A final look at 2012

This being the last day of the year, let's take just one more look back at the year that was 2012, shall we?

Yes.
Yes.
Mm-hmm.
Okay.
All right then.
Yep.
Yep.
Oh.
That...was ill-advised
No.
No.
That's not...oh Jesus.
Shit.
Yep.
Nope.
Ahhhh...?
Oooh. Unfortunate.
Ouch.
Yes.
Yes.
Oops.
Yes.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Oh shit.
Shit.
No. Wait...yes!
Shit.
Shit.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Shit.

Well, I'd say that about sums it up (although not necessarily in that order). Good year, bad year. It's all very subjective. Either way, it's time to move on. Because next year has got to be better than this one, right? Not necessarily, but we're just going to proceed under the prevailing premise like we do every year.

Happy New Year!

A visit to Clark's hockey card collection

With the current "work stoppage" (the second one in eight years) that has resulted in no NHL games being played so far this season, I've been missing hockey something awful. Between my writing gig at Raw Charge.com being on hold for the time being and just being a fan in general, there is definitely a void in my life right now, and finding a substitute to fill that void has not been easy. Football is okay but I really don't care that much about it. Basketball, I don't care about at all. I love baseball, but we're still months away from that getting started. Nostalgia has sent me to my card collection, some of which I'd like to share with you today. Behold these keepsakes produced at a time when hockey was hockey, cards were collectible and men looked like... this.

In many ways, the Boston Bruins Derek Sanderson epitomizes what hockey players looked like and actually were in the '70s. "F*ck you" and whatever sound a fist connecting with your face makes were the only two appropriate answers to "Don't you think you need a shave and a haircut?" 

But not for everybody. In the early '70s, you still had guys that looked like Butch Goring of the Los Angeles Kings. With a part that looks like it was put there by a laser beam, you'd better goddamn believe Butch's haircut voted for Nixon, even though he couldn't (because he was Canadian).

If Butch's no-nonsense expression and even no-nonsensier haircut presents him as a father figure, the Minnesota Fighting Saints (WHA) Mike Antonovich's appearance suggests he could be his dipshit son, out in the driveway toiling over his re-built Camaro, learning to cover Foghat tunes with his buddies in the basement or otherwise embarrassing his dad in front of the neighbors.

With his 'fro perm and his puka shell necklace, the Minnesota North Stars Ernie Hicke could actually be in style again today! In fact, if he had on a stupid hat, some nerd glasses and an ironic t-shirt, it would be impossible to tell if this picture was taken in 1975 or last Wednesday.

Who remembers one of Dan Aykroyd's least popular recurring characters from Saturday Night Life, Rosaire Paiement of the WHA's Chicago Cougars?

Dunc Wilson looks like he'd be as comfortable in a rock band that features a lot of flute solos as he would be in goal for the Pittsburgh Penguins.

Meanwhile, the New York Rangers Pat Hickey's sly grin and Ziggy Stardust 'do suggest he knows exactly where the spiders from Mars were.

For whatever reason (fear of being perceived as less than masculine), people in sports have a huge problem with going bald. One of the least effective "remedies" is the combover. In this card, Al Smith of the Buffalo Sabres displays what is probably the worst and least convincing combover in the history of heads. "Not only am I not bald, I have long, flowing locks, like that of a Norse god!" No Al, what you've go is a thatch of greasy, thinning hair that starts right above your left ear and would probably reach your left elbow if you didn't flop it over the top.

Okay, okay. The yellow L.A. Kings uniform. The golden mane of hair, the name Whitey Widing. We get it. Hockey is was/is not exactly, um, culturally diverse.

Remember Dunc WIlson's Jethro Tull-esque prog rock band? Meet his lead singer, Brian Spencer of the Buffalo Sabres.

