Make Mine A Double
or closing out the week with a double shot of Rhett Miller (part one)

Okay, so here at the Special K we have to pick our vacation weeks an entire year in advance. There are 22 of us in our department and unlike most work environments, we can't just leave our "desk" empty for a week. It's critical to our operations that someone cover our jobs in our absence. Otherwise all the unhappy horseshit news we generate won't make it to the airwaves.

Maybe that's not a bad thing.

Anywho, Geo and I have a standard practice each year of heading to the Jersey shore the week of Labor Day to chill and recharge. This year Providence stepped in to bestow the added bonus of back-to-back Rhett Miller solo shows not only at the end of our week, but on our drive home. We had to go, otherwise the terrorists would have won.

Thanks Provy! We owe you one.

The first stop was a theater north of Philadelphia in the quaint little town of Sellersville. The cool thing about following the Old 97's and Rhett is befriending other like-minded enthusiasts to hang with at concerts. We've met a lot of really great fans over the last couple months, and Sellersville added one more face to the growing list of family.

We were supposed to meet Sheila at the City Winery in New York, but she had to leave right after the show. This time I recognized her and her family at dinner from photos she had posted online. I know. Weird, right? That's the way things are now.

Sheila and me 

It was great to finally meet her. She was really lovely and has this sweet little voice. Although I think I freaked her son out a bit when I told him I recognized him in particular. Ha Ha!

Our friends Marcy and Tracey were there as well. We had a great ole time! It's so much fun knowing there are familiar faces in the crowd with whom to enjoy the show.

After show glow
Geo, Marcy, Tracey & me 

For both nights the opening act was Adam Taylor and Kate Seifarth.

Katie and Adam

He's seriously only 19.
Although he can grow a better beard than Sid Crosby

Adam hails from Central Pennsylvania. His brother is Chad Taylor from the 90s band Live. He's a talented musician and songwriter...and he's only nineteen! Kate is absolutely adorable!! She has a great set of pipes, too. You can listen to songs from the bands EP on their MySpace page here.

Rhett took the stage and busted through a 24-song set list to the delight of all attending. In addition to the touring and the writing and the recording and the interviews and the various media promotion, the lovely blue-eyed one has been recording a video diary for the Old 97's website.

Pffft! What a slacker.

While he was in the dressing room before his turn at the musical bat, he recorded this little glimpse of what he does backstage during the warm-up act.


Here's that evening's performance of that same song. He nailed it.


And of course it wouldn't be a Rhett Miller show without a bit of witty banter...

And now you know how to say "I just pissed in your bidet". A public service announcement from Mr. Miller. The more you know...

"I get by with a little help from my friends..."

Sometimes he forgets a few of the lyrics to his songs. So what. I find it charming. Makes him more human. I mean, come on! He's got hundreds of song lyrics bouncing around his brain, not to mention the melodies and chord progressions. Hell, I'm amazed by his ability to churn out 24 songs per show night after night, including the audibles he fields from audience members. Besides they're his songs. He can interpret them however he wants.

That said, I always feel like an asshole shouting out lyrics. I don't want to be that arrogant chick who thinks she knows everything, but I can't bare to watch him struggle either.

I swear to God he looked my way for help. That's my story, and I'm sticking with it.

Here's a beautiful song inspired by his daughter's morning chatter, Sometimes. The reason we're chuckling is a guy in the crowd kept yelling for the Old 97's song, Stoned. It was two songs down on the setlist. Rhett was going to bump it up, but the dude kept calling for it. I think the statement made was "Why am I pandering to you? F*ck it. Now you're going to have to wait for it."

Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes...Rhett will make you wait, especially if you're being kinda dicky. Ha Ha!

And because he's a great guy, he honored Sheila's request for her birthday.

It's funny, another married woman requested this same song the next night in York. It is a little effed up, but hey, if you can't have a little fantasy that a hawtie Rock God has designs on you on your birthday, then what's the point, right?

Of course if my gag-inducing, gush-fest hasn't sent you fleeing your machine in search of a needle with which to stab yourself in the face and you still want to see more, then you're in luck. There are more videos on The YouTube, as old peoples like to call it. It cracks me up when old folks put "the" in front of nouns like The Facebook, The Twitter, The diarrhea. Wha?!?

Anywho, a good time was had by all. We got to pick on Young Master Taylor...

Sold Rhett's remaining glass of whiskey on Ebay. I'm kidding. I like to kid. I'm a kidder...

is that a big enough glass or what?

and spent another amazing evening in the company of our (okay, my) favorite songwriter.

