DanMargarita.com

The Big 5-0

Last week I passed a milestone (which is certainly more fun than passing a kidney stone) birthday, the Big 5-0 (thank you, thank you) on September 1st. Most people dread getting older but the option really isn’t any better, thus I figure it’s time to look into one of the plusses of turning 50…AARP.

]]> Yes, upon reaching the half-century mark one is entitled to join the organization which provides a variety of benefits to people 50 years of age or older.

I’m not sure if I will join or not but their website currently allows people joining up now the opportunity to win a chance to meet Betty White, so that’s a definite incentive.

Among the benefits included are discounts at various restaurants. Since most of the ones listed I’ve never heard of or are not located near here, they are useless. However, Denny’s restaurant chain, while no longer here in Stoneham, can be found within driving distance, is an AARP benefit member. Like the others, they have certain restrictions, theirs being that “alcoholic beverages not included in the discount.” Fair enough I suppose, but then again I don’t recall ever being at a Denny’s that served alcohol. I’m sure they must exist or they wouldn’t bother adding this restriction.

The website (and presumably the magazine) offer columns with all sorts of advice, like “How To Be a Cougar.” They cite Madonna, Demi Moore and Susan Sarandon as well-known cougars. Curiously, they don’t mention Betty White. Oops…I didn’t mean to put that image in your head…or mine.

For the men there’s the important column, “6 must-know facts about ED and other performance issues in older men.” I will put that one off for some time, thank you.

There is also the heart-warming story about how 100-year-old Forrest Lunsway married Rose Pollard on his 100th birthday after waiting 15 years. She promised to marry him when he reached that age either hoping he’d never get there or she had the worst case of cold feet in history. Here’s hoping at age 90, Ms. Pollard-Lunsway’s circulation is good and she doesn’t literally have cold feet.

"The best thing about being married is just being comfortable together and knowing it is going to be from now until death do us part," says the bride, or as their doctors call it, “Friday.” Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

Perhaps the most difficult part was Mr. Lunsway asking her father for her hand in marriage. The two have been companions for 28 years and living together for some time. I’m assuming now that they’re actually married they can start having sexual relations…or not. I don’t even want to get into the article titled, “Not Your Grandma’s Condoms.”

The website contains a “Technology” section. The words “technology” and “seniors” are traditionally not words that most of us would associate with each other. Did you ever try and teach your grandfather how to change the VCR from flashing “12:00” back in the day? Still, this is a magazine for people 50+ and no doubt many Baby Boomers are quite tech savvy but I don’t think they’re quite ready for X-Box.

As my mind often does, it naturally wandered to music, a song parody to be precise. Thus, I have written this song parody about the organization, set to the tune of the 1970’s hit by The Village People, “YMCA.” Oh, yes I did!

Old man, now that you’ve turned fif-ty
Getting up all night to go pee
You have little reason to smile
Because pee-ing takes a while
(BAH, BAH, BAH, BAH)
It’s time to sign up for A-A-R-P
It’s time to sign up for A-A-R-P
You will find you can get some great deals
You’re entitled to early bird meals

You’ll have many things to endure
You might just get hooked on Ensure
You’ll lose some of manly powers
Call a doc if it last more than four hours
(BAH, BAH, BAH, BAH)
It’s time to sign up for A-A-R-P, A-A-R=P…

This is better with me acting out each letter as some do with YMCA.

Well, I need to do some cleaning up around here before I fall and break a hip.

The Big 5-0

This is better with me acting out each letter as some do with YMCA.

Well, I need to do some cleaning up around here before I fall and break a hip.

Birthday Bob

Fifty years ago two legendary musical figures arrived on the scene: Bob Dylan…and me. Okay, one legendary musical figure arrived on the scene. Sorry, Bob.

]]> In a few weeks I will have a magic birthday number, the Big 5-0 coming up and it is the same number of years gone by that one Hibbing, Minnesota native named Robert Allen Zimmerman moved to New York City to join the burgeoning folk music scene and changed his name to Bob Dylan. As a birthday present, a friend of mine with some connections managed to get me a couple of free tickets to see Mr. Dylan this past Sunday night at The House of Blues, in Boston (Thanks, Kel!).

I hadn’t seen Dylan perform in many years and that was at what was then called Great Woods, although I haven’t a clue as to what it’s called now. On that show he shared the bill with Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers and it was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

Dylan and Petty were clearly into it and having a good time (I have seen Petty mail it in, so to speak), with Dylan going so far as to say that the stop was the best one on the tour. Sure, you might expect the performer to say that, especially since on an episode of The Simpsons, Mick Jagger tells patrons of his Rock and Roll Fantasy Camp, “And no matter where you are, you always say ‘It's the wildest town in the whole damn world,’” much to their dismay.

Those familiar with Dylan will tell you that he very rarely talks to the crowd, so it seemed to be a genuine sentiment.

However, that was some 20 years ago and I know that Dylan’s performances have been known to vary in quality and effort from show to show. Thus, I didn’t know what to expect. The man is 70 years old and I feared that it would be like when I saw baseball legend Bob Feller pitch in an Old Timer’s game. Feller was 88 years old and doing well for his age, but when he wound up to throw his first pitch, he dropped the baseball in the middle of his wind up. It was embarrassing, as was watching Lucille Ball on her last comeback on a TV show in 1986; it just diminished her legacy.

