No Jokers Either

Like 6,999,998 other Americans, my wife and I went to a No Kings rally last Saturday. Ours was just a small one, a few blocks from our house. As an exercise in good karma, it was on the corner of “Liberty Rd” and “Washington St.” I counted around 70 attendees, and like all other accounts I’ve read, ours crossed demographics and generations. Needless to say, it was 100% peaceful.

This was early on, about a half hour before peak attendance.

This was my first “protest” of any kind. Sweetpea has been to several, usually involving her teacher’s union. She kept asking me about what signs to make. I wasn’t even going to take one. I expected we’d be standing around a parking lot, listening to rah-rah speeches. But she’d already gone out and gotten supplies.

“As soon as you’re up tomorrow, we’re making signs.”

Well, I lucked out; she had the signs done, based on online suggestions, before I was even out of bed. And it’s just as well, because they looked great. My writing resembles half-assed hieroglyphics more than any recognizable human language. I agreed to use the simple “No Kings” logo, with the X’ed-out crown.

When we got to the rally, I realized I should have listened to Sweetpea all along. The functional purpose of this gathering was to line the busy 4-lane road and get passing drivers to honk or otherwise provide supporting gestures. I’d have looked like a dodo standing out there with my hands in my pockets.

So, you were right, baby. You were right.

Not having any clothes designed for this or any other protest, I wore a Roberto Clemente T-shirt.

Director’s DVD commentary: Non-sports fans, Roberto was a Black Puerto Rican who played right field for the Pittsburgh Pirates from the mid-50s to the early 70s, and was one of the best to ever play. In 1972, he was killed in a plane crash trying to personally deliver earthquake relief supplies to families in Nicaragua, because he heard that previous shipments were being commandeered by the Nicaraguan regime.

I figured that would provide visual evidence of my support for Latin Americans, and at minimum, be a conversation starter because Roberto almost singlehandedly crucified the Baltimore Orioles in the 1971 World Series. And wouldn’t you know, that was the first thing anyone said to us upon our arrival… “Hey, Roberto!”

Baltimore’s traffic did not disappoint. We were honked at for the full hour and a quarter we were out there, with lots more signaling in solidarity. Sweetpea said she saw one old white guy flip the finger, but I saw nothing but support.

It was nice that they had chairs there, for anyone to use if their knees started to bark after all the standing. They also had water and snacks. It's a good thing this wasn't a voting line in Georgia, or we really would have been doing something illegal.

There was a PA system playing music —power-to-the-people kinds of songs —and the organizer gave a few short words of encouragement. There was no commotion or any sort of violence, although I bet the people living in the nearby houses got irritated at the honking after a while.

And try as I may, I couldn’t find any kiosks where I could get my Antifa paycheck from George Soros. All I can conclude about that is that every Republican claiming the protesters are paid actors is full of shit.

The fact is, I, and many more like me, would have paid admission to such an event if the money was going toward fighting these fascists.

And given the lengths they’re going to characterize these protests, even before they happened, as somehow terror-related or anti-American, just shows how scared they are of the will of the people. They can’t make any claims that hold up to scrutiny, so there’s nothing left for them to do but make stuff up that sounds scary to the uninformed. (In other words, your average Fox “News” broadcast.)

I was thrilled to read the news coverage later, which confirmed the total lack of violence or arrests, other than those of assorted MAGA types there to stir up trouble. Although I really had to search through Sunday’s Baltimore Sun to find their coverage, buried deep in the second news section, primarily covering what Republicans had to say about it. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t question those characterizations, as is the custom of Sinclair news outlets.

Dipping My Toes Into Retirement

I’ve been retired for a week and a half now. What’s it been like? It’s played out in two different scenarios so far: before our kitchen and bathroom remodel started, and after. The work started last Wednesday, one week after the day I got let go.

For that first week, it was just strange, bumping around at home, alone, without any particular thing to anchor me. Because I’m such a creature of habit and routine, I realized that I’d have to create some new ones; I just don’t know yet what they should be.

For example, weekday routine used to be easy… wake up at 7:00, listen to the radio to get news and weather until 7:30, get up and shower, pour my iced tea, get my peanut butter crackers, and log onto my work website. Then work until 11:30 (unless some dipshit schedules another lunchtime meeting because they’re on Central time), eat lunch, read the newspaper, do my crossword puzzles, and go back to work for the rest of the day.

Upon retirement, I can get up when I like (but have still been close to my usual time, between 7 and 8). But then, do I shower right away? Should I have my tea and crackers first over the newspaper? If I do the crosswords then, what will I do at lunch? (I’ve been doing crossword puzzles at lunch every day since 2005.)

I’ve given myself at least one job to do each day, so I’d have at least some sense of purpose and usefulness. In fact, when Sweetpea left a note asking me to go get her some gas in the gas can, I was like, “A quest! The Fair Maiden needs my help!  I shall go forth and return with a tankard of liquid fire!”

So I’ve had some things to do, I just haven’t worked out the order in which I should do them. I guess the shower time can float; if my Job of the Day involves yard work, it’s better to shower later. But I think it’s best if I start the day clean, lest I start to forget about it and degenerate into an unshaven, slovenly mess.

It’s also been very nice to reacquaint myself with the 3:00 nap! That’s always when the head bobs and mental fuzziness would kick in when I was working, so I’d have to fight off the temptation to sneak one in. And with Sweetpea coming home each day between 4:00 and 4:30, I’m guaranteed not to oversleep.

Once the work started on the renovation, it’s been a different kind of strange. I have to ensure I’m up and ready by the time the workers arrive, usually between 8:00 and 8:30. Then the rest of my day is mostly answering their occasional questions and staying out of their way. It’s always stressful when they want a decision on something, and I can’t collaborate with Sweetpea. As a schoolteacher, she never even looks at her phone at work, other than occasionally at lunch, so I know she’s out of reach. So I’ve had to make some decisions on the fly and then hope I guessed right.

