Friday Photo #16 

or is it safe? 

Okay, so we're in a Best Western hotel in Hackensack, NJ getting ready to go see Rhett Miller, when Geo walks into the bathroom and says to me, "Soooo... do you think we should be concerned the smoke detector has char marks on it?"

Yeah... burn marks... on the smoke detector... 

Then we notice the toilets, which you can hear flushing through the walls because hotel rooms are paper thin, sound like shotgun blasts when flushed. The whole next morning was one shotgun blast flush fest. It became a joke with us... is it the toilet or real gun fire. You be the judge. Oh, no screams... must be the Urban Fecal Blaster 2000.

So then we notice there is no coffee pot to go with the coffee maker. What's up with that? On the way out we tell the desk clerk about the pot

Geo: Oh by the way, there's no coffee pot to go with the coffee maker

Clerk: You make one cup at a time

G: Yeah, but there is no coffee pot

C: You make one cup at a time

G: But there's no coffee pot

C: Right. You have to use your cup. We took all the coffee pots out because.. wait for it...  people were using it to make drugs.

??!!??? *blink* * blink* We obviously lead a sheltered life.

So, I'm guessing that's why the smoke detector has burn marks on it.

Welcome to Hackensack! Enjoy your stay.  Ka-BOOM!!!

Anniversary Celebration Road Trip, Part Deux

or Francis + Phoenixville = our coolest day EVAH!

Okay, so our morning after Rhett began with a surprise phone call to our good bud, Confabulatin' Bill. He lives northeast of Philly, but works about one hour east of his home essentially putting him halfway between Teaneck, NJ and Phoenixville, PA. 

We don't get to see Bill nearly enough. He's a great guy and so much fun to be around. He's smart and hip and quick-witted and just... delightfully ... goofy. He's always making up shit...long, drawn out, circuitous declarations which are always highly entertaining, hence the "Confabulatin'" moniker. We miss him immensely. 

So we both we're pumped by the the opportunity to lunch with him. Billy gave us a tour of his work digs--he's an uber talented graphic designer--then we set out to dine on some really kick-assed sushi. The conversation spanned such varied topics as how religion and science are related through their cousin wonder (what the?).. to starting up an online t-shirt shop called "I Eat Edamame" with a bumpy cartoon blow fish as its logo.. to the Japanese name for the long trail of poop often spotted on oblivious goldfish--King Yo Nic Yo or something. I'm sure I've butchered it. Anyway...big fun! 

After getting refueled on Sushi and Bill-isms, we set out for Phoenixville. I thought P-ville was going to be some drab, Hicksville in the middle of nowhere since we had such difficulty booking a room. Turns out it's quite lovely. The main street is in the middle of a restoration which has lured a number of really cool, off-beat shops, art galleries, loads of upscale pubs and restaurants and one groovy coffee house which happened to be hosting our dear Francis. Who knew? The lone, single screen theater is the same theater where "The Blob" starring Steve McQueen was filmed. Every August the town hosts a Blobfest where patrons watch the film and enact certain bits like fleeing the theater and screaming in the streets. Sounds like it could be fun to do some day. 

We had several hours to kill before the concert, so Geo and I roamed around shopping, drinking beer and Cosmos at the pizzeria and chatting up the locals. I'm not sure if it's because we're from the Burgh or it's our age (or both), but we seem to always find ourselves yakking it up with strangers. 

Anyhoo...

So we finally set out for the concert. Geo was heading for the car to retrieve Steelers Super Bowl shirts for Francis and Tony, the merchandise man who travels with Francis. 

(Okay...short back story about Tony. We're in our first house concert hosts' kitchen when Tony

-who's from NJ but is wearing a Pirates shirt--walks in, points at Geo and says "Hey, I know you". He remembered Geo from the last club date at Club Cafe. We kibitzed with him for a while, took pictures, yadda yadda... Then when we headed to Philly to see Francis at The Tin Angel, Tony recognized us again and took a jump photo with us.) 

Okay, now back to the story...

