The spelling bee is a useful educational tool that promotes learning and competition, but really, it’s not a spectator sport.
For those of you who have been to a spelling bee, this is not news. But believe it or not, I hadn’t been to one in a very long time until last weekend when Son of Blonde Accountant represented his school at the Our Lady of I Before E Except After C spelling bee in Quakertown.
It was what you would expect from a spelling bee of about 30 or so sixth, seventh and eighth graders. It was sponsored by the local Knights of Columbus club, always and forever a noble group of community-minded folks.
Our guy went out in the third round after having some difficulty on the word “difficulty.” He had added and errant “l” to make it “difficultly.”
But the reality is that watching a spelling bee is about like watching the proverbial paint dry . . . with one exception this time: At intermission, a ballgame broke out at this spelling bee with the serving of . . . hotdogs!
Hotdogs. H-O-T-D-O-G-S. Hotdogs. That I can spell. With M-U-S-T-A-R-D, of course.
I can’t help but think that spelling bees in general would be more entertaining if hotdogs were served at every competition. I’m going to call the Knights of Columbus guys and see if they can get that done.

Labels: Kiwanis, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

One wonders how an idea like this came about: A Swiss watchmaker has decided to make a timepiece in fossilized dinosaur poo.
Certainly beer was involved in the decision-making process.
According to a wire service story, watch designer Yvan Arpa (which I believe in Swedish translates into “Bob Knucklehead”) has decided to forego the standard watch-making elements of gold, diamond or titanium and make a watch out of dinosaur poo.
And sell it for $11,290. Oh, and the watch strap on which the dinosaur poo timepiece is attached will be made from the skin of an American cane toad.
Bob is quoted as saying that the doo-doo came from a plant-eating dinosaur that died about 100 million years ago in what is now the United States. No mention is made in the wire service story as to the legitimacy of those claims.
Forget the “creativeness” of the idea, how does one go about locating fossilized dinosaur dung?
Ideas like this can elicit only one response from me: You gotta be bleepin’ me.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

Every year when the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame announces its newest class there is debate, not only about who gets in but about who has yet to be inducted.
This year ABBA, along with Genesis, The Hollies and The Stooges, were among those honored with induction and right away, folks are clamoring: What about Chicago? What about KISS? Moody Blues, Jethro Tull, Three Dog Night? The list of deserving musicians not in the rock hall is longer than the list of inductees.
For me, it’s, “What about Hall & Oates?” And it’s not because Daryl and John, from Pottstown and North Wales respectively, are local boys. It’s not because I have had the pleasure of interviewing each of them for stories in Montgomery Newspapers over the past few years.
It’s because every time I get into my car, I’ll choose a Hall & Oates album to listen to over just about any other CD that I have. It’s about the music. I virtually grew up with, and have liked a good number, of H&O songs over the years.
Why, I even considered naming Older Daughter
“Sarah Smile Morsch.” That’s how much I liked that song and that music.
The KISS and Chicago fans — of which I consider myself one of both groups — can wait. Television personality Rachel Ray, who has been lobbying for H&O to be inducted into the rock hall, is right. Daryl and John belong.
And really, I like ABBA, but if that group can get through the doors of the Rock and Roll Hall of fame, then H&O are overdue. In fact, at the very least, John Oates’ moustache should be in the rock hall of fame.
Whose arm do I have to twist on this one? You know, as we say in Philly, “I know a guy.”

Labels: Daryl Hall, John Oates, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

There is a reason we have an organization in this country that calls itself the Secret Service. It’s because there are some secrets that need to be kept when it comes to securing the safety of the POTUS (President of the United States).
I had momentarily forgotten that basic premise when President Barack Obama came to Arcadia University in Glenside Monday morning.
It was not the first time I had covered a presidential speech, so I was well aware of the security drill. But I got caught up in some technological advances we’re trying out here at the newspaper and did something stupid.
See, reporters are now carrying Flip cameras, little hand-held devices that we can use to record video clips that we post with our stories online at www.montgomerynews.com. I decided that I would test out my Flip camera during the president’s appearance.
Once I had cleared the security checkpoint, I did what most reporters do: I started looking for people to interview and scenes to video.
Of course, since I was only a few steps removed from the security checkpoint for media personnel — a checkpoint that included Secret Service agents with metal detector wands and a bomb-sniffing dog — I thought it would be interesting to video the process that we in the media had to undergo to enter the building where the president would be speaking.
We’ll call that “Mike First Stupid Idea of the Day.” (And it was early, so it likely wouldn’t be the last stupid thing I did that day.)
So I held up my little video camera and started taking shots. Within seconds, out of the corner of my eye, I could see a Secret Service agent quickly approaching.
“You can’t videotape security measures. That will end up on the internet. You need to erase that immediately,” said the agent.
Doh!
Unfortunately, I had not yet played enough with the new toy to know how to erase anything on it. So I punched all the buttons and assured the agent that the offending video was gone.
The guy was doing his job and I was doing my job. This time, he was much better at his than I was at mine and given the circumstances, I’m OK with that.

Labels: Arcadia University, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, President Barack Obama

Every year I go to the Philadelphia International Flower Show. It’s the very least I can do. After all, The Blonde Accountant goes to Phillies games with me, so I try to return the favor by going with her to events that she favors. (For the record, the one event she won’t accompany me to is rasslin’ but if you know her, that is no real surprise.)
I usually end up enjoying the flower show for what it is — a flower show. What’s not to like? It’s visually pleasing and smells good (kind of like The Blonde Accountant now that I think about it.)
The only problem I ever have at the flower show is that the cement floor of the convention center plays seven kinds of hooey with my knees. But the convention center drinking fountains always seem to offer the coldest water, so that evens the score for me.
The other aspect I like about the flower show is that beforehand we usually combine it with a stop at (Shameless Promotion Alert) Reading Terminal Market and then afterwards, we have dinner at (Another Shameless Promotion Alert) Maggiano’s.
It’s not a ballgame, but the flower show makes a nice centerpiece for a trip into the big city. And it’s all wrapped up within a few blocks.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Philadelphia International Flower Show

Hard to believe that the movie “10” is more than 30 years old.
I caught the film for the first time in many years recently on one of the cable movie channels. As you know, it stars the late Dudley Moore, the wonderful Julie Andrews and introduced the . . . uh . . . scantily clad Bo Derek. It came out in 1979, my second year of college, and at a time I was still feeling the effects of a year’s worth of “Animal House” toga partying.
But with age comes some perspective. I’m pretty sure that in 1979, my focus was squarely on Derek and her impressive assets. If one does a Google search on “20-year-old college male in 1979,” there is likely to be some reference of Bo Derek’s assets.
Watching the film now, the things that strike me are the comedic talents of Moore and the wonderful musical score by Henry Mancini. Hmmm. A film that features Bo Derek cavorting around virtually nekked throughout the picture and at age 50, I have more of an appreciation for Dudley Moore and Henry Mancini?
It’s official: I am now an old guy.

