Wednesday Word of the Week

Bilk (bihlk)
verb

def - to cheat; defraud

"When the greedy salesman realized that his customer spoke poor French, he bilked the tourist out of 20 euros."

Alternative definition
noun

Boob milk

"Craig wondered if his Capt'n Crunch would taste better with his wife's bilk."

The Art of Gronking

What is Gronking? Simply put; Gronking is the act of picking up a football, bottle, or any inanimate object, and violently hurling it to the ground. You may have heard of a fellow named Rob Gronkowski. He plays for the New England football Patriots. His touchdown celebration is the inspiration for this article (and so many other things in my life). He is the Gronkfather.  Men want to be him, women want to be on him, defensive backs just want to get the fuck out of his way. Watching him lumber across the middle of the field, snatch a Tom Brady missile with one giant paw, bulldoze three defenders on his way to the end zone is like watching an artist at the height of his craft. Gronk addresses the roaring crowd like a Roman gladiator. He presents his trophy, the football, like the head of a challenger he just lopped off. He winds up, torqueing his body like a spring, and unleashes a savage blow, using every inch of his 6’6 265 lb frame to punish the football into the turf. This exhibition, widely regarded as a celebration, is actually a charitable donation. Gronk has pledged to deliver footballs to kids in China, directly through the center of the Earth. Gronking is the noblest act of violence.

In all seriousness, Gronking is a tribute to greatness. Just because you can’t spike footballs at Foxborough on Sundays, doesn’t mean you can’t pay homage to his Gronkness at home. You’ve heard of Tebowing right? It’s kind of like that except not lame. Gronking is the Camero-driving, beer-swilling, ass-kicking older brother of Tebowing. It is the supreme expression of joy, rage, and manliness. What would Jesus do (if he scored a touchdown)? He certainly wouldn’t kneel down and celebrate silently. He would probably head-butt the goalpost, Gronk the football and scream WELCOME TO CHURCH BITCHES! (sorry Mom if you’re reading this).

             The Gronk, a move born on the gridiron, has transcended sports and permeated pop culture. People are Gronking at parties, bar mitzvahs, around the water cooler at work, even unconsciously! I sleep-Gronked last week, spiking my girlfriend’s hairbrush into the toilet. The undergraduate population in my neighborhood seems to get especially Gronk-happy on the weekends. A typical Sunday morning in Brighton will see the sidewalk littered with shattered beer bottles, decimated traffic cones, and the occasional obliterated pumpkin. Not surprisingly, Gronking and binge drinking compliment each other well. Nothing fuels the smashing spirit like chugging a Smirnoff ice or funneling Franzia.

            You don’t have to be drunk to Gronk (though admittedly its way more fun if you are). People of all ages, races, and religions can unite under the banner of Gronk. “All hail King Gronko of Spikestainia!” Next time you finish off a frosty Natural light, don’t merely throw it away; Gronk it into the recycling bin. You can save the planet and impress your friends at the same time. Making an omlet? Don’t delicately crack the eggs, Gronk them into the pan. Eggshells have protein! Gronk your rent check into the mailbox. Gronk a chocolate chip cookie into your mouth. Wherever you are reading this, grab the nearest thing that isn’t bolted down and Gronk it. I implore you all to go forth and Gronk!

Wednesday Word of the Week

Eschew (ehs choo)
verb

def - to shun; to avoid (as something wrong or distasteful)

"The filmmaker eschewed artificial light for her actors, resulting in a stark movie style."

Alternative definition
verb

To sneeze while chewing food

"Hank knew his promotion was hopeless after he eschewed during the lunch meeting, spraying lobster bisque all over the CEO's suit."

Wednesday Word of the Week

Polyglot (pah lee glaht)
noun

def - a speaker of many languages

"Ling's extensive travels have helped her to become a true polyglot."

Alternative definition
noun

One who uses gravy on three or more food groups in a single meal

"Uncle Kevin, a notorious polyglot at family gatherings, succumbed to a food coma exactly 7 minutes after Thanksgiving dinner."

PC DOG FIGHTS

I got my Flip video camera a couple months after I got Biscuit, around the same time Harper came onto the scene. With the snow melting in Park City, three dogs running around the house and a new toy to play with, I accumulated a plethora of footage in no time. Feeling nostalgic, I finally decided to do something with all the videos I took.