There was a lone figure walking towards us. It was, you guessed it because I totally broadcast this whole bit so now it's not a surprise anymore, Tony!! He looks at me and says, "Hey, Pittsburgh! You're the guys that made me jump. Kate said you might be here." He gave us both a huge hug (a man hug for Geo of course) and asked if we wanted to join him while he retrieved Francis from the restaurant down the street.  

HELLS YEAH!!!

So there we are, in the middle of this restaurant shooting the shit with Francis Dunnery! How cool is this!! Francis greets us like we're long lost buds, big hugs and smiles. Geo was beaming from ear to ear. Seriously. Then we get invited to tag along for the sound check as their guests. So we plop ourselves down and Francis launches into Geo's favorite song, "The Only Thing". 

Are you kidding me? A private performance of our favorite song? Double Cool! It's like this whole day is turning into one big Cosmic Kiss on the mouth...with tongue. The beauty is Francis did his "Tall, Blonde Helicopter" show, so "The Only Thing" was a bonus for us only. I like to think of it as the Cosmos rewarding Geo for tolerating yet another Rhett Miller show. At any rate, the show was fan-freaking-tastic--almost like being at a house concert. 

I couldn't find "The Only Thing" on YouTube, but here's a great concert video of "Hometown". Enjoy!

Afterwards we helped Francis pack up his car, said our thanks and goodbyes to him (more hugging--I do loves the hugging--it's the Italian in me) and headed to a pub to shoot the breeze for a couple of hours with Tony. We had such a great time. Tony told some fabulous stories about life on the road with Francis. 

One of the tales revolved around a guy I know who refused to let us into his house concert. I was really pissed at the time, because, you know, we're such huge Francis fans. I couldn't believe he wouldn't squeeze us in. What a tool. 

Aaaah...but karma took care of him. 

So Francis is doing his thing...singing, telling stories, engaging the crowd which Tony says was perhaps the best audience vibe they had in a long, long while, when the dude shouts from the front row, "Hey, how about you stop talking and just sing the songs." 

For reals. Can you believe it. Seriously. Dude...that is soooooo wrong! What an ASSHAT.

What happened next made us love Francis even more. He ended the concert right then. Said goodnight. Gave back the money. Packed up his stuff and left. How awesome is that?!

So this cat is begging him to stay... apologizing... calling Tony's cell phone constantly... Too late! You suck! You're done. Ahahahaha!!! How beautiful is that? You gotta love the karmic payback. Needless to say this guy is persona non gratta to the MAX!

Next thing you know, it's 1:15 am and Tony still has to drive to NJ. We say our goodbyes (more hugs) and part ways. As Geo and I strolled back to our hotel, we could not wipe the smiles from our faces. We looked at each other and giggled a bit. 

What a cool, cool day....

My Heart Goes Out Isabel...

it's a hard world for the little things 

Sometimes life is cruel.

You know the Internet is a very strange and wonderful thing. Yes, it's generally a ginormous waste of time, but it also allows you to connect with people through this crazy blog 'o sphere whom you never would have met otherwise.

Last night I read some very sad news. One of my Internet blog "friends" (for lack of a better term), Isabel who was around 16 weeks pregnant, wrote she lost her baby. It broke my heart. I don't even really know her, except for what she has shared via her blog... but it broke my heart just the same.

She and the King (her husband) are blessed with their son, little Babboo who is maybe... three? Turns out she had two miscarriages prior to Babboo, and now the universe is forcing her to deal with a third. And this is the peculiar thing... because of her track record, she only spilled the beans about her pregnancy to her Mother and a few close friends, but she felt comfortable sharing her happy news with us readers. 

And now we all share in her sadness. 

She turned off the comments because she can't deal with the sympathy right now. I can respect that... and I totally get it.

You see years and years ago, Geo and I tried to have children. And although I never had to bear the grief of losing my child halfway through pregnancy, the return of my period every month was as painful as a white-hot sword thrust threw my heart. All around me were beautifully glowing women with round, fruitful bellies pushing a cavalcade of carriages filled with cooing cherubs. God...it was so painful, like being surrounded by some twisted clown-car, cruelly belching babies, constantly mocking me. Or so it felt.

