Drugs, Pugs, Jugs, and Thugs

I’ve been out of the loop a bit for the past couple of weeks, (busy kicking COVID’s ass), so I’ve got some catching up to do on the matters of rivers and streams… in other words, current events.

That was some good news about Biden’s drug negotiations with Medicare kicking in, wasn’t it? Well, unless you’re among 99.9% of the country that’s not an executive with a Big Pharma company. They don’t like this at all because, well, they can’t tell you. But they mean “profits.”

From my friends at Crooks & Liars:

They should look up the meaning of “short term,” huh? Also, I’d like for someone to tell me how “what is best for patients” to pay several hundreds of dollars a month for maintenance drugs when the rest of the world pays a pittance? I’m sure a flak at PhRMA would tell you it’s so they continue to innovate and come up with new drugs, but I call bullshit. Do you really think they’re going to stop inventing drugs (and the syndromes their drugs are supposed to treat), fold up shop, and go home? Of course they’re going to continue to come up with more ways to leach us dry, just like they do every other time a new drug becomes eligible to go generic. As long as we have a for-profit medical system, drug companies will continue to invent ailments and the treatments to fix them.

I was happy to see Xarelto on the list, because that’s a blood thinner I should be taking (per one of my heart doctors), but costs over $300 for a month’s supply. I can almost see it, as a one-shot deal, but blood thinners are often maintenance drugs one has to take over a lifetime, especially after dealing with strokes or heart issues like atrial fibrillation. So any help in that arena should be applauded.

The fact that during the GWB administration, the Republicans actually supported and passed a rule forbidding Medicare to even negotiate on drug prices goes to show you how deeply they are in the pockets of Big Pharma. And they continue to fight about it today!

This is yet another block in the wall of evidence showing why the Republican Party is not on your side.

***

Moving on…

I’d call Mitch unfit for office too, but there are dozens of reasons more pressing than his freezing up again. The less he says, the better off the country, as far as I’m concerned. But of course, MT Greene had to insert herself into the mix because she couldn’t bear the spotlight not being on her for 15 seconds. Maybe Mitch ought to remind her of the famous quote, “It’s better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt.” That’s one she could take to heart, if she had one.

And speaking of this half of the performance art group “Heckle and Dyed,” didn’t Lauren Boebert get herself into some shit this weekend? It cracked me up because it went through the usual alibi cycle: “No, I did NOT do that. People say they saw me do it? Nah, they’re just liberal snowflakes. I absolutely didn’t do it. You have video of me doing it? All right, I did it, but it’s OK because I’m allowed. Don’t you know who I am?”

I saw the video and it quite clearly shows her A) vaping, and B) getting herself felt up like she was re-enacting in “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights.” The video had everything but an old car horn sound effect going “AHH-OOOOH-GA!” I didn’t see her grabbing any peen, but that area was a little darker than the rest and I couldn’t really tell. The dude had a smile on his face though, so probably.

The thing is, I don’t really care about any of that. It just shows she’s crass, entitled, and a liar, but that’s not something that wasn’t apparent before. Yes, she’s a terrible Representative, but that’s based on her stated beliefs, and, well, I was going to say “actions,” but she hasn’t really taken any that’s had an effect.

The ire-raising part of all this to me is that she’s one of the cultural warriors of the Right, putting forth all these rules that her opponents need to follow or be castigated, and she and her cabal of “friends,” do not.

The best response I’ve seen so far is this:

As I recall, AOC was smeared after a video surfaced of her dancing on a rooftop, before she was elected. Just… dancing, like that’s some kind of problem. Has the GOP turned into the townspeople from Footloose? I guess we have to send Kevin Bacon in there to lay some applicable Bible verses on them. I don’t think there’s anything in there about going to second base in a crowded theater though…

***

Here’s another reminder that we cannot let TFG, nor any of his MAGAts, be elected President, or we’re looking at the end of the Republic. This is the kind of “king” shit that our forefathers expressly wrote out of our Constitution.

TFG wants you to believe he was just going along, minding his own business, all legal-like, when the big bad Democrats decided to go after him. So he has every right to jail his opposition and replace anyone in the entire government who doesn’t pledge allegiance to him.

The fact that there are mountains of evidence that guided every decision to prosecute is beside the point. And that point is that he thinks he has every right to do whatever he wants because he’s White and he (allegedly) has money.

Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t. Or at least he shouldn’t. We still don’t know the level at which he’s stacked the deck.

***

Congratulations to the Baltimore Orioles, for clinching a playoff berth! I was there in 2014 when they clinched a spot, and it was really exciting. At least at first… I ended up having to leave the park in distress… abdominal distress, so much so that I almost left a trail around the stadium concourse. And then, a month later, at an AL Championship game, it happened again. This time, it took on a Sci-Fi feel.

I only mention the Orioles here because recently, when I was watching a game, I came across a guy with a really unfortunate name.

