One Incredible Night of Music... In Our House!

or OMG! That's Francis Dunnery playing in our dining room!

Okay, so last night one of our favorite musicians performed... in our dining room!!

Seriously!!! Dude, I'm not kidding. He played in our HOUSE!

A bit of background:

Geo and I will be celebrating 25 years married next month. For a while now we've been trying to figure out how to mark this momentous milestone. Do we go away? If so, where? Do we have a party? If so, when? Do we sit on the couch, scratch our respective asses, eat junk food, watch the telly and burp really loudly? If so... WTF? That's just any old Tuesday.

Then Geo had the proverbial light-bulb-over-the-head, AHAH! moment and threw out the whole hosting a Francis Dunnery house concert idea. Brilliant!

We have been on the perspective hosting list ever since he started performing in people's homes exclusively about five years ago, but we never bit because of the cost and lack of substantial space in our tiny home. But this time we said, what the ef? Screw the spacial constraints. Let's do it!

And so we did.

And it was FAN-F*CKING-TASTIC!!!

So worth the few hours of testiness and snarking between me and Geo leading up to the evening's events. All you marrieds out there know what I'm talking about.

Most of our guests had arrived by the time Francis and Erica pulled in the driveway. We ushered them upstairs to our bedroom for a bit of private time before the show. The first thing Francis did when he walked into our room was say, "Right. Well first things first, I'm jumping on this." No, he wasn't talking about leaping on the bed. He grabbed my mallets and started banging out a tune on my steel pan. He hadn't even taken his coat off yet. And here's the sickening thing: even though he had no idea how to play the drum... he still was able to put out a tune much more melodic and rythmic than anything I could have done.

Amazing. Musicians. They really rock... at everything.

We spent the next 30 minutes or so chatting about anything and everything... from the set list for the evening (we got to choose the songs he played) to his child custody issues to astrology to their house in the Poconos to the marvels of iPhone apps to touring baseball fields this summer.

It was unbelievable. Francis. In our bedroom. Talking and laughing like we've been friends for years.

Then the show started and it was truly magical. Our friends, most of whom had never heard of him or his music, became enchanted by his talent, uplifting musical message and his humor. We had chosen the Astrology Show which means he goes through the zodiac signs and explains their characteristics to the corresponding audience members between songs. It was a blast. Lots of laughs and more than one or two insights. He played with our friends and they responded in kind.

A good time was definitely had by all. His irrepressible charm had worked it's magic. By the end of the evening, most of the folks in the room were Francis converts vowing to catch him perform again. Afterwards, Francis mingled with the crowd, chatting, signing autographs, graciously posing for photos.

And to top it off, Mr. D really dug my chicken curry. He even wanted the recipe. For any of you who have English friends, you know the Brits are connoisseurs of curry... so HUGE compliment there, which made the Italian in me very, very happy indeed.

We could not have asked for a more memorable means by which to mark our milestone. We are still grinning from ear to ear thinking about it all. His beaming brilliance definitely took the chill off of a bitter winter night.

So a big, fat, Burgh bear hug of thanks goes out to Francis and Erica for giving us a memory that will last our lifetime. It has been a pleasure and privilege getting to know you over the last couple decades. Here's to many more gatherings spent together.

Not a bad start to 2010. Not bad at all.

Friday Photo #36

WTF? CLOWNS!?!??!!! For my Birthday?!?

Okay, so like many establishments, a local South Side restaurant partakes in one of those ubiquitous rewards programs in which you eat there for like 20 years in order to receive ten bucks off of your dinner. It's kinda annoying, so naturally I signed up. And naturally I always forget my card. At this rate, I'll be well into my Zombie, post-death years before I see any kind of pay off. Mmmmm... brains... Whatev.

Anywho, they sent me a coupon for a free birthday dinner. Sweet, right? No. Not sweet. The dill weeds put a freaking clown on the card!?

A CLOWN! To me!

WTF?! And I couldn't even cut the bastard off the card because the coupon was positioned BEHIND his disgusting fat-ole-creepy-painted-John Wayne Gacy-pedophile mug.

