Is it bad that I really don’t want Toyotas running the NASCAR schedule? I mean, does that make me a racist, or a bigot, or some sort of person who would be completely despised by the likes of those frothing-at-the-mouth militant lesbians? Maybe Hillary Clinton could advise me on all of that. Or, perhaps, being the lonesome redneck that I am, I’ll have to see what Jesus himself would have to say about that. A real Kevin Lynn moment if you will, since Kevin always seems to be speaking for Jesus.
Chevrolet or Toyota: What would Jesus do?
Speaking of Kevin Lynn, I think he’s provided some real insight whereas the upcoming presidential election is concerned. Yes, not one of the higher profile political pundits has broken it down nearly as succinctly as Kevin has. Yup, Kevin has really outdone himself this time. Here’s his analysis…
All of the democrats seeking the position would make a good president. And all of the republicans would not make for a good president.
Damn! Generalities aside, he’s really on to something. Methinks Kevin is missing his true calling in life.
He should be blogging.
Speaking of blogging, never have I seen a blogger, fledgling or otherwise, have a temper tantrum quite like this one has.
“When the people on NEPA are ready to bring change and save their little towns, by doing something as opposed to sitting on the internet and complaining all the time and posting under the names of other people, we will consider unlocking the site.”
Okay, let’s get synchronized here, people. On my mark…three…two…one…start holding your collective breath. Or, yawn in unison.
Which leads me to Steve Corbett’s blog at the WILK Web site. Actually, he calls it his “blog page,” which is akin to an old, behind-the-times guy calling your expensive I-pod a Walkman. Yeah, he’s on the cutting edge alright. And so is the Argentine Navy.
Anywho, if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear his “page” was written by some militarized feminist at a tiny liberal arts college somewhere. All too often, it’s like the blogging equivalent of a chick flick. And this is the best a career journalist can muster? This is the result of the expensive college education? It seems as if us academic slackers know something that you educated folks do not. Or something.
As for WILK, after that fatal fire in South Wilkes-Barre, Sue Henry said something that made my diseased mind teleport back to the days of my boyhood. She said something to the affect that these fatal fires not only have an affect on the families and firefighters and police officers, they have a lasting affect on the neighbors. Very true.
Before her words even dissipated to wherever it is that words such as those go to, I immediately thought of Anthony Dipaulo, my very best friend in grade school. He didn’t die in a fire mind you, but the tragedy that was his passing remains burned in my memory. On a quiet Saturday morning I snagged my second-hand glove and my second-hand bat and headed on over to his modest townhouse. And when his older sister came to the door sobbing almost uncontrollably, she told me he had died the night before after falling in the bathtub and fracturing his skull. And there it was. I headed on home, told my Mom and she burst into tears and reached for the telephone. No baseball on that Saturday. And no more Anthony.
As a mere sprat of 9 or so, I felt no emotion one way or the other. Quite frankly, I don’t think I knew what to think.
While most everything else I did 40 years ago is somewhat hazy now, the goings-on of that day are never going to become foggy to me. Weird. If only we could remember the good times nearly as clearly.
In addition, Sue said that Fire Chief Jacob Lisman told her that Wilkes-Barre has not suffered a triple fatal structure fire since the ‘70s. And he apparently told her that it happened on North Street. That would be, 60 North Street.
Adding credence to Sue’s assertion is the fact that, while I didn’t witness that fire and while I did not know anyone who perished in that fire, I still remember it. And if memory serves, three small children died on Christmas Eve. The abandoned structure remains, and nary a day goes by without my pedaling past it and remembering the cruelty that is children going to bed with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads only to never wake up.
Right now, heating our haunts has become frighteningly expensive. And being that fire season is officially upon us, if your alternative heat source includes an extension cord, you are inviting disaster. You are risking being indelibly etched into our memories.
Here’s one. Would anyone out there agree with this? Even though the New England Patriots are undefeated, does it not seem as if the New York Giants actually have more momentum heading into the Super Bowl?
Wishful thinking aside, it sure seems like it to me.
Thanks. I think it was a good exchange between J.J. and myself. And I think his responses were fairly forthright except for when they touched upon local politics, the tireless local activists and the local internet’s affect on local politics. And while I expected as much, I figured that we might as well go there just for the fun of it.
And, yes, Congressman Patrick Murphy is J.J.’s brother. I was following his campaign from afar by checking his campaign Web site on a very regular basis, and his was a very attractive candidacy. You know, young, vibrant, very well-spoken and toting that military pedigree. At least, that’s how I felt. Anyway, I was not surprised in the least when he pulled off the political upset.
As always, stay in touch.
