Odd Bits - Football Aftermath Edition

It’s always a good Monday at work after the Steelers win, because usually the only time I hear from Ravens fans is when the Steelers lose.  Then they’re out like the carrion-eaters they are.

But I got on the elevator on Monday as one of my fellow members of our secret Steelers alliance, the Steel Citi Underground, came on talking football with another employee.  She stood right in front of me so I said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

One of the Ratties fans said, “You know, you’re still outnumbered.”

To which I answered, “Not in Super Bowls,” eliciting “Ooooooooohs” from the rest of the riders.

“Wow”, she said, “Right for the jugular.”

You gotta play tough.

It’s been funny how sensitive about all the Jet’s smack-talk the Ravens are.  Before the big Monday Night Football game between the Rats and the Jets, the Jets’ coach (and former Rats coach) Rex Ryan was doing a lot of talking, and the Rats players and fans went ape-shit.

I don’t think it was because of what was said… I think it was because it’s their job to flap their gums and beat their chests.  When someone else does it, it’s considered intellectual property theft.

In the actual game, the Ratbirds were the beneficiaries of 14 NY penalties, 6 of which gave them first downs when the Jets had held them on 3^rd down. 

For years around here, Ravens players, coaches and the media have been peddling these conspiracy theories that the league and the refs are out to get them.  (As opposed to simply being a sloppy, undisciplined team that can’t keep their egos in check…)  I think we just got this cleared up.  It’s not the Ratbirds that the refs have it out for… it’s Rex Ryan.  Now that he’s with the Jets, the refs are unjustly stealing the games from him!

Electile Disfunction

I went to vote in the Maryland primary election today.  Ya.  Hoo.

I probably vote in the lamest precinct anywhere.  Every time, I always get the volunteer that seems like she’s never been there before.  And the worst part is that they don’t give out stickers that say “I Voted.”  Harrumph!  That’s like going to give blood, because it’s the right thing to do, then you don’t get your juice and cookie.

I was lucky this time that there was no line at all, probably because this is not exactly a “glamour” election.  When I showed up, there weren’t many people milling about out front.  I hate that… I’m just trying to get in and out, then get to work.  But first I have to dodge a gauntlet of people trying to press their candidate’s flyers into my hand.

I wonder if that really works… like people were just going to show up and push some buttons, but at the last minute, they’re all, “Ooooh, 4-color tri-fold brochure… I’m voting for him!” 

Anyway, this morning, the guy running for Baltimore City District Attorney was out front getting interviewed, so the volunteers were watching the “showbiz” while I was able to slink around behind everyone.  Not to worry, I made sure not to scratch anything as I moseyed by.

More Search For Reality

The Indian Aunties phenomenon just won’t quit.

I had the following searches show up this weekend (includes home country):

India: Hot Indian Aunties

Saudi Arabia: Indian Aunties Photo

Dubai: South Indian Hot Aunties

Maybe I should just call my blog “Hot Indian Aunties”, by Indian Uncle Bluz

Albania: Porno Vidio Bubble Butts.  I have NO idea how that search landed here.  I don’t think I’ve ever used the phrase “bubble butt.”  Maybe it was truncated from Hot Indian Auntie Bubble Butts.

Another search from India landed on my picture titled Dude and Dog.  (the one of StillaDog and me at the Orioles game.)  I can’t imagine how that one got here either, unless it was a search for pics of dudes and dogs… er… frolicking.

We may be many things, but this Dude and that Dog do not frolick.

Lastly, for the last week or two, I’ve been getting a whole bunch of searches for pictures of Pennywise the (evil) clown, from Steven King’s “It”.

I ran that back in March of 2009 when I posted the tragically under-read All Time Favorite Movie Villains post.  (That was Part One: Monsters.  Part Two (Comic and Character Villains) is right here.)  I have no idea why all of a sudden Pennywise has become a big search item.  Most of the searches come from European countries.  Maybe it’s just been on HBO: NATO or something.  I also get a lot of searches for the “Cloverfield” monster, in the same post, but not nearly as many.

Damned clowns… always leaving white greasepaint marks on the mirror and their red noses laying around.

You know why cannibals don’t eat clowns?

They taste funny.

There, for the ending… the only clean joke I know.

The Mojo Boogie - Week 1

At long last, today is the “real” opening day of pro football.  Yes, I know they played the first game on Thursday, but to me, opening day is when you can sit at home, watch your game, keep up on the rest of the day’s games and root home your picks.  And drink beer in the afternoon.

