I Dream of... WTF??

I had the weirdest dream, early this morning.

I was in a big, formal conference room with a notebook and a bunch of papers spread out in front of me and I was working on writing something.

In walked the President… Richard Nixon.

Right off the bat, are you fucking kidding me???  Growing up, Nixon was despised in my household.  I became “politically aware” following the Watergate scandal as a junior high-schooler and celebrating his resignation.  But even so, I haven’t thought about his ass in years.  And here he is in my dream, and I’m not even surprised to see him.

He asked me what I was working on.  I answered that I was writing about my boyhood baseball idol, Roberto Clemente.  He seemed pleased with that answer and began signing each of the pages on the table.  It wasn’t that he was claiming credit, I got the impression that he was autographing each page, to make it worth money… y’know, because he was the President.  And famous.  And dead, but I don’t think he realized that yet.

THEN… a girl came in with a deli tray.  I don’t know who she was, but I began making a big ham sandwich.  I always go big, when it comes to deli tray.

Then I woke up, and let me tell you, I was PISSED!

It wasn’t because I was dreaming about a disgraced ex-President.  I was pissed because I didn’t get to taste the ham sandwich.

I have no idea what to make of any of this.  Help me, Dr. Freud!!! 

And you can ask your friend So-crates too.

Pink and Purple Don't Mix

During the Steelers/Ravens game the weekend before last, I noticed that none of the Ratbirds were wearing anything pink.  The other teams around the league, the Steelers included, were wearing pink-highlighted hats, cleats, towels, chin straps, etc, to auction off later to benefit breast cancer research.  I mentioned in comments on another blog, (I can’t remember which one), that the Ravens obviously hated women.

I later learned that they chose to do the pink thing this past weekend, while they were playing at home and so more players could participate.  That sounded reasonable so I figured I’d give them a pass on the issue.

Now after seeing this item in the paper this morning, I’m back to my original hypothesis that the Ravens hate women.

On September 26th, two women were kicked out of the stadium for kissing in the concessions line.  The stadium security person first accused them of stealing beer, until another policeman verified that they’d bought their goodies.  They had receipts.  Then he said they were “making a scene.”  Later, the official reason changed to that they “stole” a plastic cup that was on the counter, to use as a ketchup receptacle. 

It’s painfully obvious that they were chucked out because they were kissing.  Whether they were actually “making a scene,” I have no idea.  But what are the odds of a heterosexual couple being thrown out of a game for kissing?  Unless they were wearing Steelers jerseys, I’d put the odds at around zero.  Or less.

So now the company line is that it was all about the “stolen” plastic cup.

Right.

The company flack went on to say how Aramark has to track their cups so they know how many they’ve sold, so having their cups “stolen” affects their accounting.

Right. 

Are you fucking kidding me?  What the hell are those big machines with the buttons for?  Can they not figure out how many cups of beer they’ve overcharged their customers for?  What’s next down at the Aramark accounting department, hash marks on a napkin?

I can see where the cup-count can give you a handle on verifying the register, or providing a check on employee “give-aways,” but does one missing plastic cup really warrant the ejecting people from a game that have paid a minimum of $60 apiece for their tickets?

If the cups were that valuable or important, then why were they left on the counter in the first place?  And where was the counter person to say, “Oh no, you can’t use these,”?

It’s plain and simple… This may be the worst cover-story ever.  They were tossed for daring to be a same-sex couple out in public, period.

The Ravens said that they’re satisfied that Aramark and the Security Staff have conducted themselves properly.  I believe them.  Considering that they’re an organization that aggressively looks the other way regarding fan violence in their stands (especially when committed against one not wearing purple), this seems to be more of the same cement-headed provincialism that has always characterized this organization.

The Ravens organization hates women and same-sex couples.  Add it to the list of the other things they hate, which also includes:

*Opposing fans, (who they allow to be harassed, threatened and assaulted, then ejected for their trouble),

*People that want to know who made a tackle against the Ratbirds offense, (because they refuse to announce who makes a tackle against the Ravens), 

*Replays of plays that may not have gone the Ratties’ way. (They never show replays on their huge scoreboards unless it’s a play favorable to the Ratbirds).

It is the position of this blog that same-sex couples are entitled to anything to which mixed-sex couples are entitled. 

And don’t give me that weak shit about “The Children.”  Children at a professional football game in Baltimore hear more gutter profanity by the end of the first quarter than during an encore performance of “The Wire.”  Two girls kissing should be the least of their worries.

I hope and pray that these two women tell the Ratbirds to take their pink chinstraps and pink towels and shove them up their ass, by suing the pants off of this small-minded organization. 

Where’s Gloria Allred when you need her?

Live From NY, It's Just Another Night

For the first time in ages, I stayed up to watch Saturday Night Live last night.  Jane Lynch was guest hosting and I wanted to see how she did.

Now I remember why I stopped watching SNL.  I might have chuckled once or twice.  Maybe cracked a couple smiles.  But for the most part, I watched 50 minutes worth of nothing before I finally gave it up and went to bed.

So sad.

When I was a teenager, SNL was appointment TV.  It blew the doors off everything.  The original cast was priceless; almost all of them became huge stars.  Movies were spun off from the sketches.  Anyone who was anyone appeared as a guest host or musical guest. 

The cast quality ran in cycles; some good, some not so good.  But every so often they’d get a group together that were just perfect.  The originals broke the mold, of course.  The Billy Crystal, Christopher Guest cast was good.  But my favorite was the early 80s cast with Eddie Murphy, Joe Piscopo, Julia Louis-Dreyfuss, Tim Kazurinski, Mary Gross, and so forth.

Eddie Murphy’s sketches alone were gold.  Buckwheat.  Gumby.  James Brown Celebrity Hot Tub.  Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood.  The Stevie Wonder impression, either with Piscopo’s Sinatra or alone.  The bit where Eddie Murphy had to teach a Stevie Wonder impersonator, played by Stevie Wonder, how to sing like Stevie Wonder, may have been my favorite sketch ever.  The shit was laugh-your-head-off funny.

Then there was the Mike Myers, Dana Carvey cast, who I believe overlapped with Phil Hartman and Kevin Nealon.  Wayne’s World alone was good for 2 movies.

The David Spade-Chris Farley cast was in there somewhere too and had many high points.

Every once in a while, a sketch would get passed around the internet; Alec Baldwin’s “Schweddy Balls” bit comes to mind, or the commercial for “Tramp Stamp Remover” with Amy Poehler. 

Before last night, the last time I checked in with SNL was in 2008 when Tina Fey was killing with her Sarah Palin impression.  It was like, her spot would be great, fodder for the next Monday’s water cooler, but after that, they had nothing.

That’s how it was last night.  As much as I hate to say it, maybe it’s time they fold the tent and call it a series.  It’ll still go down as one of the best, most popular and influential series ever, but right now, it’s just not funny. 

Isn’t that the worst thing you can say about a comedy?

Oddly Quick Bits - Puck Fiction Edition

My uncle reposted this video on his Facebook status and it totally made my day.  If you ever wondered how Jules Winnfield from Pulp Fiction would be as a youth hockey coach, click the video below.  I'll be rewatching this for the next 3 hours until the Penguins game comes on tonight.

Warning: Definitely unsafe for work or small to medium-sized children, unless you have earphones.

My Daily Constitutional

I'm a bit backed up in running the editorial cartoons I cherry-pick from First Door on the Left, so I'm dropping a couple here that are thematically linked.

Odd Bits – The Norman Rockwell Has Nothing on Me Edition

I got an email from Sitcom Kelly that reminded me of just how special the fall can be.  Now with the clear days and the cool crisp nights, and the flannel sheets and comforters on the bed, it brings to mind a traditional, time-honored autumn delicacy.

Without further ado, I give you:

How Pumpkin Pies are Made

I don’t even want to think about the Cool Whip.

Good Pub Dept.

The Baltimore Sun has a number of blogs, including one about Reality TV, called “Reality Check”.  Earlier this week, the writer asked if anyone attended the So You Think You Can Dance tour and if so, how was it?

Never one to pass up an opportunity to plug the site, I wrote a few notes in the comments section and linked back here.  Today I saw that she pulled out my comments and put it on an individual post.  (Sans the link, unfortunately.)  While I didn’t write anything I didn’t already write in my own post here Tuesday night, you could see it here, if you wish.

Now, on to a night of DVR’d shows.  (Special hidden benefit: No political commercials!)

Except this one:

(Thank you to First Door on the Left)

Penguins and Grizzlies

Tonight at 7:00 the puck drops on the Pittsburgh Penguins 2010-2011 season.  I’m so excited, I can’t even see straight.  It does add stress, however, because now I have to begin that season-long dance of managing to watch all the games plus DVR and watch all the regular TV shows I usually watch.  By mid-December, I ought to be surgically grafted to my easy chair.

This morning, I saw in Seth’s Empty Netters blog on the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, that the Pens are up to their old do-gooder tricks again: donut and coffee delivery to the Student Rush line.

If you’re a non-Burgher, the Student Rush is a program where the Pens hold back a number of tickets to be sold on the day of the game, at a discount rate, to anyone with a student ID.  This is a throwback to when the Pens were not very good and not drawing much of a crowd so they started this program to put butts in the seats.  And these were young butts that got turned on to the excitement of live hockey.

The Pens have no problem selling out their house now, with nothing but season tickets, but still, they continue the Student Rush program (for select games), to say “Thank You” to the young people of Pittsburgh, for their support.

In the past, the players have appeared to pass out hot pizza to the kids in line.  This morning, it was Head Coach Dan Bylsma, General Manager Ray Shero and Team President David Morehouse that showed up with donuts.

I swear, this organization does not miss a trick when it comes to good fan relations.  Other teams from any sport would do well to pay attention.

Grizzly Madams

Much is being made over Sarah Palin’s “Mama Grizzlies”, as she calls the conservative females she’s endorsing for various offices.  They were the cover story, last week, on Newsweek magazine.

I’m as happy as anyone to see more women running for office, but why do they have to be such whack-a-loons?  These people are so crazy, they’re scaring their own party.  Even the evil Karl Rove referred to Christine O’Donnell, who is running for the Senate seat in Delaware, “nutty.”

How nutty must one be to scare of Rove?  I imagine what he really means is that she’s a true believer.  So many of the Republicans use the religion and family values/anti-sex platform to get elected, then get on with the business of keeping big business flush with cash, the government's and otherwise.  He’s afraid the nutjobs are going to get in there and then expect to actually roll back the progressive advances of the last 25 (or 50) years, and forget to cater to their corporate benefactors.

Anyway, there’s a great quote at the end of the article, written by Lisa Miller:

“Fundamentally, the mama-grizzly phenomenon is not really a movement or even a political term that represents a fully coherent set of ideas.  It’s mostly a marketing tool, meant to draw attention to Americans’ broad dissatisfaction with the way things are.  Fair enough.  Many people are dissatisfied and they want to vent and they want to change Washington.  But in the wild, real mama grizzlies are known to be aggressive, irrational and mean.  The issues facing the country are complex and bears are not.”

Meanwhile, my mother, aka the Poet Laureate of Darwinfish2, put this together to illustrate her take on the MGz:

THE GRIZ MAS

Dark brown hair flows

over tailored red jackets

around long earrings.

White teeth gleam

from smiles big as Alaska.

You women vow

to back off big intrusions

on our lives, our children’s fate

twit of taking back our country

taking care of cubs

ignore kids with no crayons,

lunches, insurance

girls with no homes

no help, no husbands

to whom they can ‘graciously submit’.

Winks, pantyhose

manicures replace

unblinking yellow eyes

matted fur, fangs

towering ferocity.

When she comes

to your cabin, places

her paw on your window pane

will you match your hand to hers

compare claws? 

 Mary Ann  10/6/10

I Don't Think I Can Dance

Just got back from the So You Think You Can Dance 7 Tour, which was just at the First Mariner Arena in Baltimore.

Part of the opening number.

We had decent seats on the side, but not so good that I could get any pictures where you could see faces.  The dancing was unbelievable, but the only beef I had was with faces.  For all the video screens they had behind the stage, you’d think they’d focus on the stuff you couldn’t see from the back and sides… They should have had the cameras zoomed in on the dancer’s faces, especially at the end when they stood still to bow and soak in the applause.

But really it’s just a quibble.

There was no Cat Deeley sighting either, although she was there on the video screen during the clips, plus they had her voice recorded for introductions.

I don’t know enough about dancing to provide any coherent critique of the show, nor do I have the memory to recall which people did which dances, with whom.  Mostly, I just enjoyed watching the hot dancer chicks.  The thing about these dancers is that they’re not these stick-thin ballerina types.  These girls have thighs that can crack walnuts.

Season 7 Champion, Lauren, and runner up, Kent.

The sheer athleticism necessary to dance these kinds of dances is just amazing.  My favorite bit of the evening was when 3 of the best hip hop dancers came out and took turns just tearing it up.  They could freeze in the most unbelievable positions, holding themselves up off the stage with one hand.  These dudes made John Travolta in his prime look like a zombie.

Anyway, it was a solid 2 and a half hour show.  It did get draggy a bit… it’s like when they have the 2-hour shows on TV.  Round about and hour and a half in, I start to check my watch because I’ve had enough.

Worst part of the night was that I was sitting next to a human beach ball, so I had to kind of hang over on Pinky’s side.  Got to be a little crampy after a while.

Rather than try to think of a clever way to end, I’m just going to throw in one more picture and go to bed.  The time to make the donuts comes early… 

One of the ensemble dance numbers, a Bollywood routine.

The Mojo Boogie - The Aftermath, Week 4

Well, I've had better days at work.

I didn’t have to take too much shit, but unfortunately I can’t say the same for some of the others in the Steel Citi Underground.  I think word may have gotten out that I’m tough to out-do with the smack talking, because I already know what they’re going to say before they say it.

Like today at lunch, some Rattie fan came up to me and said, “Where’s your Steelers jersey today?” 

Like, “duh”, it’s not jersey day, so just like everyone else’s, it’s at home.  But what I said was, “Where was your Ravens jersey the day after you got your ass kicked by the Bengals?”

She didn’t know what to make of that, so she scurried back to the baseboards, where the rest of the Ratbird fans run, so they could go back to planning the Super Bowl parade route.

I should have sent out a list of “Talking Points” to the rest of the group, for use when confronted with flapping Rattie mouths:

1.      The last 3 times the Ratbirds beat the Steelers, they played our 3^rd or 4^th string QB.

2.      Our usually “lights out” kicker missed 2 field goals.

3.      Three penalties on our last possession, two of which were false starts, in our own house!  (Only included under the guise of handing the “W” straight to them.)

4.      Congratulations on Flacco’s nuts finally dropping.

5.      Lastly, there’s always this:

They hate when we bring that up.

In other news, Steelers blogger for the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, Dan Gigler, ran my letter and pictures describing Friday’s Baltimore Insurgency that we conducted.  You can check it out here.  I’d ask you to go and comment and tell him how wonderful we are, but you have sign up for an ID and password first, and I’m not in the business of adding hassle to my friends’ lives.  But you can if you want to.

He asked to send him word of our continuing adventures, especially surrounding the next Steelers/Rats game, so we’ll have to come up with something good.

Search for Reality

A quick search note: I got a search from Thailand, who found my site by Googling “Panic Stricken Rabbit.”  He got the bulging-eyed Roger Rabbit cartoon I had posted in July, which represented the look on my face when I almost wrecked my new car while on the way to the MVA to register it.

Who only knows what he was looking for.  Possibly something from Fatal Attraction, maybe? 

Programming Note

Just to show I’m not all about football and other he-manly pursuits, I won’t be around to comment tomorrow after work, because I’ll be taking Pinky to see the touring show of “So You Think You Can Dance.”  (aka: SYTYCD)  I bought the tickets for her birthday in August and tomorrow is the show.

Pinky was a dance major in college so she got me watching it when we first started going out, and I found I liked it.  Or, more specifically, I found I liked all the young, hot chicks dancing around in tight spangled costumes.  And even more specifically, I’m fascinated by the host, the lovely Brit, Cat Deeley. 

