Little Head Thinks at Stephen Talkhouse, June 28

Cool and down to Earth, that's how I would describe Josh Brussell, one of the lead singers of Little Head Thinks, an East End-based band that performed the late show at the Talkhouse in Amagansett Saturday night.

Coincidentally, that's also how I would describe Little Head Thinks--cool and down to Earth. In fact, when I asked Brussell to describe LHT, he said, "That's a tough question. Some times I just describe us as alternative party rock."

I couldn't agree more. Fortunately, the group is located in a perfect place--the Hamptons--for their laid back rap/rock party that they throw while on stage.

Putting their fingerprints all over an eclectic mix of covers from the 70's, 80's and 90's while intertwining some of their own catchy originals, LHT performed for a solid two hours plus, undeterred by oppressive heat (which snapped two guitar strings during the course of the evening) to keep the party moving, the drinks flowing and the dancefloor packed.

Led by Brussell--teaches Science at East Hampton High School (where he's also the volleyball coach), pretty much cementing him as the coolest teacher in Suffolk County--and Matt Daugh--who moonlights as the bartender at the Talkhouse's back bar--the band kicked off the evening covering Eagle Eye Cherry's Save Tonight and didn't look back, with some fun takes on Biz Markie's Just a Friend and the 1980's classic Revenge of the Nerds (not a typo).

Brussell says that this flexibility "comes from listening to kick ass music. We are just like anyone else, and we have our phases of listening to different genres of music at times. We try and play songs that eveyone knows and loves."

The highlight of the night was an unique cover of Jack Johnson's Bubble Toes, where they improbably found a way to honor the likes of Ozzy, Zepplin and others thanks to the nifty guitar work of Peter "Bosco" Michne and drummer, Ed Drohan (you gotta see it to fully appreciate it).

Back from the break, the group wasted no time blowing the roof off with a solid cover of A-Ha's Take on Me before performing a mind-numbing shout out to the Beastie Boys and Run D.M.C., paying homage on a number of hits from the two NYC-based music institutions.

"We try and think of songs that people would least expect coming at them, and be hopefully psyched to hear because they haven't heard them in a while," said Brussell.

One of the highlights of the second set was a cover of Sublime's What I Got, which featured a guest appearance of some familiar Fresh Prince lyrics and Outkast's Hey Ya!, which is never a disappointment.

In fact, my only disappointment was that LHT wasn't selling CDs, but hope is on the way. Brussell says that the CD is recorded and being mixed and should be ready by the end of the summer. In the meantime, some of their original stuff is available on their MySpace page (the group's also planning to update its Web site in the near future).

CHECK OUT: Circle of Shade, which sounds like the marriage of Sublime/Jack Johnson/G-Love that the group cites as its creative influences.

NOTES: According to Brussell, Little Head Thinks is not a reference to thinking with one's little head (as opposed to the big one), but more a commentary on society...I went to the front door, paid the cover and showed my ID as a proof of age. Then they gave me my money back, because it was a military ID. You had me at hello, Stephen Talkhouse!...Outside, they were promoting the Wounded Warrior Project (which is getting my cover charge), and is a terrific cause...Little Head Thinks returns to the Talkhouse July 5.

Interesting Blog Post

Take a look at this:

THANKS FOR THE CALL COLONEL - WELL MAYBE NOT

If true, this is very thought provoking. (I'm talking about Col. Robert "Junior" Suminsby calling a blogger on a Sunday morning to discuss a post. ) As a disclaimer, I served under Col. Suminsby at Kirtland, and found him to be a first-class man and excellent leader although I never got a read on how he thought of me (I imagine the waters were muddied by he whose name shall not be mentioned, Col. Voldemort) .

I've certainly thought about this, and like Bruce, I'm an Air Force vet who truly values freedom. However, career officers that have made it to the top echelons have a taste of unchecked power--at least within their commands. Enter the Internet, which represents a whole new ballgame.

Some leaders have had the opportunity to get away with things in the past that now might not fly in the egalitarian world of the blogosphere. The connectivity, anonymity and equanimity of the Internet now opens up these men and women to criticism never before seen.

