle 1 night in Durham
4. stayed with Michael 3 nights South Shields
5. Stayed with Alex 2 nights in Amsterdam
6. stayed with Andre 1 night in Eindhoven
7. stayed with Rene 2 nights in London
8. Participated in a really cool scavenger hunt in the East End of London!
Each experience was unique and special. I slept on air mattresses, couches, and comfy beds. I stayed in one room flats, row houses and even an old vicarage.
Here are a few highlights (and in no way represents any more than a fraction of the experiences): While in Bath, Erich and Olga took me on a wonderful tour of Bristol, and then later Olga took me to Wells and Glastonbury. In Liverpool, Dave took me out to dinner at an Indian restaurant and then took me to some Beatles spots, like the Cavern, Penny Lane, and other places. Michelle showed me around Durham and treated me to a wonderful English Sunday Brunch. Michael showed me some cool stuff around Newcastle and South Shields (some good clean naked fun, too). Alex gave me a cool tour of gay Amsterdam and a few lessons on original Skinhead culture, clothing and music (probably not what you think, Oi!). Rode bikes with Andre in Eindhoven (unfortunately one of the bikes got stolen).
My London experience takes a bit more to explain. My host, Rene, was not able to meet me at the station as planned, so he sent another Couchsurfing host, Mike, to come pick me up. We then spent the rest of the day running around in a scavenger hunt looking for clues and solving riddles around the East End of London. I met a lot of other surfers and had a great time. To this day, I still keep in touch with a few of them. Rene met us later and he was able to make sure that I was prepared for my walking around London. I even ran into him in my wanderings (he was looking for me hoping to run into me) to take me to a Couchsurfing pub meeting after a Free Hugs event. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Free_Hugs_Campaign
This entry can't do justice to the amazing time I had. Each experience on its own is worth an entry itself. I look forward to hosting my own travellers and can't wait to jump back into being a traveller myself.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Arrrteest, The Jewish Pirate and Other Stories
AVAST! Ahoy there, and welcome to my blog. This is my attempt at testing the waters in the great blogosphere.
By the way, I'm not a real pirate, or even a pirate enthusiast (well, at least on the surface), but there have been several events that have randomly shaped the idea of "pirateness" associated with my screen name, email, and therefore, this blog entry.
First off, my email address begins with "arrrteest." The reason being that when I typed in "artist" to open an account, it was taken. I had tried several variations of the spelling or word combinations to no avail. At the same time, I heard a segment on NPR's All things Considered on International Talk Like a Pirate Day, narrated by Robert Siegel (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=1435309).
Hence the name arrrteest.
Then there is the almighty Flying Spaghetti Monster (FSM). The FSM has been showing its noodly appendage a lot lately in the press and has attained cult status in pop culture. It is stated in a passage from Wikipedia:
According to the Pastafarian belief system, pirates are
"absolute divine beings" and the original Pastafarians.
More at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flying_Spaghetti_Monster
Pastafarians also celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day on September 19.
There were a few other pirate connections that popped up in my mind when I began writing this, but as is so often the case, the impulse to create has been about as short as my capacity for short term memory.
And then, I found out that there were even Jewish Pirates! Apparently hitting the high seas to escape the Inquisition in Spain, Jean Lafitte's family came to the Carribean, where he took on the profession.
Well, in the immortal words of the imfamous Jewish Pirate Shmuel ben Schwartzbord the Balmalocha, "Arrrr, az di bobe volt gehat beytsim volt zi geven mayn zeyde!" (If my grandmother had testicles, she'd be my grandfather!")
Oy vey!
By the way, I'm not a real pirate, or even a pirate enthusiast (well, at least on the surface), but there have been several events that have randomly shaped the idea of "pirateness" associated with my screen name, email, and therefore, this blog entry.
First off, my email address begins with "arrrteest." The reason being that when I typed in "artist" to open an account, it was taken. I had tried several variations of the spelling or word combinations to no avail. At the same time, I heard a segment on NPR's All things Considered on International Talk Like a Pirate Day, narrated by Robert Siegel (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=1435309).
Hence the name arrrteest.
Then there is the almighty Flying Spaghetti Monster (FSM). The FSM has been showing its noodly appendage a lot lately in the press and has attained cult status in pop culture. It is stated in a passage from Wikipedia:
According to the Pastafarian belief system, pirates are
"absolute divine beings" and the original Pastafarians.
More at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flying_Spaghetti_Monster
Pastafarians also celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day on September 19.
There were a few other pirate connections that popped up in my mind when I began writing this, but as is so often the case, the impulse to create has been about as short as my capacity for short term memory.
And then, I found out that there were even Jewish Pirates! Apparently hitting the high seas to escape the Inquisition in Spain, Jean Lafitte's family came to the Carribean, where he took on the profession.
Well, in the immortal words of the imfamous Jewish Pirate Shmuel ben Schwartzbord the Balmalocha, "Arrrr, az di bobe volt gehat beytsim volt zi geven mayn zeyde!" (If my grandmother had testicles, she'd be my grandfather!")
Oy vey!
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