Question of the Day

Do you know which handsome devil is which?

The High Cheese

The Eskimobot

The S.L.A.B.

Put them in order from left to right if you dare. Test your knowledge of the great honky trinity of blogspot.

Quilting Your Way to Infamy

Hola, los amigos del queso! You are all absolute stars--live like it. I mean it. Go out there and give them your best "you-don't-know-who-you're-dealing-with" attitude. People love that crap.

So anyway, on to more from the trip that the most wonderful woman in the universe and I took to the nations capital. By the way, did you know that the number one factor involved in selecting a state capital is geographic location within the state, not influence or population. The capital attempts in most cases to be the central most point in the state (ex: Harrisburg, PA, as opposed to the larger Pittsburgh or more natural choice Philadelphia). I digress...

Have you ever noticed that most people become a complete wanker once they step into a museum? I mean, I have documented proof on this--my cousin, the slab, works in a museum (which is the field of "finance" if you ask my shame-faced grandfather), and he confirms that people do this in museums. Take for instance the Smithsonian Institute National Museum of American History. After walking in the doors and praying prayers of thanksgiving to any God who will claim to be in charge of air conditioning, you are confronted with the first exhibit on the left--an exibit on the history of American Quilting.

When I saw the exhibit my first thought was "huh...my Auntie Julie would love that." Why? She quilts. Sure, she's Brittish, but still she quilts. So as the most wonderful woman in the world and I clasp hands and prepare to make our way hastily through the massive throng of twenty and thirty somethings and even some families in order to move to the exhibit on Ella Fitzgerald: First Woman of Song. Then it hit me!

Why was I having to become the human bulldozer to get myself through the literally 35 or so young guys who had crammed themselves into the History of American Quilting exhibit?

Before you think, hey he's going to gay bash! No he is not! I mean, I am not. I am going to bash on wankers. I am going to bash on people who for some reason feel the necessity to give a crap about something they would not have ever thought to care about lest they appear to be too normal. I mean, honestly, I can see my Aunt wanting to stop and browse. I can even justify her husband being compelled at that point to go with her. But this many people, who were obviously more concerned with appearing open-minded and interested in all things is just ridiculous.

I can already here chopper1's motor going, so let me just address his next thought: Okay, I will give you that perhaps you hadn't cared but now this had piqued your interest, so you looked. Good. Look. For a moment look. Give it the old once over, discover why you already knew you didn't get into quilting and move on.

Going into a museum does not mean that you have to look smarter than you are. You can go in just to see the Ella Fitzgerald and Duke Ellington sections--briefly appreciate the other exhibits, learn a thing or two, and move on. You don't have to become the greatest renaissance man ever once you go into a museum. This monly makes you deserve a sound thrashing.

That's it for today my beloved fans. Be sure to take your daily vitamins and say your prayers.

Question of the Day

What is the worst sitcom in history? Explain.

The Beggar's Sketchbook

Today is a great day for fastballs! The High Cheese is humming today. Everyone may get a shot at the plate, but not everyone is going to make contact. Get the bats off your shoulders people, the queso means business.

The most incredible woman in the world and I just got back from the nation's capitol. So much was seen and done in two days. Expect to hear very much about this as the next few days progress.

It is the supreme desire of the High Cheese to include real photos from our trip, so that you may live vicariously through us. Iknow...I know..."But I went there on my high school trip." Well some of us aren't so lucky, so deal with it.

As an appetizer, let me address a crucial topic regarding Washington D.C.: Beggars. Now, those of you who went with your groups in school, I am quite positive remember this massive subculture (as well as that oh-so-humanitarian-advice: don't give them anything, don't look at them--as if looking at them would turn you to stone; they are homeless, not medusa. anyway). Well, I saw many beggars, but some were more successful than others. I have categorized them for your convenience:

1. The classic Jazz beggar - this is the street-corner improvizationalist with a rudimentary knowledge of a horn, a strong toe-tap, and as much charisma as a homeless man can have. Typical songs include classic numbers like "Oh When the Saints Go Marching In," or "Hello Dolly." He wil make a good pull each day, especially if he can master a fedora tipping thank you for all those who contribute.

2. The child-care provider beggar - This beggar generally has a child with him as he hits you up for a meal. The danger for this baggar is choosing the wrong child to pair up with. Inevitably some end up with a child who appears to be well-groomed and cared for, wearing throwback jerseys and ballcaps, and sometimes a little bling. This will hurt the overall pull for the day greatly.

3. The shaking-cup beggar - This beggar is the least frequently given to. His method is to sit in one place, look distraught and randomly shake his change cup as people walk by, in hopes that others will contribute to his noise-maker. This can work okay, not wonderfully, but unfortunately, everyone I saw was next to a classic jazz beggar. Naturally people felt that the jazz artist was helping society more than the cup shaker, and gave to the jazz beggar over the cup-shaker beggar everytime. It is a hard life for those without a real talent.

4. The non-traditional musician beggar - I actually saw a homeless man playing a flute. Yeah a flute. He was actually pretty good. he did all the patriotic classics. He was a terror for all other beggarss on the street. They must hate his very soul. He made an easy ten-share on their pull. He had green coming out of his ears, and all they could do was look at, him shake their head, and shake their cup. He needs to be careful or he will be put in place by someone whose talents are not music, but fisticuffs.

There are many others--the subway beggar, the guitar beggar, the drummer beggar, the nude in a fountain beggar, the manequin beggar, etc. All are out there just trying to get by. A word to the wise: you can look at them (except the fountain guy, look away from him). You can smile at them. You can say no still and they won't be angry. Because they beg for a living, they often go days without someone looking at them or smiling at them. Do this and they may actually feel human for a moment. Who knows.

