The first time I looked at my phone this morning, it was 8:46am. The exact time the first plane, Flight 11 from Boston, crashed into the North Tower.  I looked outside to a nearly cloudless, crystal blue sky. A sky akin to 2001.

It's been 20 years since the towers fell, and the weight and sorrow and infinite sadness of that day are still living right under the surface of my being. Geo and I were at the shore, watching the events play out in horrifying, graphic detail on the tiny television screen in our hotel room. I suppose these feelings will never leave me. Yes, I move forward, living life as fully as possible, loving family and friends to the best of my ability. 

And yet. 

And yet. 

And yet. 

All it takes is an image date stamped 9/11/01 to send me back.

I felt restless today for some reason. I'm not good at sitting still, especially on a glorious day. I stood still much too much over COVID season. I decided to take a walk through my favorite cemetery. Cemeteries are the best places to walk. It's quiet enough to let your mind wander, there are hills (because Pittsburgh), and this one in particular has interesting tokens left on headstones of departed loved ones. 

Today there was a silent 9/11 walk through the gravestones. The panels depicted the events of the day, chronologically, beginning with the 7:59am departure of Flight 11 from Boston through the collapse of the North Tower. The images scattered throughout were many iconic photos from that day: the North Tower ablaze; the second plane just before impact on the South Tower; both towers on fire as seen from across the river; the South Tower falling; the fallen chaplain being carried out of the wreckage by firefighters; the jarring image of a lone, vertical man plummeting to his death. 

All of these photos send me directly back 20 years to the rawness I felt then. That last one though. When I look at it, I hear the sickening thud of human flesh hitting pavement and see the horrified cringe of the fire chief's face from the 9/11 documentary released months later. To choose to leap to one's death rather than risk being crushed by a toppling tower. Wow. I don't know, man. I can't even imagine having to make that choice. 

With the personally devastating year my family and I have had, not to mention perpetual COVID, it somehow seems fitting that it is also the 20th anniversary of the defining moment in our country's modern history. Sure. Why not. Let's heap it on. Maybe if we get all the bullshit out, we can finally have nice things in 2022. Even I'm not buying that, and I'm generally a positive person. LOL 

I would love to believe we, as a nation, we can come together for the good of the country again. That we can be kinder to one another, be respectful towards each other, embrace our diversity, believe in science, care for one another enough to wear a fucking piece of cloth on our faces without equating it to GD fucking Nazi Germany, stay out of women's wombs. But alas, I cannot. Not today. Today I feel like we pissed it all away. 

I would love to end this missive on a somewhat optimistic note. So here goes. 

We all woke up today, right? To feel the sun's warmth on our face, or hear the rain on the roof, or to sniff the aromas of the oncoming fall. I'm looking at you, pumpkin spice.

We all have survived our worst days, 100 percent.

We all get another chance to make a difference, however slight, in the lives of others. Be it a phone call, a text, or a rando encounter in the wild.

We all get a chance to hug someone, maybe it's your Mom, or your sister, or your significant other, or a dog, or your neighbor's adorable cherub who runs up to you to show you their new toy. Hugging is healing. It's a science fact. It IS! No lie.

And finally, never pass up the opportunity to pee, eat the damn dessert FFS, and sometimes wine DOES fix everything. Or at least it may help you laugh so hard you almost tinkle, at which point I refer you to item #1 of this paragraph. 

Bless me, Father, for I have slacked. It has been three years since my last blog post...

Is this thing on?!?

Hello? *taps the imaginary mic three times to the annoyance of the equally imaginary audio tech*

Oh hey! So, this still exists. How about that. It's more than a tad dusty, and I think rats have been squatting in the dark recesses of this blogosphere, and DAMN this place could use a fresh coat of paint, but who has the energy. At least it's not condemned, just merely in need of some TLC from a hunky no-name carpenter on HGTV, or Home Depot. Whatevs. As long as there is no plumber's crack involved. Ain't nobody got time for that.

So, how have things been? 

In this present reality, things have been, well, to put it mildly, fucked up. The past three years have been filled with lots of great music, road trips with friends, general shenanigans fueled by bad judgement juice (I'm looking at you post wine flight holiday pop-up bar), and countless other socially satisfying events. It was also filled with a constant barrage of heinous actions perpetrated daily, nay, hourly by an unhinged wanna-be autocrat, hell bent on destroying our precious democracy, one seditious act of treason at a time, enabled by a complicit and cowering GOP Congress. To each and every one of these Kool-Aid swilling cowards I say, HE LOST THE ELECTION (THANK BABY JESUS)!! GET OVER IT! Post election has been a disgusting display of reprehensible attempts to subvert democracy by a vile bunch of despicable criminals who should be jailed. Go Google it. I can't bare to write about it. I have flipped the bird so often over this past year in particular, I have tendonitis in my middle finger. I am not even kidding. Fucking tendonitis. If for no other reason, I am looking forward to a Biden/Harris administration for the shear radio silence of rampant 3AM insane toilet rage tweeting. The silence will be a GD gift. Oh, and KAMALA HARRIS IS OUR VICE PRESIDENT!!! Holla!!!

