Podcamp Pittsburgh 5, Part 1 (PCPGH5)

OK, work is done, pictures are processed, and dinner is eaten; now it’s time to tell the tale of Podcamp!

This wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun if I didn’t get to go to Pittsburgh to attend.  As I mentioned two posts ago, I opted to stay at a hotel downtown rather than stay with my relatives in the suburbs and have to drive back and forth, in an unfamiliar city, in the dark, drunk.  I wanted to be within crawling distance, so the William Penn was just the ticket.  (See picture in previous post.)

But before I could even get there, I realized it was a regional holiday.  Apparently it was Mid-Atlantic Fuckstick Day, because every 10 miles or so, I’d come up on some fuckstick driving squarely beside the car he was allegedly trying to pass.  Nothing like a nice moving roadblock when you got to be somewhere.  And for some reason, the only term that kept coming to my head to describe these assholes was “fuckstick.”  Go figure.

But I found my way to the Penn uneventfully and went directly to the parking garage.  Screw your $27 a day valet parking.  I got this.

Now since I was getting my room on points, I was expecting one of those little hole-in-the-wall rooms, with space for the bed, a desk, a TV and diddly-squat else.  I was pleasantly surprised to find a nice long room that included a love seat and easy chair in addition to an enormous king-sized bed.  This room would be acceptable, all right.

Only down side was the view, because there was none.  My room was deep in one of the “creases” of the building (again, see picture in previous post) so all I could see was this:

I checked in around 4 and the Carpetbagger was picking me up for the meet and greet at 7, so I had time to kill.  So instead of gazing out my window at the brick wall for the next 3 hours, I decided to take a walk arahnd dahntahn.  (That’s Pixburgh dialect, for the uninitiated.)   Like I mentioned before, for someone that’s visited Pittsburgh frequently throughout life, I’ve spent very little time actually in the city, with time on my hands and no where I had to be.

One of the things I just can’t get over is the decoration on the buildings in Pittsburgh.  It’s like every other building has got some kind of ornate carving on the fringes.

I love the claustrophobia of the very tall buildings and very narrow streets.

Another thing I notice is that most of the streets have 2-way traffic.  Most of downtown Baltimore is made up of 1-way streets, so it tends to make you a lazy pedestrian.  You only have to look one way before jaywalking.  In Pittsburgh, you have to keep your head on a swivel.  I also noticed that very few people jaywalk.  In Baltimore, the maxim of crossing with the light at the crosswalk is taken as a mere suggestion.

First, I found my way to Honus Wagner’s Sporting Goods.  That place always has good Pittsburgh sports swag.  I picked up a new Steelers hat and Penguins tee shirt.  Then, wonder of wonders, I found a liquor store.  Nothing like a little Crown Royal for the room, to provide a nightcap if needed.  Whiskey in hand, I headed towards “The Castle.”

That’s what I call the PPG (Pittsburgh Plate Glass) building.  It’s the one you notice immediately whenever you see the Pittsburgh skyline… the giant glass building that looks like a castle tower.

There’s actually a big plaza, surrounded by this tower and other smaller but similarly constructed buildings.  The whole thing is really eye-popping. 

It’s like you’re in the Wizard of Oz and the Emerald City has been redone in onyx. 

The only thing missing would be the Oh-Wee-Oh Guards patrolling outside, probably wearing Steelers game jerseys.  That’s another thing… all over town I saw people wearing game jerseys.  This went for Friday night, Saturday night, Sunday afternoon… whatever.  In Baltimore, I see maaaaybe a jersey or 2 every week or so, usually on game day.  Those Pittsburghers are nothing if not devoted to their teams.  It’s nice to know it’s not just my family that has that particular genetic variant.

Next, I made it over to Market Square to have a look around.  The place is interesting, if not quite as photogenic as the PPG plaza.  It’s still being worked on though… lots of sidewalks and storefronts being obscured, including that of Las Velas, the restaurant owned by PittGirl’s husband.  Las Velas would be providing the food for the Podcamp Friday Night Meet-n-Greet. 

Right.  PittGirl, aka Ginny of That’s Church.  My primary objective of the weekend was to finally meet Ginny.  I still wasn’t sure what I would say to her, but I knew I didn’t want to be a sweaty mess, so I beat feet back to the Penn to shower off.

I was really impressed by the Penn’s dazzling lobby, but then realized that I wasn’t really going to be doing anything there but walking through it from time to time.

Promptly at 7:05, the Carpetbagger-mobile, containing both Mr. and Mrs. Carpetbagger, swung by to pick me up and take me to the party at Alphalab.  They were out of stick-on name tags by the time we got there, so we had to improvise with notebook paper and clothespins. 

Immediately I began doing the “Terminator Scan”, looking for Ginny.

I didn’t see her anywhere, so I went for the next best thing… The wine!  Luckily for me, the wine was being tended to by 2 of the 3 illustrious bitches from Bitchburgh!

Hot Mama and Wormy guard the wine.

I have to say that I got very lucky in choosing company for the night.  Both Mr. and Mrs. Carpetbagger were adept at starting conversations with complete strangers.  Then once the ice was broken, I could kind of slide into the conversation with a minimum of awkwardness.  They were the perfect wingmen.  (Or wing-people… whatever.)  If left to my own devices, I'd stand there quietly against the wall, like a geek at an 8th grade dance, waiting for someone to talk to me.