Bob Paradise was a guy just biding his time with the Washington Capitals, enjoying the life of an NHL defenseman. Then 1978 came along and Bob's world suddenly opened a panacea of new opportunities. Because that's when Eddie Money released the single "Two Tickets to Paradise", giving Bob the license to drop the line, "Hey baby, I got two tickets to me" in every singles bar along the Beltway, undoubtedly with more success than not.

It's a sausage party!

Back for a limited time is Papa John's Five Sausage Pizza. Man, I love the sausage and that is a lot of sausage! (Why is everybody smirking?) That might even be more sausage than I can handle. (Again, what is so funny?) What kind of sausage you workin' with, Papa John?

"This is a kind of sausage we use!" No it isn't,
Papa John. That's a football. Put it down.

• Mild Italian Suasage - Ah, of course! A pizza classic!
• Spicy Italian Sausage - Oh yes, kick it up a little bit! Spicy! Papa John's!
• Smoked Sausage - Mmmm, that smoky down-home flavor. Gotta love it!
• Chorizo - The pork sausage that relies heavily on paprika whose recipes originate from the Iberian Peninsula occupied by the countries of Spain and Portugal? That Chorizo? Yes, bitches. That Chorizo. Papa John is dialing up the sausage intensity now!

and lastly...

• Sausage - It's sausage. Just... sausage. Okay? Everything doesn't have to be a thing. This is just a generic sausage product of some sort. It's fine. Look, it comes from a place that sells sausage and is presumably made of materials consistent with those found in other forms of sausage. Technically, we're allowed to call it sausage. Back up off of the sausage. That's what it is. We've had it checked out and we are fully covered under any legally binding definition of a five sausage pizza. We're not going to talk about it anymore.

Another quick note on the Five Sausage Pizza at Papa John's

This is an actual conversation that happened at work the other day:

CO-WORKER: Ew, don't get that Five Sausage Pizza from Papa John's. It's disgusting. I had it once and got so sick you wouldn't believe it.
ME: What did you have to drink with it?
CO-WORKER: We started with beer. Then switched to soda.
ME: Okay...
CO-WORKER: And rum.
ME: Well, there's your culprit.
CO-WORKER: No, it was definitely the pizza. It just oozed grease. 
ME: I'm sorry, but you've introduced reasonable doubt, my friend. Every college freshman knows you can't mix beer, booze and soda.
CO-WORKER:  So greasy and heavy. I'm getting sick all over again just thinking about it.
ME: The Five Sausage Pizza from Papa John's is going to walk out of here an innocent pizza!

Christmas is a time to celebrate the possibility that everything is possible

Hey, here's a heartwarming Christmas story from my personal past...

In third grade, our social studies teacher, Mrs. Reed, was telling us how people used to believe the world was flat. To us, of course, this seemed silly. In order to illustrate how such a ridiculous notion could come to be accepted as common knowledge among a large number of people she asked, "How old were you when you found out there was no Santa Claus?" Looks of silent horror were exchanged around the classroom as our world instantly changed forever. Of course, for the most part everybody played it cool and it wasn't something that was discussed when class was over. As upset as we might have been on the inside, we had recalibrated our social self-preservation instincts by the time the bell rang. Nobody wanted to be seen as a little baby who didn't already know that years ago. Still, it's one of my deepest regrets that I didn't have the presence of mind to raise my hand and say, "what time is it right now?" when she asked.

I'd like to report that Mrs. Reed was summarily fired for at least not knowing her audience if not teaching the utter falsehood that Santa Claus might not be real.

There are only, oh, I don't know BILLIONS of photos of the guy. Duh.

But she wasn't and as far as I know, she'd been using that reference since she started teaching third grade and kept using it until she retired. I'll bet the fourth grade teachers wondered why so many of their students seemed to show up on the first day of class lacking a large chunk of their souls, though. 



So as someone whose childhood was destroyed in third friggin' grade, my wish is that you have (or find) something to believe in. At the very least, I hope you don't take any joy or satisfaction in stepping on the toes of those who do. Remember, even at the absolute top of your game, you're not nearly as clever as you think you are. 