Here's to the good people, gangster dogs, and great times at 920 Norfolk Ave.

Wednesday Word of the Week

Lavaliere (lav-uh-leer)
noun

def - an ornamental pendant, usually jeweled, worn on a chain around the neck

"Every girl in the sorority dreamed of wearing Johnny's fraternity lavaliere."

Alternative definition
verb

To projectile vomit

"Dude you lavaliered all over Emma last night!" "I know, tacos and Jaeger was probably a bad idea."

Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Sprague

Ever since the diagnosis of schizophrenia as a mental disease in the late 1800’s, the idea of split personalities has found a niche in popular fiction.  We’ve all read the stories about a hero who has split, or multiple identities.  By day, Spider Man is nerdy reporter Peter Parker; millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne moonlights as Batman; even Superman conceals his identity with the clever façade of Clark Kent.  However, this Superhero blueprint of average citizens modestly cloaking their valiant secret identity is not always the case.  Sometimes the shift into the alternate personality is undesirable, unpleasant, and unavoidable.   Dr. Jekyll loses himself in his wild subconscious alter ego, Mr. Hyde.  The renowned physicist Bruce Banner, when provoked by anger, transforms violently into the Incredible Hulk.  My roommate, the mild mannered Ben Sprague, mutates into a riotous, foul-mouthed beast.  One may ask, what causes these upstanding men to fall victim to evil alter ego’s?  Dr. Banner had an unfortunate accident with some gamma rays that left him with an angry green split-ego.  Poor Dr. Jekyll’s brilliant mind couldn’t endure the burden of his own genius and he descended into madness.  Ben’s transformation occurs only seventeen weeks of the year; nearly every Sunday and an occasional Monday.  The catalyst of his metamorphosis; The Dallas Cowboys.

“Oh, my, dear, GOD! I can not believe he has the audacity to make that call!  I mean where does that (expletive deleted) son of a (four expletives and one racial slur deleted) get off making that call?  Isn’t this America?  Are we not guaranteed the right to a justly refereed football game?  Did I miss something?  Are we suddenly now in Communist Russia?  God what I wouldn’t give to be anywhere within shooting distance of that game right now.  I hope that ref gets hit by a bus on his way out of the stadium.  No no, that’s too compassionate.  I hope he wins the lottery and goes on a fantastic vacation with his family and children.  Except when they’re over Philadelphia both wings simultaneously fall off, and the plane crashes directly into Donavon McNab’s chest, killing him, the ref, the ref’s family, the Eagles and the entire city of Philadelphia.”

           

Ben sits back down on the couch after one of his tirades.  He exhales loudly through his nose and resumes his focus on the television screen, seemingly unaware of the broken chair, dented refrigerator and possibly crippled roommate he left in his wake.  Depending on the circumstances, these outbursts can last anywhere from a couple seconds to an hour.  One particularly drunken Sunday night Ben caused such a ruckus after a referee “missed” a call that my roommates and I locked ourselves out of the room and stayed there until an RA, who was patrolling the hallway two floors down, came up to investigate what she called “violent noises.”  There is a direct correlation between the level of the Cowboy’s play and the severity of Ben’s destructiveness.  Ben generally directs his aggression towards the TV in verbal form.  He exhausts himself, shouting at no-one in particular, in long-winded rants that often border the criminally insane.  Sometimes, however, verbal violence doesn’t quite satisfy his lust.  It is not uncommon to see balls, books, chairs, or any other object he can pick up hurled across the room or out the door.  Numerous chairs and walls have met their demise at the hands of Mr. Sprague.  Crossing the living room during the Cowboys game is like sprinting through the jungle in Vietnam; you don’t know if you’re going to make it to the other side.  For this reason it’s hard for us to entertain guests on Sunday’s when Ben’s around.  He usually consents to stay in his room but the muffled yells and bangs can still be heard when the Cowboys make a bad play.  One freshman girl, who happened to be leaving our residence on a Sunday morning, heard a loud crash and a primeval roar from upstairs and turned to me wide eyed, gripping the door handle and asked “was that an animal?”  I’ve lived with or next to Ben for three years now, so I’ve become accustomed to his behavior.  Still, there are some times that even I am shocked at the things that come out of his mouth.  Just when I think I’ve heard the vilest, most offensive thing he’s ever said, he pushes the boundary that much further.  Through coping mechanisms like ear-plugs and pot, I’ve learned to accept his behavior and even feel somewhat sympathetic for him.  Ben is a victim.  He is consumed by his one true passion; his undying love for the cowboys.

