In Which A Baseball Anniversary Conjures A Treasured Memory 

Okay, so today, September 30th, marks the 40th anniversary of Pirate's Baseball great, Roberto Clemente's 3000th hit. He's the only Pirate to ever achieve such a feat. Little did we all realize this would be Roberto's last hit ever. He perished in an airplane crash on the final day of 1972 delivering supplies to Nicaragua as part of an earthquake relief mission. He had heard the Nicaraguan army was commandeering other shipments of supplies, so he chose to deliver the much needed articles himself to guarantee the precious cargo got to the people who needed them. 

He was like that. 

I was 12 on September 30, 1972. My Dad made me come with him to Three Rivers Stadium that day, but I had no idea why he was hell-bent on dragging me along. I didn't get the significance until later. When Roberto got a standing double, and tipped his hat in front of the scoreboard flashing 3000, my Dad stood, uttered "way to go, Roberto" and teared up. We left shortly afterward. 

I knew something special just happened. Sure, Clemente made sports history that day, but I got to witness this remarkable moment next to my Dad.

I win. 

Hello CoMo! 
or the midwest is not Too Far to Care

Okay, so it's no secret how much I love all things Rhett Miller/Old 97's. I know people think I'm nuts for traveling hither and yon to watch him/them play time and again. What can I say? He/they're just that good. They make me happy, even when they're singing about heartache, loneliness and betrayal. Hell, maybe because of it. Whatever. Nobody writes about life's pathos, with a healthy dose of sexual innuendo like Mr. Miller. Besides, they never ever disappoint and I always always ALWAYS come away feeling invigorated, ecstatic and exhausted, in a good way.

the reason i have mileage points

Fortunately, I'm not alone in my fervor. This sort of devotion is a first for me, but there are innumerable others who have logged many more miles over many more years than I. The cool thing about this band, I guess it could be said for other bands as well, is the number of really wonderful fans in their base willing to embrace other devotees.

Rock 'n Roll Spit Take!

Last week (has it been a week already?!?) I finally got the chance to meet, in the flesh, a Midwest girl, Leslie with whom I've been imaginary friends for over three years. She lives in Columbia, Missouri and -- SURPRISE -- the Old 97's just so happen to be playing in her town. She and I have been talking about hitting a show together for a long while now, so when the dates for the 97's Too Far To Care 15th anniversary tour posted and CoMo was on the short list, it was a no-brainer.

HOLLA!

Meeting a friend AND seeing my favorite band perform its watershed album top to bottom? Yes, Please!

Leslie, Sheri and Wende
the fabulous midwest contingent

One never knows what one is walking into with these sort of meet ups, but I knew in my heart I would love Leslie. She's awesome. Smart, sassy, warm, welcoming and she shares my love of the f-bomb. Like my dear friend, Steph, Les has a similarly zany 10 year-old boy sense of humor. We clicked right away. Sadly, Steph, my RM/97's partner-in-crime couldn't make the trip because she was having her own party with this adorable creature.

OMG! Those cheeks are squeezably delicious!

Ridiculously adorable!

I could not be more ecstatic for her and her hubby, but selfishly, I missed her. Again, Science Nerds...what the hell?! Get on that cloning thang already! What's the hold up, man? Chop Chop! Geez!!

But I digress...

There was a veritable three-point convergence on Leslie's and her brainiac husband, Bert's home. Bert's a self-proclaimed nerd and a wonderfully tolerant man who gracefully suffers his wife's obsession, much like Geo.

cuteness abounds

Wende came from the west (Kansas), Sheri and Mike from the north (Chicago) and I from the east. This group could not have been more wonderful or easy to be around. I really like these ladies (and gents). I felt comfortable immediately. No judgmental looks. No eye-rolling. No audible sighs of disgust. We were all on the same page with the freedom to be as geeked as we wanted to be.

Columbia is a beautiful college town hosting the University of Missouri (Mizzou) and two smaller colleges, reminiscent of well-established eastern college towns. The street crossings are paved with the same bricks as the stately halls of education. There are a handful of eclectic boutique shops sprinkled amongst a variety of eateries and clubs. Of course I didn't take any photos because I'm a dolt, but here's one from the interwebz now.

standard stock photo of Jesse Hall

We headed to a popular local haunt, Broadway Brewery where we feasted on pre-show cocktails, delectable food and great conversation with some pretty amazing dinner guests. I'm still mulling it over, hoping against hope I was somewhat intelligible without being a monosyllabic moron. Well, at least an intelligible monosyllabic moron anyway. Tres cool. I'm still smiling. Some events are more memorable than others. (Insert big, goofy-ass grin here)


Meanwhile back at the venue...