Labels: Bo Derek, Dudley Moore, Julie Andrews, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

There are times it seems where everybody needs a little “Yee-ha!” in their life. Or maybe that’s just me since I’ve got a Midwestern background, where “Yee-ha!” is more plentiful than it is here on the East Coast.
Last weekend provided such an opportunity for me, at one of my favorite places on the planet, the Sellersville Theater 1894. That’s where bluegrass and country legend Ricky Skaggs performed two shows on Saturday, the first of which I attended.
I was forced to go it alone because The Blonde Accountant is an East Coast girl who’s hip. I really dig those styles she wears. In reality though, she doesn’t have an ounce of “Yee-ha!” in her entire body. Getting her to come along was a tough sell and although I tried right up until it was time to leave for the concert, I never closed the deal.
But Ricky Skaggs does have a bunch of “Yee-ha!” because he’s a good old boy who hails from the mountains of Eastern Kentucky who has been playing bluegrass music since he was a youngster, which is about 50 years now.
Now bluegrass music isn’t really my thing, although I do like the theme song to the “Beverly Hillbillies.” And any time you go see a band that has a banjo, a fiddle and a mandolin it in, you’re going to experience a fair amount of “Yee-ha!” in the show.
But Skaggs, who plays the mandolin, and his band Kentucky Thunder are the best in the business and I quite enjoyed the concert.
I had interviewed Skaggs a few weeks ago for a preview story on his Sellersville visit and he was articulate, gracious and chatty during our telephone conversation. I was fortunate enough to be introduced to him after the show. It was a short meeting and he was much less chatty, although in all fairness, he probably wasn’t much interested in a rumpled reporter hitting him with a big “Yee-ha!”
Of course, I now had an extra “Yee-ha!” that I needed to get rid of, so I saved it for The Blonde Accountant when I got home. Not surprisingly, she didn’t want much to do with it either.
I guess everybody doesn’t need a little “Yee-ha!” in their life, but I’ve still got a few extras to pass out. Don’t be surprised if you get one the next time we talk.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Ricky Skaggs, Sellersville Theater

Early on in my career as editor of the Times Herald in Norristown sometime in 2001, I wrote an editorial in support of the way Montgomery County Sheriff John Durante handled a situation involving his deputies.
From then on, our paths crossed professionally and personally many times over the years. I once sat with him in the owner’s box at Veterans Stadium, shooting the breeze during a game between the Phillies and the Dodgers. We served together on the advisory board of the Montgomery County Coaches Hall of Fame.
If my job required me to talk to him in an official capacity, I always found him to be credible and honest in dealing with the county’s business. If there was no official business to conduct, John was always ready with a back-slapping story, willing to occasionally bend and elbow and toss in a few profanities while doing it.
I considered it a unique relationship between an elected public official and a journalist based on mutual trust and respect.
John called me Monday morning, Feb. 8. He had something cooking with his good pal, Dodgers Hall of Fame manager Tommy Lasorda, a Norristown native, that he wanted to share with me. We talked about John’s pending trip to Florida for spring training, one that he took nearly every year. He knew that I always liked to talk baseball and he was more than willing to share baseball stories with me. I always yukked it up when John told a story.
Less than 48 hours later, John died at home from a massive heart attack. Despite some previous heart problems, his sudden death has shocked many in our local communities. His funeral is this week.
I considered him a friend. I respected him, I liked him and I’ll miss him.

Labels: John Durante, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

The key to the shenanigans surrounding the whole Punxsutawney Phil thing is that those involved don’t take themselves too seriously.
Apparently, the good folks at People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) didn’t get the memo. This year, the group was suggesting that Phil be replaced with a robotic stand-in because it’s unfair to the groundhog to not only keep him in captivity but then to subject him to throngs of people and the bright lights that come with all of the media attention.
Huh?
Stinkin’ media and its bright lights. Crumb bums the whole lot of them. Why, no self-respecting gopher can even dig a tunnel and ruin a golf course (“Caddyshack” reference for those of you wondering) without the media sticking its nose in nowadays.
According to William Deeley, president of the Inner Circle of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club — the Grand Groundhog Guy, or Triple-G, as it were — Phil is “treated better than the average child in Pennsylvania.”
Phil’s crib is in a climate-controlled environment and the varmint doesn’t miss too many meals tipping the scales at 12 lbs., a bit heavier than the average groundhog that weighs in at 9 and one-half lbs.
Well . . . maybe it wasn’t a good idea that Triple-G used an analogy that suggested we treat our groundhogs better than we treat our children in Pennsylvania. That certainly opens the door for the PETA faithful burrow into Phil’s business.
Still, Deeley may have been right when he said that PETA doesn’t give a hang about Phil any other time of the year and was just looking for publicity around Groundhog’s Day.
Certainly PETA has better causes to pursue than poking at Phil with a stick. PETA needs to worry about being PETA. Or it will end up being a PITA.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, PETA, Punxsutawney Phil

It appears I lack that entrepreneurial spirit and imagination.
Nearly every night during the winter months, I try to be a considerate spouse by climbing into The Blonde Accountant’s side of the bed. The idea here is to warm her side up while she is in the bathroom completing whatever skin ritual it is she performs every evening.
And she always compliments me on my ability to make her side of the bed toasty warm. Now, somebody has figured out how to make bed toasting a full-time job. And it wasn’t me, although I’ve had plenty of time to lie there every night and think up the idea myself.
According to a wire service story, the international branch of Holiday Inn is offering, on a trial basis, human bed-warming services at three hotels in Britain.
Apparently, if requested by a guest, somebody will come into to your hotel room fully dressed in an all-in-one sleeper suit and some type of covering over their hair and get in your bed to warm it up. The person would then leave the bed before the guest climbed in, at least that’s the hotel’s theory.
I’m sorry, I don’t believe this particular hotel amenity interests me. I don’t want a big galoot named Gus in my bed. And you know it will be big galoots who get these jobs because they can warm up more of the bed’s surface. I know this because I am a big galoot and I can warm up a lot of the surface in my bed.
And by the way, what if the guest takes too long with his or her nightly bathroom ritual and good old Gus does his job so well that he falls asleep in the nice, toasty bed that he has just created?
“The new Holiday Inn bed warmers service is a bit like having a giant hot water bottle in your bed,” said Holiday Inn spokeswoman Jane Bednall in the wire service story.
So that begs the question, why not just offer guests a complimentary hot water bottle instead?

Labels: Holiday Inn, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

File this one under the little pleasures in life: While strolling through Target recently I happened across the discount DVD section, where occasionally one can find unexpected treasures.
And I found one: The complete DVD series of seasons one and two of “Gilligan’s Island.” For $15. Beautimous.
I remember coming home from school in the 1960s and watching Gilligan, the Skipper too, the Millionaire . . . and his wife, the Movie Star, the Professor and Mary Ann.
Of course, I watched the show in reruns for many years after that, well into adulthood.
The series actually lasted three seasons, so I still need to locate season three on DVD. It originally ran on CBS from 1964 to 1967. By the way — and I knew this from watching the show as a kid and paying attention to the trivial aspects of the show — the Skipper’s name in the show was Captain Jonas Grumby (played by Alan Hale Jr.) and the Professor’s name was Roy Hinkley (played by Russell Johnson).
And for the record, I always preferred Mary Ann. Must have been my Midwestern upbringing.
It occurred to me when I bought the DVDs that this was a show I’d want to share with my grandchildren someday. I hope future generations have more appreciation for a character like Gilligan than they do for, say, a character like SpongeBob SquarePants.
Then again, maybe not. I guess every generation is entitled to have its bumbling — and charming — idiots.

Labels: Gilligan's Island, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

Maybe it’s a good thing that former Alaska governor and Republican vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin has accepted a gig on Fox as a talking head. Maybe now we will get a more complete accounting of her inadequacies.
According to the new book “Game Change” by Mark Halperin and John Heilemann, more of a real picture has emerged about Palin during the presidential campaign: that she didn’t know there were two Koreas; that she believed Saddam Hussein was responsible for the Sept. 11 attacks; that she was unaware of the functions of the Federal Reserve; and that according to Sen. John McCain’s chief strategist Steve Schmidt in an appearance on “60 Minutes,” Palin “routinely said things that were provably, demonstrably untrue.”
All of this will mean nothing to Palin supporters. The Republican Party has essentially been hijacked by the Looney Tunes fringe and constructive political discourse that could actually lead to something that helps the American people has not been part of the equation for a while now in the Looney Tunes platform.
So let’s get Gov. Palin in front of the Fox cameras as soon as we can and let’s hope that the poohbahs at Fox give her carte blanche to flap her gums until the cows come home.
The hope here is that the more she talks, the more her slip will show and she won’t sneak up on anybody come 2012.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Sarah Palin