Clever E-3's that have access to Web site and a DD-214 in hand can turn around and find an audience while critiquing their former leadership without fear of NJP or retribution. While I haven't done much searching, I think I'll take a look at AF blogs in the coming days to see what's been said about Moseley and Wynne. And I bet that one Colonel at Sheppard is probably being ripped to shreds...you know the one I'm writing about.

I don't think that this is necessarily a bad thing--although folks tend to turn the Internet into a giant smear fest, and I hope things don't devolve too quickly. As long as some attention is paid to journalistic standards and a strict adherance to applicable libel laws is maintained, this just might work.

I'm beginning to think that my blog will continue to cross into the blue, covering Air Force issues. In doing so, I'll be interested in seeing how this new world progresses. With this in mind, I recognize that it's always easier to tear things down than to build them up. One pledge I'd like to make here is that I'll always sign my name to my posts, and will always seek opportunities for praise and avoid negativity at all costs (well, unless I'm writing about Col. Voldemort).

That said, my purpose in posting this is more about the thought-provoking nature of this alleged incident, and not to critique anyone's actions.

And Bruce, thanks for serving. You fought for the First Amendment and certainly have earned the right to enjoy it. Keep writing.

Farewell to a Fallen Airman

As a former Air Force officer, I was always interested in my service's heritage. The Marines had men like Chesty Puller and Jason Dunham. The Army had MacArthur, Eisenhower and Patton. The Navy has Mike Murphy, Chester Nimitz, John McCain.

The Air Force, well we get Teed Moseley and this guy (please do yourself a favor and click that link. You'll thank me. Seriously, I'll wait).

Now, I served with some outstanding officers, and men and women with whom I was honored to go to war. And the Air Force will forever be the service of Bud Day and Lance Sijan (whose epynonymous hall is where I met Mrs. Morgan O'Brien). At the same time, I guess I had too high expectations, because there were also a lot of folks that let me down.

So when I revamped www.morganobrien.com, I wanted to make sure I pointed out some of the men and women that I admire who wore the Air Force Blue. I want to highlight some of the great Americans, newsmaking Americans and people who made an impact while in uniform, and in many cases after they wore the uniform.

In the coming months, these are the AF vets I intend to cover here :
- Buzz Aldrin (I'll also cover the Mercury 1 guys here as well)
- Johnny Cash
- James Meredith

- Lindsay Graham
- Chuck Norris
- William Pittsenbarger
- Greg Popovich
- Bob Ross
- Hunter S. Thompson
- Heather Wilson

As an aside, when compiling the list, I found that a disproportionate number were misfits who saw their fair share of trouble while in uniform, those will be the most fun to highlight.

Air Force Vets I will not highlight include:

- Harry Chapin (even though he's a Long Island guy)
- Tom Daschle (he's dead to me)
- Col. Voldemort
- Kelly Flinn
- Jerry Mathers (television's the Beaver)
- Sinbad

Unfortunately, I took my sweet time and missed a golden opportunity to honor one of my fellow Air Force veterans while he was still with us. So today, I begin my first in a series of profiles of Airmen I admire by writing about the inimitable and dearly departed George Carlin.

Carlin grew up in Morningside Heights and attended Cardinal Hayes for a brief while, before attending Bishop DuBois in Harlem. After high school didn't work out, he enlisted in the Air Force and was stationed at Barksdale, where he was a radar technician and served with the 376th Bomb Wing and the 376th Armament and Electronics Maintenance Squadron.

During his brief stint in uniform, he earned three court martials and was labeled an "unproductive airman" by his superiors and received a general discharge (not quite a dishonorable dishcharge, but definitely not an honorable discharge either) in 1957

On XM radio's Stand Up Sit Down, Carlin characterized his young self like this:

All my life as a young kid, I'd been a rulesbreaker, a lawbreaker, I was out of step with everyone.

I got kicked out of three schools, I quit high school in ninth grade. I got kicked out of the Air Force, essentially. I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts, summer camp, the choir and the altar boys.

All of those things I got kicked out of. And that's because I didn't fit and didn't want to fit. And didn't want to take rules and regulations and conventional ways of doing things. I was at heart an outlaw.

