A Message From Beyond

I mentioned, back in April, that my mom passed last September. Before that happened, there was a spooky little occurrence that I’d like to tell you about. (I’ll come back to current events and the latest political atrocities next week.)

In the weeks before passing, she’d been bedridden, either asleep or highly medicated. When awake, she didn’t always make a lot of sense, but would have occasional bouts of lucidity, holding conversation as if it were just another Wednesday in the parlor.

About three days before she passed, my brother was sitting beside her bed as she slept. On his cell phone, he received a text from his son, Sam, then a sophomore at Penn State, saying that he had been turned down for the fraternity he’d been trying to join. My brother never said a word, nor was his phone within Mom’s view.

Then suddenly, and quite clearly, Mom said, “I wonder how he’s going to handle the rejection,” before resuming her sleep.

My brother said he got chills up and down his body. He was astounded, as was I, when he told me about it. But that was completely in character for Mom. She always was a little “mystical.” She loved her crystals, horoscopes, lunar calendars, and such. So this didn’t exactly come out of left field.

I guess moms really do know everything their kids are up to. That “third eye” is real! Perhaps the door to the otherworld really does open a bit when one is at the end.

Mom at her 75^th birthday party, making good use of her magic wand.

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.

Thunderstruck

We pause this series of spleen-venting posts about the impending end of this free Republic to bring you something completely off-topic. It’s the same old stuff going on week after week anyway, isn’t it? This week we have a new pope. I saw a post from MAGA wingnut Laura Loomer vehemently complaining about Pope Bob. All I can say is that if MAGA hates him, then that’s probably the best-case scenario I can expect. Meanwhile…

I’ve never made it a secret that I’ve been an AC/DC fanatic ever since the early 80s. They’re my favorite band by far, and I’ve been jamming to them since I first saw the concert movie, “Let There Be Rock.” Seeing the phenomenon known as Angus Young in action was life-changing for me. I’ve seen them five times before, from 1985 to 1996. So when I saw that their latest tour was going to Pittsburgh, I figured it was time to act. 

OK, to be honest, the only "action" I took was to plant the seed in my brother’s head (he who first brought AC/DC records into the house) that maybe we should round up his boys and go see the show. He did the rest, securing us tickets and hotel accommodations. (Thanks, bro!) Going to the show tonight in Landover, MD, would have been closer to us here in Baltimore, but we have family in The Burgh, so that made it a much more attractive trip.

The concert was to be in the football stadium downtown, a venue with which we are quite familiar. We stayed at the Sheraton at Station Square, across the river from the stadium. After landing in town and soaking up a little South Side* ambiance (and beer), we took the Gateway Clipper (ferry), which dropped us off outside the gate.

* "Sah-side" to the locals.

I was pleased as I could be with our tickets, not because they were the closest, but because they were in the first row of the second tier, meaning there would never be someone standing up in front of me, so I needn’t stand either. (These old knees aren’t what they used to be.) We had the same deal when we saw Springsteen last September. 

This was our vantage point:

It was an interesting crowd, definitely older than what I used to see at an AC/DC show. And I was pleased to see that a lot of the old folks were there with their kids. In fact, I sat beside a very nice mid-40s woman who was there with her mother. I had a great time yapping with them and trading concert experiences before show time.

We never got out there in time to see the opening act, so I have nothing to say about them. But as expected, AC/DC went on at the stroke of 8:30. Too bad they didn’t make a big entrance like they used to. When I’d seen them before, they usually had a big stunt or effect to get things going. This time, they just ran a video intro, followed by the band moseying onto the stage.

In the prior week, I looked up their set list for prior stops on the tour and learned that they didn’t deviate much. So I knew what to expect for the night, and it panned out that way exactly.

Now, two main issues were apparent. (And also expected, due to the preponderance of video on YouTube from the tour so far. The first was the State of the Angus.

Yes, Angus Young is old now, 70 to be exact. So there was no way he would match the energy and raw mania that marked his 20s and 30s. But goddamn, he still got around pretty well for such an old guy. He didn’t run around as much, and only did his trademarked “duck-walk” maybe a half-dozen times. But it was still there and always in the right place.

The other issue is Brian Johnson’s voice. It was still there, but we couldn’t really gauge the quality because the vocals were so far down in the mix. If we didn’t already know all the words, we’d have no idea what he was singing.

The photo looks like black and white because that’s how the video was designed for Back in Black.

But ultimately, it didn’t matter because the crowd was all-in on participation. I know I was singing my face off along with everyone else, especially during the big choruses of Highway to Hell, You Shook Me, Dirty Deeds, and all the “Oi’s” of TNT. I was surprised I still had a voice in the morning.

The good thing about knowing the set list was that I could pick the perfect times to nip out and take a leak. (And with all the pre-show beer, there was a lot to leak!)

There will always be songs you wish they’d play but didn’t, especially for a band with as many albums out as AC/DC does. But there are also “locks,” which you KNOW they’ll play, like (aside from the ones mentioned above) Shoot to Thrill, Thunderstruck, Let There Be Rock, and my favorite, Whole Lotta Rosie. But they played six songs I’d never heard them play before: If You Want Blood (opener), Demon Fire, and Shot in the Dark (two new ones), Have a Drink on Me, Stiff Upper Lip, Rock & Roll Train, and old classic Riff Raff (from Powerage, 1977).

As always, they finished the initial set with Let There Be Rock, which ended in a 17-minute guitar solo, with Angus working out on the end of his runway and being raised high overhead on an accordioning platform, finishing to bursts of confetti. My rock musician cousin, who was there with us, said that was his favorite part. For me, I’d prefer they trim the long-ass solo and play a couple more songs. I’d recommend Shake Your Foundations and Flick of the Switch, from their mid-80s albums (from which they never play anymore).

For the obligatory encores, they opened with TNT and closed with For Those About to Rock, cannons and all.

The cannons rolled up from above the drum riser.

They also had a set of differently-styled cannons on each side.