Yes, the White Sox have a pitcher whose name is Bummer. And it sounds just like you’d think. In a post from last summer, I mentioned that the Orioles have a guy named “Santander,” but rather than pronouncing it “San-TAN-der,” it’s pronounced “Sahn-tahn-DARE.” If this Bummer guy wasn’t able to change his name, (he may have come from a long line of Bummers,) he could at least play with the pronunciation. Like, “No really, my name is pronounced, “Boo-MAIR.”

And it wouldn’t even take any paperwork unless he went whole hog and put an umlaut over the U.

And one last note on fandom…

I hate it when my team plays on Monday night. I guess I made myself forget about it this weekend because I was sitting there on Sunday, all dressed for the game in my best mojo-producing gear… game jersey, team shorts, team socks, and a T-shirt that said “Cleveland Never Rocked.” And then came the realization that they weren’t playing until the next night, so I had to get up and change again. No sense wasting good mojo when your team isn’t even playing.

And last week, my guys got their butts kicked soundly, but I was able to find a bright side. Earlier that morning, I forgot to snap down the clipper guard over the blades of my beard trimmer and accidentally took a notch out of my beard, just below the ear.

The good news is that if my team had won that day, I’d then be obligated to keep taking notches out every week until they lost (and I couldn’t blame it on the jersey I was wearing.) I take my team mojo obligations seriously.

Seven Alternate Uses for a Ravens Jersey

I’ve been sitting on this post since September and it’s finally time to let it out.

The Steelers/Ravens game was Christmas afternoon, so I watched it over at my brother’s house.  It was quite dramatic the way it ended.  The Steelers’ QB drove the team 75 yards in just over a minute to score the game-winning touchdown, with Antonio Brown reaching the ball over the goal line with nine seconds remaining.

The Immaculate Extension

Throughout that whole last drive, neither my brother, nephews nor I were sitting down.  We all just kind of stood around TV alternately pacing and wringing our hands.  I’m pretty sure the neighbors heard us when the Steelers finally scored.  I know we scared the shit out of the cats…

Now that the Steelers have beaten the hated rival Ratbirds and knocked them out of playoff contention, I needn’t worry about upsetting the Mojo Gods with this post.  I mean, if they lose against Cleveland next week, it’s OK because they’re locked into the third seed, regardless of the outcome.  And then if we lose in the playoffs, well at least we still stomped on the Ratbirds’ dreams.  I can live with that.

So the point of the post?

As you may know, I give those Chinese jersey sweatshops a lot of business.  I order baseball, football and hockey jerseys from them on the regular, so my friends down at the sports bar are always asking me where I get them.  Over the summer, two of my bar friends asked me to get particular jerseys for them the next time I placed an order.  One wanted a Washington Capitals hockey jersey; the other wanted a Ravens jersey. 

In August, I figured out what I wanted to add to my collection this year, (White Bud Dupree Steelers jersey and a Geno Malkin “new” white Penguins throwback jersey) and sent the order off, hoping to get it back in time for football’s opening weekend.

Well, the good news was that the order came in on time and the hockey jerseys were fine.  The bad news is that the jersey I got said “White” on the back, instead of Dupree.  Also, the Ravens jersey came in a youth large instead of a men’s large.  Mine, I wasn’t worried about; I’d have time to get that fixed.  But I felt pretty bad about the delay with my friend’s jersey.

Dealing with these overseas people can be troublesome.  They were willing to replace the Dupree jersey without issue, but they wanted me to send them another $10 to keep the youth jersey and then send me the correct one.

I was like, “You want me to send you MORE money to fix a mistake that YOU made?”  But they were adamant about it.  I might have continued the fight but I needed their help more than they needed me, and I was already into them for about $200.  I felt I had to do what I could to make sure I ended up with the goods I needed.

So eventually both replacement jerseys arrived and all was well.  And that’s how I came to have a Ratbird jersey in my place for a month… this being a house that’s so averse to Raven colors, I wouldn’t let Pinky even have purple towels for her bathroom.

It was unsettling, but it made me think: What would be the best way to put this jersey to some use?  And that, my friend, is the “real” subject of this post.  So I give you, without further delay:

Seven Alternate Uses for a Ratbird Jersey

 #1 Dishrag, for after you’ve eaten the Ratbirds’ lunch.

#2 Dust rag, for wiping down your Steelers collectible figurines.

#3 Shoe shine buffing rag.  Also good for removing clumps of turf from cleats and facemasks.

#4 Doormat, perfect for wiping the road grime and assorted debris from your shoes.

#5 Car cleaning rag.  Wax onside, wax offside.

#6 Toilet bowl scrubber.  Perfect for wiping the rim, or scraping off the cling-ons.

#7 Heavy-duty toilet paper for cleaning out the old end zone.

Am I missing anything?

Director’s DVD Commentary: No jerseys were actually harmed during the creation of this post.  In fact, I gave the jersey to my nephew Sammy, to give to one of his friends.  (Although I should have had Sam charge the kid $10, to recoup my loss.)

This will likely be my last post of 2016 so please have a happy New Year and a tremendous 2017.  And RIP Carrie Fisher.  No one will ever rock those cinnamon bun hairpieces like you.