Once inside, our posse doubled in size as we staked our claim in front, Murry side. Rhett's doing double duty for this and the October tour as the opener. He joked about knowing the guys in the headlining band (they're pretty good) before lighting up the stage with his usual intensity, working up a sweat with his six-song setlist of solo work including the Old 97's rarity, Holy Cross. I NEVER want him to stop singing, but it is a bit easier to say goodbye when you know he's coming back in an hour.

I still think his spit sprays are hawt.

Filling out the middle bill were Tennessee natives, Those Darlins. I've been wanting to catch Those Darlins in action since SXSW in 2010 when we missed everyone of their sets after making some difficult musical Sophie's Choices. They're raw and punky and crunchy with a stoned, lesbian kind of vibe. I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just making shit up. Bottom line: they're energetic, fun and all over the place.

Jesse got all fancied up for the occasion
Baby Girl needs a hoagie, yo
coz she ain't got no butt

Murry and Rhett both have said the girls remind them of the 97's 18 years ago. Lead singer, Jesse does thrash her curly mop around like a certain blue-eyed lovely.

You might recognize Red Light Love from a car commercial.



Ken joined the Darlins for their final song.


Dude. You could poke an eye out flipping that pick in the audience like that. lol

They were fun. I'm glad to have finally seen them in action.

By the time our favorite foursome ambled out, the crowd was primed to hear its favorite album start to finish. From the first note of Time Bomb which opens the record, (I know. Weird, right? Playing the closer as the opener is madness, I say. Madness.) to the last lingering chord of Four Leaf Clover the audience was with them, belting out every lyric, reaching for every high note and matching every head thrust with Mr. M.



I have no words to describe how incredible it is to hear the entire venue singing along to every song at the top of their collective lungs. I can't even begin to imagine how fucking rewarding it is to be the writer of those words, standing on stage, listening to that volume rushing back to you. Why, he must feel like the King of All of the World. (fan joke)


They filled in the rest of the set with a heavy dose of their latest, The Grand Theatre (Vol 1 & 2) and a handful of classics, ending not on the usual epic Time Bomb, but rollicking Won't Be Home requested by a pretty coed.


And just like that... they were done.


Okay, it wasn't THAT short an evening, but I'm never ready to call it a night. And it was unsettling not to end with Time Bomb. It seemed unfinished. Fortunately, everyone came out to say goodbye and grab a hug before boarding the bus for Dallas.

I like the midwest version of Old 97's. They're relaxed, open and untethered by corporate brass that sometimes dominates their New York shows.

Murry's such a great sport

photo bombed by flat sarah 

Sweaty, raw-throated, ears buzzing and grinning ear-to-ear with our new groovy merch in our hands, we hung out at Leslie's for another 2+ hours rehashing the night that was full of uncharted awesome.

dude. get your head out of the engine

I was so sad to say farewell and board my little plane in Columbia. I had such a fabulous time finally meeting my wonderful imaginary friends and sharing an evening shaking our asses in front of our favorite band in the land.

nesting-squirrel-hair girl, Sheri, Wende and Les down front

As I said earlier, some events are more memorable than others. This was one of those. I love these four men for their talent, their generosity and for the amazing people they have placed in my orbit. Thanks to my new sista wreckers for the camaraderie and rollicking good time. Can't wait for our paths to cross again.

Rhett's solo set:

Lost Without You

Holy Cross

Sweet Dreams

Come Around

Out of Love

Wreck of the Old 97

Old 97's set:

Too Far to Care in its entirety

Mama Tried

Marquita/Bright Spark

(or as it says on the set list, Marq/BS)

Victoria 

Champaign, IL

White Port (audible)

Question

Every Night is Friday Night

I'm a Train Wreck

Doreen

Encore:

Valentine (electrified w/entire band)

Won't Be Home (by request)

The Power of One Small Step 

or fare thee well to an American hero 

Everyone remembers where they were during huge historical events... JFK's assassination, The Challenger Shuttle explosion, 9/11...