We bugged out during the last of the cannon fire, missing the fireworks show, but that was a small price to pay for not getting trapped in the aisles, waiting for everyone above you to file out. We got back to the ferry in good time so we could relax with another beer on the way back to Station Square.

I’d seen two other AC/DC shows with my brother, in ’85 and ’88, but I was especially happy with this experience because my two nephews got to go. They’d been hearing our stories all their lives, and while they’ve seen many videos, nothing is like being there.

I don’t know if this is the band’s last tour or not. I would hope they hang it up before they become a joke. I know it would still draw, but I just couldn’t see them all sitting up there on stools, playing an acoustic show. It may work for the Eagles, but they’re a different kind of band.

I’ve gotten to meet a lot of different musicians, back when I was in the record store business, but I never got to meet anyone from AC/DC. I’d love to grab a minute with Angus and let him know just how important he and his band have been to my family and me. His music was the soundtrack to every Barn Party we ever threw. It’s hard to boil so much content down to a quick pleasantry, while posing for selfies, but I think I’d tell him this:

“I’ve probably gotten more pleasure from your right hand than I have from my own!”

Hell, he hung out for years with the mischievous Bon Scott, I’m sure he’d take it in the spirit with which it was offered.

This is the set list from Minneapolis, which exactly matched the Pittsburgh set.

 

Performance Art

It looks like the Republicans were campaigning for Oscars of their own lately, given all the performances they put on for the people.

In February, TFG signed a useless executive order outlawing something already outlawed.

Naturally, Fox “News” promoted it because they’ll promote anything that stokes grievances about brown immigrants. Obviously, illegal immigrants are already ineligible for federal benefits of any kind. They can’t get unemployment, Social Security, WIC, or anything else. This bill signing wasn’t anything more than the usual “tough-guy” posturing TFG enjoys so much. And I guarantee he’ll be reciting this later as “proof” of the effectiveness of his Administration, while his lapdogs lap it up.

In another issue that is as hilarious as it is sad, the Unqualified Stand-In for the Secretary of Defense, in his sweeping efforts to pretend there are no gay people in the armed services, authorized the removal of a photograph of the legendary aircraft, the Enola Gay. (Not because of the “Enola” part.)

I feel that one might be quietly walked back just because the idea is so preposterous. Hegseth was so determined to play the role of Military Macho Man, he let his minions, who don’t know history from hysterectomy, trash a famous image of a national treasure just because it has the word “gay” in it.

Just to be sure the “banned” subject matter isn’t forgotten, let me display for you, from deep in the Bluz Archives, this shot of my Great Uncle Ants (giant guy on the right) with the Enola Gay, from when he served with the SeaBees in the South Pacific.

Uncle Ants was the star of this old story I once told, about how he came in from a night out at the bars, stumbled over what he thought was his even more drunk brother, wrestled him up the stairs to bed, scolding him the whole time, only to find out he’d lugged a rolled up carpet up to the second floor.

It was also while Uncle Ants was in the South Pacific that my grandfather figured out a way to get some booze to him and his bunkmates while they were in a dry war zone.

I think Sec. Hegseth should have to go through some of the people that were on the ground in WWII, before screwing around with their history and artifacts.

There was another grand performance at the State of the Union address last week, and I’m not referring to that ranty, rambley, run-on ridiculata spewing from TGF, nor the cane-raising protest from Rep. Al Green. I mean the burly security guards hustling a lone, elderly US Representative off the floor and out the door. I bet their Moms were proud of them. I know the MAGAs were, because there’s nothing better to them than a Black guy getting kicked out of a venue.

The next week, Rep. Green was actually censured by the House. It’s funny how talking back to a president has never been something for which anyone has ever been removed or censured before. I wonder what the difference is now…

Not pictured: The other dipshit who called President Obama a liar during his SOTU address.

Yep, that’s right. Everything’s OK if a Republican does it. (And that’s just taking the polite angle and blaming politics. There’s a good chance the real reason involves something… darker.)

Last Friday, I saw that the Baltimore Catholic Archdiocese has decided to start offering the rite of Confirmation to 9-year-olds.

Seriously.

Like any 9-year-old is savvy enough to make a decision about his spiritual well-being. Hell, I don’t think 14-year-olds (like me at my own confirmation) are qualified either, but that’s still better than this! The kids are only doing whatever their parents have told them to do. But sure, let the Church put on a big song and dance about how these kids have “chosen” to entertain Catholic beliefs. They can pretend all they want.

Luckily, it’s not like these Confirmations are binding. The kids can still come to their senses a little further down the road, like I did. As George Carlin said, “I was a Catholic right up until I reached the age of reason.” Eventually, many will open their eyes and ears, take a good hard listen to what they’re being fed, see that much of it is fantasyland, and the rest is nonsense, with few of the positive platitudes actually playing out in real life. Feeding the poor, healing the sick, welcoming the strangers? That’s just for church. In real life, the people wrapped the tightest in their religion are the first ones to disregard all that pansy empathy stuff, stick out their hand and ask, “Where’s mine?”

Granted, this push may be more because they can count the confirmed as individuals in their congregations. In other words, it’s stat padding.

When people eventually fade away from the Church, they don’t usually go through any kind of notification process wherein they formally tell the Church that they are leaving. They just stop showing up, which allows the Church to keep the person on the books.

It would be nice to think that if there really was a “crisis of confidence” and the Church wanted to make an honest effort to gain and retain followers, they would adjust their policies, procedures, and messaging to connect with more people. But apparently, that’s too hard, so they’re cooking the books instead.

Amen.

The Traveling Christmas Show

Happy Christmas, my friend. Hope you're happy and well as we dive headfirst into the big holiday week. Whatever it is you celebrate, I hope you have a joyous one.

All my life, Christmas was a happy but chaotic time of year.