The biggest problem is that with the sink and counters gone, there’s nowhere to prepare food or clean up afterward, other than the bathroom sink, which is woefully inadequate. So we’ve been relying on takeout, grilling, and microwaveable dishes. Eventually, they put the counters in, but without the countertop, which is a separate operation. So the space is blocked in, but still of no practical use.

As long as my brother remains retired, I hope we can start meeting up regularly for lunch. It’s good to be able to pick his brain about financial matters. He’s the CPA and MBA. I’m the one with the Bachelor of Arts in Communications.

My old friend “Sitcom” Kelly asked if I was interested in seeing the Orioles/Pirates game here in town next week, and I’m like, “Hell yeah! Got nothing but time on my hands!” Of course, it’s an evening game so I could have gone anyway. And I may still go to the Thursday game, which is at 1:30. I always like to go to one day game a year, or as I call them, “Ferris Bueller” games. Last time I went to one, I even caught a foul ball. Danke Shoen!

So I have to wait until all the work on the house is done and things settle down before I can feel like a retiree. Oh, and speaking of, if you’re 50+, have you joined AARP? They’ve been chasing me for almost 14 years now, and I’ve never joined. I’m just not sure I see the benefit. Yes, they offer discounts, but many places also offer senior discounts. And they lobby for seniors, but I’ll reap the benefit of that whether I join or not. So for $50 a year, I’ve been putting it off. How about you?

I also won’t be able to rest easy until my severance is in the bank and I have new medical coverage. Sweetpea should be able to put me on her plan, which is through Kaiser Permanente. It’s a good plan, but it means that I’ll have to give up all my current doctors, because they’re a self-contained unit with their own staff and facilities. That means a new PCP, cardiologist, and eye doctor for me. And lots of introductory appointments where they want tests I’ve already done and draw conclusions I already know. And don’t even get me started on Medicare, which I’ll have to engage next year around this time. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

But that’s life, I suppose. No one promised us an easy path. Life is more like a zig-a-zag.*

 

 

*That’s a reference to an old story my mom tells about my dad’s Italian grandfather, who was a tiny little man and already ancient back when I was a child. He was telling Mom about how he can’t go out anymore because all the ladies are after him.

Mom: How do you get away from them, Grandpa?

Grandpa: I run away.

Mom: But you can’t run very fast.

Grandpa: I zig-a-zag.

Floaters: The Eyes Have It

Late in 2019, I wrote about developing floaters in my right eye, in conjunction with cataracts. I had cataract surgery the following January but was told I should just “get used to” having the floaters. There was surgery available, but they were reluctant to take the risk. They said it was “low risk, but not no risk.”

So I adapted to looking through what looked like a twirling red spider web. Then, last December I developed floaters in my left eye as well. Trying to read anything, especially against a white background, (or watch hockey) was difficult and frustrating, like reading through a jellyfish. At that point, I began pursuing the surgical remedy for floaters, called a “Vitrectomy.”

This is a procedure where they use a laser to cut the floaters away from the inner lining of the eyeball, then drain out the floating material and eyeball fluid (aka Vitreous Fluid), and replace it.

Yeesh!

Yes, it skeeves me out too. Whenever one thinks about eye surgery, the mind conjures up images like from this old ad for Thorazine:

I wonder how much Thorazine this ad ever sold. Seems counter-productive to me to terrify your prospective customers.

But I just had my right eye done last Wednesday so I’m here to tell you about it and try to provide some insight (heh) on the experience. Many web resources tell you what it is, but I didn’t see any that told you what it’s like to go through it.

For me, the scheduling was half the battle. My original surgery date was 3/27 but about two weeks before that, they called and said the doctor wouldn’t be in that day (then why schedule me in the first place?) and bumped it to 4/10, two weeks later. This was a kick in the head because the original date was perfect. Sweetpea (a schoolteacher) would be on spring break that week, so she wouldn’t have to make arrangements and write Sub Plans to cover her absence while she took me to and from my appointments. (They do a follow-up appointment the day after surgery, and then again a week later.) But after the postponement, she would have to do all the extra work. (Which she did, because she’s such a good wife!)

I was also required to get a pre-op physical, to ensure I was fit enough to undergo the surgery. (It was the same for my cataract surgery.) I was due for one in another couple of months anyway, so this one wouldn’t go to waste.

As with all the surgeries I’ve had in the past, there was a strict “No eating or drinking” edict to be followed from midnight until “go time.” That’s usually a piece of cake, but this appointment wasn’t until noon, so I wouldn't be allowed to eat all morning nor have my customary iced tea. On the bright side, I’d get to have a post-op feast!

So we arrived about 10 minutes early, checked in, and then sat on our thumbs for the next hour. Obviously, we were scheduled for their convenience and not ours. I understand it though. They had a lot of other patients rolling through there and dealing with latecomers would jam up the whole system.

They took me in around 1:00 and got started with putting dilation and numbing drops into my eye, and inserting in the IV. That would be used for administering the light anesthetic later. They don’t want you out cold, just comfortable and able to follow directions. There were several applications of drops and it took about 20 minutes for them to take effect.

I was in sweats and a T-shirt. They laid a tri-folded blanket on me and there was no need for the diabolical hospital gown. I swear those things are designed by a sadistic branch of IKEA.  As usual, I joked around with the nurses and anesthesiologist so that they would like me. Just like with restaurants, you never want to piss off someone who can spit in your food, or decide not to worry about your pain level.

I understood about the blanket later when they rolled me into the operation room, which was about 15 degrees colder than the previous room. I presume it’s something they do to keep the laser machines from overheating.