And then there is the disgraceful mishandling of the pandemic. 

I started and stopped so many blog posts throughout the past 10 months, mainly in my head, while falling asleep, in the shower, driving wherever. (Man, I miss road trips.) All of those potential posts were much better in all ways, but today is when I am forcing myself to click the keys. Oh well. If there is one thing I had to learn during this GD pandemic is to forgive myself. I mean, just getting from one day to the next was an achievement. I had extra time off from work because of a reduction in on-site staff out of an abundance of caution, and absolutely zero social obligations, and yet I couldn't focus on finishing a sentence, let alone a book or home improvement project.  Plus, add the all-consuming stress of trying to keep Big Mar alive and healthy through the duration of this crisis, and you have me trying (and failing) to keep my shit together.  So, forgive me if this is more than a little scattered.. SQUIRREL! If not, well, fuck off. Now there's the Murray you know and loathe!  😂

But let's back up to January when the world as we knew it still existed. I crossed a personal milestone in January. I marked 60 years on this crazy spinning orb. It was a celebration spanning two weekends, and one of the best birthdays ever. My sisters threw me my first-ever surprise party. Disguised as a regular monthly Card Club meet up (full disclosure: we don't play cards-just eat, drink, and yak incessantly, you know, Book Club without the book), I opened the door to a roomful of lady friends from nearly every facet of my meager life. Family, college, KD, Card Club, concerts, WYEP. All in one room, meeting each other for the first time. The greatest Sisterhood gathering ever! It was magical! I felt so incredibly loved. 

I wore a GDAMN TIARA, MOFOS!

Little did I realize this photo would be the theme of 2020.

The following weekend continued the celebration with axe throwing, bowling, and imbibing with even more friends. FYI, axe throwing ain't easy. Not at all. 

2020 started off so well. I was freakishly happy. 

Then in March the Universe said, "Hold my beer." 

BOOM!!!

Pandemic, Bitch!

And the entire world shut down for months. 

To be honest, I kinda feel somewhat responsible. I mean, I have been hemming and hawing about growing out my hair for at least two years. I think the Universe at large was sick of hearing about my stupid locks, and decided to shut all the shit down so I would shut up and let the follicles flow. I kid. The Universe gives zero fucks about my Medusa hair, although I think I heard it choke on popcorn once when all of my "sparkles" appeared in my snake-headed mop. 

I had so many great plans for 2020. Geo and I were going to embark on a long-talked about two week baseball park trip through the midwest to Dallas and back. I had two trips to the shore planned. I missed the beach so damn much. I had so many great concerts lined up. Concerts. Remember those? Actual live music played out in front of your eager ears, shared with throngs of other like-minded enthusiasts, singing and dancing with abandon. Feels like ages ago. I miss them SO FUCKING MUCH! I only managed to attend two concerts at Club Cafe before the world closed; Wesley Stace on February 3 and Caroline Rose on March 11, two days before the shut down. All of the other shows I had booked were postponed until Fall, then eventually cancelled altogether when it became abundantly clear 'Murica's refusal to take COVID 19 seriously would close all of the arts and sports gatherings until deep into 2021. Thanks, asshats. Normally by December 31 there is a ginormous stack of concert tickets, wine flight tickets, airline tickets on my jewelry box. Proof of a year well lived. Today there are four sad and lonely pieces of paper giving witness to the unprecedented year that was. That's right. I used the ridiculously overused "U" word.

Initially, I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening. The five years of March and April were nothing any of us have ever dealt with before. The isolation, the uncertainty, the lack of solid answers about a virus indiscriminately slaying thousands. The worst by far in that initial lockdown was the suspension of personal contact. I'm a hugger. I like to hug. I miss hugging. 

Some random observations during lockdown:

• Zero cars on the road during rush hour

• The Powerball and Megamillions amounts on the billboard I drive by every day barely rose

• The prevalence of masks dangling from rearview mirrors

• Every day felt like Saturday

• Increased anxiety when approached on the street by someone not wearing a mask. 

This is one of my biggest superficial gripes about the pandemic. I hate that this stupid virus has made me do fucking algebra. "There are two unmasked people walking at different speeds towards each other. Solve for x, which is the time it takes for our paths to intersect and me to kick them square in the GD nards." WEAR YOUR MASKS, ASSHATS!!

But I digress...

I managed to write a small blurb in an unofficial personal journal from April that sums up my feelings at that point.

"I am so sad to put my social life and concert life on hold, but by far, the worst part is the suspension of personal contact. I miss touching my friends when we speak. I miss going to bars for day drinking with my best friends. I miss hugging my friends, our PTL guests, my coworkers, Big Mar, the two little girls next door. And HOLY CRAP I am tired of constantly washing my hands, the groceries, the GD steering wheel in the car. If we had actual adult leadership, we wouldn't be in this extreme circumstance. IF. But this is where we are. We will come through this, hopefully with a better sense of humanity. Hopefully. Some positives from this mess are a renewed sense of family time. For some, it's the first time their families are together without distraction from their overbooked lives. People have been kinder to one another, helping neighbors and strangers alike. There is a deeper appreciation for essential workers who are risking their health, both physical and mental, to do what we all need them to do. Doctors, nurses, aides, EMTs, bus drivers, custodians, postal workers, grocery store staff, restaurant workers, maintenance and utility employees, and yes, journalists on the front lines. These are the real heroes."

