Remember Me...

A little tune by the Zutons called "Remember Me" is buzzing around my head recently.  Part of it goes like this:

Now I stand upon your path

And I'm shouting up to you
Won't you come and give me a minute now
There's a message here for you

Me and a couple of old school friends
We're going out to drink
You can come along but leave your girl at home
It'll give you time to think

But you called at the last minute
Said that you were staying in
Well this is not a joke old friend
I'm a-getting sick of this

Of Virtue and Pippy Longstocking

Virtue

vir·tue  [vur-choo] - noun

1.  moral excellence; goodness; righteousness

2.  conformity of one's life and conduct to moral and

     ethical principles; uprightness; rectitude.

3.  chastity; virginity:  to lose one's virtue

Pippy lost hers when she moved from Sweden to the USA, shacked up with Dave Thomas (daughter, my ass!), changed her name to Wendy and opened a chain of hamburger stands.

Just look how she changed.  Slut!

1977:  Fresh-face immigrant - same look, new name & career

1995:  Back on the Continent for holidays - enjoying Oktoberfest and countless sexual partners

2007:  With her clones on yet another urban killing spree.  [Remember:  Pippy has unusual strength!]

Quick Take

Clearing the Air

In a story [link here] on markedly improved air quality since Olympic pollution controls began:

     "Beijing will be built into a liveable city."

     - Du Shaozhong, deputy director of the Beijing

    Environmental Protection Bureau

Liveable is good considering 15 MILLION people already live there!

Tyler Woods

Tyler Woods is 18, cock-sure of himself, and not particularly good at anything except playing the guitar.  His only remarkable achievement is getting his driver's license suspended twice for excessive speeding violations.  Tyler speaks in a gruff, affected tone; a cross between Nicholas Cage and Crsipin Glover's character in "The River's Edge".  Still, he plays a mean "Classical Gas" on the acoustic.  His wardrobe is black tee's, cut-off jeans, ragged cap worn backward, and over-the-top Beatle-style mop of dirty blond hair.

Jimmy Anderson is his best friend.  He never can quite explain why -- except perhaps for a mutual interest in the guitar, though not the music.  Jimmy, taller by half a head, is as charming as Tyler is awkward.  Coupled with charismatic good looks and enigmatic (some would say lazy) demeanor, Jimmy is clearly the slummer in this friendship.  Jimmy has tight curly hair, that he preens constantly, and wears a preppy amalgam of punk, emo, and apathy.  But the friendship is true.  And often unintentionally hilarious.

Tyler:  I don't know what that cop's problem was.  She was such a bitch!

Jimmy:  Yeah.  You weren't doing anything wrong.

Tyler:  Yeah, I know.  Fuck!   I'm gonna lose my license again.

Jimmy:  Yeah.  What'd she write you for anyway?

Tyler:  Speeding.  And reckless op.  That's bullshit!  (taking the corner at 29 mph)  And cigarettes!  150 bucks!

Jimmy:  I can't believe she asked if we were on drugs.  What the fuck was that?!?  Like we're stoners or something.  (checking his hair in the visor mirror).  You shouldn't smoke.

Tyler:  Jimmy, there are just certain things in this life that'll make you happy.  I smoke.  You drink.

Jimmy:  Like what?  I've had like 11 beers in my life.

Tyler:  Dude, you're chick magnet.  They flock to you.  How many girlfriends do you have?  Uh-huh, that's what I'm saying.  You should have hit on that cop!

Jimmy:  Nooo.  No, I don't think so.  (changing topic) Are cigarettes illegal?

Tyler:  Only if you're under 18.  I got the last one of these thrown out in court.  I'm telling you, man.  They're not gonna let you do anything fun in this life of ours.  That's why you should just be happy aaalll the time wherever you are.  My brother was like that.

Jimmy:  Dude, he's been dead for like six years.

Tyler:  You're pretty lazy too, dude.  I'm only saying that as your friend.

Bob McIntyre

Bob McIntryre is a friendly, but caustic bloke.  He greets friends and strangers alike with a warm, open hand and a wide, sarcastic grin.  Profanity from Bob is not quite as offensive as it is expected...and desired.  It's when he's politely guarded, you become keenly aware that Bob is no longer friendly.

Raised in the Ohio River Valley of western Pennsylvania, Bob learned early on to approach each sunny day with joyful abandon, but to always expect rain.  As a younger man he excelled in sports, particularly hockey and lacrosse, which perfectly exemplify his "stick-first" -- be it with a check, a joke, or a beer bottle -- mentality.  Despite these great personal strengths, Bob's life is mundane and reliant upon past glories. 

In fact, Bob only struggles with one demon:  the gradual loss of greatness he knew as a youth.  He grows bored of re-telling old stories of past conquests.  Men half his age politely smile as he recounts tales of athletic and sexual prowess.  He stares in disbelief at their incredulousness, wondering how his younger cohort could not possibly indulge in the same exploits.  Then again, life has changed considerably.

Bob dies in a tragic kiln explosion while taking a pottery class at the local community college.

I have a blog - part deux

Wow.  I get back from a combination business / recreational trip, look in my planner, and find a note scrawled on Holiday Inn notepaper.  It's nearly incomprehensible to read; simply a website and login info.  Holy shit!  I started a blog when I was drunk!

Not like the time I got "Sweet" tattooed across my back, of course.  But as I read the first post it became clear who was responsible.  References to Monica and Bart were obvious clues.  I actually know people with those names - a good sign.  Then there were supposed "highly intelligent" people.  That would rule out Chopes.  Someone in that group clearly believed I had something to say and needed a way to say it.  Just wish I remember who.

I do have a vague recollection advocating for TBoone Pickens' Plan for U.S. energy re-alignment.  You can call the guy a charlatan seeking a buck on his own interests.  But somebody's gotta do something to organize the beach chairs on this titanic country.  Why not him?  Besides, how can anyone argue that using the USA's natural gas and wind power assets are bad?  I say let him run with this a little further before we Americans characteristically beat him down.  Especially if he goes nucular.

Also fuzzily recall getting whooped by an 11-year old girl at Croquet.  The lawn game played with mallets and wickets, not the Dutch/French parcel of fried breadcrumbs and mincemeat.  Talk about humiliation.  Again, I refer to the game.  Can one in fact be humiliated by breadcrumbs and mincemeat?

Anyway, I'd wager the person setting up this blog account had my views on energy more in mind.  The question is did they want me to spread them to the world or just get me to shut up so they could enjoy their vodka and lemonade in peace?

Confused?  You won't be on the next edition of Philbony's World.

Dude, where's my car?...

My FIrst Blog Post

Phil Here...first blog post.  Thanks Monica!

I'm hanging here with a highly intelligent, thoroughly enjoyable group of friends.   Party on, Bart.

There's a very strange feeling about blogging I don't know how to deal with.   Very heavy from the standpoint you should say something intelligent and worthy.  Yet very liberating in that you can speak your mind, unfettered and free.

I love women running their fingers through my hair.  I also love finding a dollar bill in my pocket.

Subsequent postings will no doubt be heavier or lighter.  Hard to say at this point.  I think I have something important to say, but certainly can't say what it is.  Thanks for reading!

 - 'bony