Cold Cuts

We're feeling a bit under the weather here at ol' Chateau Bluz. I came down with a cold on Friday night and I'm still working my way through it. I took a COVID test on Sunday and that came up negative, so at least there's that. This seems to be the kind of nasty chest cold I used to get every year before I started working from home. It'll pass, but I'm not up to putting any coherent thoughts together this afternoon, so here's a funny story from the Bluz Archives (about ten years ago) about a rather alarming dream.

The Dream

Great. Flaming. Jesus. I had the most unbelievable and traumatic dream Sunday night. Check this out…

I was playing soccer and got tangled up with another player, and we both went down in a heap. When I got up, I realized that “Bluz Jr.” had been nearly sliced off and was hanging by a tiny strip of skin. In fact, the top half came right off in my hand.

And I remember thinking (within the dream), “Damn, that’s the good part.” No guy wants to live without the Angry Inch

You know how we guys are about our junk.  We’re highly protective of our little buddies. 

(Disclaimer: Not an actual willy.)

Though clearly unhappy about my schlong being reduced to a schlort, I was remarkably composed about the whole incident, which had been surprisingly painless. (That should have been my first clue that it was a dream.) The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a sort of “common room” that you might find in the main area of a frat house. It appeared to be a house full of medical students. Perhaps I was playing college intermural soccer.

Anyway, with the better half of Bluz Jr still in my hand, and the other half suffering from boneus interruptus, I asked the room if they might be able to find a way to put this thing back on because I was pretty sure I was going to need it. In fact, I had to pee right then. There seemed to be a murmur in the room, as they discussed my plight and I considered what it might be like to live without a wang.

And then… I was never as glad as I was right then, to wake up in my own bed.  An immediate examination determined that Bluz Jr was just fine. And all was well again in the land of Bluz.  Even if he didn’t have anywhere to go just yet, he still has potential.

So now: WTF????  Do any of you amateur Freuds out there want to take a shot at what that meant?

Freud and So-crates… the Dream Team

First of all, me? Playing soccer???  I haven’t played a competitive game of soccer since gym class in junior high, and that was a one-off.  Where in the hell did that come from?  Just because I was a Mia Hamm fan doesn’t mean I wanted my lunch meat sliced.

My first instinct is to tie it to my experience of my boomerang relationship that just bounced out of the apartment. Could that have been my brain processing the loss of autonomy that the relationship represented? But if so, why did I have the dream when it was over, rather than when it was still going on?

Maybe it was trying to make me consider a life without meat.

Or maybe it was a message for me to be less cocky.

Either way, you can bet your ass I’m never playing soccer again.

A Killer Insurance Policy

It looks like we’ve finally gotten around to having Death Panels in the healthcare industry, but it hasn’t turned out quite like the insurance execs imagined.

Last week the head guy at United Healthcare was gunned down on an NYC street in a targeted hit. Some young guy wearing a hoodie and medical mask came up behind the guy as he left his hotel, and put three bullets into him. Somehow, the assassin slipped off and has been on the run ever since.

You know, some stories just put a smile on a guy’s face. I don’t see the killer’s personal reasons yet, but I’m sure we will in due time. But it’s a good bet that United Healthcare gave someone in his family a run-around, possibly with fatal ramifications.

I’m not exactly tap-dancing over this story, but I’m not terribly bothered either. Let’s just say I’ll treat this story with the same amount of care and compassion that UHC exhibits when declining to pay for life-saving treatments for their customers.

It’s about time some of these blood-sucking CEOs get some skin in the game. They’ve become a little too comfortable screwing over their customers in pursuit of even more obscene corporate profits.

These leeches are used to being the guys at the controls of the peasant catapult. Maybe a ride or two in the bucket will change their ways.

I’d like to think that maybe some of these execs might realize the kind of pain their company policies inflict on the public, but I think it’s more likely that they’ll just raise premiums and get more security for the corner office guys.

The older I get and the more I have to interact with the medical insurance profession, the more convinced I become that the only civilized solution is single-payer/Medicare for all. We’re the only first-world country that has a for-profit medical system, so it’s not like it can’t be done. It just can’t be done HERE because the parties who are making billions of dollars in profit will never allow such a change to happen. So they buy presidents and senators to ensure that no such proposal ever sees the light of day. Maybe executions ARE the only way…

Late Addition: Welp, about 2 minutes after I posted, I saw that they caught the guy. So much for being timely. Please note that everything written above was before I learned the news.

“Missed it by THAT Much…”

There was an article in today’s Sinclair (Baltimore) Sun about how the DOGE brothers, Musk and Ramaswamy, want to bring federal workers back to the office as a cost-saving and debt reduction measure.

Yes, that’s how wrong these guys are about how to reduce expenses. They think a WFH force costs more money.

Out of all this poorly-written “Sinclair National Desk” gobbledygook, there is one semi-coherent statement and the article framers take it in the wrong direction.

Senator Joni Ernst (R-Iowa) said “Something I’ve been pushing on is getting the federal workers back into the offices or eliminating the buildings they occupy.”  

The correct answer is staring them right in the face. Sell the damned buildings! A staff that’s working from home is far cheaper than providing real estate and utilities. (They’re also happier and can be more productive.) And then you have the bottom line gravy of the sales proceeds.

And I’d even wager they might know of someone with a real estate background who might overpay for the property so he can put up a tacky hotel on the site.

The thing that bothers me is that they’re pushing a total logical fallacy. These buildings are on the books, period. Whether they're full of people or not is immaterial… they’re still being paid for.

The problem is psychological! They don’t feel they’re getting their money’s worth so they want butts in the seats. Regardless of where the butts are, they’re still paying for the buildings. So if they’re serious about cutting spending, the clear choice is to sell the office buildings and develop better WFH strategies.