As one who usually stays in around New Year’s Eve, I’ve found over the years it’s easy to become a television-watching couch potato because a lot of my personal favorite movies and shows are aired.
This year, I was tickled by an all-day and all-night Three Stooges marathon; an all-day Sherlock Holmes film festival; a Humphrey Bogart-Lauren Bacall film run; a couple of episodes of “Hawaii 5-0”; and the movies “Animal House,” “Caddyshack,” “Goodfellas” and “Field of Dreams.”
Of course, not even the most devoted Stooges fan can endure hour after hour of those shenanigans without a break, so that’s why it’s good to have other options. I’ve always been a fan of the Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce version of “Sherlock Holmes,” filmed mostly in the 1940s. (I have yet to see the current “Sherlock Holmes” now in theaters.) I also liked the “Charlie Chan” series from that same era.
And what else can be said about Bogie and Bacall at this point? The first time I saw “To Have and Have Not” I fell in love with a then 19-year-old Lauren Bacall and have been enamored with her ever since. It was their first film together and the beginning of what would turn into a great love story.
As for “Hawaii 5-0”, it was one of my favorite shows as a kid and I spent many a night ditching the books in college so I could watch reruns of the show on late-night TV, primarily just so I could hear Steve McGarrett say “Book ’em, Dano!” at the end of each episode.
All of which may help explain my fondness for the aforementioned films, especially “Animal House.” It was released the year I started college, so not only was “Hawaii 5-0” interrupting my studies to some extent, I spent a good portion of that first year in college attending toga parties, where I quickly learned to study beer and women.
To this day, when I see “Animal House,” I laugh at the line, “Mr. Blutarsky. Zero point zero.”
I can certainly relate.

Labels: Animal House, Basil Rathbone, Hawaii 5-0, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Nigel Bruce, Outta Leftfield, The Three Stooges

Ya gotta love any production that encourages the audience to boo the bad guys. I love booing the bad guys.
And that was certainly one aspect that kept me entertained at People’s Light and Theatre’s production, “Snow White: A Musical Panto,” which runs through Jan. 3 at the Malvern theater.
And here I thought Panto was the Lone Ranger’s sidekick. Turns out a panto is part fractured fairy tale and part variety show. Who knew?
And the talented folks at People’s Light are an absolute hoot in this show, which in the true spirit of a Bullwinkle cartoon, appeals to both children and adults.
I’m not a theater critic. I go to shows to be entertained, not to look for flaws in performances. And this “Snow White” entertained me as much as I’ve ever been entertained in a theater. Younger Daughter was with me on this excursion and she is involved in theater arts at her high school. She, too, gave this show high marks.
While all the performers were brilliant, my favorites were Pierre the personal chef, played by Christopher Patrick Mullen, and Miles the butler, played by Chris Faith. Those guys cracked me up every time they appeared on stage. I’d like to go out on the town with those two guys, but only if they stayed in character. Younger Daughter liked the movie director Vladimir Von Upchuck, played by Jeff Coon, and George the gardener, played by Dustin Karrat.
Of course, Regina Valo (the Wicked Queen) played by Lois Sach Binder, was extremely boo-able, which I quite enjoyed. If I was an actor, I’d want to play the villain. It looks like so much fun, and Ms. Binder nailed it.
If you haven’t experienced People’s Light, you should do so. It’s a fabulous local treasure and I’ve never seen a bad show there. And “Snow White: A Musical Panto” is s great way to experience People’s Light.
Laughing all night long and booing the bad guys. It really doesn’t get any better than that.

Labels: Chris Faith, Christopher Patrick Mullen, Dustin Karrat, Jeff Coon, Lois Sach Binder, Lone Ranger, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, People's Light and Theatre, Snow White

There are a few local things that interest me this week and a few not so local things that don’t interest me, and in fact, are trying my patience.
Among the people I find compelling is Philadelphia singer-songwriter Mutlu, who was scheduled to perform Dec. 11 at the Sellersville Theater.
Unfortunately, a car accident has sidelined him for a little while and canceled the Sellersville show for now. When he has rescheduled, look for a story on him Ticket magazine inside your local newspaper.
He’s the next generation of Philly soul and his career at this point has been influenced by local sons Daryl Hall and John Oates. I’ve seen Mutlu perform a few times and he’s quite good.
Here’s hoping he has a speedy recovery and can get back on the Sellersville schedule in quick order.
The other group that’s caught my eye is called Straight No Chaser, an a cappella group of 10 guys who will perform Dec. 18 at the Keswick Theater in Glenside.
These guys have an amazing sound. We’re trying to put together a preview story for next week on their appearance in this area. Check them out online and on YouTube.
Mutlu and Straight No Chaser are legitimate talents and deserve well more than their 15 minutes.
Consequently, there are a few stories on the national scene that are just wearing me out.
First, there’s Tiger Woods. I don’t play golf and I don’t watch golf on TV. It’s a challenging sport, but boring nonetheless. I’m a baseball player. When I hit a ball, somebody else should chase it. I shouldn’t have to track it down and hit it again.
As for Tiger’s personal life, I really don’t care. It does not impact my life in any way.
Then there are those two goofs who snuck into a state dinner allegedly without an invitation and got face time with both President Obama and Vice President Biden, among others.
OK, so the Secret Service needs to be perfect and wasn’t on this one. Fine, let it examine its security procedures and make the necessary adjustments so that something like this doesn’t happen again.
As for the two party-crashing reality TV wannabes, if everybody just ignores them, maybe they’ll go away. They got 15 minutes that should have gone to somebody more deserving.

Labels: Daryl Hall, John Oates, Keswick Theater, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Mutlu, Outta Leftfield, Sellersville Theater, Straight No Chaser, Tiger Woods

The best strategy for Black Friday has always been just to stay home. I don’t quite understand the thought processes of those choose to camp out in front of a big retail store just so they can save a few bucks on a big-screen TV. It’s not like we’re camping outside in the crummy weather for Springsteen tickets for crying out loud.
Oddly enough though, the planets were temporarily aligned for me on Black Friday, and I found myself actually contemplating going out amongst the crazy-go-nuts shoppers and drivers. So much so that I actually needed a plan and this was a new thing for me because my Black Friday strategy up to this point was to take a daylong nap in the comfort of my own home.
So here was the plan: Leave for the mall at about 4 p.m. that afternoon — hoping that the really hardcore shoppers were worn out by then — and get back to the house by 6 p.m. to avoid those shoppers who had to work that day and were going shopping that evening.
And I must admit that strategy worked to perfection. Not only did we make it to the mall and three other places in the allotted time frame, we got what I like to call “executive parking” at all four stops.
Executive parking in this instance includes those parking spaces closest to the doors of the stores of which one wishes to frequent.
See, when I’m in the car by myself, I usually have to park in the back 40 of any parking lot I frequent. But when The Blonde Accountant is in the car, we seem to have this uncanny knack of getting the sweet parking spots.
In fact, the running gag over the years has been for me to say, “Hey, did you call ahead for your parking spot.” It happens almost every time.
I thought that her luck would run out on Black Friday given the overall craziness of the day, but it didn’t.
Naturally, given this newest — and impressive — evidence of her good fortune, The Blonde Accountant is now in charge of getting my lottery tickets.

Labels: Black Friday, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

I get that every generation has its music. And I get that every generation thinks its music is better than the music of other eras.
Hey, our grandparents thought Elvis was a freak. And our parents rolled their eyes at the antics of Elton John and David Bowie.
But I must admit that I am now closer to the mentality shared by past generations, which is a nicer way to say that I am now in full-fledged Oldguyhood. I watched the American Music Awards Sunday night and thought for the most part, the music stunk.
Especially Rihanna. I don’t know all that much about her but I know she’s supposed to be a big deal in the music industry. The problem is, I didn’t think she could carry a tune in a bucket.
Just to make sure, I texted Younger Daughter: “I didn’t know Rihanna didn’t know how to sing. I thought she was supposed to be good?”
Younger Daughter responded: “She stinks in live performances.”
Oh. OK, so Rihanna was just having a bad night. Everybody has those now and again. I try not to have mine in front of millions of television viewers, but I usually don’t have to worry about that. And besides, Rihanna looks a lot better in a skintight, white peek-a-boo body suit than I do. So maybe she really doesn’t have to sing much.
Then there was Eminem, 50 Cent and Timbaland. I always thought the guy’s name was M&M, like the candy. That was wrong. Anyway, these guys are called hip-hoppers I’m told. They all performed at the awards show and I can state with absolute certainty that I did not understand one word any of them sang. Or hipped. Or hopped. Or whatever it is they do.
We had musicians that didn’t enunciate either. Hello, Bob Dylan.
All I can do is echo the words of my forefathers: These crazy kids and their loud music.