Pre-show entertainment included a drunk guy standing (well, sort of) behind me and responding to the safety announcements with, “Blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah, blah.”

Dylan came out and played the organ for the first several tunes (as he did most of the night) and indeed his singing is somewhat of a growl these days. Age, smoking cigarettes and I’m going to go out on a big limb here and guess the smoking of other substances, have all taken their toll on his voice. His arrangements of early songs coupled with the rabid werewolf-like growl made them somewhat unrecognizable until he spoke clearly enough a line in the song to let the crowd know that he was singing was, “Leopard-Skin Pillbox Hat.”

Some would argue that he never was a good singer but to that I would suggest listening to some early folks albums or his his, “Lay, Lady, Lay.”

The band was good and then something strange occurred…either he started singing more clearly or I started being able to understand Dylanese.

On some songs he merely sang without a guitar or organ, playing just his trademark harmonica (or “harp” as some would call it), drawing cheers from the crowd, although I have learned from a friend who plays blues-harp what really good harmonica playing is, and it ain’t what Bob does, but that’s not the point.

Still, the arrangements of some of his classic songs were good and for what it was worth, Dylan seemed to be enjoying himself, but who can really tell?

After the show I met a friend-of-a-friend who is an immense Dylan fan and has been known to follow him around the world to see shows. Much as those who follow the Grateful Dead are “Deadheads,” I guess you’d call him a “Dylanhead.” I suppose that those who follow the band Little Feet around are “Feetheads” (Footheads?). Those who follow me around are called “stalkers.”

Anyway, he had seen the previous two shows in Maine and New Hampshire and ranked this as one of the best of the modern Dylan era. The fact that Dylan stayed for a second encore apparently indicated that he did indeed enjoy himself and the venue.

I also enjoyed Mr. Dylan and the venue.

Thanks again, Kel!

The Standard is Poor

Well, pack your bags America and be prepared to leave. China may just come calling soon and ask you to pay up the money we owe them or get out.

]]> Everyone is panicking because Standard and Poor’s, a financial research and analysis company, has downgraded the United States credit rating from AAA to AA+. This means we have gone from the little batteries for which you always have no more then one item in your house to the batteries, which are far more commonly used. In other words, if we were batteries this would be a good thing.

If I understand it correctly, it means that the United States of America is no longer considered as good of a credit risk in terms of paying back a loan as it previously was, so now if we want to borrow more money from China, we may have to put up The Statue of Liberty as collateral.

Seriously, what would happen if we didn’t pay China back? Would they repossess Kentucky?

According to Wikipedia, the company traces it’s founding to 1860 when Henry Varnum Poor published the History of Railroads and Canals in the United States. I can’t believe that this hasn’t yet been made into a Bruce Willis movie. It’s somewhat ironic that perhaps the most important publication dealing with America’s financial status should be founded by a guy named “Poor.”

In 1906, Luther Lee Blake founded the Standard Statistics Bureau, aka the “Several Men Who Will Never See a Woman Naked” bureau.

In 1941 the two companies bumped into each other while rounding a street corner and merged to become Standard and Poor’s. If TV commercials are to be believed, his is also how Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups came into being.

In 1966 they were acquired by the McGraw-Hill Companies, who have long been publishers of school text books, meaning that at some point that members of the S&P board probably drew a mustache on a picture of George Washington in a McGraw-Hill school text book.

Another criticism of S&P is that Harold McGraw III, the CEO and President of McGraw-Hill, S&P’s parent company, has made donations to several Republican presidential candidates including George W. Bush, Rudy Giuliani and Mitt Romney and the Republican National Committee. Gee, downgrading America’s credit rating, which might hurt the Obama Administration, would be a sheer coincidence, right?

I’m not sure why Standard and Poor’s gets to determine whether or not America is a good credit risk. They’re not the boss of U.S. They can make a recommendation but why would it necessitate that it be followed? That’s kind of like allowing Playboy to determine whether or not certain actresses are hot. Sure, that’s sort of their field but you should be able to decide for yourself if Pamela Anderson is hot. Okay, this analogy either clarified my point or went really far astray.

Mind you, companies pay Standard and Poor to rate their debt issues. That would be like Steven Spielberg paying Roger Ebert to review his next movie (A note to Mr. Spielberg, if you pay me $1 million I promise I will say wonderful things about your next movie, even if it’s total crap). This is what’s known as a conflict of interest.

Officials from the Obama Administration claim that the S&P numbers are flawed and that they overstated the deficit by $2 trillion dollars over the course of the next ten years. Hey, nobody ever said they were good at arithmetic.

Mistakes happen to everyone. Haven’t we all, at one time or another meant to write a check for $20 and instead written a check for $2 trillion dollars?

As is the case in school, there are different grades that S&P will assign different borrowers, from AAA through BBB and CCC all the way down to D. That would be the borrower that always skips class, smokes in the boy’s room and hangs out with the wrong crowd.

Oh, below “D” there is actually an “NR” or “Not Rated” category. These would presumably be borrowers who are skipping the theaters and going directly to videotape.

Perhaps most importantly, it would be just plain embarrassing for America to be out on a date and after dinner, and have it’s credit card denied.

The Wreck of the Dan Margarita

I hope you are all are having a good summer and finding ways to beat the heat. Let me do a PSA here about the dangers of boating. Boating is dangerous. I managed to get away for a recent weekend to Lake Winnipesaukee where I spent the better part of the weekend laughing in the face of death; and to quote Maxwell Smart, “AND…loving it!”

