In Which The Pens Land A Holy Trinity

Okay, so by now you know how much I love hockey in general and the Pens in particular. This year's half-season lockout was torture, what with the Steelers imploding, the winter dragging mercilessly on and 30 Rock closing up shop.

It was a glorious week in mid-January when NHL hockey returned (coinciding with my beloved Rhett Miller's solo show. Passions colliding.) with a shortened schedule which has played out like an extended playoff season from the get-go. My boys struggled at first, but are now sitting on top of the heap, currently riding a 13 game streak WITH a missing Malkin and Letang.

So, fast forward to this week...

Pens GM, Ray Shero shrewdly jumped ahead of the trade deadline next week to craft deals for two team captains and a big-ass defenseman.

First up, long-time Dallas Stars Captain, 34-year-old Brenden Morrow was swapped for Joe Morrow and a prospect, rendering Stars fans shocked and speechless. He waived his no-trade clause with a franchise he called home for 14 years to move to a team in the running.

"Not long after Brenden Morrow caught an early-morning flight out of the only National Hockey League city he's ever known Monday, his 8-year-old daughter came upon his wife crying. Morrow's wife, Anne-Marie, relayed what little Bryelle told her via a text Brenden received during a layover. 

She said, 'Mom, it's going to be OK. It's only a couple months -- and he's got a chance to win the Cup.'"

Bright little girl.

It's gotta be tough coming from a leadership role for nearly 14 years to go back to player. When Morrow spoke at his conference, he addressed that particular issue with a humble acknowledgment that the Pens is Sid's team. He's happy to play his role, and thrilled to be playing alongside such talent. Showing their class and fraternity, several players traded numbers so Morrow could retain his number, 10.

welcome aboard

Then one day later, Shero and company acquired San Jose Sharks' big defensemen, 33-year-old Douglas Murray for second round draft picks in both 2013 and 2014. Our defense has been struggling with Letang out most of this shortened season. Murray's big frame can fill a much needed position in front of the net, not unlike the much-maligned Hal Gill who was instrumental in our last cup victory.

"San Jose has become home for me and I'm leaving with an empty feeling with the teams we had here not getting it done, but it's extremely exciting going to Pittsburgh, going to the best team in the league already. They always have some great players and I'm just excited to get there, get used to the team and take a run at the Stanley Cup." - Douglas Murray

And he ain't afraid to fight. Woot!



Then this morning came the big news, Shero worked his voodoo magic and snagged Calgary Flames' nine-season Captain, 35-year-old Jarome Iginla right out from under Boston.

It's a freaking Easter miracle!!

aaaaaaaaaaa...

When everyone went to bed, Boston had a lock on Iginla. Then the magical trade fairies wearing Ray Shero masks proclaimed, "Ain't NOBODY got time for that."

POOF! Penguin.

So sad. NOT!

Iginla has consistently scored 30 goals per season, fed Sid the winning goal for Canada in the 2010 Olympics AND donates $2,000 to charity for each goal he scores. Great guy for a great team.



Because I can't resist, one more gem from the interwebs.

Crosby and Iginla
pittsburgh's own dynamic duo

All the NHL is hating on us bad right now. heehee


The dream of drinking from Lord Stanley' Cup is a powerful motivator. All three of these seasoned veterans cashed in their long-term allegiances in pursuit of their chance to hoist those precious, shiny metal rings, handed only to the most deserving battle worn.

When Hossa bailed on us to search for his holy grail as a Red Wing with Detroit, I thought it was a shitty thing to do. Our team still had promise. But now I get it. These guys play hard their entire career. They just want to wrap their bloodied and bruised hands around that cold steel and grab a taste of that one magical moment that gives their entire life meaning.

The stage is set pretty damn tight for our Cup dreams to become a reality. Shero's doing everything in his power to make it so. Fingers crossed our newest black and gold will complete their life's work in a sea of waving white towels.

the dream is alive

Fun Times At Mr. Small's
or some other such woefully inadequate titling

Okay, so I used to hate going to Mr. Small's, the sanctuary-turned-concert-venue in one of the dullest mill towns in outer Pittsburgh, because the crowds were annoying, the sound system was horrible and the putrid smell of hot dog water wafted in from the vendor set up RIGHT in front of the intake fan outside the entrance.

Nothing heightens a rock show like the pervasive scent of hot wiener juice.

"Wiener juice" heehee

Oh CRAP. Here come the porn bots and freaky fetishists looking for a jolly. Sorry, Charlie. No scintillating abnormalities here. Oh, great. Now the midgets-wearing-diapers-and-oversized-bonnets enthusiasts are blowing up my timeline. Aaaaaand here come the firearm-stockpiling malcontents. Etcetera Etcetera Etcetera...

You see how this works? It's a slippery slope, People! This is how the fall of modern society starts...one silly-ass blog mention at a time like this one about... Um... what was I talking about? Oh yeah! Mr. Small's.

Aaaaywho, my self-imposed moratorium on this particular venue has definitely been lifted being as I will have frequented this establishment three times in as many weeks--last Thursday for my beloved Old 97's (for whom I will travel to the very pits of Hell to see), Thursday night for quirky They Might Be Giants, and next Friday for Scottish rockers, Frightened Rabbit.

Last week's Old 97's show was spectacular, as always. There were at least 15 people in our group of devotees perched stage left, Murry side.

half the crowd plus a spare part

I've written so many times about their greatness live, that I have run out of superlatives and creative ways to effectively convey their superior stage performance. Lucky for you I have preached ad naseum here, here here, oh and here. (Sarcasm included at no extra charge)

courtesy Amy Crawford

courtesy of Frank Vilsack

courtesy of Frank Vilsack

time bomb jump courtesy of Amy Crawford

A couple fun notes about this particular show:

1. They barreled on stage with the perennial crowd pleaser, Barrier Reef. During the long musical intro, Rhett's acoustic wasn't up to snuff so he ended up guitarless for the start of the vocal. Clearly not knowing what to do with his unexpected idle hands, he put one on the mic stand and the other awkwardly in his pocket. Adorable. Eventually his electric appeared, restoring his comfort zone.

2. A lovely, spirited blonde girl of four years dancing and twirling on the far edge of the stage caught Rhett's eye. He sprinted over, guitar in hand, to say hi only to SCARE THE LIVING CRAP out of her. She leapt into her mother's arms and buried her face in Mommy's neck. Poor Baby. Rejected by a 4 year-old. Ha Ha! Mr. M made up for it later by personally handing the tot his setlist. She'll appreciate his gesture later in life, after she puts a little salve on that emotional scar.

the moment just before Rhett scared the tiny tot

3. Dude! They played Can't Get a Line!! Old 97's fans will be the only one's excited by that fact. They also played Busted Afternoon (another rarity) and No Baby I, the song from which this illiterate piece of blog gets its title. (Everytime the Blue-eyed one sings this one, I pretend he's singing it just for me. Shut up. It's my fantasy, dammit.)

CAN'T GET A LINE

BUSTED AFTERNOON

4. Oh, and hey! No eau du wiener juice! Score.

*link to the rest of Frank Vilsack's photos here



Fast forward to Wednesday night...

They Might Be Giants is a band that has been around since 1982, but this is the first time I've ever seen them live. Geo and I amassed several of their early efforts, but nothing of late. They are uber prolific. They are also hard to pigeon hole, what with their nerd pop, accordion-laced, short-form witty observations on tiny life moments. They have also produced three children's albums.

The joint was packed to the gills, so Sue and I opted to hang in the bar corral just behind the sound board. The opener, Moon Hooch, consisted of three guys, two of whom wielded a big tenor sax and weird oboe thingie which made everything sound a little Philip Glass-ish. Sue dubbed this new genre, Sax Rock. Sucking down a couple heavy-handed V & Ts helped make them tolerable.

um...i can't feel my face

When TMBG took the stage, all the lovable nerd boys behind us sang along to everything, which I sincerely appreciate because the charm of TMBG songs is the cleverness of the lyrics which were nearly impossible to decipher, what with the marginal acoustics in the Baby Jesus' cavernous former home.

DR. WORM

The band played for nearly two hours, bantering with the crowd, popping up in the balcony, making up a song about Mr. Small's.



And then this happened.

 HE'S LOCO

Pretty entertaining evening. No confetti cannons this time, but a fun time for sure.

Old 97's setlist

Barrier Reef

Won't Be Home No More

Brown Haired Daughter (Murry started writing this one, Rhett finished it)

Stoned

W Texas Teardrops

Lonely Holiday (one of Geo's faves)

No Baby I (for me. that's my story. shut up)

Champaign, IL

Victoria Lee

Can't Get a Line (!!!)

Halcyon

Please Hold On While the Train is Moving

Busted Afternoon

Color of a Lonely Heart is Blue

Jagged

I'm a Trainwreck

Smokers

Big Brown Eyes

The Easy Way (another rarity)

4 Leaf Clover

Rhett solo:

Long Long Long

encore:

Every Night Is Friday Night

Rollerskate Skinny

Time Bomb

Friday Video(s) Returns!!

Okay, so my favorite thing to come out of the interwebs this entire week is a screaming goats mash up of popular songs.