I was nine years old on July 20, 1969 when Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins fulfilled President Kennedy's challenge set forth eight years earlier to America's best and brightest by winning the space-race to the moon.

Gathered around the little TV in our living room, I remember our entire family was transfixed by the grainy, black and white image of a faceless man, cloaked in a puffy, white space suit, leaving the first human footprint on a familiar, far-off celestial body. I don't remember if we laughed, applauded or cried when we watched Armstrong, America's first civilian astronaut, emerge from Eagle One to step into history, but I do know we all exhaled. The memory still chokes me up with pride and awe. I am a huge sentimental dork, and I am so grateful to have been cognizant of this amazing human accomplishment.

Man. On the moon.

What, are you kidding me? It was surreal to look up at our dusty orb that week and realize there were two human beings perambulating on its surface. Unfathomable.

I think of my immigrant grandparents and their amazing life span witnessing incredible progress from horse and buggy to automobile to airplane to man on the moon. My generation has lived in an era of tremendous technological advancement, but nothing compared to the range of the last century. Even as commonplace as space travel seems to have become, the program still inspires. Just read the hubbub on Twitter the night Curiosity landed on Mars. It's still cool to be a science nerd.

Neil Armstrong passed away on August 25th. He was a quiet man who endured the notoriety of his indelible mark in history with elegance and grace. He was a brave man who brought a nation's dream to life with one small step in an era when the people of our country were united (perhaps the last time in recent history) and still believed together we could achieve anything...

Mr. Armstrong was buried on August 31 under a big, bright blue moon, and a little wink from the Sea of Tranquility.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Knock Knock! Who's There? BAT-SHIT CRAZY LADY!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!

Dude... I totally had a menopausal meltdown last week. Like textbook, poster child, full-on Edith fucking Bunker, hydroelectric asshole, mental collapse.




yaaaaaaaaaay...

It was epic.

I went from zero to RAGE in five seconds flat, followed by despair, self loathing, tears, a brief period of rational behavior (imagine that), more rage, more self doubt, more tears, etc etc etc, yadda yadda yadda, rinse and oh-for-the-love-of-chocolate-please-STOP-REPEATING!!?!... culminating with me collapsed on the couch in a deflated heap of self repulsion.

More drama than the stage can handle.

All this ridiculousness was triggered by something so trivial and insignificant, I can't even pinpoint its origin. The worst part was I was cognizant of my crazy, but could do nothing to stop that freight train from jumping the rails of reasonable reaction.

Dude, let me tell you, it's no fun watching yourself go round the bend. This is the exact unhinged behavior for which I've been apologizing in advance to Geo over the last couple of years, fearing I would devolve into this type of preposterous mood swing. Meanwhile, I've been all proud of myself for not getting all Lizzie Borden on people's asses throughout these changeling years. Up until now, I've been freakishly calm, complacent, and levelheaded, as if I've been neutered. All the jagged emotional edges polished smooth.

Then out of nowhere...

BOOM!!

MIDLIFE CA-RAY-ZAAAAAAAAAY!!

Perhaps the most unsettling factor of this entire sordid affair was how quickly the angst and ire washed away. I swear I could literally feel the lunacy draining from my body, like True Blood's Lafayette expelling an unwanted demon.

The good news is I found that bat-shit crazy bitch who hijacked my psyche, gagged her, chained her up and locked her in a heavy duty footlocker stashed in the far corner of our attic.

Hooka, please! Stay the fuck OUT!

In Which I Write Completely Random Drivel And Bore You To Tears

Okay, so I've been so lax with this here bloggity blog lately. It's not even that my life has been so rich and full that I have no time to compose entertaining observations (read: mundane minutiae) to force upon you all. I've just been rather... meh.

Anywho, here's a bunch o' crap I found hiding under the dust bunnies in the far corner of my brain closet.

1. I WAS AT THE BEACH!

what the ef does this mean?!? seriously.
oh dewey beach. you are wack

Briefly. And by that I mean one day with the sole purpose to see Rhett and the Serial Lady Killers play at Bottle and Cork in Dewey after sleeping off the travel exhaustion on the beach, soaking the towel with less-than-attractive drool before driving off to Annapolis to hit repeat and see Rhett and the SLKs play Ram's Head On Stage for over-polite, white people who would not get out of their chairs to shake their asses. Peculiar, but I'll write about that later. Maybe. Probably.

