The Town Historian finds me sitting slumped over on a stool at Maxwell’s. He takes a seat across from me without saying a word. I don’t recognize him at first, and there’s no reason I would. Most people in the area don’t know we have a town historian. I know, because I read about it in the Gazette a year back. Even a saw a little black and white photo of the man. But by the time he finds me, I’m nearly at my wit’s end with my search for Lenny.
I’m also as drunk as a coon hunter, and he spares me any pleasantries. “Lenny is a special person, Cornelius. I know him. Not well. But I know him. I also know you’ve been turning over every stone trying to find him.” He shrugs, mistaking my drunk, dumbfounded look for one of shock. “I hear things.”
“Who the fuck are you?” I yell, louder than necessary.
I’ll say it- I’m a diehard ELO fan. But even more than the Electric Light Orchestra, I’m a Jeff Lynne-head. That’s sort of like saying you like Trent Reznor better than Nine Inch Nails. They’re near synonymous. And while I’m still waiting for a Trent Reznor solo album (which would have to be better than Thom Yorke’s solo snoozefest The Eraser), Mr. Lynne was kind enough to grace us with a solo album in 1990. The album is Armchair Theatre, and my favorite song on it is a cover. It’s “Stormy Weather,” written by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler in 1933, made famous by Miss Ethel Waters. You can hear that version here as well.
Russian Roulette is a classic life-or-death game of chance; spin the barrel, pull the trigger, hope for the best. Our version is a little different, and significantly less fatal. Grab a book, notebook, album, movie–whatever–flip or skip to a random excerpt, and hope for a BANG. Today’s barrel is loaded with The Journey to the East by [...]
It’s all his fault, really. Along with his hairy back, plump lips, short stature and fondness for procrastination, I have inherited the muscle structure of a line backer. The old man is set at a stout 5’8 and a half while my mother stands at over six feet in heals. It’s amusing to see them at formal events. Her, pale, lanky and dark haired, towering above a husky, sun drenched and balding man. Even though his wife has to bend down to kiss him, he maintains a confidence I can’t seem to find. I haven’t dated a girl taller than me since the 8th grade and she licked my teeth when we made out.
New trailers for Harry Potter, Transformers, and X-Men are here.
The last in an 8-part child-wizard epic, the (hopefully) final installment in a transforming-robot trilogy, and the reboot of a classic comic book franchise. You know it’s almost summer when this many big trailers are dropping at once.
Click on the article to watch all the new trailers!
Today on Post Mortem Sports we have a very special treat for you. Long-time legendary Los Angeles Dodgers’ commentator Vin Scully is here to interview Babe Ruth, who rode the good life all the way to hell in August of 1948.
Scully: Good evening. Tonight I have the pleasure of interviewing one of the greatest American sports heroes, taking time off from his busy schedule of cigars and prostitutes in the underworld, George Herman Ruth, better known as The Babe. How are you, Babe?
Scully: Glad to hear it. Well, I’m sure you’ve got your hands full nowadays…
Ruth: That’s right. Dames in both hands. Babe is all about the bosoms.
Scully: Yes, I’m glad to hear that some things never change. But with all this excitement do you have time to sit back and catch a baseball game ever?
Ruth: *burps* Well to be honest it’s not that easy anymore. I mean I can either watch A-Rod whiffing away in the postseason or watch Marilyn Monroe striptease on a pole made of brimstone. Which’d you do? Uh?
Scully: I understand. So no baseball at all?
Ruth: Well that’s not to say that about that. I do try to catch a game every now and then but it’s pretty damn frustrating if you want to hear the truth.
He looked like he had been crying. He’d called up, drunk, at 3:00 in the afternoon. Told me to come find him at Donnie’s. He was there, but not in his regular booth.
He looked like he’d been there for hours. Empty creamers and sugar packets were strewn about. Lenny didn’t drink coffee much, and when he did, he filled it up with so much crap that it hardly tasted like anything anymore.
A waitress was leaving just as I walked up. I slid into the booth as Lenny took a long swig from a gold can of MGD. “I didn’t even know they served booze here, Lenny.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t look up. His eyes were cast down, sneering at the table.
“It never stops,” he said. “It just goes on and on.”
“What? Life? Love? What are you talking about?” I smiled. “You’re sauced.”
“The more you learn, the less you know. The less you understand. And then one day, you understand everything.” He looked up. His eyes were desperate. “It’s a machine. It goes on and on. And you’re just a cog in the machine. A little piece that became self-aware, and that will be replaced.”
There’s a good chance you haven’t been fully abreast of the Royal Wedding drama of Prince William and Kate Middleton. You might not know about it because there is, ostensibly, no royal wedding drama. Here are the things bored people like myself are talking about:
-Obama and former PMs Tony Blair and Gordon Brown were left off the wedding guest list. Gasp!
-William and Kate will not kiss after the ceremony, according to custom. The crowd at Westminster Abbey is much too prude for that.
-The seating arrangement for the wedding feast has been just hell, because the Duke of Such&Such refuses to be seated next to the Duchess of Whateverberry
-Kate Middleton wants to wear her hair down at the ceremony, to the horror of her new in-laws. “Royal Brides have historically kept their hair neatly bound”, claims Yahoo!’s Royal Wedding Blog