Double Stuff Orioles

I know you’d think that I’d write about the big First Presidential Debate tonight, but for one, it’s tonight and I’m writing a post now.  I’d rather see it first before commenting.  The other thing is that I got to do something this weekend that I’ve always wanted to do.

No, I didn’t get to throw out another First Pitch.  I’m pretty sure I only get one of those per lifetime.  It was actually a much humbler goal.

Now, I’ve known I was going to the Orioles game on Saturday since before the season started. The Arizona Diamondbacks were coming to town and they were the last MLB team that I haven’t seen play in person.  Figures that they’d be here for the last home series of the year.

In addition, they were having a good giveaway that day: an Orioles hoodie.  But not wanting to take chances with unpredictable weather, I waited until last week to actually buy a ticket.  Found an “orphan” in the first row of the upper deck, looking down the 1^st baseline.

Then on Thursday, Sitcom Kelly let me know she got her mom’s company seats for the Sunday game.  I hate to pass up a chance to sit in the Mom Seats, so I figured I’d do a back-to-back, to finish out the year.

But then I remembered that this was the perfect situation that I’d been looking for all year.  I’d been looking for an opportunity to see back-to-back weekend games and stay downtown at a hotel in between.  I never seemed to find the right set of circumstances throughout the year, and then BAM, it drops in out of the blue in the last series.

So I promptly booked myself a room at the Eyesore Hilton, right across the street from the ballpark.

Director’s DVD Commentary: That’s how I refer to this particular hotel because before they built it, there was a very nice view of downtown Baltimore, from the stadium.  Now the only thing the entire 1^st base side of the stands can see is that damned hotel.

I figured it would be a nice change of pace from taking the subway home after the game (only to return the next morning).  Plus, I could use some of the credit card points I’ve been stockpiling, so it wouldn’t be much more of an expense than if I’d come home. 

So I checked in around 4:00 on Saturday and got my room. 

That orange jersey is one I bought new at the beginning of the year, but this was my first chance to wear it.  I usually match what the O’s wear and they only wear orange on Saturdays.  I’d only been to a couple Saturday games this year and they were in late July and August when it was too damned hot to wear a jersey.

In addition to just the room, I chose the option that provided a breakfast buffet for Sunday morning.  So I was surprised to see that they gave me a card for two breakfasts.  Damn, now I have an option for if I get lucky in the hotel bar after the game.

“Come with me, honey, and I’ll buy you breakfast…” 

Yeah, right.  Instead, I texted Sitcom Kelly and asked if she wanted to meet me a little earlier, for breakfast.  She accepted, citing her love of free stuff.

Around 4:15, I headed over to my usual pre-game stop, The Bullpen.  On my way, I could see that the front entrance was jammed with people lining up early for the hoodie giveaway.  They wouldn’t even open the gates for another 45 minutes.

Was pretty bad over at the side entrance too, which was visible from my perch at The Bullpen.  So I had to choose between a giveaway hoodie and a couple hours of drinking cheap beer.  It wasn’t exactly “Sophie’s Choice.”

This was going to be the last times I’d see my regular bartenders until next spring, so before leaving (on Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday), I’d tell them as I paid my tab, “You know, everybody says this to military guys but no one ever says it to bartenders and I think they should, so let me just say, Thank you for your Service.”

The line outside the ballpark started to die down around six-ish, so dismounted my barstool and headed over.  Lo and behold, I got a hoodie after all.  There weren’t many left; they were working on the end of one box and had only one more box left.  So, SCORE!

It got chilly by the end of the night, so the hoodie came in handy.

So yeah, I finally get to see Arizona play, and whaddya know?  You can hardly see them play.  Look at these uniforms:

Not really liking the gray over gray.  They looked like they’re in their jammies.

I spent most of the night talking with a couple from Los Angeles, who were on a stadium tour.  Had been to Boston and Philly, and was going to The Burgh the next day.  It’s fun hearing outsiders’ opinions of the place, and I got to play ambassador.  Makes me feel somewhat useful.

After the game, I made for the bar at the Hilton, but it wasn’t the experience I’d hoped for.  There were plenty of people, but most were grouped up and talking among themselves.  The only way to break in would be just to dive right in and join the conversation, but that’s just not me.  Nor is paying 8 bucks for a 12-oz beer.

But I had a fallback plan:

I brought my own hootch.

This is practically a family heirloom.  It’s one from a set of three flasks, which we used to use back in The Day, to sneak booze into Cleveland Stadium for the Steelers/Browns game.  One year I killed this whole flask full of brandy, by myself.  I don't remember much of the day after that.

Being older and wiser now, I just poured myself a nightcap and watched a little college football before bed.  Alone.  Sure had a lot of room, though!

Sunday morning, I met Sitcom Kelly downstairs for breakfast around 10.  It was a really nice buffet, which included an omelet station.  I love those! But we had to be careful; we couldn’t get too full for beer.