]]> My girlfriend Jane Marcus and I traveled up there to shoot a music video with Claude von Roesgen, with whom I’ve shot a number of music videos (you can find them on Youtube, “A Boston Love Song,” “An Atheist Christmas Song” and “Who Killed Sonny Bono?” are among the titles).

Claude was renting a place for a few weeks on Bear Island. The key word in that sentence is “Island.” The only way to get there is by boat. The fact of the matter is that I can’t swim.

Oh, I’m fine on boats. I don’t get seasick and I’ve been fine on choppy seas. The thing here is that the “boat” we had to cross Winnipesaukee was in fact a two person, pedal-driven kayak.

Like I say, I’m fine on “boats.” However, a “boat” where I can actually reach over and touch the water is another matter for someone who can’t swim.

Being the chivalrous boyfriend, I made Jane pedal (actually she volunteered. I just think it’s funnier to say I “made” her). By the time Claude met us with our “boat” and got it into the water, it was nighttime, meaning that not only would I, who you will recall, can’t swim, have to go a mile across Lake Winnipesaukee in a kayak, but I would have to do so in the dark.

Prepared for the occasion, Claude provided me with a small lantern to keep us from being hit by any night boaters. With lantern aloft like I was leading a Frankentstein torch mob, we set out upon our journey.

As Claude directed us toward our destination, over the horizon, at the exact spot where were headed, a full, orange moon began to rise. I thought, “Well, if I drown, at least I’ll go seeing something awesome.” I’m such an optimist.

With my non-lantern hand clutching the edge of the kayak, I naturally (for me, anyway) began thinking of every major naval disaster in history. From the Wydah, the Titanic, the Adrea Doria, the Poseidon to the S.S. Minnow, you name it and it occurred to me.

As I am lyrically inclined, a song crept into my head. It was a big hit from Gordon Lightfoot called, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”

So, I present to you, to the tune of that song:

The Wreck of the Dan Margarita

With Jane at the wheel it seemed not a big deal
To cross Lake Winnipesaukee
But Dan couldn’t swim he would rather have been
In Cleveland or even Milwaukee

They set out at night with the aid of moonlight
Claude and Dan were each holding a lantern
Dan made a vow if he turned back right now
He would take his vacation to Scranton

The films Dan had seen had his face turning green
That’s when he really started to panic
‘Cause now in his head he imagined the dead
From Poseidon right up to Titanic

The pace it was slow, it’s not fast you will go
No, a kayak won’t move like a comet
But Dan played a hunch by not eating since lunch
Thus reducing the chance he would vomit

Claude, he could swim if he ever fell in
This was also the case for Jane Marcus
Dan had a vest that was strapped to his chest
So they could easily float on his carcass

Dan needed a pair of some clean underwear
‘Cause fear has its own distinct odor
If he ever goes back to go visit Claude’s shack
He will buy Claude a boat with a motor

Once he caught his breath he knew he’d cheated death
The edge upon which he did teeter
It’s morally wrong but it gave him this song
Called “The Wreck of the Dan Margarita”

I can only imagine that Titanic survivors must’ve written classic ditties.

The Long, Cold Summer

Wasn’t last winter just awful? I absolutely hate cold weather. That is why I am hesitant to dine in certain local restaurants in July.

]]> Because the calendar says that this is currently the month of “July,” many businesses, including many restaurants, feel the need to turn up the air conditioning; that’s fine. It is indeed warm outside, however I don’t see that these establishments need to blast the air conditioning to the extent that they do. Okay, if the business I’m entering is a meatpacking plant, then yes, a very cold temperature is necessary. Since I seldom enter a meatpacking plant, nor am I personally a side of beef (despite my occasional braggadocio to women to the contrary), arctic temperatures in the businesses I frequent are totally unnecessary.

I have been known to walk out of some of my favorite restaurants in summer because it was simply too cold outside. If any restaurant owners are reading this, please take heed. Sure, I’m kind of a weird guy (that’s for readers picking up this column for the first time…veterans already know) and perhaps not a fair representation of the general population, but if you’ve lost my business because of the cold temperature, chances are you’ve also lost someone else’s business. That is cold, hard cash (of course it’s hard, it’s frozen) that has just walked out the door because people didn’t want to freeze their assets in your restaurant.

Numerous times I’ve walked into a business in mid-summer only to find the person at the reception desk wearing a scarf or a sweater (a jumper, to you British readers) or both. Hey, management…doesn’t that tell you something about the working conditions of your establishment?

Perhaps the employees in these places should stage a “sit in” to get management to turn up the thermostat.

“Hell, No! We won’t go You act like we’re expecting snow!”

Oh, I realize that people have different core body temperatures. I’ve always found this to be the case in various office jobs that I’ve had. As a result, disagreements constantly arise as to what the thermometer should be set at. Larry thinks it’s too cold but it’s never hot enough for Jane (Jane’s friends can vouch for this).

I once counted on my office blasting the air conditioning when I realized I had no clean shirts to wear to work one hot summer day. All I had available was a flannel shirt. I figured I could get away with this because every day the AC was cranked to the max. Lo and behold that turned out to be the one day that the air conditioning was broken. As I sat at my desk, sweat poured down my face and from every conceivable place sweat can emanate from as I tried to continue with my work while simultaneously trying not to pass out.

