And At the End Of The Day, She Was Happy
or how I spent a near perfect day

Okay, so I need to check my hororscope from yesterday, because from start to finish it was a rare perfect day.

Seriously. All the planets and stars must have been in harmonious alignment.

So here's how my day transpired:

Without realizing I managed to pack the day with one social outing after another. As I posted on both Facebook and Twitter, being a social butterfly is why nothing gets done at my house.

Then again, when I die I doubt I'll wish I had cleaned more.

1. The morning started out with a breakfast meet up at Pamela's (yes, that Pamela's of President Obama fame) with a former Special K compadre, Lori and her infinitely adorable, chubby-cheeked 6 month old cherub, Carson. Naturally I was running late, but I managed to catch every green light on the way to and through town. A miracle unto itself. Really. There are like nine traffic lights that can turn a ten minute jaunt into a 25 minute trek through tedious traffic trauma.

2. Then I found a non-metered spot in the notoriously parking-challenged Strip District without having to make the compulsory laps around the block waiting for Grandma Tippy Toe to slowly load her two bags of produce into the back seat of her 1950 baby-blue Buick tanker, craaaaaaawl in behind the steering wheel, breath like a thousand breaths, solicit the help of a passerby to help her turn the key in the ignition, creep out of the space at negative 10mph only to stop halfway out to retune her radio to pre-WWII and OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST MOVE THAT BOAT OUT OF THE WAY ALREADY!!??!!

But like I said, that didn't happen. I pulled up, jumped out and waltzed into the diner on time.

3. After filling up on pancakes and soul-soothing, cuddly-baby goodness I got a phone call the plastic thingie that prevents the car door from flying back and severing your limb while trying to disembark when parked on a hill, was in. Woo Hoo!

4. Headed to the South Side to see Mates of States perform at an in-stuido at WYEP. Was running late for that too. Again I won the battle of excessive stop sign/doofus driver syndrome AND found a parking place in front of the station, another parking-challenged section of town.

Double Word Score!

I made it to the show with 10 minutes to spare. Long enough to keep up the Pittsburgh tradition of always talking to strangers by befriending (for the hour anyway) a lovely young woman who was also there alone.

5. I got out of the studio early enough to head to the dealer with enough time to wait for the repair and still make it home in time to greet my Friday Koffee Klatch gal pals. Again, no traffic glitch to speak of. It was as if the Traffic God Parkwayus Westeris was splitting the sea of sedans in anticipation of my arrival.

Oh and did I mention the repair was covered completely under the warranty?

Triple Word Score!

6. Had a most delightful afternoon noshing on homemade sour cherry cobbler, drinking iced coffee floats with chocolate ice cream and kibitzing with the gals on our back deck oasis under a beautiful cloudless blue sky.

7. Took a walk around the block and engaged in not one, but two wonderful conversations with a couple of my favorite neighbors.

8. Then to top it off, Geo, who has been working literally every day for the last five weeks, actually came home a little early! We fixed a couple of dandy cocktails--Bloody Marys to be exact--chilled out on our deck and actually spent a few hours catching up while soaking up the peaceful ambience of this exquisite summer evening. (Cue a couple of freaking Disney birds tying ribbon in my mop top.)

AND I didn't have to cook dinner because Geo brought home chinese food. :-)

Game. Match. And an extra 35 points for going out on a BINGO.

See what I mean? Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I wish I could bottle yesterday and store it on a shelf so I can uncork it to shower myself with happy times when life decides it would be fun to pull my hair and kick me square in the proverbial nuts you know, for grins.

So tell me. What was your last perfect day like?

Congratulations to Jon!!

Okay, so last Thursday something huge happened. My nephew Jon graduated from high school...with honors.

All of you out there in the possession of teenagers might laugh to yourselves and think, "Well, yeah. It's a struggle to get teenagers to pass their classes what with all the hormones raging and age-appropriate drama, but really what's the big deal."

What makes last Thursday a big deal, a really BIG deal is Jon has Autism. He graduated from a regular, public school...with honors.

It makes me tear up a little.

Autism is a weird affliction. There are so many levels from complete nonverbal incapacitation to a minor tick of repetitive behavior. Jon falls somewhere in the lower third.

When he was born he wouldn't allow anyone to hold him except his mother, my sister Vicki. We thought it was just a phase he'd grow out of.

