Blame It On Being A Girl

2012-02-12T13:42:00.000-05:00

In Which Another Musical Legend Comes To An Untimely End

When news broke yesterday of the death of Whitney Houston at age 48, my first reaction was "Holy Shit!" I was shocked. Not the news I expected to hear, and yet somehow not completely unexpected news either.

The daughter of gospel's Cissy Houston, Whitney came out of nowhere and blew everybody away with her enormous natural talent. She had "IT" in abundance. Long, lithe, drop-dead gorgeous, Houston broke onto the music scene back in 1985 after meeting her mentor, Clive Davis, gracing the world with the power of her dazzling, impeccable voice. A true gift from the Gods.

I submit as evidence this isolated track of her hit, How Will I Know.

She hit the ground running with hit after hit, amassing accolades and awards faster than the female species amasses shoes. Her musical triumphs followed by movie star success cemented her status as Diva. She was unstoppable. Who can ever forget her incredible performance of the Star Spangled Banner before the 1991 Super Bowl. The most ridiculously difficult anthem to sing, and yet Houston delivered it effortlessly.

She was on top of the world.

Then in the 1992 she married Bobby Brown... and her world started to implode. Her life became a train wreck of drug abuse and domestic strife all played out in the public eye. She became a joke, a has-been, a foot note of her former life.

It's heartbreaking how one decision in ones life can break it at the knees, bringing about total ruination. Her life was that of Greek Tragedy, fallen by misplaced loyalty, addiction and hubris. A sad ending for someone whose talent transcended the paradigm.

NPR's Ann Powers expresses it perfectly.

That Houston died mere steps from that stage, only to be discovered by her bodyguard in one of the thousand hotel rooms where she'd laid her head, is strange poetry. I've long thought that someone should write an opera about this brash, brilliant woman, born a child of soul and raised to womanhood within the heart of crossover pop. She broke hearts, and was herself broken. She suffered, but not in her music, which even at its saddest was grounded in a sense of dignity and the determination to transcend. She defined a style that so many would adopt, yet her talent was unique.

She was an original with a crazy, boat load of talent, who sadly pissed it away. We all make choices in our lives. I hope she was beginning to make wise ones in hers. We'll never know. What we do know is, man... she had an amazing set of pipes.

You can read Ann Powers post in its entirety here.

In Which The Master Coverer Covers A Master

2012-02-12T10:09:00.000-05:00

(Okay, so you're going to have to bare with me as I share yet another accomplishment of the blue-eyed lovely one whose talent knows no bounds.)

Columbia Records has created a cover series entitled Old Ideas With New Friends enlisting musicians to share their renditions of their favorite Leonard Cohen songs. So far The Mountain Goats, Cold War Kids and Greg Duilli from Afghan Whigs have taken a turn at interpreting Cohen (posted on Consequence of Sound here).

This week was The Interpreter's turn.

I'm not a big Leonard Cohen fan. I don't care for his low, grumbly talk/sing style. Much like Tom Waits and Lucinda Williams, I appreciate the brilliance of his lyrical mastery, but I prefer his works interpreted through another's voice.

Rhett breaths new life and energy into Cohen's Classic, Tower of Song, setting it's painful resignation against a positive upbeat that blindly propels us along in classic Miller style.

Bravo!

Rhett Miller "Tower of Song" from Columbia Records on Vimeo.
Rhett Miller "Tower of Song" from Columbia Records on Vimeo.

2012-02-07T16:28:00.000-05:00

She Makes the Dough AND Gets The Glory
or Canadian chanteuse, Kathleen Edwards rocks the South Side

(Holy CRAP! A post that's actually somewhat current. What the? What?!?)

Okay, so Saturday night Canada's rock 'n roll songbird, Kathleen Edwards pulled into town in a big black bus. This was to be Geo's and my first date night in a long time.

A date night? Are you kidding me?!? I was so excited!

Geo is alwaysAlwaysALWAYS my first choice for concert partner, but he is very discerning as for whom he ventures out of the confines of our abode. (is that correct grammar? maybe...maybe not. whatev. english is not my first language. that's my story.)

ANYWHO...

He was actually excited about seeing Ms. Edwards. We were going to make an evening of it. You know, dinner, drinks, maybe a little white guy dancing. But alas, Geo's indentured servitude played the trump card in the game of our social life in the shape of an unreasonable, high-maintenance client with no earthly clue of the meaning of DEADLINE. Consequently, my ever-lovin' has been working outrageously long hours the entire week. He works so hard. He needs a vacation, or at the very least a long weekend. Or maybe a visit from a skillful Thai escort.

I kid. I'm kidding. I'm a kidder.

There was a nice cross section of age groups in attendance. Ms. Edwards is only 34, but her appeal is universal. Her music is filled with life's pathos set to grinding guitar rifts with a complimentary smattering of quieter, introspective beauties. Her latest effort, Voyageur is, in her words, "filled with personal baggage of love and loss". A cathartic collection of tunes exorcising the demons from her recent divorce. But make no mistake, she is no shrinking flower crying in the corner. No way. She is in complete control, and she comes out to rock, BABY!

Saturday was my first time seeing Edwards perform. The thing that struck me was she's no waif. It's refreshing. She's a real girl with a big presence. When she took the stage, she started her show by saying, " Just because you're sitting down doesn't mean you have to be pussies." before launching into her latest hit, Empty Threat.

She is so badass.

The kind of chick you want to hang at the bar with, doing shooters, smoking cigars and telling trashy jokes. None of that pansy-assed, girlie shit from her.

Throughout the evening she playfully sparred with vocal audience members. At one point, she waxed on about the greatness of Sidney Crosby, getting on the good side of the audience by sympathizing with our agony over his continued health issues and calling him the embodiment of all that is good about hockey (she is Canadian after all. hockey is in her blood) before launching into I Make the Dough, You Get the Glory, punctuating her dedication with a "fuck you, Penguins."

See. Sooooooo badass! Ha Ha!

Edwards played nearly all of her current release and a few older gems to the appreciative gathering. The encore consisted of exactly one song. A cover of Big Star's September Gurls.

And the the covers streak continues.

Another great evening of live music in the Burgh worth the exhaustion at work the next morning. The only thing that could have made it better is if Geo was sitting next to me. He would have loved it. Thanks to my trusty gal-pal, Mary Ann-ski (aka, Betty) for subbing in the last minute.

You can pick up Kathleen's latest here.

2012-02-04T16:25:00.001-05:00

In Which I Celebrate Another Circle Around The Sun

Okay, so unless you're under 10, your birthday ends in a zero or you're barely on the living side of 100, birthdays are relatively insignificant. Personally I'm okay with the suspension of notice until the next big milestone roles around in eight years.

And that next one is a big ole beeyatch. Blerg.

That said, last Thursday was the anniversary of my birthing 5+ decades ago. If I'm not mistaken, 52 is the age where it becomes mandatory to use terms like davenport, liquefy all meals to drink from a straw and learn how to play Pinochle. But I digress...

Upon opening my world-weary, bloodshot eyes early that morning, I was humbled to find 40+ birthday greetings on both Facebook and Twitter. And they kept pouring in, tipping the scale at ... I don't really know the total because the number was so high I stopped counting.

I am genuinely overwhelmed by the shower of love and affection bestowed upon my wretched soul. (chokes back tears) I am truly touched...

And not just in the head, even though that is certainly a truth.

Anyway, the first treat of my narcissistic day of me was picking up my favorite ex-pat coworker, Jimmy McParkway from the airport. Young James has heeded the call of greener pastures in the form of Weekend Anchor/Morning Reporter for the Hearst affiliate in Bahston, Mass. He's doing extremely well and getting a well-deserved shot at making a name for himself. His absence still stings, but seriously, how can I be anything but thrilled for him.

Jimmy was my cohort in crimes of the senses, so naturally I had to do something completely juvenile when I picked him.

I'm classy, yo
i'm also 12

We had ample time to catch up while shoveling gobs of breakfast grub down our gullets at a quintessential Burgh joint, Eggs 'n At. When we took off our coats, we laughed out loud to find we both had Pens gear on. Oh, so Pittsburgh.

yinz goin' to the game?

Moving on...

Every year The Special K hosts a winter weekend event at a nearby ski resort known as Snow Blast. Normally the festivities begin on Friday. For years I've been wanting to go up for snow tubing and stay overnight, but the restraints of my current indentured servitude on Saturdays have always thwarted my desire to slide down a slope at break-neck speed, precariously perched upon an unsteerable, overinflated rubber donut with no visible means of stopping at will.

That's all kinds of fun right there, yo.

As the Fates would have it, the festival started on Thursday, the Saturday of my personal unconventional weekend AND my birthing day to boot! Finally, tubing with a couple hilarious girlfriends. Holla!!

As the Fates would also have it, blinding sheets of rain fell all day.

All. Frelling. DAY.

No tubing for you. One year.

The Fates are dicks.

Either that or they are sincerely concerned I'll wipe out so magnificently, my brittle femur will snap in two, in essence declaring me old and feeble. See what I mean? Dicks.

Although disappointed, that development didn't put a damper on the partay. Oh no, my friend. The kibosh may have been on the sledding, but we did what any respectable, red-blooded American girls would do. We cracked open a cold one or three.

Yes, there was drinking.

snow boots and
swimming suits

Yes, there was snacking. Yes, there was jumping on the bed.

blur via wine goggles

Yes, there was the inebriated commandeering of noodles from innocent, unsuspecting youth in the pool. Yes, there was drunk-white-chick-dancing.

And no, there are no photos of that.

Thank the baby Jesus.

Burnett and me, modeling sophisticated head wear

me and beets toughing out the elements

But most importantly, there was hysterical laughter, camaraderie and unfiltered fun. What more can you ask for, right? Seriously. I haven't laughed that hard since...well, January 5th.

doctor prescribed dark chocolate cake and Merlot
it's good for the heart
that's my story
shut up

Plus I got this kick-ass cake and some really great swag. Geo got me a couple of amazing lens for the iPhone along with this adorbs sock monkey beanie.

ain't I just adorable?

Then when I got home, I found a box of the MOST AMAZING individually wrapped brownies called Fairytale brownies from my buddy, Marcy Anne. Raspberry, cream cheese, walnut, pecan, peanut butter, mint...

OHMIGAWD! To. Die. For. I'm salivating like Pavlov's dog just thinking about them.

*Drool*

It was a really great birthday.

I cannot thank my friends enough for the cards, the electronic messages, for the joy. I am thankful for all of these goofballs in my life. I can't imagine spinning around the sun, clinging to this crazy blue planet without each and every one of them. From the bottom of my pointy little heart, I thank you all for a tremendous celebration of the anniversary of my hatching.

Love ya! * MUAH!*

But seriously, next year I'm strapping on the bubble wrap and snow/ice tubing, DAMMIT!

2012-02-01T17:06:00.001-05:00

In Which Don Cornelius Makes His Last Stop On The Soul Train

Okay, so way back in the stone age, circa 1970, a Chicago DJ with a voice as lush as velvet launched the iconic, weekly music/dance show, Soul Train. Every week Cornelius would spin the latest and greatest in the soul genre, as well as feature live performances from up and coming notables such as Aretha Franklin, Sly Stone, James Brown, Curtis Mayfield and the O'Jays.

His was the cool cousin to Dick Clark's white-bread, American Bandstand. There was nothing wrong with AB. It was a fun dance party, but once Soul Train hit the airwaves, it was all I wanted to watch. It was hip and happening and had THE BEST dancers strutting down the train line.

That line dance at the end was my absolute favorite part of the entire show. I learned how to dance by watching those couples work their magnificent moves across the studio in their outrageous tight pants, platforms and elephant bell bottoms. Bad Luck by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes (featuring Theodore Pendergast) was da bomb, yo! That song shot me out of my chair and into embarrassing-white-chick-dance-mode faster than anything. I waited for it each week. I still have the urge to jump up when I hear that tune. Although now, you know, I might break a hip.

OHMIGODJESUS! Seriously. They wore the most crazy, fab 70s outfits! And how about that one dude's fro? Epic mass. Extra points for that one, my friend.

The New Yorker columnist, Ben Greenman spoke eloquently of the Don Cornelius legacy here. It's well worth the read and gives a bit of the back story.

I was saddened to read The Don took his own life today. It's difficult to understand how someone comes to the conclusion that he would be better off dead. Life and death are full of mysteries.

One thing is for certain, Mr. Cool will always inhabit a special spot in my heart for introducing the unfettered joy of Soul music to a shy, awkward, white girl and inspiring her to get up and busta move with abandon every Saturday afternoon. I will be forever grateful to you for that.

You were the epitome of smooth, Sir.

We wish you Love, Peace and Soul.

2012-01-29T12:13:00.001-05:00

In Which I Shed A Tear Over A Storied Chrome-Domed Structure

Okay, so I'm a huge sap. Ginormous. I get strangely attached to inanimate objects. Always have. So much so that I sometimes actually feel empathy towards pairs of shoes I used to cherish and wear multiple times a week, now cast aside for newer, hipper footwear. I image their long, audible sighs and new-found feelings of insignificance based on my callous disregard.

See. Pathetic screwball. But that's nothing new, right?

This week, the Powers That Be have started dismantling the most iconic architecture in my beloved Burgh, the Civic Arena. The once beaming, chrome-domed igloo has had its aluminum outer shell stripped, exposing a rust-colored underbelly. The arena was functional, funky and instantly recognizable from all approaches, especially the air. Spotting this unique circular beauty through the porthole of my cramped airplane seat was always the first warm hug of home.

It's legendary retractable roof was something special. I can't tell you how cool it was to be rocking out at a concert, watching the city skyline magically appear before my glazed-over eyes.

Spectacular.

Plus could there be a more aptly-shaped home for Penguins to reside? Seriously. And now it sits, empty and abandoned. The once proud, first-of-its-kind, innovative new kid, dissed, deflated and destined for the scrap heap, forced to listen to the flashy new upstart down the street collect all the accolades once showered upon him 52 years ago.

I can hear his sighing from here...

and my heart breaks a little.

The first pie-shaped panel came down Friday.

I shed a tear.

Yeah. Big Fucking SAP.

Goodbye old friend. Thanks for the memories.

2012-01-19T17:46:00.001-05:00

Random Crappola
or cleaning up my crap and throwing it your way

Okay, so I used to jot fragments of thoughts on torn slips of paper and toss them on my increasingly cluttered dresser to blog about later, similar to Liv Tyler's character, Lucy in that gorgeous, provocative and touching film, Stealing Beauty, only mine were far less poetic or interesting.

(Rent this lovely movie. It will make you smile, cry a little and long to live in Tuscany for a summer just once in your mundane little life.)

I've made great strides in breaking myself of this scrap-stacking habit, but now instead of junking up my dresser top, I've cluttered up the notes app on my iPhone. Henceforth is some of the nonsense stashed on my electronic BFF.

1. Dude, My Phone Speaks in Tongues

I get lots of spammy emails from cruises to debt reduction to singles dating, but we'll get to that later. Every so often, my phone has a religious epiphany and starts speaking in tongues in the subject lines.

get your epidural crankpin
out of my naughtily psychologic zooplasty

i'm sure there's a cream for
sulfurousness boobies

...or maybe it has Tourettes. (It said boobies. hee hee) Whatever. It looses it's mind and sounds like this to me.

2. Dude, My Phone Wants To Pimp Me Out

No shit. My phone is constantly trying to hook me up with singles. And not just white singles either. It tries to tempt me with perspective mates from all corners of the world...Asian, Indian, black, Jewish, Latinos, seniors....

Okay, the seniors one stings a little. What the Hell are you trying to tell me, Pimpbot? I'm so beyond my freshness date that my best bet is skip the youngins and head right to the hearing aid and cataract club? That's cold, dawg. Well, guess what, asshat. The joke's on you. I'm already married. PFFFFFFFT!

3. Dude, C is for Captain

Oh Captain, My Captain

Ever since Captain Heartthrob, Sidney Crosby was sidelined once again in late December from recurring concussion symptoms suffered after a hit, the Pens slipped into a losing streak. Last week there was rumor of grumblings from some of the players frustrated by the scoring slump that Sid has been dogging it in his rehab, that he is actually healthy enough to play and that it's time for a new captain to get them back on track.

Local sports writer, Dejan Kovecovic penned a terrific article defending Sid and his desperate desire to return to the ice to play the game he eats, lives and breaths. How anyone can question Sid's passion is insane. The following day during their morning skate, every team member wore a "C" on his shirt as a sign of solidarity with their fallen leader.

K is Russian for Kaptain

In an instant, fans across the interwebs added Cs to their profile pictures on FaceBook and Twitter, taped Cs to their jerseys to be prominently visible when they sat in the stands and altered their children's hockey uniforms.

way to go, l'il pens

Even the prize blimp got in the act.