The Traveling Christmas Show

Christmas was always such a busy time, growing up. When we were little and still living in Pittsburgh, it was such a flurry of activity having our own Christmas and then heading off to both grandparents’ places. I know it was all pretty hard on my parents but as kids, we loved it! Three Christmas extravaganzas of cookies, good food, presents and cookies! Lots of cousins to play with! And did I mention the cookies?

My grandpa on my Dad's side always took movies… the old 8mm silent kind and he always used a movie light; a big, brilliant, blinding, white light. It was so bright we could barely open our eyes wide enough to see what we were opening. Then when it was over, he’d turn it off and the room would seem positively cave-like and we’d spend the next 10 minutes walking into things until our eyes adjusted. Too bad the camera was off by then… this footage would have been much more entertaining.

In later years, my aunt had those movies knocked off onto VHS. It was funny then to see essentially the same movie over and over again but with the characters aging by a year each time.

Hey, there’s a bunch of blinded kids opening presents...

Oh, look at the baby surrounded by wrapping paper...

Look who's coming in the door... Say hi!

Now it’s dinner time… there’s the table. Look at all the food.

Everybody wave… annnnd CUT!

Now it’s the next Christmas… look at the same blinded kids, eww, what are they wearing?

There’s another baby…

It's them again, coming in the door...

And on it goes…

It was agonizing to see myself going through all the horrid fashions of the 1970’s.

Several years of plaid pants… Auuuugh!

The "Saturday Night Fever" year of silk shirt and necklace… Gack!

The "Urban Cowboy" year with a freakin’ cowboy hat with a wrap-around feather the size of a vulture’s ass! Who did I think I was, Charlie Daniels?

Nevertheless, it was cool seeing my cousins growing up right before my eyes. In fact, we only got to see the cousins in yearly increments anyway, once we left The Burgh. (I was 6.) As the first-born of two firstborns, I was the alpha cousin and in later years, it was up to me to maintain order among the kids. That is where my high school class ring came in very handy. I learned from my dad just how powerful a good backhand flick of the ring was. In fact, I think I still have an ornate, backward “D” on the top of my skull from his Duquesne ring.

Once we moved away from Pittsburgh, my siblings and I got to enjoy a new Christmas perk… Christmas a week early! The weekend before Christmas, we’d have our own celebration and do the stockings, presents and the whole sha-bang. Then we’d travel to Pittsburgh for the actual holiday and make the Grandparental rounds.

The trip was always hell, especially when we were coming from Chicago (the furthest from which we had to travel; three bored, punchy little kids, fighting their seat belts and each other, trying to listen to a scratchy AM radio. Mom still smoked back then so we had regular noxious gas intervals. She’d crack the window, thinking the smoke would go out. Unfortunately, it was mostly the freezing air rushing in to spread the carcinogens around.

But it was all worth it when we got to my grandparents’ place for the best meal of the year: The Christmas Eve Feast of the Seven Fishes. It’s an Italian thing. There would be fried smelts and shrimp, fish fillets, heaps of pasta, plus chicken, wedding soup, and Lord knows how much other savory stuff. I’d eat until I couldn't move.

Later in the evening, after the dishes were cleared and the olives, celery, and cookies were put out, Grandma would break out the Bingo game. They used to play Bingo in the old days to kill time before midnight mass, but by this time they weren't going to the late mass anymore. Grandma would save up change all year for us to use for Bingo and we’d have the big family Bingo showdown.

I always liked it because it was something that the kids and grownups played together. Although one year that led to some not-very-kid-friendly terminology getting thrown out after a long, tension-filled game:

Cousin: BINGO!!!

My mom: Oh HORSESHIT!!

God Rest Ye Merry Merchantmen
Years later when I was all grown up and managing a record store in Cleveland, the holidays were brutal. From the beginning of November through the middle of January, to quote retail legend Al Bundy, it was like “one long month… Helluary.”

As a store manager, I’d be working 12-16 hour days. The place would be mobbed… just accounting for all the money was practically a full-time job. (I do admit that it's quite a sight to see all that bundled cash sitting on the desk, awaiting deposit.) We would be so busy, I’d go home and collapse in bed and have dreams that I was still at work, tending the register and clearing customers. I’d wake up and be like, “Fuuuuck! I can’t even escape with sleep!)

I didn’t have any family in Cleveland. The closest kin I had were in Pittsburgh. So when we’d finally get permission to close up on Christmas Eve, usually around 5:30 or 6:00, I’d shut it all down, bolt for the car, and bust ass down the turnpike for Pittsburgh.

I’d get to Grandma and Grandpa’s house about 9:00 or so and Grandma would have soup on the stove and sandwich fixin’s ready. Grandpa would appear with a cold Iron City Light. After the meal, Grandma would tell me that when she heard I was coming, she got some Klondikes for me, which at the time, could only be obtained in Pittsburgh. They were always my favorite treat as a kid. 

I hope she knew how much those Christmas Eves meant to me. It was like an oasis of comfort in a sea of aggravation. After a month of retail chaos, it was great to be able to settle into a big easy chair, chat with my grandparents, and just… breathe…

It was home, sweet home.

This is a Tough One

I lost an uncle today, my Uncle Ange. I knew he had been in rough shape but it didn’t really hit home until he couldn’t attend our family reunion last month. He rarely missed a chance to hang out with family. After my Grandpa passed, and then my dad, Uncle Ange became the reigning family patriarch. The last time I saw him, I thought he looked frail, and that’s the last word I ever thought I’d use to describe a man like him.

Uncle Ange was my dad’s brother-in-law. He was an immense, broad-shouldered, giant of a man who looked like an extra from The Sopranos. But he was really just a big teddy bear; always so happy and easy-going with everyone and full of love for his family. Unless you showed up at the house intending to date one of his daughters, in which case he was known to have you wash his car first. I don’t know that he was serious about that, but I’m told the prospective dates didn’t want to risk it.

He’d play ball with us, talk Pittsburgh sports, and always ensure we had enough to eat and drink.