There’s one thing to remember about all this fake “waste-cutting” the Republicans are pushing. It’s not to cut the deficit, it’s to pretend these cuts will pay for the massive tax cut for the 1% that they’re about to unleash. Republicans don’t give a shit about the deficit unless there’s a Democratic administration. That’s when they cry for austerity. But as soon as they’re in charge? Bring on the tax cuts for the rich and maybe, if you’re very good, a few bits might trickle down to the rest of us. When it explodes the deficit? They’ll propose cuts to Social Security and Medicare and the rest of the programs that benefit the general public, but they never liked because they can’t easily skim. Then they’ll worry about the rest of it once the next Democrat takes charge.

PS

Last week I posted about the infamous Hunter Biden Pardon, and how he should widen it to include everyone with whom he’s related associated.

“President Biden ought to leave one more pardon for the end of his term, covering his wife, his other kids and grandchildren, his maids, landscapers, chefs, doctors, trainers, valets, mail carriers, Uber drivers, pet groomers, pizza guys, soda fountain guys, milkmen, and the lot. Call it the Pardon Me but Go Eff Yourself Act. Tell’em to stick that up their transition.”

Now this week, there’s a movement coming to preemptively pardon some of the other players in TFG’s revenge fantasy, like Adam Schiff, Liz Cheney, and Dr. Fauci.

I agree with this course of action as well. These people have committed no crime other than daring to disagree with the new emperor. If the Republicans can proclaim that they want revenge trials of their political opponents, the least we can do is defend our own. Not that it’s being seen that way by the Republicans. Hoo-boy no. It’s the end of the justice system, to them. (As if their guy hasn’t done enough damage.)

But that’s what these people do… they loudly go on offense and then cry when their enemies play defense.

PPS

The week before that, I posted about shrinkflation and how everyday we’re getting less for our money. Over the weekend I saw this graphic that seemed apropos:

This is the old “olive jar” story living on. And I also noticed another example… bacon!

One pound used to be the default size for a bacon package. They still have some one-pound packages, but over the years, you more frequently see 12-ounce packages, that look very similar to the pounders. I think they space out the bacon a little more. The only way to tell at a glance is to check the net weight. And how often do we really do that?

DINOs, Food Trucks, and Meat Loaf

I’m becoming alarmed by the extent that the blame for inaction on much-needed legislation is being laid on Biden and the Democrats. Whether it’s TV news or newspapers, all the headlines/top stories involve “Democratic failures.” There’s barely a nod to the 50 Republican Senators who are intransigent as ever. Regardless of what the party hierarchy wants, there are rules, most of which revolve around numbers, which are just not in the Democrats’ favor.

They would be, if not for two DINOs who have been bought and paid for by the 1% of the country who don’t want any grand plans coming to pass that would put a dent in their quarterly earnings.

Manchin, a coal-man from the get-go, has played the game with moving goalposts. Every time they meet one of his demands, he finds a different reason to vote no. This tells me his “no” is predetermined and he’s just trying to make it look good.

Sinema is going with just plain NO, without offering any ideas of what it might take to turn her to YES, or even what her objections are. It’s just NO, which is also a hallmark of a predetermined vote.

When every Senator is required to vote together, any straying from that derails the whole process and there’s nothing Biden or Schumer can do about it.

Rather than blaming Democrats in general and bellyaching about the gridlock, the Sane Middle needs to join with the rest of the Democrats and vote in more Democratic senators, so that these two clowns won’t hold up the works any longer. And make sure any prospective new senators go on the record regarding their intentions toward Build Back Better and Voting Reform, lest we end up with another DINO surprise.

There is no benefit to having Democrats openly grousing about their own party. Things may not be going as expected, but if the Republicans come to power again, we’ll be salivating over the prospects of things going back to the way they are now.

It’s clear that Republicans are only interested in propping up the upper class with tax cuts, stripping government regulations that protect us and the planet, and cementing their own places at the altar of power.

All Republicans have to go on is distorting what Democrats actually want.

There’s no question that the GOP pushes these fake arguments… I’ve written about every point on this list. Since the media has been derelict in pointing out the fallacies, we have to do it ourselves. “Owning the Libs” has been elevated to their primary tenet. Actual governing doesn’t even make a cameo appearance on their list of priorities. (I would say “Party Platform,” but they never bothered to create one for the last election.)

And now, this:

I think this is an excellent idea. If people are too wrapped up in their own selfish versions of freedom to get themselves vaxxed and provide proof, they deserve to eat out in the parking lot with the rest of the rats and leave the decent people to eat in peace.

RIP

It was a very blue weekend at Chateau de Bluz, as I woke up Friday morning to the news that one of my musical idols, Meat Loaf, went on to the great beyond. Initial reports declined to list a cause of death, although TMZ said it was COVID, which was parroted by other outlets later on.

I’m aware that Meat was a Trumper and anti-vaxxer and that had puzzled me. I thought he was entirely too nice a guy to be Republican. It’s probably the byproduct of being Texan and also appearing on Celebrity Apprentice. I remember watching when TFG mentioned that he may run for president and Meat said he’d vote for him.

I was like, “No, Meat, don’t do it! It’s a trap!” I hoped that he was just practicing the toadying that is required to have a long stay on that show. Non-ass-kissers always washed out quickly.

But regardless of all that, I’m devastated. I’ve been a fan of Meat Loaf since early in my college days. And when I say a fan, I don’t mean I like his two albums that got radio play. Check this out:

I have all* of his CDS, plus a bunch on LP as well. OK, his last couple I could do without I’ve always enjoyed his main body of work, including the ones in between the Bats out of Hell. I especially liked his follow-up to Bat Out of Hell, called Dead Ringer. The title track was a rockin’ duet with Cher, of all people. I figured they were trying to recreate the vibe from Paradise by the Dashboard Lights.

*I’m aware that he released an album of duets prior to Bat Out of Hell, called “Stoney and Meat Loaf,” but that’s not worth counting.

