I’ve been having this weird dream lately where I’m talking to a group of people and I think that the words coming out of my mouth are formed properly and are in an order which communicates something approaching coherence. But that’s not what happens. Nothing like it. I can tell because everybody is just staring at me as though I’m an unhinged loon spewing gibberish while farting in church. Nothing that leaves my mouth makes a bit of sense by the time it reaches anybody’s ears. I’m perplexed, but then I notice that some hack William S. Burroughs wannabe, dressed up like the Green Fairy from Moulin Rouge, is intercepting my words in transit, cutting them up with scissors, throwing them up in the air, pasting them back together in random order and then sending them along to their intended audience. People start getting irate and throwing chairs around the room and then it gets worse. I say something like “baby pandas are adorable” and somebody responds by saying “how dare you suggest that Bob Dole is the sex icon to end all sex icons.” Confused, I ask where that person got the idea that I think Bob Dole is a sex icon, let alone the sex icon to end all sex icons and they respond by saying that “there is no way in hell you could compete in synchronized swimming with the likes of Ester Williams, you arrogant bastard.” I agree, but it doesn’t seem to calm tempers any. The rest of the dream is okay because I spend it eating paste.

Moving right along, Booman is heading off to New Jersey tomorrow to take part in a four month long lawnmower salesmen convention focusing on the importance of aesthetically pleasing, handsome duct work in the modern suburban office park. I’m not sure I have the details right, but he’s going to be posting a little less starting tonight.

You might wonder why tonight, and not tomorrow. Well, I have it on good authority that he has the largest collection of Speedo swimming trunks in the entire Philadelphia metropolitan area, so I imagine he’s sitting at home right now trying to pick out the perfect Speedo and flip flop combo for each day of the convention. The dude is allergic to clash. Anyway, you know what this means, don’t you? It means that it’s time for baseless recriminations, false accusations and flame wars. Let the fun begin! I’ll start off by threatening to ban everybody who has the number 5 in their area code if they don’t get with the program. You are so fucking out of here! I realize that this group includes me and that I don’t have the ability to ban anybody, but we have to start somewhere now don’t we?

Now that we’ve established that I have nothing meaningful to write about tonight,
I want to introduce you to the wonderful world of the great Philadelphia immigration
/ English language only debate of 2006. In Philadelphia, we’re a little more
detached from the national immigration debate
than most places other places in the United States because, until very recently,
nobody wanted to live here. Our collective reaction to immigrants has generally
been something along the lines of “you chose to move here? Really? That’s odd.
Do you want to go get drunk and talk about something else, because I know a
bar that sells pitchers of Rolling Rock for $5.50 and watery shots for a buck
and a half.” I write “until very recently” because Philadelphia does have a
problem with all the fucking New Yorkers who keep showing up and paying way
too much for everything. It’s not that we don’t love you; it’s just that it
isn’t helping anybody when you insist on paying $3000 a month in rent for a
place that was only asking $750. We also have some trouble with the fact that
you groom yourselves and keep up with the latest fashions. That’s just a lot
of trouble on a hangover and it isn’t the Philadelphia way (likely because it’s
a lot of trouble on a hangover). I’m not saying that Philadelphians don’t shower
regularly or that we smell worse than people who live in other places. It’s just that
we had a good thing going where everything was cheap and we could walk out of
the house looking like shit. Please try to respect this.

Back to the story I’m not telling, there is a little controversy brewing over a sticker that Geno’s, one of the tourist trap cheesesteak pushers in town, put up on their order window. The sticker features an American flag and a bald eagle and reads “This is America. When ordering speak English” right above a sign that informs customers of the restaurant’s right to refuse service. Both are throw away decals on a plexiglass window, but the juxtaposition of the stickers sends a signal. Needless to say, this hasn’t gone over so well. In light of the brew, the owner of Geno’s has been quite public in saying that he won’t deny service to anybody, regardless of the stickers.

Well whatever, nevermind. Most of you are fortunate to be far removed from the cheesesteak culture, but if you are ever picked in the first round of the NFL draft by the Eagles and are asked the inevitable “Pat’s or Geno’s?” question, take my advise and answer it the way most Philadelphians would by responding “Are you huffing model airplane glue? I don’t pay good money for the crappy little toothpicks those snake oil salesmen are passing off as cheesesteaks.” You should probably throw in the obligatory “go fuck yourself” we use as a term of endearment in these parts, and you will be the most popular first round draft pick in Philadelphia history. Until you drop the ball, or try to arm tackle an all pro running back, that is. Then you’re fucked and we’ll hate you as much as we hate ourselves and you shouldn’t have wasted your time listening to my advise in the first place. Loser.

Okay, I’m getting off topic (the second worst thing ever). I’m going to get back to what I wanted to talk about, which something that is really very desperately important. This is not just any something, but rather a something that none of you should ignore, and if you understand it just the way I think you ought to, it will probably change your life. Have a look at this video clip from Philadelphia’s ABC affiliate (click on the links to the video under the heading “Related Links”). You will have to watch a very boring local news segment, but what I really want you to do is to focus in on the portion of the video where Geno’s owner Joseph Vento repeats “Cheese Whiz” over and over again in an effort to demonstrate how to help non-English speakers learn the language. I was born anew watching that. I think I may have even regained my virginity. Your results may vary. (You may not be able to play the video if you have a Mac, but if you have Mac you can’t buy a decent video game for your computer either, so I’m sure you’re used to getting the shit end of the stick.)

Oh shit! Hold on! This is a political blog! People even read this one! The crap I’m selling here has no place on the front page of the Booman Tribune. Flame me on this one because I deserve it. Every post here is very important and any one of them, if done just right, is likely to shatter the political structure as we know it and lead to a perfect world. I fucked up. I admit it. Sorry. I want a perfect world too, but I fucked up because, well, I suck. We all know just how important each and every blog post is, especially the ones full of bad poetry written by teenagers, so I feel just awful about everything. We’ll just have to try to get through this together, assuming I haven’t banned you from the site for having the number 5 in your area code, in which case you are dead to me.

This post is getting really long and is taking up a lot of real estate (the worst thing ever), so I’ve put all of my really important thoughts after the jump.