When he got a little older, Vicki and Tony had to go out of town on business leaving Jon in the care of our Mother, Big Mar. He was inconsolable. Finally after three days, Jon formed an attachment to my Mum--a bond which is strong to this day--but wanted nothing to do with the rest of us.

Still we thought it was just something he would grow out of.

He wasn't talking at all by age two. But we attributed it to being a boy, because, you know, boys are slow to speak sometimes especially if others (his sister) are willing to interpret for him.

Again, we thought he'd grow out of it.

What really raised the red flag was his complete disinterest in opening Christmas presents at almost three years of age. That is just not normal at all. No child at that age can contain his excitement over Santa's pay load. That's when we all started to believe there was something off about Jon.

But how do you tell your sister there's something wrong with her child without breaking her heart?

Understandably Vicki was annoyed and made excuses for his behavior. Nobody wants to believe her child isn't perfectly healthy like other children, like her other child. But within six months she had Jon tested and found out the truth. And when she finally accepted the diagnosis, she worked her ASS off to find the best help available to teach Jon to speak, communicate and function like any other kid. She continues to be his advocate and push him. Frankly, she's amazing.

All those years of tutoring have paid off. Jon expresses himself very well, has opinions now and has a great sense of humor. He can be really funny. Some of the stuff he says is absolutely hilarious! He has a few Autistic traits involving repetition and behavioral borders that take a little understanding, but hey, don't we all have parameters? Most of the time he acts like a typical teenager only with a little less hostility. Ha ha!

And now he's graduated from high school and headed to Community College.

He has come so far.

Jon is where he is today because his family loved him enough not to baby him, but treat him like any other kid. They all had a hand in shaping his success. That includes his sister tormenting him. He's an amazing kid.

Who knows what the future will hold for Jon over the next couple of years. As Regi so gracefully stated in her own blog about her brother, "There was enough hope for him to graduate from high school, there should be enough for him to graduate from college, wouldn't you agree?"

Agreed.

In Which I Sing (off key) The Phrases Of Ingrid Michaelson

Okay, so I'm on a roll here with the music at this year's Arts Festival. Thursday night I hit the river rowing, then hightailed it to town immediately after to catch Ingrid Michaelson perform FOR FREE at the Festival.

I'm familiar with several of her songs, their catchy melodies and slightly off lyrics, but I really had no expectations about her showmanship. So I headed for the park, in all my post-rowing smelliness (more on that at the end) in hopes of spending a lovely evening outdoors listening to music. I had no idea what I was in for.

Wow!

Really...

WOW!

She was so entertaining! I had no idea. Her band of two girls and three guys perfectly accompanied her adorable ukulele. From the onset, she engaged the packed crowd of devotees--who stood from the first note to her last wave-- with energetic renditions, charming tales and witty banter. This young woman in her Lisa Loeb inspired spectacles is funny with a capital F.U.N.! She had the crowd eating out of the palm of her hand. Everyone was singing along to virtually every song. She even had the rapt audience doing silly hand gestures to her choruses.

Dude. When was the last time you ever saw white males, young or old, willingly do hand gestures to music? High-Lar-Ious! Oh the power she has.



Here she is in Berkley playing with the audience.

And boy, the pipes on this young lass!

Holy crap!! Her voice is gorgeous! Clear. Strong. Effortless. I swear she can span at least 28 octaves. I know. That's impossible, but you get my drift, right? Right? She's that amazing.

You and I... live in Albany

Everybody ... again live in Albany

Maybe... live from Webster Hall

Last one. Promise. Far Away.. live at Webster Hall. She's so good with the crowd.

Clearly, she loves what she does.

Remember how I said every band I've seen has ended with a cover? Well the lovely Ingrid was no exception. Her contribution was a take on Britney Spears' "Toxic" complete with inane Brit line dance performed precisely by her entire band. It was a hoot! They finished with a completely punked out version of one of her most popular songs "The Way I Am". It was fabulous! Joey Ramone would be so proud. I wish they'd release that version on iTunes. Imagine this gentle tune all screamy and guitar screechy.

The Way I Am (non-punk version)

I didn't take my camera with me because, well...I really didn't think I'd LOVE her so much. My major bad. So no vids from me. :-( I won't make that mistake next time.

Oh, yeah. There will definitely be a next time.

P.S.: One funny side note: When I got there a kid of 12 (why is it everyone around me lately looks 12?) made the flippant comment that no one would mind if he lit up a cigarette right beside me. Well I did. As I was breathing in his cig stench I thought. The jokes on you, buddy. I came directly from rowing practice. I smell like a wet hobo. I win.