Take care. God save the cheese.

Question of the Day

Would you all please wish my mom a happy birthday?

Her name is Sheree.

The De-Evolution of TV

Cheese for everyone! From the garden state, the vacation spot of tomorrow, a place where only the strong survive, it's the one...the only...High Cheese. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You all look wonderful tonight. Give yourselves a hand!

TV is just not what it used to be. I mean think about it. TV has actually crept from one polar opposite to another. It used to be ideals and escapism, now it is "reality" and stupidity. I don't glorify either as the ideal, but simply offer up that TV has changed. Take for instance some key shows.


Leave it to Beaver

October 4, 1957 - September 12, 1963

In a golden age, jame-packed with denial about racism, poilio, and a host of other issues, TV was a place where nostalgic, white, people could chase their dreams. Leave it to Beaver was built on the powerful mythos of the perfect fifties family. You know, parents never raised their voices, nor were they ever too busy for the kids. Of course their dad, Ward (played by Methodist lay-minister Hugh Beaumont), was an accountant who amazingly didn't ever have to work late (read: laid off, not telling his old lady, but putting his hours in at the local bar), and their mom always wore a dress and heels and had her hair done perfectly (read: closet crank addict), despite never leaving the kitchen or the laundry room. The show focused on the lives of the children, and in particular, Beaver (Jerry Mather, who only got less cute), whose life began being chronicled as he hit the second grade. His big brother Wally (Tony Dow, who looks possessed in the picture above) was an eighth grader then, but became a football stud in highschool (of course, right?). Beaver's best friend, Eddie Haskell (Ken Osmond) was a suck-up to the Cleaver parents, but always got the Beav into some hairbrained kind of ordeal.

Sure, things were a little simplistic in this kid's-eye-view of life in the ficticiously perfect Mayfield, so major travesties and crises consisted of a bad grade, eating vegetables, or liking a girl. Still, the Cleavers inspired something in the American public--they were ideal, they were right, they were the unreachable goal. They were the family everyone wanted to be.

Is it coincidence that John F. Kennedy was assisnated less than a month after Leave it to Beaver went off the air? Most probably, but interesting none-the-less.


Charles in Charge

October 3, 1984 - December 8, 1990

A 19-year-old college student, Charles (Scott Baio - who went on to be revealed as the antichrist) takes a job as the live-in baby-sitter (read: sorting out his own gender confusion issues) for a busy working yuppie couple. In exchange for a room, board,and a little spending money (read: enough to do anything he wanted...ever), Charles' job was to try and control--or...take charge of--Stan and Jill Pembroke's three rambunctious kids (read: brats): typical teenager and boy-crazy Lila (14); overly intelligent and highly sarcastic Douglas(12); and the cute yet comedic Jason (10). Charles, although at times daunted by his task, persevered at his job, as well as working hard at his studies. He still found time enough to hang out with his best friend Buddy (Willie Aames), as well as to pursue the girl of his dreams, the gorgeous Gwendolyn.

Not long into the show, the Pembrokes moved to Seattle (read: got their pink-slips from the studio) and sold their house and male-babysitter (read: slavetrade) to the Powells,who became Charles' new employers, not to mention housemates (read: more people with no problem with the live-in frat-boy). Mr. Powell was a Navy commander stationed in the South Seas. His father Walter ran the house (read: was why Mr. Powell gladly took his post in the South Seas). Also in the house were Mrs. Ellen Powell, and her three kids,Jamie (14, it should matter not that Nicole Eggert looked 22 att he time of filming), Sarah (13), and Adam (12). Jamie was of course, boy-crazy; Sarah was a late bloomer; and Adam was a soulless clone of Jason Pembroke. Don't you fear though, Buddy was still around to ham it up whenever needed.


Eventually, Charle's mom came and moved to town, buying the local hangout spot (read: ruining his frat-boy male-babysitting dream--puppies and kids, he knew the tricks of the trade). He found a new love interest, Stephanie. In the final episode, he was accepted into Princeton's graduate school fulfilling a life-long dream.

Folks, this is situational comedy. You take some circumstance in life that wouldn't happen--like say putting a college freshman guy in charge of, and now living with, your boy-crazy teen-age daughter and your other two kids; and then selling your house and your babysitter to another family with an even wilder teenage daughter--and you build a whole story around it. "That would never happen," you say. Pshaw. They also said that Chachi would never be employed again, but look at who is actually in charge here--Scott "Big Boys" Baio. Get used to gettin' served a trip down impossible avenue every day at 4pm. It's okay that nothing on this show has any connection with reality, because Charles is "in charge of our days and our nights...of our wrongs and our rights"

Interesting side note: Charles' best friend, Buddy, has an interesting story. Not only was he one of the middle children on Eight is Enough (another classic), he also has turned his life around. Allow me to quote:

"Years ago, at the height of his wildly successful acting career [to me this may be a bit of an exaggeration, but whaddaryagonnado, right?], Aames embraced the fast-paced, thrill-seeking Hollywood lifestyle and the life-threatening temptations that came with it. Today, a thankful, clean and sober Aames faithfully uses his talents to create quality family Christian programming as executive vice president of Pamplin Entertainment."

Don't believe it? There's more...

read for yourselves. Good for you, Buddy...Good for you.

Is it coincidence that since Charles in Charge was taken off the air, Scott Baio has not had another lead role? No.

