Indianapolis, Lost City

Rough weekend in the field, McBoners.  A reconnaissance mission in Indianapolis this Saturday uncovered a particularly unstable fridge:

Flimsy plastic bottles and a mere refrigerator door against these levels of toxicity?  Laughable.  Indeed, the contamination appeared to have spilled into the otherwise pristine neighborhood, giving rise to a certain criminal element once the sun goes down.

On a completely unrelated note: to the bastards who helped themselves to our GPS last night: sure, you may be able to navigate all the roads of the world, but how will you navigate the roads of life (speaking figuratively now) when your moral GPS (moral compass of today) is obviously broken?

nwb

The Godfather

McBone's Poet Laureate.  The world knows him as the iconoclastic poet/recluse M. Patrick Foliglio.

We prefer to call him Godfather.  As of yesterday afternoon, the irascible bard has consented to be godfather to our unborn child.  It wasn't easy.  Here's an excerpt of our conversation: 

My sometimes-pregnant wife and I would consider it an honor if you would be godfather to our child.

What?  Me?  Fuck!  Why me?

You're my oldest and best friend, that's why.

But you know I hate kids!

Hate kids?  You have 30 of them!

That was my wives' idea, and anyway when will I have time to write if I have to be godfather all day long?

Dude, you haven't written a thing since 1982.

I had him on the ropes.  I waited for an answer as he groped for excuses. 

Fuck me.  Fine.  Fuck!

And thus he hung up.  In spite of the misgivings, we know the McBonerito will enjoy a wonderful, warm bond with his godfather.  While it is true Foliglio is known for a rough exterior and a relationship with society that could best be described as erratic, only a soul at peace could have conceived of the lilting beauty behind this sample from his trailblazing Diz-aster Book of Poems: 

hawk in the sky

hawk in the sky
can fly very high
hawk in the sky
can fly so high
hawk in the sky
can fly as high
as the high sky

The simple, soaring words of an artist in his prime.  Written at the height of Cold War tensions and under the influence of quaaludes and crème de menthe, this lone 'hawk' in the sky has been said to represent the deadly, determined flight of a nuclear weapon.  The image is an example of the poet at his ironic best.  Eschewing the blunt conventionality of a mushroom cloud or smoldering crater, the artist instead captures the terrible potential of a warhead unleashed against a sky suffused with pristine blue.

Beauty in death.  Ruin exalted.  Like a mouse in a field, Moscow waits unsuspecting for the hawk to descend.

In spite of appearances, the outward paranoia, the suspicion, the Don't Tread on Me ethos, I know a true mentor resides in the soul of the Godfather.  Can't wait to show the kid the compound!

nwb

Amazing Larry Sighted!

Who is Amazing Larry?  That question has baffled us for years.  All we know for sure is that he was once on the shortlist of candidates for vice president.  Before that he had a brief but memorable cameo in 1985's Pee-wee's Big Adventure:



Since then?  Nothing.  Aside from his abbreviated foray into politics and one moment of unequivocal greatness, we have very little knowledge of this enigmatic, yet clearly Amazing, man.  

Until today:

At roughly 5:45 PM I spotted a man I believe to be Amazing Larry standing outside our front window.  I can report to you that Amazing Larry is alive and currently working for a West Lafayette tree service. He spent most of July 25th stripping our oaks and maples of their foliage and sucking down what appeared to be Basic Filters.  Oh, he's a bit leaner in 2011 and his Mohawk is a little worse for wear, but that often happens when you ditch the pampered glitz of Hollywood for a life of manual labor.

Luckily, I had the presence of mind to snap a quick photo.  Moments later, as in decades past, he was gone.  Where and when he will turn up next is anyone's guess.

Amazing indeed.

nwb

You Win, Boehner

Speaker Boehner,

You've made it abundantly clear in recent negotiations (or lack thereof) with the White House that you do not represent the destitute, the sick, the elderly, the middle class, the working class or minorities.  By my calculations (and I'm an accounting clerk), that makes up all but a microfraction of the US population.

So, I have to assume that your congressional home base is populated by tycoons.  Is that right?  Is your constituency made up of executive VPs and CEOs?  Is the 8th District of Ohio a haven for oil barons, investment bankers and defense contractors?  Do the 400 richest Americans who suckle at the teat of the American populace all reside in western Ohio?