Side note: I'm still sick of washing my hands to bleeding, but oddly the mask wearing has become so normal, I forget to remove it sometimes. And now, added bonus, I physically recoil if someone gets too close to me, with or without a mask. I am going to need therapy when this is all said and done. 

Initially, people across the country stood on their porches, opened their windows and cheered for the medical personnel and emergency workers at 7pm every night. It was incredibly moving. People were kinder and gentler towards one another. The absence of human interference allowed the world to begin to reset and heal. There are amazing photos and videos of dolphins and fish visible in the cleaner canals of Venice, crystal clear skies in LA, and images of the Taj Mahal unencumbered by cloaking smog. It was all peace, love, and Kumbaya for months. Humankind got a much needed mulligan. A chance to hit pause, take a breath, and realign priorities for a better approach to life. Surely once restrictions were lifted, things would be better. People would be better, right?

WRONG!

As soon as the strict lockdown was reduced from red to yellow, people started shooting each other again. It's like people spent their three month downtime composing murder lists instead of gratitude lists. It was beyond disappointing. And don't get me started about the selfish, whiny anti-maskers who continue to refuse to wear a fucking piece of cloth to protect their fellow man because it "goes against my civil rights". There were protests wherein armed white men stood on capital steps across the country waving signs that read "My Body My Choice" without one ounce of irony. 

For realz. 

They had that kind of nerve to say that shit. The same stupid ass motherfuckers who are down with the government getting all up in women's vaginas. Yeah. And this went on all year, and is still going on even as the death toll keeps soaring from unmasked super spreader events. It's insane. Wearing a mask isn't even a sacrifice. It's a simple act of love to end the spread of a deadly virus. Period. White people are weak, yo. 

There have been some big positives to come out of this year of madness. The horrendous death of George Floyd and sadly, so many others, at the hands of police have spark the flame of civil unrest and activism in a new generation. The daily protests over the summer shined a light on systemic racism still prevalent in our society. More and more younger people became more and more engaged in the political process to change society. Their actions give me hope for the future progress of our country. And because of the continued health concerns caused by the never-ending pandemic, the entire country offered mail-in voting. It was super easy for everyone EVERYONE to cast a vote from the convenience of their own home. The turnout was historic! Paper ballots = tamper proof from foreign hackers. This is how we should vote always IMHO, especially in the age of the interwebs.  

On a personal note, one of positives from the lockdown was the surge of online performances. Faced with an empty calendar, musicians flocked to online outlets like Facebook, YouTube, and StageIt. These platforms became a lifeline for the artists and fans alike. They have been soul saving. Bands like Low Cut Connie (who should not be missed on Saturdays on FaceBook), Kevin Griffin of Better Than Ezra, Jill Sobule among others have filled the void of live concerts with their interactive shows. The biggest gift for me was Rhett Miller's immediate jump on the StageIt platform. He has mastered the process of playing 4 times a week. Over the course of his 150+ shows, he has played every Old 97's/solo album in its entirety, shared outtakes and unrecorded extras, and told tales of the background and circumstances behind many of the songs. Each show is a gift. They are light, airy, and uber entertaining. The perfect calming distraction from the barrage of angst from a difficult reality. The intimate nature of the platform makes it feel like we're all at the bar, shootin' the shit with Mr. Miller. It has been amazing. 

All I can say is thank Baby Jesus for technology. What would we have done without it? Because of the internet, children are attending school, people are working from home en masse, family and friends are staying connected. For that last one, I am most grateful. Because of this virus, my Old 97's fan friends and I have instituted twice weekly Zoom Happy Hours before Rhett's shows. The number of participants fluctuates between 9 and 15, but the core group is about 10. I have enjoyed these women for years, but the past 10 months have forged a much deeper love and friendship. We have bonded hard, yo! We even became aunts to a litter of 5 kittens born on one of our Wednesday night happy hours seven weeks ago! OMG, kitty cam is the best therapy EVAH!! I love these women and the two lone y chromosomes with every fiber of my pointy heart. 

Last night the hideous dumpster fire, flaming turd of a year that is known as 2020 was kicked to the curb. Thank the Goddesses! We are still in a heap of woes, but there is hope. Hope from not one, but two vaccines. Hope from a new adult, experienced, compassionate administration beginning at noon January 20th. Hope we will be able to gather, laugh, hug each other again in the not-too-distant future. I mean, time became irrelevant in 2020. Every day was Blursday. What's another six months, right? Fare warning to friends and family: when it's truly safe, there will be much hugging, oh, yessireebob there will be! And the hugs will be long and uncomfortable. Prepare yourselves.

Every holiday was weird in 2020. We all had to adapt, but we figured out how to stay connected and celebrate with the ones we loved even if it was over a little wire magically connected to these marvelous devices we had no idea would be so fucking vital to our very existence when the original tech wizards dreamed them up decades ago. 