Meat Loaf is my nominee for Greatest Rock Singer Ever.  Geez, I must have worn out 2 or 3 copies of the Bat Out of Hell cassette over the years.  When I was driving to and from college and the weather turned bad, I used to think, “If I’m going to kill myself smashing up this car, I at least want to go out to some great music.”  Could there possibly be better car crash music than the song “Bat Out of Hell?”

Anyway, when the snow fell, I’d crank up the Bat and somehow I’d always make it home.  I soon began to consider that tape to be my good luck charm.  When the weather got bad, I knew The Loaf would get me home. I always wanted to tell him that, but the one time I got to meet him, I chickened out.

As a wedding gift (for my first marriage back in 1993, when I worked at the home office of a major music retailer) my co-workers gave me two tickets to see Meat Loaf in Boston, in a warm-up show at the Orpheum Theatre, prior to his three-year world tour for Bat Out of Hell II.  Backstage passes were included.  I was thrilled... I was gonna get to meet The Loaf!

But the crowd of people amassed to see him after the show was considerable and I didn’t want to take up his time with a long-ass story, so I kept it to compliments and pleasantries and settled for a picture with him and a couple of autographed albums. But he seemed genuinely glad to meet every single person.  You never got a sense that he was thinking, “I can’t believe I have to do this.”  He loved meeting his fans. He was a complete professional and a consummate showman. The full story of meeting Meat can be found here.

If I had to pick one album as my all-time favorite, this is it.  “Bat Out of Hell” is practically perfect.  It’s got brain-stinging guitar, flawless harmonies, wicked lyrics and a sly sense of humor, hooks a mile wide, and a complete wall of sound.  The Loaf had a voice that could both blow apart a cinderblock or tickle you under the chin like a feather.  When he brings a song to a climax, you feel the earth move.

I first obtained the LP when I joined Columbia Record Club, back in the late 70s.  I got it primarily for “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad,” and “Paradise By The Dashboard Lights,” or “that one with the baseball rap” as I knew it then.  I didn’t know anything else on the album.

I put the needle down, lay down on the floor with the lyric on the inner sleeve and my head between the speakers, and soaked it all in.  It damn near fried my brain right there.  It had power and fury, desperation and escape, living fast and dying too young.  It was a masterpiece.  And the end… holy shit, on that last “Like a bat out of HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLL,” he hits that note so freakin’ hard, and just holds it longer than any human should be able to do.  That was a life-changing event for me, right there.

To see Meat Loaf in concert is like going to a rock opera.  Everything is over the top, and oftentimes, acted out as a stage play.  When I saw him in Boston doing small warm-up shows before his Bat Out of Hell 2 tour, he did this thing where he got the audience to do this whole call and response bit, without speaking a single word.  He just used gestures and facial expressions to communicate and it worked like a charm.  That was when I realized why he’s been so popular all over the world.  No language barrier.

I saw an interview he did back in the 80s, on a talk show that comedian David Brenner had, and was talking about an album he recorded in Germany.  Brenner asked him, “What did they call you in Germany, ‘Herr Loaf?”

He answered, “They mostly called me MEEEEEAT!  Like, ‘You vill sing now MEEEEEAT!’”

I love that Meat was game for anything. Did you ever see that movie “Sausage Party?” (It was an animated movie featuring Seth Rogan, about how the food comes to life after hours in a grocery store. It’s extremely filthy and just as hilarious.) Anyway, one of the food characters was a package of meatloaf, which they gave the face of Meat Loaf, including the use of his own traditional font and frilly tuxedo shirt. No way he didn’t sign off on that, which makes him a good egg in my book.

He also has a hilarious song included on a South Park album, a duet with “Chef” (Isaac Hayes) called “Tonight is Right for Love (with Meredith Baxter-Birney).” The first part is a soul love ballad done by Hayes. Then it abruptly changes into a total Meat Loaf parody song, which Meat performs in a racing stream of images of fire, torture, demons, and death. Meat really had to be a good sport to participate in that one. 

How Meat Loaf isn’t in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is beyond me. The guy has been a touring dynamo for decades, selling zillions of albums and packing arenas. I think maybe the top brass at Rolling Stone had it in for him or something. As far as I’m concerned, he should have been inducted 25 years from the day that Bat was released.

If there is an afterlife, I hope he can get together with Jim Steinman again. Maybe start up a new band. I’m sure they won’t be lacking available talent.

The Long Weekend Bluz

I’m writing this Memorial Day afternoon, well into my second margarita, so please excuse me if this post doesn’t hit my usual bar for clarity and insight. But that’s not really a very high bar now, is it?

First I want to thank the families of those who served, fought, and died in defense of this country. Their family’s sacrifice is not forgotten. I’m doing that first because I have to be careful how I phrase it, because if I do like Kamala did and just wish everyone a happy Memorial Day weekend, I’ll be called a commie, military-hating, no-good foreigner.

You have to be super-careful if you’re a Democrat these days because everything you say and do is wrong, regardless that your accuser has done worse, just because you’re a Democrat. Because the Veep wished people a nice weekend, she’s being disrespectful, but when the former guy said that veterans were suckers and losers, he was taken out of context, or the reporting was wrong, or the leaker was a commie, or he didn’t really mean it, or something, something, Socialism! MAGA!

I saw another classic meme misdirection this weekend, one that comes around every Memorial Day like clockwork:

This is the Republican response to getting anything done for anyone… that we can’t do “X” because homeless vets, etc. The trouble with that logic is that the Republicans never do anything for veterans either. They had control of the presidency and both houses. Did they do anything for veterans? Nope. Nothing that wasn’t already in the works. Not that they didn’t TRY to take credit for it.

All the former guy ever did was sign a VA Mission bill, which allows veterans to have a private doctor if their wait time is 20 days or if their drive is 30 minutes. That’s it. No programs, no money spent. So spare me the dewy-eyed paeans to our veterans. Republicans are done with them as soon as they’ve served their purpose. They only care about using them as a lever against doing something for anyone else.