Labels: 50 Cent, American Music Awards, David Bowie, Elton John, Eminem, Michael Jackson, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Rihanna, Timbaland

I was never much for science. At a school open house, I usually gravitate toward the English Department to find writers.
But at a recent high school open house, it was the science teachers that provided the most entertainment because they were the most goofy and geeky, two qualities I hold in high regard.
The most interesting classroom on this visit was the science lab, where the teachers had set up a bunch of microscopes in which visitors could look through and see a variety of gross things, the origin of which is known only to science teachers.
Science teachers have a unique sense of humor. On this evening, they had laid out a big stinkin’ snake on a tray, which from my vantage point from across the parking lot (I really don’t like snakes at all) looked like it was about the size of a bazooka. I couldn’t really tell if it was dead at first, but it turns out that it was and was tagged to eventually be dissected.
At one point, I approached one science teacher who was fiddling around with a big, sealed bag of something, so I maneuvered away from the big snake and toward the big bag.
Turns out it was a bag of brains. Har-dee-har-har.
“Excuse me, Mr. Wizard. But that looks like a bag full of brains you’re fiddling around with there,” I said.
Of course, he gave me the 25-cent explanation that had a lot of 25-cent words in it that I didn’t understand as to why he was left holding the bag of brains. At one point, I believe we discussed the benefits of actual dissection as opposed to virtual dissection, and I didn’t understand any of that either.
“I’m sorry sir,” I said. “I just came to this open house because I thought cookies would be served. But I ended up in here talking to you while you were holding a bag of brains.”
And instead of eating cookies I ended up nearly tossing mine.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

One week the Phillies are playing in the World Series and my alma mater, the University of Iowa, had an undefeated football team and was sniffing around a possible national championship. It was good to be me.
And then everything went kablooey on both fronts the next week. The New York Yankees spoiled back-to-back world titles hopes for the Phils and then a bunch of smart guys from Northwestern University handed the Hawkeyes their first gridiron defeat of the season and dashed any premature talk about a national college football championship. And it was bad to be me.
Naturally, both teams could have used a little help, especially the Hawkeyes. And they could have used it from JoePa and our friends at Penn State.
See, I have no particular rivalry problem with Penn State. The Nittany Lions weren’t even in the Big Ten Conference when I was at Iowa. I am friends with a lot of Penn State graduates. But I don’t have any love loss for the Ohio State Buckeyes, and that’s who Penn State played last week.
Certainly Iowa could have controlled its own destiny by just beating Northwestern. But since that didn’t happen, Iowa was hoping that Penn State could knock off Ohio State, which didn’t happen. Now Iowa goes to Ohio State this week in a must-win situation essentially to determine the Big Ten’s representative in the Rose Bowl.
Had Iowa beaten Northwestern and Penn State beaten Ohio State, then the Hawkeyes wouldn’t have to win this week in front of an unfriendly crowd in Columbus, Ohio.
Ahhh, phooey. College football frustrates me. But hey, only 14 weeks until pitchers and catchers report.

Labels: Joe Paterno, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Ohio State University, Outta Leftfield, Penn State University, Phillies, University of Iowa

As Brian Wilson might say, “Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true.”
And it did. I got to meet Brian Wilson last week before his show at the Keswick Theater in Glenside.
It’s not often one gets a chance to actually meet the person whose work has had such an impact on one’s life.
I could go on and on about that, but fans of the Beach Boys and Brian Wilson know what I’m talking about. The music has moved me, touched me and helped shape me along the way. It has helped define me as the person I am today.
But there I was, with my wife The Blonde Accountant, backstage at the Keswick, shaking hands with Brian, courtesy of his band director Jeffrey Foskett, who I had interviewed for a preview story on the Glenside concert.
Of course, I immediately turned into a 12-year-old boy who had just discovered girls for the first time — sweaty, trembling hands, knees visibly shaking, blathering something completely incoherent.
Brian has a nice, firm handshake. I knew he was taller than me, but he seemed even a little taller than I expected. He signed a copy of my story, as did Jeffrey. I had previously purchased a 45 rpm record of “Surfer Girl” at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland in August, and Brian was gracious enough to sign that as well.
Then we had our picture taken, and Brian threw his arm around my shoulder. As you can see in the picture that accompanies this story, Brian, Jeffrey and I all got the “blue shirt” memo that day and flawlessly executed the pre-concert procedure.
As an added and humbling bonus, Jeffrey mentioned that his friend Roger McGuinn — the Roger McGuinn, lead singer and lead guitarist on many of The Byrds’ records — called Jeffrey and told him what a nice article I had written.
Wow. With apologies to The Mamas and The Papas, McGuinn and McGuire couldn’t get no higher . . . and neither could I.
The whole exchange probably didn’t last more than a few minutes. Those that know Brian’s history know that while gracious with fans, he isn’t particularly chatty or comfortable in meet and greet situations.
Still, the few moments I got to spend with him answered the question, “Wouldn’t it be nice . . . to meet Brian Wilson?”
It was all of that. And so much more.

Labels: Brian Wilson, Jeffrey Foskett, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, The Beach Boys

Admittedly, I got a big crate of sour grapes ready to be distributed. But I don’t care. With the way the Yankees have treated the Phillies up to this point in the 2009 World Series, I am in no mood to be nice.
And if baseball must be played in November, then certainly I would like the Phillies to be one of the teams still playing. Having said that, though, I was at Game 4 of the World Series, it was so dadgummed cold that I nearly froze my patootie off, which had that happened, would have created a lot of problems for me trying to hold up my drawers.
It tends to get chilly this time of year around here. But hey, the alternative is somebody else’s team is still playing baseball in November, so I guess I can stand to do with a little less of my patootie.
Here’s what else about this World Series to date has me peeved:
— It appears to entirely be my fault. I was at Game 4 of the 2008 World Series and the Phillies scored 11 runs, won the game and eventually went on to become world champions. I apparently did not do my job as a fan this year in Game 4, and for that I apologize.
— Ballplayers, Phillies included, either need to shave or not shave. I am tired of looking at four-day facial growth. Either grow a beard or don’t grow a beard. I am surprised the baseball wives have not chimed in on this. What, I have the only wife in the world who doesn’t like to snuggle up and have her face scratched?
— Tuck in the back pocket of your baseball pants. Players sometimes keep a batting glove, or something else in that back pocket. When they pull that something out, the pocket gets turned inside out. It needs to be tucked in because it just looks stupid flapping there in the wind, especially on anybody in Yankees pinstripes.
— I am no longer interested in anything that Alex Rodriguez has to say on any topic, not even if he’s talking about Kate Hudson.
— Having said that, I will not and did not boo Derek Jeter or Mariano Rivera. They’re great players, they show a lot of class and all they do is beat you. That should be admired by all baseball fans.
And then the Phillies won Game 5 Monday night and I was less grumpy. At the time that this is written, there could be one more game, there could be two more games. The outcome will determine weather my weekend is full of wine or . . . whine.

Labels: Alex Rodrigues, Derek Jeter, Mariano Rivera, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillies, World Series, Yankees

I appreciate unique experiences, especially when they have anything to do with writing.
And that’s just what several North Penn High School music students and I, among others, got Saturday, Oct. 24, at the Lansdale Center for the Performing Arts when legendary singer-songwriter and North Wales native John Oates conducted a songwriting workshop ahead of a solo gig later the same evening at the LCPA.
He and Daryl Hall — as Hall & Oates — are one of the most successful duos in rock and roll history. In fact, I’d be hard pressed to name a duo that has had more success for such a long period of time, more than four decades now.
Oates told the would-be songwriters a lot of things that apply to writing in general: learn from people you respect; study the people you like; keep a journal; and don’t be afraid to express emotion in one’s writing.
It was a real treat to listen to Oates describe his craft in such an intimate setting. The LCPA is big on providing arts education, and Oates was gracious to share his insights with the 30 or so people who were invited to attend.
Among the additional highlights for me, though, was the inclusion of two young singer-songwriters that are big in the Philly music scene right now – Carsie Blanton and Mutlu. The Blonde Accountant and I are big fans of both and we’ve seen them both at area venues several times.
As one of the North Penn students pointed out after the seminar, it was cool to see the experienced songwriter Oates contrast and interact with the younger songwriters Carsie and Mutlu.
Who would have thought a boy from rural Illinois would one day sit down with John Oates – whose music I grew up on – and discuss writing?
That’s just too cool.

