GRAND CHAMPION

We have our CHALLLLLLLLONGE Grand Champion of Cool. Game. Set. Match. No one can ever top this man's coolness. Meet my father-in-law, Doctor John Clarke. World's number one dad (as declared on his tshirt). This picture was submitted by his youngest daughter, Emily, a sophomore at The Ohio University. Thanks, Emily. I will award you with a sugar beet and set of ear plugs for this winning submission.

175 BPM

I used to play drums in 8th grade. I quit the trumpet and viola in grade school so I could focus on the skins. Our little drum corps was a motley crew of derelicts. We played what we wanted when we wanted regardless of what the sheet music called for. I still remember taking my final exam. The questions were all about timing and notes and music stuff. I had no clue. I flunked it. The director gave me a D- for my overall grade and told me not to come back out for band next year. If I only I would've rejected his rejection... this could've been me...

The Pitch

I recently pitched an idea for a music video to one of my favorite music groups, Over the Rhine. I'm friends with their friends. They forwarded an email for me. I don't think it's going to happen. Anyways, I think it's a pretty decent idea that I'm going to copy and paste here....

The election is everywhere. You can't take a pee without hearing or reading about it. Everyone is interested and feels the weight of making the right decision. It's only going to get more intense. This song is the perfect retreat from the madness. It's the waldorf salad in the middle of a seven course meal. It's a clever, idealistic vision of a changed future. For some it might even be a safe, protest song. So my pitch is to add visuals to this brilliant song.





The setting is a 1950ish county fair. Cotton candy booths, ring toss, ferris wheel, stringed lights, striped tents, people everywhere. The overall feel is a warm, retro, nostaligic dream (think Darjeeling Limited meets Big Fish- see pic). There's a political "rally" happening on an elevated stage with an audience gathered to hear the band play. Obama-esque posters are all over for the named musicians. The topics of this election could be tackled in a dreamlike way. For example, maybe next to the cotton candy booth is a guy selling pinwheels to power your mp3 player. So as the kids run around the carnival listening to the incumbent song they wave their pinwheels around as wildly as they spin thru the crowd. Maybe there's a guy who's riding a stationary bike that powers the ferris wheel and the kids give him the headphones which causes him to pedal faster. There could be a booth letting everyone see the jukebox who's going to the moon. A passionate rocket scientist in a lab coat pointing skyward and making hand motions of the sound waves traveling through space.

The whole time the song is being passed from person to person and group to group thru the carnival. this outbreak causes people to share their elephant ears, old folks start to dance/sway with each other, the guy in charge of the ring toss starts giving away the stuffed animal prizes. All the while cutting back and forth to the band on the elevated stage. The warm, nostalgic setting of a carnival, along with combining antique and current technology (mp3 player + pinwheel) captures the idealistic vision of the song in a mutually clever way. I hope...

ChallONNNNNNGE bouts

Geraldine beats her ex-boyfriend, the SharkJumper. When asked about it she said, "I dumped him for Fidel Castro." And after a long pause and awkward display of her technicolor teeth Geraldine said, "Now get out of here." (submitted by Christopher Day)


In a battle of nostalgia, the Fonz jumps Bearded Munster. (submitted by Banjo Boyd)


Bearded Munster beats Akiko (submitted by Steve)


Akiko beats Smokin' Darth.


Smokin' Darth beats Slick Rick.

ChallONNNNNNGE

I am going to copy the geniuses over at theSuperest.com and try a little experiment I'm calling:

ChallONNNNNNGE.
A photo battle to determine the Heavy Weight Champion of Cool.

It starts with G-Rizzle down below in yesterday's post. And as Chairman, I declare that the only thing cooler than a bear in a Kangol hat is Slick Rick rocking a crown and eye patch.



Who will ChallONNNNGE Rick? Any photo of any person is fair game. It's not rap mogul specific. They're simply kicking off the battle. So send your photos of TransAm owners, LumberJacks, etc. It's a wide open field. Submit via email: bshawise@yahoo.com. Sean, don't send me a picture of Hasselhoff or Danny Tanner. This is an amateur competition.