So don't even try to tell me how and why this can't happen, you dicks.

Merry Christmas

Holiday Music Video Spectacular!

Welcome to our annual Ridiculously Inconsistent Holiday Music Video Spectacular! With special guests Fishbone, John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John plus an appearance by The Unbelievables! Leading things off, as they have every year for the last 15, our festively foul-mouthed robot friends lead us in a singalong of a traditional holiday favorite...


That was beautiful! And now, our special musical guests FISHBONE are going to teach us the lessons learned in Frank Capra's classic Christmas film, "It's A Wonderful Life"...in less than two and a half minutes.



Awesome guys! I don't think we'll have to worry about mean ol' Mr Potter anymore! And now, a super special visit from our old friends. You know him from such movie masterpieces as "The Punisher" and "Battlefield Earth" and you know her as looking drastically different the last time you saw her. A big hand now for John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John! Hey, that was swell, wasn't it? It sure was! Nothing says Christmas like troops from no discernible branch of the military coming home to an airport in Ocala. And now, here's a video from the hottest non-government affiliated crimefighters in the world, The Unbelievables!



Wow, those cats are super-smooth! Check them out at http://the-unbelievables.blogspot.com/


Well, that's all the time we have this year. So good night everyone! Happy Holidays and drive safely! We'll see you next Wednesday, the 27th (I'm not writing on Christmas this year).

An interview with: Me.

I've been a part of a team, a squad, a platoon, a company, a battallion, a band, a brigade, a division, a community and even a liaison (oo la la!), but until now, I'd never been a member of a consortium. That changed a few weeks ago when Carrie Bailey asked me to join hers at Peevish Penman, a consortium of writers. To get things rolling, PP has been publishing interviews with the writers taking part and mine was published Monday. Check it out here.

And while you're there, be sure to check out my handy-dandy tips on how to write about the end of the world!

Can we talk?

Nice man, soothing voice but not
an author of social commentary. Sorry.

I like to think that on a very good day, what I do here holds some of the more ugly, mean and nasty things we all have to deal with in life up to ridicule. In the process, I hope to reduce those mean and ugly things somewhat, making them a little less scary, a little less unmanageable, a little less overwhelming. I'm still struggling with what happened last Friday and I find myself less than up to the task of bringing the LOLZ today. I've tried, but I just can't come up with a fart joke that adequately expresses my thoughts on the matter.
Also, being completely honest, I really don't like some of you people right now. As such, I'm pretty sure I'm incapable of participating in a civil discussion about it, at least today.

Regardless, At some point, we all need to be grown-ups and at least talk about this and what we're going to do about it. Things aren't over once Morgan Freeman weighs in, especially when he doesn't.

For what it's worth, in the interest of full disclosure, I don't like guns. I was in the military, where I was required to use weapons, but I always considered them tools for specific tasks, not as toys for recreational purposes or as something to hoard, stockpile or collect as a defense against unknown enemies. As might already be evident, I have a pretty low opinion of gun enthusiasts. I tend to think of those people as irresponsible, paranoid, and ultimately, cowardly morons with penis envy issues who sit around fantasizing about "blowing away" somebody who messes with their stuff. I fully recognize that this is a stereotype, that it's practically a cartoon and that it doesn't apply to all gun owners. I admit this as a fault on my part, not a virtue. I will say in my defense that this prejudice is informed by things like drunken football fans shooting a tv, another one riding around in a golf cart and shooting a water tower, and last but not least, my own personal experience as a victim of gun violence. If I'm being honest, I have to admit that these things simply can't represent every person who owns a gun and to believe otherwise is unfair and intellectually dishonest. However, by the same token, gun owners can't say they don't exist. Being as anti-gun as I am, I wouldn't mind seeing every one of them turned in and melted down as scrap metal. But I know that everything I'd like to see happen isn't going to come to pass. I also know that not only is that impractical, it isn't even correct. Or fair, for that matter. However, I can live without getting my way. I can be okay with that if some of you are willing to concede that there is a problem and that adhering to or hiding behind one narrow interpretation of what was valid and necessary 250 years ago might not be a suitable way to go about business today. It would be a start at least. Christ, can we at least agree that this is simply unacceptable and that we can do better? I'd happily settle for that.