On to that bustling Metropolis, York, Pennsylvania!

Beach Blanket Bingo Redo
or Mother Nature does a Mea Culpa

Okay, so remember last year when a viciously vindictive nor'easter dropped by creating the perfect storm of vacation suck keeping our heads literally underwater for a week? No? Well you can read all the gory details here.

I don't know what happened, maybe Dr. Freud dispensed the ideal mood enhancing drug cocktail or some sexy, six-pack-ab Latino is cleaning her pool now (she's such a Cougar!), but Mother Nature was in a spectacular mindset and did us a major solid.

fiery sunset after the storm

Hurricane My-Name-Is-Earl threatened to dampen our frolic time from the start, but Mommy Dearest Nature promptly blew his ass out to sea, leaving only rough surf and sunshine for our entire stay! No shit! It was an absolutely picture-perfect, sayonara-to-summer week at the Jersey shore.

*Sigh*

I hate leaving Summer's behind. Wait...what? I mean summer behind.

(what a crap joke. sorry.)

P.S.: I love the Jersey spirit. Even though a hurricane was a comin', Jerseyites came out in droves to give Earl a collective up yours! Pffft!! We ain't afraid of no storm. Hell, bring the kids on down.

"The sea was angry, my friend" George Costanza

15 foot waves and lots of sea crud

what hurricane? bring the kids.

hurricane earl: family fun for everyone
if the little ones fly away then they weren't holding on tight enough

stealthy storm surge drenching looky-loos 

I heart those f*cking humps.

Anywho, this year there were six of us adults and one very large Lab puppy, Otto. We did the usual... snacked, drank, swam, drank, gabbed, ate, drank... you get the idea. This go-round the bar consisted of freshly made vodka mojitos, margaritas and a new guest... Patron shots!!

Mmmmm... Not enough Os in smooth (hiccup!)

Disappointingly, no one got up to do the Pee Wee Herman Cool Big Shoes Tequila dance. We're slipping in our advancing years. Of course at my age, I could break a hip.

TEQUILA!!!

By the way, Pee Wee's original playhouse is playing on Broadway through January. We're going to try to get tickets during our vacation. Mecka Lecka High Mecka Hiney Ho!!

But I digress...

As a general rule, all families are dysfunctional...it's just a matter of degree, right. I have to say though, ours is pretty damn cool. Everybody feels comfortable doing their own thing on vacation. Bud and Les would get up early to walk Otto, I'd get up shortly after to hang on the dock with some Morning Joe and everyone else sort of stirred whenever the mood struck them.

Dockside Morning with Bud and Les 

Being a Lab, Otto was all about diving in the lagoon to retrieve a ball, a stick, severed arm. Wait...what?!? Okay, it was just a hand.

I kid. I kid.

For a 10 month old puppy, he's really well behaved. Here he is waiting patiently for someone to come out to play. Wouldn't you love to know what's really going through his mind?

DUUUUUCK!!!

Oh, yeah. That.

Looking at this pontoon, you might be saying to yourself, "So how the EFF is that 50 pound lab getting out of that lagoon?"

Thanks for asking, and please...watch your language. You know I'm as gentile as a freaking Pilgrim, Asshat. Anywho, check out this nifty little trick Leslie taught him! All of the dog lovers will love this.

Ladies and Gentlemen. Otto, the amazing ladder climbing dog!


Nothing like a deep pull from a long neck (or can) of an icy cold beer after a long day of water play, right pal?

alcohol appreciation...start early and often
welcome to the family

That should get the briny taste of sea water off your doggy breath.

Speaking of Otto... holy crap! How did this turn into a story about Otto?!? Last pooch story, I pinky swear. I had come back from the beach earlier than my sibs, because honestly there comes a time in the day when the thought of one more piece of sand scratching my cooter is absolutely unbearable. That's when I know it's time to take a dip in the pool and rid myself of all beach abrasion.

So, anywho, I do my usual--drag my sunburned self across the rocks and dive into the lagoon for a refreshing cleanse. After a quick swim up and down the waterway, I hop on an oval floaty to relax and drink in the remains of another gorgeous day.

Otto, who clearly now is my boyfriend, has been whining the entire time I'm in the water. He's so loud, his pathetic wails are bouncing off the surrounding houses in an echo rivaling any peak in the Alps. So Geo, being the nice guy he is, lets the dog out of the house.

OhMiFREAKINGGOD!!!?!