***

It looks like we dodged a bullet in Texas with their proposed gutting of voting rights, right down to allowing the legislature to overturn election results. It was the most fascist, anti-democracy, anti-American piece of legislation I’ve ever seen. It took the totality of Democratic lawmakers walking out to deny them a quorum to keep the bill from passing.

How much do you want to bet that the next order of business they take up is lowering the number for a quorum to however many Republicans are currently seated? Fucking maggots…

***

Sweetpea has been having a terrible time trying to order a pair of shoes online. She saw an ad on Facebook for some shoes that would help her sore feet so she took a shot and ordered them. When they eventually showed up, they were size 4.5. She ordered 7.5. The invoice showed the correct size. Seems like a simple matter of switching them out, right?

Nope, in their Pidgeon English emails, the company wanted her to measure her feet and provide pictures of the shoes not fitting.

We sent them this shot of the shoe she ordered lined up among her other 7.5s.

That wasn’t enough. They then wanted a picture of her foot on a ruler, because… whatever. Which we sent.

When they finally sent another package, they turned out too small as well. On the size tag, they had 7.5 written in with a marker. When we scrubbed that away, the tag said 6.5. It was infuriating.

And still, they wanted to argue about it, insisting that we send more pictures of her foot not fitting in the shoe and one with a ruler. I think this company may be run by foot fetishists. We resent the ruler shot from the last time. And she’s been very direct with what we see happening and what we expect. It’s obvious that they’re out of 7.5s but they have to send us something, so they try one ploy after another, always throwing up another hoop to jump through… anything to get us sick and tired of fighting about it; just giving up and letting them keep the $50.

Not gonna work though. At least we have the ace in the hole, of disputing the charge with the credit card company. But in the meantime, we’re being entertained by how they try to bob and weave and avoid admitting fault (or… gasp… either fulfilling the order correctly or providing a refund.)

***

We’re grilling out tonight and I was almost really excited about it. Sweetpea came home and said she found wild boar on sale, so I’m thinking, giant fire pit, raging fire and then red-hot coals, with a great beast on a spit.

Alas, she was talking ground boar, which wouldn’t look nearly as impressive on a spit. Not even if I molded it into the shape of a pig.

Director’s DVD Commentary: My apologies to my friend Infidel753, whose activism for meatlessness I respect, but cannot, myself, join. I acknowledge the horrors that go on in slaughterhouses, but remain secure in the knowledge that my food comes from wild hamburger tree groves, standing by vast, waving fields of bacon

 

Disappearing Act

There are big lifestyle changes afoot in ole Bluztown. Plans are for me to move in with Sweetpea around the middle of next month.

Because we’ve had this planned out months, it’s given me the chance to bring stuff over bit by bit. It’s only a 6-mile move, so my goal is to have just about everything but furniture transported over ahead of time. I make the trip from my place to hers at least twice a week, so I’m trying to make sure I never show up empty-handed.

Last month I made a list of all the stuff I wouldn’t need before moving so I could start getting it boxed up and moved. You know, things like my record collection, VHS tapes I couldn’t part with, winter clothing, picture frames, Christmas decorations, glassware, books, sports tchotchkes (like bobbleheads).

It took me two weeks just to move the record collection. I had them stacked in five old Peaches crates. Once upon a time, I had a bunch of boxes that were perfect for transporting LPs… In fact, that’s what they were shipped to the store in. I kept those boxes for every move I made and only got rid of them (under duress) a few years ago.

The boxes I have now are not a good fit. I have small, medium and large boxes. The large boxes are waaay too big, and more like for bedding and towels and stuff. LPs don’t even fit in the small boxes. And the medium boxes; well, they fit but when filled up with records, weigh a freakin’ ton. I could wrestle 3 of them into my trunk, so that’s all I took at one time. I didn’t want to risk popping a disc by trying to get a box that heavy out of the back seat.

But, we got it done, so my record rack became the first thing of mine to get set up at her house.

After unloading, I can re-use the boxes! 

Now, the odd part about relocating “incrementally” is while I roam about my apartment, I keep seeing the random empty spaces where my stuff used to be. It’s like being in one of those movies where parts of your life are disappearing. Like, this shelf is empty while others are still full. One cabinet is full of dishes; the one right beside it is empty. I pass an empty space on the wall where a picture used to be. It’s weird.

It’s like all the bobbleheads have been abducted.

It gives you the willies, man. I had to pack up the books the rest of the junk, just to make it uniform. And believe me, the books were no treat to move either. Between carrying all those boxes of books and records up out of my apartment and then downstairs to Sweetpea’s basement, my knees have been barking at me all weekend. If this pain doesn’t go away soon… I’ll just have to wait a little longer.

I am definitely too old for this shit. I don’t mind packing the boxes; I’d just as soon do that myself. But I am done with moving this heavy-ass furniture. Back in the day, moving meant I’d rent a truck myself and then my friends and I (or whoever else I could rope into it) would move all my crap ourselves. This time, I’m more than happy to pay for three guys and a truck to come hump my furniture from my place to hers. I’ll just supervise.

It’s going to be a big change though, seriously. It’s been at least 20 years since I’ve lived with someone full time. The days of just coming home and enjoying three or four hours of solitude will be gone. Granted, I’ll instead be spending those hours with someone I love. But it will nevertheless be an adjustment.

Same with weekends. Since last January (of 2017) weekends have been like an ongoing series of mini-vacations. I go to her place on Friday night and we hang out until Sunday, going out or watching TV or movies.

But the last couple of weekends have been different. We have a lot to do, just to make room for my official arrival, so we’ve been busy at that. Two weekends ago, we cut the grass and weed-whacked the yard. Last weekend, we cleaned out the gutters and trimmed back the bushes. Both times we were racing to finish before the rainstorms hit.

We were finishing up our chores on Saturday, winding up electrical cord and dripping sweat, when Sweetpea turned to me and says, “Still wanna get married?”