           

There are a few certainties I know about Ben Sprague; he loves corndogs, he hates republicans, and he worships the Cowboys.  His dedication to the Cowboys organization and enthusiasm about Professional football is infectious.  Being raised in a college town, I was never really that interested in the NFL or any particular team for that matter.  Shortly after arriving at college and meeting Ben I found myself suddenly very aware of the NFC East standings and who the Cowboys would play next.  Since I’ve known him, my knowledge of the Cowboys franchise history has tripled.  I am bombarded with facts, which I really have little desire to hear, about Larry Allen’s bench press, Troy Aichman’s concussions, and tales from the illustrious career of one time pro-bowler Tony Tolbert.  Ben may not remember what he had for breakfast, but he can recite every play of the Cowboy’s game winning drive in the 1991 Super Bowl.  He knows first names, last names, coach’s names, water boy’s names, numbers, stats, owners, cheerleaders, and the list goes on.  Just recently Ben paid a visit to the Mecca of Cowboy fans, Texas Stadium.  He likened the experience to a spiritual hajj; a homecoming of sorts, which is strange because Ben is from northern Virginia. 

While he does have some family in the Lone-Star State, he is far from a true Texan.  He can’t ride, rope, or ranch and he despises dirt.  However this has not deterred him from living the dream.  Last year Ben confessed an overwhelming impulse to incorporate boots, belt buckles, and cowboy hats into his wardrobe.  His ideal cowboy, however, was far from a rough neck.  Ben wanted Ostrich leather boots, and a customized belt buckle to match his special edition John Wayne Stetson.  Over the years Ben has forged a symbiotic relationship with the Cowboys in his mind.  Any time he refers to them it’s always as “we” or “us” rather than “them.”  Whether subconsciously or consciously Ben believes that his unfailing devotion has somehow qualified him as a member of the team.  His connection goes even deeper than this however.  Ben feels physical repercussions after a Cowboy game.  If they win he is overcome with jubilation, hugging strangers and crying out freedom.  If they lose, he becomes physically ill, and slumps into a pseudo-depression.

“Hey man are you gonna come out to Pete’s with us tonight” I ask Ben after a particularly disheartening Cowboys loss.

“Eh, I don’t think so.” Ben replies pathetically. 

“Dude why not?  You’ve been talking this party up all week.  Plus isn’t that girl,

with that thing, and the hair, that you made out with that one time supposed to be there?”

            “Yeah I guess, but she’s nothing special.  Plus I think I might be developing a stomach ulcer.”

            “Nothing special!?” I reply incredulously.  “But earlier today you told me that you would eat a mile of her shit just to get an inch from her ass.”  Ben shrugs my question off and rolls himself up in his own self pity.  He asks me to turn out the lights (it’s 6:45 on a Saturday night) and as I leave the room I offer him what little condolence I can,

“try drinking some milk, it might help that ulcer.” 

After witnessing anomalies such as these, there is no doubt in my mind that his passion for the Cowboys is genuine. 

           

Despite his often brutish behavior Ben was not raised by wolves.  He is a well centered individual who comes from a healthy two-parent home.  He simply loves too much, or too hard perhaps.  Ben’s allegiance to the Cowboys is the catalytic energy that provokes his transmutations.  It changes him from an intelligent young man to an offensive beast with the blow of a whistle.  During the week he’s a diligent Dean’s list student.  He is a member of the Westover Honors program.  He is a Bonner Leader.  He takes an active role in politics and aspires to go to law school.  Ben’s resume is superb.  He would be accepted to many of the top tier graduate schools in the nation, that is, so long as they didn’t schedule the interview during a Cowboy’s game.

Wednesday Word of the Week

Machination (mahk uh nay shuhn)
noun

def - plot or scheme

"Tired of his enemies' endless machinations to remove him from the throne, the king had them executed."