Labels: Carsie Blanton, Daryl Hall, John Oates, Lansdale Center for the Performing Arts, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Mutlu, Outta Leftfield

There is this unwritten personal rule that I have subscribed to for years: I like to be the first person in the ballpark and the last one to leave.
What that means is that one never leaves a ballgame early, or to translate it further, if one cannot attend the game in person, one never goes to sleep until the last out of the game has been recorded.
To have violated that rule Monday night would have meant missing Jimmy Rollins’ two-out, bottom-of-the-ninth, dramatic double in the gap that scored Eric Bruntlett and Carlos Ruiz to give the Phillies an improbable 5-4 come-from-behind victory over the Los Angeles Dodgers to take a commanding 3-1 lead in the best-of-seven National League Championship Series.
In a similar situation last year in the NLCS between the same two teams, the Phillies’ Matt Stairs hit a two-run homer off Dodgers’ closer Jonathon Broxton to give the Phils a 7-5 victory en route to what would eventually become a World Series championship.
Like Monday night, Stairs’ blast last year happened later in the evening, after everybody but me had gone to sleep at my house. When Stairs crushed a Broxton fastball and sent it deep into the Los Angeles night in 2008, I let out a yee-ha that awakened The Blonde Accountant and the kids.
I’d say I was sorry about waking everybody up, but it was a really big home run in a really big situation and by my way of thinking, nobody should have been sleeping anyway, even if it was a school night.
A similar situation occurred Monday night. Everybody but me was asleep. Same teams, big game, big situation. And the Phillies pulled it off again! Phils win! Phils win!
Remembering that my hootin’ and hollarin’ last year awakened the neighborhood and at that moment finding nobody standing upright with which to do The Happy Dance, I was as subdued as I could be laying there in bed.
My solution this year was to start tapping furiously on The Blonde Accountant’s thigh, which in our house usually means something other than, "Hey, hon, the Phillies won a big ballgame."
Her response was something akin to, “Huh?” She stirred from her slumber as the Phillies mobbed Rollins, seeing absolutely nothing of the celebration, leaned over, turned on the nightstand lamp, and said, “Goodnight.”
I had to get up, go around to her side of the bed, and turn the light off. She had no recollection of the exchange the next morning.
But there was no doubt she was right about one thing: It was a good night.

Labels: Dodgers, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, National League Championship Series, Outta Leftfield, Phillies

As a kid I was a Pittsburgh Pirates fan. When the team beat the Baltimore Orioles in the 1971 World Series, I was the happiest kid in my central Illinois neighborhood.
But since nobody else in my part of Illinois followed the Pirates, I didn’t have anybody with which to share that happiness. So on that sunny October day in 1971 in Illinois, with the satisfaction that my team had just captured the world championship, I was reduced to walking through my neighborhood, Pirates baseball cap proudly on my head, hootin’ and hollarin’ to nobody in particular while sporting a big, stupid ear-to-ear grin.
Reflecting back on that special time in my life, my guess is that the neighbors probably wondered what the goofy Morsch kid was up to now.
Flash ahead 38 years later to Saturday night at Otto’s Brauhaus in Horsham, where I found myself sitting across the table from one Jackie Hernandez, who was a guest of the Philadelphia Athletics Historical Society based in Hatboro. I am honored to be a board member of that non-profit organization.
Jackie Hernandez was the shortstop for the 1971 World Champion Pittsburgh Pirates. The Cuban-born, light-hitting anchor of the middle of the Pirates’ defense was a teammate of my favorite players, Hall of Famers Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell and Bill Mazeroski.
I had the opportunity to ask him about that world championship team and about my boyhood heroes. He was their teammate, he knew what they were like as players and individuals. He was there when the last out was recorded and was celebrating with his teammates at the very same time I was walking down the street in my neighborhood in Illinois, looking for somebody with which to share my own personal celebration.
Jackie Hernandez was had a front-row seat to one of my fondest boyhood memories. And I got to sit at a restaurant in Horsham Saturday night and listen to his version of my story.
How cool is that?

Labels: Jackie Hernandez, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Philadelphia Athletics Historical Society, Pittsburgh Pirates

Every once in a while, I am fortunate enough to get a peek behind the curtain. Such was the case last weekend when I got to meet two of my favorite Hollywood types. Jill Hennessy, star of television hits like “Law & Order” and “Crossing Jordan,” was at World Café Live in Philadelphia to promote her debut CD and David Strathairn, who was nominated for an Academy Award as best actor for his portrayal of Edward R. Murrow in the George Clooney-directed film “Good Night, and Good Luck” in 2005, is currently starring in the lead role of “Nathan The Wise” at People’ Light and Theatre in Malvern through Oct. 11. I had interviewed both for separate preview stories and was fortunate enough to attend both performances and meet the stars on consecutive evenings last weekend. First let me say that both World Café Live and People’s Light are two extraordinary entertainment venues to have in our area and we who live around here should take full advantage of what each has to offer. The Blonde Accountant and I got to spend some time chatting with Ms. Hennessy and her husband Paolo Mastropietro before the show at World Café Live. Ms. Hennessy was pleasant and gracious and was very approachable to her fans. And not many know this, but she started her career as a singer/songwriter before going into television and movies. Her voice is quite pleasing and her songs are thought-provoking. Mr. Strathairn is a serious actor. The play itself was fabulous and the entire cast, led by Mr. Strathairn, was highly skilled and professional. You should get out to see the play at People’s Light before the end of the run. The Blonde Accountant and I got to meet Mr. Strathairn after the show. He lives in New York now, but said he was enjoying his time in the Philadelphia area. He, too, was gracious and accommodating and we appreciated that he took the time to visit with us for a bit. Two nights, two stars, two different experiences. There is a reason these two Hollywood types don’t show up on the pages of the tabloids. They both stuck me as class personified. It was a pleasure to meet them and witness their work up close.

Labels: David Strathairn, Jill Hennessy, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, People's Light and Theatre

My daughter thinks I’m a dork. This is not an entirely new concept for fathers of teenagers. In fact, it’s likely a pretty safe bet that most, if not all, teenagers think their parents are dorks.
But it seems like it’s only we dads who get saddled with the moniker. Has anybody, including a teenager, ever called a mom dorky?
I think not. Moms do not do dorky. That character trait appears exclusively reserved for dads. And never was it more on display last weekend during a trip down the shore with Younger Daughter.
Except, I didn’t know it. It appears my definition of what is dorky is different from that of a teenager who shares the same last name.
Walking along the boardwalk in Ocean City on a beautiful cloudless blue-sky day, the last official weekend of summer, the families were out in force. There were lots of dads with lots of potential for dorkiness.
As we walked along, we both spotted the scene of a young boy, maybe three years old, standing on a bench with his back to the ocean. The dad was standing behind the child while the mom was taking a picture of the two.
We hesitated and altered our route as to not walk between the picture taker and her intended target, just long enough to see the dad throw up two fingers behind the youngster’s head, giving him the rabbit ears for the picture.
After all, boys will be boys.
As Younger Daughter and I continued down the boardwalk, my eyes met the eyes of the other dad, and we smiled at each other, him with the satisfying grin of having just pulled one over on his kid without the kid knowing about and me with an approving nod acknowledging that given the same opportunity, I would have done the same thing. Not because it was dorky, but because it was a moment between father and son.
“Well done,” I said to the other dad as we walked by.
“Daaaaaddddd. You’re such a dork,” said Younger Daughter.
“What’s dorky about that?” I asked.
“Talking to people on the boardwalk you don’t know,” she said. “Especially when he was being goofy.”
Goofy I know. I appreciate goofy. What I appreciate more is being a dad.
But if that’s dorky as defined by Younger Daughter, I’m OK with that. I’ll be as big a dork as she thinks I am if it allows me endless opportunities to walk along the boardwalk with her at my side. And for just a moment, not a care in the world, with the ocean in my ear whispering, “Well done.”