He bounded off the porch at lightning speed and didn't stop until he was airborne and headed straight for me and my floaty. His big, ole puppy paws clawed at me in a misguided effort to hug me right into Davey Jones' locker. I mean I dig me some puppy love, but Holy Crap! I was going down for the count. Of course I could not stop laughing big belly laughs as I was being pushed and pawed, which made it worse.

Geo tried to distract him by throwing the ball anywhere away from me, but in the end Otto staged a coup d'etat and usurped me from my comfy float.

Look at how happy he is floating there without having to doggy paddle so hard. How could I deny him and his adorable puppy dog eyes...

Then the silly bastard goes and pops the pillow by chomping on it, rendering it DOA for the remainder of the week. Besides the fifth of Ketel One, I'm happy to report the floaty was the only other thing killed that weekend.

So how does one top an exquisite week of sun, surf and sushi? What could possibly be the cherry atop the creamiest chocolate sundae with strawberry sauce?

Hmmmm.... I don't know. How about a back-to-back shot of the divine Mr. Miller on the ride home. But that's a story for another blog post.

selling it in Sellersville 

Yukking it up in (Dick) York, PA
(ok, that was pretty lame) 

Ah yes. The perfect week, indeed.

In Which Sometimes the Generic Star Readers Are Spot On

Okay, so basically I think astrology is solely fun entertainment. Yes some people's personalities parallel the vague characteristics of their astrological sign, but on the whole the readings hold no weight, especially the daily star charts.

Generally I consider myself a relatively level-headed person. I try not to overly fret about things I can't control and to look at the world through positive eyes. 

I swear I heard Geo do a spit take just now. Maybe I'm deluding myself. He would know if I'm full of shite. He does live with me. He gets to deal with the brunt of my collective neuroses each and every blessed day.

Lucky him.

Anywho, yesterday I fell into a rather inexplicable dark funk. I started the day off on a cheerful note, but then as time ticked by I was filled with self doubt, self loathing and the worst "self" of all, that horrible, whiny misanthrope, self pity. She's absolutely hideous! She made me her bitch. I felt like a hack, a sham, worthless.

Weird.

I'm not usually like this--thank God. I was so low, even the most limber of circus geeks couldn't limbo under my self-esteem pole. No amount of encouragement or niceties uttered by friends and family could mollify the miserable crazy woman who was now homesteading in my ego, rendering me inconsolable.

I know... Waaa Waaa Waaa.

So you're wondering what the hell this has to do with Astrology, right? Every day I get my horoscope in an email. This is yesterday's which I only read this morning.

Friday, Sep 17th, 2010 -- It's not easy to receive compliments today because you aren't completely convinced that you really deserve them. Unfortunately, you might confront memories that feed your low self-esteem now, no matter how much appreciation comes your way. Stop resisting the inevitable; open your heart and let the love in without hiding behind layers of doubt.

Holy Crap!! Could this have been more accurate? Spooky.

Eventually I was able to "open my heart and let the love in"... the love of completely bawdy, 12 year-old boy humor, that is. Luckily for my psyche, we had Louis CK's "Shameless" on our DVR. Watching him prattle on and on for a full fifteen minutes about a bag of dicks pulled me from the dark side. He's one sick bastard, and I thank him and his twisted humor with all my heart.

Here's a link to the hilarious travel day episode from his FX series. This ep had me in tears! Anyone who has traveled quite a bit will have coffee shooting out their nostrils. Enjoy!

(If you can't watch the video below try this link to hulu here. Or on Fx here. Look for "Travel Day")



I'm still not certain where all the drama came from. Could be the dreaded hormonal imbalance moment. Could be the DTs from lack of vodka after vacation. The first I can't do too much about. The second... well, I can get right on that one.

So, to recap: I can be a maudlin mensch at times. Sometimes horoscopes are eerily spot on. Louis CK's incessant penis pronouncements clearly have healing powers.

In Which We Book Lodging In The "You Might Feel A Slight Discomfort Inn"

Okay, so Geo and I have been taking a lot of small trips this year, mainly to hear the musical musings of one Rhett Miller.


I know. What a shocker.


We've been slumbering in a lot of hotels, many of which have been rather swanky and offer the Best. Beds. EVER! This whole new trend towards plush, 22 inch pillow-top mattresses, 400+ count Egyptian combed-cotton sheets and big fluffy pillows is like a little slice of heaven on Earth!! They are so epically comfortable I have to forcibly drag myself from the bed. These things are so irresistibly decadent I feel like I'm having a torrid affair with the smoothest lover on the planet.


Mmmmm.... Sorry. I'm back now.


