The green light for gay marriage doesn’t mean Fat Tony has to suck a bag of dicks. But he probably should anyway.
A few metric shit-tons of comedic hay have been baled from Fat Tony Scalia’s jabbering over the Supremes’ decision on gay marriage.
The bit of blithering outrage that I found most telling was: “Hubris is sometimes defined as o’erweening pride; and pride, we know, goeth before a fall.”
Ho, ho, etc. Fat Tony has heard so many people call him brilliant for so long that he’s come to believe he’s the sun at the center of our judicial galaxy around which the rest of us must revolve, like it or not.
Well, count me among the rogue planetoids chuckling as Fat Tony’s light went out on Friday. There’s something deeply satisfiying about watching a guy who thinks he should win everything just by being present and accounted for rolling in DFL.
The fine folks at Voler are beavering away at our little Old Guys Who Get Fat In Winter jersey project.
The original artwork for versions 1 and 2 has been unearthed, some minor alterations in design are being made, and before you can say, “No, really, honey, this is every bit as important as a donation to Habitat for Humanity, Greenpeace or Doctors Without Borders,” an online store will be up and running.
And shortly thereafter I will be doing my best Scrooge McDuck imitation, rolling around in my private vault piled high with greenbacks.
Well, you’ll have some jerseys, anyway. The vault project may take a little more time to get up and running.
Phil Austin popped round the blog a few years back to say, “Thanks for the insurrection.”
It had completely slipped my mind, but Phil Austin actually dropped by the blog back in 2009 to squeeze the wheeze (honk honk) and tip us off to a quartet of shows The Firesign Theatre had scheduled in Hollywood.
He will be missed. And thanks to Mike Deme for sending me to Doctor Memory with this remembrance from Mike Tiano.
What this sucker needs is a sprinkler system that comes on when you cycle through.
It’s the longest day of the year, and is it ever a scorcher. Ninety-nine in the Duke City at the moment. A tip of the sweatband to Willis Haviland Carrier, who gave us air conditioning.
Got a couple nice rides in recently as part of a concentrated effort to (a) not read every word written online about the Charleston massacre, and (2) not apply for emigration to Mars.
On Friday, Adventure Cyclist contributor Merrill Callaway and I rode down to Two Wheel Drive on Central to chat a while with owner Charlie Ervin. If you’re ever in Albuquerque make sure you pop into Charlie’s shop. Lovely people, a friendly dog, and bike stuff, too. If TWD had a taqueria, bar and swimming pool the place would be perfect. But then pretty much anyplace would be, que no?
On Saturday Herself and I rode out to Tijeras and back. She claimed afterward that she would have ridden faster without me. I proposed that she get in line with all the other people who are faster than me. That would be quite the paceline.
The underpass above is about the only shade between here and there and back again, so it seems that I must become an early riser if I’m to be cycling up to Madrid, Santa Fe and points north in this brand-new summer.
But I’d have to get up very early in the morning to even come close to thinking about maybe, possibly, approaching the marker that our most recent guest at Chez Dog has laid down.
First, he cycled from Las Vegas to Bibleburg for a nephew’s wedding. Then he rode up Pikes Peak.
A fragment of the Firesign collection here at Ed Siegelman’s Ground Zero Equal Opportunity Apartments, purchased from the fine folks at Giant Toad Supermarkets.
I stumbled across Firesign in high school, years before I ever heard of Monty Python, and snapped up almost every bit of work that they did, either as a group — a collective self-dubbed “Four or Five Crazee Guys” for the invisible fifth person that arose from their collaboration — or as fragments thereof.
The collection includes the widely known (“Don’t Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers,” “Waiting for the Electrician or Someone Like Him,” “I Think We’re All Bozos on This Bus”) and the less so (“Everything You Know Is Wrong,” “In the Next World You’re On Your Own,” and “The Tale of the Giant Rat of Sumatra”). I got ’em all, on vinyl, CD and occasionally both.
Some friends and I had the good fortune to catch their act in Denver once, Back In the Day™. You can keep your Beatles, Stones, and Dead, thanks. I got my Firesign, and that’s better than a pile of groatcakes soaked in 30-weight with an entrenching tool within easy reach.
Fellow Firesign Peter Bergman beat Austin out the door in 2012. Or maybe he’s on the other side of the album! I’d better check. …
• Late update: Any Firesign fans out there packing iPhones? Tell Siri, “This is Worker speaking,” or ask her, “Why does the porridge-bird lay its eggs in the air?” I’d forgotten that Austin did some voiceover work for Apple commercials, and it seems that “Bozos” may have struck a chord with the Black Turtleneck Mob.
Mad Blog Media 