I was like, “Let me get back to you on that.”

Yes, I was kidding, but as an apartment dweller, I haven’t done any serious yard work (or home repair) since 1996. It’s been a nice break from adulting, I know.

Plus, I already bought the ring, so there are no takebacks. Hmm, I bet it’s no coincidence that she never had me help her in the yard until she got her ring (and the 7-day return period expired). Too late to back out now…

I’ll rest easier once we have my stuff set up at her place and all this transition stuff is done. OK, check that… I’ll rest easier once the cable guy comes out and hooks up our phone, internet, and TV “triple-play.”

All kidding aside now, it’s an exciting time. I know it won’t be a walk in the park, but it will be good. We’ll be partners.

I always wanted a partner… not someone to decide everything for me, or who I have to carry, but someone to walk with me, side by side, and navigate our way through life… as a team.

And as you know, there is no “I” in “Team.”

Luckily, there is “Meat.”

The Glory of Doing Nothing

I apologize again for skipping a post last week, but not really because I was on vacation.  I took my annual trip to go see my old buddies back in NW Ohio, the VP of Hell No and the Chairman of Fuck Off (or CFO).  I wasn’t keen on doing anything that resembled “work,” lest I start down the slippery slope and accidentally do something productive, while I’m supposed to be relaxing.

The trip was almost kiboshed before it even started when I leaned over to grab my suitcase and felt something “pop” in my right calf.  It wasn’t very painful but it felt funny.  I couldn’t get much push from my foot when I walked.

Then by the time I got off the plane, I had a significant limp.  But even limping along like Verbal Kint, I was still moving faster than the hordes of dum-dums in the airport, around whom I had to maneuver.

As I progressed through the remainder of the day, it continued to cause me to limp, so I feared my vacation might be remembered more for icing my calf than icing my quaff.  But when I got up the next day, it felt much better.  There is still a “catch” in my calf and I still can’t push off with my right foot, but I don’t need to limp. 

You don’t want to be seen limping around Baltimore… you just look like prey.

Anyway, we’ll do a quick rundown of the week’s activities, such as they were.

Saturday

The VP picked me up at the airport and we headed straight back to the local tavern.  He just lost his Dad last month so this was the first time we didn’t stop to pick him up before going to the bar.  There, we toasted our lost friends and family.

Back at the house, the VP’s son and his family were visiting from Columbus.  The CFO and his daughter came out as well and we had dogs and burgers on the grill.  The VP just recently got DVR service so we rounded out the night by watching various Steelers-related shows and specials.

Sunday

I’d never been to a Costco before so we rectified that on Sunday.  We had to stock up on meat products for the week’s grilling.

Three racks of ribs and eleven pounds of pork butt.  That’s what I call a Pork-a-palooza.

The previous week, I took my first serious try at eating blue crabs (a Maryland specialty.)  Sweetpea taught me how it’s done and I muddled through about five crabs. 

Working on my first blue crab.

What I learned is that it’s more about having a social event than actual eating.  When they talk about eating crab in the Midwest, it’s an entirely different thing.

The crab case from Costco.  Now that’s my kinda crabbin’.

I also learned that you can make a lunch out of nothing but samples at Costco.  There was one table handing out grilled steak pieces.  We walked by and a couple of ladies said, “$8.95 a pound,” as we took a sample.  When we doubled back later, there was a dude there.

“$8.95 a pound,” he said, as we took another bite.  When we walked by again, not 45 seconds later, he said, “$8.95 a pound,” so we took a third piece.  Apparently, Costco hired Dory to hand out samples.

Another lady was cooking seasoned pork loin medallions.  We circled her like sharks, waiting for her to put some on the tray, but she kept putting her finished morsels in a plastic container.  The VP and I must have hovered for 20 minutes, waiting for her to produce the goods.  When she finally did, people came running from every direction.  We weren’t the only ones staking her out, I guess.  The smell alone was drool-inducing.

That evening turned out to be bratwurst night.

Ohio sausage party.

The CFO and his daughter were back, along with her boyfriend.  His other daughter was there too, with her baby.  And the VP’s son’s daughter arrived as well… I spent 30 seconds talking to her before I even realized who the hell she was.  When she saw me, she ran up and gave me a hug, and I’m thinking, “Who the hell is this?  I know it’s the VP’s family… which one is she?”

It had been at least six years since I’d last seen her, when she was 4 or 5 years old.  I’d even blogged about it, remarking about how little girls “flit” rather than walk.  Couldn’t believe it was the same person. 

Monday

The VP’s wife’s family all came for the day; most of whom I’d never met, and those I had, it had been at the VP’s wedding almost 40 years ago.  So I mostly chilled in the TV room and watched movies.  Of course, I had to come out for the pulled pork.

The pork, in its initial, un-pulled state.

I finished the night at the tavern, with the VP and CFO.

Tuesday

The VP has more tools than any human I’ve ever met.  I should have known it was a “like father/like son” situation.  He told me he got his dad’s tool box.  I figured it was a regular tool box, about the size of a fishing tackle box.  I was mistaken.

I should have known that this was what his family considers a “tool box.”

From inside the toolbox, the VP pulled out the biggest Allen wrench I’ve ever seen.

It looks like it came from some exotic IKEA that sold furniture for giants.

Tuesday was the Fourth of July, (Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!) so we just hung out at the house.  The VP smoked the ribs, which were a-MAY-Zing!

The CFO, VP and I killed the night digesting our ribs and watching movies.

Wednesday

If you thought the trip to Costco was exciting, you should have come with the VP and I to the DMV, so he could get his license renewed.  (We really know how to throw a vacation!)

Really, it wasn’t too bad.  Only took about 20 minutes, unlike the two and a half hours it took me the last time I had to renew in Baltimore.  But the best part was the office was a couple doors down from a Mexican restaurant, where we went for lunch.