Speaking of stupid work-related things I’ve done (a little off-topic but it occurred at the same job), I once went to this same job with a cup of coffee and my Sony Walkman (kids, that’s what we had before ipods) in my possession. I decided to get a newspaper from the vending machine across the street from my office building. Instead of placing my things on the ground or on the machine and then putting the change in and getting my paper, I tried to do this with one hand. Holding my Walkman and coffee in my left hand, I got change out of my right pants pocket with my right hand. The challenge was to insert the coins, pull down the vending machine, reach in and grab a paper and remove it, all in one motion. I succeeded…sort of. In the process of removing the paper, the door of the vending machine slammed shut on my necktie. There I stood, hunched over, a prisoner of a Boston Herald vending machine. I frantically began searching my pocket for more change to put in the machine, all the while hoping that a co-worker didn’t pass by and see me, as well as hoping that someone didn’t pass by and rob me of my wallet since I would’ve been unable to pursue them. Yes, I also considered that some joker might want to come along and just “pants” me.

Anyway, as I write this, it’s around lunchtime and I’m getting hungry and am going to head on out for lunch.

I’d better grab a sweater.

Add Your Button Gwinnett

We are about to descend upon America’s national birthday, Independence Day, more commonly known as The Fourth of July, due to the fact that America’s birthday is celebrated on July 4th (duh), the anniversary of The Declaration of Independence.

]]> What few people realize is that the Declaration of Independence was first approved on July 2, 1776, making that day arguably the birth of the United States of America. Argue with me if you like, but none other than Massachusetts native John Adams, who if I’m not mistaken, would later become president of said nation, wrote to his wife Abigail that July 2 would forever “be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival.” I hope John Adams had better luck with his prognostications at Ye Olde Race track.

This certainly would’ve thrown a monkey wrench in the George M. Cohan song, “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” and it’s most famous line, “Born on the Fourth of July,” since it would’ve been a little weird to hear him sing “Born on the Second of July.” Despite Mr. Cohan's lyrics, he was actually born on July 3.

However, as we all know, it was on July 4th that the wording of the document was approved and the day is now celebrated with cookouts, beer and blowing stuff up, just as John Adams predicted, albeit two days later.

Perhaps the most famous signer was John Hancock due to his large, lavish and perhaps even somewhat obnoxious signature. To this day the phrase “John Hancock” has become a euphemism for putting your signature on something.

That is part of the benefit of being President of the Continental Congress, was being able to have the first chance to put your signature on documents, even if it means taking up all of the space on the page before your cohorts have a chance to sign.

This was unfair to the others signers, like Georgia’s Button Gwinnett. Perhaps if he’d been the egotist that Hancock was and signed in an equally obnoxious manner, you’d be asked to “put your Button Gwinnett” on a document. Perhaps you’d be getting your life insurance from Button Gwinnett. He later died as the result of a duel, but the issue was not the size of his signature. Then again, he may have been the inspiration for the phrase “cute as a Button.”

Then there is Francis Lightfoot Lee, not to be confused with Revolutionary War hero Henry “Light Horse” Lee. “Light Horse” was a nickname, whereas “Lightfoot” seems to have been a given name. That’s definitely a cooler name than “Button.” I can take a guess as to which one of them got beaten up more often as a kid.

Samuel Adams was also I signer of the Declaration of Independence and most likely provided the Congress with refreshments during their breaks, as was and the appropriately named John Penn. I’m guessing he brought the quills.

Josiah Bartlett was a signer who would later go on to be better known as the President of the United States in the TV show, “West Wing.”

The first public reading of the document was on July 8 by John Nixon. Yes, Nixon was the one.

The Independence Day celebration has evolved over the years. In 1771 thirteen shots were fired in the morning and again later in the day in Bristol, Rhode Island, wounding a total of 26 people that day.

In 1778 General George Washington gave his troops a double ration of rum and had an artillery salute…hopefully not in that order.

In 1779 July 4 fell on a Sunday, so the holiday was celebrated on Monday, July 5, thus creating America’s first long weekend.

In 1781 Massachusetts became the first state to observe the day as a state celebration. I’ll bet that they would never have guessed that one day they would also vote to approve gay marriage.

Founding Father Thomas Jefferson wrote the document and coined the immortal phrase “all men are created equal.” Whether or not any of his slaves were in the room at the time is unknown. That could have made for an awkward situation.

There is no record of him trying to amend it to read, “all men, only men and only white men are created equal.”

Happy Birthday, Uncle Sam.

Memories Bruin

(NOTE: I wrote this on Tuesday)
I don’t want to write about Anthony Weiner. I mean, I really don’t. However, when you look around the political and cultural landscape and see what the hot topic is, it seems to currently be Anthony Weiner and his…problem.

]]> Fortunately, there is a local story (sort of local) that allows me put off the Congressman Weiner story for the time being. I suspect that the Weiner story (You see what I did there?) won’t be going anywhere for a while.

By the time you read this, a new Stanley Cup Champion will be crowned. Okay, that seems like a pretty safe position, but I have learned in the past that even a seemingly safe bet like that is not always so safe.

For instance, in 2000 I wrote on election night “next week we will have a new president.” That one sure seemed like a safe bet but as we all remember, the election wasn’t decided for another month or so.

Anyway, tomorrow night, Wednesday, June 15, 2011 the Boston Bruins will play Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals for a chance to win their first Stanley Cup since 1972. I find myself going back through time and remembering not their Cup win in ’72, but their previous Stanley Cup win in 1970.