It involves Mr. Miller, so yeah, a good chance of it. Probably. Sand + surf + Rhett Miller = perfect excuse for a road trip.


2. A WHILE AGO GEO AND I HAD A FRIDAY DATE

Yeah. All damn day. It was awesome. Between the breakfast and lunch eating outings, we squeezed in a trip to WYEP (our tres magnifique public radio station) for an in-studio performance from a terrific local band, Good Night States. (I'm not sure if there's a comma there or not. Probably not, but I'm kinda lazy right now and throwing this piece of ACK together on the fly, so not really into the looking up of info. Sorry. I suck.)

 Whatever. Their music has a sophisticated, layered pop sound that is full and polished. They were super fun, charming and amazingly sweet peoples.

Dan's on the left

The drummer, Dan Harding, recognized me from the Twitter which was completely unexpected. (that's how oldsters refer to anything, with emphasis on the "THE"... THE Facebook, THE Interwebs, THE diarrhea.)

Aaaaaaaanywho, turns out Megan runs a local food truck, Frantuary which we have featured on our little dog and pony show, Pittsburgh Today Live...

Franktuary in the haus

Megan's mate, Trevor

AND to illustrate even further how small our little universe is, she and her hubby, Trevor (also in GNS) are active members in my best friends' boutique church on the South Side. She plays the keyboards for services. It's a tiny orb upon which we reside.


3. UM...NO MORE PLUMS

I said, NO MORE MOTHERF*CKING PLUMS!! Nuff said.


4. ACTING LIKE IDIOTS, YOU KNOW,  FOR THE KIDS

I let loose my inner 10 year-old and participated in a charity water balloon fight in downtown Pittsburgh. It was mayhem. I was soaked on the third toss by an errant balloon splitting open on my head, and it just got more chaotic from there.

Team Yellow, lead by KISS radio's Mikey, dressed in a kilt, breached our line and dove for our extra ammo. Then the other two teams followed suit and pretty soon we were all in one quadrant pummeling each other. Good times.

post mayhem

mud covered

with ian, pre-melee

Local celeb, Ian Rosenberger (of Survivor fame) organized the First Annual event to raise money for his charity, Team Tassy, to continue to help the people of Haiti afford healthcare. With the proceeds from this afternoon of frivolity, Ian figures to help 3,000 people. Definitely a good Karma day. I'll definitely participate in next year's event.

cape crusader approved

5. OLYMPIC FEVER, KINDA

The London Olympics started this week. The opening ceremonies were long, and at times very boring (thank you DVR for the power-watch the next day), but kudos to the Queen for her "parachute" entrance. She's a cheeky monkey, that Liz.

I usually enjoy watching the summer olympics, but haven't had much opportunity with the time difference and all. Avid watchers have been less than amused with NBC's coverage in general and Bob Costas in particular. I'm not fond of the we-will-only-show-you-USA-athletes-as-though-the-rest-of-the-planet-does-not-exist broadcast philosophy. And I really hate that the network doesn't see fit to show us other country's athletes receiving their medals. Hearing other national anthems was always one of my favorite parts of the coverage back in the stone age when ABC had a lock on the games. This centrist crap is BS. Bring back Jim McKay! To top it off, we're left with viral video of Aly Raisman's crazy-ass parents making a spectacle of themselves in the stands.

You can watch the video here.

Go ahead. I'll wait...

WTH, right? It's like they're on a frelling roller coaster. Ha Ha! Freaks. This is why people hate us Americans. And then today, the Chinese badminton team has been disqualified for throwing games. Corruption in BADMINTON. You can't make this shit up, people.

It hasn't all been a sideshow. One of the most awesome sights came from a British gymnast, Jennifer Pinches (does she? pinch, I mean. verbs as last names...gotta love it.) who is also a nerdfighter, ala YA author, John Green and explained here, when she flashed the nerdfighter sign during competition. She is made of awesome.

Here she is being interviewed by a fellow Brit Nerdfighter, Alex Day...