Friends

September 22, 1994 - May 6, 2004

Six stunningly beautiful type A personalities live in New York and enjoy a life without consistent jobs or paychecks inside the coolest and most expensive spacious city apartments imaginable. Life is jokingly serious, tough to handle, but hey--you got your friends here with you. This is the homage to the greatness that is never anyone's actual twenties. For most of us the twenties were spent working our tail off at a task that we wouldn't finish...ever, for less than we deserve because no one cares about you or thinks you know anything until you are in your thirties. Still, this show's best attribute, besides the incredibly gorgeous cast, was its willingness to laughingly look at the issues around us. Life was actually confronted pretty honestly through humor and slapstick. Suspending the financial reality of their situations in life was the foil necessary to get to dealing with various life subjects in a very post-modern way. With a catchy theme song, by the Deep Blue Something, and a cast of highly paid tabloid faves, this show was destined for greatness.

Is it coincidence that once Jen lost her Friends, she lost Brad? Yeah, pretty much.

Reality TV

1992 - present

I blame MTV. They started this genre now known as Reality Television. The real world was an interesting concept until we all clued into the fact that most people's real lives are not so great for hour-long primetime spots. So what do they do? The rip the reality out of reality. Instead of showing us these folks real lives, they show us what their lives would be like if they were forced to move to a city other than the one they actually live in, move into a tricked out pad complete with everything in the world, alongside several other transplants who have nothing in common except the potential to set each other off and a prpoensity towards low morals. These folks then get new jobs, new girlfriends and boyfriends, and then have to compete with their housemates for time in both the make-out hot tub and the confession cam room. Sounds very real life to me.

But not only do we want to see real people really ruin their lives and make terrible decisions, we want more...we want to know if they can be famous. Fox obliged with American Idol. This actually does speak a little to reality as it succinctly and effectively outlines America's gluttony for watching people's dreams crash and burn in the horrible acid-fire of Simon's honesty. This is why I like the first three episodes--once the real singers start, the show goes to crap in my book.

Nevertheless, we are once again struck by the unreality of it all. We are watching whether real people can become fake pop-star shells of what they used to be. They even let you know that singing is not the total package here, but a projected image is the deal maker.

Not to be outdone, Survivor, perhaps the most succesful of the reality genre, has taken reality to all new levels of non-reality. Here we take real people and plant them in the armpit of the world somewhere with rats and roaches to eat, the shirt on their back, and twenty new friends who would sell their soul for a burrito and a chance to vote them off the island. Life is like that I guess...oh wait! No it's not. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my time with some friends watching Survivor, but reality is more than a stretch for this stuff.

Which brings us down to the Bachelor. The Bachelor actually outdoes Survivor in un-reality. how many bachelors actually have tewnty women line up, throw themselves at them, take their pick, get a million bucks for doing this, and then walk away from it all with no repercussions. That's real life! I mean, sure, if you're Jerry O'Connell's gayer little brother (the actual bachelor is pictured left--I don't know his name), then maybe you have a shot with some ladies, but honestly: there is nothing real about reality television.

Is it coincidence that the mortality rate has risen alongside the reality television era? I think not.

So what does all of this mean? What has happened to television and what has happened to us because of it. We began with idealistic, overly moralistic, simple, anecdotal hegemony. We travel through unreasonable and trivial situational settings that make us laugh, but ultimately don't have any real bearning on anything. Once we do encounter reality we have to make it something else otherwise we simply might have to face the crushing weight of actually living our lives in a real world.

Bottom line: Television is the way we deceive ourselves, and it has never been innocent.

That's why we have to trust more in blogs. I love you all.

Question of the Day

Scenario: A friend has is being tried in a federal court for a serious crime--a felony. You have been approached and asked to lie on the stand in order to create an alibi for your friend. You know that this is illegal and will result in you getting punished should they find out you are lying.

Would you perjur in court for $20,000?

Public Service Announcement: Safehouses, part 2

Greetings all. The high cheese is pleased to see you again. We hope that this enjoyable family forum continues to enrich your life and make you a completely better person. Although this is highly unlikely, we will also settle for making the world slightly less dull. Should we fail at this, we will always provide a place where discussions of public restrooms are prevalent.

Location: Best Buy

City: Deptford, NJ

Cleanliness: This place gave new meaning to therm rat-hole. Every toilet had smears and stains...Two had remnants. Some walls had the same smearing and staining. Toilet paper was running amuck across the floor, just waiting to fulfill its most mischievous dream, which is to get itself stuck on someone's foot and then dragged through Best Buy. The trash was overflowing. The mirrors were completely smeared. It was wrong...all wrong, and I knew it right as I stepped in.

Supply Level: One stall had no paper--it must have been all on the floor. Another stall did not have a toilet seat (this could be mentioned here as well as in the structural integrity section). The stall with paper had an empty roll on the dispenser, but a three-quarters used roll standing on end directly on top of the empty dispenser. For the record, this is an acceptable maneuver for one day in your own home, and not for company; however, this is not right in a public facility). Amazingly, there were like three rolls of paper towels (Perhaps this is the equivalent of the last-week-of-the-semester's extra credit work hoping to get from a D to an A).

Structural Fortitude: You should doubt the structural integrity of any place that has a three-quarter inch bead of caulk cementing every toilet to the ground with a waterproof epoxy. This is a cheap way of not actually fixing a leak that stems from under every single toilet. The stalls themselves were white aluminium with chrome finishings; however, on e had a door missing, and the others had the doors hanging down all cripple-like. One sink was missing a knob. The toilets did have an automatic flusher on them, but one kept going off for no reason whatsoever.