Last year, I would do a rundown of each Steelers game… just my impressions and such.  For actual game coverage, there are too many other sites that do it better and more in depth.  And for funny game coverage, nothing beats Ginny’s “What They’re Really Thinking”, where she covers the action via word bubbles in the game’s action photos.

Last year, though, the only people reading me were overwhelmingly from Pittsburgh.  This year, not so much.  Therefore I don’t feel like I should devote that same level of Steelers coverage.  There are too many that just don’t give a rip.  I know it sounds like I’m complaining, but on the contrary, it fills me with a great deal of pride. 

Believe me, I’m still going to talk about my Steelers and football, I’m just not recapping the game every week.  What I WILL be doing is continuing the fascinating online pursuit of Game Day Mojo.  If one doesn’t like Pittsburgh sports, there’s always fashion!

As you may remember from last year, I use a spreadsheet to track a number of categories regarding game logistics and what I wear.  Regarding the games, I track home vs. away, what jersey the team wore, and day/time of the game.  For me, I track what I wore during the week, on the preceding Friday, on game day, and where I watch the game.

This week, we had Jersey Day at work, so I had to pick one to wear.  I went with my new #56 Lamarr Woodley black jersey.  Ultimately, I wish I hadn’t because after running through my options, it was the logical pick to wear today.

Usually I start the season with my Willie Parker replica jersey.  But with Fast Wille no longer on the team, that option is not appealing.  Since the Steelers are at home, that eliminates my white jerseys.  I’d rather not start with the Throwback jerseys yet, so they’re gone.  I have an old-school Jack Lambert black jersey, but I try to use the classics very sparingly.  Lastly, I have a black Troy Polamalu, but that’s my crown jewel that I usually save for the late-season and playoff games. 

All that leaves me with having to double up on the Woodley.

Well, here goes nothing.  I am ready for some football.

Update
Steelers win 15-9 in overtime.  Jeff (Skippy) Reed missed a 40 yard FG with time running out, after incredible interception by Troy Polamalu.  Rashard Mendenhall breaks offa 50-yard run for a touchdown on the Steelers first playin OT, after a big defensive stand.

The Woodley jersey is 1-0 for 1:00 home games.

The 9/11 Bluz

I know a lot of people are doing 9/11 posts this weekend.  This is mine.  So sue me for being unoriginal.  Who else posts about football mojo?

I was at work on September 11, 2001, like so many millions of others.  I was working at an office building in downtown Baltimore.  My friend Karen yelled at me to come over to her cube and then told me that a plane just hit one of the Twin Towers.

I assumed it was a small personal aircraft, like a Cessna or something.  So I was like, “Wow, that’s too bad.  I hope there’s not much serious damage.”

I went back to my cube and continued with the day’s affairs, until a few minutes later when she called me over again and said, “A second plane just hit the other tower.”

Now I knew there was something terribly awry.  The first could have been an accident; the 2^nd made it a plot.  I stood in her cube and we both listened to the radio.  Eventually, the word came out that it was 2 airliners that hit The Towers, which were now on fire.

“Holy shit!  What the hell is going on here?”

I returned to my cube and put on my own radio, then spent the rest of the morning pretending to work while I followed the rest of the events of the day. 

More planes hijacked.  The Pentagon.  A field in Shanksville.

“Christ, how many more balls do these assholes have in the air?”

It was inconceivable that all this could be happening, on this beautiful September day.  This shit just doesn’t happen here.

When word came that the towers collapsed, that was it.  I just sat in my cube, staring at nothing.  I didn’t know anyone in New York City, let alone anyone that worked at the WTC.  But it didn’t matter.  The radio reports were horrifying.  Untold thousands of innocent people just perished in terrible ways.  They were people that, like me, were just sitting at their desks or in airplanes, carrying out their day’s affairs.

There was some concern building about our own safety.  Baltimore is within easy flying distance of all the crash sites.  Ours is an 18-story building; not the tallest around by far, but still a possible target.

I also knew my parents were away from home and would need to be traveling again soon.  I wondered if they were OK and what would happen with them.

Around 3:00, we were given the option to go home and I jumped at it.  I spent the rest of the day glued to the TV.  I don’t think I even ate dinner that night.  I just stared at the film of the destruction, pondering the lives lost and letting the tears stream down my face.

I didn’t live through the Cuban Missile Crisis.  I wasn’t born for Pearl Harbor or D-Day or Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  This was my Big One; the one I’d remember forever, which would forever divide my time on earth between Before and After.

