Here comes All That Jive 2.0. When it started, we all knew the blog was a ticking time bomb of shit we don’t have time for. Between being understaffed, overworked, and lazy, Rory put it best, “The Jive could not survive.”

    However we’re re-launching in one of the busiest sports weeks we could imagine. March Madness hosting a near-upset for Temple, La Salle in the Sweet Sixteen (jinxed that), the Sixers starting to tank (jinxed that too), The Flyers are shit (wish I jinxed that…), and The Iron Pigs add video game urinals.

    Besides the sports, we’re accepting all free form articles about anything. In the Jive’s first run, we were too restrictive with what went up. These days, we’re more interested in seeing you get your piece published on the internet. The Jive cares about you.

    This year’s Jive will include more stories, more frequently, and is accepting requests for steady writers. So if you want to join the All That Jive team, start sending in your freelance stuff. The more you send, the more we publish; the more the people love you, the more you get staffed.

    Another major change is the departure of Rory. He’s out in Pittsburgh rooting for the Penguins and writing comedies – living the dream. The Jive might see some pieces from him and those will be bright days, but for now, he gone.

    Keep checking out the site for any new and exciting news. Thanks for still reading All That Jive.


Live at Firefly: Part Two (of Two)

By: Michael McDermott

In case you missed it, here is PART ONE of this two-part story about the Firefly Music Festival.

Before I get back into my narrative, I’d like to detail a few things I left out of the first half of the story. Some of this stuff will seem obvious to you, the reader, but before I left, it’s stuff I didn’t quite think about.

First of all, the showers are three quarters of a mile away and cost five dollars. The line for the showers is just as long as the walk itself. The story is going to pick up on Saturday, which means I haven’t showered since Thursday. I am smelly. Everyone around me is smelly. And when you’re in a large crowd under a beating sun, you’re praying for the rain to wash away some of the stink. And that’s exactly what would happen at times. The rain fell and people would think that counts as a shower. Nope. Still smelly. Deodorant can’t mask the scent nor can clean clothes and perfume. The place was busier and ranker than ever. So remember that as we go along.

Secondly, food is very sparse. Unless you are willing to shell out $9 for small portions of flavorless chicken, you aren’t having good eats. Pretty simple. But that also means that Saturday and Sunday are a lot rougher on the body. Something about drinking through a smelly famine just isn’t a good idea.

Finally, I realized that I forgot to tell you about (…and I realize that what I’m about to tell you is disgusting, but I have to go there anyway, even though I’m repulsed by this kind of writing and if you want to just skip ahead to the next paragraph, I’m totally cool with that) is the small, stinky, soggy porta-potties. They were always either wet from rain or God knows what else, then heated up by the inconsistent weather to cast a cooked-poop smell within a 15 foot radius of each station. Grossed out yet? Now think about how badly you want a shower but can’t go take one because it’s too god damn far away to walk. It’s rough.

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Taking a Good, Hard Look at Penn State

Now that we’re done shouting and the dust has settled, I just want to talk about it.

By: Daniel Craig

You know what the worst conversation topics are? They’re the ones that become so universally shoved down the public’s throat that every single person feels the need to share their goddamn opinion about it. Thanks to the 24 hour news cycle approach to what’s happening these days, there are absolutely no breaks, no pauses to stop and think, no chances to catch our breath and digest the bits and pieces of information that are thrown our way. We see, we hear, and then we immediately react. Why would anyone stop and consider both sides of a story, or actually double check more than one source before barking up the first thing that comes to mind?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to go all Will Mcavoy on everybody here. I can’t say I’m much better than anybody else when it comes to jumping to conclusions or quick opinions. However, back when this story first broke last fall, I wrote what I thought was a neutral piece about Joe Pa for the Temple News. My angle was that Paterno was just a man who made mistakes, and no matter what you think of him we need to treat him as such, not something more (Needles to say, this was way before we found out how much Paterno really knew). You know what my editor did? She published it in a section called “mixed opinions,” where it was side by side to an article calling Paterno a monster. She needed to make it a shouting match to make it interesting, despite the very non-argumentative nature of my article.

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Live at Firefly: Part One (of Two)

By: Michael McDermott

The lineup for Firefly Music Festival, released months and months ago, had me hooked from the moment I read it. In fact, from the moment I found out that my three favorite bands, The Killers, OK Go, and The Black Keys (in that order, if you were wondering), were playing in the same place within three days of each other, I knew one thing – I have to go to that for free. And so the scheming began. I quickly rushed to the festival website to learn how to volunteer. I sent in my application as soon as they would take it and waited impatiently until I was accepted. And from April until last weekend, knowing that I’d have to clean garbage from strangers just to be there, I toiled in pure excitement – each day longer than the next – spent waiting. And then, finally, July 19th arrived…

Disclaimer – during the rest of this article I could potentially paint an unflattering picture of myself (as well as my generation), so if this is your first impression of me, know this: I’m responsible, hard-working, smart, talented, helpful, and a whole bunch of great things… And if this isn’t your first impression of me, know this: from Thursday night until Monday morning, I partied my ass off and had the most fun of my life.