Most of the places we've stayed have had pretty groovy bathroom fixtures, too. Very modern and high tech with lots of chrome. All class and glass.


Ah, but alas. Not all hotels are created equal.


Last year's Labor Day vacation was a complete washout thanks to a premenstrual Nor'easter pissing on our parade. This time around we were determined to beat Hurricane Earl to the beach. We left our house around 7pm. Geo, God love him, drove all night until we were ready to drop, ending part one of our journey close to the Atlantic City airport. We decided to stay at a chain hotel because at least they would be open at 1:30 in the morning.


So we find a Comfort Inn and fall asleep immediately because we are completely exhausted. Okay, we pack it in AFTER we jump on our iPods (hello free WiFi) to look through Facebook, Twitter and all the other crap that you cruise through because you're obsessed about it...


Anywho, the next morning I mosey in to take a shower. The first peculiar thing I notice is the shower curtain has a slightly patterned, clear horizontal window band about boob to brain wide.

Hi there! I'm taking a shower. By all means, come watch.

I can't decide if it's peak-a-boo pervy or the management catering to patrons who have an aversion to the movie Psycho.


Hmmmm...we did lock the door, right?


Once in the tub, I find the shower head is designed for Lilliputians. Seriously, I have never been so up close and personal with a shower head before. The thing was completely right at my eye level. I can tell you, hotel shower head...not something you want to check out too closely. It's kinda nasty. I had to squat down in order to get my head under the spray. At least it gives you a quad work out, right? After a 20 minute shower you can definitely feel the burn.

I swear I am not standing on my tip toes

Let's talk water pressure, shall we. With a head that large, you'd think the stream would be powerful, but no. (Oh! Oh! That's what she said!) I appreciate how soft water makes your hair feel all soft and silky smooth, but the too-gentle spray only makes it to around your belly button then, buh-bye! It's gone gone gone. I swear it just disappears. I don't think my feet even got wet.


And what is it with the hairdryers? Normal dryers have like 17 speeds and 14 temperatures, but this hotel hand blower (hee hee) has two speeds, whisper and rip the hair from its follicle jet engine.


Other than the L'il Tikes Shower Head, Norman Bates Collection shower curtain and gale-force wind dryer, our stay at the You Might Feel a Slight Dis-Comfort Inn was just fine, thank you.

@*!&%#*!!?!?!!

Jesus H Key-Rist!!!

GPSs. I love them. I loathe them.

For the third time now, Felicity the British bird who voices our GPS, (yes. we named our GPS. i know. dorksville.) went off her nutter and sent us in circles around the outskirts of all places, York, PA. This trip had her sending us off then back on the same highway for no discernible reason except to explicitly engage us in some sadistic version of Simon Says.

"Simon Says take slip road on right"
"Simon Says take next exit on left"
"Simon Says back on the highway from whence you came" (she is British after all)
"Simon Says HAHA! You are one gullible wanker!" (again with the British bullshit)

This time around I clicked on the theater address as our next destination.

I swear to God I did.

I know I did.

Ask Geo. He's my witness. I would bet my last pair of comfy, to-die-for summer sandals that I did, and you know how a girl and her favorite footwear are NEVER parted. Yet, that saucy strumpet sent us on a random spin around the block right back to our starting point for the second time that day.

Aaaaaaaaaarg!!

Frustrating, but mild compared to the last time.

The last time she felt devilish, we ended up bashing into the back of a van of Chinese nationals. Nice.

this bistro is Zombie friendly
how open minded of them

We were driving back from Lawng Island to New Jersey. Felicity sent us through Manhattan to the Holland Tunnel. A mere 1.2 mile trek...that took an hour and a half!?! I'm not kidding. I could have got out and walked to New Jersey faster. Seriously. I could have done a little shopping... had a drink and a nosh... walked a few dogs and still picked up Geo a scad four blocks further along.

Frustration, thy name is Saturday Manhattan Crosstown Traffic.

Alas, I dutifully stayed in the car trying to be a positive distraction from the soul-sucking snail's pace in which we found ourselves. Gazing out through the sunroof, I discovered a pretty cool perspective of the neighborhood surrounding us.

 There are so many beautiful images around us that none of us sees because we rarely take the time to look up. I would never have noticed this gorgeous fire escape had it not been for the traffic and sunroof.

So at least there's that, right? I may actually start a collection of photos entitled "Through the Roof" inspired by our long, tedious journey.

Anywho, we finally broke free and sailed through the tunnel to New Jersey, where Felicity promptly took us off the highway only to declare "Psyche!!" and send us right back to the on ramp. And that's when it happened.