Capacity: Given the store's high traffic, it makes sense that they would have two urinals and three stalls. But given the fact that one of the sit-down-jobbers was out of order (homemade sign...nice!), and another one kept flushing every thirty seconds, it was running on empty. Spacious, but struggling to meet demands.

Graffiti: Some random writings, but nothing crude or vulgar--mainly inspiring things like "Jim was here--04" or "GCCS rules!!!" No poetry--a real let down. Another nice feature was that the graffiti was written, not etched. This could be covered, but wasn't.

Ammenities: No seat-covers, no blowers, no changing table, just a heck of a lot of paper towels.

Comments: When you gotta go, you gotta go. But hopefully not here.

Overall Grade: D+ (this wouold have been a C-, but with all of the staff on the clock and the can this filthy, people know and just aren't doing anything about it.)

I am never affraid to take one for the team.

Question of the Day

Because the cheese is all about family values:

How many pets do you own? What are their names, species, breed, etc.?*

*Human children do not count as pets.

Waylon and Willie, and the Boys

Greetings adoring fans of the high cheese! How about this, the big five-o! This is the fiftieth post to the cheese since its inception. I have never been more proud.

I appreciate all of the responses to the safehouses post, and I don't want to seem like I am being arrogant, but honestly people, this is my specialty--I know these things. I don't know a lot in this world, but public restrooms I know. Still, thank you for your shared knowledge, I am sure the world will benefit.

So I was singing along the other day to one of my favorite songs all time: "Luckenbach, TX" by Waylon Jennings (if you don't know, now you know). Well, I should present this as it really is. If you have ever been sitting in traffic or at a stop light and looked over and seen someone absolutely performing a song, not simply humming along or even saying the words, but holding a fake mic and all and really going after it--selling it...that's me. I go for it. So, short story long, I am gettin' it to some Waylon. People staring, wishing they were me, y'know.

Well, have you ever sang along with a song only to find out that you are singing the wrong words? Let me clue you in on what part really tripped me up:

Waylon: The only two things in life that make it worth livin', are guitars in tune and good, firm-feeling women.

Me: The only two things in life that make it worth livin', are guitars and two good firm-feeling women.

This is only a minor difference, but it is, in acutality, very crucial. You see, I have three things that make life worth livin'. Unless of course, the two good, firm-feeling women counts as one collective thing in life. In which case, I may have actually outwritten my counterpart. Thanks Waylon, but my my version is better.

This song also deserves props because everyone who sings in it actually speaks of themselves in the third person--long before rappers ever stole and subsequently soiled this maneuver.

Peace out, homies. Much love.

Question of the Day

What's your favorite color?

Public Service Announcement: Safehouses

Alas adoring public, the cheese returns! What a day!

After some long and hard thinking, I figured I ought to stick what I do best and most frequently. If you get to know me, like my brother, the Eskimobot, I spend a good deal of time in gastro-intestinal discomfort. As a result, I have over the course of a lifetime grown a reckless abandon when it comes to public restrooms. Honestly, I am fully aware of all of the various risks that come with this particular brand of fearlessness mixed with desperation. Still, I am helpful to others with my vast knowledge of where to find clean restrooms, or as I like to call them, "safe houses."

The feeling I have can only be likened, in my own mind, to knowing the cure for some awful disease, like the trots for instance, but not sharing it. So as a public favor I will share my knowledge for the greater good.



Location: Bed, Bath, and Beyond

City: Deptford, NJ

Cleanliness: Spotless. Well maintained. But what do you expect from a place with Bath in the title of the store?

Supply Level: Always stocked more than abundantly. There is usually a pile of still-in-the-
wrapper can-paper on a shelf opposite the stalls.

Structural Fortitude: Supreme integrity. Although they opted for the classic beige-colored aluminium stalls with chrome finish, it is very sturdy due to low traffic levels.

Capacity: With one standard stall, one handicapped stall, two urinals, and two sinks, this is more than ready to handle the customer flow of this retail store.

Graffiti: None.

Ammenities: Baby Changing Station (even in the men's room, hear you!), blower/towel option. Toilet Seat Covers: Provided, but the one negative comment here is that they put the dispenser
outside of the stalls, so you kind of have to announce your business up front to everyone in the room by walking to the sink wall, grabbing a seat cover, and then proceeding to the stall. This is not horrible, because we all know why you're there anyway. To overcome this design flaw I recommend a bold gaze and a triumphant stride (eye contact and a small smirk also help).

Comments: Everytime I use this hidden jewel I feel a renewed confidence in the goodness of man.
Overall Grade: A

So next time you're in a bind, find the Bed, Bath, and Beyond. The can is usually to the right of the main entry door, near customer service and registries.

I know...I know...You're all welcome.

Question of the Day

If you could have a two-hour, no holds barred conversation with anyone in history who would it be?

Note: Jesus is excluded, as he is the most obvious answer.

Note: So is Roy Orbison, as he is second most obvious.

The Great American Mullet Hunt

Welcome to a new week! The cheese is already out of the strike zone today, so look out! I'm head-hunting and looking to get ejected!

Yeah, so the most incredible woman in the world and I are looking into taking a group of young folks to that mecca of american oppulance and obesity: Six Flags. I know that this is a bad idea. Thiis raises a question: Why are amusement parks so un-amusing for the great majority of us? Nevertheless, we will probably go.

Honestly, I am creeped out by the dancing old guy in those six flags ads. He looks like a child molester if I've ever seen one. Someone get him a white conversion van and a mustache with no beard. That way he is in full regalia.

