Yes, that is the title of this post. I'm not going to reference how long it has been since I last posted (Did you notice that I just did?) because Grandpop has reminded me of the last date. You think I'm kidding, but he actually knows the date without even looking at the blog. He literally wakes up and checks every single morning. I know, devotion at its finest. This might be a good time to tell him that he can get updates as to when I do update it. It's pretty simple, but then again Grandmom and Grandpop can't even figure out YouTube, so this might be a little much on them.
I'm sure you're all as interested in hearing me talk about my grandparents as Ferris Bueller's classmates are in learning about voodoo economics, but I think it was necessary. Well, about as necessary as it is for Patches O'Houlihan to drink his own urine. Zing, two badass movie references in two sentences. I'm on fire.
You may be wondering, why now? It's pretty simple really. I didn't post over the summer, again. Yes, I do have more time on my hands than I do when I'm in school, but I prefer to spend it setting Minesweeper world records rather than blogging. When school comes around, I have actual work to get done, which I put off by blogging. It's completely counterintuitive (SAT word of the day) and makes no sense at all, but it's the excuse I came up with this time.
There is one particular story I have to tell you about, and it has happened fairly recently. Over the past couple of months I have started working on college applications. For anyone who is also doing these, they know that email is very important. You would also be able to understand my concern when I logged onto my Comcast account to find all of my emails gone. Literally. Vanished. They weren't even in the trash bin. After some super sleuth work by me and Jeff (mostly by me), we figured we should call Comcast. He described the problem for about an hour, and they said they would have it working again within a day. Not hearing anything, Jeff called back the next day. To his dismay, there was an automated number to press for problems with the online email, one that had not been there the day before. Coincidence? I think not. I know what you are thinking, and yes, I did cause 1-800-COMCAST to create a line specifically for my needs. It was probably the greatest moment of my life so far.
Along with this epic return to blogging, I'm going to update you on a few things that have changed since the start of this blog.
1. I no longer care for sweatervests. As crushing as this may be for all of my readers (all three of you), I honestly haven't worn a sweatervest in quite some time. Granted, I usually sport it once during the holiday season, but that's really about it. I've moved on to other fashion quests, with my main one being sweatshirt-shirts and sweatpant-shorts.
2. I'm not going to get on here very often at all, and when I do the posts will be short. Probably shorter than this. This may surprise you, but writing blogs actually does take a lot of time. This also may surprise you, but I'm a person who doesn't really have a lot of time on his hands.
3. I effing love Journey. I don't care what any of you have to say (looking at you Fat Dub), Steve Perry could sing me to sleep. I know 80's Jake (TBD) will appreciate this, and I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Tell me Lights isn't the purist song this side of Meet Virginia, and I will seriously reconsider why I am even talking to you in the first place.
4. I love finding Bro names. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go watch I Love You, Man. Bro Namath, Bro Montana, and Dude von Dudenstein are all suggested in that fine piece of cinematography. 80's Jake and I have spent the first few days of history class not completing our work, but instead brainstorming fantastic Bro names. Sandy Brofax, Frosty the Broman, and Vincent Van Bro are all solid selections, but our favorite rests in Bro Pesci. My good buddy Drew Lewis has even gotten in on the fun, by naming me Ben Brobel. I'm appreciative of the name, Brometheus.
5. I'm one of the vice presidents of our school this year. I'm not telling you this to brag (who am I kidding? I'm telling you this to brag), rather I'm doing it to show you the greatest video in the creation of mankind. Adam Salam and I decided to run for president as a team, and with the help of Jackay, made this super awesome video to emcompass our goals as president. I'm going to link it here, just in case the video below gets cut off. For the record, our presidential speech literally consisted of us introducing ourselves and me saying "We pretty much only have a video. So, yeah." Enjoy.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Ladies and Gentlemen: Chris Murphy
It's been a while, but Fat Dub and I have successfully finished our AP tests. I'm not going to speak for Will here, because frankly I have no clue what his schedule is, but my school year is all but over. This means more blogging for all of you (in truth, it really doesn't. I said the same thing last year, and I posted next to nothing at all). After my last post, the Penn Relays one, I got an email from Chris Murphy, the man I quoted calling me a "slow, white teenager." First, some background information.
The Sobel's and the Murphy's have been friends for a while (BFFE's if you will). Chris has a daughter, Line, who is best friends with my sister Sizzie. If you don't know Line, she is one of the more annoying human beings on the face of the planet Earth. Besides the non-stop talking or the unrelenting desire to be perfect at everything she does, there is just something about Line that bothers me. (If you couldn't tell, I thoroughly enjoy annoying her. And no, her name is not actually Line.) Chris also has a man-child son named Kevin, and a wife, Connie. If you ever end up making a trip over to the Murphys house, you will sooner die than leave without eating. Literally. Chris will hold you down and Connie will force feed you (They've done it to me before. The food was actually pretty good). And probably the most important thing you will learn about Chris is that he is a lawyer.
Anyway, I suppose Chris took some offense to me quoting him on the blog, judging by the fact that he took time out of his work day to email me about it, and subsequently attempting to clear his name. Yes, I use attempting for a specific reason. I put in my two cents where I deemed necessary, in italics.
Ben -- Please feel free to post this one your blog: (This is a clear sign that he is emailing me exclusively for the blog. I know all you really want is publicity, Chris. So I'm giving it to you. Partly because I'm a nice guy, but mostly because I have very little to write about.)