Not only is she tall (5’9” without her customary 3” heels) and drop-dead gorgeous, she’s very quick-witted and funny.  Sadly, I don’t think she goes on the tour, so I’ll have to amuse myself with the hot dancer chicks.  Otherwise, as PittGirl would say, “Set the Stalk-O-Meter to ‘Stun and Self-Unite.’”

Hey, don’t think Pinky won’t be scoping out the hot dancer guys…

Anyway, I may Tweet some thoughts if any occur to me.  I expect there may be some downtime between sets.  Regardless, I’ll be sure to tell you all about it in the next post.

The Mojo Birthday

Whenever your birthday is on a Friday, you get full birthday privileges all weekend long, so it’s been a rather nice weekend for me.

First of all, thank you to all that took the time to wish me a happy birthday, either through this site or Facebook.  I’m humbled that so many people took the time to tap me out a simple message; it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  (For the rest of you, what the hell are you waiting for, for cryin’ out loud?)

I had to share some incredible birthday presents I got.  (OK, I bought’em myself, but it was still very thoughtful.)  Last week, Café Press sent me a bacn notice that they were running a buy 2 get one free T-shirt sale.  I love their stuff, so I thought I’d take a look around.  I never got out of the Monty Python section.

First, I saw this, which made me laugh out loud for a solid minute. 

Obviously, this is based on one of my favorite sketches, the Ministry of Silly Walks.  That’s funny in and of itself, but add in the evolution factor along with the Darwinesque attitude of this blog, and it was a no-brainer.  Had to have it.

A page or two later, I saw this variation:

Cassie, Carly, and the rest of you youngsters, there used to be this band called the Beatles, and they had an album cover featuring the band walking across a street in a big crosswalk.  It was called Abbey Road.  (Yinz kin look it up.)  So I guess it was really John Cleese that was the 5^th Beatle.

For those that have no idea what I’m talking about, and also for those that do, this is the famous Ministry of Silly Walks sketch:

The last shirt is based on another of my favorite sketches, but it’s not one of their better-known ones… much less famous than the Parrot sketch, the Argument Clinic, or Spam, but no less funny.

This one is based on the Election Returns sketch, featuring the Sensible Party versus the Silly Party.  The candidates for the Silly Party are introduced with names that get sillier and sillier as the sketch goes on.  You have to see (or at least hear) this one to appreciate it.  Tarquin comes in at the 2:00 mark.

In all truth, I prefer the audio version from the album, because it’s funnier when they go through it faster, but I still think of this bit every election night.

Lastly, Pinky got me this little treat:

Don't you just love it when someone knows the exact thing to get you?

Rabble Rousing

As I’ve said before, we Steelers fans are everywhere, Baltimore included, and our office is no exception.  In August, I wrote about how a couple of us decided to band together and organize (albeit loosely) all the Steelers fans in our building.  So whenever our building has one of their "Purple Fridays," we make it our business to show up rocking the Black and Gold.

With the Steelers/Ravens game this year, we decided to make our first public show of force.  The Ravens fans have been planning the parade route since the pre-season, and they don't take kindly to anyone doubting them.  So our plan was to meet for lunch together wearing our team colors.  No need for any stunts or speeches, we just had to be there.

You should have seen all the stink-eyes we got.  Later as we posted for pictures outside the building, some guy and driving by in a van started hanging out the window and screaming at us.  I couldn't tell what he was saying but he was NOT joking.  He was seriously pissed.

Earlier that day, one of our guys got word that at their weekly "breakfast" for his department, some people were planning on decorating the room with Ravens stuff.  So they got into the room early and decorated it in Steelers stuff before anyone else arrived.  From where ever you are, I'm surprised you didn't hear the sound of all the jaws hitting the floor when those Ravens fans came in the room and saw all that black and gold.  Priceless!

The Steel Citi Underground having lunch amidst the Ratties.

Sweating out the drive-by.

We’re totally in their head.  Now, we just better win.  (BTW, I considered getting someone else to take the shot so that I could get in them, but I just didn't trust a Rattie fan not to mess it up on purpose.)

The Mojo Boogie

It’s been an interesting season.  I’ve watched the game in 3 different places, worn 3 different outfits and we won all 3.  Today will be the first time I have the opportunity to do the same thing in the same situation.