Alternative Definition
noun

The act or process of making something macho

"After enduring a lengthy and calculated machination, Jed emerged from high school with a leather jacket and a smoking habit."

Wednesday Word of the Week

Probity (proh bih tee)
noun

def - complete honesty and integrity

"George Washington's reputation for probity is illustrated in the legend about his inability to lie after he chopped down the cherry tree"

Alternative Definition
noun

A supernatural entity with a proclivity for anal probing

"Billy and Bobby clenched their butt-holes as they hurried past the old mill that was rumored to be haunted by a probity"

Polish does Boston

My compilation of the Polish Ambassador's assault on Boston

Wednesday Word of the Week

Libertine (lihb uhr teen)
noun

def - a free thinker, usually used disparagingly; one without moral restraint

"The libertine took pleasure in gambling away his family's money"

Alternative definition
noun

A chocolatey malt beverage enjoyed by early American colonists

"Give me libertine with my bread pudding or give me death!"

Mexico, Mormons, Murder & Mitt

It’s nearly November and our country is in the midst of polarizing, political fisticuffs. At any given moment during the next few weeks you may hear one or more of these buzz-words: middle-class, Obamacare, economy , swing-state, Honey Boo-Boo, tax cuts, Taken 2, jobs, gays, guns and abortion. “Can you believe my opponent supports gay abortions at gunpoint?!” 

I find myself toeing the line between apathy and bewilderment. It’s not that I don’t care about the future of our country, I do. I resent having the same social issues debated in the media while important topics such as Iran, the NDAA, Social Security and the Federal Reserve go unmentioned. I try not to peddle my opinions via social media but, hey bro, this is a blog. It’s my duty to provide my readers with over-opinionated, under-investigated melodrama. Plus Facebook needs to know that I “like” Paul Ryan’s abs.

Politics aside, I’m really more concerned with the current state of Journalism. Whether it’s being spewed from CNN or Fox News, It’s oozing with thinly veiled bias. The days of journalistic integrity and hard-hitting, real-life reporting have succumbed to ratings, sensationalism and the almighty dollar. Luckily, Shane Smith and the good people at Vice.com are mad (or crazy, or drunk, or both) as hell and are not going to take it anymore! 

Vice has consistently produced compelling exposes on global issues, traveling to places like North Korea, Libya and Pakistan - places riddled with atrocities that somehow manage to fly under the radar of mainstream media. Their latest video addresses an alarming escalation of violence from our neighbors to the south. Mexico, as a result of America’s war on drugs, has quickly become one of the most dangerous countries in the world. Cartels rule the border ruthlessly murdering rivals, police, journalists, civilians or anyone else that crosses them. One group that has dug in and fought back are the Mormons. That's right, Mormons. Vice traveled to Mexico to talk to members of these Mormon polygamist colonies - including the family of the GOP's golden boy. 

Wednesday Word of the Week

Fecund (feh kuhnd)
adjective

def - fertile; fruitful; productive

"The fecund couple yielded a total of 20 children."

Alternative Definition
noun

An expletive spoken with a mouthful of peanut butter

"Upon discovering his PB&J was made with crunchy instead of creamy, Eddie expressed his displeasure with a guttural fecund."

Wednesday Word of the Week

Pervade (puhr vayd)

verb

def - to be present throughout; to permeate

"Four spices - cumin, turmeric, coriander, and cayenne - pervade almost every Indian dish, and give the cuisine its distinctive flavor."

Alternative Definition:

noun

A parade of perverts

"For five days every year during Mardi Gras the streets of New Orleans turn into the worlds biggest pervade."

Wednesday Word of the Week

Quaff: (kwof, kwaf, kwawf)
verb

def - To drink deeply

"We stopped at a bar and quaffed a few beers."

Alternative Def:
verb 

The act of wafting a queef

"Mortified, Norma tried to quaff the offensive smell towards the window before anyone at the party noticed."

Red Bull Cliff Diving

Is it possible for a man with nuts the size of grapefruits to wear a speedo? In short, yes. I witnessed eleven such men hurl themselves off the roof of the Institute of Contemporary Art into the Boston Harbor during the 5th stop of Redbull’s 2012 cliff-diving world series.