I soon learned that my folks were fine.  During the time when all flights were grounded, Dad rented a car and drove back to Green Bay.  I think they were in Georgia, so it was quite a trek.

I still have so many of the emails from the aftermath.  Most expressed this sentiment:

There were newspaper columns, editorial cartoons, pseudo-letters from President Bush to the Taliban or Osama bin Laden, and lots and lots of photoshops.

My favorite out of all of them was this one, which beautifully demonstrated both our communal sadness and steely resolve:

It’s unfortunate that this was the last time our country was united.  I’d say it lasted from September 12^th to the day The Shrub took his eye off the ball and invaded Iraq, a country that actually had something we wanted.  It was like, “while we’re over there, we might as well pick us up some oil rights.”  Like it was just one big Middle Eastern grocery store… “While I’m here in Aisle 5, I might as well pick up some cheese doodles in Aisle 6.”

Anyway, I digress…

I could have written this post last year, but I didn’t.  I knew I had some additional material to use but I wasn’t prepared to extract it just yet.  That has changed.

I’ve actually been up in The Towers before.

Back when I was married (cold chill runs down back) and living in Albany NY, we took a couple of weekend trips down to NYC.  In 1994, we mainly stayed around Midtown.  We did Time Square, Central Park, and went up in the Empire State Building. 

The next year, we spend a day in lower Manhattan, ferrying around the Statue of Liberty, taking the Ellis Island tour, and going up in the World Trade Center.

I was surprisingly moved by the close-up sight of the Statue of Liberty.  I was absolutely floored by the Ellis Island tour.  Two of my grandparents and two great-grandparents came through there and I had no idea how chaotic and frightening it must have been.  After the tour, I found the name of my mom’s grandfather on the long, winding “Immigrant’s Wall.”  My Uncle Joe had it put there back in the '70s.

But the highlight of it all was going up in The Towers.  I had a new videotape camera then used it to shoot our whole trip.  That’s the “material” I had to unearth.  I wanted to find some of the selections and get them into electronic form.

Because I’m still pretty low-tech about my media hookups, I was reduced to playing the video on the TV and shooting the screen with my digital camera (in movie mode).  The quality isn’t the best, but it gets the job done.

First, we went up to the observation deck on the 107^th floor of the South Tower.  It was nice and safe and glassed-in.  The funny thing was that whenever I pointed the camera at the antenna on the North Tower, I got a lot of buzzing feedback.

More from the observation deck:

After that, we took an escalator up to the outdoor rooftop of the South Tower.  That was the coolest part to me because that’s where I saw the giant ape jump from one tower to the other in the shitty 1976 remake of King Kong.

They had an inner wall set back about 20’ from the edge of the building, so there was no way to have any “accidents”.  Even so, Future Ex was scared shitless up there.  She wouldn’t come anywhere near the inner wall.  She stayed back by the building doorway, clutching the wall like she was Spiderman.  Seriously.

Anyway, this footage is what I remember about The Towers… looking down at the ground so unbelievably far below.  And that what hurts the most; thinking about how bad it must have been in the building to make people think it was a better idea to jump out.

There are millions of stories from this day.  2996 of them end in tragedy.  Our country has yet to psychologically recover and it’s understandable.

It’s a thin margin between maintaining the freedom that makes this country what it is and protecting it so that this kind of abomination never happens again.  I don’t know if we’re up to it.  I know it will take more than burning books or thinking with one’s balls.  We can’t fix symptoms; we have to fix the roots.

Until that happens, we can never truly relax again.

The Wayback Machine Part 4

Because I’m having so much fun with my new toy, I’ve decided to drop another story about my primitive social skills as a bluzteen. This go-round is set for the autumn after the Big Move from Columbus.

Sherman, now set the Wayback Machine for Whitehouse OH, 1976.

The Situation:

It was Sophomore year… another new town, another new school. But unlike years prior, love found me before the first snow. I’d decided to take advantage of this relocation as a way to start to change the way I was. I wanted to be more outgoing and not so shy. I wanted to speak up rather than blend into the background. It started off OK.

Shortly after school started, I met a really nice-looking blonde named Kathy, who became my first girlfriend. That, alone, was an adventure in itself. I thought she might like me so I sent word through an intermediary, who then reported back that she did like me. I tracked her down immediately, and said something like, “Since I like you and you like me, want to go steady?”

No build-up, no sweet talk, just the facts. Yeah, I know:

Surprisingly, she accepted and our 2-year romance provided me many lessons about how not to treat someone in a relationship. I thank my lucky stars that she wasn’t experienced enough to notice. 