Actually, one of the funnest trips I have ever had to an amusement park was when the wife and I, along with my brother and one of his plethora of ladies, bought some disposable cameras and went on a mullet hunt! The six flags mullet safari is a very dangerous thing to try. The sheer agression in the mullet wearer is just one part of the danger. They absolutely hate to have their glorious plumage captured on film. Like the Aborigine they fear that the photo takes some of their soul. If you are caught, you will most surely be stomped by several mullets in Whitesnake t-shirts with the sleeves ripped off, tight jeans, and boots of various kind. Frightful indeed.

In order to successfuly steal a photo of the mullet's beatiful plumage, one must deceive the mullet into thinking that you are not taking the picture of him. We perfected our art by having one of us stand near a mullet and then act as though we were taking our own picture, secretly missing our own party to shoot the mullet centrally in the photo. A daring and ultimately successful tactic.

I do not recommend you try this unless you are well prepared.

Anyway...

As a tease: I remember the time that my cousin and some of his friends got absolutely decimated in hoops by Tito Jackson. More on that later.

Question of the Day?

What is the ring on your cell phone right now?

Fox Sports (Why We Get What We Get)

I know...I know...but this has been the third busiest week of my life. The first one I ended up married, the second one I received a graduate degree, and who knows what I will get for this one--probably a swift kick in the rear...those are free! So how about some high heat!

Have I told you all how much I hate Fox Sports? Well, I hate them. I think that they are ruining what is left of America's game. Sure, they pretty much turn everything they touch into solid turd, but what they are doing to baseball should be illegal. This rage is not just because the NL lost again (although that did hurt). This rage is because Fox is ruining baseball for all of us.

First, one could have a problem with Jeanne Zalasko, period. On top of the torture of having to deal with Jeanne, we have to deal with her cutting off their featured guest, Ernie Harwell, Mr. Baseball! They do this piece on him as this expert of the ages, bring him in the shot, and ask him to share some pearls of wisdom. No lie: four seconds into his comment she cuts him off so that she can introduce the ultra-crappy intro video/metaphorical pit-stain with Smokey Robinson. Smokey Robinson??? I have thought about this and have come to the conclusion that they must have known how weird that was. You could not get more randomly jarring than a cutaway to Smokey Robinson. When Smokey Sings...Ernie Harwell has a warm glass of shut your sloppy mouth.

They did a fine job selecting Brian McKnight for the national anthem, but really dropped the ball when they chose to go with the Winans for that stellar rendition of God Bless America in the seventh. It was so bad that after hearing us ask like that, he won't. Really, did you notice that Brian--one man--sang the national anthem a capella, but the Winans trooped out twelve people with bad hair and require a jacked-up organ track with apparently free tempo. Gospel music took another giant step for nutballs backwards in the eyes of most of America (myself included).

We didn't make it out of the first before Fox decided to humiliate all that baseball stands for by giving us an appearance by "Scooter" the puppety cartoon baseball who tells us about the game--usually about pitches and what they do once they leave the pitcher's hand (something as helpful as, "They call me a curve ball, because I beeeend and cuuurve my way to the plate." Thanks Scooter, no one figured that out til you helped.). "It's really cute and really terrific," David Hill, the FOX Sports Television chairman and chief executive officer. He made Scooter. I hate him.

Another interesting move by Fox was that they opted to wow the sports viewing world with their newest gadgetry--the Diamond Cam! Basically, the diamond cam provides you with a lo-fi crotch shot of the pitcher falling off the mound in his followthrough. Thanks Fox. That is what I was missing. That and the laser sounds when the score changes...oh! You got those too! Great!

Sure the list could go on and on--McCarver's Gershwin ode to Dontrell Willis, McCarver in general, Joe Buck's Eminem impression, the decision to have Alter Bridge play anything, the decision to have Piazza and Damon join them on stage and just kind of look awkward as they sort of "jammed out" playing air guitar and randomly smacking a cymbal with a finger, etc.

[As a side note: Did you notice how quickly the Mets crushed the career of one of the game's most prolific catchers ever? I mean, Piazza went from being the king of LA and God's gift to baseball to being traded to the Mets, and the first thing anyone said was, "Is this guy gay?" No lie. That, my friends is the power of the Mets suck. I digress.]

A question: was the game really this bad that they couldn't just call the game?

I have to be honest though and say that I don't think that they could just call the game. They couldn't because then America wouldn't know what to do. Do you know why I say that? I say that because I am mad at America. You see, the leading vote-getter in the Allstar Game was a Designated Hitter--not even a position player! Not even a regular position player. Sure I like Ortiz, but he's a fat guy with a monster bat, not a really good baseball player...certainly not the best in the game! America, be ashamed of yourselves. Don't you realize that you ask for this crap from Fox when you do things like that? I think they should have cancelled the game once they tallied the votes, "No! You all knew better than that. You don't get to see the game until you value it more than that. Treat it with respect and we'll have the game. I hope you think about this and make better decisions next time." That's what they should have done.

Thanks Fox Sports for another great game.

Question of the Day

We are going TV today:

Which music show was better: The Brady Bunch*, The Partridge Family, or The Monkees?

As a bonus: Which family was hotter all around: the Bradys or the Partridges?

*It is fully realized that the Brady Bunch was not a music show, per se, but they did form a family band and play a few set lists for us on occassion.

Kenny, Kenny, and Bud (feat. Ludacris)

You wanted the best, you got the best! The High Cheese is here to get you up out of your seat and dancing. Or at least to talk a little baseball with you.