After breakfast, we eased back over to the Bullpen, to commence our final Cheap Ass Beer session of the season.  Sunday’s Orioles giveaway was an O’s flag hat.  This is one I’d have passed on, but they were for all fans in attendance; there was no escaping the ugly.

The Oriole Bird just doesn’t coexist peacefully with the schizophrenia of the Maryland Flag.

But the Mom Seats were great. 

Featuring the Eyesore Hilton in centerfield.

It dawned on me that, once I took a couple of game pics, we’ve never sat there for a day game before.  The sunlight allowed me to get much better action pics. Like this”

And this:

Usually the relatively low lighting gives the ball a tail, coming in.

The other thing I learned, this weekend, is that Arizona has some serious names on their ballplayers.  Saturday night, they substituted in a guy named Socrates Brito.  All I could think about was:

So-crates, the bodacious philosophizer.

Director’s DVD Commentary:

“True knowledge is knowing that you know nothing.”

“Dude, that’s US!”

Then I looked at the rest of the first names:

They got Welington, Yasmani, Socrates, and Tuffy.  Tuffy Gosewisch. Seriously.

The night before, they pitched a guy named Silvino.  Now that’s a diverse group of dudes.  Contrast that with the Orioles lineup:

These names look like the whitest fraternity on campus.  (Although Manny could be the old guy who runs the deli.)

We only stayed through the 6^th inning, because I wanted to get back to my other bar, to see the Steelers/Eagles game at 4:30.  Probably should have stayed at the baseball game, though, because the Steelers got their asses handed to them.

I’ll have to make a note of that for next year… no combining baseball and football!  But that wraps up my Orioles season.  I went to 26 games this year, which is a new personal record.  I saw all but three teams that came to town.  I missed the Rangers because I was in Ohio that week, the Indians because it was in the upper 90s that weekend, and the Yankees because, well, eff the Yankees.  (Although I did see them later in the season.)

Now I’m just going to have to settle for football.

But don’t worry about me.  I’ll survive.

Odd Bits - The Sweatshop Edition

If you’ve been around here long, you know I have a thing for game jerseys.  I religiously track my jersey-wearing as it relates to my team’s won/lost record as I try to determine the best mojo.  Because it wouldn’t be much of a challenge if I only had one or two jerseys to choose from, I tend to have a steady influx of new jerseys to try out.

And because I am not filthy rich, I can’t afford to spend $300 a pop on sports jerseys, so I usually go through one of those “cheap jersey” websites, featuring unlicensed wares from the finest sweatshops of the Far East.

As I’ve documented before, it’s hit and miss as far as the quality goes.  But you have to know that going in.  That’s why they’re not $300.

So periodically, when I’m down at the sports bar, a friend or acquaintance will ask me where I get my jerseys, and when I tell them, they ask if I can get one for them.  I’m usually happy to help, as long as I know how to find them when the bill is due.  But I’m happy to front the money via credit card, and reap the points.

At the end of the last football season, I had a couple people ask me to get them a jersey.  I said I’d probably do my next order in the fall, right before the new football and hockey seasons start.  One guy wanted a Washington Capitals hockey jersey and another guy wanted a Ravens jersey.

Now, normally I’d want nothing to do with outfitting more purple maniacs, but they’ve made me feel at home at this particular bar and I felt it best to be helpful and appreciative, so I agreed.  I placed the order a couple weeks ago and included a couple of things for myself.

The jerseys came in this week and the first one I saw was a problem.  I’d ordered a white #48 Bud Dupree jersey for myself and while the “48” part was fine, it was another detail that was amiss.

The guy’s name is Dupree, not White.

Well, there’s nothing I can do with this jersey, short of taking it to a sports apparel place and having a new name or number put on it, which would cost more than the jersey did in the first place.  But I certainly can’t wear it like that.  Who knows what kind of mojo disturbance such a thing could cause?

I kept going through the jerseys… the two hockey jerseys were OK, then I got to the Ravens jersey.  Name and number were fine, but they sent me a Youth Large instead of a Men’s Large.

(Flacco pic)

Very few “Youths” hang out with me at the sports bar.

So now I had to start emailing with the sweatshop people, which is aggravating.  You know how American retailers almost always correct their own mistakes?  Not so much with these guys.  Their solution was for me to send them another $10 and keep the Youth jersey, and they’d send me replacements.

I lobbied for them to send me a pre-paid return sticker but that didn’t go over too well.  Ultimately, I really didn’t have much choice.  I was already into them for about $160 and only got half the jerseys I needed. They just better make sure they send the right ones this time.  I can live with shoddy stitching or an off-center patch, but the name and size have to be right.

***

Back in the 90s, while spending a long weekend in New York City, I went to the Warner Brothers store, where I picked up a Bugs Bunny drink stirrer.  The stirrer was glass, with a gold Bugs head on top.  I loved that thing and used it all the time.

Shortly after moving to Baltimore, it broke.  Bugs’ head came off.  I blame gang violence.  Rabbit lives matter.