So thank you again, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates for giving us the opportunity to keep a final annual tradition alive in the year we all agree to never speak of again.

                                        BUH-BYE YOU RAT BASTARD OF A YEAR

Please don't kick us in the collective nuts, 2021. We'll bake you sour dough bread. 💖

Til Death Do Us Part

Okay, so it's been quite awhile since I roamed through this abandoned fortress of a blog space.

Jebus, the dust bunnies are the size of Volkswagens in here!! I'm going to need an industrial-sized shop vac to suck up all the dust, debris, and monster-sized arachnids lounging on the couch, binge-watching Judge Judy. GODDAMN those eight-legged freaks are fucking slobs, leaving popcorn and Reese's wrappers all of the floor. I should probably just go ahead and firebomb the entire place, coz they don't look like they're going to play along with this here eviction notice in my sweaty paw, or be repelled by the overuse of hyphenated wording.

Jerks.

Anywho...

Hey. How have you been?

Me? I've been kinda messed up. There have been times in the past two years I started to write, only to find myself mentally incapacitated. Seems I allowed some humans to take the wind out of my penning sails, and that's just plain fucked up, yo. It's totally my fault. I'm a grown-ass adult. (There's that dang hyphen again!) Ain't nobody gonna tell me what to do, except for the last couple years, apparently. I call bullshit on MYSELF for getting sucked into the vortex of self doubt, self pity, self serve line at the grocery store. And don't even get me started on that motherfucker, 45*!

But that is all behind me. I guess. Maybe. I don't know. Quit looking at me with that raised eyebrow. I'm getting there. I'm a work in progress, dammit! Baby steps. Y'all (read: the two of you) were probably happy for the respite anyway. But enough of this BS. Onward, mofos!

SHUT UP, LUMBERGH! I'M TRYING!!

So anyway, here's my happy return to the blogosphere.
yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.


I murdered my beloved Rita.

For those of you unaware, Rita is my darling red Pontiac Vibe(rator). She is the great mechanical love of my life. She is, hands down, the perfect vehicle; nary an issue, reliable to the nth degree, low to zero maintenance, care free. She exudes happiness, elan, and a verve with every atom of her ruby exterior. She is my 4-wheeled soul mate. As the great Katherine Hepburn says in The Philadelphia Story, she is yar.

And I paid her back by slaughtering her on a suburban street.

Ford Escape: 1
Rita: last rites

I'm so sorry, my love

I'm one of those weirdos who gets attached to cars, and boy, was I attached to Rita. She was amazing. For example, her bumpers were sublime. On more than one occasion, there was a minor altercation wherein the other car had visible damage, but Rita was virtually unscathed. She was a fucking tank!

Except for yesterday.

Yesterday there were many tears.

And gnashing of teeth at my unfathomable stupidity.

I cried real tears when I said goodbye to her. Sure, she's not technically deceased. The insurance adjuster hasn't called the time of death yet, but, look at her. She's pretty much flatlined on life support.



For over 12 years Rita and I had countless adventures together. She was my faithful steed when my love for Rhett and the Old 97's bloomed. Geo and I traveled all over the east coast for Rhett Miller/Francis Dunnery weekend shows. We hit up countless house concerts, private parties, beach trips... Man, could we pack a shit ton of crap in her hatch.

Some of my favorite band road trips with Steph and Leslie were played out behind the wheel of my little sassy, ginger angel. Rochester, City Winery, The Rubin Museum, a blisteringly hot three day 97's road trip to DC, Richmond and Baltimore...

Besides those whom I hold precious, i.e., Geo, Big Mar, my sisters, and my closest friends; some AMAZEBALLS butts have sat in Rita. I used to joke to Geo I could never part with her because the phenomenal talent I have shuttled about in this car is too spectacular to leave behind. No pun intended, mostly.

Here's a list of famous butts who have warmed the seats:

1. Modern day Renaissance man and friend, Francis Dunnery.

the king of hugs and cusses

I had the honor of driving him to breakfast after his only Pittsburgh TV appearance.

As soon as he closed the door to my car, he let loose with a string of every curse word imaginable, let out a big sigh and declared "That's better. I haven't f*cking swore in 20 f*cking minutes!?! Right. Let's go."

He is my swearing spirit animal.



2. Noted YA author and king of all things YouTube and Vidcon, John Green.

in the so-called green room of the Special K

He and I had an incredible conversation on the drive from his hotel in Oakland to downtown where he was a guest on PTL (Jesus Loves You) one year before The Fault in Our Stars was released, and his popularity exploded to quantum proportions. We were his very first television appearance. Now he is a regular guest on legit, big ass, network morning programs. I doubt I will ever have this unique, intimate opportunity again. Ever.



3. Three quarters of the Old 97's.

Murry, Ken and Philip have permitted me the honor of transporting them to and from dinner, the radio station, the airport. Murry has since become a friend and frequent passenger. It is a rare treat to cart Ken and Philip around. One time Leslie and I picked Ken up in front of a magic shop in the South Side after he did his laundry. Those particular Ken stories were hilarious. The blue-eyed one is the lone missing member to make an impression on Rita's front seat. Alas, his inclusion shall never come to pass.

you see him sitting on that hill.
he's bummed he missed the chance to ride with me.
maybe our next car, bud.