Barring any unforeseen explosions or an appearance by Bud Selig, tonight's Allstar game really should be one for the ages (read: it should be okay). So, maybe the very fact that the Allstar game's success (read: its possibility of being okay) hinges on the commissioner of baseball not actually showing up should tell us something about the state of the game. Oh well, we can't change who is commisioner can we--oh wait! This is the comissioner of baseball, not the pope; baseball can change that anytime it wants to. Amazingly, the owners want to keep this guy around. They enjoy the power he gives them aparently more than they enjoy the game of baseball being around in thirty more years.


Perhaps the biggest buzz in the league is that Kenny Rogers (not the one with man breasts and a fading country and western career--that pic of him skydiving in his site's biography section has me disoriented...whoa!) is going to be pitching in the Allstar game. Some people think that because he shoved around two cameramen during pregame warmups, he should have backed out of the Allstar appearance. To me, this is ludicrous (notice, not Ludacris--the biggest and baddest from the ATL...holla! Now that I hear the two names, Luda should really think about teaming up with the real Kenny Rogers! Not that the pitcher isn't real, but I mean, we're talking about the gambler here people! You could call the album "Gamblers and Thugs"...or even better "Gamblaz 'n' Thugz!"). Where was I?

I am certainly all for freedom of the press, but if the guy says not right now, then leave him alone for a minute or two. But these two guys keep cramming their cameras further into his place of business (more on this in a minute), until finally he shoved them around a bit. About it being his place of business: I make a strong distinction between what Randy Johnson did earlier this year when on the street, the day after signing the biggest deal of his career with the biggest team in baseball in the biggest city in America, he lashed out a shoved some cameraman. He was on the street! He half apologized and everyone kinda went "okay...boys will be boys." Now Kenny Rogers is in the office (on the field) and a guy is interupting his pregame warmup (the sacred cow off all pitchers). If someone kept bugging me at work, I might get upset too (read: I would throw them to the ground.)

Hear me on this: I do not advocate the use of vioolence to rectify any situation (except unfaithful boyfriends in which case you ladies let me know and I will cut their tires--I am not above that at all!). I am not arguing that Kenny Rogers is right for shoving a few reporters (maybe I am...). But what if "no means no" to the media as well?

So, I am willing to give you the fact that Kenny Rogers was wrong to do what he did to those guys, but should he have to miss out on the Allstar game for that? No way!!! Since when has baseball grown a conscience about the its players' activities off the field and rewarding their abilities on the field. Was it when Ty Cobb was the world's biggest jerk? Was it when the Babe was a lush and a womanizer? Was it when countless star athletes were beating their wives (maybe people think cameramen are more precious than wives...)? Was it when Darryl was snorting the baselines because they kinda looked like cocaine? No. The only time anyone has been kicked out of baseball was when Pete Rose gambled on the game and when the 1919 Black Sox gambled on the game. But wait! Even Pete Rose got to be at the Allstar game a couple of years ago you have to admit, that was pretty good argumentation there at the end).

Bottom-line, this was out of character for Rogers. He said he was sorry (much more convincingly than Randy Johnson as well...If Randy had thirteen wins could he go to the Allstar game? Hmmmm...). Sure he appealed his suspension but that is union policy. He will pay his fines, serve his suspension, and be done with it. The guy pitches in a hitters' park, keeps his ERA low and his team in the playoff hunt. He made a mistake, but still deserves to be recognized by his peers for his tremendous ability on the field. This does not cost baseball its conscience--steroids already did that.

Whew! That's out of my system. I feel better (read: I am still angry about it). Feel free to challenge me, but all challenges will be viewed as cheating on your girlfriend or wife, and tires will be marked and slashed.

Just a side note: I am pleased to announce the arrival of my brother's blog--the Eskimobot. It is not as family friendly as the beloved High Cheese, and may include some words you won't hear here, but he is a funny and very odd guy. Perhaps the funny thing runs in the family...the odd thing though is all him... I love you all.

Update

I'm back. I'm sunburned. I'm happy.

Question of the Day

Because we all have to have some place in our lives that reminds us that life is good and we can make it and we can be content...

Where is your happy place?

Once you have answered, go there mentally and get a recharge. I care about you all.

Down the Shore! It's Safe Now.

Welcome Cheese fans! You are truly the most beautiful adoring public that has ever existed. Give yourselves a round of applause.

So the most incredible woman in the world and I are headed "down the shore" today. That is how people from New Jersey say "to the shore," which is a reference to going to the beach. I suppose that the assumption is that no one in their right mind would ever go to the shore directly west of greater Philadelphia, therefore, they must go down the shore, as in south. Or maybe the first guy to use the phrase was an extremely charismatic semi-retarded guy who won over some mindless sheep who then came to power and enforced such speech. I don't know, either way we are headed to the Jersey Shore.

If you ever watch the Aqua Teen Hunger Force (perhaps the best show on television), you will also note that Dr. Wierd has his secret Lair somewhere on the South Jersey Coast. This is where we are headed. "Gentleman...Behold!" That's a tag line for Dr. Weird.

I think we are headed to Ocean City (undoubtedly aptly named); however, we could go back to Atlantic City. The best thing about Atlantic City is you get to watch people who are drunk by noon stumble out and pass out on the beach beside you so that they can sweat it out. Also, you see the occassional gambler turned weeping-now-homeless-and-spouseless-ex-gambler get "assisted" out of one of Donald Trump's casinos.

Another little known gem about Atlantic City is that it is the basis for the Monopoly board. All of the streets and stuff on the board are based on actual streets and places in Atlantic City. If you have ever been there, the town has definitely changed a bit since that game was made. I would much rather live in a townhome on St. Charles than in a shanty rowhome next to one of those rockhouses on Pacific Ave. But, what are you gonna do? The boardwalk is cool too.

