Odd Mojo Bits - Faux Fall Edition

One regret I have this fall is that we didn’t get a chance to go out and take some Fall Foliage pictures, as we’ve done in years past. Pinky is very big on going out for walks and has shown me some very cool places in the Baltimore area that I didn’t even know existed. But this year, over the primo weekend for fall color, the weather was drab, rainy and blah. Even the brightest colors seem blah when it’s overcast out. Bright fall leaves have a very short shelf life here in Charm City. If you don’t get them at just the right time, they’re either too green, or gone.

So to pretend it still looks like fall here, I’ll run a few shots from the past couple years.

These 2 were from Liberty Reservoir, just west of Baltimore. These might have been better if sun was out.

Now this is what bright sunshine can do for Fall Foliage shots. These 2 were from Robert E Lee Park, and believe it or not, it is located within Baltimore City limits. You wouldn't know that, from watching The Wire.

These 2 are also from Robert E Lee Park.

Nunsense
Wednesday’s post by One-Eyed Dick at “I Came to Sarasota for the Waters” made my eyes water. Did you know that a battalion of Catholic Nuns fought in World War II? I didn’t, but Dick has the pictures to prove it. And I swear I had a couple of these nuns for class during my 4 years at St. Euthanasius. By all means, read this post! (After you finish this one, of course.)

The Mojo Boogie – Week 10
Time for a rematch with the Bengals and this assclown:

They got us last time when Limas Sweed dropped a sure touchdown pass that the drummer from Def Leppard could have caught.
They’re facing a different team this week than the one from Week 3. Rocket Rashard Mendenhall is running like a man possessed. Troy is back, Lawrence Timmons is back, and the subs for Aaron Smith are holding their own. Look for the defense to get after Carson Palmer like a pack of mad dogs.

I’m going with the Harrison Throwback ensemble I used for the Vikings game.
Look for the over/under on Palmer picking turf out of his mask at 3. Chad Ochocinco thinks he’s going to have a big game? Ike Taylor owns him. Chad won’t make 50 yards receiving. Tomorrow, the Steelers are taking control of the AFC North. Mark it down.

Some Posts Just Write Themselves

I’m thinking these guys have got to get themselves a different name, or else they’re going to be overrun by teenage boys trying to get kidnapped.

It seems that this particular MILF stands for the Moro Islamic Liberation Front and they took custody of a kidnapped Irish priest and turned him over to the Philippine government. I’m assuming you know what MILF stands for here in the States. You would think the Christian Science Monitor would know better than to run a headline like this. At least someone on the editing staff should have seen “American Pie”.
The unintentional humor continues when the article goes on to expound on the nature of MILF:
"The MILF is a mass-based organization with an objective, and it won't commit an act that would tarnish its reputation. In fact, the MILF always wants to project a good image not only within the Philippines but also in the entire world," Jaafar said.

While concerned about their reputations, the MILFs I know would at least object to being called a “mass-based organization.” Perhaps if we project images of MILFs to all the danger zones across the globe, we can distract some of these terrorist cells long enough to whack’em out before they can subjugate any more of their unfortunate female country-mates.

Another Thank You
Thanks to the stellar GUYS at The Guy’s Perspective, for bestowing a “Best Blogger” award to this site. I am truly humbled by the honor, especially coming from site as smart, witty and altogether together as theirs.

Normally in such situations, the awardee turns around and bestows the award upon his own favorites. I’m going to stall on this part, as I just recently sent kudos to a number of friendly sites just a couple weeks ago. Plus, I got all mushy with gratitude for your reading me again yesterday, so for the time being, The Circle of (blogging) Life stops here. I’m hopeful that life will continue on. If anyone should notice any 2012-like ramifications, please let me know and I’ll get right on it.

Odd Bits - Renegade Edition

I mentioned my love of the Steelers “Renegade” stadium video in my post about attending the Steelers/Chargers game in October. Well, friend of Darwinfish and very cool blogger ErinPatricia dug up an NFL Films piece on how the Renegade video came to be and posted it on her site. It covers how the video guy thought it up, how it was first used in the Steelers/Browns playoff game in 2002 and how it became a home-field legend. There is also material from Styx’s Tommy Shaw on the genesis of the actual song.

ErinPatricia was also kind enough to link to the video I shot of the, well, video and offered up a thank you shout-out to yours truly. You owe it to yourself to check out this post!

Milestone
I also mentioned last week that I’m a spreadsheet geek and stats junkie. One of the things I track is my blog traffic. I do this manually on a spreadsheet, as well as rely on the outstanding service StatCounter.com to provide hit by hit information. I don’t do this to compete with anyone, but I do like to look for trends and patterns, as well as get a feel for what’s going on and who’s out there reading.

I only mention any of this because last week my humble little blog hit a milestone… I got my 1000th hit. Now I know that’s really not very much… so many of you have your own sites and have racked up waaaaaay more traffic than that.