Of course fucking not, which makes you an absolute and irredeemable wanker!

You need to explain why only those who can't afford it are being asked by your party to make a sacrifice.  How's that?  Raising taxes is a job killer?  OK, fair enough.  We'll make you a deal: for the time being, you win.  The richest Americans will be excused from a modest Clinton era tax hike.  However, failure of the unemployment rate to drop 50% by the end of 2012 will bump you into a somewhat beefier, Eisenhower era tax hike.

Top Marginal Tax Rate

Current - 35%

Clinton - 39.6%

Eisenhower - 92.0%

Ouch!  How's that for an incentive?  I think you can agree that this seems a pretty surefire way to ensure that the job creators actually create jobs.

So what do you say?  Sound reasonable?  Good!  Ready?  Then shake hands with Obama, cut spending, raise the goddam debt ceiling and let the trickle down begin!

Oh, and on a side note, please lay off the eyeliner.  Not that we object, but it sends a confusing message to LGBT communities, which you also do not represent.

Thanks,

Rock McGraw



nwb

More Truckin' in Indiana

At some point, roughly two years from now, my sometimes-pregnant wife will graduate from Purdue and it will be time to leave Indiana behind.  There are many people and things that I'll miss from the Hoosier State, but I don't think I'll miss anything quite like our view from the front window.  I can tell you there is simply nothing better in the morning than a hot cup of coffee, the first light of day and this breathtaking panorama:

Personally, I know of no prettier sight than a Ford in the lawn.

Keep truckin' Indiana.

nwb

Audubone and McGraw?

McBoner Steven made an astute observation when he called us an Audubon for the digital age.  Here's a closer look at the immature red-bellied, filmed using the latest in crystal-clear HD technology:



Eat your heart out John James.

nwb

The McBone Birdwatching Journal: Now in HD

So, I was talking to my buddy Jim on the phone the other day and lamenting the abysmal quality of my nature photography.  He seemed pretty distracted, which probably meant he was in the editing room or something, but I have to admit to being slightly hacked off at his apparent lack of interest in my problem.  Well, perhaps I was too hard on the guy, because when I came home from work yesterday I found a package on the doorstep.  Boy was I surprised to discover that ol' Jimmy had sent me one of his spares!  Now, thanks to technology (and the filmmaking savvy of my sometimes-pregnant wife), you can watch our videos in stunning SUPER HIGH DEFINITION:



This immature red-bellied woodpecker, whose youthful exuberance is captured here in crisp, clear HD imagery, has been picking at a luscious cake of nuts and seeds for the past several days.  Note the head, conspicuously lacking the trademark red cap it will develop in maturity, and the sheen of wide-eyed curiosity as first a moth and then a house finch zip by.

Ah, enjoy these moments, innocent fledgling, and a word of advice: the squirrels are watching, so feast, feast while you can!*

nwb



*Too late.  They got it

Of Birds n' Booze

As it turns out, yesterday's luna moth indeed prophesied good things to come.  Lately I've been prowling some of Lafayette's best birding turf in search of a red-headed woodpecker.  My persistence paid dividends today when we were treated to not one but two stunning examples of Melanerpes erythrocephalus.  For 20 minutes we watched as a mating pair circled Celery Bog in search of succulent, six-legged sustenance.  As if that wasn't enough, we officially achieved woodpecker nirvana when two pileated woodpeckers came bopping along.  I could hardly believe my luck and was almost surprised that an ivory-billed didn't turn up, just for the hell of it.

Now I invite you to enjoy these pictures of me drinking a Booth's martini on the rocks with a twist and three olives.  Notice the sweating glass, my quavering hand, and five elements--gin, vermouth, ice, citrus, olive--merging in beverage perfection.  What a miracle I was able to hold the camera steady:

Over the years I've cultivated a certain skill in mixing very excellent martinis.  That is not meant to be a boast but the recognition of a lifelong pursuit come to fruition.  But where I really excel is in drinking a martini.  Call it a vocation, a genius even.  We all have our talents; I'm one of the lucky few to have realized his early in life.