Another favorite joy about the Atlantic City beaches is the chance you get to help society out by picking up the various hypodermic needles and dead bodies that have washed ashore. Seriously, this last summer they did run ads about how much cleaner they had gotten the shore, and therefore you and your family could think about coming back. This advertising move is almost as good as the "better tasting!" line on some food items. This is basically an admission that the product here to fore tasted like crap, but we've worked on that somewhat.

Being the accomodating guy that I am, I look forward to spending time with my wife, the most incredible woman in the world, but honestly, do not look forward at all to going to the beach. You see, here is a lesson for all the skinny people out there: No matter how much fun it is, fat people don't like the swimming or swimming areas (beaches, pools, hot tubs, etc.). Now here is the key: It is not because we have an aversion to the fun that is there. We have an aversion to the clothing that must be worn, or better put the lack of clothing worn at these places of undoubted and uncontested fun. I love swimming. I love the ocean. I love the sand. I hate being there in my bathing suit. I am uncomfortable. I am self-conscious. I am the announced and then shoved toward the water "beached whale" being "rescued" by some hateful children that God, for some unknown reason, made skinny and hurtful, and that I cannot beat afterwards because they are not mine. Ahhh...sounds like fun now, doesn't it.

Well, life's a beach! Off we go, "down the shore."

This Weekend's Super Baby

Taylor Dawn Chapman
















She might be the cutest kid in the world.
















She's a perfect 10 if you ask me.

The High Cheese Always Supports Fun with Friends

Fear not adoring public...the High Cheese flies again! It warms my heart to know you are out there, and I hope I also warm your hearts.

After careful thought, Aryn wins the both the compelling idea award and the quote of the day award yesterday. Both will be introduced in order to provide adequate coverage.

Compelling Idea of the Day: Patco Tag.

Some of you may not be familiar with it, but Patco is actually an acronym for the Delaware River Port Authority Transportation Company. This is a train, known as the "speed line" with 13 stops bridging New Jersey to Philly. Similar to the subways in New York City, if you purchase one round trip ticket from anywhere and you can ride all day long back and forth as much as you want so long as you don't leave the train platform. So her idea basically is to play a game of tag throughout the entire speed line. To make it even more challenging, everyone could wear the same color shirts and we would be easier to spot. You just can't ever leave the platform, but you could ride the train anywhere to escape being tagged. I have to give it to her, this sounds like a lot of fun, and would only cost like $4.25 to play.

This compelling idea led to the quote of the day.

Quote of the Day: "Whoa! I'm gonna have to get some more friends so that I can play this game!"

Kudos Aryn...you inspire me.

An editorial note: Cesar has asked that it be denied that he could possibly be a good kisser. Upon this request, the Cheese is happy to oblige and pronounce that Cesar probably can't kiss at all.

Shout out time: A big welcome to Taylor and Zoltara. Taylor has forsaken accepted grooming standards. Zoltara, you raised me right. Dawn, I hope you still read every now and then, and I hope you laugh. Davidson, you should be on monster.com right now, just playing. James, my first born will be named after you. Kristen, thanks for the photos--I will put them to good use. Worsham, hit me up with some pics of your kid. Tater, still waiting on the blog to come--you know you need one more thing to do. Cheeser of the week: Anti cheesis. Last but not least, a shout out to Ray LaMontagne (if you don't know, now you know).

Question of the Day

What is your favorite flavor of ice-cream?

Me, Tater, Citizen Cope, Chocolate Genius, and The Trocadero

Don't crowd the plate because the high heat is coming in whistling today! What an awesome rainy, overcast, gloomy day! Thank God I am alive to see another incredible day with all of the people I love and some of the ones I just put up with because I am not yet the man I should be!

So last night the Tater (kudos for knife smuggling) and I (no kudos for a confiscated water) flossed our coolest gear as we were headed out to a big show. We went and saw Citizen Cope with special guest Chocolate Genius at the Trocadero Theatre in Philly. All in all a great show, but we will examine it in full detail as a service to you.

First, the Trocadero is a solid venue. If I were a young artist, or for that matter an old artist, and I were coming to Philly, I would definitely book the Trocadero. It has an old world appeal that combines burlesque theater trappings and intimacy (down to the original velvety curtain) with small theater size (about 500 people). The architecture was that kind of ornate woodwork that makes you exclaim, no matter how cliche, "They don't make them like this anymore." No place is worth its salt unless it has a net attached to the ceiling to prevent the sound from causing aging plaster to crumble and fall on your head during the show, and the Trocadero is happy to oblige with aforementioned netting. It is unfortunate that there is a baracade five feet from the stage that limits the intimacy, but I hear that there are some punk shows that get rowdy there every now and then, so what are you gonna do? Most crucially, the public bathroom rating is an overall A- (concert scale). Basically, every little concert place has a public restroom that you in all good conscience would never use normally; however, given the fact that you know it is a graffiti-covered, poorly lit, crack-walled rat hole that bears the signs of booze-tempered aim you come in with low expectations. The Trocadero features a bathroom that while graffiti laced, has very good lighting, plenty of toilet paper and an altogether clean facility. It would be a C+ on the normal scale (the stall door has no latch), but on the concert scale it is a strong A-. Overall venue grade: A-.