Anyway, here are some links to articles that I think are relevant and pertinent that do a much better job of addressing my views on these issues than I could, even on a very good day. Let's get together soon and talk about what needs to be done, or at least what can be done*. Thanks.

Replying to my pro-gun friends by Annabel Park

Thinking the Unthinkable by Liza Long

Columbine: Whose Fault Is It? by Marilyn Manson

The 2nd Amendment. Is the Intent Clear? by Jane Devin


Full transcript of President Obama's address at Newtown

* Unless you're one of these people who honestly believe it starts and ends with "Killers are gonna kill; that's the cost of freedom", because I find that so cinder block-headedly stupid and offensive that I never want to talk to you about anything. Sorry. I'm not willing to give back on all of my prejudices.

All along the water tower

Who's to say that thing didn't need killin'?

shoot·ing /ˈSHo-otiNG/Noun - The action or practice of shooting.

spree/sprē/Noun - A spell or sustained period of unrestrained activity of a particular kind: "a shopping spree". Synonyms: carousal - binge - revel

Shooting sprees are supposed to be fun. We're supposed to carouse and revel! But every time we turn around (and it sure seems like we turn around a lot more often these days), the media is taking all the fun out of these incidents with their somber reporting of deaths and injuries. Geez, lighten up! It's not always a movie theatre or a shopping center or an elementary school. Sometimes it's something whimsical like a golf course (albeit, a regular golf course and not the really whimsical kind where you shoot the ball into a clown's ass or whatever) and the only victim is a big dumb ol' water tower. What's the harm? It's not like that was drinking water. Heck, there might even be unforeseen benefits! What if they go up to repair the tower and find hidden treasure that they would have never found if not for this happening? It could happen! Other than that, not only were no people shot, but he didn't even shoot any coyotes. Or dogs (although as drunk as Fitzgerald was, that's probably a fluke).
No, instead of letting us revel and carouse in these binges, the media has to try to make us feel bad about our constitutional right to own all the guns. As gun advocates routinely point out, guns don't kill people; people kill people. All of these incidents could have just as easily involved a knife or some other weapon. Yet, you never hear reports of stabbing sprees or chainsaw sprees or blowdart sprees, almost as if those things never, ever, EVER happen. Suspicious! Mark Fitzgerald could have damaged that water tower without a gun if he was really intent on doing so, but you'll never hear that from the mainstream media.

Remember folks, guns don't kill water towers; drunk people with sharp objects who are not so drunk that they couldn't climb a really tall ladder kill water towers, if they happened to be so inclined.

UPDATE: It's been pointed out to me, uninformed idiot that I am, that there WAS a stabbing spree just the other day, in China. Oh snap! This is obviously a dream come true for gun enthusiasts: "See? See? It totally happened... once... in China. Now there's no logical reason whatsoever not to leave our precious hobby alone!" Awesome! Thanks, Min Yingjun!
22 kids there, 18, 19, 20, or whatever it ends up here (this time); heck, that's practically a wash. Thanks for adjusting my skewed perspective. Yee-haw!!

What could possibly go wrong?

"The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) and its partners are launching the 2013 Python Challenge™ to enlist both the general public and python permit holders in a month-long harvest of Burmese pythons."

They're doing this because Burmese pythons are not native to Florida and are wreaking significant havoc on the state's ecosystem. No problem. We've got a vast array of rednecks and yahoos at our disposal. Let's throw them at the problem.

"The 2013 Python Challenge™ Kickoff on Saturday, Jan. 12 will include a 10 a.m. news conference announcing the competitive harvest of Burmese pythons. Both the General Competition and Python Permit Holders Competition will start that day at 1 p.m. The kickoff will be part of a public event held from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., at the University of Florida Research and Education Center, 3205 College Avenue, Davie, FL 33314."