At this point, I felt fine. Even when they started working on me, I didn’t really notice any altered feeling. I was just going along with it. Maybe that’s the trick… getting a patient pliable without their noticing anything’s different.

The first thing they have to do is put injections into your eye, to numb the whole site. That is the part I was most concerned about because, you know… [shudder]. I wasn’t even sure when the doctor was doing it. He would say, “Look up and to the right. Now up and to the left.”

It wasn’t until he was halfway done that I even realized he was giving me the injections right then. I didn’t feel a thing. I didn’t even see the needle. I suppose he brought it up from the opposite direction from the one he had me looking.

After that, they lowered a big device over my right eye and covered the left with a towel or something. I could hear various things beeping and the doctors moving about, but there was no pain whatsoever. If I didn’t need to keep my eye open, I could have had a nap.

Before I even knew it, they had a plastic eye guard taped in place (lined with gauze) and had me sitting up in the recovery room. They wheeled me back out to Sweetpea at about 2:30, so aside from the initial wait, the whole thing took an hour and a half.

Instructions were to keep the guard in place until the next day’s appointment, don’t get it wet, don’t sleep on my back with my head facing up, not bend at the waist, no alcohol, and don’t pick up anything over 20 pounds. No problem.

On the way home we picked up some KFC for my post-op feast. (It had been a long time because I usually tried to stay away from eating things that would kill me. But it was sooo good.) It’s weird operating with only one eye. My depth perception was definitely off, so when I reached for something, it usually took some adjustments in aim. So I had to be careful not to poke myself in the eye with a chicken bone or spork full of mashed potatoes.

After that, nap time! I put in a solid two hours, then got up, watched a little TV, then turned in early. I figured the more time I spent asleep, the less time I’d have to wander around all cockeyed.

The next morning’s follow-up appointment would be the moment of truth. I was dying to see what I’d be seeing. They told me things would be blurry for a while but would gradually clear up over a week. When the eye tech removed the guard, I was shocked. I expected it to be blurry as in the letters looking distorted or unfocused. What I got was looking through a fish bowl. Then I really started to panic when the tech started going through the usual drill of asking what I could see.

She was like, “Can you read these letters?”

“No.”

“Now how about these?”

“No. I can’t even see that there are letters there, let alone read them.”

She narrowed it down to one giant letter, which I still could not see. So she asked how many fingers she was holding up. I was like, “I can’t even see that you have a hand.”

She left to let the next batch of dilation eye drops take effect before the doctor came in.

Now, I was expecting the blurriness, but the fact that she was testing me like I could still see something made me start to seriously worry, especially sitting alone in the room for 20 minutes. I kept thinking, “Holy shit, why couldn’t you have just lived with the @#$% floaters?”

When the doctor came in, he explained that the issue was that because I had a retina tear repaired in this eye four years earlier, they injected an air bubble into my eye to protect the repair site. It was this bubble that was making things seem like I was underwater. It was like my face was a leveling tool and the eye contained the bubble you try to line up. The bubble would reabsorb into my eyeball/face gradually over the next week. He said that after examining it, everything looked good, just like it was supposed to look. I was greatly relieved.

I guess the tech who scared the shit out of me was just going through the usual pre-visit checklist they do with every patient.

So I was dismissed with basically the same warnings. Don’t rub, keep water out, use the guard for sleeping, stay off my back (looking up), no bending from the waist, and take it easy for a while. He also mentioned that some people use an eye patch while they’re healing, which is exactly what I’d planned to do. 

We stopped for an eye patch at the drugstore on the way home, although not before I poked myself in the repaired eye with the earpiece of the sunglasses I was trying to put on. Like I said, the hand/eye coordination is way off when you’re down to mono-vision. I was lucky that the numbing drops were still in effect so it didn’t hurt, but I was worried that I jostled the whole structure which would cause more focusing problems.

At the store, I had the choice between the traditional black eye patch or the adhesive “Band-Aid” colored ones. I went for the black patch, obviously. So I could either wear my Pittsburgh Pirates ball cap and audition to be their new mascot or put on a straw hat and go out on tour singing “Cover of the Rolling Stone.”

Once home, I got to scope out the site in the mirror and yeah, it was as bad as I expected. Basically, the cornea from the bridge of the nose to the iris was bright blood-red. Again, it’s supposed to clear up over time.

I wore the eye patch constantly for the first couple of days. It was hard to see clearly, not only because of the mono-vision but because I still have floaters in my left (good) eye, so what vision I had was often blurry.

By the weekend, I could see a distinct reddish line going across the upper portion of my vision, like I was looking through a goldfish bowl, at the water level. Throughout the weekend, the line began to get lower and I found I could see reasonably well over the line. If I looked down, I could see a clear darkish circle. It was almost like a magnifying glass, in that if I held something up and looked through the circle, I could see it in super detail. But the farther away, the blurrier it got.

Today is Monday and I’m not wearing the patch at all. All of my computer screen is “above the line,” and the bubble is shrinking steadily. I’m betting that I should be fine by the end of the week. And then it will be time to schedule to have the other eye done. And that one should be a breeze because they won’t have to inject a bubble into that eye. Plus, my right eye will be floater-free.

OK, there are still a few tiny fragments floating around. I’m not sure if those will settle out or if I’m stuck with them, but it’s still a big difference.

If you ever consider such a procedure, I fully recommend doing it. The pain was minimal, (managed with Tylenol) and the recovery hasn’t been bad at all. I don’t yet know what the cost will be but I’m sure it will be worthwhile. One’s sight is something that’s often taken for granted, right up until it becomes damaged.

I write posts like these to help people who are evaluating whether they should undergo such a procedure and provide some first-hand information. If you have a question I haven’t addressed, please drop it in Comments.

“Here’s looking at (anything), kid.”