While I am somewhat honored to have been mentioned in your recent blog post on the Penn Relays, I must protest your "loose" journalistic ethics (The quotation marks were painfully unnecessary.) In particular, you attribute to me a certain quotation that I cannot ever recall stating. Now, given that I have known you since before you even knew how to write with a fat crayon, I feel somewhat well positioned to offer two specific criticisms to speed you on your way to journalistic fame and fortune. First, as a result of our relationship, you know that certain people close to both of us (e.g., your mother) often like to attribute quirky or irreverent comments to me. While I have consistently denied ever having made the attributed comments, I must admit that I find it interesting and humorous that anyone could think I might actually have made the comments in question. Knowing of my consistent denials, I would have expected you to have the journalistic "cojones" to have approached me for confirmation before publishing your wildly inaccurate quote. Second and regarding the quotation itself, I do not deny calling you slow, but I fail to see why you feel the need to play the race card (well played); I would have been only slightly less appalled had you replaced "white" with "Lithuanian" or "kielbasa-loving." (It's funny he mentioned kielbasa-loving. While it is true that I do love a good dish of kielbasa and sauerkraut, I actually gave some of my kielbasa to Chris when he came over. He was eating it when he asked me about track, and that's when the quote in question was stated by the defendant. I can speak lawyer too, chachi.) You are rapidly approaching the age at which you must come to grips with your own limitations and looking for excuses for your glaring lack of pace will only delay the inevitable day of reckoning (Your attempt to make me experience a premature epiphany of my track ability has failed, for I have already realized it a long, long time ago). Having said that, I must admit that I have thoroughly enjoyed your pieces in the Panther Press and your tongue-in-cheek view of life at SHHS. One final thought about my appearance in your blog -- it proves the maxim attributed to Derek Bok, former president of Harvard: "I think the measure of your success to a certain extent will be the amount of things written about you that aren't true." (Chris, I have no idea how you hunted this quote down. It impresses me, except, unfortunately, it really isn't applicable, because the "wildly inaccurate quote" you claim to have never said actually did come out of your mouth.)
A few days after this email, Jeffrey J. and I actually went to the Phillies game, courtesy of Chris Murphy. He was there of course, and we got to enjoy the game in the box. It was Dollar Dog Night, but in a suite you don't pay for any food, so the promotion was null. I had some other nice food, and got to take home pretty much all the desserts. All in all, Jeffrey J. and I thoroughly enjoyed our evening, and Chris continued to deny his "white teenager" quote. I was willing to let bygones be bygones, but Chris just wouldn't let it go. I felt obligated to put it on here, and I've finally gotten arond to it. So you're welcome, Chris.
I'm not including a video. I'm sure the three people (Grandmom, Grandpop, and that one viewer in Santa Clarita, California) that have actually finished this post are crying.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
The Sobel's and the Murphy's have been friends for a while (BFFE's if you will). Chris has a daughter, Line, who is best friends with my sister Sizzie. If you don't know Line, she is one of the more annoying human beings on the face of the planet Earth. Besides the non-stop talking or the unrelenting desire to be perfect at everything she does, there is just something about Line that bothers me. (If you couldn't tell, I thoroughly enjoy annoying her. And no, her name is not actually Line.) Chris also has a man-child son named Kevin, and a wife, Connie. If you ever end up making a trip over to the Murphys house, you will sooner die than leave without eating. Literally. Chris will hold you down and Connie will force feed you (They've done it to me before. The food was actually pretty good). And probably the most important thing you will learn about Chris is that he is a lawyer.
Anyway, I suppose Chris took some offense to me quoting him on the blog, judging by the fact that he took time out of his work day to email me about it, and subsequently attempting to clear his name. Yes, I use attempting for a specific reason. I put in my two cents where I deemed necessary, in italics.
Ben -- Please feel free to post this one your blog: (This is a clear sign that he is emailing me exclusively for the blog. I know all you really want is publicity, Chris. So I'm giving it to you. Partly because I'm a nice guy, but mostly because I have very little to write about.)
While I am somewhat honored to have been mentioned in your recent blog post on the Penn Relays, I must protest your "loose" journalistic ethics (The quotation marks were painfully unnecessary.) In particular, you attribute to me a certain quotation that I cannot ever recall stating. Now, given that I have known you since before you even knew how to write with a fat crayon, I feel somewhat well positioned to offer two specific criticisms to speed you on your way to journalistic fame and fortune. First, as a result of our relationship, you know that certain people close to both of us (e.g., your mother) often like to attribute quirky or irreverent comments to me. While I have consistently denied ever having made the attributed comments, I must admit that I find it interesting and humorous that anyone could think I might actually have made the comments in question. Knowing of my consistent denials, I would have expected you to have the journalistic "cojones" to have approached me for confirmation before publishing your wildly inaccurate quote. Second and regarding the quotation itself, I do not deny calling you slow, but I fail to see why you feel the need to play the race card (well played); I would have been only slightly less appalled had you replaced "white" with "Lithuanian" or "kielbasa-loving." (It's funny he mentioned kielbasa-loving. While it is true that I do love a good dish of kielbasa and sauerkraut, I actually gave some of my kielbasa to Chris when he came over. He was eating it when he asked me about track, and that's when the quote in question was stated by the defendant. I can speak lawyer too, chachi.) You are rapidly approaching the age at which you must come to grips with your own limitations and looking for excuses for your glaring lack of pace will only delay the inevitable day of reckoning (Your attempt to make me experience a premature epiphany of my track ability has failed, for I have already realized it a long, long time ago). Having said that, I must admit that I have thoroughly enjoyed your pieces in the Panther Press and your tongue-in-cheek view of life at SHHS. One final thought about my appearance in your blog -- it proves the maxim attributed to Derek Bok, former president of Harvard: "I think the measure of your success to a certain extent will be the amount of things written about you that aren't true." (Chris, I have no idea how you hunted this quote down. It impresses me, except, unfortunately, it really isn't applicable, because the "wildly inaccurate quote" you claim to have never said actually did come out of your mouth.)
