From the desk of Lord John Marbury

How the South Was Lost

2008-07-14T11:45:00.001-06:00

Courtesy of Kevin M. Levin at Civil War Memory

Crazy...

2008-06-21T01:07:00.002-06:00

This is an example of "Men at Work" and "Sabermetrics" gone totally skewackus.

Rest In Peace...

2008-06-19T15:35:00.014-06:00

It is with regret that we report the passing of Lord John Marbury, Earl of Croy, all the formal dignifications, honorariums, and etc., due to complications resulting from springtime allergies. Autopsy reports confirm that the deceased drowned in the ample snouty founts of his own post-nasal drip. Police suspect no human foul play, but are keeping a sharp eye on the flora and fauna.

Lord John's solicitor has already conducted a reading of the will, which resulted in no small measure of controversy. His bereaved heirs are said to lament the fact that only a few pounds sterling remain. It appears Marbury's once substantial estate had been laid waste in his final days by the considerable financial outlays required in the fight to keep histamine at bay.

The Earl is survived by his wife and son, who, regrettably, are stricken with the same affliction.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be made at www.stop_the_pollen_now_before_it_kills_all_of_us.org

Dad wants to know what I do all day while I'm home with Grant...

2008-06-17T13:21:00.001-06:00

Well Dad, here you go...

Like pork in fruit salad...

2008-06-10T09:54:00.001-06:00

Tortoise...

2008-06-05T15:52:00.000-06:00

My sister the photographer: A Sample...

2008-05-24T14:45:00.006-06:00

Exotic indeed...

2008-05-21T00:04:00.002-06:00

I admit that "I am powerless over Le Petit Ecolier, and that my life has become unmanageable." My name is Lord John, and I am an extra-dark-chocolate-biscuit-aholic.

Hayfever...

2008-05-20T09:55:00.009-06:00

I'm feeling a little dramatic about the state of my seasonal allergies today (total breathing system shutdown in concert with itchy eyes that are desperately trapped beneath puffy pink swollen-shut eyelid piglets). So, in their honor:

Doctor: Lord Marbury, why don't we sit for a moment.

Me: (sneezes) No, Doctor. Just tell me. Give it to me straight.

Doctor: Well, we got the lab results back, and...it's...not good.

Me: (dramatically bites fist, then thinks better of it when post-nasal drip gets in the way) I knew it. I just knew something was really wrong. It's appendicitis of the lymphatic allergy cortex, isn't it.

Doctor: Um, no. I don't even know what that is. I'm sorry, Lord John, it's...hayfever...and it's...TERMINAL.

Me: (sneezes; blows nose with tragically beautiful and sonorous tone akin to that of a french horn)

Doctor: Oh, umm,...and your ex-wife has come back from the grave, seduced the entire hospital staff, and has vowed to kill you...before you die...so, you know, heads up on that front as well, I guess.

Business idea...

2008-05-20T00:17:00.007-06:00

Who's with me? I think overhead is going to be pretty low ("Hey there, farmer - I see you have some horses. Can I get my hands on some of that kerplop?"). It's renewable. There's always going to be demand. We could get away with an R&D budget that is next to nothing. I think this business opportunity is smelling good...
And if it's being sold in one market at $0.50, and for $1.00 in another, we got an opportunity for some arbitrage. I've always wanted to be able to tell strangers sitting next to me on long plane flights that "I dabble in equine fecal arbitrage." Classy, no?

FHE at the Marbury Estate...

2008-05-16T14:43:00.003-06:00

This is for my sister Alisha...

2008-05-06T00:12:00.000-06:00

Years of training...wasted.

2008-04-25T10:55:00.002-06:00

You are listening to the sound of expendability. Old Jimmy Taylor might as well be singing "Taps" out of that bullhorn while standing over the fresh and open grave that holds the mortal coil that was my drumming talent. All those summer days in the bonus room pounding out Dave Weckl licks and trying in vain to unlock the cryptographic sequence of David Garibaldi's left hand snare work...Apparently "Dungeons and Dragons" would have been a better use of my time.

Currently reading:

2008-03-30T15:24:00.003-06:00

This.

I have a new favorite...

2008-03-15T00:36:00.001-06:00

On the issues...

2008-03-05T22:26:00.004-07:00

So, where does Angry John stand on the issue of...say...same-sex marriage? To our left: Exhibit A. I think that pretty much clears it up.

Which one has the record deal?

2008-02-16T15:09:00.002-07:00

Which one has the record deal? You got me. Stumped. Seriously.

An important message from Rudy Giuliani for the voters of South Carolina...

2008-01-18T10:26:00.001-07:00

"PEOPLE OF SOUTH CAROLINA: New York City, 9/11, 9/11, 9/11, New York City, 9/11, 9/11, New York City, New York City, teeth, blah, blah, ears, New York City, 9/11, teeth, blah..."