That's gotta make Sid feel loved. This overwhelming outpouring brings a tear to my eyes and makes me proud to be a Pittsburgh Penguins hockey fan. Oh, and ever since this public show of faith, the Pens have won their last three games. Holla!

We love you Sid! Take your time. Get better. We'll wait for you. But please, for the love of all that's holy, leave that crappy beard at home.

4. I Have Drank From The Pinterest Kool Aid

Yeah, like I need ANOTHER time-suck distraction. ACK!!

Pinterest is an electronic bulletin board where you can archive all the things that interest you, pinning them to a particular board to reference later for projects or recipes or purchases or travel destinations, or in my case to sit there in perpetuity, ignored and rotting on the vine.

I don't have much pinned on mine yet except for a couple photos of Paul Rudd and Rhett Miller...what? you're surprised? Really? It's like you don't even know me.

Sigh.

Anywho, I can see how you can sit down for "just 10 minutes" and five hours later, still have your head plastered to this site never having noticed that the sun has gone down, the room is dark except for the unhealthy blue glow emanating from your Mac and your starving children are clawing at you for food for the last hour.

It's like crack. Pretty, shiny, pointlessly addictive crack.

Now leave me alone. I have some pinning to do.

5. Swatting The Heavy Legislative Hand With Humor

Yesterday, in protest of the SOPA and PIPA legislative vote (supported by Corporations, natch) which would end the use of the internet as we know it, numerous websites like Wikipedia and Reddit, staged a blackout. Speaking of Wikipedia, HappyPlace.com compiled a list of bizarre topics blocked by the voluntary blackout like Uncombable Hair Syndrome, Toilet Related Injuries and Deaths, and Swastika Forests.

via Oatmeal
no copyright infringement intended
don't tase me, bro

I agree that piracy netting monetary gain is rampant and hurts musicians and artists who struggle to make a living at their craft. However, I don't believe fans shooting and posting videos or photos from concerts who collect no compensation for those images damages the artists' bottom line. In fact, I believe that kind of free promotion is invaluable to building one's fan base. Think about it. When a friend tells you about a new band, where's the first place you visit to listen to their music? YouTube! I see no down side to this.

If passed, this bill could effectively shut down this lame-ass blog and throw my ass in jail for posting videos and photos of others "intellectual property". What are we, China? How about focusing on prosecuting real criminals like those bankers who bilked the public of billions of dollars, took bail out money at no interest then gave themselves ginormous bonuses... They didn't post concert footage, so they're safe.

Moving on...

One of the websites that went dark is the always irreverent The Oatmeal. Leave it to the Oatmeal to explain it in such brilliantly weird fashion. Watch here.

Yesterday's movement may be over, but it's still not too late to contact your representatives. Here's a link to locate your personal political yahoo and defend a free and open internet.

Do it for Oprah and Jesus.

and the Lord sayeth,
keep thy interwebs free

2012-01-12T11:13:00.000-05:00

I Love I Love I Love New York
or one whirlwind day of big apple fun

http://grooveshark.com/s/Ryan Adams New York, New York

Okay, so last Thursday brought an early birthday present in the form of a quickie trip to New York City with my honorary l'il sis, Steph to watch our favorite rockstar kick it up a notch at the City Winery.

What's that? You're wondering who that musical heartthrob might be?

Yep. This lively fella.

When Rhett's (with the embarrassing amount of times I've written about him, do I even need to use his last name?) tour date was announced back in October, Steph and I hemmed and hawed about whether we could manage the logistics of making the trek to La Apple Grande. Then as luck and serendipity would have it, Southwest sent a discount offer we literally could not refuse. And we didn't. You don't deny serendipity.

DING!

So, asshat that I am, I wasn't even thinking about how many hours before the butt crack of dawn I'd have to rise to make a 6:30AM flight. The answer: 3:30am. 3:30?!? On my off day?!?? UGH! But, c'mon. I'm going to New Yawk, not the Special K. Nothing a little breakfast, caffeine drip and inexhaustible NYC energy can't fix.

After stopping in Baltimore to pick up Steph, we landed in Newark and hopped on the tram to the NJ transit train station. Once the doors of the four-car shuttle closed, the stilted voice announced, "please hold on while the train is moving" over and over and over, ad naseum as we traveled between terminals. We chuckled. Any Old 97's fan would recognize that phrase.

Please Hold On While The Train Is Moving (via Grooveshark)

So THIS is where a certain songwriter flies in and out of on his way to entertain his adoring masses.

Meanwhile, back in Manhattan...

Even though we've only known each other for a year and a half, traveling with Stephanie is effortless. No drama. No crazy, high-maintenance requirements. No demanding the hotel staff send up only bath salts made from the tears of baby kittens.

Nope. She's spontaneous, game for any adventure, and funny as hell. We have the same silly, twisted sense of humor. She sends me funny shit like this all the time.

I know how you feel, l'il monkey made of sock

"and another thing..."

She makes me laugh. A lot. Plus she's really good at researching stuff on the fly via her iPhone.

Anyhoo, we started eating and drinking our way through Manhattan downtown in SoHo after a brief stop at CB2. The coolest thing about the city is you never know what you'll stumble upon walking from point A to point B. While heading North to go to the quintessential girls' cafe, Sweet Revenge for cupcakes and wine (is there a more perfect niche market directed specifically for women?), we found the coolest fusion restaurant in TriBeCa named Taka Taka, offering Mexican sushi and Japanese tacos. Wha??? Only in New York. Seriously. We walked in for the Japanese seared tuna tostado, but stayed for the sushi conveyor belt.

mobile sushi

mango sushi, cilantro lime dipping sauce...
recycled bong teapot?
hoped they cleaned that puppy out well

Delicious self-serve sushi rolls, rolling on by. Not enough "Os" in COOL. The bong-shaped teapot didn't hurt either. The servers were super friendly, the mango sushi rolls were amazing and the atmosphere was filled with festive Mexican and Japanese music. Where else but New York.

We decided to head to Sweet Revenge anyway because, hello... we're female. The thought of gourmet cupcakes paired with exquisite red wines is too alluring, and good GOD, it was 2 o'clock and we hadn't had a cocktail yet!!?!

The cafe is an adorable little store front about the size of a large walk-in closet with a small bar across from four quaint little wooden tables and chairs. They bake a different selection of savoy as well as sweet offerings each day. Steph had the signature peanut butter and chocolate cake with peanut butter icing which came with a lovely, deep red, full-bodied Merlot with a hint of oak, long finish and the legs of a Scandinavian super model (or whatever wine snobs prattle on about). I had the raspberry almond cake topped with raspberry cream cheese icing and a Raspberry Bellini.

Perfecto!

Sitting there sipping my Bellini, I could have sworn it was 4:30 in the afternoon. Much to our delight, it was only 3:30. We had plenty of time to make our 5:45 dinner reservation, but what to do to fill the time... That's when a light bulb went off atop Steph's wee head.

KARAOKE!

Yeah, baby! A quick search on Yelp and a 10 minute walk past store fronts that morphed from boutiques and coffee shops to window displays of mannequins donning questionable underthings missing material over the naughty bits awkwardly perched next to plasma screens showing a sizable variety of dildos, vibrators and ball gags.

Yeah. We were in that neighborhood.

West 4th Street. Home of the infamous Pink Pussycat adult shop and afternoon karaoke. Who knew? Seriously. Only in New York can you find a karaoke bar open from 1pm to 4am nestled among sex shops.

It was a ghost town in there, natch because of the whole 4:00 in the afternoon thing. There was no way I was going to screech/sing in the middle of the empty bar. Fortunately this place had a series of private rooms to do your Karaoke bidnez. It kind of creeped us out a bit imagining what various untoward activities had occurred in this room, but hey, it was half-priced happy hour, so forget that shit. Time to sing, bitches.

We opened strong with REO's Take It On The Run, then loaded up a stack of power hits, Bon Jovi-Livin' on a Prayer, Counting Crows-American Girls, Madonna-Get Into the Groove, and Bruce classic-Thunder Road. We even threw in a quiet Lisa Loeb tune.

Steph has a beautiful voice. Me? I think I killed a few alley cats with my caterwaul. Before we knew it, it was time to catch a cab for dinner across town. Screw the reservation, this is karaoke, dammit! We tossed in our big finish, John Mellencamp's Hurt So Good, then busted ass for a cab... which coincidentally smelled like ass.

A ridiculous amount of fun for two sober girls in the afternoon. My face hurt from laughing so much. We only ended up being around 10 minutes late for our delicious vegetarian dinner at Candle 79. I've never been to a proper vegan restaurant before. The food was outstanding.

On the way to the main event to see this lovely, blue-eyed one...

it's a toss up as to which one of them is more adorbs

our cab pulled up alongside a middle-aged businessman in a high-end SUV. Nothing unusual about that, except this lone gunman was blaring ABBA's Super Trooper so loud we could hear it clearly in our car.

What GUY rocks out to ABBA alone in his car? (just try getting that out of your head now)

Being a couple of 12 year-old asshats, we started dancing, singing and pointing at him. Then the funniest thing happened. Steph tweeted it best.

"Just busted guy blaring ABBA Super Trooper. When he noticed us singing along, he pulled forward, turned it down, & put that shit on repeat."

Even the cabbie bust up laughing.

By the time we got to the Winery, the opener, Adam Levy was already playing. Outside of the Spring Standards, generally the opener is lackluster, but Adam was actually pretty good.

We've gotten to know a number of other fans from our travels to see Rhett and the Old 97's play. It's a nice little community. That evening George and Maria, Denise, India and Joslyn stopped by to say hi. We finally caught up with our favorite Manhattan Maven, Marcy Anne between acts, poured some really good Malbec and waited for Rhett to take the stage.

Spending an evening in an intimate, darkened club listening to Mr. Miller and his guitar is always magical, but that night he was ON. Playfully telling jokes from the onset, his wit and charm filling the gaps between songs. He's comfortable here and it shows. The love flows both ways.

He sang Broadway and Terrible Vision with such depth and passion, it gave me chills. I know it sounds gay and uber fangirlie, but it did. Thanks to Julie for capturing the moment on her iPhone. Have I told you how much I'm in love with iPhones?

You can hear us goofballs giving it up for his long notes. Obnoxious asshats or appreciative fans. You decide. On second, thought, don't go there. Just let it be, dude.

He played three songs from his recently released outstanding covers CD, The Interpreter: Live at Largo including this spirited version of David Bowie's Queen Bitch.

No one belts out a note like Rhett. I had a thing for the King of Glam Rock back in the day, but Mr. M's vocal crushes Bowie's original. You should hear him sing The Bewlay Brothers... effing incredible! There is no superlative strong enough. It's my favorite on the CD.

I have to throw in the beautiful California Stars not only because Rhett played it specifically for Stephanie, but because it's worth it for the humorous rift on the puppy notebook alone.

As an added bonus, we were all treated to not one, but TWO new songs from his upcoming solo effort due out some time in the Spring. No official title has been leaked, but Rhett's unofficial title for the CD is The Womanizer, in honor of all the ladies he sings with on the album--Rosanne Cash, Rachael Yamagata and Heather Robb who sang Picture This at the Deleware show back in September. Or maybe it's a nod to his alter ego. I kid.

This fine evening he shared the quieter Sleepwalking (with a whistling solo jamz) and the freshly penned, Marina. They're both gorgeously layered, lyrically rich stories of lost love written in Rhett's compelling signature musical voice.

*sigh*

If these three tracks are any indication, his new collection of works is going to be groundbreaking. I can barely wait. There's still time to jump on the PledgeMusic bandwagon and help fund his new album here. I will never be able to thank him enough for the joy he brings to my life through his boundless talent. Pledging is a way for us to give back in a more substantial way.

Before we knew it, he was strumming the final chords to Time Bomb and another remarkable evening was over. We left light-hearted, rejuvenated and humming. The perfect capper to a positively perfect day.

This is What I Do

Niteclub

I'm a Trainwreck

California Stars (for Steph)

Singular Girl

Wish the Worst (for me :) )

I Need To Know Where I Stand

Sleepwalking (new)

Queen Bitch

The One

Our Love

Manhattan

Hover

Marina (brand new)

Victoria

Help Me, Suzanne

Let the Whiskey Take the Reins

Like Love

Broadway

The El

Every Night Is Friday Night

encore:

Fireflies

Terrible Vision

Wave of Mutilation/I Wanna Be Sedated

Time Bomb

Buy Live at Largo here
Be one of the cool kids! Join Team Rhett and help fund his new CD here.
Rhett/Old 97's tour dates. Come drink the Kool Aid and join us.

2012-01-03T17:07:00.002-05:00

Reliving My Musical Year Circa 2011, Part Two Because I'm Chatty, Yo

JULY

Dear July: I will always and forever have a special place in my heart for thee.

July was all about the Old 97's. Three incredible shows in four days with the added bonus of post show drinks with Ken and Murry (Baltimore)...

Hanging backstage before and after (Brooklyn)

and one non-stop, laugh-filled day at Brooklyn's famed Coney Island. To say they were the most memorable three days of the summer is not an overstatement, even if I embarrassed the hell out of myself by almost eating the pavement in Baltimore. Call me Grace.

AUGUST

Dude, I went to see The Monkees. Yes, THE Monkees. Okay, well 3/4 of the Monkees anyway. I had no intention of going, but GD if I didn't have a blast. Who knew all those lyrics were still living somewhere deep down in my grey matter.

A steamy August evening featured the Dynamic Duo of Ben Gibbard's Death Cab For Cutie and Scott Hutchinson's Frightened Rabbits on Stage AE's outdoor venue. (for once, two great bands for the price of one) Nestled between a signature skyblast fireworks display (we Burghers go ape shit over incendiary displays) with Train performing at the ball field and an evening shoot of Batman, The Dark Night Returns at Heinz Field, these musical Super Heroes held their own.

Sweaty, happy and hoarse, I walked away victorious clutching the lone FRabbits doodle postcard created especially for the evening.

KAPOW!

SEPTEMBER

Once again, September vacation was bookended (is that even a word?) with our two faves. Geo and I had our charts read by Francis Dunnery at our friend Kate's house in Malvern, PA. It was enlightening and huge fun. Hmmmm... seems I didn't blog about that either. Major slacker this past quarter. Blah. Anyhoo, the following evening we attended a house concert in the biggest home, nay, estate we've ever been in. Whoa! Kate and I were convinced it was haunted. For realz.

After spending a restful week at the Jersey shore, we ended our vacation with a double shot of, who else... Rhett Miller. This time at World Cafe at the Queen in Wilmington, Deleware followed by a rare matinee show at one of my favorite out-of-town venues, Annapolis' Ram's Head On Stage. In both we were treated to a new song, Picture This from Rhett's upcoming solo CD due out in the Spring. Heather Robb from Spring Standards adds her beautiful voice to this duet.

The Ram's Head show was stupendous, with an eclectic setlist filled with deep cuts, newer gems and one terrific cover. Mr. M kindly fulfilled all of our requests. Couldn't ask for a better way to close out a holiday.

Mixing it up with the youngins.

The final outdoor WYEP freebie of the year was Alex Dezen of the Damnwells backed by Harper Blynn. JesusGoodGodAlmlighty it was ridiculously cold and damp for that time of year! But the music was warming, along with my awkward white-girl, Elaine Benis dancing in the corner.

"Help her! She's having a seizure!"

OCTOBER: You need to step it up this year, slacker.

NOVEMBER

Mary Ann (aka, Betty) and I had back-to-back evenings out starting with Louis CK and his delightfully raunchy, twisted view of life, followed by the legendary Kinks front man, Ray Davies. Don't let his age fool you, he can still kick it up for a senior citizen. Outstanding gig, even if I did get busted while recording Waterloo Sunset. Still was able to sneak this one. Ha! Take that, video recording Nazi!

I got to celebrate Thanksgiving Eve with the charming, elfish Norwegian, Sondre Lerche. He packs a lot of power in that little frame.

DECEMBER

Let the holiday festivities begin!! Raul Malo pulled into town in a big, black tour bus and offered up his Christmas Show to put us all in the spirit of things. There's no escaping that catchy Tejano beat. Don't even try. Just roll with it, baby!

And just for fun, a half song medley followed by... a POLKA!

And finally, we ended the year as we began, with a Francis house concert to begin vacation and Francis playing his Christmas show at the Tin Angel. Our final musical night cap for 2011. The only thing missing was a Rhett holiday show chaser.

That's 2011 in a nutshell. It was a lovely year that provided a lot of opportunities to enjoy a ton of great music at great venues with great friends. I can't wait to do more of the same this year.

Dear 2012: You have some mighty big shoes to fill. Just saying.