4 & 5.  Brian Rosenworcel and Ryan Miller of Guster.

OMG. My friend, Lizzie and I got to spend the BEST SNOW DAY EVER with Guster. I chauffeured Brian and Ryan in my car to search for a suitable dumpster, while she had Adam, Luke and their merch guy in hers. What a crazy, fun day! The recounting of that day is one of the last posts I wrote before I abandoned ship. They are the best!


Do you see why I'm so crestfallen about losing Rita? So many great memories packed in that little red compact car. I'm seriously contemplating having the front passenger seat turned into a chair for the living room. No shit.

Fingers crossed there will be repeat visits from these talented gentlemen in whatever model of transport we choose to follow in Rita's tire treads. They all have an open invitation to ride, in perpetuity. I fear John Green is a goner, though. Who knows who else will find passage in the comfort of our new front bucket seat.


Farewell, my lovely Rita. Rest in peace, my sassy, sprightly, unshakable mechanical sidekick. Thank you for a dozen years of enchanting exploits. You will be forever missed.

In Which We Celebrate Life And Loss

Back in September, my siblings and I pulled off the greatest surprise EVER. Our beloved Big Mar was turning 95 on the 25th, and we decided to have a big party for her because SHE WAS GOING TO BE 95!!

You can't drag your feet on that shit.

Anyway, my ever-loving, thoughtful Geo declared my Mum's last remaining sister, Elsie should be, nay, NEEDED to be there to celebrate this incredible milestone with her big sister. When I called to ask my 92 year old Aunt if she would be willing to travel to Pittsburgh to surprise Big Mar, she immediately said yes and cried. She had been wracking her brain trying to figure out how she could get to see her sister for perhaps the last time. You see, the sisters Bossola talk to each other every week, but have only seen each other in person three times over the past 10 years, the last time being two years ago when we Pelino sisters took our Mum to Aunt Elsie's on a trip dubbed the Traveling Sisterhood.

the bond of sisterhood is strong with these two

When we left her standing at her back porch waving us goodbye as we drove away, we all felt the weight of the elephant in the room, or car, as it were. This might be the last time they would see each other. I have three sisters, and I can't even begin to fathom the idea that some day will be the last day I see any one of my siblings. How do you even process that? But at 93 and 90, respectively, that was their cold, hard reality.

So, we plotted and planned behind Big Mar's back to execute Operation: Surprise Big Mar. The plan was for me to secretly fly to Midway, get a car, drive west to Geneseo, pick up Aunt Elsie, drive back to Midway, fly to Pittsburgh and stow her at my sister's house until the next morning wherein Elsie would casually walk into my Mum's dining room for the big surprise.

For over a month, EVERYONE had strict orders NOT to slip up and give anything away to Big Mar. Every time I spoke to anyone in on our caper, I reiterated for them to KEEP THEIR GDAMN TRAP SHUT! Like, I-will-slice-you-in-two-if-you-spoil-this-thing level threats. Seriously, I will cause you un-fucking-fathomable harm if you spill it. Worked like a charm. Except for one person. The biggest asshat in the group--

ME!!!

GDammit, if I wasn't the one who blabbed to her. You know, all casual-like on the phone.

Big Mar: What should I make for dinner for everyone on Friday night? Should I make a big lasagne?

Asshat Child #5: Don't worry about dinner Friday, Mum. We're all going out and the cousins are taking you and Aunt Elsie out to dinner....
*punches self in face super fucking hard*

Big Mar: What, honey?

GinormoAsshat: Mish and Terri are taking you to dinner while we're out.
*sweet baby jesus! please say she didn't hear me*

Big Mar: Oh, okay. That will be nice.


Whew! So yeah, dodged that bullet. For once I was thankful for her compromised hearing.

The day finally came to retrieve my Aunt. It was one, long-ass day for me. I was gone from 4am to 10:30pm. I got to see a beautiful sunrise and sunset at Midway, and in between I got to spend some quality time with my vivacious, remarkable, spunky Aunt.

Good morning, Chicago sunrise!
where's my GD coffee

13 hours later...
i'm just going to close my eyes for a secon..zzzzz

you had one job antique shop. ONE.
#labelingfail

We shopped, we ate, she told stories on our long drive back to the airport. And I gotta tell you, she was like the energizer bunny. At 92, she was keeping up with me pace for pace. She had no trouble climbing in and out of the shuttle or walking through the airport. I honestly kept forgetting she was 92! She was amazing! What a joy.

And then the next morning this happened...

Mission Accomplished

Wait. There's something wrong with my eye. Salty fluids keep gushing out.

I posted the video to the Interwebs immediately, as one does in the 21st century of self involvement (my new band name), which sent my social media peeps weeping. I mean, C'MON! How could anyone, whether you know these two women or not, not shed tears of happiness while watching their reunion?

Hooka, please! Pass the Kleenex.

two inspiring ladies

just two fabulous old broads catching up

The entire celebration weekend went off without a hitch. So much love, joy and laughter. Outside of our one cousin who recently moved to South Carolina, everyone on the Bossola side of the family got to visit with Elsie. We couldn't have asked for more.