Wormwood's allegiance lately in question...

2008-01-18T09:52:00.000-07:00

Troubling news out of the Marbury [Clark] estate: It seems our little apprentice of all things diabolical may be vacillating in his resolution to canker completely his everliving soul and to drag his parents down Dante's lovely slip & slide with him.

A few days ago, as a sort of pledge of solidarity in the battle to prevent each other from being turned to the dark side, my wife and I shared a long and loving embrace. Unsettlingly, our little Beelzebaby toddled over, wrapped his arms around the both of us, and exclaimed "We a team!"

Heartwarming, I'm sure...but not really.

The problem is that we don't know if the burning in the breast that we felt was due to a charming and picaresque feeling of shared affection and righteous familial unity, or whether it resulted from a kind of resonance, a sympathetic vibration, of those of his own with the devilish seeds the 2-year-old pernicious proselyte has already succeeded in planting in our hearts.

To which "team" did he refer...?

It seems he may have mastered the "reverse psychology attack" - pretty Napoleonic for a 2-year-old field general engaged in the battle for his parents' souls. Or perhaps he really has relented and begun to listen to the better angels in his head?

Either way, Emily and I are resolved to remain on our guard, and remember the warning "woe to them that are at ease in Zion"...

I dare you not to laugh.

2008-01-18T00:39:00.000-07:00

Helmet cam + Thom Yorke's lazy eye = instant [and strange] comedy.

A good band covering a good band.

2008-01-18T00:32:00.000-07:00

This song reminds me of Wackford Squeers...

Ich bin ein ERADICATOR...

2008-01-17T12:44:00.000-07:00

Here, have a penalty kick.....What, no takers? Is it the fear that my man Oliver ["Awleevah"] will not just stop your shot, but that he will melt you into a little pool of "training toilet wee wee" with his eyes as well? Come on, you "gurly mahns" - take a penalty shot...

"A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state..."

2008-01-17T09:47:00.000-07:00

Is this what the Framers had in mind? Surely, right up there with the Small States vs. Big States fracas and the debate over slavery and 3/5 representation, Madison had the Hello Kitty AR15 and the merits of guaranteeing its place in the hands of 13-year-old girls everywhere weighing heavily on his mind...

Here come the Conspiracy Theorists...

2008-01-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

Some Conspiracy Theorists claim that governments, the mainstream media, and Hollywood are being infiltrated by a secretive race of alien invaders [very secretive, which is why they establish themselves upon arriving on earth in low profile occupations like politician, news director, and film star].

It seems that now even our sports organizations, normally bastions of non-alien-ness, are succumbing.

Thankfully, I have this blog to use as a pulpit from which to issue my call to action: "Quickly! Far right conspiracy crazies unite and squelch this threat to our alien-free way of life! Falter now, and even Beloved Nascar may fall!"

I'll take a pork loin and some policy proposals...

2008-01-14T21:10:00.000-07:00

Quoted from another blogger: "Here's my insta-theory on Clinton's victory. New Hampshire voters were supposed to reject her because they can see through a phony and she's a phony. But New Hampshire voters are also very well informed on policy. (Sorry, Michigan, it's true.) There is no question they gave Obama a serious listen. And compared to Clinton, they found him lacking substance. (I heard exactly this on Monday night from voter after voter leaving Clinton's Manchester rally -- all of them saying she'd won them over that night.) Clinton ran on policy proposals -- not always super-specific -- but her stump speeches were more detailed than those of Obama, who offered inspiration but little else. Democrats heard Obama and said, 'Where's the beef?' And Clinton was standing there with a big ol' rump steak tied around her neck."

Greetings - Lord John here again: Isn't she always standing there with a big ol' rump steak around her neck? Oh, that's right. It slipped many years ago and since can be seen comfortably [for her - uncomfortably for the rest of us] hanging around the backside of her waist.

Mdme. Clinton is running on her policy proposals? Hardly. She is sitting on her policy proposals, leading us not to ask her "Where's the beef?" but "Where's the chair?"

Time for a little "Grant" update...

2007-12-08T11:22:00.000-07:00

Recently, after a long night of studying in preparation for the impending doom that is "finals week," I climbed into our bed to find that Emily, in anticipation of her workday, was just getting out of it. The bumbling, stumbling, crashing, and mashing that resulted must have been at a higher volume than we tried to keep it, because Grant woke up screaming. Still being in more of a diet coke-induced state of wired mental readiness than one conducive to long winter's naps, I got back out of bed to try and calm him down.

Beelzebub wouldn't have it.

Most of you know that Grant's tantrums – resulting from the stubborn [and often violent] will that, once necessary for his little 1 pound self to survive, remains with us in superfluousness - can reach "Katrina" proportions. This one, however, reached new and lofty heights of obstinate gunpowderousness.