What's at stake?

"For the general public participating in the 2013 Python Challenge™ General Competition, there will be three prizes:


■A $1,500 Grand Prize for most Burmese pythons captured.

■A $1,000 prize for longest Burmese python captured.

■An additional prize, picked through a random drawing, for which all persons participating in this competition are eligible.

For python permit holders (people holding permits from FWC or other agencies to harvest pythons) who are participating in the 2013 Python Challenge™ Python Permit Holder Competition, there also will be three prizes:

■A $1,500 Grand Prize for most Burmese pythons captured.

■A $1,000 prize for longest Burmese python captured.

■An additional prize, picked through a random drawing, for which all python permit holders participating in this competition are eligible.

As our sponsorships grow, other prizes may be offered as part of the 2013 Python Challenge™."

Sweet! Any restrictions I should be aware of?

"DON’T dismember pythons into more than two pieces or they will not qualify for the “longest snake” category."

Hold on... don't get the idea that they're just going to open up the Everglades to anybody with a stick and a bag and say "Go git us some snakes!" That isn't going to happen. You have to be properly trained first. And that is accomplished by reading this PDF. I did it in about 10 minutes (I skimmed). And now that I'm fully trained to hunt and capture Burmese pythons, I'm going to get myself a hat, some binoculars and a wheeled cart of some sort, capable of holding a shitload of pythons, and cash in on some of that sweet, sweet snake bounty!

"In Florida, Burmese pythons have also been found above the ground using man-made structures and even trees and shrubs."

Wait a minute...  

"Wild individuals average 3.7 metres (12 feet) long, but may reach up to 5.74 metres (19 ft)."

Above me? In a tree or on a telephone pole? As I'm walking around underneath? 

"They are also excellent swimmers, being able to stay submerged for up to half an hour."

Sweet Jesus, they're like giant Navy SEALs!

"A paper published by the proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, states that bird and coyote populations are threatened, as well as already-rare rival predatory species, such as Florida panthers."

These things eat panthers? Why wasn't this addressed in my PDF training? I'm not sure I want to tangle with something that can eat a panther. 

"Since pythons eat endangered birds and alligators, these snakes present a new and serious danger to the fragile ecosystem."

Alligators?!? You know how I feel about alligators!

"Like all snakes, Burmese Pythons are carnivorous. The snake uses its sharp rearward-pointing teeth to seize its prey, then wraps its body around the prey, at the same time contracting its muscles, killing the prey by constriction."

Oog. 

"After ingesting prey, the entire digestive system undergoes a massive remodelling, with rapid hypertrophy of the intestines, production of stomach acid, and a 40% increase in mass of the ventricles of the heart in order to fuel the digestive process."

Yeah. I'm out. Good luck.

Fire drills are dumb

"If you're flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit."
-- Mitch Hedberg

Over the years, we as a society have done a pretty good job of getting rid of some of the dumber things that we used to do fairly regularly. Ritualistic human sacrifice to appease various demigods, burning people accused of being witches, not allowing women to vote; all consigned to a time in the past when we were not that much smarter than the farm animals we were having sex with. By my count, the only dumb things we're still doing are beauty pageants for children and fire drills. I know people are making big money off the beauty pageants so they're not going anywhere but fire drills need to cease.

Before you people jump on me for being anti-fire safety, no. I am not anti-fire safety. I'm not even against fire drills, for people who need to participate in fire drills. Such as school children, because they're very stupid, and for safety personnel in helmets and safety vests with Maglites and big key rings who have to clear sectors and vectors in order to save people's lives. For me and the rest of the working class cattle who have no such responsibilities but are smarter than the little crumbsnatchers who can't be trusted with sharp scissors, we should be exempt from that shit.