Now with a chance to start fresh in a new school, here I am awarded an opportunity to play Lady’s Man. Sadly, I hadn’t a clue how that was done. I tried to be cool, but my biggest fear was that she’d figure out what a putz I was and bolt. I was so determined to do nothing wrong, that I mostly did nothing, period. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for over 3 months, without ever having kissed... not once, not so much as a peck. We’d walk down the hall, holding hands, or with arms around each other, but at the end of the day, we’d walk out to the bus, and I’d be dying to sweep her into my arms and plant one on her. But we’d just kind of look into each other’s eyes, say goodbye, and let our hands slowly part as we walked away to our respective buses. 

I desperately wanted to kiss her, but the “moron” part of my brain kept telling me that she wouldn’t feel the same way. I couldn’t accept that someone that fine was interested in me. 

Eventually, after months of torment, (and I can look it up, I have it chronicled in painful detail in my 10th-grade journal) I brought up the subject. I basically asked for permission… hell, I did all but produce a graph and pie chart to back my case. She was totally receptive, so in the back of my mind, I was telling myself, “Nice going jagoff… you just wasted 3 months that you could have been sucking face with your hot girlfriend!”

Eventually, kissing became a regular event…hell, we practically OD’d on it. It wasn’t long before we were holding feverish make-out sessions, where I would spend hours kissing her, and plotting how I might “accidentally” brush the back of my hand across one of her boobs. (Yes, I had “taking it slow” down to an art form)

Take 2:

No mystery, I just kiss her.  I find a moment, look into her eyes, and say something like, “Would you mind if I kissed you?” Or maybe I just lean in and go for it.

Analysis:

There are probably no big life-changing results here…just a little more confidence in a relationship, and a lot less stress from fussing about it. We still wouldn’t have ever had sex…hell, she was a “good Catholic girl,” and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. 

It was a shame the way things went between Kathy and me. I mean, I had no idea what a relationship meant, or what was expected of a boyfriend. The only thing that kept us “together” was that she didn’t either. I mean a whole summer would go by and I’d never call or visit, even though we only lived a few miles apart. (I was far too shy to be that forward.) 

This doesn’t really have a lot to do with my premise in conducting these past-bending endeavors, but Kathy was a really good girl and I should have done a lot better by her. 

I broke up with her early in our senior year. This was around the time I was bonding with my buddies with whom I would set up The Barn. I’m sure I was influenced by their poon-hounding ways and decided that since no poon was forthcoming to this hound, I ought to hunt in another forest. She was most decidedly NOT happy with me and I can’t blame her.

The funny thing is that I would have had no idea what to do. I’m sure it would have been a disaster and I probably would have knocked her up. So that worked out…

After high school, we almost got back together. We went out a few times… made out a few times… I don’t remember why it didn’t “take.” But we parted on good terms.

I saw her again at our 20th high school reunion. She was an upright, square-shouldered, clear-eyed Air National Guard officer, and still damned fine-looking.  I told her that she’d been a “rough draft” experience for me and that I learned a lot about what not to do in a relationship. I told her I’d become a lot better man after we’d parted, and I was sorry that I couldn’t have done better by her. At least that’s what I think I told her. 

After all the beer that night, it’s hard to remember. I might have just said “Nice tits”.

The Wayback Machine Part 1

The last post about my junior high school romantic misadventures went over pretty well, so why not try another one?  I know I started with Part 2 last time and I’m following that with Part 1… Call me Quentin Blogentino.

All right, time to fire up the Wayback Machine!

“Sherman, set the Wayback Machine to 7th grade, Woodward Park Junior High School, 1974.”

The Situation: 

I’m just back from lunch and sitting in the teacher’s chair in the front of the classroom, waiting for Ohio History class to start.  Other students are just kind of milling about.  Brenda walks up and sits on the arm of the chair and begins fiddling with my hair.  She’s never done anything like that before, so my heart is beating a mile a minute. 

See, I’m totally sweet on Brenda.  She’s a very cute girl with glossy shoulder-length black hair and big blue eyes.  We’re kind of friends, in that she’s a girl and she talks to me.  She leans close and seductively says, “Hiiiiiii.” (The inflection kind of goes up in the middle.) (OK, that’s what passes for seductive when one is in 7th grade and it’s 1974.)  Anyway, I’m like a deer in headlights…afraid of other people seeing what’s happening, afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of being made fun of. 