Ange: Did you get enough spaghetti?  How about another sausage? Here, have a cookie. Hey, your wine glass is empty, pass it over and I’ll fill it up…

Bluz: I’m good, Uncle Ange, I gotta stay clear-headed for my spelling test tomorrow.

At our 2022 reunion, he appeared in my favorite family picture of all time. It looked like a high-level mob meeting.

From left to right:

Uncle Ange: What are we gonna do about that guy?

Cousin Denny: You mean that guy back there?

My Mom: Whack’em.

I remember the last time I stayed with my Aunt and Uncle when I was in town for a reunion. I used to stay with them before I met Sweetpea. Uncle Ange and I were the last two still up and found ourselves in a long, serious conversation that ranged from political to philosophical. He told me, to my amazement, that he no longer believed in God or had any use for religion, a point with which I heartily agreed. He said that no just God would ever allow the tragedy that had befallen his family, (decades ago, but still keenly felt today). I was surprised because this corner of my family carried the banner of Catholicism long after I’d abandoned it. It was something we didn’t really discuss. I don’t know if he ever told anyone else about it but I felt honored that he told me. Maybe he knew I’d be receptive.

I know I once caused a rift with my Aunt, who at a ceremonial family mass to celebrate my grandparents’ anniversary, wanted each of us cousins to bring up the “gifts” to the altar, and I refused. I was a young adult by then, lived on my own, and wanted nothing to do with participating in a rite that I found to be patently ridiculous. I was sorry for hurting feelings, but I was done with doing things for appearance's sake. I went to the mass; that was a big enough ask for me.

My family used to get asked to do that a lot, back when we went to church. There were five items to be ceremoniously brought up to the altar during mass, and there were five in our family. The church people put their hooks into us all the time. I’d always say I wasn’t going to do it. Then my dad would say, “Yes you are so,” and that would be that. It wasn’t a mountain I cared to die on. But I digress…

It’s ironic that we ever had such a conversation. After all, I chose him as a confirmation sponsor, back when I was in junior high. The confirmation is a Catholic rite that’s kind of like a baptism for kids who are old enough to participate in choosing to follow Catholicism. As if my little 7th-grade ass had any real choice. I was just going along with what was expected of me. I wouldn’t start developing my heathen views until at least high school. But it was fun that I got to choose my sponsor and that was Uncle Ange. This is us, on Confirmation Day:

I just wish someone would have confirmed to me that those were god-awful pants. Not to mention wearing a striped tie with plaid pants. I can't believe my parents let me out of the house looking like that. The 70s definitely had its fashion problems.

It’s strange now, getting to the age where the people you always looked up to are suddenly vulnerable. I suppose that’s the natural order of things. But when you still essentially think of yourself as 40 years younger than you really are, it can be jarring.

I used to jar Uncle Ange all the time, usually when he would mention how old all his nieces and nephews were getting. I was the oldest of my crop of cousins, the first-born of two first-borns. So I’d go, “You know how old I am? I’m 40 now… (or whatever.) He’d always wince in alarm at how the time flew. I’m sure he still remembered me as the little boy who was the ring bearer at his wedding.

I was five, but I took my job very seriously and hit all my marks. I was rewarded with cake, afterward, but I suspect that might have been for everyone.

I remember at one reunion in the 80s, I wore a (Pittsburgh's own) Donnie Iris concert tee shirt to the picnic. Uncle Ange said, “Donny Iris? I know Donnie Iris. We used to be roommates at Slippery Rock (University). He was kind of a strange cat.”

I said, “How come you never told me that before? I could have name-dropped you to try and get backstage to meet him.”

I’m not sure how well that might have worked though. Donny could have thought I was sent there to break his legs.

For the longest time, whenever I went back to Pittsburgh for an event… reunion, wedding, funeral, Steelers game, we’d always end up over at their place. My aunt would bring out enough food to feed an army and Uncle Ange would pour the wine. In his later years, he was making his own wine too. We’d be eating and laughing and drinking wine and just about when it felt like we should be done, he’d come out of the cellar with two more bottles. It could certainly make for a rough drive home the next day.

So, tonight, I think I may have a little wine with dinner, and pour one for Uncle Ange. He was a great man and one of my favorite people. I just hope he knew how warmly and deeply he was loved. I know that whenever we assemble back in The Burgh, I will always feel a giant hole where his immense warmth, kindness, and generosity used to be.

Salut!

Director’s DVD Commentary: I wrote about my three uncles back in 2013, as I contemplated my own role as an uncle at which I was just getting started, hoping I was doing them justice. I’ve been fortunate to have such outstanding role models to show me how it’s done.

Still One Clown Short of a Circus

Man, what a clown show, this Speaker’s race. It was to my delight, last Friday, that Gym Jordan had to bow out of the race in delicious fashion.

Seems he gathered all the Republican House members down in the bowels of the Capitol Building and had them conduct a secret ballot. The question was whether he should continue to pursue the Speakership.

The results? There were 112 votes against him. Recall that he was losing 20-30 Republican votes on prior “official” ballots. But in secret, about half of the party wanted him out. HAH!

It’s just too bad that these “Nay” Sayers couldn’t find their spine in public. It would have been nice to see people standing up saying no to harassment and bullying tactics. But I guess that’s easy for me to say. I’m not the one getting death threats from his MAGA minions.

But regardless, we’ve at least dodged this bullet. Now there are nine more candidates, (Sorry, make that eight more) and I don’t see any better choices. It’s kind of like trying to decide whether you’d rather have gonorrhea or chlamydia.

It’s also quite rich that they’re blaming the Speakership logjam on the Democrats! Yes, their own internal squabbling is somehow the fault of their opponents. I suppose if there were no Democrats, they could just divide up the US Treasury amongst their rich donors, fold up shop, and call it a day.

But seriously, they think the Dems should have voted for one of their reprehensible Representatives just to keep things moving. In the dead-wrong direction, but moving nevertheless.