Yikes. Well, while that was before my time, or perhaps flying under the radar of my being a kid, I do know that my Uncle Bill cooked there for years before taking his culinary skills to Percy Brown’s.
It’s dormant these days, but a couple of years ago it reopened as the Memphis Blues Bar & Grill, but didn’t fare too well. I know that Guy Izzo was the man behind that remaking of the place, but I think he was merely leasing it. I think it’s owned by a guy named Jabers. I think.
The one thing that place lacks is available parking, so I fail to see how it could become anything close to what it used to be. When I was a kid, that building directly across the street was an A&P supermarket, so there was plenty of parking after the supermarket closed for the day.
After A&P pulled up it’s stakes, it was a mattress factory or something. And directly behind it we had this lavish tree fort padded with foam and such pulled from the factory’s dumpster. And then came a day when one of the kids from Wyoming Street got to goofing around with a lighter and the tree was instantly engulfed in flames. Some of us actually had to bail out of the tree.
Not to worry, though. The fire department made short work of the towering oak inferno. And not a one of those railroad detectives were anywhere near that day. You see, in those days when the railroad tracks were actually very busy, trespassing upon them or anywhere near them was seriously discouraged. Actually, in those days, they called ‘em “railroad dicks.”
Jeez. Weird things get dredged up when the memory receives an abrupt challenge. Oddly enough, there is currently a sign in the front window announcing that, coming soon, is Papa Frank's Pizza/Pasta joint.
You wouldn't happen to be relating to Frank, would you?
This is becoming redundant, but, what the hell?
First the tough guy from Scranton talks all rough and tumble and whatnot. Then he wants to make nice. Well, somewhat. Then he ups and claims he contacted the local authorities because he’s being stalked and, or threatened.
So, what we can take from this internet exchange is that, while Mr. Foglietta sure can dish it out with the best of them, he cannot take it when he receives incoming fire.
Whew! Wow!! Holy jumpin’ orangutan farts!!!
Nope, no libel. No slander. No defamation of character. Nothing. Not one iota of anything.
But, the “old liberal lesbian bags who run” Marywood banned you from the campus. I guess that’s opinion, right?
I can’t see why they objected to you. I really can’t.
I dunno. Perhaps he likes his men thin.
Funny, I always put on weight during the winter. And just as soon as it gets even close to warm again, I make it a point to burn it right off. The usual routine. More biking, the dumbbells, the heavy bag and all of those exercises we did in gym class. The March calorie count begins and by June I‘m usually weighing in around 180. Anyway, I’m currently weighing in at 196. And being that I’m a millimeter or so short of 6’ 2”, I’m not ready to take the Buck Buck backbreaker title away from Fat Albert. I’m totally content with being of the lean-and-mean variety.
But, based on the various pictures he’s posted of himself on his disheveled Web site, I’m quite certain that Mr. Foglietta and myself could never share the same wardrobe.
Sorry I didn’t respond in a timely manner. When blogging started feeling like a job, I responded by taking more time off.
Here’s your answer:
That’s it. He requested and received a continuance. Oddly enough, he was continually huffing and puffing about how he was going to blow Entercom out of the water when the original hearing finally came about. But, then he asked for a continuance. You tell me, man.
Either way, I could really care less. And, no, he’s really not worth the effort, other than exposing him for the egotistical, pompous blowhard that he so obviously is.
This is beautiful…
Initially, I gave my opinion of his useless twaddle, then he sought out a heated war of words, and now he wants to edit not only his site, but this site as well. Yet another clueless guy toting those expensive college degrees. If he is so completely smart, so obviously superior to likes of little ole hardscrabble, uneducated me, then why has he been relegated to sitting around arguing with me on the internet?
Whatever. While I look forward to his daily e-mail, I won’t waste anymore of my time with this internet back-and-forth. He can go back to writing about how Trish Corbett has, or once had a drinking problem. And writing about the lesbians at the local college. And about the godless homos at the local radio outlet. And about how Cordero and Munchak were a lock for reelection. And about how unnamed Lackawanna County judges are going to be arrested anytime soon. About his Sue Henry fantasies. About his homo-erotic dreams. About how he cannot and will not tolerate those who are not of the same faith as him. Yes, he can go back to what he does best, which usually amounts to little more than hocked-up phlegm frozen to the sidewalk. The thing is, while it’s been fun and all, truth be told, he’s really starting to bore the hell out of me.
I figure we need to continue to touch upon the doings and the decisions of the people that really do matter. And as far as I’m concerned, despite all of his incessantly incendiary bluster, he doesn’t matter.
No freaking football today?!? Who’s bright idea was this?
‘Til next time.