I respond by kind of mimicking her…”Hiiiiiii”. 

She recoils looking hurt, and says, “You don’t even know how to flirt!”  She stands up and stomps away. 

Sighhhhhh.

Take 2:

She’s playing with my hair, and says, “Hiiiiiii”.  I look up and say, “Hey, Beautiful.”  Then I smile up at her and maintain eye contact. If I’ve been reading her right, she should be swooning right about this time.  (Remember, 7th grade.)  I have no idea what comes next.  7th graders don’t just ask each other out on dates.  (OK, maybe they do now.)  Maybe I suggest we meet sometime at the mall or roller rink.  But either way, I walk away with my dignity intact and a possible girlfriend.  In 1974, that entailed walking in the hallway holding hands, or going on the moonlight skate at the roller rink.  All I really had to do was to show a bit of interest along with some kind of composure and we would have been Jr. High sweethearts. 

Sighhhhhh.

Analysis:

If I’d made the right move, I believe she would have been my first girlfriend.  Unfortunately, I was a moron about such things.  She lost so much respect for me; I don’t think we hardly ever talked again until we were in 9th grade.  I do know she always thought I was cute.  She wrote as much in my 9th-grade yearbook.  To wit:

“Bluz, You’ve really changed since 7th grade, but it’s been for the better.  You were cute to start with, and that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.  Good luck in all you do.  You’ll accomplish a lot.  It’s clear to see that you’ll acquire everything you want.  Love, Brenda ‘79”

I thought she was really worldly for using our graduation year, 5 years in advance.

Also, 9th grade was the year that in music class, near the end of the year, she asked if she could sign my pants.  (I have no idea where that came from.)  So on the knee of my pants, she writes in ballpoint pen, “Brenda was here” and draws an arrow all the way up my thigh.  (You try to explain to your mom that you suddenly had to cut your green slacks into shorts.) Yes, this was the girl that I was too incompetent to land. Like I said, I was a moron. Anyway, if I could have managed my way through that first prospective romantic encounter, who knows how my young life could have been affected. 

It could have given me the confidence to successfully maneuver my way through my relationships soon to come. In my first couple of “relationships”, I was so insecure and always so afraid that the girl suddenly wouldn’t like me anymore, I was practically inert. This could have emboldened me to actually act like a normal guy! 

As I mentioned in the previous post, my family moved 200 miles away immediately after 9th grade, so I don’t see any Back to the Future-type paradoxes. It wouldn’t have changed any of my life’s basic circumstances. But such a scenario would have left me a much more confident person, and better able to conduct a healthy young relationship.

You know, that’s one often-overlooked benefit of moving around a lot as a kid. If I ever go back in time, I know that whatever trouble I cause by changing the past will be wiped clean once we move.

Now where’s a DeLorean when you need one?

Wait, maybe not… there’s the “Biff” variable… becoming fabulously rich through knowledge of the future. Do they let 7th graders into the OTB parlor? Still, it’s an avenue to which I remain open.

If only I could go back and teach Young Me how to flirt.

Eh, who am I kidding… I still can’t flirt.

Pass the Popsicles

It was with great sadness, Saturday, when I read about the death of standup comic Robert Schimmel.

Schimmel wasn’t the most well-known of comics but that in no way diminishes his talent.  I first saw him on one of Rodney Dangerfield’s young comedian specials back in the 80s.  This was his set from that initial encounter.  (Note, this is most definitely NOT safe for work or children.  The language and verbal imagery is “industrial strength.”)

Later, he had his own HBO special (probably more but I only saw one).  That special featured one of my favorite bits by any comedian, ever.  It kicks in at about the 4-minute mark when he starts talking about jalapenos.

If you don’t have time to play these videos, let me suggest that you at least start this second one, then press pause to let it load.  Continue reading the post here, then come back and forward to the 3:48 mark.  But really, if you have 15 minutes and some privacy, this is a chance to laugh your head off and appreciate a true comic talent.  Suffice to say, you will never think of Popsicles the same way, ever again.

Award of the Worlds

For some reason beyond my grasp, I’ve ended up with another nod of appreciation in the form of this award, from the Pride of Wisconsin, Christy, and her blog “I’m Just Sayin’”.

Many thanks to Christy, who in addition to writing a clever and interesting blog, helps her fellow bloggers immensely by hosting various blog hops, trains and other means of gaining followers.

As usual, these awards come with instructions.  For a change, I’m actually going to follow the rules.

The first rule is to thank the awarder.  Check. 