For two years I wrongfully blamed Geo. He didn't deserve that. I was angry at him. I was angry at the world. I was angry with our friend's wife who was miffed she was having their FIFTH kid...  I was inconsolable. Nothing anyone said to me offered comfort. In fact, all the niceties and the "Don't worry, Honey. Having kids isn't all it's cracked up to be" really sort of pissed me off. The worst part is I KNOW Geo would have been such a fantastic Dad... far better than me as a Mom. Now he has to wait until his next lifetime to experience fatherhood. It sucks.

It's the only thing in my life I regret, but we made the best choice for us at the time. Fortunately, we made it through and became closer. I was able to put that enormous desire and disappointment aside and enjoy the life we have. It's a very good life, too--filled with love and laughter, friends and family... but I knew one day the sadness would hit me again. 

For the last couple of months I've been feeling really sad about being childless. Maybe it's the whole fact my eggs are drying up signifying the end of my baby-making days. Maybe it's the fact I'm home alone a lot and the house is sooo quiet. Maybe that's why I started writing this blog... to fill the gaping hole in my heart. I don't know.  Maybe I just need some Prozac and a cocktail chaser. Ha Ha! 

Hey! I'm still laughing. That's a good sign, right?

Sometimes Life just feels like kicking you in the nuts and leaving you in a crumpled mess on the side of the road with a dead cell phone, you know for grins. It's not fair, but you gotta get up, adjust your package and keep moving forward. I'll get over my mental mess in time.

To my Interweb friend, Isabel... during this difficult time may you be able to find solace in the arms of the King and comfort in the eyes of your darling Babboo. I'm rooting for you, sister. 

Anniversary Celebration Mini Road Trip, Part One  

traveling to Teaneck, NJ...** 

(**my apologies to my sister, Weez for not stopping by... it was a quick trip and we didn't want to bother you guys)

Okay, so by now you all are aware of my undying devotion and obsession with my fantasy husband, Rhett Miller. Well, what you don't know is Geo has a deep connection to Francis Dunnery. I wouldn't call it a man-crush, but Francis is the only performer Geo will leave the house to see--no questions asked. Swear to God.

We don't get to see Francis that often because he quit playing clubs (except the Tin Angel in Philly) and only does house concerts now. Seriously. He'll come to your house and play in your living room. How cool is that? We've been to two and they are AWESOME!! 

Anywho... I've been trying for months to find someone to drive to Teaneck, NJ with me to see Rhett at a little place called Mexicali Blues. Geo didn't want to tag along since the gig was Thursday night, and I couldn't find anyone to bite. To say I was disappointed is an understatement. 

Aaaaah, but the Universe is a beautiful, mysterious thing, my friends, and sometimes things are just meant to be. As the fates would have it, I discovered Francis Dunnery was performing in a coffee house in Phoenixville, PA--a mere 90 minutes west of Teaneck... Get this.. the night AFTER Rhett's gig!! Sweet!!! 

Once Francis was in the mix, Geo was on board. So we packed up Rita (yes, we're the geeks who name their cars...get over it) and headed East. It could not have been a better travel day, all blue sky, sunshine and satellite radio. We pulled into Hackensack with a couple of hours to chill (more on the hotel in a later post). We've never been to Hackensack, but from what our journey to the club revealed, apparently there are no left turns permitted there. Perhaps some crazy-assed, anti-left Catholic by-law? Who knows. 

Anywho, we got to the club and parked right in front. No lie. Right in front of the freaking door! Double Sweet! The Mexicali is a fairly large, wide open, high ceiling club with a stage in front, bar in the back and tables and chairs in the middle and along the side. As is the case with these venues, the food is stinky. Really. I don't know why they can't get decent cooks. I mean, come on. Just pay someone's Granny to make like, six things that are edible. That's all you need. At least the margaritas were pretty kicking. 

So we're sitting next to this couple who are joined by two LARGE men. Okay, like extra, extra large dudes. I have no problem with a person's size. People are what they are. What I do have a problem with is this fat cat would not SHUT THE F*CK UP while the opener, Mia Riddle was playing!! Geo has a great line for these situations... "don't you just hate it when the band is so loud you have to shout over them?" I was all set to leap over the table and shove 16 enchiladas down his gullet to shut him up if he talked during Rhett's performance. Fortunately for him, after three songs I couldn't contain myself any longer and ran in front of the stage to dance and sing with other fevered females.  