This is meaningful to me because of the way it has happened. My first attempt at a website lasted just under 2 years and I never topped 300 hits. Granted, it wasn’t very good, and I didn’t post very often and the platform was clunky, so it pretty much floundered.

I had high hopes for this new project when I started it in February with a more aggressive posting rhythm and better graphics. Still, by the beginning of September, I was only at around 260 hits. (Thank you, Mom and Dad, for 240 of them.)

But in September, I began making contact with a number of other bloggers, many from Pittsburgh, but not necessarily. Things really began to look up from there. Not only were my new friends reading and commenting on my rants and ramblings, they were providing me with such good examples of what could be done with a blog. And I went from 260 hits to 1000 in 2 months. Like I said, that’s not much for a lot of my blogging friends, but to me that’s unthinkable.

I want to thank you for reading… as Bobcat Goldthwaite used to say, “thank you for encouraging my behavior.” Knowing that you are checking in here regularly makes me want to always have something waiting for you. I still can’t promise something every day, but I’ll try to do at least a solid 3-4 posts a week. And I promise that this will be the last post about hits… at least until 10,000.

And in one last ode to my numbers-geekdom, I get to do this post on 11/11. That’s just a fun date to write! The best, in fact, until we hit 2011. I won’t have had that much fun since 9/9/99.

Steelers Recap - Week 9

I had to be happy with my Steelers’ performance last night on Monday Night Football. It was a little shaky early on, but in the second half, they looked like a Super Bowl Championship team. (We’ll ignore the small detail of the interception Ben threw in the end zone.) They won the game over a 6-1 team, by the score of 28-10. The defense gave up only 3 points, and only 26 yards rushing. I can’t really complain about anything after a game like that. But let’s go to the notes!

* The Broncos came out wearing their Orange Crush-inspired 3rd jerseys. (For those that don’t know, the term “Orange Crush” refers what happened to their Super Bowl aspirations in the 70’s and 80’s.) I also see that they’ve given out little orange pom-poms to the crowd. I’m at least thankful that it wasn’t yet another lame rip-off of our beloved Terrible Towel. On the other hand, real men don’t wave pom-poms.
* The Broncos came out with a good game plan. They used a lot of play-action to make the Steeler linebackers stay up on the line and threw quick timing patterns behind them. Orton was getting the ball out immediately, before the rush could get to him. The defense would bend but not break, but I was worried about the ease with which they were moving the ball. In the back of my mind, though, I knew the coaches would figure things out and adapt their tactics.

* I swear that when the announcers said that Orton has only had one pick all year, I said “we’re going to change that tonight. We’re getting at least 2”

* Rashard Mendenhall was running well early. I was at a loss as to why they didn’t run him more often. They eventually did in the 2nd half. Ben wasn’t able to pass worth beans in the 1st half. The Broncos were playing some very tight coverage and no one was getting open. I have to give them credit for that… but that’s why we should have been running Rocket Rashard. Run him enough and the pass routes will open up.

* Conversely, the Broncos couldn’t run worth squat. No wonder the fake handoffs worked so well.

* It was nice to see Tyrone Carter get that interception and run it back. He was a question mark in the secondary, filling in for Ryan Clark. I guess he did OK, huh? (He also got another pick late in the game.)

* It was funny that they finally called a penalty on someone holding James Harrison. I call it “funny” because it’s the exact same hold they let go on every other play. I couldn’t see how this one was any different. Not that I’m complaining… this one saved a 4th-down conversion by the Broncos. Whoops! Here come the conspiracy theorists…

* We have another Limas Sweed sighting! First he fails to hold onto a low throw from Ben. Then he does succeed in holding… a Broncos player on the ensuing punt. Back to the bench, Limas, and stay there!

* The half ends with the Steelers only having run 18 plays. Maybe that’s the game plan… to keep the offense fresh for the 2nd half.

* Steelers came out like another team in the 2nd half. Looks like the strategy worked. But just when they start moving the ball, Ben gets blindsided and fumbles… the Broncos take it back for a quick 6. That’s OK, we’ll just keep doing what we were doing.

* Suddenly they come out in the no-huddle and there’s a pass to William Mike Wallace for a first down. Freedom!

Then Rashard rambles around end for 22. And a bomb to Santonio down to the 4. Finally a bullet to Hines, over the fingertips of the defender, for a touchdown. 80 yards in 4 plays. I guess Ben decided to start playing for real now. Welcome to the party, Benny!

* I know we have problems covering kickoffs (although not tonight) but I just hate those short kickoffs that are supposed to eliminate the long return. Instead, they just hand the other team the ball on the 40. Why not just kick it out of bounds and save all the running around?

* The Steeler Fan presence in the stands is great. Not only do you hear a roar when the Steelers score, you can hear the “Heeeeeeeeeeeeath” chant when Heath Miller catches one. I see Limas out on the field again. I think he sneaks out when the coaches aren’t looking. The Steelers have another long drive featuring another long run around end by Rashard. But this is where Ben throws a bad ball for a pick in the end zone. But at least we’re moving. Better than those chronic “4 and outs” we were doing in the 1st half.

* Troy Polamalu takes over another series in the 4th quarter… first flashing into the backfield and submarining the runner, then going up high to pull in another brilliant interception. You know, if Ike Taylor could catch even half as well as Troy, he’d have about a dozen more interceptions than he does. Troy’s pick yields a classic Ben scrambling pass to William Mike Wallace, who “truly lives” to score more touchdowns.

* Defense is going after Orton like wild dogs. I just love it when the other team has to pass. It’s like throwing a pork chop into the kennel. Scanning the crowd now, I see a lot of towels; not so many pom-poms. Hines adds the final insult to injury as he hurdles Champ Baily to get into the end zone for a last minute touchdown.
Jon Gruden dismisses that whole mess about the Sports Illustrated poll (sampling 15% of the league, before teams are even finalized) that names Hines as the dirtiest player. Gruden says if he were coaching, he’d “want 7 of those guys.” To which Ron Jaworski said, “Only 7?”

* Great… NOW Skippy puts a kickoff into the end zone. He should do that every freakin’ time, especially in the thin air of Denver. Nevertheless, Tyrone comes up with his 2nd interception and it’s game over. Rashard finishes with 155 yards rushing. That outside run was there all day long, even when Mewelde Moore ran it. The Denver defense were the ones huffing and puffing in the 2nd half, that’s for sure.

Mojo Analysis
So far so good with wearing the Heath and Harrison throwbacks. I wore the Harrison to work on Friday. Both seem to influence either the offense or defense, while watching a game from home. Next week is the Bengals game which, on paper, ought to be the biggest game of the year, as both teams are tied for the division lead. But for non-paper importance, I still have to go with the 2 upcoming Ravens games. If we lose either of those, I have to hear about it from the idiot Ratbird fans.

Anyway, the Ratties will be playing the Brownies on Monday night, so we will probably get the Sunday Steelers/Bengals game on TV here. I’ll probably rock the Harrison jersey… stopping Palmer will be the key to the game. Anything I can do to encourage Harrison to bury his facemask into Palmer’s kidneys will help.

Anyone have Kimo Von Olhoffen’s phone number?

The Mojo Boogie - Week 9

I was going to save this for when the Steelers and Ratbirds play in a couple weeks, but the Baltimore Sun beat me to the punch when it ran a letter this week from a Denver Broncos fan highlighting the threats and boorish, abusive behavior she and her husband endured in the stands at last week’s Broncos/Ratbirds game. Especially nice were the racial taunts directed at her husband and the indifference of the stadium staff.

On Saturday there were several more letters run. One was from a 5’2” female Bengals fan who came all the way from North Carolina and had got pushed into the row in front of her by a 6’ biker-looking guy. (After her boyfriend left to go to the bathroom, naturally.) The helpful stadium security staff then had HER thrown out of the game, because 6’ Biker Guy said she swung at him.

Then there was the letter from the 60-year old New York man and his wife that were shoved and threatened.

There seems to be a common theme here… idiot Ratbird fans harassing the small and the weak, kind of like their carrion-eating namesakes. It’s no surprise that the stadium security people are no help. Believe me; if there is any kind of altercation, the people in the opposing jerseys are going home. I believe every word of those letters, because I know what happened to me last year.

My family has been going to Steelers away games since the early 80’s. I’ve been to Cleveland, Cincinnati, Tampa, Detroit, Green Bay, Jacksonville, San Francisco, Miami and obviously Baltimore. (I’ll be working in the many corresponding stories in future posts.) My dad and my brother have been to even more. We always dress in our Steelers game gear, so we know that there’s going to be some smack-talk. It’s expected and enjoyed. But nevertheless, I still expect to be able to go to a game and root for my team without being threatened with violence. And I know that there are some visiting fans that are just as stupid… turning around and inciting the people around them, hot-dogging and gloating whenever something happens. I have no sympathy for these clowns. You don’t poke the bear when there are a few of you and 60 thousand bears.
I used to think the fans in Cleveland were animals, but they pale as compared to Ratbird fans. At least Browns fans actually know their football. The upper deck at the Ratbird Stadium is like Darwin’s waiting room. They seem to think that the Eagles fans are role models although I’ve never seen or heard a dumber caliber of football fan. They make Jessica Simpson sound like Stephen Hawking. The comments I hear, whether directed at me or not, just defy explanation. I called one of them on it once, (I forget what the guy was yelling about) and they’re like, “Hey, we can yell whatever we want.”

To which I said, “Yeah, but you at least got to make sense!”
"Hey, Liberace called... he said your getup was a bit much."

Anyway, I was in the upper deck in Baltimore last December, when the previous exchange took place. As you may remember, this was the game the Ratbirds lost on an 91-yard drive in the final 2 minutes, capped by Santonio’s catch at the goal line that, after review, was called a touchdown. Game over, the cries of persecution poured from the tiny-brained masses.

I was sitting on the aisle, with my cousin beside me, waiting for a chance to step into the aisle and get the hell out of there. It was pretty packed, and you know how steep those upper deck sections are, so I had to be careful.

As I’m looking up the aisle, I see a 50 or 60-something dude shuffle by. I’m not saying a word, and he just looks at me and says, rather menacingly “Fuck you.”

Nice mouth!

Not wanting to start an incident with some white-haired old coot, I smiled and said, “Have a nice ride home!”

Out of nowhere, the guy behind him, another 50-something comes at me and pushes me over into the seatbacks in front of me. One minute I’m standing there with my hands at my sides, the next I’m flying into the seatbacks. Typical chickenshit Ratbird cheapshot… you know, the kind they always cry about Hines Ward taking. And these are grownups, not a couple of drunken college kids.

My cousin pulled me up again and I just started letting the invective fly. I don’t remember everything I screamed at that asshole, but I know the term “jagoff” was used. But they were already 6-7 steps down the crowded aisle and heading out of there. Obviously there were no stadium personnel to be found. In fact, they’re gone once they’ve determined that no one has any homemade signs that are derogatory to the Rats. They’re not good for anything else. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight.

Then walking out of there, there are these 2 young jagoffs walking right behind us, talking loudly to “themselves” but really to us, about Hines and using the terminology typical of one with a 3rd grade vocabulary and other garbage, trying to bait us into a fight.

I was so mad you could have fried an egg on my forehead. (And there’s room for an omelet, believe me.) The next day I had a bruise on the side of my hip the size of a softball and the color of an eggplant. I wish I had taken a picture, so consider yourselves lucky that you have been spared the sight of the side of my bare ass. (OK, I would have cropped the crap out of it.)

In a couple weeks, I’ll repost another item of “Classic Bluz” that illustrates, beyond this story, the depths of my hatred toward this provincial, bush-league organization. Till then, those poor fans from Denver, North Carolina and New York have my complete sympathy. But at least they don’t have to live here.

Tonight’s Mojo
I’m going to try out my other new throwback jersey tonight… the Heath Miller #83, because I think we need to really put up some points. I don’t like that the defense is already down 3 starters. (Ryan Clark, Lawrence Timmons and Travis Kirschke who is already subbing for Aaron Smith) So Heath, it is, over the gold Steeler Tee along with the Steelers flannel jammy pants and Steelers socks.

To get ready for the game, I’ll leave you with this, courtesy of Dan Gigler at the Post Gazette’s Blog n Gold.

Nary a Cross Word

I’ve been dying to write about this but I didn’t want to jinx it.

Do any of you do crossword puzzles? I’m a lunchtime crossword puzzle junkie and I’ve been on a roll lately, which has just come to an end.

I’ve done crosswords on and off for most of my adult life, usually to occupy myself during lunch breaks. During the first 6-7 years that I worked at my current job, I had a pretty stable circle of friends to eat with. During the time around 2002 or so, we always had a big table in the cafeteria and just laughed and had a ball.

Time and attrition has eaten away at that crowd, so as they dwindled, I took up doing crosswords again. Now, every day, I sit at my usual table (or at a table at a local eatery) and do the puzzles in the newspaper.

My primary puzzle is the Baltimore Sun daily crossword. I know that the same puzzle appears in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette and the Atlanta… whatever the Atlanta paper is called. Once that puzzle is finished, I take a stab at the New York Times puzzle.

If you’re not a regular crossword puzzler, you may not know it but the puzzles get harder each day through the week. Mondays are slam-dunks and then they get increasingly harder through Saturday, where they can be just diabolical. I can usually get Monday through Wednesday without breaking a sweat. Thursday can be tricky and then Friday it takes me the full hour to work on it. The Times puzzles are always a couple of steps harder, to where I don’t have a prayer of getting the Thursday and Friday puzzles.

So, me being me, I’ve made my crossword puzzling into a self-competition. My goal for the last year or so has been The Quest for the Perfect Week. (That’s solving the Monday through Friday puzzles with zero errors.) I came close a number of times this year and actually did it a couple of times.

No, I do not keep a spreadsheet on my results! I know that’s strange for me, considering that I have spreadsheets tracking my Steelers mojo, concerts attended, sporting events attended, blog hits, CD and DVD inventories and gift giving. If Kevin Costner made a movie about me it would be called: I do, however, write my results on my desk-blotter calendar. I track my results on the local and NY Times crosswords and I give myself extra credit if I also hit the Jumble and Sudoku.

Anyway, in late September I started a run of perfect Baltimore Sun crosswords. I was on fire! I was even able to do a couple of Saturday ones too! I never get those… On Wednesday, this week, I was at a Chinese place for lunch and realized I forgot my pencil. I ended up borrowing a pen from the place and doing both puzzles in PEN. Woooooooo! The boy was on fire.

So it was great dismay, this afternoon, that I learned that I missed one box on yesterday’s puzzle.

It was the stupidest little error… the question read as follows:

“Wow, I could have done that better?”