The second is to pass on the award to 4 other bloggers.  This is the part I usually beg out of because I don’t like the “Sophie’s Choice” nature of having to pick from so many talented friends.  But this time, I decided to comply, although in keeping with my customary rule-breaking, I’m increasing the number to 5.

First, I’m giving the award to 3 of my longest-tenured blog friends and new Real Life Friends, Cher and Rich at Ask Cherlock, Cassie and Carly at Sisters From Different Misters, and the Carpetbagger at Carpetbaggery.  You’ve all been in my corner from the beginning, but more than that, you write damned fine blogs.  Ask Cherlock is the gold standard for civil political and issue-oriented discussion.  The Sisters write a wickedly funny and interesting blog about their crazy lives and families, and Carpetbaggery is a stellar full-service blog about anything and everything, from high-brow political issues to the “How to be a Man” classes for sale in his hometown.  You guys are the best and I’m honored to know you.

Now to break out of The Burgh, I have some winners from a whole ‘nother world.  I hereby send this award to Kelly at The Bachelor Girl (soon to be Mrs. Bachelor Girl) and Jessica R at Leelafish.  Both are from Shreveport LA and bristle when you call them Cajuns.  And they do NOT, in fact, have to travel the state by fan boat, like I initially thought.  Both, however, write wildly entertaining blogs about anything and everything, from their family life to life in general.  And Jessica shares my birthday, which will be coming up in less than a month.  I’m sure we’ll keep you informed.

I also had a mind to give the award to two other outstanding blogs, Woman:Confused and Jennifer Juniper.  Both totally deserve it but upon further review, have already obtained this very same award elsewhere.  Plus, Woman: Confused is probably too busy worrying about the margin of victory by her LSU Tigers last night to even notice personal accolades.

In looking at where this award has gone previously, I’ve found that the third rule varies.  But I’m going to use the rules as set down by the one who gave it to me.  This third rule is that I have to answer the question, “If you could go back and change something about your life, what would it be?”

If you think about it, that’s a really tricky question, because everything you’ve done leads you to where you are today.  For example, as a college student, I might have chosen not to leave a low-paying and permanent job for the promise of a job that would pay me more over a summer and then be done.  But if I hadn’t been unemployed at a particular time, I wouldn’t have applied for that record store job that gave me a 12-year career and allowed me to meet scores of famous (and not-so-famous) musicians.

In 2004, solely for my own amusement, I wrote a series of essays exploring this very point… What would I do differently if I had another go?  My name for the series was “The Wayback Machine”. It proved to be a very engaging exercise, and today it proves useful, as I will select one of these as my do-over story.

The Wayback Machine, Part 2

The Situation:

When I was in 9^th grade, I had a total crush on Tina, a girl in my English class.  This was the first class after lunch period, so I’d always try to hurry back in hopes that she’d be back soon too and we could hang out for 10 or 15 minutes before class started.  I’d always have the kind of gum she liked in my pocket, so I could give her some.  Hell, I pretty much spent my whole allowance on grape-flavored Bazooka Sugarless Gum, just so I could give some to Tina every day.  Now that in itself wouldn’t be that much, but others in the class caught on that I always had gum and could not say no to anyone asking for some.  I don’t know how many packs I went through in a week. 

Tina was kind of a tomboy from the “wrong side of the tracks”…always wore jeans and an army jacket.  She had straight blonde hair and teardrop glasses.   But she always talked to me and we were definitely friends.  What I most remember about her is that she had a great butt… so round and firm and fully packed… but I digress…

She actually typed a book for me… OK, it was a class project.  We each wrote a story and then had it bound into a kind of hardbound book cover.  Anyway, she was taking a typing class and agreed to type my story for me.  I was so hoping she’d be entertained by the story, but she maintained that if she was typing, she couldn’t actually read what the story was about.  (Right.)  Anyway, it was something that she didn’t have to do and I was so grateful that she did.  (Remember, these were pre-PC times.  This was typing on a manual typewriter, with manual alignment, spacing, and error correction.)

As our freshman year drew to a close, I was given the news that we were to be moving from Columbus to Toledo after the school year, so my spring was kind of a lame-duck season.  At the end of the year, our class had a big roller skating party at USA, United Skates of America.  Tina and I spent most of the day together, skating around, playing arcade games, etc.  All I could think of was that I wanted to ask her to do the Moonlight Skate with me.  (Translation: skating around holding hands, or with arms around one another, to the tune of a current love song or power ballad)  Anyway, I was absolutely determined that I was going to ask her…after all, what did I have to lose?  If she said no, hell, I’m out of town for good.  I was just waiting for them to call the Moonlight Skate.

