Our baseball (read: "co-ed recreational slo-pitch") team played in a tournament this weekend, spanning Saturday and Sunday, in addition to our regular Sunday-night doubleheader. So, in conclusion, between 10:30am Saturday and 8:30pm today — a 34-hour span — we played seven games.
What did I do on Saturday night after playing four games that day, you ask? I watched most of a baseball game on TV.
Maybe I need help.
In the early '60s, there seemed to be an explosion of pop songs encouraging listeners to "Do The x", where x represents some sort of animal (e.g. monkey), common human action (e.g. twist), or inexplicably inanimate object (e.g. mashed potatoes).
These songs are all stupid. Every last one.
I was listening to Little Steven's Underground Garage tonight, and an exceptionally dumb one came on a few minutes ago. It was done by none other than The King himself, and it was called "Do The Clam". It was from one of his cheesy movies in the '60s, which were absolutely terrible but somehow made money... thank you very much, Colonel Tom Parker.
(If you want to hear the true birth of what we now call rock and roll, and Elvis at his most raw but very best, go here and have a listen; this version is from the '68 Comeback Special and may be even better. His style fused together white rockabilly with black R&B — so scandalous at the time, that right after he recorded this song in Memphis, the bass player remarked, "Damn, get that on the radio and they'll run us out of town." Oh, how times have changed.)
Five more days of cleaning up, organizing and preparing for September, and then it's off to Wimbledon!
(Sorry, that was Krusty the Klown's line. I'll just be off to Chicago and then Calgary.)