Summer's Gone

Los Pequenos:
     As the last few warm days of summer quickly evaporate, it's time to look ahead to that oddest of months - September. Odd because it's derivitive is "septem"; this is Latin for seven. Why the good folks that created both the Julian & Gregorian calendars chose to ignore this, and name the ninth month of the year after the number seven, will forever remain a mystery taken to their graves. But, I digress.
     September will be a big month for your author, the second luckiest man on the planet, beginning with the annual pagan ritual that is PattyPalooza. For those newer Cheap Talk readers, the following reprint of one of last year's more popular entries will school you on the origin of this gathering of the clan. <I'll issue an update containing this year's experience, in a week or so.>

The Legend Of PattyPalooza     

      Long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful Princess and her dashing husband, the Prince. They enjoyed a peaceful existance, blessed with 2 fine sturdy children, making their home in a bucolic setting, deep within an enchanted woodland. All was well. But then, inevitably, their children grew and developed interests outside their forest home.

     At first, this seemed a benign development; the empty nest had been a foregone conclusion to child-rearing, but somehow, the emptiness that enveloped the royal couple was palpable. This was especially true for the Princess - Patty. Whiling away the days with sundry employment and decorating tasks just didn't fill the void in her life that this natural progression had wrought.

      It was just after hosting the perfunctory family gathering, that the Princess had an idea; why not create an annual event for family and assorted townsfolk to enjoy? This would surely provide the missing spark and likely result in mirth and merriment for all involved.

      She quickly set to the task, incorporating ideas and assistance from the farthest reaches of the kingdom. The resultant pagan festival that bears her name - PattyPalooza - was born. Over the years, the Princess and her Prince transformed their arboreal homeland into a theme park, of sorts.  Featured attractions, added throught the years include: the slip & slide of doom, the duck regatta, fireworks (the real ones, not those dopey fake ones), kareoke, bean bag/washer toss tourneys, talent contests, awards ceremonies, and last years' crowning jewels, the pool and Tiki bar. Theme t-shirts were added over the years, some of which made their way to other lands, destined perhaps to inspire other fair-haired princesses.

     Several weeks later, I'll be making my third trip to the West African nation of Sierra Leone. My bunkmate Bearcat and I will again be visiting the village of Maboleh, in the central part of the country, to spread our incredibly entertaining brand of snappy patter renew ties with our friends there, and ensure that our building project stays on schedule. We're building a church there and hope to have the dedication happen early next year. Here's a few pics of the construction.

 

 

     While there, we'll stay at a guest house in Makeni, a "city" about 5 miles from the village. Hopefully, there'll be enough electricity to power fans at night. I'm so looking forward to reintroducing my gastro-intestinal tract to the local fare: lots of goat, fish, cassava and the most diabolically hot spices I've ever ingested.
     Until next time amigos, adios.....

5 Ring Circus

Students:

     Having now been subjected to nearly 4 full days/nights of entreaties to watch NBC's god-awful, wall-to-wall coverage, I'm not exactly tingling with excitement. I thought perhaps by now others may too have developed a growing disdain for all things Olympic. Even if you have not, and number yourselves among the Games' mush-minded devotees, I must get this Gold, Silver & Bronze plated rant out of my system. As such, here are Speed's:

Top 10 Reasons Not To Watch The Olympics

10. Too many foreigners 
       allowed to compete.

     

 9. Confusing array of rings; 

     Ballantine only needed 3.

     Why so many colors?
         <with eyebrow raised...>
                                       

  8. American athletes wearing berets; really, berets? Looks more like the Crips' answer to the Guardian Angels. 

  
  7. Juan Antonio Samaranch
        <Google & learn>

6. Includes "sports" such as Badminton & Table Tennis; who wants to see contests where steroids offer no competitive advantage?  What's the point?

     

5. Over hyped, pampered, rigged to win teams and athletes LaBron James
       

     

 
4. Former Soviet Bloc female athletes are too frightening to watch.
  

    

 

3. Opening ceremonies cost more than the GNP of many sponsoring nations.

2. Wenlock & Mandeville

    <I have no words for this, but it looks like the little fellow on the left peed himself> 

1. The first Olympic Games featured nude competitors; what's wrong with tradition? 

       

 

    

     Feel free to comment/agree/disagree; go ahead, you know you want to. Ας αρχίσει το παιχνίδι.....