I suspect that I really don’t remember the ’72 Cup because having seen them win it two years previous, I probably figured that they would be in the midst of winning several cups, but alas, it was not to be.

I’m going strictly on memory here, so if I’m off on some details, forgive me. I recall it being a Sunday afternoon. The Bruins wore black and gold and the St. Louis Blues wore blue and gold, and the Germans wore grey.

I was down the street at my Aunt Ruth’s house where we were having a Stanley Cup party. Being a wee lad at the time (I just like saying “wee lad,” a phrase one can only use on the written page), I undoubtedly was unaware of the frustration that Bruins fans had felt not having won the Cup since 1929, much as youngsters growing up in the last decade have only known the Boston Red Sox as an organization that has been a largely successful, winning two World Series, in 2004 and 2007.

They can only have a vague knowledge by virtue of their elders explaining the years of repeated failure; the particular years depend on the particular age of the elder. Some are old enough to remember the horrid years of the 1950’s when the Sox had Ted Williams and seldom much else. Then the continued bad years of the 1960’s featured Carl Yastrzemski, Yaz, and little else. In 1967 the Red Sox won their first pennant since 1946 and baseball was revived in Boston.

In the late 1960’s a young hockey sensation named Bobby Orr arrived in Boston to renew interest in the Bruins. Along with a talented cast of characters, Phil Esposito, Derek Sanderson, Johnny “Pie” McKenzie and goalie Gerry Cheevers, Orr and company took the Cup from the Blues on the home ice of the old Boston Garden.

The moment when Orr scored the winning goal in overtime was captured forever in a photograph as St. Louis Blues’ Noel Picard, who will forever be remembered as the jerk who tripped Bobby Orr, tripped the star.

It was a Sunday as I recall, May 10, 1970, a good month earlier than the current finals being played. I can still see my Uncle Dick jumping out of his chair with joy as Orr received a pass from Derek Sanderson and then put the puck past Blue’s goalie Glenn Hall, whom Orr has said has often asked him, “Didn’t you ever score any other goals?”

As the Bruins began their mini-dynasty, my Uncle Dan, for whom I was named and lived next door to us, got a color TV. This is something that young people today probably can’t imagine. This was a thrill for me to go see the Bruins in color, even though every few minutes Uncle Dan would have to get out of his chair to adjust the horizontal hold, something kids today would also not understand.

Sports are just sports and in the whole scheme of things, not that important. Yet, as the years roll by they can often serve as touch stones in our lives that bring us back in time to places and people that no longer exist except in our memories.

Here’s hoping that someday some current youngster will look back upon Game 7 as a touch stone in his or her life that bring a smile to the face.

Go Bruins!

A Non-Yankee, Yankee

If you go to a Boston Red Sox game you will hear derogatory chants directed at the New York Yankees, and that is true even if the Yankees are not the team that the Red Sox are playing during that particular game.

]]> Despite being a Red Sox fan, having been born and raised in Stoneham, Massachusetts, I have never shared the fanatical hatred of the Yankees that so many fans of the Crimson Hose have come to personify.

It always seemed to me that it was a matter of jealousy, envy or whatever you wish to call it. For 86 years, after the Red Sox sold a certain pitcher-turned-outfielder to the Yankees, the New Yorkers went from baseball cellar-dwellers to a hardball dynasty.

Meanwhile, the Red Sox, a potent team in the early part of the 20th century, became perennial losers and inevitably, perennial chokers. It was this turn around in fortunes that led Red Sox fans to suffer from “pennant envy.”

I suspect that Yankee fans felt less so because they had nothing to be jealous of. What winner gets jealous of a loser?

So, for me traveling to Yankee Stadium to see a game doesn’t take on quite take on the aura of a cat willingly going into a dog pound as it might for other Sox fans.

Times are hard these days and we all try to save money and this was no exception, and thus my partner in crime, Jane and I opted to take a bus from South Station for the low, low price of $13. Never has the phrase “You get what you pay for” seemed more appropriate.

The bus was filled to capacity with other travelers who also decided to make the trek to NYC on the cheap. Thinking myself clever, I opted for seats near the bathroom. This proved to be far from my best idea as I never used the bathroom, but many other passengers did.

Nor did this prove to be a good choice since my seat reclined but would not revert to an upright position (fortunately there were no flight attendants to yell at me about it). Since the free Wi-fi that was supposed to be included never materialized I figured I might as well relax…and my reclined seat gave me no other choice.

Perhaps there were few other options but the bus got off in the Bronx and proceeded to make its way through the city downtown near Madison Square Garden, where we were let off. Maybe if the driver had taken a later exit we would’ve reached our destination much quicker but being the optimist, I prefer to think of it as a tour of the Bronx included in the $13 price.

The best way to get to Yankee Stadium is the train, perhaps the only reasonably priced thing in The Big Apple.

The new version of the Stadium is simply magnificent. Even if you hate the Yankees, if you love baseball, this place is a shrine, albeit an expensive shrine.

If you’re at a ballgame, especially if you’ve traveled over four hours to get there, a hot dog and a beer almost seems to be a requirement. Well, a beer, anyway.

The beer options are surprisingly limited at the Stadium. Besides the seemingly required at professional sports venues Budweiser beer, almost everything else was some form of light beer. I finally found a stand selling Stella Artois and ordered a couple of beers. I was ready with a $20 bill in hand when the server informed me that it cost $24. Two beers cost me more than the bus ride to New York City.