And this coming from people who wouldn’t lift a finger if the shoe was on the other foot. If Democrats were on fire, they wouldn’t piss on them to put it out. They truly have no self-awareness, just an innate urge to blame Democrats for whatever they perceive to be wrong at any given time. Neither the topic nor the principle matter, it’s always the Democrats’ fault. They might as well put it on their campaign bumper stickers.

Update #2: Looks like the Republicans have their Speaker, a true MAGAt who supports a national no-exception abortion ban, ending same-sex marriages, overturning the 2020 election, with much more to come, I'm sure. It's gonna be a bumpy year. Let's see if the Democrats can make some hay out of this.

***

Now on to something completely pointless, yet (I hope) entertaining.

My mom has been steadily going through her things, now that she’s moved in with my sister, following my Dad’s passing. Last week, she wanted to show me something, a birthday card I sent her in, I’d say, the early 2010s. (I should have put a date on it.)

When getting cards for someone, I usually look for something I can have fun with by tarting it up with side points and banter. Well, this one, I’d completely forgotten about until she showed it to me.

It was a birthday card written in Spanish. Once I saw it, I remembered standing at the card rack thinking I could make something out of it, like providing a faux translation.

I have, in fact, taken four years of high school and college Spanish, so I could probably get pretty close with a legit translation, but where’s the fun in that?

So, this is what she received: (Click to embiggen.)

It’s a wonder she still speaks to me.

This was on the back:

And now, a word from my brother’s cat:

A Confidence Man

Did you see this headline about Sen. Lindsey Graham from last week? I wonder if he really believes his own bullshit here…

Oh, he’s confident, is he? Seriously? Is that because millions of American women are so hair-on-fire mad at Republicans for pushing for women to have fewer rights than dead people? Is that because a referendum on the same subject got trounced in blood-red Kansas? Is that because other Republican colleagues of his are all, “Hey Lindsey, shoosh with that, will ya? Yer gonna get us killed, or worse, not re-elected.”

Unless he’s talking about his local church coffee klatch, I’m confident that a mass majority of Americans would absolutely NOT support a national ban on abortion. It makes me wonder where he’s getting his information. Is he looking at a poll of Federalist Society members? Otherwise, his statement reeks of desperately wishful thinking.

You have to wonder that when an idea is this unpopular, why would any politician go near it? That’s why prospective justices bob and weave and do anything but reveal their true intentions regarding how they would rule on abortion cases. Then after they’ve been appointed for life, they can get on with reducing American women to the level of “breeding livestock.” But they don’t lead with that, for Pete’s sake. It’s bad for business.

The Universal Kibosh

As I’ve often said, whenever conservatives want to squash an idea, they just drag out the issue of homeless veterans… not to provide homes, obviously, but to use them as a blockade against anything that costs money or benefits someone they deem undesirable. So here we are again:

I saw this posted on Facebook. I’m not sure if it’s a patch or a doormat, with the latter being applicable to the way Republicans figuratively step on veterans to prevent anything beneficial from happening to anyone else.

My usual reaction is that this isn’t a binary equation. There’s no reason the government can‘t do something for both veterans AND asylum seekers. We don't have to decide on one over the other.

Republicans had two years of unrestricted power. If they wanted to do something for veterans, they could have. But what did they do? They passed a massive tax cut for the richest among us and made it permanent. Then they tossed some tax cut scraps to the rest of us, and set it to expire after seven years. And that’s about it. They did diddley-squat for homeless veterans when they had the chance.

And hell, Republicans had to be shamed into supporting health care for veterans and 9/11 first responders last month. Their initial action was to shoot it down as payback for the Democrats having the gall to pass a bill Republicans didn’t like. Then Jon Stewart raised enough of a ruckus about it that they had to turn tail and reverse themselves.

This ties in with the Republican trope of using people’s lives as pieces on a board to play an inhuman game of chess. On one side, homeless veterans; on the other, asylum-seeking immigrants, locked into a perpetually stalemated game that no one ever wins. Except for the rich, who rigged the board in the first place, keeping us moving against each other while they pad their bottom lines.

I guarantee you this. If the Democrats ever proposed something to provide housing to every homeless veteran, (and they should!), Republicans would find a reason to block that too, probably while ranting against handouts and socialism. They’d accuse Democrats of political gamesmanship because they only recognize the games they’ve already fixed.

Here’s another angle on why providing homes for homeless vets would never fly: It would be unfair to the rest of the veterans who already bought their own homes. In fact, we may have already heard this argument a time or two, haven’t we?

Why Can’t We Just Go Straight to Jet Packs?

One of my conservative FB friends posted this on her timeline:

I just wonder where this even comes from. Is there a bloc of people raging against the A/C? I’ve never heard such a thing. I’m pretty sure it’s not coming from the mainstream.

But regardless, this is still another example of the Fossil Fuel industry sowing the seeds of misinformation to be spread by conservatives, to try to stamp out the momentum driving toward electric cars. They always seem to want to point out that it takes energy and possible earthly harm to create machines that reduce or eliminate emissions. And I’ll even concede that point, to an extent.

It takes energy to make both a gas-powered car and an electric one. See, both are on an even footing. But then take a look after the cars are built. One operates far more fuel efficient and the other continues to emit exhaust into the atmosphere and continues to require fuel that has to be pumped from the ground and highly refined, which also carries environmental harm.

Yes, electric cars require electricity, but that can be made with far less damage done to the atmosphere. There’s wind, solar, and even nuclear, that when done properly, are more environmentally friendly than drilling for oil and refining it into gasoline. But that’s the last thing the Fossil Fuel industry wants you to think about. They know they’re on the way out and they’re doing everything in their power to delay that from happening.

America needs to get off its collective ass and make progress with creating renewable energy sources. The tech is there, the conditions are there, we just need the collective will to make it happen.

Taking the News by Storm

I love it when hurricane season brings storms with the same name as people I know. I remember a while back when there was a famous storm with the same name as my ex-wife. I was totally on the lookout for clippings I could send her as the storm-ravaged her home state. But I never found anything compelling… most headlines referenced “Hurricane X” or “Tropical Storm X” rather than just “X Destroys Valuable Beachfront Property.” I was probably better off without it though. I doubt she would have accepted the clippings in the spirit I would have intended.