What were they thinking? Seriously. It's like they don't even know me.

Staring The Scary Age Monster Square In The Face

or a juvenile joins the ranks of adulthood

*snort* NOT!

Okay, so today is the anniversary of my birth. To be specific, it is the 50th anniversary of my birth. I know, right? Crazy. Me? She of the 12 year old boy potty humor... 50!?!

Fortunately I had the help of my wonderfully whack friends and work mates to help usher me across the enemy decade line to the land of AARP discounts, early bird dinners and the perpetual left turn signal in style and sophistication.

Ah, screw it. If you can't laugh at yourself and enjoy being an idiot...what's the point, right?

The day all started with cawffee at Heather's

And ended with cake

Holy Crap! Is that a big enough piece of cake, or what?! Seriously.

Forthwith is a small pictorial of the random crap that happened in between:

The Morning Gang (just how many TV types can you jam into a viewfinder?)

Abusing the visage of my dear KJo

A plethora of platitudes and aging attitudes

some of my work partners in immature crime

Fun with our Mascot, Todd the Frog *slurp* (please don't call PETA. he likes it, I swear.)

Me and my old college chum, Martan, smashing faces. I don't know why. It's what we do.

Su-Su-Sushi!!

After all the abuse, Todd the Frog has a well-earned cocktail

You just knew SOMEONE was going to be a smart ass

Shrimp got your tongue? (see how mature aging has made me)

"I crush your head"

a portrait of a self-portrait

How about a little bromance, Scarecrow?

Shakin' their groove thang for the "Spotlight" dance

CAKE...on a steeeeck!!! Nom Nom Nom

The entire motley crew of near-do-wells

Now pay the bill and get the Hell out, Round Eye

Thus ends the irreverent beginnings to a new decade. I could not think of a better way to celebrate my Large Marge birthday than surrounded by these folks. The only thing missing from the frivolity was my Geo.

So to all my friends, family and assorted associates...thank you from the bottom of my restless heart for your well wishes, your love, your support, your hugs and your irrepressible immaturity that makes my world go round. Life would be oh-so dull without you all. (Dude...that rhymes!)

Special thanks to Beets for managing the madness.

You guys ROCK!! I love you, Man!

What Would Pope Benedict Tweet?

or the Popester... embracing social media?!?

Okay, so I think the Apocalypse is nigh. Seriously.

The Pope put out a statement to priests that they must now start blogging and Facebooking to connect with the younger types, as reported in the uber-hip, trend-citing site, Mashable.

http://mashable.com/2010/01/24/pope-priests-blog/

No word as to when the Pontiff will open his own Twitter account--I think WWJT (What Would Jesus Tweet) would be a sweet handle for him or maybe PBPopeyPope--but I look forward to the day Ole Benny XVI sports a "Which Mad Men Character Are You?" Avatar.

They're also looking into developing Catholic-specific, "Get Into Heaven Free" iPhone Apps. Social Media fueled Religion. Bizarro World, man.

"Need to work off some indulgences? Yeah... We got an App for that."

In Which I Discover My Second Career

Okay, so Friday was beauty day. Big Mar, Suzette and I piled in the car and headed to Angie's for our six week cut, color (or as I prefer to call it...natural color enhancement. yes. I am in denial. Don't judge me.) and in my case mustachio management. This last item is accomplished with gobs of chocolate scented wax.

Ponder that image a minute. Me...Brown wax...on my upper lip. Think about it. Totally looks like a "Dirty Sanchez". Ewwwwwwwww...

Moving on...

Suzette is the Mexican Hairless. I, on the other hand, have my share, her share, Tom Selleck's share of upper lip hair. I'm not kidding. If I didn't know I had girlie bits, I'D swear I was a man. Seriously. Those bloody bastard are already showing by the time I pull into the driveway.

So anywho, a couple months ago I was in the bathroom when the sun came through the window in such a way that highlighted my jaw line. Hmmmm. What is that? Blonde hair? But it wasn't just a rogue, wiry blonde hair or three. I've ripped those puppies out lots of times. No. This was more diabolical. It was a full-on, thick coat of one-half inch long blonde hair spanning one end of my jaw to the other. WTF?