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Ocean City, Outta Leftfield

Mondauk Common in Ambler is a beautiful park. I am a walker, averaging anywhere from 18 to 26 miles per week, weather and schedule permitting, and Mondauk is my park of choice in which to exercise. Plus, it’s only a mile from my office, which makes it quite convenient.
Oftentimes when I walk, I am deep in thought, reflecting on any number of things — the events of the day, the challenges of everyday life, my next column.
And then I hear the “Pop Goes the Weasel” tune. It’s the ice cream man, and that song triggers a Pavlovian response in me that stimulates an incredible urge to have a dreamsicle. (Ice cream inside a Popsicle. You folks out here call them creamsicles, but where I come from they were called dreamsicles.)
Back in the day in my rural Illinois neighborhood, the ice cream man used to ride a bicycle-like contraption with what appeared to be a mini-freezer attached to the front of the bike. We lived a few miles outside of town, and as a kid, I could never figure out if the ice cream man had ridden that freezer bike all the way out to the sticks from town — which would have been quite a bit of exercise — or if he trucked it out in a bigger vehicle, then rolled it out for shorter jaunts around the block.
Nevertheless, the neighborhoods kids would flock around the freezer bike and give up their quarters to the ice cream man in exchange for the tasty treats.
I understand why nowadays the ice creak truck hangs out at places like Mondauk Common. It’s where all the people congregate. And even though it takes more than a quarter these days to get a dreamsicle, today’s ice cream man elicits virtually the same response.
And even when I’m walking, when I hear “Pop Goes the Weasel,” I walk a little faster toward the sound of that song to see if I can catch up with a dreamsicle.

Labels: Ambler Theater, Mike Morsch, Mondauk Common, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Upper Dublin Township

My wife thinks I would make a good Phillie Phanatic.
Personally, I’d like more of a corporate job: Vice President in Charge of Napping, Chief Tomfoolery Officer, Director of Nincompoopery. Something along those lines.
“Hey, you could do that,” said The Blonde Accountant at a recent Phillies game as the Phanatic shot out of the right field corner on his four-wheeler.
He stopped and faced those of us in the right field bleachers, stood on the seat of his four-wheeler, gyrated and danced, shook his behind, lifted up his shirt like it was Mardi Gras, stuck out his tongue (such as it is for the Phanatic) gave us the “ta-da!” sign with both hands and then sat back down and sped off toward the left field corner.
“Whaddaya mean, I could that?” I said.
“That’s your routine. You can shake your booty, lift up your shirt and act like a big goof,” said The Blonde Accountant.
For the record, I do not shake my booty, lift up my shirt and act like a big goof. Well, not all at the same time. If I could, I’d surely put that on my resume.
When I posted my wife’ suggestion on my Facebook page, one of my wiseguy pals wrote back, “Can you fit into the suit?”
Can I fit into the suit? Two people can fit into the Phanatic’s suit. I’m not that big anymore.
Then again, I apparently have a similar routine. I wonder how one goes about applying for a job as the Phanatic?

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillie Phanatic

No matter how much we try, it appears that Father Time insists on pestering us. Witness a recent date night with The Blonde Accountant.
We enjoy the talents of several musicians in the local Philadelphia scene, one of which is singer-songwriter Chris Kasper (www.myspace.com/chriskasper). On a kid-free Friday night last week, we discovered Kasper would be appearing at the Blinkin Lincoln, presented by Holy Smoke restaurant, in Roxborough. It was a new restaurant and new venue for us and we occasionally like to take chances on discovering potentially new hangouts. With Kasper as the headliner, all the stars were aligned.
And we got off to a rousing start. The atmosphere at Holy Smoke is clean and pleasant, and the house specialty is ribs, which I very much am in favor of when falling off the diet wagon. So I had the Fred Flintstone-sized plate of ribs and The Blonde Accountant had a chicken sandwich. Everything was, in technical terms, quite yummy.
We had secured what we thought was a nice table with a spot-on sight-line to the stage giving us a nice view of Chris when he appeared.
Our dinner reservations were for 8 p.m., and opener Lisa Bianco, whose music we had not yet experienced, was slated to take the stage at 9 p.m., followed by Chris at 10 p.m.
Unfortunately, through a series of unanticipated delays, Ms. Bianco did not take the stage until 10 p.m. Chris didn’t start his set until a little after 11 p.m.
Bedtime for me and The Blonde Accountant is around 11 p.m. Thus, it would have been no stretch of the imagination to have walked into the Blinkin Lincoln in Roxborough Friday night and see The Blonde Accountant and I face down on the table snoring to beat the band.
But we soldiered on the best we could because Chris is just that good. We enjoy his lyrics and his sound (we liked Ms. Bianco, too), and it appeared the rest of the crowd did as well. I could tell because nearly everybody in the place decided to stand right in front of our table to get a better look at the performers, while we got a better look at their backsides.
And in another example of how old I am getting, the table of women next to us was “chatting” so vigorously during the performance that their voices were louder than the music. The Blonde Accountant suggested they must have been teachers, who oftentimes have to talk loudly to get the attention of the students. Given the decibel level of their voices, I think a more plausible explanation was that their day jobs were as drill sergeants.
I felt so old that I briefly considered yelling at the women, “Hey! You kids get off my lawn!” in an effort to get them to shut up and listen to the music.
Nevertheless, we lasted as long as we could, but Chris was still playing when we left. We got home at 1 a.m., which is pretty late for us, and promptly fell asleep, which is not the way I would have written the final act of the script of a kid-free Friday night date night.
We tried to make it through the whole show Chris, we really did. But getting old is sometimes not much fun.

Labels: Blinkin Lincoln, Chris Kasper, Holy Smoke, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

Sometimes I ask myself, “What’s that got to do with the price of egg salad in Montgomeryville?” Turns out that the price of egg salad in Montgomeryville is quite unreasonable. I didn’t know.
See, I like egg salad sandwiches. Even if they are not, egg salad sandwiches in my mind appear to be a more healthy eating choice than say, cheeseburgers or nachos. And as I continue to watch what I eat at this stage of my life – which believe me is not nearly as much fun as shoving chocolate cream pie and ice cream into my face – adding egg salad sandwiches to my healthier lifestyle menu of veggie patty sandwiches at least gives me a sense of security that I am making good choices.
So after a recent walk of five miles, which I do several times a week, I decided to treat myself . . . to an egg salad sandwich. I know, it’s not really much of a treat, but it really doesn’t do much good to put in all that hard work exercising and then go out afterwards and have a hot-fudge sundae.
So I stopped a diner, which will remain nameless, on the way home for an egg salad sandwich. In fact, I was hungry enough that I decided to order two egg salad sandwiches.
I gave the waitress my take out order not even bothering to check the menu. I had been to this diner before and had not noticed anything out of the ordinary in the egg salad department.
When my order was completed and I gave my ticket to the lady at the cash register, my bill rang up at $14.80. For two egg salad sandwiches.
“That can’t be right, $14.80 for two egg salad sandwiches?” I said to the lady, who graciously started thumbing through the menu with enthusiasm suggesting to me that even she didn’t believe that a personal loan would be required to buy two egg salad sandwiches.
Alas, the total was correct. And by the time I got to the car, I was steamed, which by the way did nothing but wilt the egg salad sandwiches. All the way home I was upset with myself for: (1) Not looking at the menu before I ordered; (2) For just stating my dismay at the ridiculousness of paying that much for two egg salad sandwiches; (3) Just leaving the take out bag on the counter and walking out in disgust.
But since I did none of those things, I figured these ought to be the two best egg salad sandwiches in the history of egg salad. Then at least I would feel that I got my money’s worth.
Well, they weren’t the best egg salad sandwiches in the history of egg salad. They were nasty. And I was even more steamed.
That’s because I could have had a hot fudge sundae for five bucks.
I hate watching what I eat. It isn’t cost effective at all.