2012-01-02T18:48:00.000-05:00

In Which I Relive My 2011 Concert Season
(1 of 2)

Okay, so not to be a braggy SOB, but 2011 was an incredible year in live music for me. Except for dry spells in January and October, I was fortunate enough to have seen a plethora of amazing musical acts every month. Haven't had this kind of run since my twenties.

FEBRUARY

The fun began in February with a Rhett Miller concert at City Winery in NYC for my birthday. It got all Chuckie Cheese in there, when Rhett kindly dedicated a song for each of us birthday girls present that evening. Mine was "Wish the Worst", a major burn on the Steelers competing in the Super Bowl three days later.

Wise Ass. Ha Ha! Here's his unveiling of "Perfume" from the then unreleased Grand Theatre, Vol 2.

As is in our cosmic charting, our other musical love, Francis Dunnery played a house concert in NJ the next evening. Again, blessed with the one-two punch of our faves playing in the same weekend. It's uncanny how often this has happened over the last couple years.

February brought another Francis house concert a short drive north of our own city, as well as the uber talented trio, Spring Standards to Club Cafe. These three of some of the loveliest artists we've ever met. They each play multiple instruments, often at the same time. Heather literally has the voice of an angel. I know, GAG. That cliche just got caught in your throat. They're up and coming and you should seek them out.

MARCH

We went South of the Border with a Raul Malo and his unmistakable Tejano groove. You have to be deceased not to want to get up and shake your tail feathers at this party. Do not resist the power of the accordion.

In direct contrast was Canada's mild-mannered, anti-rockstar, adorably pudgy crooner, Ron Sexsmith.

APRIL

Aaaah, April. What a stellar month! First up--a double shot of my favorite foursome, Coldplay.

I'm just dicking with y'all. Of course it was Old 97's! Steph and I saw them twice in four days, in Rochester, NY and DC. We were treated with two of the most incredible shows. These guys never disappoint or call it in. They. Are. Awesome! But of course, I'm a little biased. Still, I will never understand why they aren't higher up on the musical food chain.

They get two videos because it's my blog, dammit.

The Decemberists made yet another stop through the Burgh in April. It was... peculiar. Not unpleasant, but peculiar. I may have to give them another go when they come back around. One of the highlights for me was lead singer, Colin Meloy's jaunt through the audience (video on blog post).

And then there was Guster. Hands down the happiest eco-friendly pop band on the circuit. Their shows are upbeat, comical and always feature the oddest of oddball covers. They clearly have a ball on stage. Not only will Ryan dance about ungracefully with a disco ball reflective cloth on his head, he'll catch audience-tossed ping pong balls in his mouth. You cannot have a bad time at their shows. They love playing Pittsburgh and we love having them.

What the Hell. They're worth two videos.

MAY

Mike Doughty and his buddy, Scrap stop by Club Cafe often. Geo and I jump at the chance to spend an evening listening to the deeply resonant vocals of the thick, black-rimmed bespectacled, heavily tattooed hipster, Mr. Soul Coughing Cool. Go for the soul, stay for the magnificent calling out of club talkers.

Baby's first concert under the stars at our new venue was an evening with The Avett Brothers and Nicole Atkins. We only caught part of her act thanks to the looooong security line. She sounded pretty good from where we were waiting, but The Avett Brothers... Holy Crap! They hit the stage and didn't stop until they played the mellower I and Love and You. The cellist, Joe Kwon was a crazy man jumping up and down, whipping his two foot long locks next to the big bass while the masses sang all the choruses. F.U.N.

JUNE

Crikey! June was a cornucopia of concert goodness.

First up, another annual favorite, the Irish lads of Bell X1. They alternate between a three-man acoustic and the full band tours. This time around featured the entire band. Their evenings are ethereal and hypnotic. And Dude, the lead singer totally looks like Michael Cera.

In the "Holy Shit are you kidding me?" category is the legendary Tom Tom Club who played for FREE at the Arts Festival. Them oldsters can cook. It was way more fun than I expected. I don't know why I was surprised. Beautiful sunny day + catchy 80s dance fare + the return of hoola-hoop girl = a very festive evening. For free. FREEEEEEEEE!!

Another great freebie over the summer was Josh Ritter and David Wax Museum. Josh Ritter is one of those talents whose name I readily recognized, but his music, not so much. Now I'm happily familiar with both. It was a great afternoon/evening which I seem to have neglected to share on this rambling open book of my narcissism. Weird. I was fortunate to shoot an interview with both Ritter and DWM prior to the show. They were all extremely nice and generous with their time. As is usually the case, the best conversations happened while the cameras were off.

Josh is seriously one of the nicest people I have met in the music world. He never stops smiling, on or off stage.

Homegrown fest was another freebie held at one of our county parks and featured four local bands, Meeting of Important People and LoveBettie being the top billings. Again, I had the opportunity to commando shoot the interviews, including this jovial 10 questions with the delightful LoveBettie. Her hair is the Eighth Wonder of the World. No shit.

Continuing on in the freebie of the month club, our kick-ass public station, WYEP hosted their annual summer concert in Schenly Plaza featuring Jukebox the Ghost, Fitz and the Tantrums and Eli "Paper Boy" Reed. Reed was the headliner, but Fitz blew him clean out of the water. So much so, I felt kinda bad for ole Eli when the crowd literally disappeared after just one of his songs. Fitz is da bomb. Seriously. Go see them. Here's their show stopper, Money Grabber.

Poor Eli.

You know, some days are just way better than others. June 29th was one of those days. That's the day Michael Franti strolled into our studios, sat on our humble set and performed two songs for us. He could not have been any nicer, even if he hadn't just lit spliff. Ha Ha! His shows are a non-stop party of positive energy. Everyone leaves with a bounce in their step and ear to ear grin.

Hey, Hey, Hey No matter how life is today... don't let another moment slip away.

Thus ends the first half of the year. For continued braggadocio

2012-01-01T12:45:00.003-05:00

In Which Some New Year's Traditions Are Mandatory

Okay, so it's that time of year again when my long-time buds and I get together to ring in the new year and flip off the old one. It's a long-standing tradition, carbon dating back to our college years in the early 80s. It is a spontaneous act of defiance that has stuck.

Truth be told, I don't remember 2011 being so awful. Or maybe I've just perfected the art of memory blocking so well, my denial seems like reality. There were emotional, financial and health-related hardships that befell several of our family members, some of which will seep into the beginnings of 2012. However, there is definitely hope that things will turn around. With love, patience and a positive attitude anything is possible. A little humor doesn't hurt either. Neither does a bottle of wine or two shared with compadres.

I have much for which to be thankful in 2011. My amazing Mom, Big Mar began her 90th year amidst her fold of adoring family and friends. Her spirit and spark continue to be an inspiration. My ailing brother-in-law stabilized and is making the most of what's left of his life. I got to see a lot of truly tremendous live music in 2011, traveling quite a bit with friends in the process. And best of all, I continue to be blessed with Geo's love, friendship and humor. After 26 years of marriage, we can still make each other laugh. That's huge, people. HUGE.

But, you know, tradition is tradition so...

Buh Bye, 2011. This bird's for you, BABY!

(P.S.: Dear 2012: you can forget about that whole Mayan-end-of-days thing. KThxbye.)

2011-12-31T10:50:00.000-05:00

December Travels, Part Three
or where you been, beeyatch?

Okay, so we're rounding the home stretch of this epic four hour, mind-numbing slide show of my trivial life's journeys that I'm forcing you to watch by tying you to the chair and strapping those creepy Clockwork Orange eye clamps on your peepers.

AAAAACK!
how in the hell did he wear those?!?

I promise to use the droppers to keep them moist. Honest.

Anyhoo...

Last stop, Penn Station!

this stunning world trade center image
brought to you by Inga Sarda-Sorensen via Twitter

Aaaaah, New York. How I missed your energy, your attitude, your ... smell. You are the most exciting city on this crazy blue planet. I never tire of you. I don't know that I possess the stamina to live inside of you, but I never tire of visiting. Christmas season is especially lovely. Not only is the city all decked out in its holiday finery, the inhabitants seem cheerier, too.

a gorgeous december day
so mild, people were dining al fresco
in december. december, people!

Geo and I have been blessed to have family and friends living in or around Manhattan. There was a long period of time in which we lived as New Yawkers for a week in Chelsea every year with our dear pal, Myra. She has since moved on to make a life for herself in her home state of Texas, but lucky for us, my sister and her husband allow us to bunk at their homestead in New Jersey. Their generosity knows no bounds. Thanks, Sis!!

fast food cup art display (with cabbies)

mobile public art near union market
it's fleeting nature a strangely fitting tribute to andy

We went to museums, ate at our favorite Afghan hole-in-the-wall restaurant, walked the High Line, met up with my lovely friend, Marcy for dinner and amazing Bloody Marys, shopped, went to a taping of The Daily Show and logged a zillion miles on our pedometers-if we had bothered to buy any. They're kinda dorky anyway. Pedometers, I mean. Like I need help looking more like a dweeb. Next thing you know I'll be wearing baggy sweat pants high up under my miniature boob line and marching through the streets with 3 pound hand weights. No thanks. Besides, without them I can safely exaggerate the millions of miles we trekked without fear of being slapped in the kisser by reality's physical proof busting my hyperbole.

Ha! I win!

Wait... what was I talking about? Oh yeah. New York. Aaaaah, Nueva York. Me gusta mucho. You're so handsome and sultry and irresistible. I declare, you give me the vapors. Please don't cheat on me while I'm away.

post-shopping nutella crepe for the win

wha...??

The Saks Christmas display across from Rockefeller

angel row
...and that chick is flipping me the bird
that's the spirit

shimmering tourist haunt

ginormous daunting figures

dorkus and the man

that shit never gets old

bryant park skaters

lovely fountain nestled amongst the vendors at bryant park

again, unseasonably mild enough to
toast the season outdoors

pace gallery's playful calder exhibit
the only artist I would have loved to meet

have parkinson's, get bacon

glittery store fronts on Fifth

it was a dark and stormy night...

THE DAILY SHOW, BITCHES!!
(so worth being soaked with rain from head to toe)

covert shot of The Daily Show set
come on. it's The Daily Show. I had to snap one.
i'm a rebel, yo.

best. name. ever.

this was tucked in the stairwell
of the Montclair museum.
it's a jumble of wire. how the hell does this even work?!?
also, a floating boobie (heehee)

with Adam from our old neighborhood diner, Moonstruck
we've come here for almost 30 years
it's good to be a regular

the reclaimed high line rail system
now a beautiful elevated walking path
from 14th to 30th streets
quiet and peaceful,
the harsh sounds of the city melt away up here

it's well used even in the winter months

lovely rail imagery throughout
surrounding lush plantings

bird house sculptures

colorful foliage still on the bushes in december?

Empire State Building scape

grasses gracefully bending to the winds

one of the thicker sections of vegetation
creating a canopy above leftover rails

who isn't charmed by water towers

his momma didn't raise no foo'

And that brings this bloggity blog blah up to date. You may now remove the eye clamps.

Belated Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanza wishes. May you all have a happy 2012 filled with welcomed surprises.

2011-12-29T16:07:00.001-05:00

Of Hootenannies, Holiday Parties and Hanging Out in NYC
or December wrap-up, part 2

Okay, so in the continued spirit of my backwards motion through December, ala Momento (go Netflix this movie. seriously!), my card club mates, Toni and Diane accompanied me to WYEP's annual Holiday Hootenanny at a local theater on the North Side.

bad santa getting all friendly with Toni

It was bigger than the last several, much more structured and sadly, not as much fun. There were some really fun, upbeat performances of some classic and not-so-classic Christmas songs, the standouts being Holiday Road, Must Be Santa and New Year's Resolution, but for the most part, what should have been festive, up-tempo, foot-stomping tunes were given the slow, dismal, I-want-to-stab-myself-in-the-chest treatment.

Holiday Road (one of the better arrangements)

They dropped the ball big time for the final number with a completely flat, lifeless version of the Darlene Love rocker, Christmas (Baby Please Come Home). That song's a no-brainer, right? That one should have had all of us on our feet dancing, clapping and singing all the way to our cars, but alas, it was sung as a fucking soul-sucking dirge.

Happy fucking Christmas. Kill me now.

Moving on...

For the last couple of years, my group of friends from high school/college have got together for a Christmas outing and/or soiree. This year's shindig was hosted by our friend Jim who lives in one of those amazing urban industrial reclamation condos. Walking into his place is like being transported to a swanky SoHo loft in the Big Apple. So cool.

He graciously agreed (read: forced into it by me and Mary Ann) to let us trash his spotless environs with our holiday food stuffs and effed up gifts. We do this goofy gift swap thingie wherein each person wraps up whatever awful shit they have lying around the house, we fight over the packaging and try not to look too horrified when the "treasure" is unwrapped before we toss them all away. It's very amusing, mainly because it never fails that our friend's teen aged son randomly selects the most inappropriate gift. One year it was male adult diapers. Another it was ass-less, animal print leggings. Don't ask. This year he got these:

tack on another year of therapy for this poor child

Ah, but Cheryly wears it best.

queen of the sylvester face

Geo won out for tastiest pork-based products. We're actually keeping these. Mmmmmm....bacon.

please sir, may i have some more novelty bacon stuffs

practicing for new year's eve

normal

abby normal

Clearly, we have had too much Holiday Cheer.

Our final stop in the Way-Back Machine--New Yawk City!!

For the last couple of Decembers, we've been caught in the good karma loop of having both of our musical loves, Francis Dunnery and Rhett Miller performing sometime during our vacation. This year Mr. Miller was enjoying his life elsewhere, but we were lucky enough to have Francis bookend our week in New York. Score!!

The first weekend took us to Central Pennsylvania and a barn in the middle of a swanky housing development.

Yes. A Barn. In December.

That sumbitch was COOOOOLD!

Anywho, we arrived at the same time as Francis who promptly tossed boxes of CDs to Geo and dubbed him Merch Man for the evening.

merch pusher

We did pretty well, too. Sold sixteen CDs. Francis sang his Man show, based on his CD of the same name. He opened with our favorite, The Only Thing and rattled off one great tune after another, many we hadn't heard live before. I had forgotten how many amazing songs are on that disc. Every one he played was a gem.

he's gotta be sick of us by now

Side Note: Central PA is weird, yo. The bar in our hotel was jammed with country poseurs in plaid shirts, cowboy hats and boots, line dancing to a fiddle-featured country band. Last time I checked we were still north of the Mason/Dixon line, but DAMN if it didn't feel like we took a wrong turn and ended up in Tennessee. Not the friendliest environment either. Too bad, too because the cocktails were awesome and cheap. We downed our drinks and high-tailed it out of there.

not the wisest business to have
across from your hotel. just sayin'

The following weekend was Philadelphia and the Tin Angel with Francis' house concert booker extraordinaire, the lovely Kate and her hubs, Larry. Francis doesn't play clubs anymore except for the Tin Angel. This intimate narrow 2nd story venue is his club home of sorts. Francis doesn't allow recordings at his house concerts, but you may tape at will in the club. He played a lot of rarities that evening, Jonah, Me and Francine, and In the Garden of Mystic Lovers. None of which I taped, because I just wanted to sit back, drink in the vibe and sing.

What?!? No taping? I know. I must have had a fever, right?

Note #1: We got to go backstage to say hello before the show. (Holla!!) All four walls and the ceiling were covered in signatures, limericks and drawings. Reading which notable artists have sat in that same room waiting to take the stage is way too cool. But I have one question for you musicians... Why all the penises? Seriously. What's up with that? Although extra points to the creative one who drew the Leaning Tower of Penis. A+, Dude.

Note #2: The Old Town Section of Philly was awash in drunken Santas and their Claus Courtesans. Hootchie Ho Hos, if you will. Don't let the fact that it's 25 degrees out or your bare legs are freezer-burn red and the tatas your daddy bought you are frozen stiffer than normal, ladies. Your ass-high skirt and FM pumps are too hot to cover up. You'll thaw out by March.

We also stumbled upon a tres cool outdoor art installation. A mastodon rib cage terrarium with beautiful neon Plexiglas containers filled with various plant life.

Gorgeous, but DAMN! It was cold out there, yo! Like, biting chill with harsh wind kinda cold. Yowza!

Okay, so I lied. I'm bumping the Big Apple bits to the next post. No matter how I try, brevity is not in my skill set. So sue me. I'm chatty and verbose and blah blah BLAH BITE ME.

2011-12-28T19:30:00.000-05:00

December Recap In Several Parts
or what happened to Baby Jane

Hi. Remember me?

Yeah, I've been lax about updating this here internet diary. Okay, I've been downright negligent. So much so that if this was my baby, CYS would have busted down my door, snatched her up from the center of a pack of feral cats and bitch-slapped my Tammy Faye mascara-streaked, tear-stained face all the way to the pokey.