Invitees:
     There are many holidays celebrated in these United States, both sacred & secular. According to the last Day-Timer I used, prior to my conversion to digital technology, there are 37 recognized holidays listed for observance; these run the gamut from the obvious (4th of July, Christmas) to the arcane (Administrative Professionals day - April 27). Clearly, that listing is not exhausive; because if it were, it would include the recently celebrated day of my birth - July 20 - or, as it's more commonly known, The Second Coming. As a gesture of goodwill to all my demons, I'll rehash the many celebratory events conducted in my honor.
     Speed Week, as it's come to be called, began the previous Sunday; as befits any sacred holiday, the merriment commenced on the Lord's day. After services, we motored to a day spa in an undisclosed location north of the family compound. There, I enjoyed the hospitality of our gracious hosts as, for most of the day, I lay floating in the pool awaiting the delivery of yet another refreshing beverage. The day ended with an excellent repast and a chauffered ride home.
     The next three days were spent receiving a blizzard of well-wishes from around the globe, and preparing for the centerpiece of the week's festivities - the (mostly) annual pilgrimage to Pinehurst, N.C., for some real R&R. Thursday broke, and after a brief detour to ensure that all was well, we drove south. For the next 8(ish) hours, I was ensconsed in one of several motor vehicles; two from this area, another hailing from the backwaters of South Carolina. Reaching our destination, we assembled the group and, like wolves, nuzzled each pack member as they arrived - establishing the heirarchy so necessary to maintain order within the group. We hunkered down and awaited the coming day.
     July 20th was a bright and glorious morning, presaged by a spectacular dawn's early light, honoring the blessed event. Almanac references provide indisputable evidence that my birthday always boasts picture-perfect gorgeous weather; you're welcome! As is my custom, I rose early - primarily to ensure that no strays had wandered off from the pack during the night, but also to provide inspiration and set a good example for those around me. One by one, my companions stirred from their slumber and, for the most part, greeted me with the good tidings and affability that this august occasion calls for.
     The balance of the day, in fact, the balance of the trip, was spent on the links with the rest of the Dream Team; in addition to celebrating with me, Ping, Bearcat, and 'Pone entertained with equal measures of skillful play and hilarious flailings. Naturally, my game could be most charitably described as "uneven was dominant, but taking care not to overwhelm with artfully executed shots, I kept the governor on my performance. However, try as I might, I could only suppress my natural ability for so long, carding the low round of the week (80) featuring a beautiful 38 on the front nine. Sporting my traditional V for victory cap, I basked in the adulation that washed over me.
     After the round, I returned to find the distaff members of our troupe hard at work preparing a special birthday feast. This assembly line of exhausted pottery shoppers summoned their reserves in order to provide me with the sustenance necessary to operate at the highest of levels; obviously, they succeeded.
     Jocularity, athletic prowess and hero worship consumed the remainder of the trip. The subordinate members of the group spent much of their time attempting to curry my favor - with a modicum of success. Speed Week concluded on Monday, with yet another highlight reel performance on the links, and a gluteus-numbing return ride home.
     So there it is, a detailed recap of yet another killer chapter in my book of life. Those winners in life's lottery fortunate enough to play a small role in this episode will remember it always. Now, so can all of you. Sensation librement pour m'admire.........
   

Rick Warren Is Wrong

Whelps:
     OMG; the interest in all things Speed continues to build. Last month's post, highlighting the 2012 Killa Flotilla experience, has shattered all previous viewing records. Demonstrably, the worldwide web world just cannot get enough of me!