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Dwight Howard: The Ultimate D-Bag

By: Rory Meagher

For a long time now, it’s been evident that Dwight Howard wants to leave the Orlando Magic, but he’s been so weird about it – really quiet but somehow totally clear. He’s never come out and said, “Look, I’m not happy here. I should leave.” But if anyone said that Dwight wanted to stay in Orlando, you’d definitely disagree, right? He’s like that friend that wants to go to a different party, but instead of telling everyone, he just starts texting other people and slowly making his way to the door. Like, dude, we see you. And it’s not that he hates you (Orlando) – it’s actually more so the opposite: he wants you to like him. He wants everyone to like him. That’s how douchebags are. They’re politicians. They’re the guy that says, “Oh, Jimmy’s a great guy, but he did borrow my shirt once, and he never gave it back.” You obviously don’t think Jimmy’s a great guy. You douche. That’s how Dwight Howard is – Oh, Coach Van Gundy’s great, but… I love it here in Orlando, but…

I’ve had enough of it. Lebron’s notorious “Decision” isn’t even as bad as Dwight’s unprecedented Indecision (and general doucheyness). At least Lebron got it over with. Cleveland felt like shit heading in, they knew it was coming, like a doctor’s appointment, but eventually the day came, Dr. James showed up, and he ripped off the bandaid (or in Cleveland’s eyes, he ripped out their hearts). Painful, sure, heartbreaking, indeed – but reasonably quick. Dwight Howard is the doctor that can’t make up his mind. He keeps ordering all these tests, sending Orlando fans to get CAT scans and MRIs, bending them over and examining their prostates (not a pleasant experience… from what I’ve heard), touching their balls with his cold hands and asking them to cough, and many other uncomfortable and strange procedures. And while this doesn’t hurt as much as Lebron’s Decision did, it’s creating a sense of fear and panic – the nauseating feeling that something terrible lies ahead. It also feels like you’re being violated… from what I’ve heard.

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Return of the Killers

By: Michael McDermott


“Blonde hair blowing in the summer wind

A blue eyed girl playing in the sand

I’ve been on a trail for a little while

But that was the night that she broke down and held my hand

Teenage rush, she said, “ain’t we all just runaways?”

We got time, but that ain’t much

We can’t wait till tomorrow.”

Would you believe me if I told you that Bruce Springsteen wrote that? Probably not because you already know that this is an article about The Killers. But at least allow me to jump to the following conclusions: The Killers are back in a big way, their sound and songwriting has reached its highest plateau to date, Brandon Flowers sounds the best he ever has, and The Killers have figured out what kind of band they are.


Their new single “Runaways” released last Tuesday provides an excellent example of what Brandon Flowers meant with all that cryptic hype leading up to this release. He has said since the Killers returned from hiatus that their sound is more mature, more true to who they are, and will be their best music to date. So far, it’s hard for me to argue with that. “Runaways” provides a Springsteen-esque song/story sung by Brandon Flowers 2.0 (this model, while having downgraded in the mustache department, comes with singing lessons and two years of pent up Killers songs – a taste of which fans got from his solo release, Flamingo). As promised by Flowers, this song features more guitar and sounds like the style of music Sam’s Town left us with, rather than where Day & Age left fans.

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The Anti-Prometheus

By: Rory Meagher

Don’t waste your money

Okay, I’ve heard enough. “Prometheus” is not the big summer movie that you have to see (that would be “The Dark Knight Rises”). Don’t let the critics fool you. “Prometheus” is not even a good movie. I know you’re bored, but do you really want to spend ten bucks to go see Ridley Scott’s half-hearted spin-off of a movie he made in 1979? Let me answer that for you – no. Okay, the special effects weren’t that half-hearted, but the character development was pathetic, and the plot wasn’t much different from the original “Alien.” They basically just took that movie and threw in a ton of intense scenes to make it more action-packed. But the tensions weren’t handled well. The movie doesn’t have a clean story arc, which makes it hard to follow. Throw in a disappointing ending, and it’s a generally unsatisfying experience. “Prometheus” didn’t answer any questions, and it also managed to leave the viewers with nothing interesting to ponder or decide on their own.

Those are the things that most of us ignored because we were so excited for a new “Alien” movie. Even Roger Ebert’s 4-star rating came with that type of a justification – “I’m a pushover for material like this,” he said. Like Ebert, I was excited about “Prometheus” because I really liked the first “Alien,” as well as the second one by James Cameron (aptly titled “Aliens”). The original trailers for “Prometheus” (before they started combining the trailer with Coors Light ads) had me pumped. But I’m telling you, “Prometheus” does not match the hype. All of my friends left the theater saying the same things:

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D on D: The NBA Finals

By: Daniel Craig and Devin Kirby

Welcome to the first edition of D on D, where our Editor Daniel Craig responds to topics on what’s going on in the sports world, and our guest contributor Devin Kirby attempts to tear him down. Today’s Topic: The NBA Finals!

Dan: Before we start, I’d just like to congratulate you on your Celtics forcing a far superior team to 7 games after barely dispatching a far inferior Sixers team. Never mind, I hate you for that.

Devin: Hey, that was a good series. That should be another question: is that the last game for the Big 3? Philly’s looking like its going to make big moves in that division.

Dan: Big Moves? Of course not! We’re going to pay Spencer Hawes like Andrew Bynum and Lou Williams like James Harden, then trade Iggy for nothing. Look what you did, now I’m depressed. Let’s begin.

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