Mea Culpa. The month ran away from me. I got swept up in pre-Christmas mayhem. My imaginary dog ate my computer mouse.

The God's honest truth of the matter is I just wasn't into writing. I lost my muse, my mojo and my mirth to pen the minutiae of my paltry existence.

Meh.

But I'm back, for the moment anyway and working my way backwards in December like the movie Momento only without all the murder or short-term memory loss. Okay, maybe a little memory... what was I saying?

Okay, so Geo and I hosted our family's annual Christmas Eve party at our humble abode this year. Through some fluky hole in the universe, I had four days off from the Special K leading up to Christmas which I spent consumed with pouring over menu lists, shopping lists, lists of lists...

*sigh* I make too many lists.

Anywho, four days and one short breakdown later, the doorbell started ringing and various family and friends arrived to nosh, imbibe and be jovial. Who wouldn't be merry drinking from these grooviest of groovy Paul Frank liquor dispensers.

Red or White?

Okay, so maybe it was a tad disturbing drinking a blood-colored liquid from a monkey head. The happy Tequila man doesn't seem to mind. Or is that sinister bastard just egging everyone on?

Highlight #1: Family FaceTime With Regi

Merry Christmas from the sisters Pelini, Futurama Girl

Through the magical world of the interwebs, we had prearranged with our lovely, faraway niece, Regi (who lives in the future, AKA Japan) to FaceTime at 9 bells.

Gramma's first exposure to the wonders of Apple

don't you just LOVE goofy little Guinea Pig arms?
"damn! i'm not a squeezy toy, yo!"

She got to both see and talk to literally everyone in her big, boisterous family. Maybe it was the champagne punch, but I got a little verklempt sharing her in this remarkable way, passing her along in that thin square frame, watching the joy in each face as they held her in the palm of their hand.

Again, I am forever grateful to Mr. Jobs and all the beautiful eggheads at Apple for the ability to see and hear our Futurama niece halfway across our shiny, blue planet. *MUAH!!*

Meanwhile, I'm in the dining room talking to my cousins when Geo pops in looking for our little bottle of Pravda vodka. That's when I notice the kitchen is filled with the menfolk and it's getting all noisy up in there.

In case you hadn't noticed, Geo and I like the vodka. It's our firewater of choice. We have a number of different brands, but I didn't realize how many until they were all lined up on the counter and those goofballs were knocking them down one after another. Seven...now six...now five...

Which leads me to:

Highlight #2: Russian caroling

It has been decades since the hubs and I went caroling with his church people. Trust me, it's not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach lining. The event is comprised of singing (sort of) at a dozen homes in which we were plied with liquor and Christmas foods until we couldn't stand or think straight, let alone carry a tune. Except for the old guys. They were hardcore, man. They put all of it away AND drove their big-ass, killing machine Buicks to the next stop without plowing into a 7 Eleven. In hindsight, maybe not the best idea on a snowy January day.

But I digress...

So I casually stroll into the kitchen in time to hear Geo regale the other half-baked y-chromosomes with the first song sung upon entering each home. With gusto. In Russian.

Dude. It was AWESOME!

It was also clear that he had neglected to eat anything that evening. But seriously, freaking awesome! He has a rich baritone voice, but rarely sings in front of people until the proper vodka-shot-to-empty-stomach quotient is hit.

Good times. Good times.

What was the first thing my ever-loving said the next morning when he saw the empties lined up like soldiers on the kitchen counter? "Oh man! Now we have to restock!?!!"

Christmas Day brought our own unique Gifts of the Magi:

TURBO TOILETS

TENNIS SHOES

and TRAINING BRAS

(not shown here, but given to the brother along with menopause pills and girlie polish for a smart ass comment made in an email. Long story. Watch the video. He's a good sport.)

WITH A LITTLE HAND SANITIZER FOR GOOD MEASURE

maybe you DID touch yo junk

And just for grins, here are some merrily inappropriate Christmas decorations courtesy of the most hilarious website in the universe, Happyplace.com.

what that creepy elf on the
shelf does while you sleep

um...hello
lighted money shot

what's my name, bitch!

In Which My Faith In Humanity Is Restored A Little

2011-12-21T20:30:00.000-05:00

It started in a Michigan Kmart.

A woman in her 30s walked up to the layaway counter and told the clerk she wanted to pay off a couple of accounts.

There had to be a catch, right? There's always a catch. People don't just make a selfless gesture that grand without wanting something, anything in return.

There was a catch. Two, in fact. The orders had to include toys, and she had to remain anonymous. She paid the bills, she wrote "Happy Holidays" on the receipts... and then she walked out of the store.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/secret-santa-pays-off-layaway-bills/2011/12/15/gIQAymiowO_video.html#

I remember as a kid (the youngest of five), tagging along with Big Mar every two weeks to the local Murphy's Mart to put $5 or 10 towards new sheets, clothes, Christmas presents. My Dad didn't make a lot of money back then. That extra $5 twice a month stretched an already tight budget even thinner. Layaway was the only way my parents could afford to keep up with our growth spurts. I know my Mother would have shed tears of gratitude had someone played Secret Santa with her account.

The beauty of this story is a young woman's singular random act of kindness has inspired others all around the country to similarly lighten the financial burden of needy families in their own communities.

So thank you, kind stranger for spreading the spirit of Secret Santa. Your beautiful heart brings me to tears, renews my hope, and restores my faith in humanity.

2011-12-02T16:47:00.001-05:00

In Which I Go Rocking Around The Tex-Mex Christmas Tree With Raul Malo

Okay, so I ask you, is there anything that can get you out of your chair and dancing faster than a festive mariachi beat played on the accordion? Seriously, in the correct hands an accordion is a magnificent thing.

Last night Betty, Barney and I ventured out in the cold night air to soak up some San Antonio sunshine in the form of Raul Malo (sporting a fetching fedora) and his band of merry men. Raul's rich and smooth voice is enough to get us out of the house, but when they bust out the accordion and trumpet, it's a PARTY!

CHA CHA CHA

The place was packed which meant we couldn't grab our normal table, but no worries, man. The best place to enjoy one of his shows is on the dance space near the bar because there is no way you can stand still for this one. The rhythm grabs you and won't let go.

At one point an obviously drunk woman bellowed a request to "play Girl in the White Dress". What the Hell is that? Raul called her on it and started getting all up in her shit about screaming for a song that doesn't exist. Next thing you know, the audience is chiming in on the ribbing of both. It was hilarious and all in good fun!

At one point the upright bass player started playing the line to You've Lost That Loving Feeling, which set them on a medley of what he referred to as "half songs". Bits of songs they sing when they're hanging around the garage drinking beer and goofing off. Can you name the covers?

The sick thing is we knew the words to those oldies. The Polkas were a nice touch though. Appropriate for the South Side of Pittsburgh known for its Polish population.

Being his official Christmas show, he sang a number of traditional and non-tradtional holiday tunes (Blue Christmas, Silent Night) as well as heating up the place with his classic Maverick's, jumping crowd pleasers. They ended their main set with the ever popular (and my favorite) I Said I Love You that had every drunken one of us enthusiastically singing and bouncing.

I love this song. Normally I would have been obnoxious and taped it, but honestly I just wanted to sing and dance with abandon. So as you watch this video, just imagine him with a brown fedora on and not so much... visible chest hair. That would be last night.

His evening closer was a rousing, high energy, full-tilt extended version of All You Want To Do Is Bring Me Down, leaving us a sweaty mass and promising to bring the Mavericks through again next year. We're holding you to that, Raul.

WEIRDO ALERT:

I have no idea what it is about a Raul concert, but there was some weird-ass, disturbing shit going down in this crowd of predominantly oldsters, most of which was playing out in front of us.

Blech!

I have no problem with older fans. Hell, I'm in that category, but there were more PDLs (public displays of lewdness) springing up than in any younger skewed crowd I'd been around.

First off, WTF was up with the old guy probing his much younger, beach-blonde chippie with the painted on skinny jeans and mangled orthodontia? Dude. You're standing right in front of me. Hello...I can see your creepiness .

Holy Crap! Stop it.

It's icky.

We debated whether or not she was a paid escort (public pubic probing is an extra $50) although, I don't know, do they let escorts have messed up and missing teeth or was she the Groupon of the day?

Oh, and then get this, ANOTHER woman shuffles over and starts hanging on the other side of him. This frumpy old Tom Cat better be loaded with dough or at least lay some major pipe to attract that action. It's a Viagara night. Again, BLECH!

Guy standing around in the long flasher trench coat. Why? Just...why?

Sporting a boner and sexually mauling your girlfriend is not really the appropriate reaction to a beautiful rendition of Silent Night. Okay, so he wasn't showing wood that I could see (thank God), but seriously, pawing, groping and tongue-bathing your woman to Silent Night... Sorry Jesus.

You can't make that shit up.

I know it sounds like we were completely repulsed by the antics of our lascivious neighbors, but honestly, it made for entertaining fodder. These crazies certainly didn't detract from the true entertainment of the evening, a Texas band whose members were having as much fun playing for us as we were listening to them. His form of Tex-Mex makes me happy beyond belief.

This morning my ringing ears, achy dance neck and burning thighs tell me it was a very good night indeed.

2011-12-01T15:25:00.001-05:00

In Which I Spend A Musical Evening In The Company Of A Norwegian Elf

Okay, so my friends and fellow steel pan playas, Sheila and Tim and I (boy that's an obnoxious lot of "ands") spent the ever-popular Thanksgiving Eve at our favorite watering hole/music venue, Club Cafe to hear the elfish Norwegian, Sondre Lerche.

Lerche is one of those talents who has been honing his musical chops since he was 16. He's only 29, but it seems like he's been around forever, which in musician years, it turns out, he has. He's one of my favorites.

Anywho, he's is so tiny... little hands, little legs, GIANT head. Seriously. he has the biggest triangular face on the planet for such a wee man. His forehead alone is billboard ready. If he was a bug, he'd totally be a Praying Mantis, but with, you know, freakishly dwarf-sized pegs.

"space for rent" on this adorable singers cranium

C'mon! That thing is ginormous! Or I just have a pea-sized head.

But I digress...

Oh, one quick aside: while I was waiting for Sheila and Tim outside the venue in the freezing cold, I started reading Tina Fey's book, "Bossypants" on my phone. (Have I mentioned how much I love my iPhone? In.Total.LOVE!) This tome is hilarious! In the part I was reading, she was talking about how she always received praise from her parents for everything she did no matter how menial. When she was five, she was drawing next to a boy, Alex while waiting for her Mother to finish talking to her perspective kindergarten teacher. When she held it up to show Alex and collect the praise she was used to receiving, he ripped it in half.

"I didn't have the language to express my feelings then, but my thoughts were something like 'Oh, it's like that, motherfucker? Got it.' Mrs. Fey's change-of-life baby had entered the real world."

Love her! Of course this has absolutely nothing to do with the concert, but it made me laugh out loud, by myself, in a line of strangers who were now giving me a wide berth. So there's that.

Back to the show. We had a terrific evening except for the unfortunate placement of the WORST opening act I have seen in years, nay decades. The abomination was named Peter Wolf Crier and it was the most horrid, atonal noise. They hurt my soul. Seriously. So bad I had to tweet about it.

"Maybe it's the vodka, but it's all yowling alley cats up in here." (it wasn't the vodka)

"Oh and now the extra bonus of feedback. yaaaaay." (the only thing on key)

"A band's talent is directly proportionate to the number of women taking the opportunity to pee. FYI:There's a long line for the restroom." (and it didn't sound any better through thick bathroom walls)

and finally

"'Good God! Make it stop!!' - me to this wretched opening act." (which finally happened after a lifetime)

That's 40 minutes of my life I'll never get back.

They seemed like very nice young men and they actually played backed up for Sondre extremely well on a couple of songs, but on their own... YOWZA! Knitting needles in the ears awful.

Fortunately, Lerche came out and washed the bad away. He shook his long mop of hair, danced around the stage and sang his heart out while his grinding guitar riffs Febreezed the opening act stank.

Proof that the openers can actually make music

Almost every singer has a closer, a go-to song that wraps up the evening in a nice little package. Something that leaves the audience wanting more. Sondre's closer is an unplugged version of Modern Nature from his first exemplary CD, Faces Down. On the disc, it's sung as a duet. Performed live, the lasses in the crowd do the honors.

Beautiful.

It's been a really amazing year for music in the Burgh. I've been really blessed to attend so many great events. But wait! The year's not over yet. Tonight my SXSW buds and I are hitting the Cafe for a little Tex-Mex Christmas cheer with Raul Malo of the Mavericks. Ole!

As a very wise fortune cookie once told me, the world is nothing without music.

2011-11-21T19:37:00.001-05:00

He's BAAAAAAAACK!

or excuse my hockey fangirl gush

After 10 1/2 months of recuperation, speculation and anticipation, one of hockey's greats, Sidney Crosby hit the ice to a deafening roar from a capacity crowd.

And boy, did he bring it.

At 5:24 into his first game after a double concussion almost put an early end to his brilliant career, he stuffed the net with his first shot on goal after speeding down ice on a magnificent breakaway.

You can watch this beautiful moment over and over and over to your heart's content right here

"I'm back, bitches!
How do you like me now?"

His face, the notable face of hockey, exploded with an ear-to-ear, self-satisfied grin, punctuated with an emphatic "FUCK YEAH!!" as the fans in the stands leapt to their feet in celebration. (Seriously. He clearly says the f-bomb. Go back and look at the clip. LOVE!)

a sea of Welcome Back SID signs
(Mario's idea)

He's back, BABY and making up for lost time.

Later in the first period, we all held our breath when he took his first crushing hit against the boards from the Islanders' Travis Hamonic, and we all exhaled in unison when he popped right back up to resume play as though he was never injured.

WHEW!!

Sid promised us he wouldn't return until he was 100 percent. Surviving that first leveling, racking up two goals and logging two assists proves he's a man of his word. The Pens performed remarkably well in Sid's absence, keeping the team on top. It seemed each night marked a new leader. They made it damn difficult to pick my extra attacker for every game.

The boys were outstanding without him, but they are spectacular with him. His presence on the ice last night elevated every single teammate's level of play. For the first time in a long while, all of our big guns are healthy and skating together. Now we have three amazing lines jam packed with talent to die for. Unbelievable fun to witness.

As anxious as we all were to see our hero return to the lineup, imagine how frustrated Crosby felt. Being a hockey player isn't just what he does, it's who he is. And he's the best. He IS a Ferrari. He's in a class unto himself. His talent is a thing of beauty. It must have just killed him not to be able to perform at full tilt. We haven't seen a comeback of this magnitude since Mario's triumphant return. When asked about his return, the kid with the luscious red lips said, "I've been waiting a long time to have the chance to go out there. I wanted to make sure I gave it my best effort."

His best effort is the stuff of hockey legend.

It was one HELL of a contest. An emotional evening that galvanized a community and defied description. As Coach Bylsma stated after the game, "I don't really have good words for it. That was special in a lot of ways."

Indeed.

i'm too sexy for my stache...

Not only is Crosby perhaps the most awesome player in the NHL, he's incredibly sweet, grounded and the consummate team player. When asked before the game if he expects to be where he was in January of last year (66 points in 41 games), the superstar humbly replied "Probably not, but I expect to, hopefully, contribute."

Mission accomplished, Boy Wonder.

Welcome back, Sid. We've missed your magic.

Now if you can only get rid of that sorry excuse for a mustache, we'll be golden. Besides, you're too pretty for facial hair.

2011-11-14T16:56:00.001-05:00

Baby's First Drag Pageant
Or on the seventh day ye shall strut thy stuff

Okay, so Sunday night this happened.

That's right. That long, lithe lady rocking those heels (and skimpy threads) on well-defined calves... is a Dude.

I am not even kidding. There's not one inch of cottage cheesy flab on her 59 year-old bare buttocks. That is soooo not fair.

Miss Thang working that dress

A pile of us old friends attended the Tri-State Drag Pageant. The 19th Annual for them, the first for all of us. I had heard about these affairs from our beloved niece, Regi who attended a number of similar festivities when she lived in the Burgh. I'm not unfamiliar with this particular type of spectacle. Long ago and far away when Geo and I used to frequent the indie movie theaters, we saw the quintessential drag-pageant doc, Paris is Burning, but I've never experienced one first hand.

these two are like 6'10"

It was too funny. Giiiiirl, there was so much glitter, lashes and falsies, it felt like a real-life Priscilla, Queen of the Desert without all the excessive ABBA love. And that was just the audience. Hey Oooooo!