Director’s DVD Commentary: Here’s to anyone who got that “Cover of the Rolling Stone” joke! Dr. Hook lives!

Ice Burgh

Happy New Year to you. I wish we could be celebrating under better circumstances, but at least we’re still out here thrashing around!

Today was my first day back at work since 12/21, so in my mind, I’m still day-drinking and watching sports. Only my butt was back at my desk at work. Eventually, my heart and mind will follow.

So what did I do with my 11 days off? I can put it into three categories:

• Christmas Prep
• Christmas
• Pittsburgh

Like I mentioned in the last post, Sweetpea throws a big Christmas breakfast every year, in which in addition to her family, she invites anyone else who doesn’t have anywhere else to go or anything to do. (Translation: Singles and Jews.)

So Saturday and Sunday were spent getting the place ready for the crowd, except for the part on Sunday where I went to the sports bar to watch football. Charitably speaking, I was “getting out of her hair.”

Because of the Christmas morning craziness, we had “our” Christmas and exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve. My favorite gift? This shirt: 

 That’s one of my favorite quotes and I don’t even watch Game of Thrones!

The biggest challenge for Christmas Breakfast, (aside from keeping the dog from barking his head off in desperate attempts to get people to play ball with him outside), (in the COLD!), was getting everyone back out of the place so that we could make a break for my brother’s house and watch the Steelers game at 4:30.

We almost pulled it off, but about an hour before we wanted to leave, Sweetpea’s old 10^th-grade teacher showed up, after everyone was gone and all the food was put away. So he supervised the cleanup we were doing, talked sports with me, and we literally walked him out the door as we were on our way out ourselves.

In keeping with the Christmas spirit, the Steelers won handily, so we didn’t have to live and die on every snap. For a change…

On Tuesday, the day after Christmas, we headed for Pittsburgh. I’ve wanted to show her around the Burgh ever since we met. Because we were busy this summer and she won’t get much of a spring break, we decided to use Christmas break for the trip.

On the plus side, the timing was perfect for our schedules. On the minus side, on the day I wanted to show her around the town, it was 11 freakin’ degrees out!

Anyway, we checked into the gorgeous Omni William Penn, got settled in, and then headed out to the burbs to see my family. Sweetpea got to meet 2 aunts, 1 uncle, 3 cousins, and 2 cousins-once-removed (or whatever you call your cousin’s kids).

 As always, we enjoyed good stories, good drinks, and amazing food. Aunt Mary laid out some manicotti to die for!

In fact, she had me email my dad some pictures of the food, just to rub it in that he wasn’t getting any. Yes, wise-assery is a family trait.

We also got to hang out with another special girl, Aunt Mary’s sweet little Samantha.

The Queen, on her throne.

The picture doesn’t really give any perspective, but Sweetpea’s dog probably has 80 pounds on her. This dog could sit in the palm of my hand (if she kept very still).

Somehow, we managed to escape before falling into a food coma, and made our way back to the Penn, to rest up for our Big Day.

I’d been watching the weather for the prior week so I knew it was going to be cold; it was only a matter of degree. (Heh) I was hoping the forecast would change, and it did. It kept getting colder. I had a few specific things I wanted to show off, so I planned a more direct route than I might have otherwise.

So, we knew it would be cold and we dressed accordingly. But still… we stepped outside and WHAM. It was like walking into the side of an igloo. Of course, it depended on where you were. There were parts when we were in the shade and the wind was blowing, and it was like you were going to die right there on the street. Then in other places, out in the sun, it didn’t feel so bad.

So, our points of interest?

The Allegheny River and the ballparks and bridges that line it.

I’ll have to wait until baseball season to show her how awesome it looks, looking the other way around.

Sweetpea, the Ravens fan, hurls obscenities at Heinz Field.

OK, that’s not technically true, but it could have been. We basically had the city to ourselves. While we were down at the Confluence, there was nary a body in sight. It was like we were plopped down in the zombie apocalypse, without the zombies.

I couldn’t wait to show her PPG Plaza, which is gorgeous on most days,

but even better with the Christmas tree and ice rink.

By the time we got to Market Square, we were pretty much done with browsing; we needed someplace to warm up and get a bite to eat. We ended up at Diamond Market.

I was quite happy to tuck into the Colossal Cod sandwich.

On the way back to the hotel, we found a wine and spirits shop downtown, from which we picked up a little bourbon. Once back to the Penn, we poured ourselves a couple of drinks and went down to sit in the lobby.

Sitting down there with our drinks on the couches, it felt like we were movie stars in some 1920s musical. I kept waiting for a flash mob to show up.

Once sufficiently warmed up, inside and out, we retired to the room for a much needed nap. Hey, nobody parties like fifty-somethings! But we wanted to rest up for the main event: The Pittsburgh Penguins vs Columbus Blue Jackets!

We had seats in the 6^th row, down by the corner on the side. This was Sweetpea’s first NHL game, so I wanted us to sit up close. The location was good for catching a number of nice pictures:

Unguarded moments…

Jake Guentzel and Conor Sheary have a laugh.

…sly smiles…

Sid Crosby laughing at Hornqvist, probably about the missing “u” in his name.

…special moments…

Penguins’ tough guy Ryan Reeves fist-bumps with a small fan.

…and high-speed action.

Carl Hagelin on the move.

So it was a good game… the Pens were down early but fought back to score two in the third period and tie it up. When the Pens scored in overtime, we immediately high-tailed it out of there. The last thing I wanted to do was get trapped down in the lower bowl, waiting for our turn to get out.

By the time we got to the top of the bowl, we heard that they were challenging the goal. By the time we got around the end of the concourse, we heard the goal was overturned. OT went on without resolution so the game went to a shootout.