But this morning, I found a headline that I could use on someone else, so I tagged my cousin with it on FB.

That cracked my shit up as soon as I saw it this morning.

Ian appreciated it and wrote back about something similar his family had done regarding his father:

It’s even funnier because his dad is probably 150 lbs of bone and gristle. He could have had a fine career as a spy because he’d only have to turn sideways to he’d disappear from sight.

Lastly, just because this bluzdude has a birthday coming up this weekend:

Bluz Newz Reviewz for Youz

I love that President Biden has come out publicly for a tax on the Super-Rich. It’s about time. But it’s funny seeing so many of the lunch-pail brigade criticizing the proposal as if it wouldn’t make their own lives so much better. It just shows they’ve been well-trained by their overlords at Fox “News,” who bleat about the plight of those poor, trod-upon billionaires, who are only trying to put bread on their family’s tables, just like you and me. And by “bread,” I mean thick bundles of cash and reams of stock portfolios, possibly tinged with the blood of those who did the work that reaped such benefits for the executives.

Already I see lots of moaning about the terrible unfairness of it all, how these put-upon billionaires would be taxed on earnings they haven’t even realized yet. I say, screw’em. All the better to get some of that cash before they stash it in off-shore accounts.

This is a group that has had so much for so long, they don’t even understand how badly the rest of us get screwed. Or maybe they do but WE don’t. All I know is they can afford to shake some cash down to better the lives of the rest of us poor wretches, slaving away in stores, factories, or god-forsaken open office seating areas. And once they’ve been taxed, they’ll STILL be billionaires, with plenty of dough leftover to fund their next yacht.

And if they still want to complain, my counter-proposal would be to keep the tax structure the same but eliminate all the loopholes they use to pay a lower tax rate than do you or I or the janitors who sweep up their offices after they leave. Just pay the taxes as already directed by the tax code, on the straight up. Then we’ll see how they like the new proposal.

Russia Russia Russia!

Did you see this headline/story?

So this is how they’re going to handle the acts of savagery being brought to light in Ukraine… by putting out absurd lies that no one with half a brain cell believes*.

*Except on Fox “News.”

I wonder if Republicans know that this is how the rest of us look at their ongoing stream of bullshit stories. You know… BLM and Antifa were behind January 6^th, Democrats are Satan-worshipping, child-eating pedophiles, TFG really won the election, tax cuts to the top trickle down to the rest of us, abortion laws are to protect women, recent local election rules were passed to fight election fraud, etc.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that both Russia and the Republicans dissemble information and distract our attention from the truth in the same way. Top Republicans crave the kind of sheer, all-encompassing power wielded by Putin and Kim Jong Un. It’s such an inconvenience to have to pledge fealty to a system of government that sometimes puts them out of power for the flimsiest of reasons, like ““The People” want someone else in charge” or “they totally botched the economy the last time they ran things.” It totally interferes with their siphoning tax dollars into the pockets of those who have the most. The rest of us would just waste it, I guess. Stupid peasants…

Out, Out Damned Twat

Speaking of distractions, did you see the latest verbal excrement from the Colorado half of the famous performance art duo, Heckle and Dyed?

The quick answer is that buying beer or cigs is a decision, whereas sexual orientation is not. And I think most kids know pretty early on regarding where their interests lie. I know that even from my earliest school days, I was interested in holding hands with girls, not boys.

I think that ignoring the signs from your child regarding their orientation would be akin to abuse. Why punish a child for knowing that they’re “different” at an early age? This needs to be an issue between the parent and child, and not the government, least of all some uneducated freshman Representative who’s better versed in attention-whoring than passing legislation.

Knowledge is Knowing That We Know Nothing**

I see a lot of impatience afloat regarding the progress of filing charges against TFG and the rest of the 1/6 Planning Commission. All I’ll say is what I said while the Mueller Report was being assembled: There’s no sense in speculation or even forming opinions because we don’t know jack shit yet. This process has been buttoned up and leak-proof. The wheels are turning slowly and that goes against the grain of our “I Need Answers NOW” culture. If we don’t have the beginning, middle, and end of the story in 42 minutes, plus commercials, we have a collective fit.

Look, you’d like to see TFG get rung up, I’d like to see that too. But they have to tread carefully if they want charges to stick. It will be unprecedented to charge a former US President with such serious crimes. And you know what they say, “If you take a shot at the King, you’d better not miss.” Because if he beats the rap, it will be open season for presidential corruption for the rest of our days. Given what we already DO know, you’d think charges should be obvious. But we don’t know what we don’t know. So there’s no sense in squawking about the lack of progress while we don’t know what progress has been made. So let’s just breathe, huh?

And hope we’re not in for another Mueller-sized swing and miss.

**Most bodacious thanks to So-Crates for the subheading quote.

Happy Birthday…

…last week to one of the great rock guitarists of all time, Angus Young.

Too much “cool” for a single photograph. This was from Keith’s FB page, and said “Happy birthday to the ‘Lil Devil.’”

Angus turned 67 on 3/31. This guy is probably responsible for my ongoing neck and back pain, stemming from the long sessions in my youth I spent imitating Angus’s manic head and knee bobbling at parties, with the AC/DC cranked up. The guy’s a freak of nature and I can’t believe he’s still out there doing it.

And just because everything is better when Samuel L Jackson is involved:

Another Dad Story

OK, not so much a story as a relic. My brother found this while cleaning out my folks’ garage in Florida, the legendary “Bar-Noculars.”

Dad used to use these to get brandy into Cleveland Stadium, among other places, right under the noses of Security.

I’m not sure they would work as well now. I mean, with the giant replay scoreboards, does anyone even bring binoculars to games anymore?  Back in the day, when we used these, the scoreboards only showed stats and stuff. There were no replays to be seen, so you had to pay attention to the actual game. And if you were sitting low in the end zone, like we usually were, you couldn’t tell if a team gained 2 yards or 10, until they posted the down and distance. Binoculars were a must.