I have to decide whether to go with the ever-changing ensemble, or look for the commonality.  Last time the Steelers played at home and I watched the game from home, I wore my black #56 Lamarr Woodley jersey to work on Friday, and then at home watching the game.  I’m opting to do the same here.  My theory, at least early in the season, is to seek patterns and ride the trend.  If we win today, there’s a trend for watching the game at home.  Gotta start somewhere. 

So, today’s Mojo:

Wish me luck!

More Birthdays

Lastly, happy birthday to my nephew Sammy, who turned 5 on Tuesday.  I got to play with him and his brother today.  Well kind of… I handed them the ball and let them fight it out.

Earlier, before Sammy and his mom got home, their daddy and I had to step out for about 15 minutes, leaving 11-year old Daniel home alone.  (He’s a very responsible boy.)  Anyway, as we walked out, I said, “OK, no wild parties while we’re gone.”

He looked up and said, “No promises.”

I was so proud.

Birthday Bluz

It's birthday season for me.  I’m not completely happy with that, but I’ll have to make myself enjoy it because it will be my last one that has a “4” in pole position.  My Aunt told me on Facebook that 49 is the new 29.  If that’s true, then I feel like bloody hell, for a 29-year-old.

I was thinking about a past birthday today, the one in 1997.  I was at a very different place in my life, both geographically and emotionally.

I was up in Albany, New York, newly separated and living by myself in a small apartment.  I had a new job as a video rental store manager.  I’d gotten my own store in June and immediately cleaned house and turned it around, making sales plan in July and August.  But I was in rough shape.

When I originally moved to NY from Ohio, it was to take a record store manager position in the market where our home office was located, with hopes of snagging a job at HQ.  A year later I’d done that.  Then I met Future-Ex, we bought a house and got married.  (Cold chill runs down the spine.)  Two years later, the music industry began moving into the dumper and after 13 years of service through 3 markets, my company cut me loose, along with about 20 others, as part of an office downsizing.

Future-Ex had 20 years in with the State of New York, so she wasn’t going anywhere, otherwise, I could have used my record business connections to get a job in Miami, Cincinnati, Chicago or Sacramento.  But in Albany, there wasn’t much else besides my original company.

I eventually worked through several retail jobs.  First I cleaned up a music department at a big box media outlet, then set one up from scratch at another location and managed it.  Then THEY downsized their staff and I got let go again, almost a year to the day from when I got let go before.  At least this time I had the wherewithal to tell the DM to “get bent” before I walked out.

Months later, tired of management and just wanting to be “one of the crew,” I got a job at a craft store that was being built.  It was funny because I knew the music business inside and out, but didn’t know jack about crafts.  Still, they snapped me up in a heartbeat and put me in charge of the “promo” or seasonal department.  That’s the only department in the store where you’re constantly setting stuff up, moving it through, selling it off, and bringing in the next thing.  They needed a retail “ringer” and they got one.

That was a pretty stress-free job.  The people were great to work with and I made some very good, albeit much younger, friends.  Unfortunately, I was only making about $15K a year.  It was enough to keep paying my part of the mortgage and bills, but little else.

That’s when the wife decided that without my previous income, or job perks of concert tickets and trips and stuff, I just wasn’t as much fun to be around anymore, and didn’t see where that was going to change any time soon.  So I was out the door.  And some other guy had his stuff in the house before the month was over.

By this time, I’d spent about a year and a half at the craft store.  One of the managers left the company to go to work at a small video rental chain.  Several of us ended up going with her.  I immediately went into their “training program” to be a store manager.  I left in March and had my own store by June.

As I alluded to earlier, I took a shithole store and completely turned it around.  I got a good crew in there, we had a good time and we got things running right.

But still, I wasn’t happy.  The hours, due to the nature of the business, were terrible.  The store closed at 10 on weeknights and 11 on weekends, so that meant after closing, I didn’t get home until around midnight or later.  And it wasn’t like I was making any money there.   My day off was usually a weekday, so all my friends were at work.  I always felt like I was playing hooky.  I was living my life apart from everyone I knew. 

