Archive: July, 2008
We don't usually just dump AP copy in this space, but we do when it's so refreshing:
A Brooklyn Catholic church that gets so hot in the summer that parishioners go elsewhere for worship is
getting some deliverance from the heat in the form of a 24-foot industrial fan.
Today's column about the doctor who was told by Verizon that his last name was too objectionable to be used as an e-mail address has prompted some salty early-morning e-mails.
A taste of what's happening in some super-sensitive quarters:
I read your column this morning and fully understand the Dr's frustration. Last year, I decided to buy a Phillies shirt for my grandson's 6th birthday. At the time,he was living in Boston and I wanted him to know that life in sports is not all peaches and cream. It was my obligation to make him aware of the "frustration gene" flowing through his veins. Anyhow, I ordered a shirt from MLB with his name on the back. Several days later, I received an email telling me the order could not be filled. After several very frustrating phone calls, I found out his last name, Stoner, was on the banned list.
It is a difficult task,telling a 6 year old that he has to change his name because he had the misfortune to be born to parents who have been deemed "politically incorrect". I wonder what would happen to MLB marketing if Ryan Howard's name was Libshitz. The world truly is going to hell in a hand basket.
The Soul wins the big one in a small hall.
Parade in my living room.
They held off the SanJose team's 14 points-in-11-seconds assault. This is football for ADHD Nation.
Writing a Sunday column about a guy on Twitter and Facebook requires the use of training wheels. Say what Twitter is, assume the audience thinks Tweeting is what birds do. What the guy who's known online as Rittenhouse Square said about Twitter made lots of sense to me, though it didn't really fit in the column. But you, dear reader - I assume there is at least one of you - get the good stuff.
He said Twitter is a way for people to talk through the noise. Its reliance on 140 or fewer characters cuts through all the data smog and let's people communicate in a way that just another long bloggy post doesn't. It makes people think before chosing among so few letters and numbers.
I'm not sure, since my first Tweet was something like, "I am eating a banana." But Alexander Graham Bell didn't come up with Haiku when he hailed Watson the first time, did he?
The Nation's new sex column sizes up Obama.
And finds him worthy.
They don't sound like gunshots. They sound like caps. That's what I always said.
Then one went off Monday night, LOUD, and a couple old heads around me said "That's a gun!" and then we saw people were running.
It wasn't just a gunshot. It was news.
The man knows man and dogs.
The best press release I've ever watched.
Say hi to your mother.
Lots of new-world treatments of the old days, which are the subject of my Sunday column, where I flesh out my mixed feelings of the big old Inquirer reunion held last weekend.
Rich Heidorn, a former Inky reporter, blogged about the event at his site, TreeHouse Media. He set up a tripod and was videotaping all of the once and present Inquirer people there. He asked people what advice they had for Bill Marimow. You can find some of the results on his site. He felt the same thing at the event, but for different reasons, his filtered through a rear-view mirror:
It was an Irish wake for the sort of swashbuckling journalism I was lucky enough to be a part of during my own tenure at the Inky (1982-1999). Surprisingly, there was much sweet, and seemingly little bitter. It had something to do with the beer, no doubt. The fact that most of the attendees no longer work at The Inquirer, which has been decimated by rounds of buyouts and layoffs since 2005, also was a factor.
There are more pictures, video and accounts on a Web site created for the reunion. My favorite moment was a song performed by Charles Layton, to the tune of the "Folsom Prison Blues." His Momma always told him the newspaper business will treat you right.
In the course of writing Sunday's column, I sent Ike Richman of Comcast-Spectacor into the Spectrum's archives to determine just how much the concession stands were getting for food when the Philly arena opened in the fall, 1967, for the expansion team named the Flyers.
He reported back to me: