In Which Sometimes In Life, Good Things Happen To Those Who Wait...And Wait...And Wait...

Okay, so you know how when something major occurs and people ask "where were you when such-and-such happened?" Well, this morning at zero-dark butt-crack, I kissed the patient-saint-who-is-my-husband goodbye, only this time he wasn't a warm mass of deep sleep. This morning he was conscious enough to break the news that the Bucs, the Heartbreak Kings of the kingdom, clinched a Wild Card playoff berth with a nail-biter of an ending against the Cubs.

HOLY FUCKING HELL!!

They didn't make it easy on us fans either. Nosiree, Bob. It all came down to a two-out single in the bottom of the ninth with the tying run blazing toward home and a bumbled field play...



Martin...OUT!!!

Jiminey CHRISTMAS, could there have been a more dramatic way for the Bucs to make it to the playoffs?! I don't think so. I don't care. This way was one sweet, SWEET victory. I swear to the little Baby Jesus the entire Pirates Nation stood up and yelled a big, fat collective NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! at the sight of Byrd's bobble in the shallow outfield.

raising the jolly ruckus in the locker room

Aw, man, I could watch that video over and over and over, in perpetuity. It gets me a little verklempt. I admit it brought a tear or two thousand to me foggy eyes when I first saw the playback this morning at the Special K. Okay, fine. It makes me tear up EVERY time I watch it. I'm a little misty now.

I'm a sentimental sap, so sue and/or bite me.

bubbly bath

In one reasonably dry corner of the room, hitting coach Jay Bell, a link to the club's glory days in the early 1990s, smiled as he looked on.

“This is how I remember it,” Bell said, with a catch in his voice. “This is a long time coming.”

(excerpt from Tuesday's Trib)

goggles? really?
whatev. he just got into the playoffs.

the long-suffering announcers
busting out the celebratory Cohibas

I can't even describe how crazy good this feels. The city is jubilant. Good gravy we all needed this. Somebody PINCH ME!


(locker room celebration at 1:40 and 3:33)

During the celebration, Pirates Manager, Clint Hurdle was asked a question to which he answered, ab-so-bucn-lutely. Immediately it became a trending hashtag on Twitter. Almost immediately someone designed this shirt.

please let this be real

The interwebs rule, yo.

Geo and his Mom, Stancy, a devoted Pirates fan nearly her entire 87 years, have developed a sweet tradition over the last several years. Every time the Pirates win, Geo calls her. No matter where he is, either home or away, he picks up the phone and calls her. She, in turn answers with an excited "We won! We won!" Needless to say, there have been dismal years where they didn't talk much. Not this year. With 90 wins and counting, they've spoken a LOT. Stancy's endurance has definitely been tested over the past couple decades, but unlike me, she has hung tough in her die-hard devotion to the franchise. Her longevity has paid off. She has officially lived long enough to witness another winning season.

We still have a shot at making the regular playoffs. It involves us winning, the Cards losing and the feet of a live chicken or some other voodoo mathematics, but at this point, WE'RE IN, BABY!

A wild card, one-and-done post season is not the most ideal, but hey, no one expected this team to get anywhere CLOSE to this point... except for the former GM of WYEP, Lee Ferarro who has been tweeting me one word, "PLAYOFFS!" after almost every win for the last month. I owe you a drink, buddy.

HOLY HELL!! Seriously. Somebody pinch me.


No matter what happens from here on out, no one can take away the universally felt bliss of this moment.

Buctober, Sweet Cheeks. It's happening in the 412!

"We Play For October"

HOLY HELL!

After 20 long, grueling, painful years of dismal performance, on September 8th, The Pittsburgh Pirates achieved what was thought to be the impossible... A winning season.

Cutch thanking the baby jesus and all the baseball gods for the clinch
"we play for october", BABY

A WINNING FUCKING SEASON, PEOPLE!!

Let's let that sink in a little bit. Let's savor that sweet, sweet victory.

You smell that? That's the scent of hope and long overdue promise. Go ahead. Jam your proboscis right down in there. Suck it in and hold it there. Aaaaaaaaa...


It all started with this:


A heart-wrenching loss in the playoffs to the Braves back in 1992, when a former, slow-running Pirate player beat Barry Bonds' throw to the plate with this slide. Thus began the Sid Bream Curse.

For two decades--an entire freaking generation--parents have been teaching their children how to deal with disappointment by exposing them to the ineptitude of past Bucco franchises. Each Spring the forever hopeful would hold their breath, certain this would be the year the Bucs would hit 500, only to have their spirits crushed by mid season.