Mr. Miller must have been tired, because my fantasy Honey had a few uncharacteristic struggles during the show. Okay, more than a few. He mucked up the lyrics on several songs, stopping during "Roller Skate Skinny" to ask if he had sang the third verse (he hadn't, but the crowd helped him out), throwing down that silver capo thingie that changes the key only to have to fish for it and put it back on, dropping his lone pick a handful of times prompting a quiet "f*****ck blurt... You know how it is--one thing happens then it all sort of snowballs into Shitsville. Poor thing. At one point he looked like he just needed a big ole hug and a reassuring "That's okay, Baby. We loves ya no matter what." 

And yet, in spite of all the difficulties, he blasted through 24 songs, including two new ones and shared a handful of stories the best of which was about his garage apartment "swinging dick" roommate who was schtupping two babes at once while only a thin sheet of canvas tarp separated Rhett from the action. His new song "Another Girlfriend" is his tale of the tail--if you know what I mean. 

We stuck around afterwards to chat with him. He's a huge Dallas Cowboys fan, so naturally we brought him a Steelers Super Bowl Champions shirt to jag him. When he saw the shirt, he told me I sucked. 

Ha Ha Ha Ha!! 

But then I gave him a bootlegged CD of a great old solo show of his from 2002, so hopefully that made up for the shirt. :P

And then we drove West for what turned out to be the coolest day EVAH... (to be continued)

A Tale Of Two 24 Year Olds

or why Lamarr Woodley is my new favorite...

Oh Man! There is so much to tell about this past week. Where to begin... let's start with Wednesday, shall we?

Okay, so you remember the horrible experience I had with a certain athlete on Monday. Well, what a difference two days make. Wednesday Lamarr Woodley was to be our guest on our dog and pony show. Now I had no idea who this guy was let alone what he would be like. Would he lean towards the dark side ala Senor Dickhead, or the bright side ala Hines Ward. We all were curious who would walk through the door.

Honestly, it didn't start off well.

At 8:55...no Lamarr. In fact, he didn't show up until 20 minutes into the show. Oh boy... But here's the goofy thing--his Entourage was at the station at 8:30am. What's up with that? Isn't the whole idea behind an "entourage" is they are stuck to the side of the talent like an unsightly skin tag? So why the Hell would they saunter over to the studio WITHOUT the man of the hour? I don't get it.

Anywho...

I'm happy to report he could not have been any nicer, sweeter or cooler! He playfully rolled along with whatever we threw at him. From taste-testing hot 'n spicy hoagies at 9:30am, to playing with the puppies in the adopt-a-pet segment--naming them Lamarr and Miss Woodley, to taking the heat from Brenda, our host for being late... He genuinely had a good time.

The real fun started after the show. During his on-air interview, he shared the story of fellow player Casey Hampton giving him crap on the sidelines for not having any "sacs" all year. Of course our host thought he said he had no "SEX" all year--mind you Brenda knows nothing about football. She looked at me (I knew exactly what she was thinking) and bust out laughing, puzzling our guest. Afterwards when she told him what she heard him say, he was comically and sincerely aghast--jaw dropping to the table. It was hilarious. He proceeded to give her shit and tease her about her dirty mind. Very fun. Then without pretense he hung around to sign whatever folks brought and graciously posed for photo after photo.

But, hands down, the thing that endeared him to our collective hearts was this...

Being mannerly, he politely tucked his mouth into his jacket to quiet his hoagie-fueled, trailing belch. But what he didn't realize was he actually belched right into his microphone. 

Ha Ha Ha!! I'm not kidding! It was the BEST! Seriously. 

So now we have a recording of his brilliant burp followed by our uncontrollable laughter in the audio archives. Wednesday was the first time in a loooooong time I could proclaim, "I LOVE my job" and sincerely mean it. 

And THAT is why Lamarr Woodley is my new favorite player! Thank you, dude! Drop by any time.

My Brush With Greatness? 

or like Kate Nash would sing... why you being a dickhead for?  