Citizen Cope said a mouthful when he introduced (yeah you heard that right, he came out and introduced his own special guest opener...that's cool) his special guest and "close friend" Chocolate Genius. Let us establish firmly the power of the words "close friend." After this night, I can confidently say that these words mean, "even though I know that he is no good and will be a major let down for you, I still love the guy, so deal with it." Basically, Chocolate Genius is most assuredly Chocolate, but most assuredly lacks Genius. He is a performance driven artist as his songs lack any real connection to beauty, reality, or talent for that matter. He is attempting to capture the audience with a decent charisma, but loses them with ill-fated faux complexity of music and weakly written lyrics bent towards shock value and a way-too-cool-for-school facade. Chocolate Genius recordeded the song Julia on the I Am Sam sountrack, but they never played the one song that most people know by them live. This was undoubtedly a statement. And so is, "I will never watch another performance by Chocolate Genius." Overall Grade: F-.

Following his "close friend," Citizen Cope had his work cut out for him. Amazingly he pulled it off. While a definite influence on the album, in concert the reggae influence is prevalent. He achieves a masterful understatement with his guitar, often playing only one or two strings for the song, letting the bass, keyboards, and most importantly the Hammond Organ drive the sound, which there is plenty of. He had tremendous feel, but perhaps might have been hampered by a radio friendly crowd who cheered his songs closed long before it seemed he would have ended them if it were up to him. He seemed to enjoy the five-to-six minute smoke-em-if-you-got-em droning jam session at the end of each song. He loved to slow build and the power of the eventual tidal wave of sound that had crept up over you. For surprisingly little interaction with the crowd early in the show, he managed to find a closeness with us throughout the show, especially the encore--he was simply able to pull off that you-know-I'm-working-but-I-am-never-too-busy-for-you kind of smirk and a definite appreciation for the working man. Like he was our friend, he led us through most every song he has recorded. The only thing I have to criticize, and Tater disagreed with me on this, is that he played for like 50 minutes, said good night, and then came out and played a 30 minute, seven song encore. To me, the encore should not exceed half of your show's length. Still, as the music in the encore was masterfully done, this is small potatoes. He gets extra points for ending the show and immediately walking through the crowd to meet and greet at the merch table--everyone connects with a man-of-the-people approach like this. Overall grade: A. Go see him if he comes to your town. Go see him if he comes to your state--even those in Texas.

Until next time, stay safe and keep saying your prayers.

Question of the Day

Here's is one to ponder:

If you could beat up one celebrity, who would it be?

If you must you can give me a top three, but no more than that.

Two Wrongs and I'm Alright

Good Morning! I know that you are jonesing for some more cheese! I know you are craving it. I know that you can't live one more day without it. So I will give you some more cheese. Who loves you?

Okay...okay...I will tell you about it...One time, while my family and I were driving from Atlanta to Houston (why don't we fly more? Notice I alternate between this thought and the fear of flying very often), we were just outside of New Orleans (read: Babel) when we came upon a bunch of sirens and lights on a bridge over a swamp. As we approached we could see a crane moving down then up. As we rolled by at four miles per hour, faces to the glass, I remember seeing with my young eyes a middle-aged white man's limp dead body being hoisted from the swamp waters. No lie.

I also saw in New Orleans (imagine that) a man come running out of a roadside motorcycle bar, only to be followed by a larger man who simply stated, "My money!" (I believe the "where is" was implicit). Upon making this incredible declaration of grammatic genius, he proceded to brandish a medium sized knife and bury it in the stubbier man's shoulder area. We quickly drove away and told no one.

So these are the two heinous crimes that I have witnessed some major parts of--a murder victim found in a roadside swamp, and a man stabbed because of "my money." These were formative for me. Hopefully they will cheer you up as well.

God save the cheese.

Question of the Day

In our effort to reach one another through these wires and fuses, I make an appeal for closeness:

Describe yourself in three (and only three) words.

Guess Who's Back and Rash Free!!!

Everybody start to lose control because the cheese is back on the clock. Punch in and roll your sleeves up; we are not stopping for anything now! If this cheese is to high, then you need to back up off the dish! What a day!!! We are back baby!

Well, a week of sweat, dirt, grime, grit, dust, and the sugershack only served to get me even more fired up than before. I led an expedition of twenty-three folks out to a place called the Agape Farm for Creation 2005. Basically it is a four-day Christian Woodstock. Tremendous music, great speakers, awesome kiddos!!!, and a whole heck of a lot of dust.

Actually, this is a major victory. You see, the cheese has very recently in his life developed troubling alergies to most all outdoors. Sure I took over six benedryl a day, but I managed to come home without a rash. Sweet!

Also, I am now officially clean for the first time in five days. I actually think that I managed to be dirtier for a longer period of time than I have ever been before. Camp showers aren't to clean you, they are to cool you down, wake you up, and knock the stink off. In this case, they only cooled you down (read here the increased windy gasping that is the natural reaction of an ice cold shower...you know how it hurts and you foolishly think that this loud and hurried breathing with the occasional "whooo...I mean, whooo that's cold," is actually going to make you any warmer or restore natural function to your body) and woke you up (whoo that's cold!).

All in all many valuable lessons were learned, but perhaps none more valuable than the fact that the group found out that Cesar is destined to be a wonderful kisser. Who would have thought? (For the rest of you: This is what is called an inside joke--a humorous statement for those intimately involved with a particular circumstance that they had special closeness to and therefore can relate to the humor of the actual statement. Unfortunately, this is not so democratic, because it favors an elite group of "insiders" over against the thriving masses who now long to be one of these insiders. As to you "outsiders" I suggest that you unite, rebel, and cut the insiders' tires at night. Don't take these inside jokes sitting down!)

God save the cheese!

By the way, remind me to tell you about the time I saw a dead man being lifted up by a crane out of a swamp on the side of the road (this is a called a tease in the industry).