But that all ended on a steamy, Texas field last Sunday night, September 8, 2013 as the Pittsburgh Pirates won game #82, clinching a winning season! Pirates fans' long, national nightmare was over. The moniker of LOSER expunged from Bucco vernacular. The curse finally lifted.

And there was joy in Burghville.

"we play for october"

Have a look at the win for yourself right here.

You gotta love the Cutch-Byrd-Pie celebration jump mid-field. Pure joy. These kids are fun to watch.

Of course, it took awhile to capture #82 after hitting the 500 mark. Five days, in fact. What's baseball without a little drama. They had to test fans' fortitude with a bloody four-game losing streak before busting it open in Texas.

I blame you, Sports Illustrated. Every time you put one of our team's players on the cover, bad things happen.

Dear SI Douchebags:

Leave. Our. Teams ALONE!

XO-
Pittsburgh


Maybe we broke that curse, too. As it stands right now, the Pirates are at 84 wins, only a half game out from first-place St. Louis, with a magic number of 10 to reach the playoffs.

THE PLAYOFFS!

Holy SHIT! Reaching #82 was reason enough to warrant a big-ass parade, in my humble opinion, but DAAAAMN, we have a real shot at post-season play here.

Post-Season Play. The Bucs.

Pinch me.

how much gum do you think Clint Hurdle will chew in
post season?

I admit, enduring so many misery-ladden seasons, made me cautious with my support and hesitant to go all in again this time around. 20 years of heartache will do that, but this is too much fun. I am officially on board the bandwagon. I have Bucco fever, BABY! And it is sweet!

For once, so much positive attention is being given to our little-engine-that-could team with the amazing heart. No matter how one feels about sports, the cold truth is this team has been tremendous for our city. The seats are filled, the surrounding businesses are booming, the streets are teeming with people proudly donning Pirates gear. EVERYONE is talking about the Bucs. The excitement is palpable!

Steelers, who?

The fans have earned this moment of glory. It's been a long time coming.

Some people have an interesting theory about this season. This would have been our 21st losing record. Roberto Clemente, one of the greatest players of the game, wore #21. Some would argue, the spirit of Roberto is with this team and would not allow another loss connected to his number. I like it. Let's do this for Roberto, shall we.

What a season.

HOLY HELL!

The Bucs are taking the new MLB slogan to heart.

We play for October, Muthaf**ker!

RAISE IT!!!!

In Which Some Thursdays Are Far More Perfect Than Others (spending the day with the Spring Standards)

Okay, so the first time we ever ventured into Kickstarter, a crowdfunding source for music, arts and tangible objects, was to help fund an EP by a Brooklyn-based band called the Spring Standards. I had stumbled upon them and their music via my love of Rhett Miller who happened to produce their first CD, No One Will Know. Both Geo and I fell instantly in love with their harmonies, depth and full sound. We have subsequently backed all of their Kickstarter efforts.

One of the charming things about funding sites like Kickstarter is the clever way bands put together premiums for levels of support. The Spring Standards (James Cleare, Heather Robb, James Smith, heretofore referred to as JHJ), have done some very creative incentives like calling supporters from the road, creating custom videos of thanks, and creating a mix CD of their favorite music. They are youthful, resourceful and understand the importance of connecting with their burgeoning fan base.

As a special thank you for loyal supporters, JHJ (sounds like a law firm, doesn't it) sent an email offering to play house concerts for what they dubbed the Live From Your Living Room series. Needless to say, Geo and I jumped at the chance. Having hosted Francis Dunnery at the house twice over the past several years, we knew exactly how we'd set it up.

As luck would have it, the Pirates were in town playing the Marlins at 12:45pm. JHJ and Noah graciously accepted our offer to treat them to the baseball game at PNC Park. It's still amazes both of us that they readily agreed. I mean, WE know we aren't malevolent, crazy stalkers, but they took it on faith we were made of good stock. Which we are.

Anywho, after a minor miscommunication about the size of their Sprinter, Peggy Sue, we met up with them downtown and hopped in their oversized vehicle to help them find a place to stow Peggy Sue. Again, the four of them could not have been more gracious. I had a great time in the back talking with Heather, while the men-folk hunted for parking. P.S.: These Sprinters are HUGE inside.

Having no luck finding a space in an open air lot downtown, we ended up finding a random lot on the North Shore near the Heinz plant. Fortunately there's a lovely path which hugs the river providing a beautiful vista of Pittsburgh.

Burgh Beauty from the North Shore trail

We had terrific seats on the first-base side, high enough up to be out of foul ball range, but close enough to see the action clearly.