I suppose now they’d have to make flasks that look like cell phones.

No Escape

 I’m growing much more pessimistic regarding the invasion of Ukraine ending anytime soon, or without becoming a nightmare of epic proportions. I just don’t see a clear way out, mostly because of Vlad.

He seems to be impervious to outside influence. The stranglehold that’s being put around his country, one that would cripple most leaders, won’t have the effect we’re hoping for, because very simply, he just doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything aside from his personal agenda. No wonder the Republican power players admire him.

He doesn’t care about his people. He’ll tell them what to think and what to do and any dissenters will find themselves in a deep hole in Siberia before they know what happened. He’s already instituted a new law punishing anyone publishing “lies” (meaning the truth) about the military exercise/invasion in Ukraine, so they're not going to know what's really going on, kind of like Fox "News" viewers. Even when he ran for office, I bet his campaign motto was “You’ll get nothing and like it.” The Putin/Smales ticket.

He doesn’t care about civilians in Ukraine; hell, he’s targeting them on a scale like no other military leader in memory. He can’t be shamed with casualty figures because he gives less than a shit about killing women and children.

He doesn’t care what other countries think. All he wants is to be feared. That’s why I don’t see him backing down, ever. This isn’t the kind of guy who’s going to go, “OK, this isn’t working, the cost is too high in lives and rubles. Let’s turn this thing around and go home.”

Basically, he’s Mitch McConnell with an army.

No, he’s in it until he gets something he wants because the one thing he will not do is accept failure or defeat. His ego will not permit it, so it’s full speed ahead. I suppose it’s possible that he just creates an objective that he can obtain and call a win. With his control over the Russian media, he can tell them anything he wants and make them believe it. Like, “I just sent some of our boys out to pick me up some vodka and cigars and they got a little carried away!”

Personally, I think the only way we get out of this is if the Russian mafia has him whacked. He’s stepping on their livelihood and I’m sure that’s not going over well. Of course, Putin knows this too so he’ll be very hard to reach. This is a guy who knows how to be cautious. If you know how to assassinate, you know to prevent being assassinated.

I know there’s a faction that’s clamoring for escalating our military activities, from enforcing a no-fly zone to dropping bombs on Russian troops. I think we need to be verrrrrry careful about that. This is the first time in a long time that we have an enemy that can hit us back on our turf. If we start dropping ordnance on Russian forces, how long before Vlad lights up the west coast? Hell, they’ll no doubt take a shot at Washington DC too. That can easily take Baltimore with it and then goodbye Bluzdude.

Like I said, he doesn’t give a shit about his own civilians if we retaliate, and he cares even less about ours. I’m just saying that the consequences can be devastating, right here within our borders, so no matter how tough we like to sound with our buddies down at the bar, cooler heads need to prevail.

Finances and Stuff

The last few months have been a real learning experience. My father and brother-in-law both passed away suddenly late last year, but left very different circumstances in their wakes. Both handled all of the household finances and bank accounts.

My dad left a considerable trail of breadcrumbs. I already wrote about bringing home his “Go-bag,” containing all their important documents and $22k in cash. He had 2 handwritten pages included, that documented exactly what documents were in the case. He also had a piece of notebook paper on his desk that included (almost) all of his online passwords, plus a few on post-it notes. I know that’s not terribly secure, but it was most useful in trying to work with his accounts and investments. My brother, who works in accounting, was able to put things together fairly quickly.

Sadly, my sister’s husband left no such trail. He had been working on creating a reference for her, but he apparently never finished. She couldn’t even get into his computer or phone. It took a lot of sleuthing from my brother and one of my BIL’s work friends to figure things out and get a bead on how the finances stood.

These scenarios reverberated through our family, particularly with Sweetpea and my brother’s wife. Both were determined not to have such a situation repeat itself. I know my brother and sister-in-law sat down and went over things a few weeks ago.

I had been wanting to do something similar with Sweetpea for ages, pretty much ever since we got married. But it was never a front-burner issue until now.

Back when I was a single apartment-dweller, I got the notion that I’d better leave some similar tracks in case I were to drop dead. Someone would need to know what’s what, so I created a simple Word document that detailed how to get into my phone and computer, how to find my passwords, what kind of accounts I had and where, what I wanted to be done with my stuff, and so forth. I bought an online will, which I completed but never “activated” by getting it witnessed and signed. I posted about all that here.

So all I really needed to do was adjust the document to reflect the needs of my married status and then go over it with Sweetpea. I feel better now, knowing that she knows how to access everything and what to look for. I didn’t want her to ever think I was keeping financial secrets from her. I’d hate for a big chunk of change to end up going to the state, just because no one knew it was there.

The other big issue is the dispensation of “stuff.” Good god, we do collect a lot of stuff, don’t we? My mom and brother were back down in Florida last weekend going through the contents of my parents’ house. You know, what to keep, what to sell, what to donate, etc. Even as scaled back as their place was, there’s still so much stuff!

It doesn’t help that we all collect sports stuff. Dad had a whole curio full of figurines, stadium replicas, framed pictures, autographed balls, etc. My brother and I have similar collections. These things all seem so important to us at one time or another and then, poof. We’re gone and someone has to figure out what to do with all our shit.

My swag shelves. And this doesn’t even include all the Orioles bobbleheads I’ve collected from going to the games. I had to box them up because I ran out of room.

It leads to an internal struggle. On one hand, it’s something that I’ve become a lot more conscious about. I should really take action to try to sell off some of my stuff, while it still holds any kind of value. Even at this point, who would possibly want a Chris Davis bobblehead? (Former Orioles slugger who signed a huge contract and then never hit above .150 again.)