As an oath officer at the Albuquerque MEPS, I swore a number of young men and women into the armed forces. Some were obviously bright, others were trying to figure things out. Uniformly, these kids (I say kids although some were older than me) were trying to find themselves. Some were at different stages, granted, but across the board I'd say that in virtually every person that received the oath would find the military a great place to test your mettle and find out who you really are.

So while I would have been mortified to have earned three court martials, maybe joining the military was the best thing that could have happened to Carlin. At least indirectly, it helped him find his calling, and after he was uncermoniously dumped, it got him out of New York and forced him to sink or swim while he followed his dream.



While he was an Airman, Carlin found a nightime gig on the local Shreveport radio station, KJOE, where he was a contemporary of Wolfman Jack. And thus began an entertainment career that boasts nearly two dozen comedy albums, three books, 14 HBO specials, memorable turns as Rufus in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and Cardinal Glick in the underrated Dogma, and a routine that inspired a generation of comics; Carlin certainly made his mark.



So here's to you, fellow Airman. Hopefully, the conventions of the Air Force helped foment your unconventional genius.

For more information:

I found this link that links to some good stuff on Carlin and Barksdale here:
http://link222.blogspot.com/2008/06/ode-to-george-carlin-former-barksdale.html

Kevin Smith had a great remembrance of his friend, George Carlin here: http://www.newsweek.com/id/142975

And Jerry Seinfeld memorialized Carlin here:

In Praise of...Yankee Stadium Chicken Fingers

There is a joke that asks, "What's the difference between a Yankee dog and a Fenway Frank?" to which the answer is "You can get a Yankee dog in October." Now that's not funny anymore for a variety of reasons (Boy, Ortiz has grown a little from his Minnesota days, hasn't he? I hope that sheath is healing, Papi. Too bad George Mitchell wasn't a partner with the Yankees, huh?).

I don't know about Fenway Franks, but as of recently, Yankee dogs suck and are more overrated than our shortstop. I've always been partial to the Lobo dogs sold at The Pit on the campus of the University of New Mexico, anyway.

The hidden gem of the Big Ballpark in the Bronx are the Chicken Fingers (and the guy that keeps our seats clear, more on him later). The past few times I've been to the Stadium, there's nothing that settles me after riding like livestock on the 4 Train from Grand Central than those delicious Chicken Fingers.

To be honest I'm guessing that I'm not really breaking new ground here because the fingers come out piping hot. I figure enough people are buying them to keep them coming. I mean, I was able to find a picture of them on the Internet, (and the Times did a story on them) so some folks are obviously taking notice.

The serving size is huge, consisting of five fingers (just like Rick James) and a mess of thick-cut French fries. My fellow taste tester said she'd like the fries to be a little saltier.

The only downfall is that they're (surprise!) a bit pricey, coming in at $10 for a plate. But for that $10, you end up getting pretty full. Save room for the cotton candy. Don't get me started, I could write another post on how great the cotton candy at that place is.

The Chicken Fingers are available at most stands around the ballpark and of course, the Johnnie Walker Pinstripe Pub*.

*Located on the Field Level at Sec. 10, the Johnnie Walker Pinstripe Pub is an informal restaurant open to members and their guests. It opens with the gates and closes at the end of the seventh inning.

I'm an idiot

I thought that Tiger was a big baby at the Open, and was grimacing along the way in an attempt to gain sympathy.

Apparently, I am an idiot.

For all the to do made about Paul Pierce's knee and Kobe's inability to perform in the clutch, I think the overlap of the NBA finals and the U.S. Open highlight just what we are experiencing in the Tiger Woods era.

So much has been made of the search for the next Michael Jordan. The champion who is unphased in the face of adversity and able to rise above all challenges. Apparently, we've been searching for him in the wrong places.

The next Michael Jordan doesn't lace 'em up and take it to the hardwood. The next Michael Jordan plays golf, and his name is Tiger Woods.

Worth a Thousand Words

Who's next?  Sec. Gates, call me, I have a few suggestions...