Man, I love that movie. Did you recognize the girl in the long white wig? That's Guy Pearce. Yes, that Guy Pearce from LA Confidential and Memento. No shit. He looks FABULOUS in make up. The other one is the nasty sunglass-wearing cur from The Matrix and the third is legendary actor Terrence Stamp as the old queen. It's a great movie. Go Netflix it.

Anywho...

I'm not a short person, but waiting for my buds in the lobby I felt like a munchkin amongst the towering frames of poofed out, vamped up and tucked in attendants gliding along in their five inch heels.

Seriously. Only a drag queen can walk in these beauties
no cankles on this runway, dahlink

How do they do that?!? I don't know of any women who can effortlessly strut along in those spikes. Again, so not fair.

the higher the hair, the closer to God

The competition was broken up into two parts: evening wear and talent which mainly consisted of lipsynching, voguing and emoting to songs. In between sets, former winners and famous (to this community) performers worked the crowd into a fevered pitch with what I assume are their classic numbers and in turn were showered with appreciation in the form of singles.

She's as gorgeous as Lena Horn
how is that even possible?

By far the most amusing and slightly disturbing act of the evening was this Joan Crawford medley.

That is just so wrong in so many deliciously sick and twisted ways. I particularly enjoy how her wig moves back and forth as if floating on a cushion of air.

In the end, the winner was a gal who goes by the middle name of Pork Chop.

Some observations:

1. Cartwheels and handsprings on a narrow runway are impressive in their own right, but executed in four-inch heels is downright magnificent.

2. The act of lining up to hand over dollar bills to the "ladies" performing on the runway felt a little icky and stripperish, but who am I to judge.

3. Standing beside beautifully bedazzled, statuesque drag queens in the ladies room is a little unsettling, if only for the fact they make this natural born double XXers feel like a troll.

4. FYI: Drag queens sit when they tinkle, Yo.

5. The Ladies looooooove the bling.

6. When the gals by bazongas, they buy up, BABY.

Cowabunga!

7. Is it pervy that I couldn't stop looking at their boobage spilling forth from their deep V necklines? I mean, come on. They were just... out there.

8. Not all drag queens are created equal as evidenced by this dude in the red frock. From the front, he looked like Ned Flanders and he is NOT meant for heels. Ever.

stick to the church lady footwear

Oh, SNAP!

And Finally, the question you all want to ask....

9. Where do they hide their junk? Seriously.

so little fabric
so much duct tape

The evening was certainly an interesting look into an entire subculture I didn't realize existed in our town. A nurturing culture which takes care of its own. One which encourages it's member to be who they are with a warm embrace, cheering each other on. Sure there was a lot of good-natured snark and attitude in the room, but I could also feel an enormous amount of love and support.

And really, how could that be a bad thing.

2011-11-11T09:42:00.001-05:00

And On A Lighter Note...
or the implosion of a presidential hopeful

Okay, so first of all today is November 11, 2011. In short form that's 11-11-11.

Whoa!

Coolness, right? This configuration only comes around once a century, so you'd expect something big to happen, right? Well, maybe we can all just make a wish that all the crazy, crappy, hot mess around us will magically clean itself up. Nice thought. Good luck with that. As it stands, TONS of people are marking this historical moment by getting themselves hitched. Their own version of wishing for a happy ending.

Anywho, our dear, dear cross-Commonwealth friend, Beeeeeeal is one of those folks who sees the 11:11 configuration often in his daily life's path. Today is the mother load of 11s for him. His Mecca, if you will. We couldn't swing a meet-up for this momentous occasion, but hopefully he's got something special cooked up. Hopefully it's not one of those weirdo happenings where the most devoted of devotees ascends to a higher plane, because we'd really miss him down here in the trenches.

He doesn't read this, but hey, HAPPY 11-11-11 Buddy!! Go forth and do whatev makes you happiest.

AAAAaaaaanywho...

The lighter note for the end of this heavy, heavy week comes in the form of one bumbling, execution-happy presidential hopeful who by all accounts self-destructed at the last debate. Of course, that's not to say he won't rise above and actually be elected since we've somehow been transported to, you know, Bizarro World.

*sigh*

In case you missed it because like me, you can't stomach watching these Republicans debate about how much they would love to kill the infirm, education funding and basically the entire middle class, here's his stellar performance:

Funny enough, but wait... Here comes Jon Stewart and his magnificent band of merry pranksters. Enjoy the brilliance that is smart, edgy humor skewering those who think too highly of themselves.

Happy 11-11-11, y'all. Happy Veteran's Day to all the brave service men and women who risks their lives everyday so buffoons like those in the above video can spew their rhetoric without fear of corporal punishment. And Happy three-day weekend to all toiling in traditional work environments.

A big bear hug of thanks to you, Jon Stewart for making me belly-laugh again after an unbearable week. Enjoy!

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Get More: Daily Show Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,The Daily Show on Facebook

2011-11-10T08:14:00.001-05:00

In Which I Weigh In On Unspeakable Acts Of Human Cruelty

I made it through page 10 of the Jerry Sandusky Grand Jury report before I got physically ill.

That's the section devoted to the 2002 eyewitness account by a graduate assistant of the former Penn State coach anally raping a ten year old boy in the shower at the Lasch Football building, the inaction of all parties involved to stop this despicable monster and the ensuing cover up.

I was red with rage. I still am.

This entire, disgusting hot mess could have been avoided had someone, ANYONE done the right thing and called the police immediately. The boy was only ten. TEN, for crissake!

Sure it's shocking to witness such a vile act, but I'm sorry, you don't just run to your Daddy and cry on his shoulder then wait a day to talk to your supervisor who talks to his supervisor who sweeps it under the carpet never to be spoke of again. Screw chain-of-command proprieties! In that instance you step in, pull that prick off of that little boy, call the police and beat the shit out of that fucker until the cruiser gets there.

I repeat, he was TEN FUCKING YEARS OLD!

Do you remember being ten? Do you remember how innocent you were at that tender age, not having a care in the world with no responsibilities except to do well in school and play with your friends. Trusting the adults around you to take care of you. Knowing nothing about the dark side of the world or the big bad wolf dressed in upstanding-charitable-organization-founder's clothing. Can you even imagine how shattered that little boy became in that moment. How splintered his little psyche is now after walking nine years down that dark path.

He looked right. At. The. GA.

How do you NOT do something after registering the terror in his little eyes?

I tell you what, if it was my kid, GODDAMN there would be a crater in Sandusky's head inflicted by the bloodied lead pipe in my hand.

Last night the Board of Trustees at Penn State cleaned house, terminating all involved including the President of the college and Joe Paterno.

Good.

They should all rot in hell for placing priority on football over a child's innocence. Their silence allowed this predator to violate at least 20 other young boys through his unchecked involvement in The Second Mile, a charity Sandusky started to "help children who need additional support and would benefit from positive human interaction."

I taste bile.

And yet there are still Paterno supporters who feel he was targeted by the media as a scape goat. Really. I say to them, if this was Paterno's grandchild being heinously violated you better believe he would have demanded the firings of every single department member including the janitors.

These same die-hard supporters call him a victim in this sordid scenario. Clearly they have not read the Grand Jury Report. If the had, they'd realize Paterno's not the victim here. The victims are the children who are forever damaged and deeply scarred by the sick and vile actions of a pedophile enabled by the INACTION of heartless men solely concerned with their own survival.

The video of Paterno asking the students who had gathered around his house Tuesday evening to pray for the victims in this case makes me want to vomit. It's offensive. Where was this compassion back in 2002 when he had the power to stop the madness? Too little, too late Jo Pa. Buh-Bye. You got to have a life. These poor kids were robbed of theirs. As for that bastard, Sandusky may he be buggered by Clydesdales for all of eternity for what he's done.

Last night students rioted in the ironically named Happy Valley not because of their outrage over a cover-up of a despicable crime perpetrated on an innocent child, but because the football coach was fired.

(shakes head)

Someday, when these students gaze into the eyes of their own ten year old child, they'll look back on their misguided anger and feel ashamed.

The only positive thing we can hope to come out of this quagmire is next time, and sadly there seems to be no shortage of predatory monsters in the world, finally the child will come first.

Much better written related articles by Harlen Coben, Rick Reilly, the former Pitt Girl, Pittsburgh Sports writer Gene Collier

2011-11-05T13:37:00.000-04:00

In Which Ray Davies Lands In The Burgh

Okay, so the one regret I have from our virginal voyage to SXSW last winter (has it been over a year already?) is that we didn't head on back to La Zona Rosa to catch the bulk of Ray Davies' set after dumping out of Stone Temple Pilots early.

Kings of the Brit Pop

Last night that wrong was righted in exemplary fashion on an architecturally elegant library stage east of center city. Pittsburgh may not be as romantic as a Waterloo Sunset, but the love was certainly flowing unconditionally last night for legendary Brit, Ray Davies.

After dining on some very tasty vegetarian fare served to us by a braided, hippy-type lass with road-kill breath and an irksome, high-pitched, helium voice, while being serenaded by a fashionably-challenged, tattooed Reubenesque jazz singer with the odd moniker of Phat Man Dee and her crooning paramour, my SX buddy, Betty and I ventured the four blocks to the historic landmark.

It was a big couple of days in the Burgh. Bruce Springsteen was playing back-to-back concerts across the river in Oakland with local rocker, Joe Grushecky. Rumors were circling in the Will Call line that Mr. Davies was planning to high-tail it after the show to take the stage with the Boss and company. It didn't happen, of course, but boy that would have been something. But honestly, this Honey Badger didn't give a shit that Ray called it a night, being as I had neither a ticket nor any inclination to crash that party. We were having quite the party of our own in Homestead.

Hipster Doofus to the right

Once we downed our customary libation amongst the annuls of "oral tradition", it was time to take our place amidst the near-capacity crowd.

file this on the shelf of Yum

Dressed in a dapper, fitted black jacket and skinny jeans that may or may not have been originals stored in his cedar chest from his Kinks genesis in the 60s, this Dedicated Follower of Fashion took the stage with an Irish guitar accompanist in tow. The only deviation from his past hipster persona were the sensible sneakers he now sported in place of his trademark Beatle boots.

He performed eight new and old numbers acoustically, including the classics Sunny Afternoon and Waterloo Sunset, coaxing the audience to sing and clap along from the get-go.

(I got busted by the photo Nazi while taping the start of Waterloo Sunset, hence the lack of videos. Whatev. It was a grand night of popular rifts.)

Then the band joined in and things got jumping with a full-on rocker version of 20th Century Man. Davies dished out the hits one after another to the crowd's delight: Dedicated Follower, Hollywood Boulevard, Ape Man, a bluesy start to You Really Got Me before cutting loose with a trademark power pop rendition, stopping occasionally to dance like the delightfully awkward white guy he is and punctuating several songs with a rock star jump. He got some pretty sweet air, too. And he wasn't even winded. Not bad for a 67 year old pioneer of Brit Pop.

The evening came to a close with a very spirited Lola and All Day and All of the Night that had all of us middle-agers on our feet dancing and singing. With the last note still hanging in the air, he made his way down across the front row shaking hands, signing autographs and genuinely looking like he had as much fun as we did.

2011-11-03T09:24:00.001-04:00

Long-Standing College Tradition Or Cheap Way To Grab Free TP

Okay, so the kids at John Brown University have established a unique 30-year b-ball tradition to celebrate the first basket of the season.

The coach knows it's coming, along with a mandatory technical foul, but come on! That is awesome. How fantastic would it be to open every fiscal year with a steady stream of unspooling toilet paper? (pun intended) Bonding worker bee to manager in a blur of white for at least a moment before the mental beatings begin again.

In TV land, this would be the perfect ploy to mark the start of a ratings month. Surely people would tune in to watch the spectacle of hundreds of rolls of Charmin cascading onto the anchors from every angle in the studio. Think of the numbers a stunt of this caliber could generate!

Hmmmmm...

February book is just around the corner. Time to stock up.

Best. Costume. Evah!

2011-10-29T12:18:00.000-04:00

Okay, so it's the Halloween weekend and lots of folks are prepping their Slutty Nurse, Slutty Librarian, Slutty Slut Slut costumes for one party or another. I have several friends who come up with really cute costume pairings with their kids. Go-togethers like cookies and milk, peanut butter and chocolate, Xenon and the practical application of Xenon in the form of a flash lamp.

Note: That last one is a real combo my Special K bud, K-Schnikes and his boy are whipping up this year. His son's an adorable science nerd. I'm banking on him to perfect that cloning thing.

And then there's this... perhaps the most perfect pairing on the planet.

"this is how daddy makes the pain go away"
BFFs Forever

HaHaHa! This shit just got real, Yo. The only thing missing is bitter regret.

Clearly, this fam ain't Ozzie and Harriet and Papa Bear ain't gonna win Parent of the Year, but DAMN! That is hysterical! That is covered in awesome sauce! (Is that made-up phrase one or two words? Does it even matter? Aaaa, first world problems.) If we had little kids, I would totally steal this idea.

Halloween. The holiday of hand outs, hangovers and hilarious getups.

2011-10-28T18:40:00.001-04:00

Because Americans Just Aren't Lazy Or Douchey Enough

What. The. Hell.

I don't even know what to say.

Okay, so I saw this in a commercial break during Always Sunny in Philadelphia. It's a joke, right? Please tell me it's a joke. In the words of Archer's Lana Kane,

Noooooope.

As if the world doesn't already think Americans are fat, lazy and stupid enough, here comes Snuggie 2.0 to confirm that belief. Let's examine the selling points that would convince one to drink the Kool Aid of the fashionably damned, shall we?

"It's the best way to stay warm outdoors!" (If you've lost every modicum of self esteem)

Hi. I'm Mary Margaret and I'm not wearing pants.

"It will be the talk of your next tailgate!" (um...yeah. everyone will talk about what a ginormous DORK you are)

I'm too sexy for my cult robe.
Have some. It's grape.

"Oh Oh! Gotta go? No worries. The Forever Lazy has zippered hatches in front AND back." (because nobody wants to be downwind of your backside bidnez all smashed up in your honking, shocking pink, adult-sized, baby onesie)

Oooops. I just crapped my pants!

Good God, man! What happens when the zipper sticks, people!!?!

But by far the best part of this YouTube posting by far is the commentary stream.

Me neither, zkree. Me neither.

"I Think I Will Miss You Most Of All, Scarecrow"

2011-10-21T13:58:00.002-04:00

last morning shenanigans

Okay, so one of my favorite people on this crazy blue planet, Jimmy McParkway is leaving for greener pastures in the Boston television market.

:....(

That's my lame attempt at an emoticon of me, crying. I'm bad at emoticons.

breaking news...
"two monkeys are still at large"*
*actual newsfeed statememt

I've been stalling all week cooking, cleaning a bit, grocery shopping... Okay, so I should be doing those things ANYWAY, but the point is I just couldn't bring myself to sit down and write this farewell. I even took a yoga class, for Chrissake!

A YOGA CLASS!!!

People, I must have been desperate. I am not that flexible. And it was hot yoga, too. Steam room heat AND my own personal waves of summer? I was literally combustible. I kept waiting for my flaming-red hair to ignite. That is some huge denial. I suppose it was my misguided belief that as long as I didn't commit his departure to virtual pen and paper, he wasn't leaving.

But he is.

And I miss him already.

Blerg...

Jimmy brought a youthful exuberance to the Special K. Six years ago he walked into our studio and breathed life into the stale atmosphere. He's loud, boisterous and energetic even at 4:30 in the morning. His humor is delightfully skewed.

CSI Special K
Rug Installation Division

We hit it off right away.

Sushi face with my cohort in crazy

He was always entertaining us with his rapier wit, impressions of Sean Connery, Al Gore and Minnesota accents as well as a perfectly executed Elaine Benis dance.

who's leading this mess?

Traffic A-Go-Go

Jimmy is also a magnificent klutz at times. I used to lovingly refer to him as our golden retriever pup because he couldn't quite judge the size of his large paws when he walked. Some mornings there would be loud crashing noises coming from his area behind the set during the show. He'd fall off his chair (he was young and pliable, ergo no hip fracture), trip on a chair leg running for the four-shot or send an unsecured set piece flying in a thundering boom live... on the air.

That STILL makes me laugh out loud. I love him...

no, that is not a tampoon

Mothra...DEAD

Stay... Stay...

"Trim Mon"
our Rasta cam

time to get rid of the little cap'n in him

He was the one who introduced me to the wonderful world of social media via Facebook and Twitter, is everyone's IT person for the iPhone and is my main source for hilarious YouTube videos like Get Your Betty Ready, Sofa King and Conan's hilarious Power to the V. Not to mention this guy.

I can't hear this without thinking about Jimmy and I dancing in the chroma key like a couple of big ole dorks. "It's just like meenee mall."