Flash forward about 15 years and I find myself making more drinks that I need to stir, and wishing I still had my Bugs stirrer.  Lately, I’ve taken to putting a couple of maraschino cherries in my whiskey on the rocks, with a splash of the juice.  My Grandpa D used to give us kids maraschinos in our “drinks,” and I kind of missed them.  So now I add the cherries to honor my Grandpa (and because they’re yummy.)  There were two “C’s” in his family name, so I add two cherries.

A nice stirrer would come in handy because I was getting tired of using my finger.  I mean what if I had guests over for drinks?  I only have so many fingers.

You can see how my V&T needs a good stirring, to diffuse the cherry juice at the bottom.  My finger is just not long enough.

In a long overdue moment of clarity, I decided to find another Bug Bunny stirrer online. I checked Amazon, E-Bay, whatever, but I couldn’t find one.  I found a few pictures where I thought I had a match, but they were for items that had already been sold.

Anyway, I figured if I couldn’t find Bugs, I’d see what else there was.  I couldn’t find anything else quite as kitschy, but I did find a nice set with red glass shapes on top.  I have a lot of red in my kitchen so I think they’ll be nice.

Because I’ll want them nearby when I’m at my drink-making station, I thought I’d put them in a small decorative vase.  Only problem was that they went almost all the way into the vase and didn’t look very decorative at all.

I solved that problem by ordering a package of glossy red rocks to put in the bottom of the vase.  (I actually wanted glass pebbles or marbles, but couldn’t find a package of less than a pound, and I only needed so many.)

It’s weird… I don’t know if these are the actions of a grownup or a bored housewife (or househusband).  Next thing you know, I’ll be trolling through Etsy, looking for matching stemware.

LATE UPDATE: Here's the finished product:

Eat your heart out, Martha Stewart.

***

I’ve been going to an awful lot of Orioles games this summer, I just haven’t been writing about them here.  Been to 23 so far, which is a new personal record.  But last Friday I saw the best game of the year and I have to tell you about it.

I had seats in the 3^rd row, just past 1^st base, which was a good spot from which to take pictures, so I brought the good camera. (Instead of just using the phone.)

Right off the bat, the Orioles gave up two 2-run homers in the first two innings, go fall behind 4-0.  Solo homers by Pedro Alvarez and Chris Davis made it 4-2 midway through the game.

Crush Davis crosses the plate after bombing one.

Seventh inning, O’s load the bases and first-year Korean player Hyun Soo Kim crushes one over the centerfield wall.  Unfortunately, the center fielder leaped up two feet over the top of the wall to knock it back into play.  Instead of a grand slam, only one run scored.  But still, the place was rockin’.

The comeback continued into the 8^th inning when the O’s scratched out two more runs to take the lead.  Top of the 9^th, they sent in the closer, Zach Britton, who has not blown a save all year.  He got an out and then gave up a fly ball to deep right.  It was caught on the warning track, but not before giving a heart attack to the hometown crowd.

With two outs, the next batter hit a grounder up the middle, but before the second baseman could make a play on it, the ball ricocheted off the base, putting the tying run on first.  Next batter laces a shot into the left field corner.

The outfielder hit the cutoff man with the throw, who then spun and threw the runner out at the plate.  Game over.

It was one hell of a ride and a great ending.  Plus, I got these socks.

My only problem is I can’t decide whether I should wear these with my charcoal suit or the gray one.  You can wear argyle with pinstripes, right?

More Quick Hits and Odd Bits

Hey Bluz, what do you think about…

…the boycott of North Carolina?  National politics gets an awful lot of attention but the real news is happening at the local level.  Once you have one-party rule between a governor and state representative bodies, just about anything can get put into law.

That’s what happened with this mess in North Carolina, where the legislature borrowed language from a conservative website (specializing in creating legal language for use in bills), rammed it through the legislature in a single day and had the governor sign it the next day.

This wildfire process was executed because the city of Charlotte dared to pass their own “equal protections” law, which included discrimination shields for sexual orientation and gender identification.  The state law contained a whole slew of rollbacks, including the infamous “bathroom of your biological origin” edict.  It also banned municipalities from instituting their own protections, banned people for suing the state over the issue, and just for shits and giggles, prevented any municipality from raising its minimum wage.

Because the country has progressed so far in accepting the existence of gays and transgenders, (especially among the young, money-spending generations), businesses have stepped up to the plate to take direct actions in sanctioning the state.

PayPal and Deutsche Bank abandoned plans to build facilities there.  CEOs of more than 80 corporations signed a letter condemning the law and hinted at taking further action.  Several music acts have cancelled shows, including Bruce Springsteen, and Ringo Starr.

In response, the governor issued an “executive order,” which he claimed addressed the concerns of those opposed to the law.  Unfortunately, the executive order doesn’t really do anything to change the conditions on the ground or in the bathrooms.

I really don’t get this whole bathroom thing. Why are conservatives so obsessed over who’s in the bathroom?  They claim it’s all about safety, but that’s about as valid as their claim that their Voter ID laws are all about stopping voter fraud.