On the other hand, the Mario Lemieux Foundation is advertising another of their charity duffle bag sales, wherein fans can buy Penguins duffle bags filled with bobbleheads, signed pucks, plaques, coolers, and other swag. I’ve bought them before and each time I think, “OK, that’s the last time.” Until I see the next year’s goodies that I just have to have. So it’s a habit I have to break.

Our house is not particularly big. There’s a lot of room in the basement, but as this is the house Sweetpea and her family grew up in, it’s packed with her family’s lifetime of stuff. I have no intention of adding to it. I need to get serious about selling some stuff off.

Does anyone want to buy a Manny Machado bobblehead?

War, Assault Trucks, Inflation, and Justice

Well, it looks like the Dogs of War are barking up a storm. The morning and afternoon news was all about how we now expect Russia to invade and not only engage with the Ukrainian military but move against civilians, especially those who they deem as likely to resist Russian occupation. They’re expecting abductions, assassinations, detentions, and the like. So how’s your 2022 going?

Here’s one angle I haven’t heard covered yet, regarding the reasons for Vlad’s insistence in pursuing this universally decried aggression. I think it could be more election manipulation.

If they can make the US look bad or ineffectual, he knows the right will put the blame squarely on President Biden. Those who don’t follow the details are likely to agree, given the hue and cry they’ll see coming from the Right. Maybe this is a way to get another Russian-friendly stooge in office, to eliminate the largest and most effective source of resistance. Maybe it’s the former stooge again; maybe it’s another devoted MAGA.

They’ve already spent a great deal of time and resources engineering the 2016 election, why not try another tactic? This way he reclaims old Soviet territory and neuters his opponent at the same time, killing two birds with one tank.

Asked and Answered

Answer: Just as soon as there’s no more regulation on trucks regarding their speed, loading limits, driver qualifications, and requirements. I’m sure the NRA can let them borrow some legal language to pursue to convince the courts that driving a truck anywhere at any time is somehow a Constitutional right. If more people start getting killed by trucks, that’s just the price of freedom.

Misplaced Nostalgia

And I could really go for accurate information once in a while. Can conservatives ever make a catchy meme that isn’t skewed, invalid, or just plain wrong?

·        Gas was $1.87 because there was a pandemic sweeping the nation and people staying home and not driving. It was simple supply and demand. The demand was torpedoed. When that happens, prices fall. Is it really worth hundreds of thousands of deaths so that you can have cheap gas?

·        Inflation comes with the cost of a recovering economy. And it wouldn’t be nearly this bad if corporate America wasn’t vested in keeping things expensive. All the large corporations are posting record profits, all the while raising prices due to “inflation.” Inflation of their bonuses, maybe. (And I think this is also a backdoor way of getting more Republicans elected. If the 1% can keep the “inflation” talk coming, they’ll see some more sympathetic congressmen elected this fall and maybe a president further down the road. They know Democrats have a target on their massive profits to target for taxes, you know, so the lower and middle classes might enjoy a slight respite from carrying the country’s financial load for the last 20 years.

·        I think the panic about empty shelves is overblown. I’ve been out shopping several times in the last months and there have been no bare shelves to be seen. Occasionally a store is out of one thing or another, but that’s no different than any time prior. Maybe Baltimore is just an oasis in the vast food desert but I doubt it. It’s supposed to be a pit of death and destruction, isn’t it? That’s what Tucker keeps saying. Yet our shelves are full. This is another Republican gambit to maintain the image of general mayhem and catastrophe, to use for electioneering.

·        Fuck your alibis for “mean tweets.” This is coming from people who want to change history because it might make little white kids sad. Presidents are supposed to model uplifting behavior, not sling slurs at people they deem “less than,” for whatever reason. The party of “Fuck Your Feelings” is only talking about other people’s feelings, not their own. Those are sacrosanct.

Lock Them Up

The heat is really getting turned up on The Former Family (TFF). Now he’s trying to pull the same shit he used to with the Mueller investigation back then and that Maryland’s State Prosecutor is right now, which is claiming innocence because the prosecutors have an agenda. I’ll say again, if you don’t commit a crime or cheat on loans, land deals, and taxes, there’s nothing to find. But they have reams of evidence on paper. They have all the proof they need right now. I can only suppose they’re not charging yet because there’s still so much more to add to it.

Of course, none of this makes a difference to the MAGA crowd. It’s only a crime when a Democrat does it, especially Hillary.

They’re all for locking their political opponents up or even giving them the death penalty but expect their people to get away with anything and everything. They storm the Capitol, kill and injure cops, destroy the facilities, and they’re all martyrs because they were held accountable.

Modern conservatives literally stand for nothing, except “Me first.”

Bite This

The Olympics has finally come to an end. I, for one, enjoyed watching. I think the winter games seem so exotic. I’d tell you what I think about them but I basically said everything in 2018 that I would say now. But I’ll repeat one part because it still pisses me off.

“One thing that always bugs me: the way photographers badger gold medal winners into posing while biting their medal. Can we please stop this? It's as pointless as it is trite. These aren't 1800s gold prospectors, they're elite athletes. And curlers. If I was a gold medalist, I'd shut that shit down in a hurry. They'd be like, "Hey, bite the medal." And I'd be like, "Hey, bite my ass, you no-talent hack! Why don't you go somewhere and grow an original thought?

More Dad Stories

For some reason, my dad had a thing about wearing glasses. Granted, for most of his life, he didn’t need them. He was proud of his eagle-eyed vision. But age takes no prisoners. Once he hit his 70s, it was obvious to all that he needed glasses. He’d always say his eyesight was fine, he just had a problem in dim light. But he wouldn’t wear glasses then either.

Eventually, I hear, he lowered himself to wearing non-prescription “cheaters,” from the drug store. But never in front of anyone but Mom.

All that was fine and good, but when it’s time to renew one’s driver’s license, it gets real. But Dad found a way to weasel out of that too. When it was his turn to go for the eye test, he just repeated the series of letters he heard the guy in front of him say. Worked like a charm.

How he managed that with his bad hearing is still a mystery.