I have a freaking BEARD!?!?!

When the Hell did this happen? I am officially a Yeti. A Sasquatch. The mysterious bi-pedal, fur covered, mono-syllabic beasty who eludes curious seekers in the deep woodlands.

Holy F*cking Crap!

I immediately took out Geo's electric razor and manscaped that baby. You would not believe the amount of fur I carved off my chin. Good Lord! I could have lined a pair of UGGs with that pile of felled follicles.

So now my cut and color includes a complete De-Yetification in which I resemble an Amish gent named Jedediah, what with the chocolate brown wax all up on my grill.

De-Yetification... That sounds like the title to a Lauren Hill record: "The De-Yetification of Murray Pops"

Well, at least now if I lose my job at the Special K, I know what my second career will be. I can join the rest of the carnival freaks, because I'm a shoe-in for the Bearded Lady.

"Step right up, folks...."

Why I Would Have Been A Fun, But Bad Parent

Because I would have totally bought this book and read it to my baby every day until she memorized its contents.

Yes, each page contains an actual cocktail recipe. Hey, in this economy everybody needs to know a useful trade :D

Now quit crying and mix me a drink, Baby!

In Which I Am In Awe Of The Positive Power Of Social Media

Okay, so I have a well-documented love/hate relationship with social media. I love Facebook for it's warm, fuzzy family feel and the way it has allowed me the opportunity to reconnect with friends with whom I'd lost track. By contrast I have been openly antagonistic towards Twitter, even though I am an active participant.

I know. It makes no sense.

Whereas I find Facebook a viable, legitimate form of cyberspace communication with your real-life friends and family; Twitter seems shallow, superficial and narcissistic. More a time wasting vehicle for self-serving drivel and the famous to court each other while promoting their own careers.

That opinion changed after the events of this past week.

When the devastating earthquake befell Haiti, it became known, via Twitter, that two local sisters, Jaime and Ali McMutrie (actual sisters, not nuns) who have selflessly spent the past few years of their young lives caring for and placing hundreds of Haitian orphans, were forced to live on their lawn because their building was unstable. They had very little fresh water, food or supplies and over 100 children for which to care.

Desperate to get the girls and the children to the US safely, a beloved local blogger formerly known as Pitt Girl, (Virginia Montanez) put the call for help out via the much maligned by me, Twitter. And boy did people step up. Folks spread the word across the country by retweeting info and working whatever connections they had to get coverage on the networks and newspapers, procure supply donations, charter planes, and plead with the politicos to slice through the red tape of government bureaucracy in order to transport 54 children to Pittsburgh.

Then yesterday after overcoming numerous obstacles, the plane carrying the orphans touched down at Pittsburgh International Airport. You can watch the video here. I can tell you there was not a dry eye in the studio.

There are so many people to thank for the happy outcome of this ordeal. Many of those involved will never be known. The politicians and hospital PR yahoos got to stand in front of the press conference mic and pat themselves on the back for a job well done, but the reality is this...

A blogger was able to galvanize the public and prod the political machine into swift action by using the immediate connective capabilities of Twitter.

The events of this past week have given me a new found respect for the impact of these networks. Through them the world has gotten so small--in a good way. Do I still think these sites are a waste of time? Sure, but right now... at this minute, I am in awe of the positive power of social media.

We All Need A Little Help Sometimes

or we're all in this together

Cancer sucks.

I just wanted to throw that out there. Whether it's the so-called "good" kind, the "bad" kind, the quiet kind, the loud kind... It all sucks. It is the only truly indiscriminating thing on Earth.

And I hate it.

I know what you're thinking... "What the ef? What's up with you, Murray? Why the downer topic? Not enough milk in your Cheerios? Did you forget the Bailey's in your java juice this morning? Fat Cat got your 401K?"

Well, actually all of the above, but mainly it's because six of my dear friends and a family member have battled this hideous disease over the past few years. They've all come through the mental and physical ordeal of being poked, prodded and gassed up on enough chemicals to stop a raging bull to tell about it. Save one.

And I miss her every day.