It seems to me they’re running in a blind panic over the prospect that there are people out there who they don’t understand in the least, and who might have to pee.  Like with the “voter fraud” issue, they’re putting out draconian laws designed to prevent a problem that’s not really a problem.

Show me one headline about some guy dressed like a girl, camping out in the bathroom with the intent to harm or perv on the other bathroom users.  You can’t.  It’s a solution in search of a problem, which just happens (coincidentally!) to go hand in hand with a Bible Belt government trying merge church and state... and making sure gays don't get too big for their britches.

You think a trans guy dressed as a woman is going to feel safe in the men's room?  I'm sure that's part of the plan too... GOP Trans Therapy!  By getting their asses kicked in men's rooms, someone just might knock some sense into them.

Maybe cooler heads will prevail in North Carolina when enough economic pressure is brought to bear, but I doubt it.  You can’t pressure ideologues. 

Just look at Kansas.  Their entire state is falling apart due directly to unchallenged Republican leadership instituting Republican tax and budget policies.  Within a year of said changes, they have a huge deficit and no money for education or infrastructure.  But have they reversed course?  Absolutely not.  Have you ever heard a Republican admit a mistake?  You think there’s any possible way they’ll admit that top-side, trickle-down economics works for anyone but the top side?

I just wonder what’s going to happen in Mississippi.  They passed a law similar to North Carolina’s, but as far as I can see, there’s nowhere near the same corporate disincentive effort going on.  I suspect it’s because there aren’t that many businesses looking to move into Mississippi in the first place. 

…Axl Rose joining AC/DC to finish off their current tour?  I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this.  I mean, Axl Rose is a great lead singer… for Guns & Roses.  I heard a clip on the radio this morning, of Angus Young joining G&R on stage at Coachella over the weekend, to play “Whole Lotta Rosie.”  Axl sounded great.  But he’s a head case.

AC/DC is known for soldiering on under any circumstances.  They show up, they play their asses off, rock your world, and move on to the next town.  They’re professionals.

Guns & Roses history has been littered with inconsistency and unreliability, mostly due to their temperamental lead singer.  If you have tickets to a G&R show, you never know when (or if) it’s going to start.  You’re lucky if it’s only an hour or so late.

I was kind of hoping they’d find some guy in an AC/DC tribute band and give him the gig.  Maybe they could have gotten two… one to do the Bon Scott songs and one to do Brian Johnson's. 

…the Fart Barrier?  Last month, I saw this article online, which trumpeted the headline: “Here’s When it’s OK to Start Openly Farting in a Relationship.” 

I was probably overly optimistic that it would prove in any way useful, but I couldn’t pass up that kind of click-bait.  Turned out to be a small survey (only 129 responses), which showed a whole myriad of opinions.

Two descriptions are missing: Red 7% wedge at the top- “I will never, ever fart in front of a significant Other.” Purple 8.5% wedge- “Other.”

My answer would probably be to wait to see how my significant other handles it.  I’ve had a variety of scenarios in the past.  One would fart any time she felt the need, to the point where we’d be sitting on the couch and I’d have to say, “Hon, would you please point that thing the other way?  I can feel the lesions forming on my lungs.”

Another basically denied she even had a digestive system of any kind, so any acknowledgement to the contrary was met with a withering stare.  As far as she was concerned, her asshole was there merely for ornamental purposes.  (And no, I don’t mean ME!)

Anyway, I don’t have anything much to say on the subject… I just can’t believe that someone actually put forth the effort into a fart survey.  I think it probably started as a bar argument and blasted out from there.

…the Light City show you saw getting set up when you were showing Kernut around the Harbor?  Right, as we were walking around the Harbor back in late March, we saw the set-up in progress for a big light show extravaganza.  So when the exhibition opened that week, Sitcom Kelly and I had a happy hour and then took a walk down through the exhibits to see what we could see.

The verdict?  Some things were really cool, others were kind of ‘meh.’  I think the bottom line was that there should have been more things to see.  Or maybe we just didn’t go far enough, because it was crowded and kind of cold out.  But here are a couple of the cool things we saw:

This was my favorite.

We saw these being set up on Saturday and they were all white in the daylight.  At night, they changed colors throughout.

Old Glory, via little boats.

This was the 7-Foot Knoll Lighthouse that Kernut was so keen to see, with sheets of lights hung from it, which functioned like a scoreboard light display.

This was Sitcom Kelly’s favorite exhibit.

…the Penguins’ Stanley Cup run?  I’ll spare you the dedicated jersey mojo post this year because there was a game changer. 

Ever since I got these two jerseys in March, the Penguins went 13-2 when I was wearing them.  The black Malkin was 6-1 and the white Ron Francis was 7-1, with the loss coming in the last game, played with 6 starters missing.  I’m obviously going to work these two jerseys throughout the playoffs, assuming they survive the Rangers series (which is tied 1-1)

But it was a strange season, mojo-wise.  My main “away” jersey, a white Sidney Crosby, was 0-8.  The only reason I kept going back to it was because my only other current white jersey belongs to a player who’s gone.