What the hell is a screaming goat mash up, you say? Let me start from the beginning.

First there was this hilarious compilation video of goats screaming... like humans.



I. Am. Crying!!

Being an urbanite, I had no idea goats screamed like that. My friend who lived several years in an English village has confirmed that yes, goats scream like freaking humans much to the horror of her offspring. But holy crap! Comedy gold right there.

Naturally, this led to a pile of videos in which snippets of the aforementioned goats are inserted into popular songs at the opportune moment, hence the "mash up".  The best by far, in my humble opinion is the Bon Jovi classic, Living on a Prayer.

Again. Crying!

There are a ton more on YouTube. Here's just one site featuring a selection. The fact that the goat's tongues are wagging with every utterance, kills me. Never gonna tire of this one. It totally speaks to my inner 10 year-old boy sense of humor. Seriously, this is my favorite item from the last seven days.

Okay, well maybe it's a tie with this.


Call me Munchma.

These names are going on our list beside Dick Fitzwell, Erin McCooter and Craven Moorehead. Don't know what's funnier, the names, or Colbert completely losing it. This is the shit for which the interwebs were made, yo.

God bless your pointy little heads.

And the Rest (reduex)....
or more boredom than the brain can handle featuring a butt load of photos
(Oh hey, look. There's that jump thing again to read on)

Moving on...

1. Sisters Pelini Weekend at the Beach

Once again we Pelino girls traveled to Long Beach Island to spend several days at my sister's little house by the lagoon. We love this place, and although Big Mar cannot venture to the beach anymore, she enjoys being with her girls. The feeling is mutual. We eat, yak, drink, tan, drink, yak, eat, yak, yak, yak... You know, the usual girl stuff that is impossible to share with spouses because you just can't. You just have to be there. And be a girl and/or sister. It's a gender-specific phenom. Trust me on this.

fresh caught seafood daily

fresh made mojito daily

fresh cut blooms daily
okay, not these. their owners would be pissed

And The Rest...
or how I spent summer vacation and other random bits of 2012

FYI: Procrastination is neither my friend nor foe, but more a seductive Siren's song luring me to the rocky edges of distraction.

Bitch.

Disclaimer: Since this bloggity blah blog in no way impacts the course of human events, but is merely a tool by which to store the very minutiae of my existence in order to jar the memories that will no doubt be buried deep in the dusty corners of my future addled brain in my swiftly approaching senile years, I feel compelled to document the aforementioned backlog of shite that was the later portion of 2012 for future reference, or embarrassment. (She says, knowing full well at that point she won't even remember who this spazzy chick with the crazy red Medusa hair is to feel any modicum of shame, but will merely point and laugh and ridicule with delight. That is if she can still remember how to read. Or find her teeth. Or use the loo.)

Wait...Where was I? Oh yeah...

No lie, these two posts have been my albatross, my Moby Dick, my relentlessly naggy House Frau with the pointy rubber brassiere and kitty whip. Every time I open this bad boy, their "draft" status mocks me. How did I get so far behind?!? For whatever reason, I lost interest in this e-journal. Perhaps it was my Muse taking a much needed sabbatical to Hawaii, or my getting caught in a funk spiral or maybe... just maybe I was out living my life.

Yeah, let's go with the last one, shall we.

In any case, I gotta launch these f*ckers before I have a psychotic break. So grab a case of cold ones. This is going to get mind numbing. Feel free to skip ahead to future posts. Or past ones. I won't hold it against you. Not for too long anyway.




Part One: Concerts. trying to clean up my blog mess before starting a new one.

Okay, so this summer was a terrific season for concert going. Usually I write ad nauseam about these musical outings, but for whatever reason I have been lax about penning a synopsis. I shall effort to be brief (HaHaHa! I crack myself up) in the following retelling.

The interwebs have become the electronic form of Pen Pals. You remember Pen Pals, right? In grade school we all got to choose a kid from another country with which to correspond in an attempt to expand our horizons, create a better appreciation of other cultures and generally make the world a smaller place. Well, that snail mail took forever to get from point A to point B and back again, but through the miracle of technology, the size of the world has shrunk small enough to fit in the palm of our hands. It's easier than ever to make and keep friends over great distances.

That said, I had the pleasure to attend three shows with several friends I never would have met had it not been for the development of social media.

I learned a new trick, the jump that shortens up painfully long postings in the main feed while providing a link to the full blown rambling, which has apparently been a feature here since like 2008. I'm a slow learner. So of course there is way more after the jump. Waaaaay more. I am nothing if not needlessly verbose.