And Big Mar...

she could not have been any happier, surrounded by all those she holds dear and who love her back, including her little sister.

Miss Datable
What! What!

the outrage is real, mofo

the golden girls

la familia

the entire rag-tag lot of us

Before you knew it, the weekend was over. Tearful, heartfelt goodbyes and lingering hugs were exchanged between the stoic sisters. Geo and I packed our dynamo of an aunt into our car and set off for Illinois.

traveling through land as flat as the Ohio "A"
oh, and corn 

oh hey, more corn

what a surprise...
corn

We offered to break up the 600 mile journey into two days, but Aunt Elsie wouldn't hear of it. Over the course of 10 hours, passing corn field after corn field after corn field in the flat lands of America, Elsie regaled us with the story of her life. And what a life it was. Joining the Marines at 20, meeting and marrying her husband (a marine himself) within two week's time, living in Japan and California, and finally settling in her husband's quaint hometown of Geneseo, Illinois.

She had three passions: her husband, golf and ballroom dance. She and my uncle met at a military dance and basically never stopped. Dancing was there favorite pastime. They'd don their fanciest clothes, she'd put on her favorite heels, and off they'd go to swing, jitterbug and waltz the night away.

all dolled up for a night on the town

I mean, look at them. So stylish in their finery. They were so happy together. They were unable to have children, but they had each other. And a couple of cats to fawn over. Life was good.

there's always time to dance while the steaks are cooking
I adore this photo.
to me, this sums up their relationship

Geo and I had a blast tooling around the boutiques, tchotchke shops and artist markets of Geneseo with my Aunt. Everywhere we went, Aunt Elsie told the clerks how we took her to Pittsburgh for her sister's birthday. She gushed about the party and her visit to everyone who would listen. I gotta tell you, it felt good having brought her so much joy with our little birthday scheme. Our spirits were as lifted as hers.

The next morning, after a full farmer's breakfast, many tears were shed by all three of us as we hugged and kissed goodbye.

with Miss Spunk, 2016

a tearful goodbye 

The last image we have of Aunt Elsie is her arm waving to us out of the window of her sparkling, white 25 year old Chrysler as we embarked on our long journey east.


And now she's gone.

And now this gets really difficult to write.


Less than two months after Big Mar's party, Aunt Elsie was hospitalized for congestive heart failure. She was retaining fluid around her heart. When we traveled to Pittsburgh in September, she and I talked at length about her need for valve replacement surgery similar to the one my Mum had the prior December. The surgery had improved Big Mar's life tremendously. There was no reason why my hail and hearty Aunt would not have a positive outcome as well.

But Life had other plans.

For the first time ever, she was tied to oxygen and a walker to get around. A quick succession of falls took away her courage and independence. Too fearful to stay in her house, she moved into an assisted living facility with the intention of moving into an apartment once she recovered from her valve replacement.

But she never got strong enough physically to have her surgery.

By mid-December, she decided she had enough of hospitals and needles and being bed-ridden, and chose to call it a day. She was ready to wrap up her life and go be with her husband again. As much as I didn't want her to stop fighting, I gotta respect her decision. She stepped off this mortal coil on her own terms. There's some comfort knowing we all have a modicum of control when it comes to the end of our time on this crazy planet. My sisters and I were able to talk to her on the phone and tell her we loved her the day before she died. Big Mar never got through to her for one last chat. I don't know. Perhaps it's best that way. She gets to remember her voice strong and feisty.


I still can't wrap my head around her death. The rapid decline of a woman so vivacious, vital and healthy is unimaginable to me. For Christ's sake, at 92 years old she was still washing her windows and walls twice a year!! Her trip in September is made all the more precious by her absence now. Her visit was a gift to us all. She accomplished what she set out to do, that is, spend time with her family and big sister one last time. Maybe that's why she cried when Geo and I left her in September. Maybe subconsciously she knew that was our swan song.

None of us were able to make the trek west for her funeral. The weather was too unsettled and there was no way we were going to risk Big Mar's health in the vast mid-west winter. To be honest, I didn't want to go. I want to hang on to the memory of my spirited aunt from her September visit and replay the above video over and over again.

I'm going to miss my vibrant Aunt. We were just getting to know each other better. Life is a right-royal bitch sometimes, but you know what? I'm happy for her. She lived a rich, full life chock-full of love, laughter and friendship. And now she's back with her beloved husband; young and beautiful and dancing her heart out in her favorite high heels.

Godspeed, Aunt Elsie. The grace with which you lived your life, especially the latter part is an inspiration. May your dance hall never close.
xoxoxoxo

A TAIL OF TWO PARKING SPACES

Okay, so I'm not awful at parallel parking. 

No, seriously. I'm usually pretty good at it. One or two times backing up and I'm in. Easy-peasy.

Usually. 

Which makes the parking atrocity of Friday so puzzling. 

It all started on the North Side. I picked up my friend, Dennis at the Science Center, and headed over to the Modern Cafe on a narrow, two-lane road with parking on both sides. I spotted a sizable space to plop Rita, and proceeded to do my Thang. But my Thang wasn't having any of it. My Thang booked passage on a cruiser heading anywhere but right here where I needed that crazy-ass bitch.