As a spectator, it's difficult to know exactly how to approach a friend's illness. Do you ask questions? Do you distract them? Do you ignore it? What I've learned from my dear departed friend is this: what cancer patients want more than anything is some sense of normalcy. It's such a traumatic, all encompassing event that has turned their life into complete turmoil that they are desperate for a distraction from the self-absorbing nature of this new day-to-day existence.

The best thing you can do as a friend is treat her as you always have: lend her your shoulder to lean on, let her talk it out, dish about co-workers, allow her the opportunity to listen to your woes however insignificant they may be, be ready with the big bear hugs and above all else... bring the funny.

Even if you think the story is stupid, tell it. Even if you know you're making an ass of yourself, do it. Even if you think it is completely off-color and inappropriate for someone in her "condition", share it. Few things are as uplifting or freeing as a great big ole belly laugh.

So be the dancing monkey. Lighten her load.

And when you find she needs more than you can offer, needs to be assured she isn't alone in her trials, send her to this website:

http://www.navigatingcancer.com/

It's brand spanking new and its mission is to help cancer patients share their stories, connect with other patients to compare treatment notes, discuss doctors, form support groups, whatever they need to understand and deal with this insane, upside-down world in which they find themselves an unwilling participant.

You're not passing her off. You're lovingly passing her on to others who know what she's going through first hand.

Knowledge is power. Compassion a gift. Understanding a comfort.

Now Serving Three-Legged, Gin-Soaked, Web-Footed Humanoids With a Dorsal Fin And Good Credit Only. Anyone?

or who do I have to screw around here to buy this farging disc?

Okay, so Friday my Geo invited me to lunch on Su-Su-Sushi with him and his office mates. The car was revved up and running before I hung up the phone. That is how much I loveloveLOVE sushi right now.

Anywho, I get to his office to find out the food won't arrive for another 45 minutes. So I hi-tail it to the nearby Buy More-ish box store to pick up the latest Ok, Go CD which was on sale for a mere $7.99.

Yes. $7.99. I know, right. Seriously. $7.99. How could I not buy this.

I grab the jewel case conveniently located in the front of the store and head for the check out. I'm making such great time I might even be able to hit the bank on the way back to raw-fish roll nirvana. I get to the check out zone to find only one register is open and there are like...ten of us waiting in line.

Okay, no biggie, right. The line should move fairly quickly. Oh wait. Another employee is opening a register. Sweet! My lucky day!

He bellows, "I can help the next person paying with credit, debit or cash." Seizing my opportunity to quickly get up and get gone, I sashay in behind two other Buy More customers. I'm going to make my banking date after all. Yee Haa!

I step up to the register and...

Bald Myopic Hipster Doofus Wanna Be: I'm sorry, Ma'am (okay that was this cat's first mistake...calling me "Ma'am"). I can't take cash here. I have no cash drawer.

Me: *blink blink* What? But...But you called for cash customers.

BMHDWB: Yes, well I misspoke. *mutters under breath-- "loser"* (by the way, Poser, I heard that quite clearly in your eye roll)

Me: But ... you said CASH. I heard you. How could you not have a cash drawer?!? *mutters under breath-- "poopyhead"*

PoseyWoseyManChild: NEXT!!! *But what he really said with his Barney Rubble eyes was "Step aside, Grandma. Move your saggy ass out the way for some real customers who can hear and process English."*

Me: What the French, TOAST!?!

And that's when it happened. I got caught in the retail loop of ineptitude.

There were three other lines forming at this point. I jumped in the one with a teller actively punching buttons into the register and no customer. This has promise.

NOT!

"This isn't open" she screeches, looking at me as if I had a half eaten monkey butt sticking out of my pie hole. At which point I do something I haven't done in quite some time. I actually lose it a wee bit and scream "...Oh Jesus CHRIST!!" Dammit! And I have been so f*cking good and calm lately. Good karma streak crushed along with my spirit. Thanks Box Store Beelzebub.