I also spent 20 games wearing no jersey at all.  Granted, most of those were late-starting, west coast games, but there was a number of games where I just didn’t feel like getting up to change, or I wasn’t at home.  Or I was watching something more compelling on network TV.  Turned out the Pens went 10-10 when I wasn’t wearing a jersey.  Dressing neutrally ensured a neutral result.  Huh. 

That’s science right there.

Ten Rules of Game Day Mojo

As a duly accredited Doctor of Mojo Arts, from the esteemed Jobu School of Mystic Juju, I put forth the following position paper on the practice of sports mojo.

I define “mojo” as the force that binds a team and its fans together.  It is the collective will of thousands of people, practicing their own rites and rituals, which provide an atmosphere of support and good will.  Good mojo can mean the difference between a successful play and disaster, and even the difference between winning and losing.  Or a field goal attempt hitting the goalpost, and either bouncing in or out from between the uprights.

Even professional athletes can falter when subjected to the best mojo practices.  What is commonly labeled as “the yips” may actually be a reaction to a stadium (or country) full of people engaged in the mojo arts.

The following are some general principles, honed under the most rigorous tracking, trial and error.  (Yes, we use Science and stuff, here at the Jobu School of Mystic Juju.)

1.  When wearing a game jersey, your first choice should be to as closely as possible, match whichever jersey your team is wearing.  If they lose, check for other variables.  Maybe you need a different hat or other accessory.

2.  Wearing the jersey of a current player is stronger mojo than that of a former player.  Jerseys of legendary players can also be powerful under the right circumstances. (Like if that player ever had a particularly good game against that opponent.)

3.  If you only have one jersey option, you’ll have to go by trial and error throughout the season.  Team t-shirts are an alternative strategy.

4.  You may want to consider what you wear earlier in the day, or on the last business day before the game, as a secondary mojo opportunity.  But you should take care not to wear the same gear as you intend to wear during the game.  Game gear should stand alone.

5.  Tchotchkes can be another secondary means of exercising good mojo.  These include team gnomes, ornaments, accessories, jewelry, etc.

6.  If your team has one predominant tchotchke, like a “Terrible Towel,” for example, that can be a powerful item.  For maximum effect, try varying the placement.  Start with it on your right knee, logo facing the action.  If this proves unsatisfactory, try the other knee during the next game.  Or display it nearby, hang it from your belt, wear it on your head...  Whatever works.

Note: Changing mojo strategies during the game almost never works, so don’t bother changing jerseys, sitting arrangements, or towel draping while the game is still on.  Wait until the next game to enact any changes.

7.  Never wear team championship apparel as outerwear, especially during the game.  In fact, never wear any championship gear at all, on game day.  To do so is to directly dare the mojo gods to smite your team.  The mojo gods hate presumption and expectation of a win.  One should remain humble before the mojo gods at all times. 

Don’t mess with Jobu’s rum, either.  Is very bad.

8.  Also, never speak of the anticipation or assumption of a win.  And during the playoffs, never, ever express a desire for one opponent over another.  The mojo gods will often grant your wish of a desired opponent, who will then smite your team’s ass all over the field (or rink, diamond or court).  Similarly, gloating after a win tempts the same fate.

9.  Mojo resets at the end of every season, so if something was bad luck one year, you can try it again the next.  However, if something proves to be bad mojo over multiple years, it’s a good idea to retire it.  Like this item:

My team never won a game, ever, while I was wearing these pants.  Although that might have been more due to the gods of fashion, rather than the gods of mojo.

10.  This is the most important rule of all: good Mojo is whatever you believe it is.  For example, if you believe not washing your game socks is good mojo, then it is.  Personally, believe I shouldn’t be stinky, so I wash all my game gear as needed.  This also means that you may go against every rule listed above and still come out mojologically sound.  Consider these rules as starting points for your own personal mojourney.

Here's the Wind-up...

OK, so I was working off-site last Thursday, numbering and photographing framed art at our old building, when my cell phone went off.  When I looked at it, it said I’d missed a call from Robin, my boss.  Then the Facetime app went off, which was weird.

When I answered, I could see Robin and another co-worker grinning up from the screen.  Robin said she had some good news.  Instantly, I figured it was something job-related, like I’ll get to keep mine once our company’s sale (to a rival) is concluded.

But this was even better.  She told me I’d won a raffle we were having, giving me the honor of throwing out the first pitch at the Orioles game Tuesday night.

On the outside, I smiled and expressed my happiness at this once-in-a-lifetime thrill.  But on the inside, I was more like,

Here’s the fuller story…

As I’ve mentioned before, our company has been sponsoring the Orioles this year.  We made an ad buy so that every so often, our logo shows up on the rolling billboard behind home plate.  We also sponsored a food drive for the Maryland Food Bank.  All season, I’ve been able to get discounted tickets, in specified sections.