If we’d stayed in our seats, we would have had a primo angle. But from up on the concourse, our view was more like this:

Actually, this would have been pretty sweet, but once the shootout started, everyone in the place stood up and all we could see were backs and butts, so Sweetpea and I had to watch the monitors.

Still, it was fine. The Pens won by scoring on their first two attempts while Columbus missed theirs. And with that, we were out the door in a flash. We were back up to the room (3 blocks away) before we would have even gotten out of the lower bowl if we’d stayed.

Thursday morning, we had breakfast at the Penn with an old family friend of Sweetpea’s, after which we hit the road. Got back to Baltimore by 2:45, easy as pie.

And it was a good thing we didn’t linger. I saw on the news that night that a semi overturned about 5:00 pm and blocked all three lanes of 1-70 just outside of Baltimore. Jam went for miles and lasted three hours. Count one little slice of hell avoided.

Way back at the beginning when I mentioned the three parts of last week, you may have noticed that I omitted New Years. That was purely intentional… we didn’t do jack. Stayed home, watched some football, watched the fireworks on TV and went to bed.

Thank you again for coming to visit my little corner of the internet. I hope you have a grand 2018 and I’ll do my best to provoke thoughts, laughter, and general crankiness. I’ll be back next Monday with some four-star debunkery.

Odd Bits – The Batman and Batsmen Edition

Every couple of years, the Pittsburgh Pirates play a couple of games here in Baltimore, against the Orioles.  These are my two favorite teams so I always go see a couple of games from the series.  (This year they play two here, a Tuesday and Wednesday, and then two in the Burgh, in September.)

While you see me reference the Orioles more frequently, due to my proximity to Camden Yards, I still consider the Buccos my favorite team.  The black and gold runs deep.  And given that I have three different Pirates game jerseys and precious little chance to wear them, I had to take advantage of the opportunity.

I went to the Tuesday game by myself, although I met Sitcom Kelly and her Sitcom Mother and Sister, for pre-game beers.  But they were sitting under the deck to the right of home.  I had a seat 14 rows behind the Pirates’ dugout.  

The view from Section 52.

As such, there were a good many Pirates fans around me.  I ended up talking to one guy from Pittsburgh who was there with his family.

Pirates first baseman John Jaso tossed the kid a ball when coming off the field. 

John Jaso

I could have had a shot at it but Dad had me boxed out.  (Don’t judge… the kid will probably lose it down a sewer somewhere.)

So about halfway through the game, the Dad gets a message that we were both just on TV, on the Pittsburgh local broadcast.  I thought that might happen.  The local production likes to find their fans with the team on the road, and I was sitting in a cluster of them. 

Then whoever was watching the TV feed took a screen shot and sent it.  I had him text it to me, and voila.  Here I am on TV again…

While I am talking to the Man in the Yellow Hat, that does not give you license to call me Curious George.

Pirates took a 2 run lead into the 9^th, but the O’s tied it on Jonathan Schoop’s 2^nd HR of the night…

I couldn’t complain; it was a heck of a game.

The next night, Sweetpea came with me.  We had seats in the club level, looking down the first baseline.

Our view from Section 244.

We chilled there for a couple of innings before going back to forage for food.  As we walked around, we ran right into my brother and his friends, talking to my brother-in-law from Cincinnati and his friends.  I knew they were both going to be there, but I was waiting for my brother to give me the high sign to join him in his company suite and figured I’d triangulate w/ the BIL at that point.  So they beat me to it.  We hung out and chilled there for a while and then watched the end of the game from the suite.

Sweet view from the Suite.  And it looks even better with a couple of crab cakes on your plate.

This time, the Pirates gave up a 4-run lead in the bottom of the 9^th.  The O’s tied it on a homer by rookie, (and Sweetpea’s favorite player) Trey Mancini, and won it in the 11th on another Mancini HR.

While the endings didn’t go my way, both games were wildly entertaining.  No complaints from me.  Now I’m back to “Let’s Go O’s!”

Dimming the Bat Signal

It was with a great nostalgic sadness that I learned of the passing of Adam West, TV’s venerable Batman, from the campy 60s series.

I say it’s campy now, but at the time, when I was in early grade school, that shit was deadly serious.  Every afternoon, my brother and I would race home to see who the big villain was this week, or how Batman and Robin were going to get out of diabolical deathtrap in which they were ensnared.  When the show was over, we’d run outside to relive the episode, sometimes with our “official” bat capes and masks, sometimes with a dish towel tucked into our collars.

It wasn’t until I watched some of the episodes again, as an adult, that I saw how genuinely funny it was.  There was so much stuff I missed.

For example, in one episode, the police were questioning a bad buy in an empty room, save for one giant un-shaded light over the crook’s head.  On the wall, there was a sign by the switch: “SUBTLE INTERROGATION LIGHT.”

I’m happy that Mr. West made peace with his caped alter-ego, and was a regular at comic conventions and the like.  I’m sure he knew that his continuing safety was paramount to a legion of dish-toweled little kids like me.

Goodbye, Batman.  A grateful nation thanks you!

The Pen-Ultimate Series

So, what was it that happened last night?  Oh yeah, the Pittsburgh Penguins won the mudda fuckin’ Stanley Cup for the 5^th time!  Holy crap!

But I have to start the story from last Thursday night.

I’d been having some trouble with my TV lately.  When I was watching Game 4 of the finals, all of a sudden the picture started freezing with a kind of strobe effect.  It made the screen appear like it was bleached out.  There was no depth or richness to the color.  It was annoying but I eventually “fixed” it by turning it off and on a few times.  That worked for the rest of the game and it stayed fixed throughout the week, and even during the day on Thursday, when I had the Comey hearing on.

(I was going to write some stuff about that, but what more is there to say at this point?  The Republicans just want to pretend President 45 was vindicated, claim vindication and move on.  So what else is new?)

