Out on the Waves- Baseball, cookouts, and drive-thrus all need to take a back seat. America has a new past time:
I’ve got my own, half-baked, cockamamy theories to explain it, which include the normalization of immaturity in much popular entertainment, and the endlessly serious worry alert coming out of news programs at the drop of a hat. But whatever the reason, it seems beyond dispute to me at this point that many Americans now love to panic.
The latest cause célèbre for sounding the alarms is this really big rainstorm that’s slowly making its way up the East coast as I sit here pounding on my keyboard. Big gusts o’ wind and whatnot. I think they’re calling it Irene.
To me, “Irene” is a pretty good rockabilly song by the San Diego band The Paladins. You know San Diego, that place where everybody surfs all the time.
And you know the Atlantic’s gonna get some bitchin’ waves with this Irene. Totally tubular. I’m just sayin.
Okay, so grabbing your board and hittin’ the waves probably ain’t the smartest thing to do, but it doesn’t strike me as being any dumber than stocking up on bottled water and bananas.
First of all, there ain’t gonna be no shortage of water. We’re about to get drenched. That’s kinda the whole point. Secondly, those bananas are just gonna sit there and go brown. You know it and I know it. Unless you go into panic overdrive and eat them all in one sitting, paranoid that your potassium levels are dropping with the barometric pressure.
Of course at that point you won’t have to worry if the plumbing stops working because yours won’t be either, if ya get my drift.
Them nanners’ll bind ya up tighter than Lori with a set of ropes. I bet she knows all them complex navy knots too.
So if we’re not surfin’ and the game’s rained out (MLB cancelled both ends of today’s O’s doubleheader against NYY even though the first game was scheduled for 1 PM and the precipitation won’t begin until this evening), I guess the best we can do is runaround in the rain a little bit, then come home, dry off, and listen to some hot damn rockabilly.
I’ll get ya started off here with a video of the Paladins doing “Irene.” While guitarist/singer/songwriter Dave Gonzalez is the real star of the band, pay attention to bassist Thomas Yearsley who sings on this one. This flabby little dude was once married to former porn star and R&B singer Candye Kane. She used to play the piano with her boobs. I shit you not. Oh, and Yearsley also just got hit by a freight train and lived to tell about it. Seriously. Compared to that, what’s a little storm named Irene?