Three letters… I wrote “DOH”, as in the Homer Simpson catchphrase. The answer turned out to be “DUH”.

Shit.

I totally should have caught it where another clue crossed the vowel. Anyway, I ran off 36 consecutive wins and I have to feel pretty happy about that.

Now it’s time to start a new streak. The clue: Get a _ _ _ _. Starts with “L”.

The Maine Event

There are some days that you wake up, listen to the news and wish you could just go right back to bed, because the world you’re waking up to is just too screwed up for you to participate.

In a giant step backward for mankind, the learned voters of Maine voted to repeal the state’s law that allows gay marriage.

Now, I don’t have a personal dog in this fight, but I do have several dear friends that do. And no matter what organized religion tells you, they are no threat to anyone or anything. All that hooey about gay marriage being a threat to the institution is just one more red herring to distract the masses from the underlying discrimination behind the whole opposition.

Another red herring is that churches can be forced to marry people that are at odds with their teaching. A church will always be able to administer to its members in any way they see fit. Wherever churches refuse to perform gay marriages, new ones will spring up that will. It’s more of an anti-competition stance than it is a moral one. The whole argument is so stupid, it’s laughable. But that’s all the anti-progress camp has to offer, when their position is so weak on the facts.

The way I learned it back in Catholic School, (cold chill runs down back) Jesus himself was always a beacon of inclusion. He administered to everyone. The only people he ever shunned were those that were in it for themselves… Those that were out to make a buck in his name… Those that screwed people all week, but sat up in the front of the church on Sunday.

Who does that sound like to you?

To me, the issue absolutely crystal clear. Science has shown overwhelmingly that being gay is an inherent trait. People are born that way. To discriminate against someone for a birth characteristic should be illegal in every circumstance. It’s exactly like telling people with blue eyes that they can’t get married. Or people with dark skin, red hair or a bad attitude. America is not supposed to the kind of country that imposes arbitrary standards. We do… but we’re not supposed to.

More importantly, this is not supposed to be a country where a mob can legalize discrimination. That’s all this election was… a civilized mob, bent on driving a minority back into the shadows. A mob, whipped to a frenzy by religious bigots who see their role in society diminishing. What is it about us as a people that we have to have someone to shit on? Do we really need to persecute someone else just to make ourselves feel better? Feel more righteous?

If it were left to popular vote, the civil rights legislation of the 60’s would never have come to pass. Issues relating to equality and non-discrimination need to be taken out of the hands of those who get their world view from a book of two thousand year old fairy tales, which was written and sanctioned by men in power and a vested interest in keeping it that way.

You want to keep marriage sacred? Ban heterosexual marriage. They’re the ones with the 50% divorce rate. Or, make living together for 2 years a required activity. That will eliminate all the quickie marriages and the inevitable divorces that follow once the “shiny” wears off. This would eliminate most celebrity weddings as well, which can’t be a bad thing. That ought to put a nice J-hook in the old divorce rate bar graph.

Oh, but I bet the religious folk won’t like that either… after all, they still pretend that we’re all supposed to “save ourselves” for marriage.

OK, I’m drifting…

When I hear about this whole kafuffle, I think about some of my friends… fine, upstanding and very cool people. The go to work, they pay their taxes and they keep a nice house. They are wonderful, doting, supportive parents. There’s nothing about them as people that should prevent them from marrying the mate of their choice and being just as miserable as the rest of us. And whatever it is they do with their lives, I don’t see how it has any iota of an effect on the institution of marriage. Good marriages will be good and bad marriages will be bad, just like they’ve always been.

I’ve had enough of the busy-bodiedness of our culture. Would it really kill us to just get the hell out of each other’s goddamned business?

Hallowed Wieners

I’ve always loved Halloween. As a kid, it was just the candy and costumes. As a grownup, it’s a chance to remember the candy and costumes of youth, plus stick a thumb in the eye of the religious right that think it’s has something to do with Satanism or evil. (Once again, “God’s Children” are on the lookout, in case someone, somewhere, may be having fun.)

Unfortunately, the neighborhood I live in does not appear to participate in Halloween. I’ve lived in this particular apartment for 11 years and have never had a single trick-or-treater, or seen anyone in costume in the streets. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a house decoration up either. My particular area of Baltimore is home to a great deal of Orthodox Jews, but I don’t know if that’s the root cause. All I know is that Halloween gets a miss here.

On the bright side, there is always a lot of good candy on sale the day after Halloween.

Back when I lived (as a grownup) in Albany NY, we had some very good years with Halloween. The best was the year I also worked at a crafts store that sold all kinds of good seasonal stuff. I did up the front of the house with spider webs, a black light, glowing red eyes in the window, and a CD player that played creepy music hidden under the stairs.

The killer, though, was the Scream Mat. You plug it in and set it in front of the door, so when someone steps on it, there’s an ear-splitting shriek. That’s a good way not to miss any trick-or-treaters, because there would always be at least two screams… one from the mat plus one (or more) from whoever stepped on it. Then one more as the waiting parents discover the soiled little costumes.