1. Beach + Rhett Miller = No-Brainer Road Trip

oh, hello handsome

In Which We Finally See The Elusive Moz

Morrissey, replete in peach (shirt #1 of 5)
His visage was all on over that stage
(at the elegant Heinz Hall)

Okay, so back in October the Enigma known as Morrissey cancelled yet another concert date in Pittsburgh. Alright, this instance was legit, as his Mum was sick in England. Or so he claims. Whatever. Who am I to judge. A fucking patron who shelled out some heavy dough-re-mi for this gig AND wasted a bloody vacation day to boot, that's who. But I'm not bitter. Much.

Barney, Wilma and Steve in the "cheap" seats

Aaaaanywho, he rescheduled for a Monday night in January. The absolute worst day of the week for me. And you know, it is ALL about moi.

All day I kept thinking "he better fucking show up this time." Well, he did. With a five-piece back up band, a big ass light show, and a trunk load of shirts which he changed every four songs whether he needed to or not.

It's been a while since I've sat through one of these uber productions. It was a fun change, but it also made me appreciate the smaller, more intimate, reasonably priced (read cheapo) shows I normally attend.

light show a go-go

So back to Moz...

He's held up rather well. His angst agrees with him apparently. His voice was exactly the same as his younger self. Unfaltering. He entered the stage amidst the spinning cookie lights, dramatically pausing, posturing, theatrically kneeling up stage near the drum kit (complete with timpani and eight foot gong), shaking hands with his minion in the front row, and pushing the mic stand over like a true diva. It was hysterical.

I kinda love it.

For the second or third shirt change (who can remember) he came out in a denim number which he promptly ripped off and tossed into the audience during the chorus. At which point, my old pal, Steve remarked, "okay, he's not in bad shape, but nobody needs to see that. NOBODY."

(blast from the past: The Smith's singing one of my favorites neglected in the Pgh show)

Truth be told, he didn't play enough hits for me. No "There's a Light That Never Goes Out." No "Big Mouth Strikes Again". No "Sheila Take a Bow". No "Panic". No "Cemetery Gates". And that's just off the top of my head. I wasn't familiar with most of his selections, but boy howdy, the two kids in front of us were going to town, thrashing their heads with abandon for each and every offering. We had a great time watching them freak.

I tell you this though, I could have done without the graphic slaughterhouse footage rolling behind him during "Meat is Murder".

I. Get. It.

You're a vegan. You're opposed to people using animals as food, but I don't want to see that shit at a concert, yo! Also, he ended the master setlist on that Debbie Downer.

What. the. EF?

Bewildering.

Never having been to one of his elusive performances before, I had no idea the whole fans-jumping-on-stage-to-touch-and-or-hug-the-Moz was a thing with him. Three adoring followers (two male, one female) took the leap of faith to lay hands on His mighty self, while Morrissey continued crooning uninterrupted. But only three jumped to kiss his ring, which may be why we only got a ONE SONG ENCORE!!?!

Okay, it was How Soon is Now, but still. WTF?


(courtesy Phreak9mm)


It was different. Not horrible at all, just ... different. I can't say for sure whether it was worth the self-inflicted wound of sleep deprivation suffered the next morning at the cruel hour of 2:30am, but I'm glad to finally have had the chance to see him. I'm still bummed I foolishly passed up the opportunity to see him with The Smiths back in 89, but this was one for ye olde bucket list, fo sho.

Hometown Saturday Trifecta
or three of my loves in one incredible day

Okay, so what's better (for me, that is) than a Rhett Miller solo show? Seeing him play TWICE in Pittsburgh sandwiched around a victorious Pens game against the Flyers, all in the company of my everlovin' Geo, that's what.

Happy pre-birthday to me! Spending an entire day watching my two loves with Geo is the cherry on the top of my Corneto, fo sho!!

The lovely blue-eyed one kindly squeezed a visit to the Burgh in between his Virginia and Mountain Stage gigs, and WYEP (the greatest radio station in the lower 48) snatched him up for a rare Saturday afternoon studio session. Geo and I (did I mention G tagged along?) met up with friends and fellow Rhett enthusiasts, Joe, his girls and Noreen for his energetic four-song set and interview. No matter how large or small an appearance, Mr. Miller has one mode--All IN.

You can hear for yourself. Time Bomb is particularly awesome. The link to the session is here. Go listen. It's only 24 minutes long. Go ahead. I'll wait... (cue Final Jeopardy theme)

courtesy of Noreen McBride

Articulate, witty, giving 100%...Do you see why I adore him? Plus, he graciously stuck around for photos.

rhett + hockey = double LOVE
(steph refers to this as the "elusive dry hair pic")

my wonderful friend, Suzanne and I as the bread in our rhett sammy
his banana is quite excited to see her

aaaaaand... we've overstayed our welcome

Side note: Before going on air, Rhett told the audience he was pulled over for speeding on his drive up from Virginia, quipping the incident gave poignancy to his lyric, "I call the police, but they don't like me." In some douchey, cosmic joke to punctuate that statement, he got a parking ticket while he was wrapping up at the station. Fortunately later on, the Universe made nice for being a dick by giving his Stars a win.