A few days after this email, Jeffrey J. and I actually went to the Phillies game, courtesy of Chris Murphy. He was there of course, and we got to enjoy the game in the box. It was Dollar Dog Night, but in a suite you don't pay for any food, so the promotion was null. I had some other nice food, and got to take home pretty much all the desserts. All in all, Jeffrey J. and I thoroughly enjoyed our evening, and Chris continued to deny his "white teenager" quote. I was willing to let bygones be bygones, but Chris just wouldn't let it go. I felt obligated to put it on here, and I've finally gotten arond to it. So you're welcome, Chris.
I'm not including a video. I'm sure the three people (Grandmom, Grandpop, and that one viewer in Santa Clarita, California) that have actually finished this post are crying.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Sunday, May 9, 2010
A Tribute To The Greatest
Yeah, I just started off with a video, a video only with music and a picture. Just a warning, if you didn't like the song above, don't bother reading anymore of the post. (Cool, so it's just me now? Nice)
The afore mentioned song (sorry I just read all the lawyer talk on the last post, really not my best) is the first track off Nas's debut album, Illmatic. Now you may be wondering why in the world I would be talking about Illmatic (I really overuse the imposing on the audience a question meme, don't I? (See what I did there?)). Well first, I'm bringing culture to this blog (yeah, Illmatic counts as a cultured reference) and second, as the title of this post implies, it is quite simply the greatest hip-hop album ever made.
First, the production of the album is simply outstanding. Nas put together an absolute murderers row of producers for Illmatic. I would go so far as to say that the producers used on Illmatic include 4 of the 10 best producers of all time (In my rankings DJ Premier comes in at #2, Large Professor at #4, Q-Tip at #7 and Pete Rock at #10). And these guys weren't just screwing around in the studio, Q-Tip said, "We were all in there, pumping out some of the best beats of our careers." The beats are a clinic in minimalism, just heavy drums and bass with little useless glitter that characterizes what pass for good beats today. I would go so far as to say that Illmatic is the best produced hip-hop album of all time. With only the RZA's (The best producer of all time) masterpieces of Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers and Liquid Swords coming close.
Nas's flow on Illmatic is simply astounding. One only needs to hear NY State of Mind's first few bars to get that. Often, Nas's pure flow and skill as a rapper is overlooked, but on Illmatic it takes the album to the next level. His flow is the best it's ever been, one only needs to look at the first bars of NY State of Mind to see how smooth he is, even over the most complex of rhymes.
But Illmatic isn't just a hip-hop album. It's a work of art. When it comes to the best poets of the 20th Century some might point to the Eliots, Yeatses, Nerudas, and Ginsbergs (Yeah, Spanish and Beat Poetry, I told you I was cultured) of the world, but I say nay. Nasir Jones is the greatest poet of the 20th Century and I point to Illmatic as the reason why. The complexity, technical precision, and topics of his rhymes are something that hasn't been seen in hip-hop before or since Illmatic.
On Illmatic, Nas focuses on the streets he grew up on in Queensbridge, New York. He spins tales of a neighborhood party, visiting his best friend in jail, his childhood, drug use, and most of all-the drug trade. Nas tells it how he sees it, he expresses the cold truth of the streets. Unlike the Notorious BIG's more successful debut album, that also came out in 1994 (1994 was the best year in the history of hip-hop), Ready to Die, Illmatic is not about the money and riches and women that the artist possesses. Illmatic is an album about the cold hard truth-it's a terrible life out there with no way out (it's basically just The Wire of hip-hop). "The World Is Yours" is probably the best example of this. I won't go into deep literary analysis, just know the world is something, but it's definitely not yours.
Nas's rhyming on the album is also amazing. His complex rhyme schemes had never been seen before in hip-hop. Nas brought internal rhyme schemes to the forefront of his work, the album's closer "It Ain't Hard to Tell" probably has the most complex rhyme schemes in the history of hip-hop. Nas took the lessons of his predecessors like Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane, and Rakim (3 of the best Golden Age rappers) to heart, and builds upon their incredible flow and rhyming.
So heres one more track off the album, "One Time For Your Mind"
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As you probably know, one of my favorite shows, Lost is ending Sunday (hey that's today!). Years after it has ended, Lost will be remembered as being the most ridiculous show of all time (such bold statements on this post! (exclamation points!)) and for good reason. But despite the time traveling, immortals, smoke monsters, fight v. good and evil, constants, polar bears, bad nicknames, complete disregard for that fact that it takes skill to accurately shoot a gun, hatches, incidents, caves filled with magic light, 3 toed statues, magical lighthouses that somehow go unnoticed for 5 seasons, talking to ghosts, flashbacks, flash forwards, Kate, sideways universes, losing being able to speak english, useless temples, random skeletons, and Jack's tattoos episode (yeah most of those came form the last season, just shows you how poor a job they've done) I love and will always love this show. The Pilot episode, the best hour of television I've ever seen, is up on hulu right now. Go watch it.
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Oh and congrats to Ben for winning student council vice-president. Yay!
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Animal Collective's "Street Flash"
(Will?)
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Nikola Tesla: Real American Hero
I want to tell you all about one of my personal heroes: Nikola F. Tesla. And yes, that F stands for Fricking Awesome (that was originally a different word, guess which one!). Essentially, there are only two things you need to know about Niky T. First, Nikola Tesla is far and away the smartest person in human history, smarter than any of Galileo, Newton, Ptolemy, or Einstein (the rest of the top-5). And second, he was completely insane. I mean like the raving lunatic that walks down the sidewalk yelling about the apocalypse (otherwise known as Michelle Bachman (double parentheses for divisive political jokes, yay!)) crazy. So insane that this video would make perfect sense to him.