P.P.S.: I know you're probably wondering where my fantasy husband's been. I have neglected to write about him lately. Well he was competing in an online Words With Friends tournament in Dallas. WWF is you-can't-sue-me-cause-I-didn't-use-your-name-for-it code for Scrabble. My honey and his exquisite brain made it all the way through to the semi-finals before succumbing to the pressure of one minute postings televised live over the interweb.

Look at him with the wheels of his adorable cranium turning. It doesn't matter that he lost. He effortlessly maintained his title as the hottest thing in the room.

Rain, Rain Go The F**K AWAY!!!

part deux

or Date Night!!!!

Day two found both Geo and I home...together... for the entire day?!?!

Let me say that again.

We were Home. Together. For an entire day.

I can count on two hands the number of Saturdays we get to be off together per year. Anywho, as the Fates would have it, I managed to score Saturday off making it a Geo-penned "Date Day". And what a swell day it was.

Generally when we have an errant 24 hour span together, we tend to get in each other's way, messing up the other's routine which at times leads to strife and major annoyance.

(Salutes "Major Annoyance")

First my ever-lovin' made a ginormous scramblet filled with all kinds of tasty goodness. This is Geo's specialty... one-pot wonders.

And... there was no fighting.

Then we headed to the Festival amid scattered showers which were not at all as monsoon-ish as the day before. We mosied from gallery to gallery, holding hands as we dodged raindrops.

I know. Uncharacteristically icky, right? But it was really romantic for us old farts.

*Gag* Spew!

Anywho, we ambled through the artsy-fartsy-craftsy booths, settling on a really cool metal mobile reminiscent of Alexander Calder for our deck and a super groovy long, narrow frame filled with brightly colored miniature ceramic bowls.

And... there was no fighting.

We escaped the Mother of all Summer deluges by dining on Mousaka, hummus and homemade wine at an amazing hole-in-the wall Greek place.

And... still there was no fighting.

By the time we hit the concert area, there was little rain to speak of. Mother Nature apparently poured everything she had into that early evening pummel. We barely needed our umbrella AND we found a small slab of concrete to set our chairs atop so we wouldn't sink down to our kneecaps in the completely saturated lawn. SWEET!!

The opener was another local band, Good Brother Earl. They're kinda Bluesy, kinda Poppy, kinda Rocky, kinda WOW... Charley. Whatever. I'm not a music critic. I'm not hip to the lingo. They're pretty good and have a decent following. Here's their current hit: Gravity

Oddball Sighting#1:

Hoola Hoop Girl giving a clinic during GBE

The crowd really got much thicker the closer it got for the headliner, Guster's performance. At first it looked like Geo and I were going to be the chaperones to all these 15-20 year olds, but then these guys showed up to rock out to GBE's cover of Led Zepplin's Good Times, Bad Times. Get the Led out, BABY!!

Toto. I don't think we're the dinosaurs anymore.

We haven't seen Guster in six years. According to the lead singer, they've been busy making babies and a record over that time. They've come a long way since opening up for Bare Naked Ladies.

The one thing I remember from that earlier concert is the drummer. He's spirited, energetic and doesn't use sticks. Really. Watch him. He bangs away at the bongos and cymbals barehanded!! It's awesome! They commanded the crowd from the first note of their opener Amsterdam.

Pure Power Pop Magic!

The concert was great! Everyone was into the moment. Even Geo was singing.

That's huge. You have no idea how huge that is.

He really enjoyed himself in spite of the crowd and the whole standing for an hour and a half. Two things he doesn't dig at all. My Geo was even prompting me to record the songs he liked. We had such a good time. Singing, be-bopping, breathing in the sweet, sweet scent of ganga..

Wait, what?!?

I know, right? And again with the no sharing. These young people are stingy. Seriously.

There must be a pact amongst the performers this year which insists everyone end with a cover. Guster chose Phil Collins' In the Air Tonight. The drummer made a rare appearance as lead vocal until the epic drum bit, of course. It brought the proverbial roof down. Sadly, I ran out of room on my camera card and didn't get to tape it to share with y'all. But trust me. It was F.U.N.!!!

So, a good Date Night was had by all. And by "all" I mean us.

And still... no fighting. Woo Hoo!!