Here's what happens when a fire alarm goes off in almost every professional work environment in America. Everybody sighs and starts moaning about how they don't have time for this. Never mind that they had just been praying silently for something... anything... to break up the endless, monotonous drudgery that is their "job". Once the fire alarm goes off, they're the most dedicated employee in the history of business. This is followed by people peeking over their cubicle walls and asking each other, "you think it's real?", "nah, it's not real", "what if it is real?", "that would be hilarious!", "it's never real", "I thought I smelled smoke", "it's not real", "I wish it was real", "I don't smell anything", "maybe it's real", "wouldn't we hear sirens from fire trucks by now?", "it's not real". After five or ten minutes of this, somebody finally says, "I guess we'd better go outside" and everybody trudges reluctantly outside. They stand around a while until someone gives the "ALL CLEAR" signal and then they shuffle back inside, mumbling and grumbling about what a huge waste of time it was.

Normally, I don't take the side of people bitching about stuff that doesn't qualify as much more than a minor inconvenience, but in this case they're right. It is a waste of time for almost everyone.

For example, me.

I hereby promise to any and all safety personnel entrusted with the responsibility of making sure I don't die in a fire at work, now and in perpetuity, that as long as I am ambulatory, I will not sit at my desk and burn up. If I see or smell evidence of a fire, I will get up and leave, whether the alarm goes off or not. If you'll stop making me participate in fire drills, I'll take it on faith that every time the alarm goes off that it's an emergency and I will respond accordingly (aka: leave).

Safety monitors, feel free to cut that out and save it as an official waiver on my behalf.

Also, there's no reason to waste the valuable time of the safety people by making me practice evacuation techniques. I'm in an office that has two doors, both of which lead into a lobby. There are, like, 16 doors in our lobby. Seriously, it's basically a room made entirely out of doors. Here's the evacuation plan that already exists in my brain:

1. Get up and go out one of the two doors into the lobby.
2. If one of the doors is on fire, use the other one.
3. Exit the lobby through any door you want.
4. If some of the lobby doors are on fire, don't use those.
5. If all of the lobby doors are on fire, you're dreaming because that's basically impossible.

If I actually need to practice that, I deserve to die.

A short conversation in Woodbury, Georgia

"Hi there! What can I do for you today?"
"Hello. I'm looking for work. It's rough out there."
"Hey, you don't have to tell me! Rough isn't even the word for it."
"Yeah, I'm sure you know what's going on."
"Better than many, my friend. Believe me."
"So I came across your town here and I have to say, all things considered, it looks pretty good."
"Well, thank you! We're quite proud of it."
"I'd go so far as to call it idyllic. Parts of it, anyway. I mean, overall, it seems nicer than where I lived before the whole, well, you know."
"Idyllic! Why, that's wonderful! I'll pass along your kind words to the top management. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. So tell me a little about you."
"Sure! Well, I can run really good. I'm fast, elusive, lots of endurance."
"Obviously! Ha ha!"
"Ha! Yeah! Anyway, I never really had much experience with weapons but it turns out that I'm a pretty good shot. Also, I'm a whole lot better at stabbing than I ever would have guessed. Not sure I needed to learn that about myself..."
"Hey, we do what we have to do right?"
"Yes, that's right. But where I think I can really be an asset to Woodbury is my specialized skills; I'm a doctor. A surgeon, in fact. And when I was a kid, my dad was a mechanic and taught me all about engine repair."
"That is impressive!"
"Thank you!"
"How are you at coming and going?"
"... coming and going? What's that?"
"You know, coming here and then leaving and going there. That kind of thing."
"I... I'm not sure I understand."
"See, I don't know if you noticed but Woodbury just has the one main street in the middle of these walls and buildings and a great deal of what people do here is come and go between the buildings, crossing the street, just kind of milling around."
"What's the point of that?"
"It just kind of creates a general sense of hubbub. Keeps folks' minds occupied, gives them something to do."
"Oh, I see."
"We have a security force and they're busy doing all kinds of... well, I'd rather not go into detail about what they do."
"Sure, I understand."
"So we're kind of stocked up in the whole 'specialty skills' department."
"Ah. Okay."
"But we can always use more hubbub! If you're interested, that is."
"That'd be fine! Why don't you uncuff me from this table and I'll see if I can demonstrate my coming and going ability for you? Please don't judge too harshly; one of your security personnel smashed me in the forehead with a rifle butt and I am a tad woozy."
"Ooooh, not sure we're ready to take that step yet. Let me hear how you would sound if it was necessary for you to murmur in a large crowd first."