They asked if I wanted a large or small beer, which I usually take as a trick question.  Of course I want the LARGE beer… But then they set this 32-oz monster mug down in front of me.  [Gulp]

I swear, I had to two-hand that one.

We couldn’t fill up though because we had big plans for the evening.

Every year when I visit, we always earmarked one night for a visit to my old college town to get the best pizza on the planet, at a shop called Myles Pizza.  Unfortunately, Myles closed last year, so I was not anticipating a trip this year.  However, the CFO’s daughter (who just graduated from my alma mater) told me that she heard the place that replaced Myles was very close in quality.  So I figured we’d have to check it out for ourselves and do some due diligence.

I was mighty glad we did.  It was practically the same pizza, and just the way I like it… Massive.

The new establishment's name: 516 Pizza.  I think the 516 comes from how many ounces are in the pizza.

There was no beer for us after that dinner.  We had to make do with something less filling but no less satisfying; a nice bottle of Woodford Reserve.

That night, the local town had its Founder’s Day fireworks show, but we didn’t have to go anywhere.  We could see it from the VP’s driveway.

Oooh.  Ahhhh.

Thursday

The VP and I watched some more DVRed Steelers stuff, including the Steelers/Chiefs playoff game from this January.  It was funny because I remembered practically nothing about that game.  Not coincidentally, that was the evening I first met Sweetpea.  I was probably distracted.

Final grilled entrée for the week: chicken.

Not pictured: the baked potatoes.

Friday

My last day in town was as uneventful as the previous five. We hung out until afternoon, then went out to the tavern for dinner.  (Fresh perch special… no pics though.  You’ll just have to use your imagination.)

I know it sounds like my vacation is nothing but a big zero.  We didn’t really go anywhere exciting or do anything unique.  But, like every year, it’s what I need: just some uninterrupted time to unplug from daily stress and workplace pressure.  I want to somewhere I can just be… hang with my oldest friends, drink cold beverages, eat grilled meat, smell the clean air and look at the stars.  Or at least, movie stars.

I know it’s not exotic or fascinating but it’s what I need.  I returned to my Sweetpea’s arms on Saturday, loaded with stories, scuttlebutt, a couple pieces of leftover pizza and two quarts of pulled pork.

Perfect end to a perfect week.  Thanks, guys, for having me out.

An Update From Cloud Nine

It’s been about a month since I dropped that little happiness bomb and told you about my new honey.  In addition to being tired of complaining about the new regime, I figured it’s about time for an update.

All I can say is “so far, so good.”

But because that would make way too short of a post, I should probably flesh it out a bit.

We’ve been getting together once during the week and then spending most of the weekends together.  It’s been really great.  She’s such a calming influence on me… very chill.  She has an aura that says, “It’s all good, just relax and enjoy.  Everything’s OK.”

I really need that, because I tend to over-analyze things and get worked up over minor details.  She just lets me go off and then reels me back in again.  Always with a smile.

She’ll probably laugh when she sees this because she’s always telling that between her dog, her live-in relative and her friends that pop by most every night, her house chaotic.

And she’s right, but it’s also where I find my peace.  It’s been six weeks and we’ve barely had a disagreement, let alone any kind of spat.  Maybe it’s because as a teacher, she’s skilled at handling small children, I don’t know…

Friday Night Dance Party takes place most every week.  She cranks up the Motown and other fun music and she and her friends drink and dance and carry on.  Best of all, they seemed to have accepted me into the tribe.  What’s not for me to like? 

She’s an amazing cook, too, and remarkably enough, even my well-documented culinary idiosyncrasies haven’t prevented her from feeding me like a king.  She gets me.  She thinks I’m funny and loves the way I put things, in my often-unusual way.  She doesn’t necessarily understand my spreadsheet fixation, my penchant for keeping lists or need to wear game jerseys while watching sports events on TV; she just accepts it and gets out of the way.

Unconditional acceptance is a beautiful thing.

Anyway, meeting her friends was a breeze.  Meeting her dad, however, was unexpected and a wee bit stressful.

It was Super Bowl Sunday.  We planned on doing our own things that day; she was having Dad over for an early dinner because he wanted to be back home in time for the game.  I was going to go to my usual sports bar and watch the game there.  Not expecting a huge crowd, I was planning on getting there about an hour before kickoff, about 5:30, to make sure I got my regular spot at the end of the bar.

Around 5:00 I was just stirring from my afternoon nap and getting ready to jump in the shower, when she texted me, wanting to know if I was at the bar yet.

“Do you want to meet Daddy?”

At first, I thought she meant that they’d drop by the bar.  I asked for clarification and she said… well, let me show you…

“You come now here.”  That didn’t sound like a suggestion.  In fact, I don’t know what that sounded like… maybe Arnold Schwartzenegger after too much wine.

Anyway, at that particular moment, I was thinking, “Oh HELL no…”

I mean, I was all set to watch the game at the bar and had planned on getting there at just the right time to get my usual seat.  I’ll admit that I don’t adapt to changes of plan very easily.

I hadn’t stewed on it too long before I had a moment of clarity: “Dummy, when your new girlfriend wants you to meet her dad, you get your ass over there.  Period.” 

Thus, I went from an internal debate on what I should do to a planning session on how I should do it.  So I accepted and let her know I had to catch a shower and then I’d be on my way.

Shortly thereafter, she informed me that “Dad left gum.”

I had no freakin’ idea what that was supposed to mean, other than I wouldn’t get there in time because he’d left already. 

Later, we agreed that it had to be an auto-correction, but she had no idea what she was trying to type.  It’s been a running joke between us ever since.

Anyway, it went fine with her dad.  I just had to keep a lid on my liberal attitudes, which I knew going in, even before I saw his bumper sticker proclaiming the value of both Jesus and guns.  (It told me I should pray to Jesus that I don’t get shot.)