Labels: egg salad, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Montgomeryville, Outta Leftfield

I am big on seeing things just for the sake of saying that I did. “Touchdown Jesus” is one of those things.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Touchdown Jesus, University of Notre Dame

Being a native of the Land of Lincoln, I’ve probably taken for granted the importance and impact of our country’s 16th president.

Labels: Abraham Lincoln, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, presidential museum, Springfield

When I was a kid, my dad used to buy me baseball cards, and oftentimes I would go out to the steps of our front porch and open those treasured cardboard pictures of my heroes, gobble down the sometimes stale bubblegum and eagerly search for the Roberto Clemente, Hank Aaron, Willie Mays or Mickey Mantle cards.

Labels: Jim Kaat, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Philadelphia Athletics Historical Society

I am not much of a basketball fan. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not a fan of Marc Zumoff.
Zumoff, of Fort Washington, is entering his 16th season as the television voice of the Philadelphia 76ers. But it’s not Zumoff’s on-court work, which is very good, that impresses me the most about him. It’s what he does off the court.

Labels: Marc Zumoff, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Philadelphia 76ers The Pathway School, RiverCrest Golf Club and Preserve

Decades and generations later, funny is still funny.

Labels: Ambler Theater, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Stoogeum, Three Stooges

It’s good to see there are guys my age that are still cool and hip, because quite frankly, the closest I’ll ever come to hip is breaking one.
Witness Philadelphia singer-songwriter Dan May, who during his performance Saturday at Musikfest 2009 in Bethlehem, revealed to the crowd that he recently turned 50 years old.
The Blonde Accountant and I have been Dan Fans since we saw him open for Crystal Gayle a few years ago at the Sellersville Theater. One of the things we enjoy about the Philadelphia music scene is discovering an artist that we hadn’t previously known.
I really like those “Hey, this guy is pretty good” moments, the ones that make me want to buy the artist’s CD in the lobby after the performance.
Dan is one of those performers, and we’ve followed him across the area at several venues, including Steel City in Phoenixville, the Tin Angel in Philadelphia, at the Upper Merion “Concert Under the Stars” series and most recently at Musikfest 2009, our first exposure to the music festival, now in its 26th year.
As a writer, I appreciate Dan’s songwriting ability, but it’s his words combined with his sound that make him appealing to me. He is described as “a rootsy Americana singer-songwriter whose original work has appealing melodic and lyrical integrity.”
He doesn’t do covers, preferring to perform his own material, with one exception – he did do his version of Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” at the Musikfest gig, pulling it off quite nicely. I’m not a big Springsteen fan, so I’d go so far as to say that I liked Dan’s version of the song better than the version of The Boss himself.
Dan and his band always put on a highly professional and entertaining show. He gets a lot of support from, and airtime on, WXPN 88.5 FM, the National Public Radio affiliate at the University of Pennsylvania.
Dan’s next local appearance is Sunday, Aug. 30, back at the Sellersville Theater 1894, where he will open for the Richie Furay Band, of Buffalo Springfield and Poco fame. Visit the theater’s Web site at www.st94.com for more information.
Check out Dan’s music at www.myspace.com/danmaycd. I think you’ll agree this guy is pretty good.

Labels: Dan May, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Musikfest 2009, Outta Leftfield

There is no quibble with the fact that when one goes to a festival of any sort, chances are fairly good that there isn’t going to be much healthy food being served. Everybody knows it.
But at Musikfest 2009, which is going on now through Aug. 9 in Bethlehem, The Blonde Accountant and I encountered a new food experience: deep-fried cheesecake on a stick.
Believe me when I say it would be no surprise whatsoever to learn that in this instance, eating the stick would actually be healthier for you than this sweet treat.
“Check out this food stand,” I said to The Blonde Accountant as we passed a booth that offered, among other culinary delights, deep-fried candy bars on a stick, deep-fried Twinkies on the stick and the aforementioned deep-fried cheesecake on a stick.
Whew, talk about a heart attack . . . on a stick.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” I said, with the knowledge that I have a great bit of experience in the area of deep-fried goop on a stick as a regular attendee of the Illinois State Fair for many years when I lived in the Midwest.
“Oh, we have to try that,” said The Blonde Accountant.
“OK, but how close are we to the EMT booth?” I asked.
Here’s the thing: deep-fried cheesecake on a stick is really, really, really good. Not only that, but once the whole mess is finished deep frying, the vendor puts powered sugar over the entire thing, like there wasn’t already enough unhealthy elements of the dish and one more needed to be added.
We enjoyed it quite a bit, although we did have to explain what it was we were eating to a few guys who passed by our chairs while we were chowing down. When one has to explain what it is one is eating, then it can’t be good for one’s system.
Of course, I highly recommend the deep-fried cheesecake on a stick, if you ever happen across one at a festival. If you do consider it, you may was well just take the stick and jam it into your ear. That would probably do less damage to your physical well-being.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Musikfest, Outta Leftfield

I’ve found that after the fact, going to the dentist can be pretty funny. Getting to the funny part can be problematic, however.
Last month I had a wisdom tooth extracted. It turned out to be no big deal and it proved to be a minimally painful experience overall.
Unfortunately, though, it wasn’t the only dental procedure on my dance card. Once I had healed from the wisdom tooth extraction, I was signed up for something called “root planing.”
If you do not know what this is, I will spare you the details of this particular torture method. I will say, though, that I am confident that if former Vice President Dick Cheney had known about “root planing,” I’m pretty sure that he would have told the boys at the CIA to forget that sissy water boarding stuff and go directly to the nearest dentist for briefing and training.
Oddly enough, I had experienced root planing once before, about 25 years ago, and I already knew it wasn’t going to a day at the beach.
Naturally, I showed up 10 minutes early to the dentist’s office, because one always wants to be early for a procedure that involves sharp dental implements being jabbed into the soft tissue inside one’s mouth.
Still, the dentist and his assistant were somewhat busy, enough so that I dozed off a bit in the waiting room chair as I waited for my number to be up.
“You can come back now,” said the dental assistant, who had noticed me napping in the lobby. “Maybe you’ll be more comfortable in the exam room chair.”
Huh? You think I’m going to be more comfortable in the very same chair in which Zorro The Dentist is going to assault me with various swords? Surely you jest?
That comment by the dental assistant didn’t become humorous to me until well after the fact.
A couple of days later, when the pain and swelling went away, I looked inside my mouth. I thought I saw a Z carved into my gums.
Here is the fun part: I only had root planing on the lower teeth. I have to go back again next month to have the same procedure done on the upper teeth.
I don’t think I’m going to show up early for that one.

Labels: Dentist, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

You know, I love Phillies fans. Hey, I’m one of them. But really, a few of them need to work on their reading skills.
Recently I was in New York and while there, I picked up a t-shirt that read: “New York Mess: Back to back collapses, 2007 and 2008.”
See, we Phillies fans really don’t like the New York Mets too much, and the fact that they horked up their playoff chances the past few seasons in a couple of late-season choke jobs gives Phillies fans particular delight.
Figuring that a t-shirt like that would play pretty well at Citizens Bank Park with the faithful, I purchased the shirt and wore in last Friday night to the Phillies game against the St. Louis Cardinals.
I guess my first mistake was thinking that once mass quantities of cold adult beverages had been consumed by a Phillies crowd, that fans could still tell the difference between “Mets” and “Mess” printed on a t-shirt.
That’s not to say that everybody in the crowd got it wrong. Several people commented to me that they liked the t-shirt. But a few jamoke spelling bee refugees didn’t focus quite enough and spent some time jamming me up verbally, like they would do to any Mets fan. The Phillies ball cap I was wearing apparently wasn’t enough of a clue either.
Knuckleheads. The t-shirt is an anti-Mets shirt. Take an extra moment to read it correctly.
One guy in my section in right field referred to me as “Mr. Met” all evening until my patience finally ran out in about the eighth inning. I stood up, turned around, pointed to the shirt and yelled, “Read carefully!”
His response? “Oh.”
Brilliant retort. We should ship that guy to New York and let him root for the Mets. It would raise the I.Q. of both fan bases.