We noshed on salty ballpark fare, drank a variety of liquids, dissed on Barmes for picking Don't Stop Believin' as his walk on music, tried to catch hot dogs and t-shirts shot from cannons, and sweat our asses off. You know, the usual stuff.

selfie before we watch our limbs swell from ballpark sodium overload
(Heather, James Smith, Geo)
(Noah, moi, James Cleare)

just chillin', baby
(Heather and Noah)

I even got to meet up with Jimmy McParkway who happened to be in town and at the game.

nice cock...a doodle

i love this doofus

The Buccos staged an exciting come back mid-game and tied it for extra innings, winning it in the tenth for a sweep of the Marlins.

RAIZE IT!

this never gets old
burghers will understand this
i swear this silly-ass composite is our lucky charm

We all parted ways to sandblast the stench of sweaty humanity from our collective epidermis before the evening's festivities. The band brought along a film crew to document each house concert for a project they plan to submit to Sundance and other festivals.

crew member avec curling stone chapeau
(we have lots of goofy shit)

They interviewed several guests on our big ole nasty porch. Geo and I gave our two cents at the end of the evening, so hopefully through creative editing, we won't sound so drunk and/or incoherent. 

"We like band. They sing pretty. *grunt belch snort*"

The trio of filmmakers were professional, unobtrusive and a lot of fun. I appreciate they took the time to chat with our teenage nephew, Alex, a budding journalist in his own right, and share some of their insights. Alex wrote a terrific blog about the evening here. Give it up for Blogger 2015! Woot! Woot!

The cool thing about house concerts is the lovely sense of community it generates. There's something about food, friends and music that just fits together organically. A modern day salon with far less pretension. 

Lizzie and Heather bonding over juicy melon 

It was a gorgeous night which lent to people sitting on the deck soaking up the remaining sunshine of the day. The band were cool about mingling, noshing and drinking with guests prior to the show. Heather and Regi talked at length about each other's world travels. Later Lizzie and Heather discovered they had a Guster connection in common. While other party goers plotted their own mutual connections. 

Everything fell together. I can't tell you how happy it made me to stand back and watch everyone eating, drinking and getting along so effortlessly. It made my heart full. Geo and I are blessed with amazing friends with whom to share equally amazing opportunities like this particular evening. We are two lucky sons of beeyatches.

Most attendees were unfamiliar with The Spring Standards, but all present were music lovers. They were a giving audience for JHJ's intimate performance. And boy howdy were the Standards OUTSTANDING!!! They joked together, played with the audience and sang beautifully. 

(This was Geo's special request, Sharks. He finally got to hear it live. Thanks, Heather!!)

(courtesy of Amy Crawford, concert photog extraordinaire)

Our Fat Head Joe Biden even made an appearance. Fitting considering two thirds of JHJ are from the great state of Delaware. 

Last year, the lovely blue-eyed one released his fourth solo effort. On it was a song originally penned by JHJ called Picture This. They gave it to Rhett who tweaked it to make it his own. The kids kindly dug into their memory banks to sing their original version, share the story behind it, and launch into some hysterical banter.

(P.S.: I have the aforementioned tote bag. I know. You're shocked. Shut up.)

Here's Mr. Miller's version with Heather as back up, purely for comparison's sake. I swear. ;-)


*le sigh*


And here's the first song I heard that sealed my love for them, Goodbye Midnight.




In concert they each play several different instruments at once. I'm not even kidding. They are tremendous musicians, open and sincere as hell. SEEK THEM OUT, PEOPLE!! You will NOT be disappointed.

cross-dressing Joe Biden says
"If you love America, support the Spring Standards!"

Listen to Joe Biden. It will do your soul good to help these young people realize their life's work. And you might even feel an unbearable lightness of being again. (the BEST Daniel Day-Lewis movie evah!)

Thanks again to James, Heather, James, Noah and the film crew for one truly unforgettable Thursday. Consider us signed up for the next round of house concerts. I'll make mango salsa...

the entire band of jolly men and women

Yeah. Like I said earlier, Geo and I are lucky SOBs.

In Which Vacation Week Starts Off With A Bar Crawl

Okay, so I have to admit that I really like my job. The hours are taxing sometimes, much like the management, but I still love the work itself and those with whom I toil day-to-day. That said...

I LIVE FOR VACATION!!!

This past week has turned out to be one of my favorites. Back-to-back weekends packed with friends, family and a mini out-of-town jaunt all wrapped around an amazing mid-week house concert in our dining room. But I'll get to that in the next post.