Anyway, when I put the game on Thursday night, the problem returned, and turning the TV off and on didn’t do anything this time.  I was forced to watch the game like I was looking through a gauzy linen.  And that was a shame because this was the first game of the series where the Pens looked like themselves, winning 6-0.

Through the process of elimination, I determined that this was a problem with the TV, and not the network or the cable. 

I’d been poring over new TV models for the last couple years.  I got my TV, my first flat screen, a 46” Samsung, in 2009, just in time to watch the Pens win their third Cup.  With the way the tech has advanced since then, I've been longing for an upgrade, but you know how it is… I had a perfectly good TV and other things to replace kept arising.  (Washer, dryer, car, bedroom TV…)  I couldn’t justify the expense.

AND, if and when I join forces with Sweetpea, she already has an extremely nice TV.  I was planning on just ditching mine when the time came.

But now, my luck had just run out.  I’d have to replace the TV and there was no way I was going to get one delivered before Sunday.  (Yes, I know I could have just gone and bought one from whatever was in stock, but I A) wanted someone to set up the remote, B) set up the Wi-Fi (because this would be my first “smart TV”), C) take the old TV away.)

I went out to my local Best Buy on Saturday afternoon and made the purchase; a Samsung 7000 series 55” Smart TV.  And as I figured, it can’t be delivered until next week.

As I’ve written before, I’ve been spending my weekends with Sweetpea, but I’ve always come back home on Sunday night, before the start of the work week.  So if I were to watch the game at her place, I could either come home very late or just stay over another night.

Easy call.  I just had to bring clothes for work on Monday and decide on game attire.

For away games, I’ve been wearing my newest white Malkin #71 jersey, but the Penguins lost the last three times.  I felt it was time to do something daring, so I eschewed wearing any jersey and went with an old Pens t-shirt… the one I wore during Game 7 of the 2009 Cup Finals when the Pens won the Stanley Cup vs Detroit.

 It had a reliable recent history too because I’d also worn it during the Blue Jackets series when watching an away game at Sweetpea’s house, and the Pens won. 

So, it worked out, but damn if it wasn’t stressful.  As the score remained 0-0 throughout the 3^rd period, I just kept thinking, “Please not overtime, please not overtime…”   Sweetpea had already gone to bed so it was only me there, living and dying on every shot.

Then, as you may know, Patrick Hornqvist knocked in a bank shot off the back of the goalie with a minute and a half left in the game.  I celebrated as loud as I could, without waking up the rest of the house.  Startled the hell out of the dog, though.

And that was all she wrote… the Pens added an empty netter but the result was already locked in.  My Penguins are the first team to repeat as Stanley Cup champions since 1998.

In retrospect, it was good that I was watching the game alone.  Watching the Pens skate the Cup always turns me into a sloppy mess, especially when it’s this guy’s turn.

Le Magnifique.

Congratulations to Sid, Geno, Phil, Flower, Murray, Kuny, and all the “kids.”  Great season.  Another amazing coaching job from Mike Sullivan. 

And as my nephew texted me, “Suddenly games in DC just became much easier to go to.”

What I Did on my Summer Vacation Pt 1

As is my custom, I went down to see the folks in Florida over Mother’s Day weekend, Thursday through Tuesday.  (Hence no post last night.)

I had a couple nice surprises on the flight down.  First off, I scored the coveted “Empty Middle Seat!”  "Wahoo!  Armrest, you’re all mine!"  The other cool thing was that I was in a brand new 737-900ER.  The overhead luggage racks folded way up out of head-bumping range, AND, there was a cool, interactive video touch screen on the back of every seatback.

Not only could you track where you are and get all the flight data, it offered games, music and video streaming.  Not that I used any of that, but it was a nice diversion.

On the second leg into Pensacola, I had no such luck.

“Where is my damn touch screen?”

I get spoiled so easily.

You know, every time I see the wing flaps come up upon landing, I expect to see clothes and luggage come flying out.

Random question: I wonder how many celebrities I’ve passed in airports, without noticing, because I was so focused on getting where I had to go?  I’m usually pretty focused on my destination.

This day, I had about an hour and a half to kill so I figured I’d get lunch.  I then had the best fried chicken I've had in years. Who knew it would be from a place in the Atlanta airport?  Crispy, tasty and juicy all the way through.

Funny, I just wanted something light. My Airport Eats app said there was a Nathan's on my concourse. I figured a couple of dogs would be just right; I'd have something to do to kill the time without ruining the big dinner I was anticipating upon my arrival.

I went to where the app said it was, but no Nathan's. Checked the terminal map, which confirmed it. So I had to troll for someplace else to park it and grab a bite.

Then I saw this Southern Fried Chicken place, Pascal’s, and once the smell hit me, it was all over. I only ordered a 2-piece, which I thought would be light. Then I saw it came with two sides. And a biscuit.

Oh well, I tried.

And somehow, I managed to eat dinner too.  Oy.

Going down to see my parents isn’t exactly a thrill-a-minute ride (nor do I want it to be).  But each day we usually have one particular event or excursion to do.  On Friday, it was going down to Joe Patti’s fish market.

Subtlety is their middle name.

The place was jammed and I could see why.  There was a huge assortment of fish laid out on ice.  I swear, with this many fresh fish options, I could give up meat.

After Joe Patti’s we went to a place called Five Sisters Blues Café.  Wouldn’t you know, they also specialize in fried chicken and blues music.  So I had some more tremendous fried chicken.  (Dad had a rack of ribs, which were also delectable.)  Sorry I’m omitting so many food pictures… by the time I thought to snap a pic, the meal was gone.

We got home in time to put on the Buccos game.  I rarely get to see the Pirates play, but Dad has the MLB package and on Central Time, the games start early.  Was nice to catch up.