     Although the life of a rock star appeals to me - the love, the attenttion, the special treatment - I remain your humble servant, owing this uncharacteristically modest assertion to the diciplined training received from the good sisters at St. Michael the Archangel elementary school, during my tender years.
     This traipse down memory lane has led me to provide yet another glimpse into my world - this time, from an historical perspective. I suspect this will become a wildly popular feature, at once both inspirational and informative. Sharing some of my most significant life moments through the years should certainly assuage all but the most indifferent of dullards, fated to wander aimlessly through cyberspace. here goes:

THIS YEAR IN SPEED HISTORY

1950 - Nearly 2,000 years after the first, another wrapped in swaddling clothes arrived. My birth had been foretold for some time; doves were released simultaneously around the globe.
1965 - Demonstrating aplomb that David Niven would envy, I rebuffed the advances of a much older woman, setting myself firmly upon a lifelong path of virtue.
1971 - In a lovely service, officiated by representatives from two religious disciplines (to ensure that it took), I wed; coevally, she became both Mrs. Brisco & The Luckiest Woman Alive.
1977/1981 - Welcomed my progeny, thus launching my unending contribution to the elevation of the planet's average IQ.
1999 - Received international acclaim for developing software that was widely credited with preventing the much anticipated and universally dreaded Y2K meltdown; declined the Nobel Prize.
2010 - Jump started my moribund career with the initial publication of "Speed Stuff", the internet's answer to the question, "What does narcissism look like?" best kept secret.
2011 - Evidencing an ongoing defiance of the aging process that besets most, I was required to show proof of age to purchase alcohol.

     Understand that this was substantially more difficult than it appears (most of what I do is); paring my plethora of incredible life events down to a manageable few was exhausting.
     So, ruminate on this awhile. I urge you to resist the inexorable urge to measure your life's journey, by mine; nothing good can come of that. To whatever degree you're able, simply be quenched by the cool relief that vicarious experiences afford. 
     Subisto siccus meus amicitia.......

Rollin' On The River

Wannabees:
     The 2012 Killa Flotilla cruised into port last weekend; reminding those fortunate enough to witness our landfall, of those halcyon days of yore, when true sea-farin' men ruled the waves. This year's armada consisted of 20 of the strongest, bravest, most handsome men - assembled from nearly 3 dozen applicants, not all of whom made the cut. As their unquestioned leader, the burdon fell most heavily on my broad shoulders, to ensure each and every one of these seal pups returned safely to the arms of the women they love. As a sign of respect, the men applauded my wearin' of the dayglo PFD, donned only by the sturdiest of river men.
     After a modest breakfast (by comparison - more on that later), we launched our crafts into the roarin' Juniata; there were 17 ships in all - 14 kayaks and 3 canoes. We kept the first-timers (nearly a third of the fleet) busy with initiation-like chores; they were barnacle scrubbin', sail mendin', gear totin' and the like, while your Captain remained firmly in control of the rest of the waterboys.
     When at sea, it's crucial to maintain dicipline; making sure the crew knows who's in charge is vital. Sadly, one of the plebes got a little rambunctious, and I had to throw him overboard; but all was not lost, as several of the cry-baby, bleedin' hearts in the crew rescued the unfortunate miscreant. But by now, the tone had been set - under my command, no shenanigans would be tolerated; no further corrective actions were required.
     After many hours of floating along, our paddles nearly completely dry from one stroke to the next furious paddling, land was sighted. I dispatched a junior member of the crew, to signal the rest of the fleet.
     Soon enough, all were scurrying about the island, setting up camp at what one of the older salts opined, was the "Augusta National" of campsites. It had everything - plenty of level tent space, loads of dry firewood, and a defensable position, should interlopers set upon us under cover of darkness (more on this later, as well). As the sun began its inexorable descent, I experienced the warm, satisfying feeling that an alpha male in any wolf pack must feel, knowing all his pups are safe and well cared for.
     Throughout the evening, the crew blew off enough steam to power several sternwheelers, but as captain, I could not rest; despite hearing the tempting siren's call, I remained vigilant - on guard, ever at the ready. This proved fortuitous, as a renegade band of scurvey laden sailors from another land suddenly appeared on our shore, ostensibly, seeking refuge. Immediately, my years of experience proved their worth, as I assembled a fierce show of force to resist these invaders. They were summarily dispatched, with rancor, and we saw them not again. Peace returned to our island, and the balance of the night passed without further incident.
     Dawn comes callin' early when you're on the river. At first light some of the men roused from their grog-induced stupor, and they made their way expectantly toward the fire, like little piglets, they lined up for nourishment in the form of Uncle Speed's River Chow. I provide this for the crew, 'cause they're too freakin' lazy to provide for themselves as a measure of gratitude for all their hard work on our voyage. Suffice it to say, it kicked the a** of that lame-o stuff we had the day before. River Chow is a hearty repast, containing ingredients that represent all the major food groups, and in so doing, provides substantive fuel for the balance of the trip.
     The remaining time on the island was spent packin', cleanin' and, for some, answerin' the call. It wasn't long 'till we were back on the river, charting a southerly course for our final stop. Along the way, your captain provided some much needed navigational expertise, the Xs & Os of sailing, so to speak, adroitly guiding the crafts toward the leeward side of Lady Liberty - avoiding the ship's graveyard that is the water surrounding that bleached edifice.
     At this point, most of the crew mutinied, and ran their crafts aground at Fort Hunter. It remained for one of the senior officers and me to continue on our charted course for City Island; this we did, and a mere 4 hours later, we reached that golden shore.
     So there you have it, me hearties; another KF is in the books. For those of you wondering, my personal watercraft performed flawlessly. Applications have already been received for next year's Flotilla, and they're being reviewed. Until next time, I leave you with Speed's river wisdom: keep the clean side up, and the dirty side down. S'long, mateys.........
    