As mentioned earlier, Yankees fans don’t seem to have the hatred towards the Red Sox that Sox fans have toward the Yankees. Still, I figured it might be in my best interest not to wear any Red Sox paraphernalia into Yankee Stadium or to cheer too loudly against them. Hell, they’re the home team and I don’t mind cheering a good play by anybody.

While I might have lacked the courage of wearing my favorite team on my proverbial sleeve, the people sitting behind us, Blue Jays fans who had made the trek from Toronto, showed no such concern.

Low and behold, they received no threats, abuse or dare I say it, crap of any kind from the Yankee fans. Do you honestly think Yankee fans at Fenway Park would fare so well?

I’ve never participated in the traditional “Yankees Suck” chants at Fenway Park and never will. The only derogatory thing I will say about the pinstriped organization is that their beer prices seem a bit high.

That doesn’t sound too crude, does it?

And I Feel Fine

It’s about to be the end of the world as we know and frankly, I’m okay with it. If you haven’t heard by now, The Rapture is scheduled for this Saturday, May 21 at a time still to be determined.

]]> The Rapture, for those unaware, is when Jesus will return to Earth and call up to Heaven his followers. Those left on Earth will suffer and be tortured, all the while begging for the end of the world which is scheduled to occur on October 21. Hopefully, you non-believers will be reading this before Saturday so that you will have a chance to convert and be saved. While you’re at it, don’t bother buying any Halloween candy.

For more information, you can go to www.judgementday2011.com. Besides information, for $18.90 (and I’m not making this up) you can buy a T-shirt, which reads, “Rapture Ready.” Apparently, Jesus might need some identification to know which ones to take. At least it’s good to know that there’s no dress code for Heaven. Understandably, the T-Shirts are available “for a limited time only.”

Exactly where all of this came from, I’m not sure but one culprit seems to be a man named Harold Camping, a Christian radio personality. Mind you, Mr. Camping also predicted that The Rapture would occur in 1994. I think he might have confused The Rapture with the Major League Baseball strike.

According to the website, Judgment Day will not be the first time God has judged you. “God Judged (sic) you when you were first born,” it says. I assume that’s just for being born since as a baby you wouldn’t have had a chance to do anything else to be judged for.

I haven’t been able to find out precisely what time The Rapture will happen. Perhaps it’s like New Years Eve where it starts in the Far East and then works its way around the world. I will make a point to check ABC TV to see if Ryan Seacrest will be showing scenes of people being Raptured in Hong Kong. Unless the event will take place all at once, again no time has been specified that I’ve seen, be it Greenwich Mean Time or Eastern Standard Time. I suppose this is where the International Date Line comes into play. While the folks in Fiji are being called up to Heaven, the people of Hawaii may have to wait for The Rapture to come back around the globe to them.

Exactly what are the signs of the end of world approaching?

The website provides a list.

False Prophets: They list Joel Osteen and two others, whom the website states “will not be joining us.”

War and Rumors of Wars: This is something new?

Famines: The website notes the flooding of the Mississippi River, which they have determined will lead to famine. Okay, I’ll grant that this is not out of the realm of possibility.

Earthquakes: Between Haiti and now Japan, there indeed have been some major earthquakes, so this is starting to get a little scary.

Persecutions and Tortures to the Elect: Who are the Elect? The Elect are those who believe in Jesus Christ. This argument would be more persuasive if they didn’t use the persecuted Elect priests who have been accused of sexual molestation. I’m okay with child molester being persecuted and tortured.

Lawlessness: This is my favorite category. They cite the killing of an unarmed Osama bin Laden, without capturing and trying him as an example. That’s a legitimate question. The funny part comes in when they mention “Notice how people no longer use their blinker when driving, or park between the lines properly in parking lots.”

Yup, Boston driving and bad parking are definitely the sign of the Apocalypse.

Of course, the initial source for all of this is The Book of Revelation in The New Testament.

It is here that we learn of The Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse: Conquest, War, Famine and Death. They are said to serve as harbingers of The Last Judgment and not a new punk rock group.

The horses are in four colors, with Conquest as the White Horse. This seems appropriate since the white man has historically conquered and subjugated indigenous cultures throughout the world.

The Red Horse represents war. Red is anger and what is more angry than war? Personally, I think Secretariat was a better name.

The Black Horse is Famine. All one has to do is read of the tens of millions suffering in Africa to see how appropriate this one is. Damn you, Conquest.

The Pale Horse is Death. A Pale Horse? Of all the colors in the world, they couldn’t be more specific?

Well, maybe this isn’t b.s. at all.

See you all next time…or not.

DANMARGARITA.COM Exclusive! A New Video!

Hello All,

As a member of DANMARGARITA.COM you are getting an exclusive of my new video, "Who Killed Sonny Bono?" which with all of the birthers, etc. seems relevant in these times. Here's the link, hope you enjoy,
Dan

Just paste and copy this link to your browser...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keJVLrDw9PY&feature=email

Osama Been Deadin’

I’ve been in the process of moving (relocating, that is and not merely breathing), so I’ve been out of touch with things for a few days. When I finally went online I couldn’t believe the good news…Prince William and Kate Middleton got married! Oh, yes…there was something about Osama bin Laden being killed.

]]> Yes, the Al Qaeda leader is finally, truly and irrevocably dead.