I knew that the Scream Mat belonged to the (ex) wife. I suspect, but cannot prove, that she was also the voice model. All I can say is that it sounded awfully familiar.

It’s really too bad that kids now can’t enjoy Halloween the way so many of us used to. Once I got to be in maybe 5th or 6th grade, my friends and I just took off on our own and worked the neighborhood until we dropped. I had the fortune of living in nice little suburban neighborhoods back then, so it was just block after block of families. We never used those plastic pumpkins to hold our goodies, either. We used pillowcases! Gotta aim high, after all. We also had to pay my dad the Milk Dud Tax. He’d always say, “Remember, half your Milk Duds go to the house.”

I don’t remember too many of my costumes from the early years. There was a tiger, and a devil, but I can’t recall much else. Then in 7th grade, being heavily into Cheech and Chong, (aka the funniest shit I’d ever heard in my life), I went out as a hippie. I had this great big fake black beard and I wore an old T-shirt and ripped up jeans. I only mention this costume because it actually scared a little kid that answered the door. The parents said he was afraid of the beard, but I swear the little shit was anti-hippie. He’s probably a local RNC leader right now.

In college, I actually went to a party dressed as Tommy Chong. (I had my own beard, by then.) The kicker was, well, does anyone remember the Cheech and Chong album, “Big Bambu”? It came with 12” long rolling papers. I took those papers and rolled a big joint made of chewing tobacco and carried it around with me. You should have heard the cars beeping at me as I walked down the street to the party! In retrospect, I’m pretty lucky none of those cars had any red and blue lights on them, or I’d have had some serious ‘splaining to do.

Yes, I know that's Cheech and not Chong... so sue me!

Remember back in the early 80’s when generic packaging was popular? They’d have these goods with white packaging and black lettering that said what the product was. Like there would be a plain white can that just said “BEER”. Or if you were minding your generic calories, you could opt for “LIGHT BEER”. Nothing like having generic options!
I went to one college party as a Generic Man. This was another easy homemade costume. I just wore plain black and white, and labeled everything I wore or carried. There was SHIRT, HAT, BELT, SUSPENDERS, SNEAKERS, etc. Obviously I brought generic BEER. My favorite bit was the white jeans with a little emblem on the back pocket that said “DESIGNER JEANS”.

Halloween of 1988 came with a tough choice. I was managing a record store in Cleveland at the time, and I could either go to our district Halloween party, or I could use the free tickets and backstage pass I had to see Joan Jett open for Robert Plant. That one was a no-brainer. First I went to the party, in another cheap but effective homemade costume, using nothing but the cardboard collar insert to a new dress shirt.
Then after a bit, I went to the show. (Yes, I changed first.) No way was I turning down a chance to see my queen.
I schmoozed with her and the band backstage, caught her set, and then dashed back for the rest of the Halloween party. Screw Robert Plant… there was frivolity to be had!

I have much more to write about Joan and a number of other rock stars with whom I’ve been lucky enough to cross paths, but that will come another day. For now, I’ve just one more story.

The Best Halloween Ever was my last year trick-or-treating, when I was in 8th grade. My buddy David had an aunt who worked with Civil Defense. I don’t know if they do this any more but back then, Civil Defense used to stage these elaborate mock disasters designed to test emergency readiness. They would simulate a massive car wreck, train derailment or airplane crash and have the EMTs come and do triage, “treat” us and sometimes take us in the ambulance to a hospital.

For all these exercises, they needed volunteers to be made up like accident victims. That’s where my friend and I came in. We probably did 3 or 4 of these things and while there, learned some tricks of the horrifying makeup trade. So for our last hurrah, his aunt got us some supplies and we both made ourselves up to be accident victims.

I used putty to build up “tissue” on my forearm and stick a chicken bone in it, to simulate a compound fracture. My buddy puttied over half his face, hollowed out a spot where an eye would go, and stuck a few little sticks into it. I also used rubber cement to layer on my arms, then lifted up the “skin” and stuck “bloody” cotton balls underneath it. This nicely simulated a serious burn. And of course we covered ourselves with loads of fake blood. (Cocoa, Karo syrup and red food coloring… we had to repeat it at every stop.)

We went out and just had a blast. Everyplace we’d go, whoever answered the door would go back and drag out anyone that was home.

“Go get Grandma to come see these boys!”

When people asked what happened to us, we’d usually say something like, “we were chasing parked cars.” I damn near filled that pillowcase that year, boy. I think I stretched that candy out until at least December. And Dad was flush with Milk Duds.

I wasn’t allowed to go out any more after that… Too old, they said. So I got to stay home and hand out candy. And from my brother and sister, collect the Bluz Tax.

The Funniest Story Ever Written (by me)

Times They Are A’Changin’

It all started when I read the chilling words in the email:

“Can you watch the boys this Saturday?”