Then I step to the THIRD register to be told, all together now... "I can't take cash. I have a pea-sized brain, a drooling problem and a major Mommy complex, but I have NO CASH DRAWER!" Apparently no one at the Pfffft-You-Can't-Buy-It-Here-More can be trusted with actual money. Or maybe they are so flipping young, they've never seen or used physical legal tender before. What is this Earth cash of which you speak? (okay, so in my fantasy alien teens use proper English)

Holy Russel Crowe!?! I just want to buy something from you people!! Why is this so hard?!?

OhOhOhOh... That's what she said!!

So then, as the Fates would have their sick little joke on me, (bitches...) I end up in the original line, behind the original people with the original cashier. Very funny, Cosmos. Ha Ha. My sides are splitting. You should really go on tour with that humor. Now shut up and hand me that bag of frozen peas so I can slow the swelling where you bitch-slapped my face. A'ight.

Okay. I can do this. I'm next. Deep breaths.

But wait. The cashier...what is she doing...where is she... NO WAY... is she...moving? Are you kidding me?!? The computer is broken and she's moving to ANOTHER register. Are you f*cking serious?!?

*sigh* I'm never leaving this labyrinth, am I.

Now my jaw is hanging open all agape. I mean to tell you, I'm aghast and catching flies here. I look on in disbelief as she waves me over to the FOURTH LINE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES!!

And that's when it hits me square between the eyes...

How completely and utterly absurd this line dance has become. I lose it again, but in a good way this time. I burst out laughing as though I've snapped my last twig. I have stepped into the Cirque du Soliel of Bizarro World. The Mr. Toad's Wild Ride of Retail Hell, condemned to its steamy depths by a dog in a judge's robe. I look at the man behind me who is embroiled his own dance of the absurd, shrug and follow my destiny.

I know it's not her fault but, Holy CRAP! All I wanted to do was buy a stinking CD. I didn't expect to run the gauntlet in search of the Holy Grail. And seriously. What store opens registers without cash drawers?!

I haven't had the energy to listen to OK, Go yet. It's too soon. Too raw. But the sushi... soul soothing. Aaaaaaaaa...

Friday Photo #35

or viva la tradicion de muchachas!

Okay, so about two years ago my world traveling buddies came back to Pittsburgh to roost, and I could not be more happy. In fact they set up their collective homesteads within a mile of our house. Now I'm lucky enough to have indispensable friends within walking distance.

Yay me!!

A while back Heidi, my LA-to-Pittsburgh-to-New Zealand-to-Pittsburgh bud instituted Friday Coffee Klatch at her abode. Cathy my LA-to-Belgium-to-England-to-Pittsburgh (I know I'm probably missing a location or two) gal pal and I convene to consume coffee and snacks and dish about anything and everything... kids, college, dinner, husbands, work, TV, husbands, chores, books, husbands... you get the idea.

This week was all about the high school yearbook. It's just weird how each of our books have interchangeable kids and teachers. No kidding. Kids in Heidi's book look just like kids in mine, who in turn look just like kids from Cathy's son's book from last year. It's as though there is some sort of mysterious template filled with generic teens and teachers used for every anthem no matter what year it is.

Anywho, I love these klatches. My Mom used to have such a thing going on in the 60s with her neighbor friend. Like many things she did, I didn't get its importance back then. And like many things she did back then, I get it now. It's just another female bonding element that becomes more and more essential and appreciated as one advances through life's rich pageant.

Otherwise, you know, we might crack and stab somebody.

Sadly none of us has a daughter in which to pass on this tradition. But perhaps when their boys are older and their wives start holding their own exclusive afternoon clubs, they'll understand and have a lovely sense of deja vu.

So here's to Friday Coffee Klatch. Viva la tradicion de muchachas!

TicketMaster Is Evil Incarnate

or stop sucking the life out of me and my mortal desires

Okay, so someone needs to put a hit out on TicketMaster. Seriously.

That organization is truly the Spawn of Satan himself. I jumped online at 10am sharp this morning to procure four tickets to an upcoming Wilco concert via a pre-sale through the very best radio station in the world, WYEP. First the Devilish Dickhead informed me the password was incorrect.

What the?!?