I got all my greatest blog fodder from him.

Between shows we'd dance around the studio, record hoola-hoop antics and be just plain irreverent. He was usually the instigator of the the marvelous mayhem. We call this one, Absolute Ball Room.

It was always quiet in the studio when he was on vacation. It's deadly still now. Although we're trying to uphold the high standard of malarkey set over the last six years, it's just not the same without Jimmy.

happy 30th, Dorf

traffic with a side of lieder hosen

On-air talent come and go in this business. It's a fact. I try not to get attached because it hurts too much to say goodbye to the ones I care about. But occasionally someone comes along who is too special not to embrace. Someone who's silly antics makes any day better. Someone who is not merely a coworker, but a friend.

So thank you for brightening my world, Jimmy. Thank you for your boundless humor, your indomitable spirit and for one particular Kingpin-inspired video that will forever be on my iPhone to cheer me up when I'm missing you. You know which one I'm talking about.

dude, your prom dates a hootchie

Yes. I think I will miss you most of all, Scarecrow.

Although it pains me to see you leave Pittsburgh, I know this is the right move for you. Please know you will forever occupy a special place in my heart. All the best to you always, friend. See you soon.

XOXO

P.S.: You're gonna be wicked awhesome in Baaahston.

2011-10-14T17:46:00.000-04:00

Take It To The Bridge
or the connection between two concerts

Okay, so every year my sister and her hubby generously allow Geo and I to crash for a week at their beach house on the Jersey Shore, sans Snooki or the Situation. It's a charming little cape cod on a lagoon perfect for washing the sand out of your hoohah. It's damned relaxing to spend the afternoon idly floating on the gentle tide, too as long as you can ignore the jumping fish swimming all around. Bleeeeech!

Cocktails help. A lot.

First of all let me say one thing. We suck at packing.

Packing FAIL

Seriously, what is with us. It doesn't matter how long or short our trip, we CANNOT pack light. We fill every square inch of the Rita mobile. It looks like we live in our car down by the river. We are retarded. And get this, we actually had to go back out for groceries because there was absolutely no room for food. I am not even kidding. There was literally no room for food.

But we did find room for vodka. There's always room for vodka. Priorities, dude. And man, did we hit the mother load of liquors on the way to the island.

soooo pretty

Oh, MOMMA!!

And this is just half of their selection. No shit. The opposite aisle was packed to the gills with sweetly fermented potato goodness.

our personal pool to get the shitz out yo muffin

Over the years, Geo and I have developed a shore routine. Most days we take a nice long walk on the beach, he heads back to buy fresh caught seafood for dinner before imbibing, I hang out by the surf soaking up the sea breeze until I cannot stomach my own stench (or another piece of sand in a sensitive area) at which time I head back to dive into our personal pool to rid myself of the days glorious grime.

just me and my brella

I think this shit-o-matic followed me from Coney Island

After getting sufficiently pruney, I do one of my most favorite things on God's green earth. I shower outside.

Ohmigodjesus! It is the most freeing, exhilarating and delightfully naughty feeling to be outdoors, with the heat of the sun beating down on you, watching gulls fly by, totally nekked. Okay, so there's a thin plywood stall to stand in, but still, hellooo...NAKED.

heeheee

Who wouldn't want drop trough and lather up under that gorgeous sky?

But I digress...

Since my days start hours before the butt crack of dawn, I'm usually up much earlier than Geo. In years past, I'd get up, make coffee and read on the pontoon or attempt to will my every-lovin' awake with my mind, AKA a finger poke to the face. But that just led to annoying bloodshed. And who wants to clean up that kind of mess on vacation.

So this year I started a new morning tradition. Behold... (cue the chorus of angels)

The Pee Wee Herman Adventurer 2011!

Dude, it has a basket! I love this bike! It's so wonderfully retro with no gears for me to jam in a completely uncool, spazzy way. Every morning I ventured out to procure breakfast treats, take a long spin around the neighborhoods and document a sight a day.

september by the bay

Ole Barney piercing the sky

everything is happier at the beach

queen of the long, shadowy legs

ridiculously large house

after the morning catch

lagoon vista

So. Much. Fun. And the best part was, I could placate my ADD while letting sleeping spouses lie. Now everybody's a winner. Woot!!

2011-10-13T18:21:00.000-04:00

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation
or Rhett Miller and the case of the lesbian hair...not that there's anything wrong with that

(Part 2b of 3)

Okay, so when we last figuratively spoke, Geo and I were venturing south to Annapolis on the death trap known as I-95. I hate this highway. It doesn't matter on which part of the eastern seaboard you drive, there always seems to be bumper-to-bumper traffic consisting of the most inept motorists who inevitable muck up the flow by crashing haplessly into each other like bumper cars at Kennywood.

Asshats.

Anywho, we decided to drive to Maryland right after the concert so as not to miss the 1pm Rhett show (1pm?!? Who the hell has a rock show at 1pm anyway, and an all-ages show to boot?!?) or the special Ram's Head breakfast with $2 Bloody Mary special.

WINNING!!!

Speaking of winning, we met up with Steph and three of her delightful friends, Michele, Melissa and Sheila, putting Geo in the position of lone Y chromosome at the table. Just the way he likes it, right Honey? We sat on the patio where the staff was raffling off junk, er...I mean, collectibles to lucky patrons. Guess who is the proud owner of a big-ass bottle cap tray?

"You're a bottle cap away, from pushing me too far..."

Go Steph! Go Steph! Go Steph!

We made her carry that monstrosity into the venue herself, because that's how we roll. Tough Love, baby. Tough Love.

Anywho, the room was not as full as it would have been had the show started at 8pm instead of 1pm, but there were a fair number of cool parents present with their progeny to witness the best performers around. The kids were having a great time.

I love how children just react without worry of protocol, embarrassment or ridicule. They have a boundless joie de vivre. I envy them. If they want to sing, they sing. If they want to dance, they dance. If they want to make your life a living hell by pitching a right-royal fit in front of the Queen of England, they do it. They are who they are, fearlessly.

How did we as adults lose that sense of elan?

This little cherub could only contain herself for four songs before she just had to leap from her Mom's lap and busta move to a spirited rendition of Victoria. At one point I thought for sure she was going to jump on stage with Rhett.

party on, Viv!

Completely adorable!

A lover of children, Rhett took time to spar with the youngsters to comedic effect. Seriously. This conversation is HILARIOUS!!

Unlike the night before, the stage was less than two feet above the floor and literally right up against tables in the front row. This level of intimacy lent an air of familiarity with the audience. He changed up his original setlist to fulfill a couple of requests from the crowd including another rarity, Curtain Calls, from a shy little girl in the front row.

The setlist from this show was outstanding. A terrific mix of deep cuts, rarities, popular favorites and one amazing cover. The night before, finding out we and Steph were going to see him the next day, Rhett invited us to send him requests for the setlist. Geo and I sent him three suggestions, Stephanie sent two. We all thought he'd pick one or two total. He played all of them.

All. Of. Them.

Again, do you see why I love him. He's just the bestest.
(Me: Gush Gush You: Gag GAG)

Geo's old favorite, Pt. Shirley:

Geo's NEW favorite, Manhattan (I'm Done):

One of Steph's favorites, Weightless:

Several months ago, Rhett announced he would be releasing a CD of covers he recorded in 2005 or 2007 maybe. Ever since Steph discovered her absolute favorite Wilco song, California Stars was on the CD, she's been jonesing to hear Rhett's interpretation. With cheat sheet on the floor, Rhett sang it for her.

Dream fulfilled. She had tears in her eyes. Of course there wasn't a dry eye at the table (except for Geo) when he sang his latest heart tugger, Picture This. We gals were a puddle.

I know I shared this song in the last post, but I like it. So sue me.

Michele, Melissa and Sheila have been to a number of Old 97's shows, but never experienced the blue-eyed one perform alone. It was fun to watch Melissa in particular be converted into a solo fan over the two hour afternoon. Somehow I think this will not be her last show.

Once again, he patiently greeted everyone, took photos and hugged a few chillins before climbing in his get-away car and heading for his pastoral Hudson Valley hamlet.

The perfect capper to a perfect week away from our daily grind.

Here's the uber fun setlist because I'm a ginormous dork and a half:

The El

Dance With Me

The Grand Theatre

Help me, Suzanne

Victoria

Perfume

Terrible Vision

Salome

Curtain Call* (request from little girl in the audience)

Cryin' Drunk* (request from said girl's momma)

State of Texas

Like Love

Doreen

Lashes

Picture This (new song possibly on next solo record)

Visiting Hour

Weightless

Pt. Shirley

Manhattan (I'm Done)

Champaign, IL

Ray Charles* (request)

California Stars (complete with backstory)

Lonely Holiday

Melt Show

Our Love

--Encore--

Barrier Reef

Murder or a Heart Attack

Time Bomb

So what does all this have to do with lesbian hair?

I got my auburn locks chopped prior to vacating our zip code. As you can see in the above picture, it's pretty damn short. But when I let it curl, it's not just short, it's Dana-Carvy-Church-Lady-Lesbian short.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

So all of us in this photo are standing around outside of the venue chit chatting before we go our separate ways. Facing the street, I noticed two tipsy girls, arm-in-arm with flowers in their hair pinched from one of the many planters lining the street, stumbling towards our group. Girl #1 is trying to steer Girl #2 clear of our posse. Girl #2 locks eyes on me and dragging her buddy, beelines straight for me to hand me this.

Dude. Turns out I'm a babe magnet.

Yuuuuup. Lesbian hair.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

2011-10-10T16:44:00.000-04:00

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation

or still recounting the last good week of the season (Rhett Fest I)

(Part 2A of 3)

Question: How do you top a perfect week at the beach? With a double shot of your favorite singer/songwriter, of course.

Okay, so I'm going to jump ahead to the end of the week because quite frankly I can't wait to share some videos of guess who.

As much as I enjoy traveling to witness the pure power of an Old 97's concert, I loveloveLOVE Rhett solo season. For those unfamiliar with the routine, when the full band takes a hiatus from touring, the blue-eyed lovely packs his guitar and hits the road alone to entertain his adoring public, i.e. me and a bunch of other crazy chicks. As James Taylor always sang, Daddy loves his work. He also loves to pay his bills.

Lucky for us.

The thing I like best about his solo show, besides the passionate performance, is the intimacy with the audience. When it's just Rhett, a mic and a guitar in a darkened room, we get stories and interaction to go with the music.

iPhone image courtesy of Julie Strehle

It's magical.

Plus Geo, who suffers my obsession, comes along for the solo ride. He might not directly admit it, but he has a very good time. I have proof. I have video with him laughing.

cutest face dimple in rock

Anywho, we made the short jaunt from New Jersey to Wilmington, Delaware for Rhett's show at World Cafe at the Queen.

Opera House with duck face facade

We've never been to Wilmington before. It's a charming little city in a bit of a revitalization with cool old architecture, trendier restaurants and a tavern teeming with microbrews where we met up with our New York friend, Marcy. I was so excited to see her! We had such a great time catching up over cocktails. I have met so many lovely people through this man and his band. Marcy is just one of the few I adore.

The afternoon flew by too quickly. Before we knew it, it was time to part ways until show time. Geo and I set off to a terrific tapas bar (trendy, right?) near the venue to nosh with my dear buddy, Stephanie and her friends. You can read her fabulous retelling of the weekend here. Hmmm... Is it pronounced See-Rah, Shee-Rah or SheeutTheFuckUp? (you have to read her blog to get that)

Aaaaaaaanyway,

One of our favorite up and coming bands, The Spring Standards opened the evening. They're a delightful trio of enormously talented musicians fronted by Heather Robb who has one of the clearest, most angelic voices. They've released three CDs and are working on their fourth, obtaining funding from fans via Kickstarter.

Geo and the lovely Heather

And they could not be any sweeter. These three are going places.

"Please stop singing so loudly, yo.
You're hurting my soul."

With his signature glass of whiskey on ice, Rhett took the stage and Steph, Marcy and I took our places in front of the stage, mole side. As always, he gave his all during his 23-song setlist of old standards sprinkled with a handful of more recent tunes, the crowd bellowing along to Barrier Reef, Big Brown Eyes (sung for a little girl named Katie) and Singular Girl.

Katie, being adorable

"I've got issues... YEAH!!"

Then he surprised everyone by singing the rarely performed Nineteen.

The biggest treat of the evening came after the encore break when he introduced a new song, Picture This, from his upcoming solo effort due out next year. As Heather tells on the video, the Spring Standards wrote it when they were 15 and Rhett reworked the second verse.

"I'm tired, but I'm not too tired for you."

That line is destined to make all the girls in the room tear up. And seriously, how beautifully do their voices blend? Thank goodness for videotape. That song is too gorgeous to have to wait until Spring to hear again.

Another great thing about solo shows is Mr. Miller usually hangs out at the merch table to chat and graciously sign whatever, except boobs. He won't sign boobs. Not that I asked, because I didn't. Pinky swear to Gawd! C'mon! I'm not that far gone. Seriously. Sheesh!

Signing Swag. Schwing!

He did sign some pretty sweet, sweet items for a special little person the details of which I'll share at a later date.

Alas, the evening ended too quickly, but it certainly was a great first night of two to finish off an outstanding week away. On to Annapolis!

Dear Mr. Jobs: Thank You For Putting The World In The Palm Of My Hand.

2011-10-07T10:15:00.000-04:00

Wednesday night we got word of Steve Jobs' passing while cruising through Twitter from an app on our iPad.

Reading the news of the death of the founder of the world's most innovative, forward thinking computer company on a device of his making... Doesn't get any more poetic than that.

The website posted the following tribute to their 56 year old fallen leader with sleek black on white text in quintessential Apple style.

As I read Apple's official statement aloud to Geo, I started to cry. The depth of my sadness for the passing of this amazing man I have never met was completely unexpected. The sorrow befitting a cherished family member rather than a complete stranger. And yet, there it was and still is.

His path was so bold, his vision so enlightened, his impact on our collective lives so enormous, that his death feels like the end of a Renaissance period.

The simplicity behind his user-friendly operating system of clicks instead of codes revolutionized the computer industry, allowing even boobs like me to hop on board.

In 1989 we borrowed $10,000 from my 401K to buy Geo's first computer, a Macintosh 2CX 25mhz, 8 megabytes of RAM, 80 megabyte hard drive with a 13" monitor. The second fastest machine of the time.

He was working at a small graphic design studio and was the first one to embrace this new technology. Geo knew this machine was a major game changer. What took days to create final art for printing, now took hours. No more waiting for type to be set across town. No more sending photos out to retouchers. No more scrambling for band aids for sliced fingers from razor-sharp Xacto blades while cutting and pasting copy. It was all right there in front of him, on his desk with a few simple clicks of a mouse. Amazing!

Geo never looked back.

We're now on our seventh Mac and are the proud owners of four iPods, one iPad 2, one iPhone and Apple TV.

Steve Jobs was a once-in-a-lifetime genius who had an uncanny ability to imagine what we, the consumer, wanted long before we did. He changed the world. He gave us the future.

But perhaps the biggest gift he gave us wasn't wrapped in a clean, white box embossed with a silver Apple logo. No, it was his inspiration to find what you love, act without fear, follow your heart, listen to your gut and always believe that anything is possible when you think different(ly).

His flame burned white hot, but like all brilliant lights, it burned out too quickly. We'll never know what the next big thing from his big brain would have been, but what we do know is this crazy blue planet is a much better place having had him in it.

So here's to you, Steve Jobs. We all owe you a debt of gratitude. Because of you we've been able to effortlessly create t-shirts, cards, calendars, books and blogs. Because of you I can search the web to settle a bet, have a face-to-face conversation with my beloved niece in Japan for free, discover the name of that incredibly catchy song playing in the Gap, stay connected to my friends through Twitter or FaceBook, find a place to eat no matter what city I'm in, and never EVER be physically lost again all thanks to your marvelous little machine called an iPhone.

Thank you for putting the world in the palm of my hand.

Related articles:
Steve Jobs on letting go
"My 20 minute phone call with Steve Jobs"
excerpts from his commencement speech

2011-10-05T16:54:00.000-04:00

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation
or recounting the last good week of the season

(Part one of three)

Okay, so every September Geo and I are lucky enough to spend one last week at the Jersey shore thanks to the enormous generosity of my big sis. Usually we take the week of Labor Day to invade her quiet little beach house, but this year we moved it back one week to accommodate bookend concerts by our two blue-eyed musical loves, Francis Dunnery and Rhett Miller.

"Here. These rolled out of your head." She says while handing a set of glazed-over eyeballs back to the imaginary reader.

Hey, not only did we get to see three great performances, we also missed the God-awful, shitty weather provided by Hurricanes Irene and Katya. So there.

