The Salt of the Earth. Or at Least the Apartment

The Yankee Chicken heard that there were rumors of a salt shortage for the roadways during TEH BLIZZARD of 2010. So he’s offering what he can. Isn’t he helpful?

Let’s Ignore the Fact That This Was, Like, 25 Years Ago

Gawker gets on my nerves sometimes for being a little too cynical (and seemingly patting itself on the back for being that way), but this column about Bloomberg calling off school way, way early is an awesome sum-up of the great whimsical childhood experience known as Anticipating a Snowday.

In my neighborhood in the 80s (no, I didn’t want to start this with “Back in my day”), there were no automated phone calls or mayoral announcements or scrolls of schools closed at the bottom of the TV screen. No, we had The Fire Whistle. Yes, they would blast the local fire whistle every half hour from about 5:30 to 8 a.m. if school was closed. And if you slept through that you could listen to the Monmouth County radio station, where they’d read off a list of school closings. My school district began with an M, so you had to wait – though if schools in the area who came first alphabetically had off, that was a pretty good clue. Except those private schools who always had off – those jackasses would throw you for a loop sometimes.

I don’t ever remember having a lousy snowday, (with the exception of the one I got violently, disgustingly ill and had to miss all the fun because I was getting a shot in my leg to make me stop throwing up. That’s the stuff that childhood trauma is made of, people). And like the column points, being up early in anticipation of it, with all your homework done the night before, just meant you had a longer day to play outside. Like, you had to go in and change your socks and gloves at least once, that’s how long you were out there sledding or engaging in battle (like the time when I was 9 and my friends and I engaged in constructing The Biggest Snowball Ever, and I named it Montezuma’s Revenge and I think we came close to giving the kid across the street a concussion with it. That was how snow wars went in those days. Now they have snowball makers. I mean….).

It’s kind of fitting that I don’t really remember snow days from when I was a teenager, because all I’d do was stay inside and watch TV. You still appreciated having the day off, but it was nowhere near as memorable. And now all the fun is sucked out of snowstorms because the media makes way, way, WAY too much out of it (and I don’t get the day off anymore. Bah). But childhood snowdays? Probably one of the awesomest parts of life, hands down.

The Yankee Chicken’s Favorite Super Bowl Ad

Because even though he is a chicken, he appreciates other species when they are in adorable commercials. Or maybe that’s just me.

What Now?

What the hell is a pleasant chill?

Me and My (Chicken’s) Shadow

Unsatisfied with Punxsatawney Phil’s prediction, The Yankee Chicken sets out to prove that spring is indeed much closer than we think. Though he is unsure if his form projects a shadow, being somewhat other-worldly and all.

Quote of the Night

“Ringo’s no joke.” – Vicki, after playing the drums on Beatles Rock Band

For That At-Bat in Game 5 Alone

So it seems as if Johnny Damon is gone. I am more bummed about him than Melky, but I know he’ll land on his feet. However, I’ll feel his absence most keenly on Friday nights, as he had the best response to Roll Call ever, and I just wanted to relive the moment where the Season Ticket Crew felt the cold feelings of 2004 melt away with just one act. It’s in the last paragraph here (sidebar: Do you guys remember Sasquatch? Man, that feels like a lifetime ago). Remember how much we all despised “Captain Caveman” back then? That also feels like a lifetime ago.

It was a great four years, Damone.

As I Expected

Quote of the Day

“Look, if the king can’t afford to live away from the railroad tracks, the kingdom’s got problems.” – Production Guy Jeff, on Mister Rogers’ Land of Make Believe.

Another Favorite Way to Kill Time Online

So, yeah, I’m a little late to the game on this one, but I recently discovered Stuff White People Like, and it has earned my admiration for skewering the idealistic fancies and pretensions of too many people I have encountered in my generation. The author has done an excellent job of pointing out things that irk the crap out of me, but putting it in much wittier fashion than I ever could. And while I am guilty of a few things listed (see: owning vintage items – though I hate the word “vintage” and would never call my kitchen table that. It’s just old – and living by water. And Mad Men.) But I kind of love laughing at that shit, so it’s all good.