Randy Says Look For The V

Lubricants:

     Here it is - the long awaited pre-Killa Flotilla post. At this writing, we've got 19 confirmed and 3 uncommunicative sailors. I'd list them all, but frankly, it's my post so I'll only discuss me <let'em get their own freakin' blog> time and space do not permit.
     The trip will take us on 2 of Pennsylvania's mightiest rivers - the Juniata & Susquehanna. Actually, taming both waterways in one trip is child's play for Tommy G.; he's accompanying me on this one. Here's a link to our hazard-laden route:
https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=gmail&attid=0.1&thid=137be2892064a903&mt=application/vnd.openxmlformats-officedocument.wordprocessingml.document&url=https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui%3D2%26ik%3D941d011a23%26view%3Datt%26th%3D137be2892064a903%26attid%3D0.1%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&sig=AHIEtbQuVlAxg7PEe9Tnu-gOsyLjyYWAcw
     It looks like about an 18 mile-ish sojourn. I fully expect at least one mermaid sighting, and who knows how many other seafarin' apparitions?
     The gunwales are greased, the chow's been selected, the grog's been stowed, and the manly cigars have been purchased. It'll be a fateful trip for certain. For more on this, sail on over to the Facebook page devoted to this adventure: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/events/379973902042159/
     Almost time to shove off, mateys............



Mail Call

Lilliputians:

                If you follow my musings at all, you already know how big a deal each year’s Killa Flotilla is. This year’s edition sports a roster of 20+ fearless wave runners. Typically, this edition would contain info and details aplenty; however, as we go to press, a few loose threads remain. Naturally, my unquenchable thirst for attention concern for my readership spurs within me an impulse to post – thereby satisfying the unyielding demands of the Speed Demons.
                As such, to accommodate those of you who, like a nest full of baby robins with mouths agape, awaiting fresh literary meat, yammer and chirp incessantly, I’ll dip once again into the mailbag. Reprising this extremely popular feature should, at least temporarily, sate your entreats. Here we go…..

Q: Speed, what went wrong?  -  M. Zuckerberg

A: Let’s see; offering a populace-driven product primarily to institutional investors. Hmmm, what could it be?

Q: <panting> If Justin Timberlake and Justin Bieber had a fight, who’d win?  -  R. Seacrest

A: In the great “Birds of a Feather” slap-off, I see J. Biebs coming out on top…………………

Q: What do you need most to become a great Cowboy?   -  J. Jones

A: A great cowgirl.

Q: What are you doin’ New Year’s Eve?  -  D. Clark

A: Another one I should have answered sooner…

Q: Are you coming to see my next concert in Hershey?  -  D. Matthews

A: No, but I’d pay to see you take on the winner of the Timberlake/Bieber death match.

Q: What do YOU wish for?  -  J. Cricket

A: A world with more mirrors.

                All right, enough of that for now. Keep watching for my next post; it’ll surely be chocked-full of information about KF II. After that, it’s on to Pinehurst, preparing for PattiPalooza 11, and arranging a return visit to Sierra Leone. It’s so cool to be me; I love it out on that ledge…..