Even though I was wearing my “Six Times Super Bowl Champion Steelers” hat, we found common ground that we were both rooting again the Patriots.  I’ll take the win wherever I can get it.

After he left, she and I sat and watched the pregame festivities together while I simultaneously kept an eye on my watch, wondering when I should make a break for it and run out to the bar.

Just before kickoff, I had a second moment of clarity.  This one told me, “Why on earth would you go sit on a bar stool surrounded by a bunch of drunks, as opposed to watching the game all curled up on a couch with a beautiful girl?”

Needless to say, I let someone else fill my bar stool that night.

***

I learned something else while I’ve been visiting Sweetpea… Did you know that guys and gals stock their refrigerators in completely different ways?  Here, try this test:  One of these is hers and the other is mine.  Guess whose fridge is whose.

Fridge #1

Fridge #2

Wait, are you sure you don’t want to think about it some more? 

OK, OK, right… mine is #2.  Cheese sticks, olive cups, a jar of gravy and cocktail weenies (in the plastic container); that’s the extent of my food.  Although if you count the condiments in the door, I’m stocked to the gills!  And my freezer is full too, for what that’s worth.  But she’s got a veritable produce department in hers, as well as a vast assortment of meats and cheeses.  YES, including cheese sticks!  (But they’re for the dog.)

We also differ as to what we consider a “find” in the store.

Last weekend, we went out to a local “overstock” store named Ollie’s.  It’s one of those “Big Lots” kind of places where you never know what you’ll find in there from week to week.

While she was consulting the Great Wall of Dog Treats, I went in search of my own treats, which led me to the Pop Tart aisle.  Have you ever seen these before?

I’ve never heard of Pumpkin Pie Pop Tarts before… I wasn’t exactly coveting them; I thought it was merely a curiosity.  Didn’t see how they could possibly be any good, not without whipped cream, anyway.  But then I heard someone call out from another aisle, and what he said caused me to investigate.

Maple. Bacon. Pop Tarts.

Holy crap, it’s the Holy Grail.  I could hear a choir of angels as I gazed upon the box.  Again, I’d never even heard of these things before, yet I knew I had to try them.  Sweetpea thought I was nuts, and indicated such by making gagging and retching noises.  Undaunted, I put them in the cart anyway.  I figured I owed it to YOU, my bacon-loving friends, to determine if Maple Bacon Pop Tarts are the real deal or just another lame stab at the bacon craze.  (Plus... a dollar ninety-seven!)

Then I also came across these:

Off brand Fig Newtons, made with blueberry instead of fig.  Worth a try, right?  Mom always told me I was obsessed with blueberry Pop Tarts as a kid… when I could get them from Grandma! 

Cut to Sunday morning, as I conducted my food experiments. (Or in other words, ate breakfast.)  Here is what I concluded.

While warming up, the Pop Tarts smell like a Denny’s… a combination of maple syrup and bacon.  So far, so good.  But they actually tasted like a regular brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tart.  So essentially, the Maple Bacon Pop Tart is a brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tart wearing bacon cologne.

As for the blueberry faux Newtons; they’re pretty good.  Not overwhelmingly good, just pretty good.  They’re only marginally different than regular Fig Newtons.  Maybe they just dyed the filling blue.

So that’s the news on the home front.  All systems: Go.  Next week, I’ll be back to bemoaning the state of the Executive Branch.

Dessert Week

That’s what I call my annual vacation during the week after Christmas: Dessert Week. 

All year long I go to work like a good boy and take very little time off, compared to the amount I’m given.  By the end of the year, I start burning off vacations days by taking off Fridays or Mondays.  Then that last week off is like having a nice sweet dessert after a long slog through the year.  (Especially 2016, which was pretty much of a shit sandwich.*)

* Other than the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup!

So I’ve been off since 12/23 and it’s been great.  In theory, laying around for a week sounds fun, but I still feel like I have to accomplish something, which then allows me to slack off for the rest of the day.  So here’s what I did all week:

Friday, 12/23

Went to go see the movie “Passengers.”  (OK, sometimes all I accomplish is getting out of the house to see a movie… and make a liquor store run.)  Despite the bad reviews, I liked the movie. Nothing wrong with going to see two of the best looking young actors in Hollywood (Chris Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence) put on a sci-fi/action love story.  I think the bad reviews are based on the reviewers wanting the movie to be something else.

I also started reading the new Bruce Springsteen autobiography, which I got for my birthday.  (Thanks, Mom!)  Good stuff!

Saturday, 12/24

Went to Jilly’s, my local sports bar, to watch the pre-Christmas slate of NFL games.  What do you want from me; it’s the weekend.

Sunday, 12/25 Christmas Day

Went to my brother’s house for Christmas dinner, gift exchange, and the Steelers/Ratbirds game.  (Not necessarily in that order.)

Monday, 12/26

I recently gave my bedroom TV to a friend who needed one, (and I wanted to upgrade), so my big project for the day was to replace it.  I found a deal on a Samsung 40” smart TV at BJ’s Wholesale and figured I’d best take advantage while my membership still stands.  (I didn’t use it much this year so I’ll probably let it lapse.) 

New TV in place.  And I can still see it from the can, via my specially mounted mirror.

I also got some lunch and went grocery shopping at the nearby Wegman’s, the existence of which is the primary reason I’ll let my BJ’s membership elapse.  After bring home my haul, I went out to happy hour at Jilly’s, mostly to be seen with my new Steelers shirt and huge victory grin.  (I prefer to gloat without really gloating.  I know the Steelers beat the Ratbirds, and they know it, so I don’t really need to say anything.  Usually, they just see me looking happy and go, “God dammit…”)

Tuesday, 12/27

This was my only total “veg” day.  Didn’t get dressed, didn’t even shower.  But I did bang out the previous blog post.  Watched the Penguins that night and continued to read my Bruce book during commercials and intermissions. That’s my version of multi-tasking.