My sister-in-law was asking me to babysit my two nephews at their house in Catonsville while she and my brother went to Annapolis for a Navy football game, the Saturday before Labor Day. I’ve watched the 7-year-old, Daniel, before and knew that he is no sweat and is just a joy to watch. The new wrinkle was 11-month-old baby Sam. I’ve never cared for a “baby” baby before.

Of course I would help them out… I would do anything for my brother and his family. I just hoped they knew what they were getting into… or at least what they were getting me into: my first confrontation with… cue the “Dragnet” music… a diaper full of ca-ca.

I’ve never changed a diaper before. In fact, I usually leave the room where it’s happening, and at minimum, avert my eyes and hold my breath. I immediately started thinking, “what would be a bigger mess, Sammy’s butt staying in a dirty diaper, or getting the dirty diaper in the trash but leaving hurl all over the floor?” What’s an Uncle to do?

You see, I know what this boy is capable of. Seven months earlier when we were all riding home from Pittsburgh, I was in the back seat with Daniel and Sammy when the baby dropped a major 5-alarm bomb. This was evil. It had a half-life. I mean, even people in other cars were giving us a wide berth. (Although I’ll allow that this may have been due to the sight of my contorted face pressed up against the glass.) My poor sister-in-law had to change him up in the front seat, in the dark, which must have been a real test.

Not that I’d know firsthand, mind you, not how I was sitting there with my leather coat over my head. What I should have done is cracked the window, put the sleeve out, and tried breathing through the armhole. But anyway, what I’m saying is that I knew I had every right to be apprehensive. I’ve seen what kind of damage the boy can do. I’m thinking I’m going to need the full Mr. Mom Haz-Mat Suit.

I was in denial at first…

“Maybe he won’t have to go,” I thought, “maybe it’s a night game, they’ll put him to bed, and all I have to do is watch movies with Daniel and keep the house from burning down.”

Then the other shoe dropped. They were leaving at 1:30, for a 5:00 game, and would be home afterward. Well, there was no denying it now. There would be poo.

The next thing I know, I’m barreling through the remaining 4 of the 5 famous stages of grief*:

• Anger: How dare they make me do this? My dad never had to change a diaper…
• Bargaining: If he can only just hold out until I’ve had dinner…
• Depression: God, I hope this isn’t the high point of my holiday weekend…
• Acceptance: An Uncle’s gotta do what he’s gotta do… OK, let there be poo…

So I sought advice wherever I could. One friend sent me a URL for a helpful, step-by-step guide to baby changing. I got other helpful hints from a former nanny I met at happy hour. I got sympathy from my male friends.

“OK, I can do this.”

I got to the house at 12:30 and began my indoctrination. I learned how, and when, and what to feed the baby, where all the supplies were, the emergency phone numbers, (brother’s cell, pizza delivery place…) everything a prepared babysitter needs. Finally, it was time for the Changing Lesson. My sister-in-law demonstrated with a dry run… Pick up the feet, off with the old, on with the new. Wide Velcro tabs in the back, pouch in the front. Easy!

“Yeah, I can do this.”

At 1:30, I bid them goodbye, and off to Annapolis they went. Then I decided I should lay down the law with the boys.

“OK guys, rule Number One… No Pooping!”

I was very specific about this. Sammy gave me a wide-eyed look and a goofy smile, as if to say, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

I don’t think he was buying it. Anyway, the first order of business was to break out the DVDs I brought to keep Daniel and me occupied: Gremlins and Men in Black. Young boys love monster movies. Old boys do too.

Somewhere near the end of the 2^nd feature, I heard Sammy fart. It didn’t seem to slow him down much from his busy schedule of crawling into every corner he wasn’t supposed to be in and pulling stuff off shelves, so I didn’t think much of it. Besides, it was too “airy.”

Shortly after the movie was over, Daniel told me, “Uncle Bluz, Sam pooped.”

Off in the distance, a lone cricket chirped. Somewhere, the sun was shining, children were playing in a meadow and all was sweetness and light. But there was no joy in Catonsville tonight...

“Are you sure he didn’t just fart?” I asked Daniel.

“No, his farts don’t smell like that,” he answered matter-of-factly.

A brother knows these things, I guess.

I picked Sam up for the “smell test.” Yup, no doubt about it. It was time for my baptism of fire. At best I was hoping to handle it with deftness and aplomb. At worst, I was hoping not to yak on the baby.

I carefully laid out my supplies… fresh diaper on the floor on the right, a couple of baby wipes just above that. I laid the baby down; put a toy in his hand…

“OK, I’m going in…”

I pulled back the Velcro, lifted the feet, and took a peek.

“Oh my God.”

It was like a mudslide. It brought to mind what the last people on Mt. St. Helens must have seen. I couldn’t believe a single diaper could accept so much stress without bursting. I wasn’t even sure that I could. It was like the gates of Hell had parted with a choir of demons crying, “Everybody out!” I was tempted to pull my shirt up over my nose, but I didn’t want him to think he was being changed by a terrorist.