Daddy tried everything to tame the Beast - we read a book, we snuggled the duckie, we sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" [over and over], we rocked in the rocking chair, I laid him down in his bed, then my bed - still, the devil, in his attempt to lead my posterity astray, would not be cast out.

Finally, I was forced to play my trump card. I gathered up all our snuggly blankets and stuffed duckies, laid out a cornucopious "altar of rest" in the middle of the family room floor, and popped in Grant's favorite Charlie Brown Christmas dvd. It was a Christmas miracle - that blessed disc of "salve for the toddler soul" worked its magic! Grant was soon fast asleep on the pillow at my side.

After long internal deliberation which concluded with the assessment that Grant was indeed out for the count, I settled in to enjoy the reward that, wrested by an early morning of paternal sacrifice, was surely mine.

My peace, however, did not last. About an hour later [6 am], I awoke suddenly to find that Grant had either been translated [a doubtful event, due to the taint left on his soul by his recent commiserations with the Dark One] or - unencumbered by the fetters of crib-dorming that normally abscondated toddler wanderlust - had smuggled off in search of things more entertaining than sleep.

I freaked.

Groping about in the pre-dawn darkness, I finally came upon the still form of the suspect in question. I found him, sprawled like a chalk outline, in the middle of the family room floor. I had to get right down in his morning-breath-face to determine whether he was asleep or awake.

Status: sleeping.

As my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, it started to become apparent that Grant's face had curiously morphed into the textured surface of one of those giant 8th grade social studies chalk board maps - the kind with the little bumpy mountain ranges that we all wanted to take home and drive our matchbox trucks on.

Remembering that Grant had recently apprehended a new awareness of things going on in his diapers - as well as a corresponding tendency to investigate all the rumbling tectonic activity that occurs down there - I panicked. The stuff on his face...it couldn't be…poop, could it?!

I finally mustered up the courage to test the odor of the substance, and found, to my relief, that it reeked of "Hersheys" [the Pennsylvania kind, not the...other stuff].

Then it dawned on me. Grant often sits on my lap when I sit at my computer desk and work on my homework. As one who regularly occupies that lucky perch, he knows that I keep in my desk drawer, for sweet-tooth emergencies, an extra large dark chocolate bar [the size that cost about $5].

Well, I had been burgled.

Upon further investigation, I found that our nimble little cat burglar was not able to delay the gratification that, as a result of the victorious outcome of his nefarious efforts, he surely felt was his due. Rather than horde his spoils, our culprit immediately partook. So much chocolate, however, must have induced a sugar/cocoa coma before he could totally consume it, because I found most of the "Hershey brick" to not have been ingested, but rather to have melted all over his hands, his chest, his face, his neck, the back of his neck, his ear holes, his hair, his pajamas, our blankets, and the floor. Our family room had become a chocolate river delta.

So much for covering up the crime...

Highly recommend it!

2007-11-20T12:12:00.000-07:00

Finding this product has been like finding religion!

My brother just bought a new jacket...

2007-11-16T15:13:00.001-07:00

Exhibit A, to our left, is the jacket in question. He bought it on the internet, which is very convenient [especially during the holiday season], and it looks very nice. By all accounts, it appears to be a great jacket, and, to be sure, I have no doubt that it will perform so for my brother. Still, I worry about the marketing team over at "SCOTTEVEST" charged with selling this baby. On a case-by-case basis they may be successful [after all, they were able to convince my brother to ignore "the spirit of Clive" and buy one]. However, on the whole, I wouldn't bet January's mortgage payment on the Christmas bonus if I were them, as they have unleashed their marketing push in entirely the wrong direction. Rather than simply an affordably-priced, effective winter-weather-blocker, this jacket should be hawked as "The SCOTTEVEST Save You Time At The Airport During The Crazy Holiday Travel Crunch Jacket" because it is pre-xray-security-screened, or "see-through" for the laymen among you, making the interminable wait in those Mississippi-like security lines among parents struggling to control screaming snot-spewing infants [or with your own screaming snot-spewing infants] a thing of the past. If I were independently wealthy, I would drop everything, hop in my web browser, navigate right out, and get one.

I'd also like to get my hands on a footwear model, so that I can quickly raise my leg and demonstrate the scarcity/utter lack of explosive materials cohabiting with my ten little piggies, rather than have to unleash, by removing my shoes, the real, yet curiously un-banned, weapon of mass destruction that lurks, with a consistency more akin to that of pudding than vapor, beneath the hems of my jeans. What is this weapon I speak of? Put away your "Jane's International Manual of Defense and Weapons Technology" - you won't find it in there. The weapon I'm referring to is the wafting aroma of old sausage and alaskan sourdough yeast starter [trenchfoot, foot funk, pediatry putridity, etc.] - uber-deadly, but as yet unappreciated for the taser-like efficiency with which it can dispatch throngs of holiday pilgrims and vigilant cadres of airport security personnel.