Next up, opening day of hockey with a bar full of beer-swilling, team-jersey wearing Pens fans.

hell of a line right there

One thing about Pittsburghers, we love our sports teams and ain't afraid to show it. There was a recent study claiming our city has the highest per capita of women donning team jerseys. Yeah. Not a surprise. The clientele at the Smiling Moose validated that statement. I think Geo and I were the only ones NOT wearing a Pens logo.

For shame. For SHAME!

Anywho, we had a blast in our little alcove yelling and cheering the Pens on to victory with a packed house of revelers.

After a dinner of tender lamb kabobs, it was time for the third spur of our Saturday Trifecta, Mr. M at Club Cafe. All told, there were about ten in our group of groupies parked in the front, mole side.

joe c, amy c, katie c, noreen, me, yoko, annie and cindy

The opening act was Black Prairie, an eclectic six-piece band including three members of Portland's Decemberists. Among the plethora of diverse instruments were a stand up bass, accordion, steel guitar, violin and some wacky looking Hungarian violin with a horn attached. Their sound had a unique honky-tonk, European, circus vibe, fronted by a beautiful blonde with an equally gorgeous soprano voice.

Annalisa playing that wonky fiddle-horn thing

that's a whole lotta talent packed onto that l'il stage

They were incredibly skilled musicians. I have a new found respect for the accordion now thanks to that wee woman. The highlight for me personally, was their cover of Led Zepplin's The Song Remains the Same.





Moving on to the real reason for this gathering...

a great moment captured by the talented Amy Crawford

I know I sound like a broken record, but any time I get to stand in front of this incredible tall Texan and listen to him sing is a good day. A very good day. I have run out of superlatives strong enough to convey his talent, his prowess, his greatness.  He is simply superb.

half windmill courtesy of Amy Crawford

This evening featured a long, 29-song mixture of solo works, 97's tunes, cover songs, and banter. His oeuvre (his word) is so extensive, I marvel at his ability to whittle it down to 30 songs.

We were treated to the last verse of Question en franchise (pour les dames) preceeded by an amusing story about his French teacher. (video courtesy LiveBurghMusic)



The crowd getting behind him on Barrier Reef. (courtesy LiveBurghMusic - more videos here)



And Annie and I gunking up my friend Noreen's video with our sing-along on Indefinitely. (I could have at least sang the correct words. asshat.) watch more of Noreen's videos here.




Black Prairie joined Rhett on stage for the final five songs of the master set, adding a delightful element to his works. A little honky tonky. A little Mellencamp-ish. A little twang.

Annalisa Torfelt matching his high C

California Stars

solo set closer Our Love with a twist

(courtesy LiveBurghMusic)

And then just like that, it was over. Another fantastic performance seared in my memory. He played for over 2 hours, and still we all wanted more. Luckily, he'll be back with the 97's in March. Woot!


The one downer of the evening: Club Cafe has always been our favorite venue in the city, but lately the bar crowd has been beyond rude. I understand that patrons feel the right to talk during opening acts being as they came for the headliner, but Jesus H Christmas! now they're talking LOUDLY THROUGH the headliner!!?! It's embarrassing, and completely inexcusable.

I mean, What the fuck? What are we, Dallas? Come on, people! What's worse is this show was sold out. I personally know a handful of fans who would have gladly taken the collective ignorami's place, singing and dancing and adding to the experience instead of detracting from it.

Asshats.

Somebody needs to get all Mike Doughty all up on their asses. Seriously, either go next door to Jack's to yuck it up or just SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SING!

I realize that's contradictory, but you get my drift. I just hope this bad behavior doesn't dissuade him from coming back to play more solo shows.

Lost Without You

Melt Show

Help Me, Suzanne

Long Long Long

Grand Theatre

Lonley Holiday

I Need To Know Where I Stand

Barrier Reef

Indefinitely

This is What I Do

Perfume

Out Of Love

Doreen

Question (with French)

Fireflies (w/Annalisa Tornfelt)

Adelaide

Come Around

Big Brown Eyes

Sweet Dreams

Every Night Is Friday Night

with Black Prairie:

You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome

Broadway

California Stars

Wreck of the Old 97

Our Love

encore:

Manic Depression

Time Bomb