Careful

Barrel of A Gun

Rain, Rain Go The F**K AWAY!!

or welcome to the Pittsburgh Arts Festival 2010

Day One:

(Don't worry. I'm not going to blog on and on, day by day about the festival. I'm already bored with THIS post. This piece of drivel should have be published Saturday, but I didn't get my ass in gear until now. Shut up. I know. I procrastinate. So sue me.)

Okay, so it happens every year. The Arts Festival moves into town for ten days filling the lower end of town with artsy vendors, a plethora of food booths guaranteed to clog your arteries or bust your gut, sometimes interesting public art, a wide array of musical performers and... rain. Lots and lots of rain.

a semi-lull in the monsoon

This year is no different. Not only is there blinding sheets of rain, there's damaging winds, tornado warnings, swarms of locusts, frogs dropping from the sky... And we're only three days into this thing.

That said, I declared "elements be damned!" and headed off to the park to see local crooner and cutie, Bill Deasey open for the Godfather of Texas Rock, Alejandro Escovedo. It had been raining on and off all day. So what. It's bound to let up at some point, right?

Wrong.

Armed with my trusty yellow slicker and folding camp chair, I staked my claim near the front gating. I've only seen Bill perform solo or as a guest at the Special K, but this time he had a full band. His soothing voice held up well against the full sound. His music is somewhat mellow, but he does have a few rockers including this one from his latest CD:

Sorry about the lack of quality. I need a new camera or video camcorder. Any suggestions? Any hints? Anyone wanna just buy me one? There are so many damn choices, my head's spinning as if I drank an entire fifth of vodka on an all-night bender. I think I may seriously vom. But I digress...

The crowd size was respectable considering we were standing in a constant drizzle which fluctuated between mist and medium pelt. The rain fell heavier towards the end of Deasey's set, unsafely pooling around the monitors and mult boxes, not to mention completely soaking my shoes and shorts. And don't get me started about my hair.

I think they stole towels from the Hilton in a misguided attempt to mop up

Note to self: blue jeans shorts and excessive rain equals saggy butt syndrome. I swear those shorts stretched at least three inches in that dastardly downpour. It was a night not fit for man nor beast. And yet I stayed along with a couple hundred other knuckleheads in denial.

Lightning? What lightning? I didn't see any lightning.

After a short delay, Alejandro and his cadre took the stage and launched into our favorite "Always A Friend"

He's a little man with a little head, but Zowie! He packs a punch and boy can he shred that gee-tar.

The concert was great. At times Al (I'm calling him "Al") was begging the crowd to get up and move, but honestly the extra 20lbs of water in our cloths was making it tough to get up and shimmy. Although that could have been awesome. Like a massive soaking-wet-golden-retriever-post-bath shake. Water could have flown for yards!

What the Hell is this ancient thing? It's like from the 50s or something.

Everyone was into the music, in spite of inclement weather. I think we made up for our initial inertia with a couple rousing sing alongs. The soggy bottom dropped out for the encore of a hard driving cover of the Stones' "Beast of Burden". Everyone was movin' and groovin'.

Really not a bad way to spend a rain-soaked evening. Now I know what it must be like at Bonnaroo. That's a festival for a different year.

It took a day and a half for my shoes to dry and I don't know if my shorts will ever go back to their original shape, but other than that... it's all good.

Felice Compleanos a Santiago!

or Little Jimmy McParkway turns 30!?!

Okay, so today one of my favorite people and KD co-hort in craziness turns the big 3-Ooooooh!

30. I remember 30. When I turned 30 my boss started asking my opinion about work-related issues and I remember thinking, "What the eff are you asking me for? I'm just a kid, for Pete's sake." I still feel that way, but now I'm far from being a kid, so I kinda have to actually KNOW stuff. Crap...

Anywho, you know how Golden Retrievers are irresistibly exuberant, lovable and can't judge the size of their paws? That's Jimmy. He's our adorable Golden Retriever, especially the paw part. His feet are ginormous, and he's always tripping or knocking into something during the show.

Here's a video reenactment of one such incident.

HaHaHaHaHa!! OMG! That thing makes me "Liz" every time.

Jimmy MacP is a ton o' fun to work with. He's completely irreverent, extremely witty and a huge proponent of the whole "That's What She Said" thang. You would not believe the mileage we got out of his report on an accident at the corner of Dick and Pflurg Street. I mean, come on! That one was a gift from the Traffic Gods. Who could resist that? Seriously. Even he cracked up on the air.