First try: I hit the curb at a sharp angle. 

Second try: a little less sharp, but still sticking as far out in traffic as though a toddler was behind the wheel. 

Third... Fourth... Fifteenth try.  

Suddenly every yinzer in a three-mile radius was zooming down the narrow street, while this ginormous, ginger asshat was blocking traffic with her ineptitude. Even Dennis was like, "WTF, man? I've seen you do this a thousand times." 

Finally, a driver pointed to a car leaving a space large enough to dock the Millennium Falcon. I honked my appreciation, and confidently whipped Rita into place. I got this bad boy now, right?

WRONG!!

Not even close. I mean, a fucking one-armed lemur with an eye patch could have wrapped this up faster than me. 

WHAT THE FRENCH, TOAST??!?

J'accuse, Menopause!*

* from now on, I'm using this as my go-to excuse for all the untoward happenings, decisions, or inabilities that pop up, whether menopause related or not

Meanwhile, during the time I'm making a Goddamn career out of stowing my hot wheel, the guy who showed me the gargantuan spot parked his semi in one go, talked to his friend a bit, paid the parking meter and was heading to a restaurant while I was clearly struggling with the mathematical principles of some sort of parking Pythagorean Theorem that were slipping my addled brain. 

So I had to do it. I had to make eye contact with the lad, because, honestly the entire episode had become ridiculous. The three of us had a gut-busting laugh at my expense. Once he was out of eyesight, I wiped the tears of shame hysteria laughter from my eyes and parked like... an assistant manager. 

As the kids' say: Hashtag ParkingFail

Fast forward four hours to my favorite watering hole, Nadine's in the South Side. Friends were met, several drinks were consumed, questionable stories were over shared. When Denise (NOT Dennis in drag) and I got to my car, some major jackhole parked his gross overcompensating-his-little-dick monstrosity perpendicular to me; leaving roughly five feet for me to maneuver out of the lot. 

Oh, HELL NOOOOO!!! YOU CAN'T BLOCK ME IN, MOTHERFUCKERS!!*

*actual quote. from my mouth. out loud. in public.

And guess what? I snaked that mutha OUT! Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until I was parallel to dickless's truck--with an inch to spare-- and weaved backwards through the motherfuckin' lot to the motherfuckin' alley. AND I only urban kissed the car beside me once. 

BOOM!

Hashtag LikeABoss

Parking redemption complete. Middle fingers in the air like you just don't care. WhutWhut!!

So, in conclusion, Vodka is my car parking super power, yo. Now give me my damn cape. 

Of Museums, Randyland and Dumpster Sets In Alleyways

Okay, so it all started with this message:

That's Brian, the drummer from the great Boston band, Guster. We became Facebook friends several years ago. Guster (comprised of Ryan Miller, Adam Gardner, Luke Reynolds and Brian Rosenworcel) are touring this winter, and my girlfriend and I were planning to drive to Philadelphia on January 23rd to catch their always exuberant show because: 

A) they weren't coming to Pittsburgh this leg and 

B) the opener was none other than the lovely blue-eyed one himself, RHETT FUCKING MILLER! 

Wha??!?

I mean, C'MON! The double bill of my fangirl dreams! 

Ahhhh, but that fuckwad monster storm, Jonas had other ideas. Poised to dump upwards of 18"- 24" of the powdery white stuff all over the mid Atlantic and Northeast (and subsequently New York City, because weather predictors have their heads up their asses at times and totally blow snow accumulations in metropolitan areas), this beast of a storm cell made travel east a fool's errand. 

jonas was so big,
you couldn't even find the U.S. under it's blanket of badassery

In the end, wiser heads prevailed, and my fangirl-fantasy, double-shot show slated for Saturday, January 23rd was cancelled. 

And there was much sadness in Pittsburgh.  

As it turned out, Pittsburgh got double the predicted snowfall, and I had one hellish drive to The Special K hours before the butt crack of dawn. As grumpy and sad as a petulant child, I finally resigned myself to the fact that this wasn't going to happen. No matter how much I held my breath, I was going to miss the rare opportunity to revel in the spirits of my two favorite performers. 

And then my Facebook Messenger dinged...

Guster made it to their show in State College Friday, but had to reach Charleston, West Virginia for a date with Mountain Stage Sunday night. They braved the elements and made the harrowing trek west to Pittsburgh for an overnighter. FYI, the band loves Pittsburgh. Like, really REALLY LOVES Pittsburgh. As if I needed anymore reasons to love them dearly.

These four bandmates are unbelievably cool. For starters, they're super accessible, social media savvy, and are known to do all sorts of wacky, creative things like acoustic dumpster sets, running errands with fans, and collecting granny afghans from their devotees to cover their instruments and wear as super stylish vests. 

awash in fan-delivered yarnwear

They embrace their public, which is what endears them forever to the hearts of their following. And they are unbelievably sweet, nice guys. 

the expertly curated dumpster stage

So anywho, back to the dumpster set. The guys decided to search for an appropriate dumpster on the North Side near our uber contemporary museum, the Mattress Factory. The other cool thing about this group is they take time to explore the cities in which they play. They ride bikes, visit attractions, eat at local dives. The idea was to hit up the museum after their brief acoustic set. 

the scene of the action

After Brian and Luke freed me from the snow mound I'd managed to lodge my trusty Vibe into, my friend, Lizzie who worked with Guster in Boston, and I packed six men and various instruments in our cars, and headed off to the still snow-covered streets of the North Side. 