Now, you may be asking yourself, "If Nikola Tesla is so awesome and smart why haven't I heard of him/only heard of him as the character that David Bowie plays in The Prestige?" Why Will, that is an excellent hypothetical question. Let me answer you're question with another question, did you know that Thomas Edison was a giant glory hogging douche? The reason that you've never heard of Tesla is because Edison used his great wealth and status to screw over Tesla's legacy. Now rather than actually explain the Edison-Tesla feud I'm going to refer you to this drunk history (once you get to the part where Edison starts electrocuting animals its no longer even remotely correct). So Edison has unfairly buried Tesla in history, even though Tesla was the man. Not only did invent alternating current (the current we still use today), but he also invented the radio (not Marconi) and had a thousand other cool idea. Tesla was able to use the earth as a conductor and once lit 200 lightbulbs from 26 miles away without using wires, the nerds at MIT were just freaking out because they were able to do 7 feet. Not only that but Tesla was able to artificially create lightning and he invented a death ray. Let me repeat that, the man invented a DEATH RAY THAT COULD KILL ANYONE WITHIN 200 MILES OF IT. J. Edgar Hoover was so freaked out by this information that her confiscated all of Tesla's papers and property when he died and they have been concealed as top secret ever since (I'm not saying that the government has a death ray, I'm just saying North Korea better not come within 200 miles of us). Tesla did some really insane stuff. His Wardenclyffe Tower may or may not have caused the Tunguska Event. And one time, while he was working on magnetic resonance, he discovered the resonant frequency of the Earth and caused an earthquake so powerful that it almost obliterated the 5th Avenue New York building that housed his Frankenstein Castle of a laboratory. Stuff was flying off the walls, the drywall was breaking apart, the cops were coming after him, and Tesla had to smash his device with a sledge hammer to keep it from demolishing an entire city block. Unluckily, we haven't been able to recreate most of Tesla's inventions and experiments because he hardly wrote anything down, I mean the man could memorize entire books and did advanced calculus in his head, he didn't have to worry about writing stuff down. So basically science wise, he was the best.
His insanity is equally well documented. He was prone to nervous breakdowns, claimed to receive weird visions in the middle of the night, spoke to pigeons, and occasionally thought he was receiving electromagnetic signals from extraterrestrials on Mars. He was also obsessive-compulsive and hated round objects, human hair, jewelry, and anything that wasn't divisible by three. Additionally, Tesla was disgusted by the thought of sexual intercourse and remained celibate his entire life. So now when someone says Nikola Tesla you can say, "total baller."
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Recently, I've been listening to quite a bit of Wu-Tang Clan. In particular, the unrivaled Ghostface Killah. My new found Ghostface love has gotten me into an argument with my good friend Jeremy. While we both agree that GZA is the best rapper in the Clan and that RZA is the most important member, we got into a disagreement as to who was better-Ghostface or Method Man. Jeremy points to Meth's superior flow and rhyming ability in claiming, while I point out Ghost's greater lyricism and body of work. To me, Meth has more natural ability, but that doesn't make him better. Vince Carter is more naturally talented than Kobe, but does that make him a better basketball player? No. Ghost has a far superior catalog of music than Meth. Meth's best album is his first Tical. Ghost has three albums that are better than Tical- Ironman, Supreme Clientele, and Fishscale. In addition, Raekwon's Only Built 4 Cuban Linx... is essentially a Ghostface album, he appears on every song. Ghost is not only the better lyricist than Meth, he is the best lyricist of a generation. He rhymes about everything from the drug trade, to the hard fought lives of his elderly neighbors. When Ghost raps, he's not just making free association boasts, he's telling a story. And the man's obviously read his fair share of Joyce, Ghost's trademark is his stream of consciousness rhymes. Most telling is the evaluation of other members of Wu. When RZA was asked to name his starting five, he placed Ghostface at number two behind only GZA, Meth was not on the list. If you need any more proof of Ghostface Killah's mastery of the rap genre simply listen to the third verse of this song (2:40 mark). Yeah, he's pretty much the best.
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So just to continue me dropping music knowledge on all your heads, heres my favorite song from one of my favorite groups right now, Dirty Projectors
The guitar playing, homeless looking, llama herder? He went to Yale
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So as you (who am I kidding no one is still reading this) probably know Ben and I are juniors at Strath Haven. Spring semester is really important, and AP testing season is fast among us. Which is really not good, I need to relearn how to speak Spanish and 1000 years worth of European history by Friday. The Spring is definitely an incredibly packed time for juniors, and although some would say that is equally true for seniors, I call BS. I point out that they are already in to college and thus basically have little to nothing to worry about. Saying that the end of senior year is a stressful time is a total cop out, give a real reason, don't just dick around about it.
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Even more music for you. Blitzen Trapper performing a stripped down version of Black River Killer
In 12 years he'll be 11 and a half,
Will
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Replaying the Relays
First and foremost, I would just like to thank Fat Dub for putting up his first post. Just thought you should know, he literally had it in the drafts for two weeks. I'm not sure whether it was habitual laziness on both of our parts, or if it actually took him that long to remove all the expletives (I'm bargaining on the latter), but either way, it is published.
As if Fat Dub's post at the beginning of the week wasn't good enough, it is also Penn Relays week. While this probably means absolutely nothing to the 5 people reading right now, to me, Penn Relays week means an invigorating day of watching amateur athletes compete at the most awe-inspiring stadium in all of America. In other words, I get to miss school for a day.
Let me rephrase that. I get to miss school if I get a ticket. Strath Haven being the track powerhouse that it is naturally has several relay teams running in the Penn Relays, and with that comes the perk of many tickets to the head coach. You're probably saying to yourself, "Oh, so Coach Ed got the tickets. Since he and Soup are like two peas in a pod, he will definitely give him a ticket to Friday's relays." That would be a decent assumption, if Coach Ed was the head coach of our track team. That's where you are all wrong. While Coach Ed may be a Baller Fo' Real, Strath Haven is coached by one of the all-around bossiest men in the history of Planet Earth. The man I am talking about, of course, is Bob Jesson.