 

So there we are, playing air hockey together and fuckin’ kid named Jim comes up to her.

“Hey, when they do the Moonlight Skate, will you skate with me?”

She said yes.

I’m surprised they couldn’t hear the sound of my heart plopping on the floor. 

Can you do that?  Asking in advance?  Shit, I’da done that….  FUCK!  All my plans were ruined.  I couldn’t believe she said yes…we’d spent all afternoon together.  Not to mention the guy was a total douchebag. 

So that was it.  When the time came, they skated, and I sat on the side watching them.  Then the session was over, we said goodbye and I went home. 

Take 2:

OK, duh, I ask first.  We skate and I’m emboldened to give her a hug or kiss upon my most unjust departure to parts unknown.

Analysis:

It’s not like anything could have really happened, but it certainly would have left me with a little more self-confidence. The real coup would have been if I could have mustered up enough courage to try something during the entire preceding school year. 

Or maybe just to tell those other gum-hungry pricks to fuck off.

Odd Bits - The Bacon Wrapped Edition

Since my last post on the odd Google searches that have led people here, I’ve turned up several more.

First of all, Alannah Myles is still running strong.  On Friday alone, I got hits from Bosnia and Herzegovina, and also Bad Vilbel, Germany.  Today, La Cannet, France was added to the mix.  Miss Myles, if you’re still out there… your fans are interested!  Time for a world tour!

I got my first hit from Qatar yesterday, (a guy that I now call my “Qatar Hero”), searching on “pictures of hot South Indian bras.”

Oh my.  Now I have to wonder if there is a difference in bras between North and South India.  Seems like this is becoming a niche of niche porn.  What’s next, “hot Southeastern Indian aunties bras”? 

By the way, the original bra picture appeared in this (very short) post from March 2009.

Then someone came from India, searching on “Bengals Stadium.”  I’m wondering if they were looking for an arena that featured real tigers… maybe Siegfried and Roy Stadium or something.  The only tigers they’re going to find in Bengals Stadium (actually Paul Brown Stadium) are little pussycats.

Fear the Turtle*

Sitcom Kelly sent me the most delicious email this week and I feel duty-bound to post it.  Normally when I see “recipe” posts in blogs, I kind of bloop right over them.  But not this one.  Even if you’re a vegetarian like Sitcom Kelly, you won’t be able to take your eyes off of this, even if only to satisfy your morbid curiosity.

Presenting: the Bacon Cheese Turtle Burger!

“Handmade ground beef patties, topped with sharp cheddar cheese, wrapped in a bacon weave.  Then add hotdogs as the heads, legs and tail.   

Place on an oven rack, covered loosely with foil and baked for 20-30 minutes at 400 degrees.  A little crispy, not too crunchy...just how a turtle should be, no? “

O.M.G.  I must have one.  Preferably more than one.

I love how they took the time to split the “leg” hot dogs to give the appearance of toes, upon completion.  And how they whittle the “tail” down into a point.  I wouldn’t even use a bun. 

*  BTW, “Fear the Turtle” is the battle cry out here to refer to the Maryland Terrapins.  But if I were tailgating as a visitor at a Maryland game, these would definitely be on the menu.  The only thing to fear with these is a heart attack.

While the directions say to cook them in the oven but I bet you could do them on the grill just fine.  For specifics, I may have to consult with noted Grillmaster, Still a Dog.

Who Let the Dog Out?

Speaking of Still a Dog, on Thursday I got to meet another frequent commenter and esteemed blogster in his own right. 

You may recall that back in August, I posted about seeing an O’s game with Sitcom Kelly, and mentioned that the next game would be 9/2 against the Red Sox.  Since I had some extra tickets and my usual cast of characters were unavailable to come out and play, I asked the Dog if he could come out.

The Dog, who works just north of the city, was able to get his wife to sign his permission slip, so he took the light rail down to meet Kelly and I for the Orioles game.

Usually when the Red Sox are in town, their fans pretty much over-run the place, but for this series, they hardly drew at all.  I mean, there was still a considerable amount in attendance, but the Yard was still only half full at 26,954.  The preceding two games only drew about 18 thousand.  I attribute the fall-off to the Sox not being in contention this year.  But I’m not complaining.  We had plenty of elbowroom out in left field.  The O’s went down 6-4 but a good time was had by all.  And Sitcom Kelly finally had someone with whom to drink the “good beer”, rather than my Miller Lite-loving self.