Side note: Pittsburgh is notoriously slow to plow its streets, no matter who's mayor. It's just a fact. There was a point where I started to slide and all I could think of was "Don't kill Brian and Ryan. Sweet Jesus! Don't kill Brian and Ryan!" Clearly, I'm not very good in the snow. What was I thinking carting these talented men around post-winter storm?

Brian and Ryan working the interwebs

So the deal is, Bryan picks a dumpster at random. He and Ryan Instagram and Tweet the location and set time. At the designated time, they start playing for whomever shows up. We whiled away the time having lunch at a nearby hole-in-the-wall taco place named El Burro. Delicious and cheap. 

mmmm... burritos

logging the twitter activity

When we walked back from a local coffee shop, five people were waiting by the dumpster. By the time everyone was set up, a few more fans joined in. Neighbors poked their heads out, passersby stopped to listen, curious about the random happening in their alleyway. When it was all said and done, about a dozen or so adults, one baby and two dogs enjoyed the impromptu concert. 

the early birds

soundchecking of sorts

the bulk of the crowd minus the dogs in adorable booties
even the house behind them had a happy "tear" in its eye

the sun played the part of stage lighting
(check out Adam's guitar strap--granny squares!)

The debate in the car was whether to alert fans via Facebook or just post photos afterward. At the last minute, Ryan decided to live stream the event on Facebook using its version of Periscope. Lizzie recorded the pop-up performance. About 1700 watched it live from all over the country. In the time it took to break down the instruments, take photos and walk to the cars, they had amassed 20,000 views. They were blown away! It didn't stop there. In 24 hours, their video had over 135,000 views and was picked up by online newsletter, Next Pittsburgh, shared by who knows how many followers on Facebook and tweeted by a crapton of people, including our hip news anchor, Ken Rice and Mayor Peduto who in his exchange with Ryan promised to declare Guster Day the next time they play in town. This thing has some long legs! And right now, at the time of this writing, they are up to 185,000 views. Madness! 

The power of social media is real, motherfuckers!

Bryan wrote about the analytics on his road journal here. And while your at it, treat yourself to some of his past writings, especially his ongoing battle with his nemesis, the port-o-john. This gem contains a side order of past posts to compliment the hilarity. If this doesn't make you laugh-out-loud-spit-take your morning coffee, we can't be friends. Seriously. 

But I digress... 

After the 20 minute acoustic set, we gathered for a commemorative group photo. A fun time was definitely had by all. 

family photo with most of the audience
(photobombed by the happy house)

Dumpster 2016 Set list:

Doing it By Myself

Careful

Jesus on the Radio

This Could All Be Yours

Satellite 

Moving on...

On the drive over, Ryan had expressed a deep interest in going to Pittsburgh's most colorful landmark, Randyland. It's whimsical, chaotic, overstimulating and fantastic. Randy Gilson is the eccentric creator, with a good heart and very little filter. He was outside shoveling snow when we walked the short distance to his house. Sweet guy, but man, is he a talker. He shared his entire back story, philosophy, message in a rapid-fire 15 minute monologue. He's unique in a positive way, but he is a bit out there. You can see for yourself in this video he made with Guster, or "Gustet" as it's labeled here. 

the man himself

exterior during Randy's monologue

next cover?

inside Randy's garden with the addition of funky Adam panorama head

seems a little too conventional for Randyland
but then again, we don't know what's under the snow

randy and ryan
(a boy's dream come true)

After our adventure in Randyland, we headed back to the Mattress Factory for a guided tour. This museum is one of our city's best kept secrets. A powerhouse of notable contemporary works packed into a small space. The museum occupies three buildings: the main factory space and two houses on the block. Each has it's own specific feel. The curators encourage the artists to utilize their spaces however they want, which at times includes tearing out walls, closets or floors. It's a little bit of New York in the Burgh. 

a wee face in the algae exhibit

this was the eeriest exhibit in the newest building
thousands of strings enveloping ordinary
apartment settings

gives off a combo fairy tale/serial killer vibe

What an insanely great afternoon. I'm still pinching myself. Thanks for letting me tag along, men of Guster. As my niece says, I less than 3 you! It was a perfect early birthday gift. I am one lucky shithead, yo.

I've transported Francis Dunnery, John Green, Murry Hammond, Ken Bethea, and now Brian Rosenworcel and Ryan Miller in my car... I can never sell Rita now.

I can't thank Lizzie enough, first and foremost for her friendship, and for introducing me to these fine humans. 

For my every-loving Geo: 

How about those lucky bastards scraping off their cars to a live Guster soundtrack?

I heart them so. 

Brian dropping the sticks is everything. Ha Ha!