I knew I’d spend my birthday alone that year.  Then I’d spend Thanksgiving alone, and then Christmas alone.  It just wasn’t worth it.  I was in the middle of nowhere and just fucking miserable.

Then there was one more thing.

On September 29^th, one of my employees killed herself.  She was found down by the river, hanging from a tree.  She was a 20-year-old single mother, a beautiful little thing, the kind of girl everyone liked.  Everyone at the store suspected her psycho ex-boyfriend, but his whereabouts were accounted for by dozens of people.  No one ever knew what happened.

One of the things I used to tell myself about managing stores was that I could be a positive influence on my young people.  I’d try to give them guidance and understanding; the benefits of some of my hard-earned wisdom.  Y’know… tell them not to settle and not to take any shit from their boyfriends.  But it didn’t do her much good. 

She’d only been working there for a month and I tried to help her with some of her life issues, but she never really opened up to me.  Most of what I knew about her came from another employee.  And then she was gone.

I went to the viewing with my DM.  She seemed so small in that big box.  It was almost too much to bear.

So on my birthday that year, October 1^st, I took myself out to dinner, alone, and brought along a notepad.  While I ate, I made 2 lists:  Reasons to leave Albany for Baltimore (where my brother and sister lived and I had a standing offer from my brother to bunk with him and his wife, until I could get on my feet), and Reasons to Stay.

Suffice to say, one list was really fucking long.  And of all of the (5) reasons I had to stay, only 2 were remotely meaningful:  Playing hockey, and a couple of my craft store friends.  Neither were good enough reasons to stay in Albany.  The other reasons were things like, “Moving sucks,” and “These beans are pretty good.”

Still, I kept going back and forth on what to do.  Inertia can be a powerful force.  On my next day off, while I was out getting groceries, I pondered stopping by the video store where my friend Melissa worked.  I probably changed my mind 3 or 4 times before going in.

I knew Melissa from the craft store and she was one of the employees that jumped ship for the video store.  Melissa was a wee little thing, about 4’11” with giant blue eyes and a cascade of blond ringlets.  She reminded me of a fairy princess.  I used to call her “Little One.”  One day we were messing around with some others in the store, and she said to everyone, “I’m his Little Bit,” and “Lil Bit” was what I called her from then on.

This is Lil Bit.  Sadly, she’d just gotten an unfortunate haircut (that she hated) right before I left, which had shorn her long curls.  This shot was from my goodbye party.

So I went in to see her and seeing the look on my face she was all “OK, spill it!”  I didn’t want to talk right there because the DM was in the store and I didn’t want to set off a premature panic.  So when she said her husband was going to be in class until 9:00, I invited her to my place for dinner.  (Which was completely honorable…  her husband was a good guy and they were great together.  He was barely taller than she was… they looked like a couple of hobbits.)

She was barely in the door when she spied my picture board full of family photographs.  She asked me, “How come you’re still here?”

Little shit was wise beyond her years.

She said, “I see all these pictures of you smiling with your family and I never see you look like that anymore."

“That, Little Bit, is the gist of my problem,” I said.

Over dinner, I laid it out to her just how miserable I’d been feeling.  I’d moved there for a purpose once, but that purpose is gone.  There was no reason that I should be there alone when I had family elsewhere.

“Go!” she said.  “Just get out of here.”

It was like a giant weight off my shoulders that someone else understood.  It would be OK.  Albany would keep turning without me there.  I contacted the DM the next day and told her I had to go.  She understood.  They all did.  I called my brother and asked if his offer still stood.  It did.  I called the movers, started packing, and worked my final 2 weeks.  I was proud to be able to turn over the store in far better shape than it was when I’d inherited it.

I had one last long night out with my craft store friends and said many sad goodbyes.  The next night I played my last hockey game and spent another long night at the bar saying goodbye to that bunch.  They were all great people and I still miss them.

Mr. and Mrs. Lil Bit, Lester, and Carrie say goodbye to their buddy Bluz.

So, the wheels started turning in the fall of 1997 and on 10/31/97, I put Albany in my rearview mirror

I actually took that shot as I was leaving town that day.

I set sail that morning for Baltimore and brighter days in my future.