Naming rights and wrongs

"Having cancer gave me membership in an elite club I'd rather not belong to." -- Gilda Radner

I used to think Tampa demonstrated the ultimate in lack of class and bad judgment when it came to naming things after people when they tore down Al Lopez Field while Al was still very much alive. After all, one is not supposed to outlive their own monuments. That's still pretty awful but this debacle over changing the name of "Gilda's Club" is, if not worse on all fronts, at least dumber.

Just to catch you up, Gilda Radner was a member of the original Not Ready For Prime Time Players, the cast of performers that launched NBC's "Saturday Night Live". She died from ovarian cancer in 1989. In 1991, "Gilda's Club", a community organization was created to help and support people living with cancer as well as their families and friends. Last week, several branches of the organization announced plans to drop Radner's name and change their name to "Cancer Support Community". The reason given for this decision is that many people who utilize the organization's services don't know who Gilda Radner was.

"One of the realizations we had this year is that our college students were born after Gilda Radner passed, as we are seeing younger and younger adults who are dealing with a cancer diagnosis. We want to make sure that what we are is clear to them and that there's not a lot of confusion that would cause people not to come in our doors." -- Gilda's Club Madison executive director Lannia Syren Stenz

How completely idiotic.

In spite of being born after Christopher Columbus, George Washington and Thomas Edison died, I know who they were and I understand why stuff is named after them. I don't know how I know this, as I wasn't born with that knowledge, so I have to assume that someone took the time to teach me. That's part of the reason we honor people by naming stuff after them, so that when someone asks who they were we can take the opportunity to teach them, and in doing so, honoring the person's memory. It's entirely possible that somewhere right now there's a kid who doesn't know who Dr. Martin Luther King was. When that kid asks why there's a street named after him, do we respond by re-naming the street? Maybe. It's probably easier to do that than to take a minute and explain who King was and why he's important enough to name a street after.

If so, we should prepare to navigate a pretty slippery slope.

The football stadium here in Tampa (ironically, on the former site of Al Lopez Field) is named Raymond James Stadium. Nobody I know, myself included, has any idea who Raymond James is or was. Should they change the name of the stadium? No, because Raymond James is actually Raymond James Financial Services, a company named after two relatively anonymous (albeit wealthy) guys, one named Raymond, the other named James, not one historically relevant guy. I guess that's fairly simple.

However, in Philadelphia, the pro football stadium is named Lincoln Financial Field. Lincoln Financial Group is the marketing name of Lincoln National Corporation, a Fortune 200 American holding company. But that company is named after Abraham Lincoln, an extremely relevant historical person, and based in Radnor, Pennsylvania, which is named after Radnorshire, Wales, where the Quakers who founded it emigrated from, and not Gilda Radner, original Not Ready For Prime Time Player. Clearly, this stadium should be re-named in honor of current Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Michael Vick and then torn down since he is still alive.

Let's hear it for our guest authors!

Well, November is over (if you're still eating Thanksgiving leftovers, I'm jealous but you should probably throw that stuff away at this point) and thus concludes another highly successful Guest Author Month. Let's have a big hand for...

Clare Austin

Ellen Mueller

Ronny Elliott

Jeff Hickmott

Cheryl Williams

Michael Noble

Marissa Rapier

John Fontana

Mike Lortz
and Keri Ramos

Thanks, you guys. I sincerely appreciate it.
And now I have to go whip up a fresh batch of fart jokes in time for Wednesday.