Have you ever met someone who you are so afraid of that at times you tremble in their presence? Ever soiled your pants just from hearing someone yell? Me neither, but you can just ask Teddy about how that feels. Anyway, if ever there were a person to be intimidated by, it is Mr. Jesson.
He teaches 7th grade history, and he has never missed a full day of class. Ever. I had his class a few years back and I still remember the day he came back in after receiving tooth surgery earlier that morning. Nothing he said was decipherable, but it matters not. Besides that, Mr. Jesson related everything we learned to football. In hindsight, his analogy proved accurate. He also told our classes about how when he used to teach at school in his earlier years, he used to stop knife attacks and break up in-classroom fights. His kids never messed with him there, he said, so he could handle anything we threw at him. Plus the fact that he had the best current events game known to man made him an excellent history teacher.
Mr. Jesson coaches the middle school football team (Fat Dub was one of his favorite pupils) and the high school boy's track team. I'm not sure how long he has been coaching for exactly, but it is probably in the neighborhood of 40 years. No joke. He's legit. If you don't believe me, chew on this food for thought: Mr. Jesson coached Leroy Burrell. If that name sounds familiar, that probably has something to do with the fact that Leroy Burrell was twice the fastest man in the world.
Anyway, Jesson knows his way around a track. It is highly advised to be aware during interval days, and not to get in the way of his sprinters. One distance runner, Jessy Chen, knows the wrath of Jesson first hand. While Jessy was doing a workout (pretty slowly) in lane 1, the sprinters started, also in lane 1. Mr. Jesson began to yell to get Jessy out of the first lane to make room for the sprinters for a few seconds. Even though it was a windy day and he was on the opposite side of the track, Jessy could actually hear him. That can be attributed to Mr. Jesson's yell, which can be heard halfway across the globe on a quiet night. The only problem was, Jessy was so befuddled by the loud yelling in his direction that he stood his ground and looked around in confusion as the sprinters passed on the outside. After yelling to Jessy for five seconds and realizing it had failed, Jesson let out a quote for the ages: "THAT KID IS A FRIGGIN IDIOT." Needless to say, he chewed Jessy up for not moving. Chen would never make that mistake again.
This is not to say Mr. Jesson is just a loud guy who makes everyone piss their pants (this is the part where Greg tells us that it was 8 years ago). He's a nice guy who genuinely wants every guy on his team to do well. Unfortunately, he works with the sprinters, and lets Coach Ed handle the distance guys. For that reason, and for others (like not having hour long discussions about how much of a douchebag Bobby Flay is) I don't share the same bond with Mr. Jesson as I do with Coach Ed. So when Mr. Jesson had extra tickets available for Friday, it would be a little tougher to get them than it would be if Edwin had them.
On Wednesday, Jesson had an impromptu gathering by the track about Penn Relays. I'm pretty sure I wasn't even supposed to be there at that point, considering I'm "a slow, white teenager" as Chris Murphy appropriately put it (for the record, I just ran a 56.4 and hawked some kid from Radnor in our 4x400 B relay... they don't call me Sprinting Soup for nothing). At the end, Mr. Jesson said that he had a few extra tickets available if anyone was interested. I was in the back of the huddle, and I may or may not have been wearing a bandana (Hint: I was totally wearing a bandana). Just so everyone knows, it complimented my playoff-beard-that-actually-looks-like-stubble-because-the-hair-is-blonde-and-few-and-far-between pretty well, which is the main reason I had it on. I'm sure it added to my whole aura when I yelled out that I was interested in a ticket. That may have contributed to Mr. Jesson proceeding to mumble for about 10 seconds to himself before saying "We'll see, a lot of people probably want them."
I wasn't really expecting Mr. Jesson to say something different, so I wasn't too crushed. He then sent us away, and promptly called over several members of the team to ask if they wanted the extra tickets. When I found out about this development, I did nothing out of the ordinary because, again, I expected it.
Fast forward to the next day, when Mr. Jesson was situated on the bench watching us finish up our intervals. It turns out he had plenty of tickets, one of which I received. I was in. My parents let me skip school, so off to the Penn Relays I would go.
The next day I arrived at the train station with Noah Frick, ready for a day of fun. We had already planned to eat at Pot Belly, a delicious sandwich joint around the corner from Frankin Field. How did we know about this place, you ask?
About a year and a half ago, a few of us strapping young fellows took the train to University City to see Penn play. We ran rampant around the Palestra, looking for band kids to pick on and some of the coolest foam hats you'll ever see. Apparently the hats were only for students, or for band kids (I couldn't tell because the only student section there was for the band), so no one gave them to us. If there were six of us there, we eventually managed to get five. The bossiest retrieval of a hat was Jack Eiel's, who pretty much ran onto the court to get one. Not even kidding, you can ask him if you'd like. Anyway, I was the only one who didn't get a hat, and got completely shut down outside of the Palestra by some Penn doucher who had two hats but was "saving it for my friend." Disappointment showered me at first, until we visited Pot Belly and had some high quality eats.
This is why I was so pumped to go back to Pot Belly, to relive some of the great moments of the past. We got on the train, and there may have been half of the team on there. That's an exaggeration, but Jesson got a lot of tickets for us. We got to the Relays and saw races. And then we saw more races. And then we saw a lot more races. Finally, our 4x100 relay team was up. They finished first in their heat, but they were no match for the Jamaican teams who got faster times. A group of us left the Relays to go enjoy some eats. This crew consisted of Noah Frick, Richard "Scoot" Scott, Dave Klein, Fen Bloyd, Papa John Shiiba, Andrew Marmorstein, Jeff Seelaus, Sam Pinecone, his girl, and the Sobel Soup of course. Looking back, we totally could have waited an extra two minutes for the guys who just ran (like Down-C) to come up, but we were thinking with our stomachs. When we walked outside of the relays, we met up with a former teammate who now runs at Penn, George Dickson. George is a somewhat frequent visitor to the blog (meaning he goes on once or twice a year and clicks on some ads to make me money) and an all-around good guy. All of us hit up Pot Belly and got some well-made sandwiches. It was a bit of a role reversal for Sam's girl, seeing as she wasn't the one making the sandwich this time, but she made it through alright. Besides that, Noah, Scoot and I all bought whole pickles. I shouldn't have to confirm this, but they were finger-licking good.