With all this going on, Camden Yards was the perfect place for our annual employee event.  So for tomorrow’s game against the Blue Jays, we’re having a pre-game party in the picnic area behind the bullpens in center field.  And as a sidelight, there was a charity raffle to win the opportunity to throw out the first pitch.  Which I won.

I can’t decide whether this is a karmic gift in return for being a generally good dude, or I’m being set up to fail on a large stage, in return for being a godless heathen.

When I came in on Friday, I receive the “official” notification via email, a sign on the digital message screens,

in addition to a number of congratulatory messages from those copied (including my boss’s boss).  I responded to all:

“Thank you for this tremendous opportunity.

I’ll try very hard not to trip over the mound or hit anyone in the stands.

And I promise not to wear a Pittsburgh jersey.”

This will be nerve wracking enough.  I don’t need the additional experience of getting booed by 20,000 people.

When I emailed my buddy, the CFO, with the good news, he emailed back, “Holy blown rotator…  And DON’T TOUCH the grass!!!!!!”

I responded, “I am totally going to touch the grass.  I may even do snow angels.  Gotta watch the rotator cuff, though… don’t want to have to go on the DL.”

You remember our tour of Camden Yards in July, right?  I got reprimanded by the tour guide for daring to brush the grass with the back of my fingers.  Well, look at me now, buddy… I’m ‘bout to walk all over that grass.  That I’m going to bend down and riffle through it with my hand goes without saying.

The CFO’s other point was more of a concern… Four years ago I had a partially torn rotator cuff.  It took me several months of physical therapy to get it fixed up.  But even still, I haven’t thrown anything more than a wiffleball ever since.  I’d have to test it out a little bit, to see what I’d be capable of.

At work, the women in my department asked how far I’d have to throw it.  I know that the pitching rubber is 60 feet from home plate, and these honorary throw-out-the-first-ballers usually toss from up in front of the mound.  So I measured out 50 feet (it helps to wear a size-12 shoe) along our hallway.  [Gulp]

I’m 50’ from the double doors alllll the way down there.

Yipe.  I was definitely going to need some practice.

So Saturday, I went to visit my brother so that I could throw a bullpen session with my nephew, Daniel, so I could find a suitable arm slot.

We threw for about 10 minutes; I’d guess that was around 20 pitches, 15 of which didn’t go straight into the grass.  Luckily, Daniel was pretty good at scooping them.  Anyway, I think I found my delivery.  I just needed to gain the confidence that one brisk pitch wasn’t going to re-tear anything.

Yes, I could just go out there and lob in a rainbow, but where’s the adventure in that?  Right off I decided I wanted to use a windup I used to toy with back in my Pony League days. 

There used to be a great Cuban pitcher for the 1970s Red Sox, named Luis Tiant, who would swivel around during his leg lift until he was facing the outfield, and then whip around and deliver the ball.  He looked like a knot being untied.

I thought this would come as a surprise, but when I mentioned it to Daniel, he said, “Yeah, that’s what Dad said you’d probably do.” 

Brothers just know these things…

So yeah, this will be a bit of a high-wire act.  If it all works, it will be brilliant.  If I sail one into the stands, or straight into the grass, I risk ending up on a Sports Center blooper reel. Go big or go home, I guess.

Of course, I’m sure my handlers will have a laundry list of things I’m not supposed to do.  (And if they knew me, it would be the size of a scroll.)  And I assume I’ll have to sign some kind of liability waiver in case I hurt myself.  I’ve already been in contact with the person who’s supposed to be my guide.  I haven’t let on about doing anything unusual, lest she feel the need to add to the scroll.  Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, I always say.

She said I was allowed to take one person with me, to stand down on the track while I do my thing.  I chose to bring Robin.  Can’t hurt to bring your boss, right?  And it gets me out from having to choose from among friends. 

I plan on handing her my iPhone and having her video my performance, for better or worse.  And I presume the company will have camera coverage as well.  Sitcom Kelly was already coming to this game, so she may be able to elbow her way to the front to get an unimpeded view.  As for the rest of my workmates?  All of our seats are in the left field upper deck.  I don’t think they’ll be able to capture the true drama of the moment.

I put in a great deal of thought regarding which jersey to wear.  On weekdays, the Orioles wear white, so the Mojo Handbook dictates that I match that from one of my three white jerseys: Manny Machado, Matt Wieters and Chris Davis.  Rather than worrying about which player to represent, I looked for which shirt looks least like a “knockoff.”  I decided to go with the Manny.  And it doesn’t hurt that he’s the only one of those three who is likely to be around next season.

So I think I have accounted for everything I can control, which leaves me with only one remaining worry, which I can’t:

What makes it worse is that if they have to reschedule, I will only be in town on Wednesday, because Thursday I’m heading to Florida to visit the folks, where I will remain for the rest of the baseball season. 

I wonder if they’d agree to play the makeup game on Wednesday for me, instead of Thursday, so I don’t have to miss out.  Baseball players play 162 games anyway; why quibble over one lousy date?

So, wish me luck… I may need it.

I wonder if anyone’s ever thrown out the first pitch wearing a plastic poncho?