Down The Rabbit's hole

….”It’s all part of my rock and roll fantasy.” - Bad Company (1979)

As you surely know by this time, my encyclopedic knowledge of pop music is the stuff of legend – befitting my unofficial title of “most phoned friend”, as it relates to that genre.

As I ponder the above lyric, it occurs to me that since I spend so much time in my fantasy world, the Speed Demons who hang on my every utterance (Greenspanning, I call it) would love to learn more about that magical place. Here’s a glimpse:

Another Saturday (every day is Saturday) dawned brightly; I was awakened gently by the singing of birds and the warm aroma of a full breakfast – prepared just to my liking – wafting upwards to my sleep chamber. As I untangled myself from the gentle embrace of my goose-down comforter and slipped into my soft, plush slippers, the pleasant memories of the previous evening’s revelry brought a slight smile to my lips. Gentlemanly discretion prevents me from revealing the details; let’s just say there were no unsatisfied customers.

Soon after wiping the vestiges of perfectly prepared Eggs Benedict off my face, I set to work on the NY Times crossword and Sudoku Gold puzzles. Dispatching these with my customary aplomb (in ink, no mistakes), I took a beachside stroll. It was then I spotted a small, golden lamp, barely revealed by the moon’s irresistible effect on the receding tide. Naturally, I picked it up, cleaned it off and, as you might expect, rubbed the artifact - producing an ephemeral, shimmering visage of a killer goddess (doesn’t it always?).  

After introducing herself and announcing her intention to grant my wishes, she carefully explained that I might wish for the strength of Hercules, the body of Adonis, matinee-idol good looks, the intellect of Einstein, the wealth of Gates and the athletic ability of Thorpe.

Time passed, and I waited patiently as this genie recited the remaining 38 options at my disposal, although the more she explained, the more frustrated she seemed to grow. It seems the futility of that exercise became increasingly apparent. She hung her head and sobbed, “Sorry Speed, I forgot who I was dealing with.” I lightly kissed her brow and returned her to her gilded home; I placed the lamp back into the sand from whence it came – to await discovery by a needier recipient.

By now, the sun’s edges were melting into the azure blue horizon, signaling the afternoon’s end and the start of happy hour. Soon enough, I was ensconced at my favorite table, in my favorite haunt, surrounded by my favorite companions. We made short work of the repast that followed, lubricated by only the finest of libations, and the balance of the night was spent in gloriously clever, high-browed discourse.

Naturally, throughout the evening the assemblage of well-wishers and Demon wanna-bes constituted a parade to my table, each seeking a word, a glance, a touch that might make both their evening, and a fond memory with which to regale their family and friends – for generations to come.

Later, I became aware of, and ultimately succumbed to the impish suggestions made by my winsome companion. Again, delicacy precludes the recitation of what next occurred; suffice it to say that we sped to a discreet location, our emotions fueled by the combination of danger and excitement that only my 500 horsepower Ferrari can engender. Soon, exhausted, I slept the peaceful slumber of the innocents. A day well spent…………

Editor’s note: In the interest of full disclosure, the following is the TRUE first person account of what happened that same day:

I got up from a night on the uncomfortable sofa; as usual, I was incredibly stiff and sore. I had tea & toast while I watched the rain pour down. I read the soggy comics in the paper and then watched seven hours of infomercials on TV. 

I got what was left in the change bottle and went to buy a lottery ticket. After the drawing, I gave myself a nasty paper cut tearing up my loser. I made myself a Spam sandwich and fell asleep in the recliner, watching SportsCenter. Yet another day in paradise …..

Yes, it's been a while; I miss you too

Demons:
     When last you heard from me, I was preparing for 2 seperate things - one an adventure, the other an event. The Appalachia Service Project (ASP) trip was awesome. I was one of 28 (29 returning) wide-eyed volunteers that ventured some 500 miles to the southwest, to Virginia's appendix. While there, we split into 5 teams, each one assigned a sturdy leader - all tasked with reclamation/renovation projects of one sort or another. Naturally, the team I was a part of had 2 sites to cover; the other, lesser-skilled teams had one.