Labels: Mets, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillies

Free is good, especially when it comes to local entertainment.
If you get a chance, check out the Sunday Evening Concerts at the Temple Ambler campus, presented by the Upper Dublin Parks and Recreation Department.
Bring lawn chairs, blankets and maybe even a picnic basket and plop yourself down – just like The Blonde Accountant and I did Sunday evening – on the Learning Center lawn on the campus. Actually, I was the one who plopped. The Blonde Accountant, a girly girl by nature, daintily placed her derriere into the lawn chair once we had staked out a place on the lawn.
This week featured Steve & Steve, who bill themselves as two “fiftysomething guys” originally from northern Jersey who started performing together in 1969 while students at Franklin and Marshall College in Lancaster.
One of the Steves is Steve Bernstein, a healthcare lawyer in Jenkintown. The other Steve is Steve Messigner, a public defender from just outside of Savannah, Ga. For a couple of mouthpieces, they do a pretty good job of carrying tunes from the 1960s, including those of Simon and Garfunkel, The Everly Brothers and The Beatles to name a few.
The Steves are not unfamiliar to local fans of ‘60s music as they have opened for the Beatles-era British duo Chad and Jeremy at the Keswick Theater in Glenside. And on Oct. 3, they’re scheduled to open for Herman’s Hermits starring Peter Noone for two shows at the Sellersville Theater 1984.
The rest of the summer concert series includes: the barbershop chorus group The Delchordians on July 26; the boogie woogie and jump blues group Melissa Martin and The Mighty Rhythm Kings on Aug. 2; and the Barbone Street Jazz Band on Aug. 9.
The concerts are free, the parking is free and all ages are welcome. If it rains, the concerts move from the lawn of the Learning center to inside the Learning Center.
Oh, and don’t forget the summer bug spray. I failed to take mine along and the Temple Ambler ant brigade took all of about 14 second to build a summer home and hold a family reunion inside my open-toed sandals. Ratfink crumb bum bugs.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Temple Ambler, Upper Dublin Summer Concert Series

I love shopping on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, especially at the outlet mall in Limerick. It sure beats being on the beach or at the ballpark.
Fortunately, the outdoor mall has a sufficient number of benches on which me and the other men who like to shop can park our hind ends while our significant others frequent places like the Coach, Ann Taylor and Loft stores.
When I wasn’t dozing, I was keeping an eye on the mall security guy riding around on that little two-wheel scooter. Those things are cool. I wish I could figure out a way to work that thing into my job.
The only time I left my perch on the bench was to accompany The Blonde Accountant into the Coach handbag store, not because I need a new handbag of course, but because we were looking for a birthday gift for her mother.
I love the smell of all that leather in the Coach store. The Coach folks smell something completely different in their stores, and one look at the pricetags on those handbags and it’s evident that what they’re smelling is money.
Aside from the benches, which while sufficient could be a bit softer for my tastes, the mall restrooms feature my favorite type of hand dryer, the Xlerator, which dries one’s hands by essentially blowing the outer layer of skin clean off.
“You didn’t go in there and take video of the hand dryer, did you?” asked The Blonde Accountant when she noticed that I had awakened from my nap on the bench and disappeared for a few moments.
“Uh . . . that would be a little silly, wouldn’t it? Taking a video of a hand dryer. Sheesh, do I look that bored?” I said.
You will have to look at the accompanying video to see if I was indeed that bored.

Labels: Limerick outlett mall, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield

Apparently thousands of jumbo flying squid, described in various reports as 5-foot-long sea monsters with razor-sharp beaks and toothy tentacles that can weigh as much as 100 pounds, have invaded shallow waters off San Diego and are raising seven kinds of heck with scuba divers.
Not only that, but they’re scaring the beejeezus out of the tourists lounging about because the squid have the audacity to kick the bucket too close to the surface of the ocean and their dead carcasses wash up on the beach.
See where I come from in the Midwest, this is not a problem. I don’t ever recall a dead squid washing up on the edge of a cornfield. In fact, I did not know until I moved out here nearly 10 years ago that squid was called calamari and that people out here on the East Coast actually eat the ugly, nasty things.
Imagine if you will, Grog the Caveman, fishing one day a bazillion years ago, when something washes up on the beach and brushes against his foot. The thing is five feet long, weighs 100 pounds, has all kinds of tentacles, is ugly – no, make that fugly – big eyeballs and moos like a cow. (Editor’s note: I do not know for a fact that a squid moos like a cow, but I will never know for sure because I will never get close enough to a squid to find out. I will, however, listen closely to the next plate of calamari that passes my way and report back on anything that I hear.)
But back to Grog. Do you think he took one look at this nastiness and said to himself, “Gee, this thing looks like it might taste pretty good? Maybe I should fry it up?”
No, no, no. Grog said, “This thing looks like a big slimy pile of hooey. I am going to kick it back into the drink from whence it came.”
So the San Diego squid apparently came up from the depths of the ocean in swarms and started picking fights with the scuba divers. The squid did things like grab the masks of the divers with their tentacles, and latch on to divers’ air tanks and camera gear.
Scientists aren’t sure why the squid - which generally live in deep, tropical waters off Mexico and Central America – are having a big lodge meeting off the coast of Southern California. Maybe the squid are Beach Boys fans.
The aquatic creatures, called Humboldt squid, have been known to attack humans. They are nicknamed “Red Devils” because they have a rust color and are said to be meaner than a rattlesnake. Divers who frequent their neighborhood sometimes get into a metal cage or wear chain mail to avoid being lashed by tentacles.
Here is a note to you scuba divers out there: If a big old squid nicknamed Red Devil taps you on the shoulder with one tentacle and proceeds to grab your air supply with another tentacle . . . get . . . out . . . of . . . the . . . dad gummed . . . ocean! The squid is likely telling you that’s it’s time to find a new hobby, like snow skiing. It seems to be a pretty safe bet that there are fewer jumbo flying squid sightings near ski slopes than there are on the beaches of Southern California.
And please, let’s not eat any more squid. Throw them back, even if they know all the words to “Help Me Rhonda.”

Labels: jumbo flying squid, Mike Morsch, Outta Leftfield

The great thing about not being able to sleep sometimes? Getting up and watching old movies on TV, of course.
Recently, I caught one of my favorite movies of all time, "Smokey and The Bandit," starring Burt Reynolds, Sally Field, Jerry Reed and Jackie Gleason. It was released in 1977, the year that I graduated from high school.
It's actually just one long car-chase of a movie, but I've always thought that the performances were hilarious, especially the one delivered by the legendary Jackie Gleason. In the film, Gleason plays Sheriff Buford T. Justice of Texas, and he is chasing The Bandit (Burt Reynolds). Reynolds and his sidekick, Cletus Snow (Jerry Reed) have agreed to haul a truckload of beer from Texas to Georgia in 24 hours, violating all kinds of bootlegging laws and speed limits. Along the way, The Bandit picks up Frog (Sally Field) who left the sheriff's son at the altar, and boy is the sheriff peeved.
Not really much of a plot, but Reynolds was a big star in the 1970s and Fields and Gleason were established big names as well by that time. As for Jerry Reed, the first time I saw him in person was in Florida at a minor league ballpark where he was a concert headliner around 1985. His opening act for that show was . . . an up-and-coming Reba McEntire.
This film is worth looking at for the soundtrack by Reed and for the creative profanity spewed forth by the sheriff, much of which, legend has it, was ad-libbed by Gleason. His version of the profanity "some beach" (of course I can't write the actual profanity online here but you get the idea), is absolute classic movie stuff.
Of course, there is nothing like a classic redneck movie like this one to . . . put me to sleep. Dreaming of some beach, of course.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Smokey and the Bandit