I moved the offending diaper out of the way and reached for the new one. But wait! If I lowered him back down before I’d cleaned him off, he’d get the fresh diaper dirty. So it was then I realized that this wasn’t quite as easy it seemed in my tutorial. There’s a big difference between switching out a clean diaper, versus trying to remove 2 pounds of toxic waste from a squirming baby. So as I continued to hold his feet up, like I was showing off a prize-winning trout, I started in with the baby wipes. I burned through the two I’d laid out in no time, and realized I had barely made a dent.

I tried pulling more out of the dispenser, but they didn’t seem to want to break free. Now, where’s that 3^rd arm when you need it? Or, where’s that other nephew when you need him? Looks like Daniel got out of Dodge while he could. I resorted to holding the box with my knees and managed to wiggle out a few more baby wipes to finish wiping out the old DMZ.

Cleanup detail completed, I was finally able to lower Sam’s little bum into a nice clean diaper and send him crawling off in search of more stuff to pull off the shelves.

I packed up the offending diaper and lit out in search of the garbage can, which was outside. Funny, I felt like I should be working out with the load I was carrying. (Here’s the new exercise craze, “Pumping Poo!”). Carrying that load at arm’s length was a good workout for the old deltoids. That kid must have just lost about 10% of his body weight. I really had no idea that babies contained so much poop.

Now, out with the old, in with the new... it’s time for feeding. This part was easy. I was told that Sam just opens up and you drop in a spoonful of food. This proved to be essentially correct. What I wasn’t told was that it would be a moving target. It almost became like a carnival game, trying to get the loaded spoon into a bobbing, weaving little mouth, without dotting his cheeks like a Raggedy Andy doll. But again, we got the job done.

Finally, it was time for Daniel and me to eat… “Helloooooo pizza!”

Well, eventually. While trying to keep one eye on Sam, pick the pizza phone number and dial with the other eye, I accidentally picked the wrong “emergency” number and called my brother’s cell. Took me a second to figure out what I’d done… but he must have known it was me and was probably wondering what the hell I’d done now.

I put his mind at ease right away… “It’s OK… no problems… just dialed your number by mistake…” I gave him a quick rundown of the day’s events and atrocities and got on with obtaining our pizza.

Everything was pretty much a breeze from there. Oh, Sammy loaded up another one for me. (“Where the hell does it all come from?”)

Luckily, it wasn’t quite as voluminous as the first one. This one was changed with a minimum of fuss and crying. From me, I mean.

Actually, Sam never cried all day and I really thank my lucky stars for that. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to deal with constant crying, in addition to conducting decontamination detail. He ate well, took his bottles well, occasionally napped on my lap, and otherwise occupied himself quite nicely. Daniel was a big help as well, keeping an eye on little bro when I had to prepare the bottles or heat up Sam’s food.

Putting Sam to bed didn’t quite work out, so I had to abort that effort, figuring he’d conk out when he was good and ready. Mommy and Daddy came home around 11:30, to find Sammy asleep on my chest, and Daniel and I watching King Kong, a picture of family bliss. But now it was time for me to make a break for it.

I was happy that I was able to pull it off, but was left with a sense of amazement regarding parents. How they live like that day in and day out is incredible. I learned how draining it is to stay in such a constant state of high alert. It’s a wonder any of us ever lived to grow up at all, let alone had siblings. But it was all good. Tomorrow would be Sunday, and I’d need that day of rest.

*The “Five Steps of Grief” is from the noted book “On Death and Dying” by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, 1969. (This is a book I read in college. I find it helps to appear scholarly when writing about poop.)

Award Dance

I've had such a good time this year with writing this blog. And I'm having an even better time now that there are a few people actually reading it. Regardless of the hubris it inherently takes to publish your thoughts on news, politics, pop culture and sports events, I'm really humbled that anyone gives a flying fig what I have to say, let along makes the effort to come and see.

In the course of reading and commenting on the blogs of others, I've come to be e-friends with several, who in turn read and comment on mine, thus encouraging my behavior:

Tiffany at Talk to Tiff
Cassie and Carly from Sisters from Different Misters
Gina from My Very Last Nerve
One-Eyed Dick from I Came to Sarasota
and The GUYS from The Guys' Perspective.

All have written stellar blogs and have been good friends to me. (Their links are always on the blogroll to the right; check'em out)

But this morning I heard from my most tireless cheerleaders, Rich and Cher from AskCherlock. They were talking about their community of blogging friends and decided to give out a “Circle of Friends” award to 4 bloggers plus yours truly. They wrote:

“Honestly, there are times when I feel as though we are all sitting at the kitchen table, or in our case the breakfast nook, having coffee and discussing life’s quirks or the ravages of politics. So pass the sugar, and know how much we value all of you. We would like to pass this along to a few of our blogging friends.”
Thank you, Rich and Cher, for inviting me into your circle. I shall strive to be as literate and thought provoking as your blog is day after day.

OK, maybe I’ll just strive to rant and bellyache about sports and politics, tell some bawdy stories and try not to make too many spelling mistakes. Call me the Poster Boy for Lowered Expectations.

Deep bow…