We realized how big of jerks we were (we know) when Jordan rolled up by himself fresh after racing. He gave directions to Chris Williams and Down-C on how to get there. Unfortunately, Jordan's version of giving directions includes telling them the wrong street and describing the eatery as "next to a brick building." If you've ever been to Penn before, you know how great of a description that is, considering the area is legitimately 90% brick. Once Chris and Bryan showed up, the majority of the group headed back.
Inside, there was a section to get a lot of free stuff. The things you could get really weren't all that great, but everybody and they moms knows that free makes everything good. Apparently Coach Ed agrees with that statement, seeing as he was far more excited about getting the free stuff than we were, and he has been going to the Penn Relays for years. After eating a few gross Snickers Marathon bars (never try those), we headed up to the stands. Only this time, we went to the upper deck and tried working on our farmer's tans. This provided for an enjoyable experience for a couple of reasons.
One was the Jamaicans. The stands were loaded with them, and they made their presence felt. The whole day I had the Jamaican Bobsled Team theme song stuck in my head. Except instead of bobsledding, the Jamaicans were running and cheering, which are both things they do very well at. Whenever someone was "hawking" another person, meaning they were making up ground fast at the end of a race, all of the Jamaicans would yell "WHOOP" repeatedly in extremely high-pitched voices. It made a close race even that more entertaining.
The second best part about being in the upper deck was when Dave Klein fell asleep. I guess he didn't get much sleep the night before, because Dave was out. He was lying down in between the bleachers, where people rest their feet. It was too good of a situation to not mess with him, and of course I was the one that had to do it. I found two stray french fries and stuck them in his already closed fist. Several pictures were taken, and George laughed heartily. Somehow the fries got dislodged before Dave woke up, so he never quite believed us when we told him that he was eating them as he fell asleep. Nonetheless, it was a good time. Shortly thereafter we headed home, all tired from this day of infamy.
There's no video this post. It's half because I'm far too lazy, and half because for some reason, the videos are being cut off.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
As if Fat Dub's post at the beginning of the week wasn't good enough, it is also Penn Relays week. While this probably means absolutely nothing to the 5 people reading right now, to me, Penn Relays week means an invigorating day of watching amateur athletes compete at the most awe-inspiring stadium in all of America. In other words, I get to miss school for a day.
Let me rephrase that. I get to miss school if I get a ticket. Strath Haven being the track powerhouse that it is naturally has several relay teams running in the Penn Relays, and with that comes the perk of many tickets to the head coach. You're probably saying to yourself, "Oh, so Coach Ed got the tickets. Since he and Soup are like two peas in a pod, he will definitely give him a ticket to Friday's relays." That would be a decent assumption, if Coach Ed was the head coach of our track team. That's where you are all wrong. While Coach Ed may be a Baller Fo' Real, Strath Haven is coached by one of the all-around bossiest men in the history of Planet Earth. The man I am talking about, of course, is Bob Jesson.
Have you ever met someone who you are so afraid of that at times you tremble in their presence? Ever soiled your pants just from hearing someone yell? Me neither, but you can just ask Teddy about how that feels. Anyway, if ever there were a person to be intimidated by, it is Mr. Jesson.
He teaches 7th grade history, and he has never missed a full day of class. Ever. I had his class a few years back and I still remember the day he came back in after receiving tooth surgery earlier that morning. Nothing he said was decipherable, but it matters not. Besides that, Mr. Jesson related everything we learned to football. In hindsight, his analogy proved accurate. He also told our classes about how when he used to teach at school in his earlier years, he used to stop knife attacks and break up in-classroom fights. His kids never messed with him there, he said, so he could handle anything we threw at him. Plus the fact that he had the best current events game known to man made him an excellent history teacher.
Mr. Jesson coaches the middle school football team (Fat Dub was one of his favorite pupils) and the high school boy's track team. I'm not sure how long he has been coaching for exactly, but it is probably in the neighborhood of 40 years. No joke. He's legit. If you don't believe me, chew on this food for thought: Mr. Jesson coached Leroy Burrell. If that name sounds familiar, that probably has something to do with the fact that Leroy Burrell was twice the fastest man in the world.
Anyway, Jesson knows his way around a track. It is highly advised to be aware during interval days, and not to get in the way of his sprinters. One distance runner, Jessy Chen, knows the wrath of Jesson first hand. While Jessy was doing a workout (pretty slowly) in lane 1, the sprinters started, also in lane 1. Mr. Jesson began to yell to get Jessy out of the first lane to make room for the sprinters for a few seconds. Even though it was a windy day and he was on the opposite side of the track, Jessy could actually hear him. That can be attributed to Mr. Jesson's yell, which can be heard halfway across the globe on a quiet night. The only problem was, Jessy was so befuddled by the loud yelling in his direction that he stood his ground and looked around in confusion as the sprinters passed on the outside. After yelling to Jessy for five seconds and realizing it had failed, Jesson let out a quote for the ages: "THAT KID IS A FRIGGIN IDIOT." Needless to say, he chewed Jessy up for not moving. Chen would never make that mistake again.