Plus he doesn't mind dancing with us dinosaur dames.

OMG! I just realized the ticker in that photo reads "seven companies receiving aid from us.." No wonder the economy is tanking. But I digress...

There are so many hilarious things that happen during our grueling three hour morning show, most of the it stems from his corner of the studio. And then there's the between-show antics...

Jimmy penned that one "Absolute Ball Room". HaHa! Yeah. I miss him when he's on vacation. It's just too damn quiet, you know?

So here's to you, my zany playmate, my cohort in crime, my Hoola Hoop hombre. May you stay forever young. Luckily, I don't think that will be a problem for you.

XOXOXOXO and a big, fat smoochero!!

Now blow out the damn candles, and cut the freaking cake already.

Random Girlie Happenings

or Yeti gets a waxing... you've been warned

Girl Talk, Part One:

Okay, so last week I started to get that old I-don't-feel-so-comfortable-in-my-peepee-region sensation. You girls know what feeling I'm talking about. The one where you have the urge to tinkle a little too often and when you start it kinda burns a little and ultimately your pee hole opening feels like it's the size of a dime and flapping in the breeze.

Yep. You're in UTI Country.

That would make an awesome sweatshirt logo, no. NOT!!

For those lucky bastards who are unfamiliar, UTI stands for urinary tract infection and it's hideous!! Besides having the urge to pee every 10 minutes, you just cannot stop squirming in your seat because absolutely no position is comfortable! Grrrrrrr!!

Sometimes my gal pals and I refer to this as an IRS, or "itchy red snapper". But that term is usually reserved for an issue in a different girlie-girl region, and fodder for a hole different post. I said "hole". That should give you a location clue.

Anywho, I thought I caught it early enough to combat this prickly invader by chugging gallons of cranberry juice and other fluids. But alas, the Emperor E-Coli would not be dethroned without the aid of my regal relative, Auntie Biotic.

So I trudge my irritated ass to the nearest Medi-Fast clinic. Forty-five minutes later I emerge armed with not one, but two drugs to oust this interloper. (P.S.: I can't say enough good things about these clinics. They are AWESOME! Clean, quick AND they fill most prescriptions on site.)

One of the prescribed pills turned my urine completely nuclear. I am not kidding. It was blaze orange. Blaze Freaking Orange!! What's that crap made from? Uranium yellow cake?!? Seriously. It startled me every time I got up from the loo. It was so vivid I actually contemplated taking a picture of it, but then that seemed a little too gross, even for me.

I know! Imagine that. Hard to believe coming from me, right? Who knew I actually had a "too-gross-to-share" line to cross.

I'm happy to say I'm feeling better now. The one-two punch of meds showed that Mother the pavement. My stream is still florescent yellow, but at least it's back to yellow.

Girl Talk, Part Deux:

Okay, so let me just say this: I am a big baby when it comes to pain. A walloping wimp. A complete candy-ass.

That said, a couple of months ago I decided to venture further into the land of crazy-shit-women-do-to-disguise-their-inner-yeti and have my armpits waxed.

Yes. Hot wax. On my armpits. Joy.

I thought I'd give this a go because, as you know I am a Sasquatch, and honestly I'm tired of looking like (to coin a former colleague's phrase) I have Buckwheat in a headlock.

I'll wait a while for that visual to sink in...

So I go to my grooming girl, Ang. God love her. The horrors she has seen... Anywho, she leans me back, loads me wee armpit up with warm, chocolate wax, rubs the linen strip over the wax, warns me again about the inevitable pain to come and with one quick move...

RIIIIIP!!

*GASP*

*blink blink*

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I could not stop laughing. What the Hell? Don't get me wrong. It was painful. Shit YEAH it was make-your-eyes-water, Good-Lord-is-that-blood-splatter? painful, but I could NOT stop laughing. I think I scared her. She probably thought I snapped a twig or something. But seriously, all I could think of was this scene from 40 Year Old Virgin:

I've had two more waxings since. I have to admit, the post-rip stinging kinda feels ... invigorating. Wait... what? I know. Weird, right? I'm sorta scaring myself now. But my skin stays so smooth for so long. It's kind of addicting, especially for a furry femme who goes through razors like Paris Hilton goes through men.

But rest assured. I will NOT be getting my "Betty Ready" any time soon. Those chicks are freaks.