Because we were all pretty jammed, it was a light dinner of crock pot back macs and salad.

Many childhood memories are contained within a crock pot.

By Saturday, I remembered that maybe I should enjoy the pool! 

My last couple of visits, the weather was pretty crappy. But this week, it was absolutely glorious out.  No clouds, blue sky, all week.  Score!

Even the famous Weather Stick was pointed in the right direction.  (Or maybe it was just glad to see me.)

I’ve always enjoyed watching all the geckos run around in the backyard, but this week, I learned that my mom is naming them.  There’s Maurice, Cecil, Marcel and Cedrick (pronounced Ceedrick).  I don’t know why they’re all boys and skew European.  I guess when you’re retired, you have time to work on stuff like this.

I’m not sure Mom can tell them apart, though.  My theory is that the first one she sees on a given day becomes Maurice, and the others are named from there.  They probably fight over who gets to be Maurice that day, because Mom says he’s the one in charge.

TV was the big excursion for Saturday… The Buccos came on even earlier, then there was the Kentucky Derby followed by the Penguins playoff game vs the Capitals.  For such an auspicious occasion, Dad broke out the good stuff:

Woodford Reserve Bourbon Whiskey.

This stuff was seriously smoooooth.  Probably the best bourbon I’ve ever had.  Thanks Dad!

The Penguins played the night before I left for Florida and the night I came home.  There was only one game while I was there, which meant I only had to bring one game jersey.  For once events conspired to help me pack light.

My carefully selected game jersey mojo failed me though, as the Pens went down in flames.  I’m going to have to sit in another chair next time I’m there for a game.  Pittsburgh never wins anything when I’m watching from the folks’ house.

Mother’s Day was Sunday but that didn’t keep my folks from making their weekly pilgrimage to Walgreen’s.  If they don’t show up Sunday, the cashiers start calling the hospitals.

After some more pool time, Dad grilled some steaks to go with Mom’s chicken, sautéed mushrooms and roasted potatoes. 

We tend to pick the “off days” to go down to the beach, so that was our Monday excursion.  We had lunch at a new place right on the beach, beside the pier.

Their fries were kind of strange… I’ve had curly fries before, but these were like curly wedges. 

It was like you had to corkscrew them into your mouth.

It was conveniently placed so that we could enjoy a post-lunch mosey along the pier.

Shot from the pier, you can see why they call this the Emerald Coast.

There’s a lot of weird stuff on the pier, from excessive signing explaining the myriad of things you’re not allowed to do, to this guy.

I think this is a warning to prospective kitchen help, demonstrating what happens if you screw up an order.

Tuesday was the first rainy day of my trip and luckily, that’s the day I came home.  (I heard through the grapevine that the weather stick looked very sad to see me go.  Not so sure about the parents, though…)

You may think that all we did over this trip was swim, run menial errands, watch TV, have cocktails and eat… Well, that IS what we did; what’s it to ya?  That’s my kind of vacation.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for the great good hospitality!  Tell the geckos I’ll miss them.

Director's DVD Commentary: Part 2 of this series will continue after my annual Ohio vacation, this August.

NoochFest

I just got back from Pittsburgh (again) yesterday, where we held our once-every-ten-years-or-so family reunion for my mother’s side of the family.  We had family members come in from Florida, North Carolina, Wisconsin, California, and, of course, Maryland.

My mom’s last name rhymes with “Gucci,” only with an “N,” so I dubbed the occasion “#NoochFest.”  (Just in case you’re wondering what the odd hashtag was on the weekend’s Facebook/Twitter posts.)

I drove out on Thursday, and was the first one to arrive at our destination in Wilkinsburg; a large rental house that was supposed to be able to sleep 16 (if you bring a bunch of air mattresses).  I knew there was going to be trouble before I even got inside.

The neighborhood was pretty sketchy and even locked, the front door didn’t look very secure.  The weather-stripping was loose and it looked like one good shove would blast the doors wide open.  Once inside, it didn’t get much better.  It wasn’t that the place was in disrepair, but that there was practically no furniture inside.

In the main rooms, there was one couch, one rocking chair, and a canvas “tailgate” chair.  There was a card table and a 3-foot long kitchen table.  That was it, and we had a party of nine coming.  There was no TV, no coffee table, just a lot of empty, freshly vacuumed, square footage.

Upstairs, there were two bedrooms, each with a double bed and a dresser.  Another bedroom had one twin bed and a desk chair.  On the third floor, there was a king-sized air mattress and no other furniture.  Also, there were no A/C vents in that bedroom, nor a ceiling fan, so the temperature was about 95 degrees.  It was completely uninhabitable.  I figured there would have to be some serious negotiating when assigning bedrooms.

My choice was easy… I was the only “single,” so the twin bed looked be mine.  I had brought along an air mattress just in case of emergency, and it looked like we would need it.

So I unpacked and tried to make the place more habitable.  I stocked the beer I brought into the fridge and went around to the bedrooms to turn on the ceiling fans.  Round about that time, the rest of the family began to show up.  They were as unimpressed as I was.

In fact, my brother and brother-in-law were on their phones almost immediately, trolling for a Plan B.  This was supposed to be a long weekend’s vacation, not an exercise in seeing what we could endure.  Luckily, both brother and brother-in-law had a butt-load of Hilton points, so we decided to muster out at the Monroeville Doubletree instead.

Is it me, or are the ice buckets getting smaller?

  Apparently they have ice bucket condoms now.  What’s next, liners for drink glasses?

But after a kind of turd of a first day, things looked up quickly thereafter when we went to Kennywood on Friday.  If you’re not familiar, Kennywood, it’s a small amusement park outside of Pittsburgh, which was built in 1898!  No, the rides are not that old; it’s gone through a number of renovations and they have modern rides.  But there are still a number of rides that were open back when my parents were kids.  That’s what made it so much fun.