Wednesday, 12/28

To me, this was the big day of the week, because my nephew Daniel was coming to visit me.  Now that he has his driver’s license, AND is off from school and work, AND doesn’t have some sporting event to participate in, I figured this was the week to do something.  I asked him back in October if he could set a day aside during break, to come visit.  He was agreeable.  And then over Christmas, I said, “Pick a day and time.”

He chose Wednesday at 2 and I told him I’d hold him to it. 

The reason I wanted him to come up is so we could talk music.  I referred to it as taking him to music school.  We talk music all the time when I visit, but this was a chance for me to play him some stuff and get instant feedback.

But music wasn’t the only subject I wanted to get into… I don’t think I’ve mentioned it here but I’m writing what I call, “The Bachelor’s Guide to Living.”  It’s an idea the two of us have kicked around for years.  I’d been giving him all my best Uncle Advice about anything from living alone to how to fold a game jersey, and realized it would be a good idea to write it all down.

A year or so ago, I started putting ideas down on the notepad app in my iPhone.  Then we’d be talking and I’d say something and we’d be like, “That’s gotta go in the book.”

Earlier this year, I transcribed all my notes into something coherent, so now I have about 36 pages on Word.  OK, maybe not so much a book, as a pamphlet.

Anyway, the point is that I could show him some of the idea and systems I’ve created (and written about) first hand.  I believe it’s much better to show than tell.  Doing both together is optimal.

So just within the realm of showing him how to make pork chops, I could demonstrate how to arrange a kitchen so that everything is where you actually use it, how to try to only touch something once (rather than setting it aside and have to come back to it later), how to keep a short reference list of common seasoning combinations and cooking times, what he could buy for low-effort side dishes, as well as actually prepare and cook the pork chops.  (They were to die for, by the way.  I apologize for eating them before I thought to take pictures.

The day went amazingly.  He came at 2:00 and left at 7:00, well fed and all coached up.  It was the highlight of my week.  Next time I see him, I’ll hand over a thumb drive containing all the songs we sampled.  And my hope is that by the time he graduates high school this spring, I’ll have a printed copy of the book for him.

Thursday, 12/29

I’d previously bought a Jiffy Lube oil change from Groupon, and it wasn’t until after purchase I found that it was only good at select locations.  One of them was about 15 minutes away, but I’d originally intended to use it at the shop down the street.  So I went out bright and early, at the crack of 10 AM, to get my oil changed.  I knew there was a Mickey D’s down the block so I built an Egg McMuffin breakfast into my schedule.  All went well with the breakfast and the oil change, but when they did my tire rotation, they found I needed brake pads.  I suspected they would; when I got my new tires last year, the shop told me the pads were pretty low.  No biggie now; I’m glad the car is all fixed up for winter.

When I got home, I hit a couple more chores I had on my list of to-dos.  I did my semi-annual shredding of the paid bills and then bagged up some clothes to give away.  It was only four grocery bags full; not four garbage bags like a couple years back.  I just needed to free up some shelf space and a few hangars in my closet.

That evening I made a super swordfish and watched the last two Hunger Games movies (again).

Friday, 12/30

I fixed a nagging Outlook problem (the email processing app, not my attitude), did some more work on Daniel’s book, and assembled my annual ticket collage.

My largest assortment yet, although it probably has the least variety.  I should work on that.

What you see there are:

·        26 Orioles tickets (new personal record for one season)

·        18 movie tickets

·        1 ticket each to a Steelers, Penguins, Mudhens, and Buckeyes game

·        The parking pass to my Ratbird Company Suite game two weeks ago (because I lost the ticket stub)

·        1 fishing pass from my summer trip to Ohio

·        Not pictured: my pass to the Nation Aquarium, which I forgot to include and now everything’s put away.

Not a bad year’s worth of activities.

Saturday, 12/31 New Year’s Eve

Finally put on the new flannel penguin sheets I got a month ago.

Happiness is a fresh bed… with penguin sheets.

Also did some more work on the book and whipped up some red beans and rice, which should cover at least two more dinners.

Later I went down to Jilly’s to watch Ohio State play Clemson in the Fiesta Bowl.

This was pretty much the highlight of the game because Clemson couldn’t score on the coin flip.

I ended up leaving at halftime.  Not only were my Buckeyes getting crushed, I could see that I was basically alone in the bar.  All my friends and regulars were gone and there was no one in there but couples.  Senior citizen couples.  I believe it’s better to be home alone on New Year’s Eve than being alone in public on New Year’s Eve.  And I got to watch the end of the Penguins/Canadiens hockey game, in which the Pens tied the game with under a minute to go and then won in overtime.

Sunday, 1/1 New Year’s Day

Back to Jilly’s for a full slate of NFL football, featuring the Steelers JV team making a comeback win over the Cleveland Brahnies.  (The Steelers sat a number of their best players.)  Also, the Ratbirds looked terrible in their ho-hum loss to the Bengals.

I finished up the Springsteen book Sunday night.  It was a good read if you like The Boss.

Monday, 1/2

Last day before I have to go back to work.  Already I put up my new calendar, which due to its unexpectedly large size, meant I had to switch some other wall hangings around.  I had to use tools, too!  (Sadly, no power-screwdriver.  It wasn’t charged up.) 

I’d also been having trouble with my new TV because the picture would dim as soon as I turned out the bedroom lights.  Since those are the only conditions under which I use the bedroom TV, I had to look up how to turn off the auto-dimming.  Yesterday I tried just going through all the menu options but nothing appeared applicable.  The Google helped me today, though, so I’m good to go. 

All that’s left to do today is post this bad boy and then go make the steak I have thawing out.

Then tomorrow… Gah!  Back to the salt mines.  At least we open with a 4-day week.

Good luck to you on enjoying a healthy and prosperous 2017.

Director’s DVD Commentary: I’m fully aware that my list of “chores” is basically nothing compared to those who have a house, spouse, kids or even a pet.  So sue me for reaping the benefits of living alone.