Roll Out

My feelings toward bears may have just changed. I'm not going to make any drastic reconciliatory statements just yet. But for today, I heart this bear. I want to throw a boombox on my shoulder and roll down Vine St. with him.

T. Boone

T. Boone Pickens is my new hero. I've been reading about his planned attack on our television sets but have yet to see anything. Last night I watched T. Boone on C-SPAN talk to a few Senators about his plan to harness the wind gods. They posed questions, pointed out how hard his plan will be and kind of dared T.B. to convince them it would work. With his visionary drawl, he said over and over in various ways, "I...I think we can do this...it won't be that bad." I love that kind of leadership. He makes me want to put on a bandana and weld me a turbine. Seems like a wind/spirit is blowing back in this country causing people to re-believe that we can make change. If only I had a friend who could teach me to weld. Or plant a Victory Garden.

Wassiliness

Stumbled across this photo today of the Wassily Chair. It's a classic. Designed by Marcel Breuer in 1925-26. A chair worth marveling (some museums do) for it's revolutionary materials and manufacturing back in the day. My friends Sydne and Brad own this chair. I saw it in their basement with my own eyes. Their three year old, Will, was using it as a trampoline/step stool to play air hockey. Many goals have been scored with the assist going to Breuer's modernist work of art.

I remember collecting baseball cards as a kid. We'd buy Beckett's guide and figure out what they were worth. We'd dream of one day retiring on the sale of our Ken Griffey Jr. UpperDeck rookie card. I can remember telling my dad my Griffey was up to $45 and him saying, "Only if somebody buys it." That made zero sense to us. Beckett told us how much our cards were worth in black and white. It said nothing of having to find a buyer.

Collectibles are a funny thing. My initial reaction when I saw young Will bouncing barefoot on the Wassily was to snatch him mid-bounce and run off with the chair to the nearest museum so it could be properly admired. But maybe it already was. Maybe Mr. Breuer is happy (if furniture designers can be happy from the grave) that Will is using his chair to get demolished by his older brother, Rob, in air hockey. Happier than if it were sitting empty in a dust-free, art zoo.

I guess collectibles are great if they're enjoyed in the present tense. Sterilizing and preserving things for a future pay day is fine as long you really enjoy the sterilization process. My dad was smart to minimize the monetary "worthiness" of our baseball cards. Kids shouldn't worry about investments. The future is for old people.

Someday, maybe I'll take my kids to the Reds game where an arthritic Junior is being inducted into the hall of fame and I'll brag about how I owned his rookie card when I was a kid. We'll eat cotton candy and laugh about how they could go to college if I knew where that card was. And maybe someday, when Will is grown up, he'll take a young lady to a museum where the Wassily Chair is on display. Perhaps he'll put his arm around her and brag about his reckless air hockey days with that chair. His cool apathy towards material goods will sweep the young lady off her feet and they'll go get their first of many italian ices together.

Creepsterabbit

So this is the creepiest photo I've seen this week. I hereby vow, and I want to be held accountable to this, that I will never allow my child(ren) to sit on the lap of adults in fuzzy costumes. Think about it.... if you saw a stranger sitting in the mall with a polaroid camera asking for five bucks and the chance for your kid to sit on his lap you'd call the cops. But, if the same stranger puts on fur pants then WHAMMO, you have something worth waiting in line for. Something you want your friends and family to remember on their refrigerators. It's child abuse and I'm against it. My kids will learn to avoid the lap of a furry stranger the same way they'll avoid unmarked vans on a candy outreach. I'll buy them a book on explosives before buying them a lap dance with Peter Rabbit. Bombs trump adults dressed as bunnies every time in the Wise family.

Citizen Kane Got Soul

Even when Orson gets a little behind he seems to always catch up. It's a rhythm and blues mirrrrrrrrrrrrrracle. (it's pathetic how many times this has made me laugh out loud)