One of those rides is the Jackrabbit, which is a small (by today’s standards) wooden roller coaster, with a serious first drop and a number of camel humps. 

Another is the Racer, which is a racing coaster featuring more humps and sharp curves than steep drops.

The other set of cars is to the right of the stairway.

I wasn’t crazy about the Jackrabbit… it reminded me of why my roller coaster riding days are behind me.  I’m just not crazy about the sensation of falling… or rather, the sensation of being rammed straight down into the ground at high speed.

I rode that one with my dad, although that may have been a tactical error.  It took some wiggling to get both our butts into that narrow seat.  You could tell it was built in a day when Americans were significantly smaller.

The Racer was a lot of fun though, as one set of cars would race against the other, often so close to each other, it felt like you could reach out and smack the other team.  I liked that coaster a lot more.  I rode it with my nephew Daniel.  There were individual seats, so we didn’t have to go cheek to cheek.  He fit fine; I probably should have buttered up.  When I got out of the ride, it sounded like someone opened a bottle of champagne.

There was one ride, the Skycoaster, which we were pretty much universally against riding.  Two or three people would lay down on a small platform, attached to the top of a giant tower, and then they would get towed way up to the top of another 280-foot tower, and let go.  The riders would come soaring down like they were on a giant pendulum, and swing back and forth.  It looked just like this:

All I could think of was, “Nope.  Nope nope nope.”

For a closer, clearer view, (which wasn’t shot with a cell phone), click here.

Interesting concept though.  Physics in action.  They should dress people in knight’s armor and have another one released in the opposite direction.  In theory, they would bounce back in the opposite direction a number of times.

After the obligatory train ride, (so us old people could sit down for a moment), the boys wanted to go a water ride.  Now I wouldn’t have minded a nice misting machine, but the last thing I wanted to do was tromp around for the rest of the day in wet clothes and shoes.  My mom, brother-in-law and I passed.  Everyone else loaded up on the raft.

Brother, Sister and Dad, lined up to get on board.  The boys are already seated.

That was the best call I made all day.  They got off the ride completely soaked, with squishy shoes.  Even the giant air dryer didn’t help.

Next were the bumper cars, so I couldn’t pass up a chance to knock my nephews around a little bit.  Daniel thought he had me lined up a couple times, but I was able to pivot sharply and get outta Dodge.  Age and treachery, baby!

We finally sought the shelter of the café, got something cold to drink, and united with my aunt and uncles and their families.  Eventually we went back to ride the Jackrabbit and Racer again.

I swear, I don’t know who was happier, the kids or my dad.

There are three generations on that ride; the same one my dad rode as a kid.

A little grandparental bonding time on the Racer.

We called it a day around 4:00, and beat it back to the hotel.  We met up at the house where my aunt, uncles and cousins were staying, for a pizza party.  Their rental place in Squirrel Hill was actually nice.  It was fun to have an low key gab-fest before the next day’s outing at the park.

We had a pavilion on Saturday at North Park, for us to eat and drink and shoot the shit.  So it was pretty much just like the previous night, only outside. 

My brother bought a couple of wiffle ball sets, so they called me out of the stands to pitch to the boys.  They didn’t know that Uncle Bluz was good friends with “Uncle Charlie,” as I showed them how to make a wiffle ball curve by several feet.  Sadly, I exceeded my pitch count in about a half an hour, so they had to make a call to the bullpen for another right-hander.  But it’s cool; I’m almost back to a full range of motion with my right arm…

It was funny though… shortly after we got there, about a hundred motorcycle riders showed up for a picnic at the pavilion just down from ours.  I wasn’t complaining… they had some great music playing.

This is only a few of the bikes; the rest were off to the right.

I told Daniel I’d give him a dollar to tip over that first bike, but he wouldn’t bite.  I’m pretty sure bikers wouldn’t beat up a kid…  Uncle Joe was sure these weren’t “biker” bikers… More like a group of dentist who ride, than the Sons of Anarchy.

The big event for Sunday was going to see the Pirates/Phillies game at PNC Park, aka the most picturesque ballpark in the country. 

The weather was a little worrisome… forecasts called for rain throughout the day.  But it only rained early, before the game… buy enough to make several of us pop for ponchos.

First the ice bucket gets a condom, then me.

But the rain stopped before the game started, and was replaced by stifling mugginess.  I hoped it would be a quick game, but there it was, 0-0 going into extra innings.  But for a scoreless game, it was quite entertaining.  The Buccos pulled off several outstanding defensive plays, featuring a sprinting, diving catch by right fielder Sean Rodriguez.  (It was the #3 highlight on Sports Center on Monday.)  The Pirates eventually won, 1-0, on a walk-off single by Josh Harrison, in the 11^th.

And that was that… we went out for dinner and dessert, and all went our separate ways Monday morning.   Granted, as soon as I got home, I had to head back out because Sitcom Kelly had her Sitcom Mom’s company seats for the Orioles/Phillies game.

I must be kryptonite for the Phillies, as they got shut out in this game too.  They must have seen me and went, “What, him again?”

Unfortunately we had the obligatory obnoxious Phillies fan right behind us… You’d think that when your team has the worst record in the league, you might want to keep your big mouth shut.  Anyway, a couple other fans threw a couple of pointed barbs his way, which effectively shut him down for most of the night.

Maybe I’m just getting old, but I don’t pay my good money* for ballgame tickets so I can hear some dumbass trying to call attention to himself.  No one is there to see clowns like that.

*Yes, I know I didn’t have to pay for last night’s ticket, but it’s the principle, you see.

Anyway, the fun’s over; now it’s back to the grind.  No more adventures until July, when I’ll be Ohio-bound.  I suppose I ought to be dried out by then.