This is a Little too Weird

Morgan's a boy's name.  Morgan O'Brien is clearly a boy's name.  So when I read that Morgan O'Brien was going to play lax at USNA, I have to admit I was a little excited.  That is until I read that it was a FEMALE Morgan O'Brien that was going to play women's lacrosse for the Mids.

Oh, well.  At least she's serving her country.  Do the name proud, Morgs. 

Return to Glory (sort of)

During my days at Kirtland Air Force Base, I found myself progressively interested in fighting someone. I can’t put my finger on it—why or how—but I grew increasingly interested in kicking the crap out of someone or something. Unfortunately, this unnamed object of my disdain, for whatever reason (cough…UCMJ...cough) never got it’s comeuppance. Oh, well. What goes around comes around.

Thankfully for me, I was eventually able to find an outlet for this pent-up anger. About a month ago, I decided to fulfill a goal I had set in high school but not yet accomplished. While I’m not ready to become the next Kimbo Slice or Snake Plissken, I would instead try out for Long Island’s Greco Roman wrestling team for a slot to compete at the Empire State Games.

In my wildest dreams, I envisioned a Timothy Ferris-like run through the tournament, where I’d exploit the rules and use my superior intellect and strength to my advantage. Thanks to a couple guys from Eastern Long Island, I was quickly reminded of Suffolk’s superiority in the sport. Everybody's got a game plan until they get punched in the face.

In preparation for the competition, I looked at the weight classes and figured that at 200 pounds, I was going to fit in well at the 213-pound weight class, and if there were only a couple guys at 275, I’d bump up there.

Next, I needed to practice. After a successful run as an assistant coach at Dayton, Ohio’s Chaminade-Julienne Catholic High School, and an enjoyable time as an official in New Mexico three years ago, I hadn’t had much recent exposure to the sport. To be successful, I needed to find an open mat.

Of course, I never did find an open mat. I have to admit, as a guy that hadn’t stepped on the mat competitively in ten years, I accounted for myself well. That is to say, I looked exactly like a guy that hadn’t stepped on the mat competitively in ten years.

I weighed in at a fully clothed 205 pounds (boy, I don’t miss sucking weight). Of course, there were six guys in my weight class and five at 275, so there wouldn’t be any benefit in bumping up. Had I cut a little, to 187, I’d only have had three guys in my class (did I mention that they’d also be thirty pounds lighter? Note to self: I should have cut weight).

My first match was against the powerfully built Anthony Camisa. This barrel-chested chap was the strongest wrestler I’d ever faced—a combination of size (I’d never wrestled above 200 pounds) and superior positioning (he was a standout collegiate wrestler at Albany). I went in thinking that my strength and conditioning would make up for my lack of technique. Camisa was way too strong for that to occur—not exactly the confidence boost I sought in my return to the sport.

True to his Longwood pedigree— as a middle schooler, I used to watch Camisa’s teams compete in epic duals against Sachem; these were the Lange, Phifer, McCoy era Lions—Camisa made quick work of me, snapping me down with a powerful front headlock. While I was overpowered in neutral, my lack of a ground game proved costly, and after a series of side headlocks, I was teched.

The second period was much of the same, and after about three minutes of wrestling, Camisa was on his way to the second round without breaking much of a sweat. I was thankful to leave the mat uninjured, as A.C. could have probably ripped my arms out and beat me with them. I was only half-concerned about this possibility.

In doing research for this piece, I did read in his bio that Camisa is a lawyer. I think he missed his calling as a cement man—or loan shark. Heck, if I was on the witness stand, I wouldn’t want this guy cross-examining me. I also saw that he ran a marathon, I checked, and can proudly report that I beat him by two minutes a mile. After I get my law degree, we’ll call it even (don’t hold your breath).

(Ed. note: I contacted Camisa before posting this, and was informed that he hadn't competed in 11 years. Thanks--now I have to go back to the excuse drawing board and come up with something new.)

Now a quick word on the evolution of Greco. In the sport, grapplers are only allowed to wrestle above the waist. For a lanky guy like me, not having to protect your legs is a Godsend. In 1996, I placed sixth in the NY State Greco Roman tournament in Batavia at 170 or so. In the ensuing decade plus, the sport’s changed immensely, and I think for the better.