Happy Saturday, everyone!

nwb

The McBone Bugwatching Journal; A Great Big Green Winged Creature

This, easily the biggest bug I've ever seen, came bonking against our window with enough force for me to wonder what kind of bird was trying to get in.  Twice the size of a hummingbird and just as beautiful, the exhausted insect rested long enough on the front stoop for me to shoot a few photos with my favorite tool of espionage, the 'camera phone.'

What can this be but a really good Friday omen?

Goodnight, friends, and happy weekend.

nwb

Life at Fiddy

Gentle McBoners,

A couple of days ago McBone quietly surpassed the 50 billion hit mark, making us by far the most important cultural phenomenon since canned ravioli.  That's all thanks to you (and me obsessively refreshing every 30 seconds), and your continued allegiance to a blog that cut its teeth defending social justice.  We've kept up that important work and remain bound to our mission of crushing evil wherever it rears its ugly head.

We've packed a lot of crap into this fucker over the years.  Always we seek ways we can expand our boundaries in a quest to build a more peaceful, inclusive future.  Still, we have our limitations, and there are some things that McBone will never contain:

Advertisements.  We vow that this operation will never be driven by capitalism in any way, ever.

Baby blogging

Emulsified eggs and oil

Heat trapping gasses

Tax cuts for trillionaires

Midichlorians

Celebrations of Derek Jeter milestones

Olestra

Posts written by my brother

I could use this space to opine further on why health care is a right in any humane nation, or why Cleveland is the greatest city on earth, or what it will take for that city to win a title, or why marriage is a sacred union between one man and one woman--except when it isn't, or how our earth is going to whither and die unless we do something about it, but instead I think I'll take a time out to say thanks! to anyone who has ever taken the time to read a post since we got this ball rolling one cold February morn back in aught-seven.

nwb

Beetlemania

This Japanese beetle doesn't know it, but the wrath of McBone is about to descend up on it.  That's a shame really, because Japanese beetles, with their green and bronze carapaces, are among the lovelier bugs in the insect kingdom.

 If only they weren't so gluttonous.

That's the leaf from my Concord vine that I found this fellow munching on.  Japanese beetles are one of the great grapevine scourges in all of viticulture.  An infestation can defoliate entire vineyards in a matter of minutes--think of the proverbial cow-meets-piranha scenario.  No leaves means no photosynthesis.  That's bad news for everyone--grapes, vine and wino alike.

The pest is difficult to control on a commercial operation.  Luckily, a single vine is easy to manage--just pluck up a lunching bug with the thumb and forefinger apply the right amount of pressure...

nwb

What Recession?

Take a look at this awesome clout and tell me what's wrong here:



Nothing wrong at all with a game winning grand slam with one out in the bottom of the ninth.  That's just about the most exciting play in all of professional sports.  If only someone had been there to see it.

Yes it's true that I hate the Dolan ownership group, but I'm wondering if anyone in NE Ohio has checked the AL Central standings lately:

Cleveland     47 - 39

Detroit         47 - 42

Chicago        43 - 46

Minnesota     39 - 47

Kansas City   36 - 52

That's FIRST place, people.  In July.  The vast desert that is the upper deck is no longer acceptable.  The hell with the owners.  Celebrate the players and this pennant race, whatever it amounts to in the end.

Get to the park!

nwb

The McBone Not-a-Baby-Blog Challenge

Sorry, my creepy looking son.  It's timeout time for you.

At a tequila-soaked social gathering this past weekend, I was informed by several of the guests that posting twice about a burgeoning child officially makes any blog, regardless of how many years of non-baby blogging it has in the bank, a certified (and dreaded) 'baby blog.'  I was also told in no uncertain terms that titling a post 'Not a Baby Blog' does not negate the fact that the subsequent post is about the baby.

Aghast, I sought an escape from this doom: What will it take to not be a baby blog again?

There's nothing you can do.

What if I post 10 consecutive non-baby posts?

Maybe, but--

But you don't think I have what it takes.

No, and until you somehow manage, we'll be holding on to these...

To my horror, I discovered these besotted miscreants had somehow come into possession of my testicles, suspended in a briny liquid within a sealed mayonnaise jar.

So here we stand, McBoners.  It appears that not even my triumph at Wimbledon the following day can help me get my mojo back.  Thus ten baby-free posts are to follow.  I hereby endeavor to have all qualifiers effaced from my good blogging name until this baby blog is, once more, merely a blog.

nwb