The whereabouts of Ayman al-Zawahri, Al Qaeda’s Number 2, remain unknown. Nor are the whereabouts of Mini Me known.

It seems that intelligence was gathered from a Guantanamo Bay detainee (not necessarily from waterboarding) gave U.S. officials the name of a trusted individual that bin Laden used as a courier to communicate with the outside world. I suppose if you’re the most hunted person in the world, you aren’t willing to take the chance to see “what Brown can do for you.”

This was apparently his only means of communication as for security reasons he had no phone or Internet, not a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe…sorry, got carried away.

According to the initial reports, Navy SEAL’s (contrary to rumors they were not actual seals) stormed the compound and engaged in a firefight with forces, including bin Laden. One of bin Laden’s men, possibly even bin Laden himself, reportedly used a woman, quite possibly one of bin Laden’s wives, as a human shield during the melee. Not exactly your Sir Walter Raleigh coat-over-a-puddle moment of gallantry.

In keeping with Islamic tradition, bin Laden’s body was washed (although there’s not enough soap in the world to get the moral stink off that S.O.B.) and buried within 24 hours by a burial at sea. No doubt, with no body to view, the conspiracy theorists will claim that it’s a hoax and that bin Laden is still alive (as of my most recent Facebook check, it’s already started). Then again, with President Obama finally producing his long-form birth certificate, the “birther” folks will need something to fill their obviously more than ample free time.

It seems that bin Laden had for many years not been in charge of operations, but a mere figurehead. I imagine that it’s kind of hard to plan major military operations against a super power when the closest thing to technology that you possess is an abacus.

That’s a figurehead as Fidel Castro has become a figurehead. He may now just show up at the Havana Applebee’s in a sweatsuit for the early Bird Special, but he’s still the guy who led the Cuban revolution in 1959.

The same could have been said for the late New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner. Oh, while he was often referred to as a “dictator,” I feel justified in saying that he probably didn’t have anyone killed (I think).

In all fairness, I always admired Mr. Steinbrenner’s ability to mock himself and his own image. Honestly, he probably didn’t have anyone killed.

Al Qaeda itself, while still possessing the ability to cause havoc, fear and death in the world, seems to have been somewhat diminished in recent months. Residents of Tunisia and Egypt have created change in their countries in a relatively short time with mass protests. They didn’t need to bring down a building or jumbo jet to obtain their objective.

While on site, the team of SEAL’s gathered several documents, none of which were probably his cable TV bill. Hopefully this will help head off some future terrorist attack. It would stink if translation reveals that it’s just Osama’s “to do list.”

1. Feed the goats.
2. Wash my spare tunic.
3. Kill Americans.

As one “one official said. “Can you imagine what’s on Osama bin Laden’s hard drive?”
I’m guessing “Osama has sent you a goat in Farmville.”

For obvious reasons, bin Laden and those in the secure compound with him went to great lengths to hide the identity of its occupants. Rather than having trash collected, everything was burned. Oh, great…not only was bin Laden a mass murderer, he contributed to depleting the ozone layer.

Apparently, while bin Laden had a weapon, he is not believed to have gotten off a shot. One of the SEAL's did, however. It was a shot through the eye, which killed bin Laden, as a shot through the eye is inclined to do.

Documents seem to be the only thing (along with bin Laden’s body) that the SEAL's retrieved form the compound. I’m just wondering if, while there, they looked for Whitey Bulger.

The Wrong Side of History

Here’s hoping you all had a Happy Patriot’s Day, whether you went to watch the Minutemen reenactment in Lexington and Concord or went to join Minnesota congresswoman Michelle Bachmann for what she thought would be a reenactment in New Hampshire.

]]> Patriot’s Day is the annual holiday when we commemorate the battles of Lexington and Concord, when the British, in what they thought would be a covert operation, marched from Boston to Concord to capture and/or destroy Colonial munitions there. It turns out that while the British high command was able to keep the plan secret from their own troops, the Colonials were well aware of the plan thanks to their network of spies. Hence Paul Revere, William Dawes and Samuel Prescott rode ahead of the British regulars screaming, “The British are coming! The British are coming!”

With the advantage of forewarning, the Colonials prepared and wound up chasing the Brits back to Boston with their hindquarters smarting of musket shot.

Unfortunately for Dawes and Prescott, poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow chose Revere and his more melodic name for his poem “Paul Revere’s Ride.” Thus, no child ever heard in elementary school, “Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Samuel Prescott.”

Battle reenactments have been a tradition for many years with many individuals dressing as Colonials and some hearty souls volunteering to dress as British soldiers. It might seem contrary for someone to volunteer to be on the losing side but if you want to fully reenact a battle someone’s got to be on the wrong side. It would kind of lame to have a battle with only one side showing up. This could also be said of the poor guys who “play” for the Washington Generals, who know going into every game against the Harlem Globetrotters that their chances of winning are a long shot, to say the least.

Many years ago on a July 4th weekend while I was in York, Maine I stumbled upon a Colonial-British reenactment. However, the group putting on the reenactment did so without working with local officials, thus streets were not blocked off for the event. This led to the odd sight of a Revolutionary War battle raging with minivans driving in between the two sides. It had to be a little startling to some poor guy taking a right turn only to see a British Redcoat firing a canon at him.

The American Revolution is not the only war for which reenactors are used. The Civil War is also known to have battle reenactments but the difference is that in many parts of this country, the Confederates are not necessarily considered to be the bad guys.