Okay, so today we had a Super Bowl Playa on our little dog and pony show. He was scheduled to be interviewed in the first segment, then participate in the next three segments which were as follows--a display of a buttload of Steelers merchandise, a weather segment and a cooking segment. It's local TV, Dude... it's all drivel.

Let me say up front... I was never fond of this creep. I honestly think he's a criminal, but he was going to be our guest, so I had to play along. 

So Beets and I go into the green room beforehand to chat and ask for a photo op. This cat is all hunched down in the chair wearing his brash, big-ass bro hooded coat giving off his best ghetto tude. You know the one, the "I'm too cool for this joint and if you don't stop buggin' me I'll pop a cap in yo ass" vibe. We say hello and politely ask if we could take a photo. Get this... he says NO! and gives us the big brush off, look-away. 

Excuse me? WTF? What. A. DICK! (and I ain't talking about what's parked in his over sized pantaloons)

I go marching into the newsroom where I'm greeted by the director who proclaims "I think we might have problems with our 'guest'." Uh..Yeah. No shit Sherlock. Turns out he did the major stick-up-his-butt to our producer AND started to weasel out of his on-screen commitment. You're not making friends here, Bubba.

Did I mention he was a DICK? I think I did. 

Now granted Mr. Fame-and-Notoriety-Has-Made-Me-Think-I'm-All-That is only in his early 20s and he's been on the go for over three weeks and he hasn't been home or seen his multitudes of illegit progeny and he's tired and.. and.. and.. Waa Waa Waa   

MAN UP! 

This is what fame costs, Cleatus. You wanted this. And none of those excuses gives you the right to be a ... well, Dickhead. It's "losers" like us common folk who put you on the map, Junior. A lesson you would be wise to learn. But I'm not bitter or anything.

Anywho, so we all brace ourselves for the on-air gangsta tude and the inevitable brush off when, lo and behold, he becomes marginally more engaging as soon as the camera light goes on. Oh, NOW we're Mr. Approachable. Is this how we play? 

When the segment ends, I go into my little trained monkey act (that's part of the gig when you're a floor manager--always having to entertain and make nice-nice) and as pleasantly as possible ask if he'd like to join us for the next segment. 

Him: I'm here now. I might as well stick around.

Me: Don't do us any favors, Ass Face.  :0   Did I say that out loud?! 

That segment goes okay--surprise! Jethro's warming up and on board for the weather bit including adopt a pet. And by "pet" I mean a ginormous pit bull with interlocking jaws of death which tugs at his inner Michael Vick. Now he's all kissing on the pooch, being warm and fuzzy. Go figure. A killer dog brings out the soft underbelly of Mr. Jerk Wad.

Next stop, the kitchen and some crappy, tasteless, low-fat gruel prepared by one of our nicer guests. Along the way from Studio A to Studio B, Gomer starts acting like a human. Too late, Butt Munch. I dump his sorry ass on the other floor manager--he's her problem now. So long, sucker. Don't darken my door again.

This is why I'm hesitant to meet famous people I really admire and enjoy. None of us really liked this goober to begin with, but just imagine how disappointed we'd all have been if we HAD admired him. I tell ya, some people's kids... 

It makes me really appreciate people like "The Ghost Whisperer's" David Conrad who stops by often, is completely down to earth and even takes jump pictures with us. Now HE'S cool!

Friday Photo #15 

or viva la bar crawl!  

Two years ago we had a four-stop, farewell bar crawl for our weather chanteuse, Becca, who decided to chuck the whole television biz to be a stay-at-home Mom. This shot was taken at our last stop, Bar 11. It's a great, totally dive bar where they throw handfuls of plastic toy tchotchkes in your drink, including candy necklaces. It's loud, it's brash and it absolutely has to be THE last stop of the night. You just can't appreciate this place unless you are well lubed. It's where everyone cuts loose before staggering to the diner for huevos and java. 

I love this photo. It's one of my absolute favorites because it successfully captures a moment--you know what I mean? It's completely spontaneous and unguarded and sums up the blast we all had that night. (and yes, I realize there are too many "ands" in that sentence)

With all the crap happening at work these days, good thing it's almost time for the Third Annual Becca Farewell Bar Crawl. We need it.