My personal fave entry? The one on Moleskine notebooks. Because you cannot avoid seeing people with these things on the subway. And while I admit to owning one, it was for a Grand Purpose: I desperately needed something for my Yankee Journal three years ago, as there were no navy-blue notebooks to be found. I did cover it in Yankees stickers and Mariano Rivera postcards, however, to deaden the hipster-y appearance of it. Because I would die a little on the inside if someone thought me one of them. Which is why I can give a hearty amen to this thought:

But the the growing popularity of these little journals, is not without its own set of problems. One of the strangest side effects has been the puzzling situation whereby a white person will sit in an independent coffee shop with a Moleskine notebook resting on top of a Apple laptop. You might wonder why they need so many devices to write down thoughts? Well, if a white person has a great idea, they write it by hand, if they have a good idea, it goes into the computer.

Not only does this help them keep their thoughts organized, but it serves as a signal to the other white people in the shop that the owner of both instruments is truly creative. It screams: “I’m not using my computer to check email and read celebrity gossip, I’m using it to create art. Please ask me about it.”

So when you see a white person with one of these notebooks, you should always ask them about what sort of projects they are working on their free time. But you should never ask to actually see the notebook lest you ask the question “how are you going to make a novel out of five phone numbers and a grocery list?”

Genius.

Eggsactly What We Need

The Yankee Chicken is excited to see another sign of spring, which means, of course, that baseball season must be drawing near. Though he is slightly confused about the whole chocolate egg thing….

As God As My Witness…

In an effort to stem the misconceptions and stereotypes of my birth order (or lack thereof), I am instituting a new feature here at C&TB, which we will refer to as Bad-Ass Motherf***er (In a Good Way) Only Children, Past and Present.

Guess who were once only children?:

No, not Rhett and Scarlett (because you already know poor Scarlett was the only forward-thinking sibling among her lame-ass sisters). But Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh sure were!

And there you go. Sure, they may have had multiple marriages and issues, but that’s probably due to being all crazy actorly and stuff. I mean, Liz Taylor wasn’t an only child, you know. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!

Don’t Ever Accuse Me of Being One of *Those* Fans

My mind is blown. There are people already freaking out and declaring their undying devotion to American Idol contestants whose auditions haven’t even been shown yet. Like, the show is only two episodes in but the rumored top 24 (chosen last week) is slowly coming out and all these people are making avatars and banners with people they’ve only seen on YouTube. People are actually getting majorly sad and angsting that said people *may* not have made it to the top 24. What the hell?

I know I’m a bit of a geek when it comes to this show, but… I think the Internet fosters some really creepy weirdness when it comes to this sort of thing. Like, jumping on a “ship” before this person has even been showcased. Because you just NEED to have a crush on someone every season or it’s not worth watching or something.

Seriously. Creepy.

And Also Because These Offenders Slow Me Down When I Walk. But That’s Not the Point.

Normally, I read the NY Times comments just to get aggravated, because there will always be one self-congratulatory individual who needs to make themselves look better than the other commenters by disagreeing in pretentious fashion. But after reading today’s column about cellphone use and walking, I have to commend someone’s opinion:

Can any of us remember even ten years ago? What happened that “we” now have to be talking all, all of the time?

I’d make a whole venting post about this, but Mr./Ms. Commenter just says it all right there. Amen.

Football is for the Birds

The Yankee Chicken and his French-Canadian raven friend Gustave are thinking of baseball, even as they enjoy a Saturday night of playoff football. Both are rooting for Baltimore as 1) Gustave sees them as family 2) The ravens are of a birdly persuasion, whereas a colt is not and 3) Ravens QB Joe Flacco went to the University of Delaware, and was therefore considered a Blue Hen. Like someone else The Yankee Chicken knows.