My girlfriend and I attended the event on a last minute whim. I figured dudes jumping off a tall building could be an entertaining way to spend a Saturday afternoon. At best we would be treated to the worlds biggest bellyflop, at worst we would be minutes from some of Boston’s finest waterfront bars. It didn’t take long to figure out I seriously underestimated this event. After watching the first heart-pounding, butthole-clenching, holy-shit-is-he-really-doing-this dive, we were hooked.

Thousands of rowdy Bostonians packed the viewing area as hundreds more looked on from boats docked in the harbor. The atmosphere had a distinctively Redbull feel with ear-blistering music, copious amounts of adrenaline, all orchestrated by a super-bro MC. Two hours of dramatic quadruple spins and triple back-flips later we left stunned and exhausted. I walked away having leaned two things; cliff-diving is a legitimately badass sport and, grapefruit-sized nuts do, in fact, fit into a speedo.

Watch the highlights and see for yourself

Wednesday Word of the Week

Lugubrious (loo-goo-bree-uhs)
adjective

def - sorrowful; mournful; dismal

"Irish wakes are a rousing departure from the lugubrious funeral services to which most people are accustomed."

Alternative definition
adjective

Full of gloriously gooey lugi's

"Dude i've never seen so much snot come out of one kid! Yeah that is one lugubrious little shit."

The Black Swan

Ladies and Gentlemen prepare yourself for a Black Swan experience. No I’m not talking about that movie where Natalie Portman lezzed out with the girl from that 70’s show. I’m talking about an aspiring artist who hails from South Boston. If you’ve ever ridden the Redline from Quincy Adams to JFK, you may have had a Black Swan experience.

An eclectic group of individuals assemble on the northbound MBTA train everyday around 5:00. Bedraggled workers silently shuffle onboard to begin their commute home while others, donning their team colors, chatter excitedly on their way to Fenway or the Garden. One man, looming tall above the crowd, carries a pair of producer headphones and a backpack full of CD’s. This man is the Black Swan. Unassuming, he mindfully arranges his things, untangling the wires and mentally prepares himself. When ready, he powerfully announces his presence to everyone onboard,

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the Black Swan is on the train!”

I admit, the first time I witnessed the Swan in action I was taken aback, unsure of whether to be intimated or impressed. He exudes confidence and swagger and aggressively peddles his rhymes to captive commuters. Working from one end of the train to the other, the Swan asks passengers to don the headphones and listen to one of his tracks. Most people pretend to ignore him while others politely (or more often impolitely as is the norm in Boston) decline. The few that humor him or are genuinely interested are treated to an overproduced track with heavy bass lines and clean, albeit clever, lyrics (I’ve listened more than once).

“For just $5 you can own the EP and a piece of history” he entices. When the person inevitably declines, he offers this sales pitch;

“Alright, tell you what. I’m gonna spit one of the illest freestyles you’ve ever heard. You like it, you buy the CD. You don’t, no harm done, aight?”

Not waiting for an answer, the Swan launches into an impromptu rhyme session, usually riffing off nearby passengers or cliché Boston landmarks and sayings.

“Sipping on Dunkies crossword puzzle doin, my man rock the playoff beard like a Boston Bruin.”

I’ve seen the Swan in action many times, I’ve even been the subject of his subway flow-etry  (I proudly wore a Bruinesque winter beard). Despite his enthusiasm and undeniable talent, the Swan flies away empty handed most days. I can count the number of CD’s I’ve seen him sell on one hand. I’ve watched him get ignored, shut down, and even laughed at. My gut reaction was pity. This poor guy is humiliating himself for a few bucks. But the more I thought about it, I found myself respecting, even envying the Swan. He has the courage, and belief in himself, to go out every day and pursue his passion. He doesn’t let others judgment cloud his vision or impede his mission. He doesn’t waste his time working a menial job that society deems “appropriate.” Though I’ve never bought one of his CD’s I always give him a few words of encouragement out of respect and admiration. His path, though arduous and long, is most noble because he is answering his soul’s calling. We should all strive to live this way; stepping onto the subway-car of life and boldly giving the world a Black Swan experience.