World War II is another matter, however. I’m not aware of any of those battles being revisited, perhaps because it is still too fresh in people’s minds with many individuals who participated in those battles still alive or maybe because nobody wants to volunteer to dress up like a Nazi (with the possible exception of Britain’s Prince Harry).

This would likely also be true of Vietnam and since we lost that war, it’s probably best not to reenact scenes from that one. It really wouldn’t make for such a great family day to see guys smoking hash and listening to The Doors as a moment of historical significance (Well, that would be an Oliver Stone reenactment).

Come to think of it, I don’t suppose that anyone reenacts the Battle of The Little Bighorn, unless of course you’re a member of the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne or Arapaho nations.

Then there’s the forgotten war…no, not Korea but Grenada. If you need to look that one up then you’ve proven that this war was indeed forgotten. In 1983 the U.S. invaded the tiny island to rescue several American medical students who, as satirist Barry Crimmins pointed out were “dangerously close to graduating.”

One group perhaps getting short shrift is the doughboys from World War I. They fought “the war to end all wars,” at least until the next war, World War II, which some must’ve have seen coming since they numbered the first one World War I.

My point is that the losing side never bothers to commemorate a war. It is certainly too early to tell how future generations will reenact The War on Christmas.

Bumped Up

For the record, I don’t play Major League Baseball. I have never played Major League baseball. Oh sure, I once told a woman I had played shortstop in the Philadelphia Phillies organization to impress her, but she didn’t believe me, I felt stupid and (if you’ll pardon the pun) I struck out.

]]> Anybody who has ever played in one Major League game has played in one more game than I ever have or ever will. This begs the question, who am I to criticize or mock ballplayers who have made it to the game’s highest level?

Well, fans have been criticizing players for 140 years. That’s part of being a fan. As for mocking them, I am paid to be a smartass. Anyway, even the worst ballplayer, a guy whom we might term a “stiff” is still better than the rest of us (at baseball, anyway).

Having established my lack of playing history (as well as my lacking of succeeding in picking up women), I shall now get to the matter at hand (I know, “it’s about time!”). My most recent column for this space centered on my trip to The Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y. and it was there I ran into the name of a ballplayer whose name came to my attention a few years back. The name is that of Lynn, Ma. native, Irving Darius “Bump” Hadley.

I first got to know The Bumpster (Okay, I made that one up) a few years back when I went to see a North Shore Navigators baseball game at Fraser Field in Lynn. It was on a run to the concession stand (or men’s room) that I saw a picture of a ballplayer from the 1920’s or ‘30’s, which turned out to be Mr. Hadley. Being a native of Lynn, it’s understandable that they would feature a photo of him at the ballpark. It was the captions beneath the photo that got my attention. There was a list of “accomplishments” that were at best, dubious. They included such notes as:

“Bump gave up home runs to both Babe Ruth AND Ted Williams.”

“In a 1941 exhibition game, Ted Williams hit a ball so hard off of Bump that it chipped concrete off the adjacent Manning Bowl in right field,” (since torn down).

The last one was my favorite: “In 1937 Bump beaned Detroit Tiger’s player-manager Mickey Cochran in what would be Cochran’s last game in the Major Leagues.”

Yes, as an “accomplishment,” they list that he ended the career of a great player who would one day be in The Baseball Hall of Fame.

As I would discover on my trip to Cooperstown, this incident would also earn Bump a trip to Cooperstown…sort of.

One of the many exhibits is the catcher’s mitt that Cochran used to use. The caption below it states that in 1937 Cochran’s career was ended when he was “beaned by a pitch from Bump Hadley.”

Much as the photo at Fraser Field included some embarrassing and needless information, did the Hall of Fame need to mention Mr. Hadley by name? Couldn’t they have just said “Cochran’s career ended in 1937 when he was beaned by a pitch”?

Incidentally, unlike many of the ballplayers of his day, who acquired their nicknames while in baseball, i.e. Babe Ruth, Ducky Medwick, Dizzy Dean and Rogers Hornsby, wait…that was Hornsby’s real name, according to BaseballLibrary.com, Hadley got the nickname “Bump” as a child because he resembled a children’s book character named “Bumpus.” I’ve never heard of that character but I’m just glad I wasn’t called Curious Dan.

After an impressive rookie season in which Bump had a 14-6 record for the Washington Senators, Hadley then did what most players for the Washington Senators and later the St. Louis Browns did…he stunk.

His fortune’s seemed to turn around when he pitched for four years for the N.Y. Yankees from 1936-1939. I suppose any pitcher having Lou Gehrig and Joe DiMaggio on his team is going to increase his likelihood of success.

After his playing career ended, he had a sports radio show on WBZ and became a broadcaster for the Boston Braves baseball games.

As for his non-baseball accomplishments, Mr. Hadley was a graduate of Boston University.

That was also the alma mater of Mickey Cochrane.

The Comedy Vault Gig

Hello All,
Just to let you know, this Thursday, Mar. 31 I will be trying my comedy/music thing at The Comedy Vault, located in the basement of Remington's, 124 Boylston St., Boston. Veteran Boston comedian and former WODS DJ Chris Zito will be hosting. It is across from the Boston Common, diagonally across from the Boylston T stop.
For more info, reservations and tickets, go to: http://dickdoherty.com/index.cfm
Thanks,
Dan