Sometimes timing works out.

We spent the beginning of our vacation in Malvern, Pa having our charts read face-to-face with Francis. It was an enlightening, albeit freaky-ass 90 minutes. He deciphered our individual as well as our collective relationship charts, and boy was he spot on. Weird.

It kinda felt like what I perceive therapy to be, without all the subjective judgyness. There is no analysis, just fact. This is where the planets aligned at your birth, ergo this is how you are. Neither good nor bad--just fact.

It gave both of us fresh insight into how we deal with each other. Very interesting. We taped the session to replay and refresh our memories on how NOT TO TAKE THE SHIT HE SAYS TO ME PERSONALLY, and other such epiphanies. :)

But that's fodder for another blog post.

Anywho, we capped our astrological lesson off with a house concert in perhaps the biggest privately owned home I've ever been in. There were an enormous number of rooms, and yet only two people lived there. It was a beautiful old structure, but it had that creepy feel like you just knew the place was haunted. At one point, Kate (Francis wonderful booker) and I went upstairs to the bathroom. There were five bedroom doors on the floor. Nothing strange about that except for the one door had a slip lock on the OUTSIDE of the door.

What the ef?!?

What the Hell was in there that needed to be locked IN?!? A ghoul with a hump back, razor teeth and long, pointy yellowing talons who could lacerate you to shreds if left to its own devices? A serial killing nephew whose murderous urges are amplified during the current full moon? An eccentric uncle who insists on boring you to death with his mind-numbing travel tales complete with an endless Kodachrome slide show?!?

*Eeeeeeesh* That last one made my hair stand on end.

But I digress...

The concert was terrific. We had seen this particular show a number of times, but most of the guests had never been to a Francis house concert. It was delightful getting caught up in the newbies' enthusiasm as they got swept up in the energy of this charismatic Irishman manically pacing before them.

It's a lovely bunch of people in his inner circle. Kate, Larry, Tony (the merch man), Erica (Francis' better half), every single one is warm, caring, easy to be around. And they're all big huggers. I love that. There's something very comforting about hugging.

the lovely Kate and her hubby Larry

For some reason they like us. I don't know why, but we're thrilled they do. Maybe it's because we supply Francis with olive bruschetta. That shit's like crack to him. Seriously. He can't get enough of it. Or maybe it's because Geo smells so good. Mr. D's always threatening to grope him after a whiff of his cologne. Lovable goofus. Ha Ha!

Francis and Geo: pre-grope

Whatever the case, we're just happy to get our quarterly Francis fix. No matter what troubles are pervading our lives, we always leave feeling lighter and more buoyant than when we arrived.

You can't put a price on that.

In Which I Fought The Law, BABY!

2011-10-04T16:27:00.000-04:00

Okay, so on my travels home from my brother's back in August, I was clocked going thousand miles over the speed limit through this tiny town south of Pittsburgh. Come on! I swear I was only driving a couple (hundred) miles above the limit. Seriously. I was only keeping up with traffic, Yo. Otherwise I would have caused an accident.

That's my story. I'm sticking with it.

(Boy, that's a lot of "Is" in that paragraph)

Anywho, I decided to fight it. This morning was D-Day.

Baby's first Traffic Court.

yaaaaaaaay...

So in an attempt to appear all penitent and shit in front of what I assumed to be a burly rube of a judge-wanna-be, I donned a nun's habit, set the GPS to East Effing Jabib and set sail into the murky waters of Deliveranceville. I gave myself ample time to make the 9am appointment so I could crawl at a snail's pace, because the last thing I needed was to get a speeding ticket on the way to FIGHT a speeding ticket, right?

How lame would that be.

Fifty minutes later, Grandma Moses pulled into a semi-strip mall nestled amongst a rundown neighborhood on a dead end street. Ooookay. Weird. I half expected to see roaming dingos emerge from beneath cars up on blocks, thirsting for my jugular.

A. I hadn't had coffee yet.

B. Clearly, I watch too many vampire-related programs.

Moving on...

I'm greeted by Barney Fife who, after genuflecting, guides me to a little room in the back. After hearing his confession (he confused me with a priest) he worked a plea to present to the honorable Judge Hatchet.

So the Judge bellows out to Barney to send in the first loser of the day. We walk into a room filled with thick, heavy chairs behind a large wooden library table (circa 1975) intended to make one feel insignificant before of the great and powerful Oz. In front of us was a raised judge's bench where the Man of the Morning was desperately trying to look busy shuffling papers and scribbling notes. You know, just like on the TV.

Judge Happypants didn't even look up from his Playboy, I mean, busy work when Barney read his recommendation of no points and a reduced fine.

Grumble Grumble Sigh Belch pfffft "Fine. Whatever. Get the hell out of my courtroom, Sister. I need to hit the head."

And that was that. Ten minutes, no points and money back! HOLLA!

I got back in my car, defiantly tossed my torn up ticket and wimple out the window and screamed "So long, Suckas!" laying tire in my wake as I pealed away.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Wait. What's that in my rearview mirror, a cherry top?

Aw, Sunova BEEEEEEEEEEEP!!

2011-10-04T16:19:00.000-04:00

Big Mar's Birthday Fest 2011 (Part Two-Photos N@)

Okay, so the festivities started in earnest Friday. My sisters, niece, Big Mar and I headed to the local sweat shop, AKA nailery for party manicures from Vietnamese girls who pretty much hated the world. Okay, so maybe that was just my nail tech. You just know they're talking smack about you when they grab your man hands, roll their eyes and start yakking to each other in Vietnamese. It's not just me, right?

Anywho, from there we went back to the homestead to nosh on a huge brunch of breakfast casserole, cheesy potatoes, waffles with strawberries and an assortment of other non-figure-friendly sweet rolls.

dueling waffle irons

part of the partay

fruit bouquet to counter balance the crap

And we washed it all down with Mimosas.

Gotta have your daily requirement of Vitamin C. :)

We were joined by out-of-town relatives to begin the eating festival. Thirteen of us crammed around the table. Afterwards I gave our cousins from Georgia a quick tour of the city before heading back for... dinner! It is ALL about food at the abode.

We decided to each take a meal so our Mum wouldn't get pooped out feeding everybody. It worked out beautifully. My sister Toni did a tremendous job coordinating everything and keeping us all on track. She IS the party queen. She's so organized, it's revolting. I can't even figure out what time I need to get up in the morning and she's got charts and graphs and spread sheets for every facet of her life. Okay, I exaggerate, but she's amazing how she has everything mapped out. It's impressive. And sick.

And then, Saturday was the party!

The next two days were all about celebrating the wonderfulness of Big Mar. The fact that so many people traveled so many miles just to be with her on this momentous occasion speaks volumes as to how much she is genuinely loved and adored.

BEHOLD! A SHIT LOAD OF PHOTOS!!

Big Mar with the grand kids
her pride and joy

Our delightful niece, Jaimie (in the blue top with matching blue hair) pulled a prank on us all by wearing a blonde wig...the very one my Mom is wearing, because that's how one shows reverence for the aged. By stomping on her dignity by forcing her to wear a wig.

What say we dress up the old gal

"When I get off this chair, I swear I'm gonna
belt someone with my cane for this."

Mikey loves his G

Mike and Reg with the Grandma

I love her

so let's see how many faces can you cram in one frame.
at least a half dozen more. pffft.

the eldest does the toasting honors

Big Mar relieved her stripper photos weren't mentioned
I kid I kid

the rowdy Card Club ladeis

WIGMANIA!

The Fam

a shit load of fam

a shit load of cars at the family homestead

8 pounds of chicken + 3 huge desserts + one case of wine
= 25 happy campers

the "kids'" table

me hanging at the kids' table, pre-vin

kids' table, post-vin

is that a big enough piece of cake, or what?!

newcomer to the fold, Ben
with the dessert sampler

Then we did the coolest thing. My siser-in-law, Leslie brought a dozen Chinese Sky Lanterns that we launched in honor of Big Mar's big day.

Unbeknownst to us, our nephew brought firecrackers. We became the even louder family. Dogs barked, ticked-off neighbors came out, car alarms went off... It was the grooviest.

"Light and run, Mike!" - his father's sage advice

Each lantern's graceful ascent into the night sky seemed fitting tribute to a woman whose lightness of being, verve and elan have filled all those around her with immeasurable joy and abundant love.

So Happy 90th, Mum. Here's to a life well lived with elegance, grace and just the right amount of saltiness. You are and ever shall be cherished. May your spark never fade.

XOXOXO
M

2011-09-30T18:20:00.001-04:00

Big Mar's Birthday Fest 2011 (Part One-words)
or celebrating 90 sparkling years on this blue planet

Okay, so this weekend the sibs and I threw a soiree to celebrate the life and times of the most wonderful woman we know, our Mum, Big Mar.

Friends and relatives drove from near (surrounding neighborhoods) and far (Maryland, New York, North Carolina, Georgia and Japan--okay, you can't DRIVE from Japan, but you know what I mean. Smart ass.) to help her say goodbye to her 80s. Several of them made the long journey to Pittsburgh only to turn around and drive back to their home state the same day.

Why? Because everyone LOVES my Mom. She has always been that special sort of person to whom everyone gravitates. Firm, but fair, yet never judgmental. She's an amazing listener who never betrays a confidence. She's kindhearted, warm and always welcoming. She is happy to stop what she's doing to sit down and visit with whomever knocks on her door. Like a big ole adorable puppy, she's always excited when people drop by. Her positive outlook is contagious. Her love of humankind is genuine.

She has the kind of face people feel immediately comfortable with sharing their life story. I can tell you from experience, many times we have sat my Mom down on a bench when she's needed a rest from shopping only to find her engaged in a lively conversation with a complete stranger upon our return.

There were five of us kids and even though we didn't have a lot of extra material things growing up (I always yearned for a real Barbie doll instead of that poser Dawn doll I received. Selfish beyatch), we had the security of abundant love, gentile guidance... and a well-placed hairy eyeball or two.

And the food... my GOD the food! She was and remains an AMAZING cook. In fact she still whips up her culinary magic for us every other Sunday. Dinner for five or twenty five, she's never flustered and gladly makes room for one more. We all used to bring home unexpected "strays" to the dinner table. She'd shrug her shoulder and say, "What's one more. We have enough food."

Big Mar never learned to drive so our house became the center cog for family gatherings. I have fond memories of carloads of kin folk, including our favorites from Miami, pulling into the driveway in their big-ass 1970s Buicks, off loading cases of beer, pop and the occasional bag of groceries. My Dad always freaked out that the house was too small for so many people, but my Mom was cool as the proverbial cucumber. No one seemed to mind what state the house was in as long as they had a tall, icy high ball in one hand and glowing cigarette in the other. Everyone felt at home in our house. As Big Mar is fond of saying, our house was clean enough to be healthy and messy enough to be comfortable.

During these events (planned or unplanned), a cornucopia of food would pour out of the kitchen like some crazy clown car of consumable goods. We had such fun running around the sizable yard playing with a kajilion kids from our extended family while the adults hung out on the porch laughing, drinking and telling stories. When it got dark, my Dad would put up a sheet and play home movies and cartoons from an old 8 mm projector. I can still see him, head tilted slightly, right eye squinting from the curl of grey smoke rising from his unfiltered Pall Mall pinched between his lips, threading the film through the maze of sprockets...

And at the heart of all the chaos was Big Mar. Loving every minute of the mayhem. The more the merrier. She still loves the madness. She just has to take a nap occasionally now.

My Mom is one of the brightest women I have ever know. I'm not saying that just because she's my mum either. She really is. She's extremely well-read, has a memory to die for and is still a whiz at doing extensive math in her head.

In. Her. HEAD.

I can barely operate the calculator on my phone and she's adding up long strings of numbers in her head...at 90!

Had she been born three decades later, I have no doubt she could have been a physician, judge or pretty much anything she wanted. But she was born in 1921 when there were few women in the work force. The choices were nurses, housewives or Barbies. Her fate was to be our Mom and she took on that daunting, thankless job with elegance, grace and a light heart.

And I couldn't be more grateful.

So thank you, Big Mar. Thank you for giving us a happy home filled with love and laughter, for instilling in me a moral compass, a keen sense of humor and my love of the word "shit". Oh, and thanks for breaking the wooden spoon on Buddy's ass instead of mine.

You're a beautiful old broad, aged to perfection.

What do you say we shoot for triple digits. We'll all help you blow out the inferno.

Love ya, Mumsy!!

2011-09-22T15:40:00.000-04:00

It's The End Of The Music World As We Know It
or a ground breaking band from the 80s calls it a day

Okay, so yesterday after 31 years in the biz, the iconic band from my post-college years, R.E.M. decided to "call it a day" in their joint musical venture.

One of my friends posted that this announcement should have happened ten years ago. He's right, of course, but even though it's been years since they recorded a collection of songs that remotely come close to their heyday in the 80s & 90s, news of their definitive demise left me melancholy and wistful. In spite of R.E.M.'s lackluster latter years, there's no denying the enormous influence these four men have had on the music industry and its future inhabitants.

On their official website, the band put it thusly:

"To our Fans and Friends: As R.E.M., and as lifelong friends and co-conspirators, we have decided to call it a day as a band. We walk away with a great sense of gratitude, of finality, and of astonishment at all we have accomplished. To anyone who ever felt touched by our music, our deepest thanks for listening." R.E.M.

Music, much like smells, is a trigger point that has that magical power to send one back in time to a special event, place or gathering with the stroke of that first telling chord. I have a lot of truly happy memories of moments in my past life spent with one friend in particular, all connected to the catalog of early R.E.M.

We were first introduced to land of R.E.M. by our musical guru friend, Bill when he started working with Geo back in the early 80s. At the time, Bill was in love with the song Driver 8 from their third album, Fables of the Reconstruction. I felt kinda meh about it at first, gravitating towards other tunes. And then this happened last year.

My worlds colliding in pure awesomeness. *Swoon* Plus you can actually understand the lyrics. I admit I love pure power of it now.

Anywho, they created so many great songs (Pretty Persuasion, Seven Chinese Bros, So Central Rain, Nightswimming, Shiny Happy People, the entirety of Life's Rich Pageant) and they're all connected to Bill.

Psst. Don't tell anyone, but I used to have a teeny bit of a crush on Mr. Bill. He's smart, talented, funny as Hell... what's not to love. Oh and did I mention he was handsome? Yeah, that too. Thankfully I was married to my ever-loving Geo when he waltzed into our lives, because had I been single, I'm certain he would have crushed my soul.

He is the Virgo flame to my Aquarius moth.

Bill is an amazing human being, but he has an irresistible charisma, making every girl he'd ever been with long to be his wife and bear his progeny.

No shit. Every. Single. One.

Way back when, he was in a long-term, very committed relationship which ended with him catching the girl he thought he was going to marry in the carnal clutches of another man. It left him damaged. So much so that every time he found a relationship getting close, he would walk away before she had a chance to dump him. Needless to say he left a trail of very angry, splintered women. It was nearly two decades before he let some in.

Best buds
circa 1993?

Dorkus and her two favorite Y chromosomes
(could those glasses BE any bigger?!?)

Italian film director Sergio Spoliate and the Rock Star

Glam Rocker with Sergio's paramour, Sophia Putania

He's married now and lives on the other side of the Commonwealth. We don't see him nearly as much as we'd like, but hearing an REM tune takes me charging back to our youthful antics together: dart games at Caine's, George's surprise 30th birthday party, the great baby powder vs hair dryer incident at Hunting Ridge, dancing on O'Leary's bowling machine, white-guy dancing and drinking too much at Metropol, late-night confabulating (drunken or sober), Summer bowling league, numerous concerts including REM, smoking ceeegars, Jamacin' Me Crazy night in Florida, St. Patrick's Day bar crawl and perhaps my very favorite memory that never fails to make laugh out loud: the image of Bill riding a girl child's pink flowered Big Wheel down our steep hill, long legs all sticking up in the air, the trike's roar busting through the 1am stillness.

That one's going to be in head forever.

Good times...

So thank you Michael, Mike, Bill and Peter for three decades of music, for your gorgeous, thoughtful lyrics and for providing the soundtrack to the scenes of our youth. You will live on in my iPod.

I leave you with a few of my personal favorites from their vast collection. Starting with a rocking one from 1989 when they were young pups and Stipe still had hair.

the beautifully understated Nightswimming

"Miles Standish proud" with Eddie Vedder

Ten Years Down The Road

2011-09-11T06:00:00.000-04:00

It still hurts...

In Which I Grapple With A Difficult Anniversary

2011-09-10T07:15:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow marks the 10th anniversary of that unfathomable day in which America's innocence was lost and our world changed forever.

Where were you when the towers fell?