A Greco match now constitutes three, two or three minute periods (we wrestled two-minute periods). If a wrestler scores a six-point advantage or a five-point move within the period, the period ends. The first wrestler to win two of the periods gets the win. Every period includes time on the mat (called par terre), which prevents a lot of the slow dancing you used to see in the sport. Points are also awarded for causing your opponent to step out of bounds, which is a great tool if you can move your opponent around.

These improvements make the sport fast-moving and fan friendly and pretty enjoyable. Even the butt-whooping’s are fun to watch (at least that’s what my wife said) and the close, clean matches are enhanced. A great overview of Greco is available here.

My second match came against Shirley’s Jason Perna, who was on last year’s LI ESG team. Against Perna, I wasn’t quite as overmatched in strength (thank God), and was able to work some Russian ties, but was totally outclassed in technique. I lasted longer against Perna, but again my lack of ground game ended the match.

Perna was a quality wrestler, and I wouldn’t want to take anything away from him. I’d love to get another shot after getting some practice in; I think I’d give him a much better match the next time around. And like a golfer that sinks a putt on 18 only to forget the 99 preceding shots of the round, I was able to walk off the mat happy, looking forward to whatever's next.

I entered the day with two goals. First, I sought to burn off some steam, which I definitely did. Second, I wanted to have fun. For all the time I’ve devoted to the sport, it will always possess a special place in my heart. I couldn’t help but enjoy myself. Some guys play softball, I really enjoy the adrenaline burst that comes on the mat.

A quick note—some guys do take sports way too seriously. I mean, we have to work on Monday, don’t punch me in the forehead, ok? Thankfully, I didn’t have to deal with this, but I was put off by a couple fellas out there last weekend.

My only regret is that I didn’t hang around long enough to wear my Chaminade singlet (In my matches, I was always the blue wrestler, not to be confused with the wrestler who blew). Oh, well. There’s always next year.
-----

Thanks to http://www.longislandwrestling.com/, here are the day’s results:

Greco Results

119 1. Darren Goldstein 2. Jarrell Garcia

128 1.Steve Ketcham 2. Stephen Bonanno 3. Ricardo Gomez

139 1. Aljamain Sterling 2. Silas Murray 3. Jimmy Mustakis

152. 1. John Perez 2. Dave Foxen 3. Junior Amazon

167 1. Gonzalo Farina 2. Eduardo Delgado 3. Dante Rosati

187 1. Stephen Beovich 2. Maurice Henoc 3. Chris Tenny

213 1. Daniel Bittner 2. Anthony Camisa 3. Conor Pryor

275 1. James Sokol 2. Matthew Sykes 3. Manny Matos

Bad Week for Morgans

First, the Yanks finally sign a guy with the greatest first name, only to release him:

Then, a Zimbabwean presidential candidate with the greatest first name gets detained:

What's next--naming girls Morgan?

The Bridge

Some dude jumped off this:

And lived to tell about it!  Here's to second chances.

Timing is Everything

Was at Kinkos on 3rd Ave in Midtown today and can only imagine that these posters cost upwards of $400 (there were at least 5 at $80/each):

The investment in these stunning posterboards is shocking considering this.  That's some great timing on the part of Sen. HRC's campaign, huh?  The key to the story was the incredibly demeaning attitude of the staffer sent to pick up the posters.  After the credit card was rejected (swear to God-- although unfortunately it ultimately went through), the staffer (in as demeaning a tone as possible) explained that the three-digit security code she provided wasn't a PIN.  

The staffer actually pulled her Blackberry away from her ear to tell the Kinkos employee, "For future reference, you should know that's a security code and not a PIN...for future reference." She then resumed her conversation (presumably with her soon to be out-of-work supervisor).  

Now, in the staffer's defense, the Kinko's team was probably the most inept collection of talent I've encountered in a long time.  That said, it's a shame the Kinkos employee didn't have a better grasp of US politics, because today of all days she would have had the upper hand, and really could have put the young staffer in her place.

For the hell of it, here's a link to the site: http://www.hillaryclinton.com/splash/sdmt/