The Dude and the Dog.

And now, for your consideration, a week ending cartoon, courtesy of First Door on the Left:

Happy Labor Day to all and a great big Happy Birthday to my baby Bluz Sister Annie who turns forty-(cough-hack-spit) today.  Now be glad that I’m not posting that picture of you I just unearthed, with the 80s hair and the high-waisted jeans, posing it up with that can of IC Light. 

Search for Reality

It never fails to amuse me how some people end up on this blog.  That’s one of the things I LOVE about the hit counter services.  (I use StatCounter, and love it!) 

My Stats site will not only give me the location and IP address of anyone that lands here, but also the search criteria they used, if any.  Some of those really leave me scratching my head.

As you may have noticed, I use a lot of Monty Python references.  One of my favorites is “I wave my private parts at your aunties…”  That’s usually used in conjunction with this French Taunter picture, from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Do you know what that brings me?  People searching for “Indian Aunties”, usually people from India or the Middle East.  Maybe I’m missing something here… is there some kind of niche porn involving Indian Aunties?  Or maybe it’s just the hope that someone is waving private parts at them.  I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ve had to disappoint some people that landed here looking for Indian Aunties.

I’ve also gotten a few search hits from people looking for bra pictures.  I did a post in my very early blogging days that used a bra-related picture I took.  Today, I got one from Japan, searching for “Found bra on.”  I’m not sure how that’s punctuated so I don’t know if someone was looking for a picture of stuff they found a bra on, or they found a bra somewhere… who knows?

Picture raiders are a whole different category.  That’s what I call the people that just show up as they’re searching Google Images looking for pictures to use for their own purposes.  On one hand, it bugs me because they’re like empty calories… false hits that increase your hit counts, but you know they’re not really there to read your material.  On the other hand, I do the exact same thing when I need a shot to illustrate a point.  So I have to cut some slack.

What I do like is when it’s one of my own pictures that gets the hits.  A week or so ago, I had 3 different people all Google search “Rainbow Cake” and land here for a shot I took of my birthday cake last October.

This is Rainbow Cake.  It was very good.

The funny part (to me) is that the searches came from Virginia Beach, the Netherlands, and the UK.  All occurred within 40 minutes.  It was as if there was this worldwide vibe of “Aaahgh!  I need Rainbow Cake!!  Right now!!”  Maybe it was for some massive Gay Pride demonstration…  Either way, I’m glad I could help.

In March I was running my musical memoirs over 10 or so posts, which were chocked full of rock star shots.  Know which one is getting all the attention?  Not Albert Collins, not Roy Buchanan, not Garth Brooks, not Jeff Healey, not Melissa Etheridge, not Meat Loaf… I’m getting a couple search hits a day for Alannah Myles, the Canadian beauty that sang “Black Velvet” back in the 80s.  I can’t say I blame the searchers… she’s really hot and I was belly up to the stage, taking pictures.  Plus, I’m not in any of them.  

I just wonder what’s up with her all of a sudden.  Why the interest?  I tried Googling her myself and didn’t find any recent news that would explain the increased buzz.  I guess you just never underestimate the drawing power of hot chicks with glowing boobs.  Her chest looks like ET's finger.

Alannah Myles, finger-guns drawn.

I suppose I should mention hot guys as well.  I still get a bunch of hits from people (probably women) searching for Penguins defenseman Kris Letang.  You may recall that he is the object of Sitcom Kelly’s desire and if he is not careful, he may end up in her Silence of the Lambs pit she’s digging in her basement.

“It puts the skates upon it’s feet, or else it doesn’t get a treat.”

I’m still getting frequent hits on the post I did about the 24 Drinking Game, which I think is weird, since it’s not on TV any more.  Maybe they’re still running it in England, since that’s where most of the searches come from.  And any time someone searches for dirt on Lawrence or Darlene Bishop, proprietors of the Great Flaming Jesus, odds are they end up here for a short spell.  And the joke is, I don’t have any dirt on those two charlatans.  All I was doing was figuratively dancing around the smoking remains of their gargantuan former statue.

But hey, a hit is a hit, eh?  I can’t complain.  Every day, I wake up amazed that anyone shows up here at all, to read whatever it is I have to say.

So to the picture raiders, Indian Auntie pervs, Japanese bra mavens, English alcoholics, male and female hound-dogs, and those of you that actually do more than look at the pictures, I say thank you.  You make this worth doing.

Deep bow.