I've been trying to pen my feelings all week about this macabre anniversary. Each time I sit down to write, I find something else to do. It's not my work-related ADD, either. It's my subconscious refusing to tackle this memory, but I feel compelled to write... something. It's too big to ignore and too devastating to forget. It's indelibly burned on my heart.

Last month, The Atlantic published excerpts from the King-of-all-my-musical-thangs, Rhett Miller's journal of September 11-13th.*** Reading his harrowing experience brought back a rush of emotions I thought I'd successfully repressed in the sub-basement of my psyche.

I posted the link on Facebook which lead to an interesting discussion between me and a couple friends, each of us reacting to the events of that day from varied corners of the country, sharing our individual experience. The conversation acting as a salve on an old scar freshly torn open.

I remember that day vividly.

George and I were at Rehoboth the morning the towers fell. We were getting ready to do our daily walk on the beach, when something possessed me to turn on the television. Maria Bartoloromo was standing in the street reporting that a second plane had just struck the South Tower. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Both skyscrapers belching thick, black smoke from their top quarters. The South tower's upper floors listing is a precarious way.

Not realizing the magnitude of what we were watching, we decided to take off for our walk. In the ten minutes it took for us to walk the stairs down to the boardwalk, the t-shirt vendor screamed out from the back of the store that the tower collapsed. We thought the top, teetering portion had fallen over. Makes senses, right? I mean, seriously, who would have imagined the entire structure would collapse. We couldn't believe our eyes. The building was there just ten minutes beforehand, on fire, but standing. And now it was completely gone.

And now nothing made sense.

I stayed on the beach, trying to shake off the images we saw. I think I was in denial. Poor Geo went back up to the room and witnessed every fear he'd ever had with regards to heights. Planes crashing. Buildings collapsing. People jumping to their deaths. All played out over and over and over on a 27 inch screen. The footage was horrifyingly compelling. He couldn't tear himself away. He's a strong man, my husband, but this rattled him to the core. I finally had to drag him out of the room and away from the constant barrage of footage for his own sanity.

The silence on the shore was unsettling. Several times over the next few days, a large, heavy military chopper would rumble up the coastline. I remember being filled with an infinite sadness that I wouldn't be able to shake for years. I cried for what seemed like a lifetime, getting teary any time my mind was idle. The sorrow and tears living right under the surface of my skin, mourning the loss of our collective innocence along with so many innocent lives.

And the stories, my God the stories from that day...

I bought a book titled, "Letters from 9/11" whose spine I have yet to crack open ten years down the road. Perhaps it will take another ten years before I can flip through its pages.

You know, I thought I was past this, but as I sit here, crying as I type, I realize the sadness is a part of me now. I may be able to muffle it, but It will never be completely gone.

Funny thing is, in all the chaos and uncertainty, I instinctively knew my nephew, who still lives in Manhattan, was alive and a safe distance away from the destruction. I don't know how, but I just knew he was safe. He lost friends to the towers, and probably felt a little guilty about it, but thank God he was unharmed, physically anyway.

We visited Ground Zero that December. It was a pilgrimage I just had to make. I remember seeing little piles of ash on window ledges and realizing that those could be all that's left of somebody's loved one...

Being directionally challenged, I used the towers as a touchstone once I emerged from the subway station. When I found them in the skyline, I could find my way. Stepping out of the dark underground, I'm just lost now.

I miss them.

To this day, when Geo and I see a low-flying plane in the Manhattan airspace, we stop, watch and wait for it to pass.

Here's a weird side note. Until the day I die, I will be forever grateful to a silly-ass robot fighting show on Comedy Central. You see our original plan for vacation was to spend a couple days at the beach then head to our friend's house near Philly where we were to drive into Manhattan for the day. It wasn't prudent to venture to a town in such turmoil where we would likely get in the way, so instead we ordered Chinese take out and stayed in, not knowing how to act, what to do, how to feel. For three days there was no levity. Nothing was funny. It just didn't feel right or respectful to laugh ever again.

As we sat there quietly eating dinner, we happened upon the much-maligned program, BattleBots. It was a show wherein pasty-faced, gear-headed geeks created remote controlled robots to pit against one another in a fight to the death. These bots were loaded with mallets, spikes and saw blades with which to pulverize their opponents in a glass encased arena. It was absolute mindless drivel, and it was EXACTLY what we needed.

For the first time in 72 anguish-filled hours, we laughed. For that brief time frame, we forgot about the all-consuming tragedy which befell our beloved country and just.. laughed. Yep. I will always and forever have a soft spot in my heart for that ridiculously stupid, wonderfully absurd robot fighting show for affording us the opportunity to shelve the madness for sixty glorious minutes.

***You can listen to Rhett read from his journal on NPR's Here and Now here.

2011-09-06T19:56:00.000-04:00

Let's Get Ready To Play The Family Feud!!!
or the curious case of the Chopra's curmudgeon consciousness

Okay, an hilarious exchange happened on Twitter today between a wry writer, Suzanne Munshower, and noted, self-proclaimed "Cosmic Consciousness" spirituality guru, Depak Chopra.

A couple of Chopra's cosmic tweets didn't sit well with Munshower, so she did what many tweeters do, she commented on his BS.

As Shea Bennett from Mediabistro put it, they were pretty light retorts, but clearly, Chopra was not a peace-loving camper when he shot back this tweet:

Real mature, Dude.

Wait. Isn't he supposed to be above this kind of petty rhetoric? Doesn't he pass himself off as more enlightened than the average bear? Of course this against-his-holier-than-thou-principle retort was retweeted ad naseum as well as egged on Ms. Munshower.

As the afternoon's encounter progressed, a Mr. Singh put in his two cents, soliciting another out of public character response.

Yeah. It felt so good to this do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do yahoo that he removed this and several other similar posts from the Twitter stream. I just love that Suzanne's little three word comment got Mr. Trancendental's knickers all into a major bunch.

Nice job, Chopie. Guess what? You're fucking human like the rest of us humps after all. How's that irony taste? Try not to hit your head on your way off your pretentious pedestal.

You can read the entire article here. Enjoy.

In Which I Believe In God, Guardian Angels and American Workmanship

2011-09-06T18:59:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I was driving around a blind corner (not speeding for a change, mind you. pinky swear) on this gray, rain-soaked afternoon, when the two cars in front of me suddenly stopped. The road was slick, I jumped on the brakes, the car fishtailed and after invoking Jesus' name, Rita came to a screeching halt a mere foot behind the piece of crap, gray, clown-car shaped Cube.

Fact: I believe in God, Guardian Angels and Divine Intervention.
Fact: I do not, however, believe in the Warren Commission's "Magic Bullet" theory. That's just fucking fantasy.

I know. A declaration of faith sounds hypocritical coming from me, abuser of the Lord's name, lover of the f-bomb and Patton Oswalt's religiously irreverent Christmas Shoes but, I am a spiritual being. Not necessarily religious, but spiritual.

Shut up. I am. Swear to Dogma. You can stop rolling your eyes anytime now.

But seriously, there have been a number of incidents in my life in which I should have died, or at the very least been badly injured. My avoidance of these potentially fatal happenings can only be attributed to the grace of a higher power. A psychic once told me that very thing. She said I have a Guardian Angel who steers me clear of wreckage. I call him Guillermo. He's all tall, dark and ripply. I owe G my life several times over. Hope he gets paid by the hour, because that Dude works a LOT of overtime.

So, yeah, I believe in God, Grace, Guardian Angels, Divine Intervention and in this case, the American Workmanship of a Pontiac Vibe.

In Which We Celebrate A Holiday For The Little Guy

2011-09-05T14:18:00.000-04:00

Okay, so today is Labor Day. The day in which the hard-working, middle and lower-middle class union members (like myself) are celebrated across America for making our country strong and self-sustaining. Ironically, most of us celebrated laborers labor on Labor Day.

Somebody has to clean up this mess, right?

Anywho, the disgusting truth of the matter is unions and their members are under viscous attack from the cold-hearted right during these poor economic times. Ironically these are the very times in which unions are needed most to protect the hard-won workplace benefits we all feel entitled to today. I have argued innumerable times with non-union employees who don't realize the only reason they have healthcare, paid vacation, paid sick time, a safe working environment and a living wage is because union's exist in this country to fight for these conditions. They just think we're a bunch of fat, lazy slobs who sit around all day drinking coffee and bitching instead of working for a living.
Okay, we do down the java and bitch, but we work our asses off, too. No matter how many times I say it, they don't connect the dots. Strong unions = a strong middle class = a strong economy = a prosperous country. My Dad worked to get the Post Office unionized. Today's postal workers owe him and his buddies a debt of gratitude for their salaries, overtime pay and pension.

One of the women I follow on both Facebook and Twitter, Joyce, is a ballsy, broad from Massachusetts who isn't afraid to say outloud what most of us rational humans are thinking. She puts it out there, warts and all, with no fear, no matter whose knickers she might twist.

I love her. I wish I had her stones. Someday I'm going to meet her.

She wrote a piece about the virtues as well as vices of unions that is much more eloquent than I could pen. Plus, you know, I'm a card-carrying member so natch I'm a lazy lout. You can't expect me to read the paper AND compose a post. Pffft.

Here's an excerpt:

In an era when income inequality is outrageous, those of us who earn a wage can’t afford not to support unions. They really ARE responsible for weekends, and paid sick leave and vacations, and all the other things those cute bumper stickers proudly assert, in addition to safe working conditions and living wages where they still exist. They made capitalism work for the middle class, and in turn made our economy work, but because of those forces that propel and enable corporate interests in our system, they’ve gradually diminished in stature, and have in the past year, been cut off at the knees. This isn’t right, and I pray it can be reversed.

Right on, Joyce. Our only hope to survive the lingering madness of the Bush Error is to fight back and take back what we've earned by supporting the unions. Their all-for-one philosophy made America the marvelous country it is.

You can read her entire brilliant posting here.

Happy Labor Day. May we all wake up from this nightmare.

One More For The Road...

2011-08-28T13:15:00.000-04:00

Because Americans take warnings seriously, yo.

hoisting his main sail into the wind

Thanks to Wesley Stace for capturing this lad's finest moment, thus allowing it to live forever on the internets. Hurricane 2011! Woo Hoo!!

2011-08-28T12:27:00.000-04:00

This Week In Wacky Weather
or what bug's up your butt, Nature?

Okay, so weird shit's been going down in my beloved North East lately. Last week a wide span of land from North Carolina to New England felt the Earth rumble and roll from a 5.9 quake centered around Richmond, Virginia. Most of my friends and family near and far felt the crust busta move beneath their buttocks. The shaking even made the most jaded folks I know (the newsroom crew) take pause before quipping "I am NOT ready to rumble."

I was in my car when the Earth did not stand still, missing the uncommon occurrence. Natch. I am so bummed! One of the only times our personal terra is not so firma, and I miss it. I feel completely left out, and as you may have noticed, I don't like to be left out. I'm annoying that way.

One of the reasons I love America and the citizens residing within its borders is the speed with which the humor is rolled out after an unsettling event. Within minutes of realizing there were no deaths or injuries, the interwebs exploded with the funny, quake-related witticisms. Our collective irreverence is probably why the rest of the world dislikes us so. Okay, they hate us. We can make a joke out of virtually anything. And what the hell's wrong with that, right? Lighten up, people.

This gem circulated shortly after the shimmy 'n shake.

We're just a nation of lovable, quick-witted asshats.

Next up on the Nature Hit Parade...

"Does this storm surge make my butt look big?"
- Irene 2011
"no, it makes it look like an angry elephant, dude"
-me

How about a little water, Scarecrow.

FACT: For the last two years, hurricane season has been downright quiet.
FACT: It's been over 50 years since the last hurricane charged through the New Jersey/New York area
FACT: Irene decided to take advantage of the back-to-school sales and stop by Fifth Avenue in person for those killer Jimmy Choo heels she's been eyeing on line.

She's a girl after all, and a thrifty one at that. Who wants to shell out all that extra dough on shipping when you can pick them up yourself, not to mention try on a number of other beauties while you're waiting. Pffft! No brainer. Besides who can resist those 50% off, end of season bargains.

Um... clearly NOT Mama Nature.

Reduced to a Category 1 storm, Irene took her good ole time crawling up the coastline, coming ashore first in North Carolina to kite surf, stopping through Baltimore to dine on some fabulous Maryland crab cakes she's heard so much talk about before heading to Northern Jersey shore points, you know, in the off-chance Bruce Springsteen might actually be hanging around the Stone Pony. Like many, she's a big fan, especially of his early Born to Run years. Alas, he was nowhere in sight. (sad tropical storm face) Strapping on her new Nikon digital SLR, she rented a car and drove over to the Big Apple (because some doofus shut down all the PATH trains and subways), excited to shop and catch the late show of the much ballyhooed Book of Mormon only to find it and every other attraction in Times Square boarded up and dark.

Son of a Biscuit Eating Bulldog!!?!!

"Do you realize how tough it was to score those tickets?!? Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu**!"

Nothing left to do but head up the coast for some fresh seafood on the cape before checking up on Sid Crosby's healing progress in Nova Scotia. She's a Pens fan, too, dontcha know.

goofball surfers taunting irene
where is his parent?
oh wait, he's the one on the left

Bend and Stretch
reach for your butt

All kidding aside, we Nor'easters aren't used to all this natural phenomena. We're generally insulated from these types of natural disasters. That said, people all up and down the coast faced power outages, flooding, wind damage. Some dealt with storm-related tornadoes. Even a nuclear reactor in New Jersey was shut down. People were evacuated, store fronts were boarded up and New York city subways were closed.

a couple of lone boardwalk bikers

By far the most freakish sites were the normally crowded Manhattan landmarks completely deserted.

when was the last time Grand Central was empty?

an eerily quiet Times Square at 7am Sunday

It's like one of those bad apocalyptic, end-of-days movies where the protagonist wakes up to find he's the last human left on the planet.

But take heart. I just saw network footage of New York youngsters giving Irene the middle finger by body surfing on the minimally flooded streets of the city. Oh NewYorkers. Your balls... er, spirit is to be envied.

While hunting for photos, I stumbled upon a Brooklyner's blog, The Smoking Nun, which has some really fascinating photos of the desolate streets and bridges. Pretty cool. Plus, c'mon! There are pictures of Nuns...smoking. Love it! I think I might have to bookmark this one for the name alone.

You can read the two related posts here and here and the final bit here.

What the EF, Nature! Earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes... what horror's next? Locusts? Pestilence? A Palin presidency?

Eeeeaghh! *shudder*

I'd rather have frogs drop from the skies.

A Cavalcade of Comedic Crap

2011-08-26T12:50:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I can't write for shit lately (not including my last two posts which were all about the shitz). I don't know what the deal is. My muse has run off again, probably fleeing to the sunny Southwest to get away from the purported ravages of Hurricane Irene or the recent earthquake or just the long-winded pleas I've been making to her to pleasepleasePLEASE inject some creativity back into my brain. But, no. She just laughs, points and throws M & Ms at my non-existent cleavage.

Bitch.

Anywho, I'm taking the easy way out and posting some truly hilarious lists that made my inner 12 year-old spew milk from his nose.

Both of the lists are from Happyplace.com. This website is da bomb! I want to work for them and spend my professional day scanning the interwebs for the most absurd things to share.

Even if you totally don't get the idea or usefulness of Twitter, you can appreciate these smart-ass comments made to celebrity's tweets. For those unfamiliar, the text after the "RT" is the celebrity's tweet. The comment prior to the "RT" is the smart-ass's. Enjoy!

i don't think he does

hours of endless fun

touche, douche bag

ha ha! asshat

earth to yoko

These hysterical retorts almost make me want to follow these imbeciles. Almost. The full listing is here.

This next one is totally right up my alley. It's from a list of unintentionally offensive sticker placements.

and for only $250!

looks like his inside is hanging out

gotta teach 'em young

so this is why they had to move west

Unintentional, my ass. The link to the full site is here. Read them and share them with others who are as twisted and demented as you.

And for the Trifecta of funny, a little Guster frivolity. I've written about Guster before. They're a delightful pop band whose shows are huge fun. Everyone leaves happy. One of their trademarks is choosing a different, oddball cover song to perform every night.

A couple weeks ago in New England, Will Forte (of SNL McGruber fame) joined Guster not once, but twice to sing each evening's cover gem. The first was Air Supply's "All out of Love".

Forte got HUGE flack via interweb comments over wearing the band's t-shirt to the show. Apparently it's uber nerdy. Whatev. The next meeting, Will was better prepared.

Puts you in mind of Robert Stack in Airplane, right?

You can read all about it in this Boston review here.

Well, that's the end of my drivel. Hopefully inspiration will strike soon. Otherwise, see you in a month or so.