This is not to say Mr. Jesson is just a loud guy who makes everyone piss their pants (this is the part where Greg tells us that it was 8 years ago). He's a nice guy who genuinely wants every guy on his team to do well. Unfortunately, he works with the sprinters, and lets Coach Ed handle the distance guys. For that reason, and for others (like not having hour long discussions about how much of a douchebag Bobby Flay is) I don't share the same bond with Mr. Jesson as I do with Coach Ed. So when Mr. Jesson had extra tickets available for Friday, it would be a little tougher to get them than it would be if Edwin had them.
On Wednesday, Jesson had an impromptu gathering by the track about Penn Relays. I'm pretty sure I wasn't even supposed to be there at that point, considering I'm "a slow, white teenager" as Chris Murphy appropriately put it (for the record, I just ran a 56.4 and hawked some kid from Radnor in our 4x400 B relay... they don't call me Sprinting Soup for nothing). At the end, Mr. Jesson said that he had a few extra tickets available if anyone was interested. I was in the back of the huddle, and I may or may not have been wearing a bandana (Hint: I was totally wearing a bandana). Just so everyone knows, it complimented my playoff-beard-that-actually-looks-like-stubble-because-the-hair-is-blonde-and-few-and-far-between pretty well, which is the main reason I had it on. I'm sure it added to my whole aura when I yelled out that I was interested in a ticket. That may have contributed to Mr. Jesson proceeding to mumble for about 10 seconds to himself before saying "We'll see, a lot of people probably want them."
I wasn't really expecting Mr. Jesson to say something different, so I wasn't too crushed. He then sent us away, and promptly called over several members of the team to ask if they wanted the extra tickets. When I found out about this development, I did nothing out of the ordinary because, again, I expected it.
Fast forward to the next day, when Mr. Jesson was situated on the bench watching us finish up our intervals. It turns out he had plenty of tickets, one of which I received. I was in. My parents let me skip school, so off to the Penn Relays I would go.
The next day I arrived at the train station with Noah Frick, ready for a day of fun. We had already planned to eat at Pot Belly, a delicious sandwich joint around the corner from Frankin Field. How did we know about this place, you ask?
About a year and a half ago, a few of us strapping young fellows took the train to University City to see Penn play. We ran rampant around the Palestra, looking for band kids to pick on and some of the coolest foam hats you'll ever see. Apparently the hats were only for students, or for band kids (I couldn't tell because the only student section there was for the band), so no one gave them to us. If there were six of us there, we eventually managed to get five. The bossiest retrieval of a hat was Jack Eiel's, who pretty much ran onto the court to get one. Not even kidding, you can ask him if you'd like. Anyway, I was the only one who didn't get a hat, and got completely shut down outside of the Palestra by some Penn doucher who had two hats but was "saving it for my friend." Disappointment showered me at first, until we visited Pot Belly and had some high quality eats.
This is why I was so pumped to go back to Pot Belly, to relive some of the great moments of the past. We got on the train, and there may have been half of the team on there. That's an exaggeration, but Jesson got a lot of tickets for us. We got to the Relays and saw races. And then we saw more races. And then we saw a lot more races. Finally, our 4x100 relay team was up. They finished first in their heat, but they were no match for the Jamaican teams who got faster times. A group of us left the Relays to go enjoy some eats. This crew consisted of Noah Frick, Richard "Scoot" Scott, Dave Klein, Fen Bloyd, Papa John Shiiba, Andrew Marmorstein, Jeff Seelaus, Sam Pinecone, his girl, and the Sobel Soup of course. Looking back, we totally could have waited an extra two minutes for the guys who just ran (like Down-C) to come up, but we were thinking with our stomachs. When we walked outside of the relays, we met up with a former teammate who now runs at Penn, George Dickson. George is a somewhat frequent visitor to the blog (meaning he goes on once or twice a year and clicks on some ads to make me money) and an all-around good guy. All of us hit up Pot Belly and got some well-made sandwiches. It was a bit of a role reversal for Sam's girl, seeing as she wasn't the one making the sandwich this time, but she made it through alright. Besides that, Noah, Scoot and I all bought whole pickles. I shouldn't have to confirm this, but they were finger-licking good.
We realized how big of jerks we were (we know) when Jordan rolled up by himself fresh after racing. He gave directions to Chris Williams and Down-C on how to get there. Unfortunately, Jordan's version of giving directions includes telling them the wrong street and describing the eatery as "next to a brick building." If you've ever been to Penn before, you know how great of a description that is, considering the area is legitimately 90% brick. Once Chris and Bryan showed up, the majority of the group headed back.
Inside, there was a section to get a lot of free stuff. The things you could get really weren't all that great, but everybody and they moms knows that free makes everything good. Apparently Coach Ed agrees with that statement, seeing as he was far more excited about getting the free stuff than we were, and he has been going to the Penn Relays for years. After eating a few gross Snickers Marathon bars (never try those), we headed up to the stands. Only this time, we went to the upper deck and tried working on our farmer's tans. This provided for an enjoyable experience for a couple of reasons.
One was the Jamaicans. The stands were loaded with them, and they made their presence felt. The whole day I had the Jamaican Bobsled Team theme song stuck in my head. Except instead of bobsledding, the Jamaicans were running and cheering, which are both things they do very well at. Whenever someone was "hawking" another person, meaning they were making up ground fast at the end of a race, all of the Jamaicans would yell "WHOOP" repeatedly in extremely high-pitched voices. It made a close race even that more entertaining.
The second best part about being in the upper deck was when Dave Klein fell asleep. I guess he didn't get much sleep the night before, because Dave was out. He was lying down in between the bleachers, where people rest their feet. It was too good of a situation to not mess with him, and of course I was the one that had to do it. I found two stray french fries and stuck them in his already closed fist. Several pictures were taken, and George laughed heartily. Somehow the fries got dislodged before Dave woke up, so he never quite believed us when we told him that he was eating them as he fell asleep. Nonetheless, it was a good time. Shortly thereafter we headed home, all tired from this day of infamy.
