Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Spinning Otter Redux

Oh, hi there.

The House Rock Built apologizes for its prolonged absence. The office shut down for our beloved irishoutsider's wedding, and puppet videos have been suspended while he has been in debtor's prison for the unfathomable tab that Sockface and I rang up at the open bar at the reception.

I think we all learned two important lessons here: One, weddings, while expensive, are a worthy investment in memories that will last a lifetime. And, two, if you ever get invited to an event with an open bar, you should absolutely bring one of those giant human hamster balls from American Gladiators and demand they fill it to the brim with Crown Royal, because I recently found out this actually works.

Anyway, human being responsibility season seems to be fading away, so we should be back to our regular programming schedule post-bye week. We appreciate both your patronage and your patience.

Thursday, September 06, 2012

Stuffing the Passer - Where in the World

If you wandered the streets of turn-of-the-century Dublin, there's a fair chance you might have heard the menfolk singing a boisterous and cacophonous version of "Finnegan's Wake", a silly drinking song about an Irishman who dies, gets laid out for his Wake, has whiskey spilled on him and, naturally, springs back to life. There's nothing particularly uniquely Irish about defanging the existential dread of mortality with humor (that's pretty much a standard psychological adaptation that cultures have developed throughout time to cope with our frail and lonely existence). But reconstructing this small bit of absurdist frivolity into an impenetrable tome encapsulating the entirety of of life, death, and resurrection of the entire universe as James Joyce did is... well, pretty damn Irish.

I only bring this up because I think that's what David Feherty did on Saturday during the ND-Navy game. While a typical person might see throwing an Irish golfer into the sideline reporter role at a college football game in Dublin as sort of a degrading minstrel show for the sordid amusement of the American audience, Feherty donned his snappiest three-piece suit and turned the entire thing into a post-modern, art brut exegesis of life, the universe, and everything. It was magical, brilliant, and a good reminder about how we tend to take for granted the fact that a small backwater island in the North Atlantic has, culturally at least, saved Western Civilization on more than a few occasions.

And with that, puppets.

Fine cup of praise there. Well deserved for playing a single game of sissy rugby.