The van started to merge, we followed, they stopped for reasons known only to them, we, uh...didn't.

Bammo!

Next thing we know the guy's out of the car, holding his neck and pointing at his bumper which by the way, didn't have a noticeable mark on it. Geo was stuck in the car because it was nigh impossible for him to get out without getting creamed by speeding cars driven by oh-so considerate people shouting helpful messages like "learn to drive, you fucking asshole!" because, you know, our goal for the day was to purposely block the right lane of an uber busy highway in Northern New Jersey for absolutely no reason at all and stand around with our fingers up our behinds waiting for the cops to show up just for grins because we thought it would be fun and endear us to Jersey drivers who are known worldwide for their compassion and patience. Buttheads.

Highway 1/9
If you put your ear to the computer screen you can still hear
drivers screaming "Get outta da way, you stupid hump!"

Wait...where was I going with this? Oh yeah. So here's the best part. While we were waiting for the cops to finish their donuts, take a dump, call their bookies, make plans for dinner and book a flight to Reno before they show up, Mr. Chinaman strolls over to me standing on the curb, and in his best broken Engrish suggests we give him some money and he'll go away.

Yeah.

Who knew Mr. Wang had a pair.

I say no, of course, but then my curiosity gets the best of me. Mr. W can't formulate a number, but I stroll over to Geo who's still trapped in the car and tell him what went down.

Have you ever seen videos of a crazed wild animal locked in a very small cage, flipping out, banging around from side to side? That was totally Geo. He was spitting fire and rocking the Hell out of our car. I swear he moved Rita an extra foot into oncoming traffic. I wish I had a video of it. Hilarious! Not then, mind you, but now. Absolutely hilarious!!

So anywho, the cop finally comes...yadda yadda yadda. We haven't heard a peep from the Chinese Van Man and his gaggle of ladies. Chalk another adventure up in the travels column.

The GPS is a brilliant piece of technology. It has saved us a number of times in a number of unfamiliar towns by leading us to food, gas and lodging in the middle of the night. We'd be lost without it, but really it should have a "don't f*ck with me today" button because some days the last thing you need is a cheeky electronic device dicking with you, even if she does have a fetching English accent.

In Which Sid the Kid Becomes A Man For All Sports Teams 

Okay, so by now you all know how much I love hockey. I don't just love hockey...as Woody Allen would say, I lurve hockey!! It's the only sport whose return I long for. Besides it's pretty much the only thing that makes winter in the northern quadrant bearable.

As a Pittsburgher, if you love hockey you gotta LOVE Sidney Crosby. I mean, come on! The man's a machine! He's like a freaking Super Hero on blades! And oh-so much fun to watch. Even if you don't love the great sport of hockey, you have to admit Sid's something special with a capital "S". Not to mention the whole outstanding hockey butt thing he's got going on... Or the luscious lips that are perpetually red... Or his sweetness factor... or his general hawtness... or... oh you get the idea.

*swoon*

That said, he did this at PNC Park today:

I ask you, is there anything this Adonis can't do? Perhaps the Pirates should sign him up for next year.

Only four weeks until the season starts! Woopty Doooo!!

Guess Who's Turning the Big 4-0? 

No not him! Although I loveloveLOVE me some Paul Rudd, with or without boxers. :-)

Him!

Yep. My adorable fantasy husband is launching into a new decade, and it looks FABULOUS on him!!

Some people freak out about turning 40, you know, like suddenly you're feeble-minded, decrepit and unable to chew your own food. 

Oh hooker, Pah-lease! That could not be further from the truth. 

As one who bid a tearful farewell to 49 this year, I can tell you truthfully 40 is the start of the prime of life. It's the beginning of the best years of your existence in this mortal coil. You're still young, vital and physically able to cavort like a 25 year-old, while gaining the emotional confidence to start knocking those monkeys of self-doubt and self-inflicted turmoil off your back one by one, lightening your spirit and enabling your soul to soar. It's empowering. Look at Murry up there. He's in his forties and he can still kick ass on stage with the best of them. 

Of course Rhett doesn't have a grey hair on his head and barely looks 30. I mean, come on. Look at him. He hasn't aged at all. Somehow I think the perennially youthful Mr. Miller will be jumping off Philip's drum kit, shakin' his booty and belting out Barrier Reef for decades to come.  

So, in celebration of the anniversary of the day of your birthing, here's a birthday kiss... 

and a virtual bottle of Jameson with which to toast the start of your next chapter. 

Hold on to your hat, BABY! You're life's about to get even more awesome!!

Cheers!