There's no video this post. It's half because I'm far too lazy, and half because for some reason, the videos are being cut off.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Let's Make Some Introductions
Hi. I'm Will. You may know me better by my nom de guerre 'Fat Dub' that is so often referred to by Soup (In fact I'm the most used tag). I figured it wouldn't be the most clichéd thing this blog has ever done to introduce myself, so I guess I'll do that. First off, I have some different writing philosophies than Soup, for example I'm going to use peoples actual names, rather than nicknames. At least in my writing, Soup will be known as Ben from now on, I will go by Will, and any other members of the cast of characters that you have come to know and love will all have their real names used. I don't really know why Ben used nicknames in the first place, but seeing as nobody actually reads this blog, I think I'm safe using real names (Time to use that Child Molester Protection Charm). Secondly (yeah I'm going to number my talking points, what?) I haven't completely stolen my writing style from, the admittedly great, Mark Titus. Instead I've stolen it from Gabe Delahaye and Drew Magary. So instead of posting a video at the end of the post, I'm going to put videos wherever I want. Like this one. (Warning: Don't watch the video unless you want to be bombarded by profanity, lots and lots of profanity)
He really was 6 foot 20. Little known fact. Third, I'm all about sarcasm, or to put it more correctly verbal irony (thanks Ginny). So don't take the majority of what I write seriously. And finally, as you've prolly already figured out, I'm all about parentheses for use of questioning my writing and random shout outs to people who definitely aren't reading the blog. So let's do this thing!
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I'm the short, fat, blonde, obnoxious one. Good Times.
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I know you're all expecting me to comment on Duke winning the National Championship. Here's what I have to say: Haha! I never gave up on Brian Zoubek, he never gave up on me, and together we won it all (I'm actually on the team). Defying Ben's retarded predictions. Suck it Trebek.
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So that's about it for me. I mean other than saying that I think I'm developing a major man crush on Roy Halladay. He's a monster. Also, Cole Hamels could never pitch as accurately as he does in the new xfinity commercial (What? You don't know what I'm talking about? You obviously don't watch enough Comcast Sportsnet)
I know what you're asking yourself and yes I did use Lucida Grande as my font this entire post-breaking all the rules over here,
Will
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Be Forewarned
If you haven't realized yet, my worst nightmares have occurred tonight. Yes, Duke, the evil empire, the Yankees of college basketball (how do you root for this team? Honestly) have won the NCAA tournament. That's right. Scheyer Face. Zombie Singler. Triangle-head Smith. Jar Jar Thomas. All now synonymous with champions. I know. I'm projectile vomiting too.
Sadly, this blog will undoubtedly be a domain for Duke support. It appears I have made Fat Dub an author at just the wrong time, because I know he will soon post about the Duke victory. I really don't know how long it will be, but just be warned that there will be much gloating about the Devils. I really wouldn't blame you if you stopped reading the blog for a few months or so.
The thing that makes Duke winning so troubling is not just that they are part of the royalty of college basketball. It's that they beat the feel-good story of the century. They were real life Hoosiers. In fact, Butler's gym is where Hoosiers was filmed. And their team was so likeable. When both of Babyface Hayward's shots went off the rim, my heart sank. They have a guy on their team with a last name of Jukes. Seriously. Tell me you wouldn't enjoy having that as your last name. The possibilities are endless. "He Jukes, he scores!!!!" or "Jukes jukes, they can't stop him." If that kid doesn't talk about himself in third person, power to him. And the biggest boss of the team by far is clearly Matt Howard. There are so many things to like about this guy. First of all, his mustache. You all know how much I like beards, but I'm not afraid to appreciate a ballsy mustache growing. Secondly, the man picked his nose during a game. Yes, during a game. And last, but definitely, definitely not least. During the last couple of seconds of this game, he laid the nastiest screen I have ever seen that is sure to give Zombie Singler a few more black eyes. It's good to know that even when Duke wins, I can still laugh at them a little bit.
To finish this post, I'm just going to make myself feel a little bit better, while ragging on Duke for just about as long as I possibly can before Fat Dub gets on here. This post's video will show Greg Paulus straight up eating man junk.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
Sadly, this blog will undoubtedly be a domain for Duke support. It appears I have made Fat Dub an author at just the wrong time, because I know he will soon post about the Duke victory. I really don't know how long it will be, but just be warned that there will be much gloating about the Devils. I really wouldn't blame you if you stopped reading the blog for a few months or so.
The thing that makes Duke winning so troubling is not just that they are part of the royalty of college basketball. It's that they beat the feel-good story of the century. They were real life Hoosiers. In fact, Butler's gym is where Hoosiers was filmed. And their team was so likeable. When both of Babyface Hayward's shots went off the rim, my heart sank. They have a guy on their team with a last name of Jukes. Seriously. Tell me you wouldn't enjoy having that as your last name. The possibilities are endless. "He Jukes, he scores!!!!" or "Jukes jukes, they can't stop him." If that kid doesn't talk about himself in third person, power to him. And the biggest boss of the team by far is clearly Matt Howard. There are so many things to like about this guy. First of all, his mustache. You all know how much I like beards, but I'm not afraid to appreciate a ballsy mustache growing. Secondly, the man picked his nose during a game. Yes, during a game. And last, but definitely, definitely not least. During the last couple of seconds of this game, he laid the nastiest screen I have ever seen that is sure to give Zombie Singler a few more black eyes. It's good to know that even when Duke wins, I can still laugh at them a little bit.
To finish this post, I'm just going to make myself feel a little bit better, while ragging on Duke for just about as long as I possibly can before Fat Dub gets on here. This post's video will show Greg Paulus straight up eating man junk.
Always Serving,
Sobel Soup
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