I hit the vacation gate running on Friday with a trifecta of social activity. First up, the weekly breakfast with my sister, Toni. We've been going to breakfast together nearly every week since she retired last June, to catch up while shoveling egg products in our faces in as many different diners as possible. It's been truly a blessing, and something I look forward to every week. This time we dined al fresco at Pamela's, made famous by President Obama's campaign stop.

i never noticed the person prepping to hurl
in front of the board before

Sufficiently stuffed, we sat on the deck yakking almost until Koffee Klatch time with two of my old college girlfriends. Another weekly event that has become essential for my well-being. We cover all kinds of topics, but mainly we laugh, I get my doggie fix and there's always something chocolatey to go with Heidi's incredible coffee blend.

ghost of klatch past
we are the Billy Jo, Bobby Jo and Betty Jo of Javaville
(ten points extra if anyone other than fellow
dinosaurs get that pop culture reference)

And finally, the finishing touch on the first day of vacation was a pre-wedding bar crawl for one of my favorite coworkers, Kitty. I love her. She fits right in with our goofy, adolescent sense of humor. Kitty is our on-air traffic report/fill-in anchor. She's super talented, and deserves far better than the treatment she receives at the hands of our misguided management. I know we'll lose her one day, and it pisses me off.

Whatever. Anywho, Friday night was our night to cruise the South Side, drink in hand, because I was on vacation the next day and ultimately, it is ALL about me. What? Shut up! I plan it, I make the rules.

Wisely, we booked a hotel room for overnight. First order of business...jumping on the beds, because we're classy like that, yo!

beets, jumping from one bed...

to another

warning: weak bladders ahead

oh c'mon. you knew we'd go there

Then off to what has become my FAVORITE bar in the entire city, Nadine's on 27th. 

middle-agers mecca right here
(that's right. i'm living to 106, a-hole)

It's basically a narrow rectangular bunker, but Holy Hell, it's fun and cheap. Like, three-Ketel-One-vodka-drinks-for-$9-TOTAL cheap. TOTAL!!!! Come to Momma. 

It attracts a yinzer crowd, but fun yinzers who aren't afraid to hunker down at the bar, blast Journey from the jukebox or make friends with a bunch of chicks less than an arms length away. 

second round's on Donny
(seriously have not had anyone pick up
drinks for decades)

with Donny, our benefactor for the evening

glasses are smaller than they appear
(but not the eyewear)

drop it! drop it!

kitty, trying to stop hiccups
you thought it was about farting, didn't you?

pirate parrot headgear pilfered from a patron

We were having a blast and had a nice buzz going on thanks to Big Donny buying us drinks all night, but it was time to move on. In hindsight, we should have just stayed at Nadine's. By the time we found a place to park near 12th three hours later, or so it felt in drunk-time, we were famished.

mmmmm... pizza good

This ratty pizza shop is a veritable gold mine at 11pm on a Friday. I couldn't even tell you what it was called, but DAAAAMN it was tasty! The perfect pit stop before Bar 11.

ladies and gentlemen,
the sensory overload that is bar 11

Bar 11 is a place one should only walk into once one is sufficiently inebriated. Otherwise it would just seem cacophonous and stupid. The drinks are large, the surroundings are overstimulating and Dude, they give you free candy necklaces.

As soon as we got near the bar, a twelve year-old came up to us and asked if we were all sisters. He should have stopped there. But no, no he didn't. He then asked Kitty if she was with her mom. Kitty looked him square in the eye and told him we were lesbians, thinking that would get him to leave us alone. But nooooooo. Instead he started screaming to the strangers around him, "Hey! They're lesbians!!"

And that's when we knew we should have stayed at Nadine's.

kitty's new lesbian third eye

fraudulent lesbo-a-go-go

stealthily place stick on random dumbass's dumb ass

screw all y'all youngsters
i'm having a big ass cocktail, heavy on the plastic toys

Making the best of it, we picked up blank name tags from the bar and scribbled on them with black light reflective marker, Gay (for Beets), I'm with my mother (for Kitty) and I'm the Mutha (for me). Not to be outdone, a fourteen year-old came with this highly effective pick-up line:

14y-o: You look like my Aunt Debbie from Shaler
Me: Oh. Okay.
14y-o: She's really cool.
Me: Okay.
14y-o: No really, you do. Hrhusg gurble hrshyul blah blah mrysufsh
Me: What?!?
14y-o: Rhsurhgah hmnshry
Me: WHAT?!
14 y-o: By the end of the night, you and me are gonna get a tattoo!

Because of course I would get a tattoo with him, a total stranger who thinks I look like his decrepit old Aunt Debbie from Shaler. Why not. It makes perfect sense.

the aforementioned 14 year-old
with "Aunt Debbie" and her friends

In spite of the toddlers giving us shit up front, we managed to have fun the brief amount of time we spent at Bar 11. The main thing was Kitty had a blast at her girls' night bar crawl. But seriously, the next time I get the brilliant idea to move on from Nadine's, slap my ass and call me Aunt Debbie.