     Under the watchful tutelage of Lt. Dan, we executed our mission with alacrity; suffice it to say, the A Team was in town.
     Later that week - Good Friday, to be exact - Super Dave R. and I reprised a well-written, insightful drama, pitting Peter against Judas, in a revealing blame game that followed Jesus' sentencing 2,000 years ago. Great stuff - here's a link to the video of that star turn: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rO6ATrNKnk&feature=share
It's a little long (19 minutes) but I'm so worth it it's an excellent production. I know you're asking, is there anything at which Speed cannot excel? Probably not.....
     Although I'm itching to write about, and then finally embark on the 2nd annual Killa Flotilla, and my long awaited reunion with my gorgeous mermaid, I'll restrain myself for a month or so. <Check this out for more details>  http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/events/379973902042159/   
     In the interim, I'll demonstrate prescience beyond all reason, by offering my predictions for this, the silliest of seasons, the 2012 election cycle.
First however, a word of disclosure - Speed's political bent does not shape the following clairvoyance. Any attempt to divine my leanings is useless. Your best efforts will be confounded; but, if you wish to try - bon chance.

     * Winner Of The PA Republican Primary = Mitt Romney ... I'll bet he's just overjoyed at the thought of wasting the $3 million in ad money he spent to bury Santorum, only to have Rick bow out 2 weeks before election day. There's money well spent!
     * Winner Of The PA Democratic Primary = Barak Obama ... no sh## Sherlock! <Don't fret, I'm just getting warmed up>
     * Winner Of The GOP Nomination = Mitt Romney ... I know, you're thinking the previous thought, but here comes the reach.
     * GOP Vice Presidential Nominee = Bobby Jindal ... The republican governor of Louisiana, and the current GOP poster boy for everything Mitt's not. Remember, you heard it here first.
     * Democratic Vice Presidential Nominee = Joe Biden ... See previous no sh## comment. Dems terrified of any change at this point <see tired old saw about changing horses in mid-stream>.
     * Winner Of The General Election = Barak Obama ... Listen, his base is more excited about his candidacy that Mitt's base is; sadly, it's that simple.

     So there you have it PoliSci students; feel free to commence your hibernation. Thanks to Speed's alarmingly unerring discernment, you needn't trouble yourselves about this any longer.
     Before I close however, here's a Speed Nugget, free of charge - the fundamental problem with a democracy is this: the least-informed vote cast, counts just as much as the most-informed vote cast. Think about that as you engage in political discourse over the next 7 months. Adieu.......

Busy Couple Of Weeks

Subscribers:

     I know it's been a bit of a wait, but this'll be worth it. First however, I must apologize. Apparently, my latest challenge to the dreary masses you was more difficult than I had imagined.

     As an ascriber to the "Bread & Circuses" (look it up yourself - I can't do everything for you) theory of sociology, I felt certain that a bit of light entertainment, in the form of a musical-themed quiz, would brighten the spirits of dullards the world over. As no responses/entries were received, I can only conclude that the bar was set too high. This was clearly an error in judgement, for which I <fake sincerity alert> sincerely apologize.

     So, with that out of the way, permit me to describe for you my schedule for the near future. Shortly, I shall return to Appalachia to assist our Appalachia Service Project (ASP) team; this year, we venture into the darkest recesses of Southwestern Virginia.   

     Obviously, my superior skill set coctail made a favorable impression on team leadership last year. I'll provide you all a full accounting upon my return.  

     Soon thereafter, on Good Friday, Super-Dave Romberger and I will reprise our roles as Peter & Judas (guess which one I play) during that evening's 7:00 PM service at CrossPoint. The drama is one authored by our pastor's daughter Audrey, and it's a good one - a look deep into what really motivated Judas. I'm generally loathe to assign praise to anyone but myself really impressed with her take on this. I encourage you to attend - it really is that good!

     Finally, a word about my heritage, as many of you have written, asking me about my "roots". I'm a mixed breed - primarily German, with a touch of Welsh, Scotch (I love a Bonnie lassie) and who knows what else.

     I provide this as a service to those unfortunate souls seeking a role model, but limit themselves to certain nationality strains.

     So, to those desperately seeking one to pattern your life after, I'm here for you. As Tommy says, see me, feel me, touch me, heal me.

     Incipias adorare me.........