After figuring out the spacing was the issue, Lucifer-light let me in to the crazy word-scramble security check page. You know the one. You're prompted to retype two words exactly as they appear only there's always some sort of black bar/smudge conveniently placed over key letters as to make it nye impossible for middle-aged orbs to decipher exactly what the HELL that jumble of so-called English is meant to be....

Anywho, I finally get to that page in which my secret code is "imbibe steel" and I think, "Alright. Alright. Alright. I'm in!!" because, really, "imbibe"... what more perfect term is there for me than "imbibe"? It's like the computer knows who I am. It's gotta be a good sign, right?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Beelzebub kicks me out with a haughty, "check your password, change your ticket number request, check your underwear for skid marks..." Because if there's one thing Satan hates...it's dirty underwear.

So, of course I keep trying because my buddy, K-Schnikes is counting on me. I change up the amount of tickets requested, the price range, the all-cap vs. lower case password typing... all the while navigating through the gauntlet of security passwords such as

"speed tapped" (another appropriate one for me, the speeding ticket queen)

"bayed at" (obviously an homage to Twilight. Satan is apparently a sucker for inane teeny-bopper lit.)

and "outlive Vance" (why TicketTwit has it in for Vance, I have no idea. Maybe Vance slipped Mrs. T the tongue on New Year's Eve and the Evil-Doer is still miffed.)

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Then that Bastard just got mean and called me "muumuu arms".

Hey! There's no need for name calling. You never make sport of a near 50-year-old's jiggly, velvet flesh, waving triceps.

EVER!!

That was the last straw. So I took out my gun and shot it right between it's evil, red, devil-dog eyes, screaming "this is for all the souls you've eaten in their quest for entertainment... (click click POW!) and this is for the stupid $2800 surcharge for "handling"... (click click POW!) and this is for calling me MuuMuu Arms, Dickhead... (click click POW!POW!POW!)

Okay, so in my head it was a beautiful mass of righteous carnage. Vindication for all of us kicked to the curb from the speeding mini van driven by that maniacal Mephistopheles, TicketMaster.

But, alas... I must try again tomorrow. And it better work.

I've got only one thing to say to you, TicketMaster:

...and everyone who looks like you.

Friday Photo...

a tribute to a dearly departed colleague

This morning we lost one of our favorite people to ovarian cancer. Yvonne Zanos courageously battled her cancer for two years, enduring more pain than I could ever imagine. And yet she always, always kept her positive attitude. Her poise and grace were inspirational.

She was a bright light in the dark world of news. She loved to have fun and it showed. Always full of life, quick with a smile and a big warm hug. She was one of the most genuine, caring people I have ever known. A couple years ago, she invited a bunch of us over to her house for a "girls' night out". We had a blast! Ate ribs, drank whatever, bonded. At the end of the evening Yvonne was the first one to jump in her pool...fully clothed. That's the kind of person she was. How could you not love her.

But it is her big ole booming, infectious belly laugh that I'll miss the most.

She made it to her 60th birthday on Wednesday and passed away this morning surrounded by those whom she adored and gave her life meaning, her family.

Rest in peace, Yvonne. You've earned it. You fought hard. I'll miss you every day, but I know you'll be watching over all of us. Because that's just the kind of hairpin you are. :)

Our station's tribute is here.

A Video In Which To Start Off The New Year

Okay, so Saturday Night Live has been around a long time. I mean a loooooong time. Hell, I was just a pup when it made its irreverent debut. It was so long ago we had to actually hoist our big fat badonka donks off the plaid tweed, flammable polyester, plastic covered couch to change the channel or adjust the volume.

I know. Barbaric, right? You kids don't know how lucky you have it today.

Oh Good God!?! I think I just channeled my Mother right there. *shudder*

Anywho, for the most part I think SNL episodes wear a little thin, especially in the last 30 minutes. They should probably give up the 90 minute ghost and shoot for one hour of comedy stylings. But sometimes Saturday Night Live actually has a gem or two up their sleeve. Here's one such skit from a couple weeks ago starring James Franco. Thanks to my Internet Entertainment Concierge, Jimmy McParkway for the heads up. Kiss Kiss.

It's funny because it is so WRONG. What up with that?