 DFTBA


6. STREET TACOS, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE

Pittsburgh is finally embracing the food truck/street food phenom prevalent in a lot of similarly-sized cities. There is a hot dog truck (see item #2 above), cupcake truck, pirogi truck and Indian food truck and soon-to-be taco truck. The street taco stand is a rather recent culinary development thanks to the increasing Mexican population moving into the Burgh, and good GOD it's a welcomed one. There are two of which I'm aware. One in the Strip District downtown... or dahntahn.

And one on Brookline Blvd. The later offers up to six different fillings on a double homemade tortilla and roughly a dozen toppings. I. Cannot. Get. Enough. Of. This. Stand.

Las Palmas es muy bien

Thank the little baby Jesus for immigrants, otherwise we'd have nothing delectable to eat. Viva los tacos! And beer, because these puppies are SPICY!!

And lastly...

7. THAT'S A BIG ASS SHAWK!!!?!?!




Craaaaazy crackers. But you have to admit, that's a big ass shawk. The only thing that would make me move my largess any faster would be this...

Now that's some scary ass shit right there, yo.

In Which I Grapple With Humanity's Hard Heart

I could live a thousand years, and still never understand the evil hidden in a man's heart.

The brutal, calculated attack on innocent people in an Aurora, Colorado theater this week is unfathomable. I can't wrap my head around it. What would possess 24 year-old James Holmes to suit up as if for war, toss cans of tear gas into the theater and indiscriminately spray the packed audience with bullets from an automatic weapon?

Why? What was his point?

Only Holmes knows, and he's not talking. All I know is he legally bought a firearm whose sole purpose is to kill people, not animals... people, and tried to obliterate a roomful of patrons.

Yeah, we don't need gun control in this country.

For Pete's sake, all these people wanted to do was see a fucking movie. That's it. Nothing more. And now 58 people are wounded and 12 are dead, including aspiring sportscaster, Jessica Ghawi who narrowly escaped a similar attack in Toronto two months ago.

Unfathomable.

Several friends and I went to see Batman on Wednesday at a special premiere for Pittsburgh audiences. Pittsburgh is prominently featured throughout the final chapter in this series. We were wanded going into the theater, which at the time I thought was overkill. It's chilling to think we could have been caught up in a similar attack.

Okay, so Sometimes I have flashes. I hesitate to call them psychic flashes, but there's definitely something mystical going on. Sitting in the theater Wednesday night watching the villain, Bain calling for the citizens to rise up in anarchy to subvert the dominant paradigm, an unsettling thought flew through my mind. "I hope no one takes this to heart."

Our world is broken. This country is broken. Morality is broken.


And then this morning the powers-that-be at Penn State decided the smiling statue of the late Joe Paterno erected in front of (Not-so) Happy Valley stadium must go. The decision came on the heels of FBI Director Louis Freeh's investigative report finding Paterno and three top administrators concealed the child sex abuse allegations against Jerry Sandusky.

I live for the day we all can stop reading, writing and saying the name Sandusky.

According to KDKA.com, Penn State President Rod Erickson said he decided to have the statue removed and put into storage because it “has become a source of division and an obstacle to healing.”

“I now believe that, contrary to its original intention, Coach Paterno’s statue has become a source of division and an obstacle to healing in our University and beyond. For that reason, I have decided that it is in the best interest of our university and public safety to remove the statue and store it in a secure location. I believe that, were it to remain, the statue will be a recurring wound to the multitude of individuals across the nation and beyond who have been the victims of child abuse.”

I agree with Erickson's decision. That statue is a slap in the face of the victims. It mocks the pain and suffering inflicted upon them indirectly at Joe Pa's hand. Had Paterno done the right thing years ago and stopped Sandusky when the evidence was first presented to him, a dozen young men's lives would not have been destroyed and his precious legacy would be in tact.

But he didn't, and so it isn't. And now his entire, once glowing career is riddled with doubt. Tarnished forever. Leaving us wondering what other suspicious, untoward activities he helped cover up. An entire lifetime dedicated to educating his athletes and helping them become upstanding citizens pissed away. How he could justify sacrificing those young boys' psyches for a football program is beyond me. It's a shame. Hubris is a destructive beast. I do feel bad for his wife who has to live with this truth.

Jo Pa's walk of shame