It seemed like every time I looked up, Mrs. Carpetbagger was surrounded by guys.  The first time, it was comic book podcasters.

Later, it looked like it was a batch of young skateboarders, probably thinking that they were gonna get some Mrs. Robinson action.  Or should I say “Stiffler’s Mother”?

Funny, I didn’t get any pictures of Mr. Carpetbagger.  Who would, when you could shoot this instead?

Unless someone was pulling my leg, this dude was just there for the free food and drinks.  Not that that’s a bad reason to be anywhere…

Later during the evening, I was approached by blogger, “Uncle Crappy”, who said he wanted to meet me.  (ME?!?)  He writes a blog by the same name, (which may be found on my blogroll), and we talked Ohio State football for a few minutes.  Then later, he showed me a tweet from Red Pen Mama saying she was jealous that he got to meet me.  (MEEE????!!??  WTF?)  Obviously these bloggers don’t get out much.  RPM was the person with whom I cooked up the idea for the Darwinfish Fry, but she was unable to make that date.  I’m looking forward to meeting her as well.

I spotted Pittsburgh radio DJ Tall Cathy, whose session I planned to attend on Saturday.  Hers was the only session I selected for the sole reason that she’s smokin’ hot.  And tall.  She was doing a session on Twitter, which I’m not on.  But it looked like it would be a pleasant way to learn about it.

Ginny published this shot a while back, of her with Tall Cathy.

Tall Cathy was not hard to find.  Ginny, on the other hand, was still nowhere to be seen, no matter how many times I did the Terminator Scan.  Now the night was drawing to a close and I was no closer to meeting my blogging inspiration than I was when I was in Baltimore.  Earlier in the evening, we met a real estate agent named Kathryn, who didn’t have a blog but intended to start one, so she was attending Podcamp.  When the Meet-n-Greet drew to a close, The Baggers, Kathryn and I went next door to the Double-wide Bar where the After-Party was taking place.  I had a couple more beers there and a plate of fries. 

It was kind of an indoor/outdoor place with a big patio.  Outside, I met up with Wormy and Hot Mama.  In what would become a theme of my weekend, Wormy began working on me to join The Twitter.  The rest of the night flew by in a torrent of yakking and lots of laughs.  I met a lot of people whose names start with “@”, like @yay_toast.  It’s weird enough meeting and referring to people by their “blog names”, even after you know their real names.  The Twitter names are a whole different ballgame.

Round about midnight, we got out of dodge and the Baggers deposited me back at my hotel.  I didn’t even bring up the Crown… we all needed to get some shut-eye.  We had a big weekend ahead of us, after all.

Next up:  My Podcamp Pittsburgh Experience, aka: Stalking Ginny.

Unrelated Note:  You can find an encore performance of my Firehouse Belle (Ex gets stuck upside down behind the dryer) post from last month on the humor site, Laugh Out Loud.  Please check it out, if you haven’t seen it here already.  It’s a hoot.  (And if you have, maybe you could click on over anyway, so it looks like more people like my stuff and she runs another one of my posts in the future.)

Back from Podcamp (PCPGH5)

I made it back safely from Pittsburgh today... piece of cake!  Then all I had to do was work a half a day from home and then download and process about 80 pictures from my trip.  So this is just a teaser post... I'll post the full story tomorrow night; or at least Part 1.  I think I've got a big one brewing here...

To hold you over, here are 4 views of quintessential Pittsburgh:

The Omni William Penn.  My room was in one of those "slots", so I didn't have much of a view.

From the PPG Plaza.  I LOVE this area... I could take pictures here all day.

Pittsburgh at night, shot from Station Square.  It's almost like Christmas out there.

The Primanti's Sandwich (sans cole slaw... so sue me.)

I'll have the whole weekend's story for you tomorrow, but suffice to say, it was a blast.  I met some great and very talented people and learned a great deal.  The whole thing left me energized to get right back and start blogging up a storm.


But not right now because the good shows are coming on.

Pod People

This weekend I’m traveling to Pittsburgh for Podcamp Pittsburgh 5 (or PCPGH5 for short).

This is a weekend seminar where a bunch of bloggers gets together, some of them get up in front of the rest and talk about stuff, then they all go get drunk.

This is totally up my alley.

I became aware of the Podcamps last fall when I saw a couple online videos of some of the speakers doing their thing and thought that it would be a blast to go to one.  Then after successfully meeting some wonderful Pittsburgh bloggers at my Darwinfish Fry in August, I figured I’d try to catch lightning in a bottle twice in one year.  Besides, when the Bitchburgh Bitches ask you to come to Podcamp and see their presentation, you best have your ass there.  Because they’re not really “asking.”

So I’m driving out tomorrow afternoon and going directly to the Omni William Penn, in downtown Pittsburgh.  (Hooray for “Thank You Points!”)  Normally I’d stay with relatives but in this case, the last thing I wanted to be doing was trying to drive back and forth from downtown, out to the suburbs.  I’m nervous about driving in Pittsburgh under the best of circumstances, let alone in after dark.  After drinking.  So I figured I’d stay within crawling distance.  I’m parking the car and letting it stay there.

I’m really looking forward to just being downtown.  Normally when I say I’m “going to Pittsburgh”, it really means I’m going to the suburbs.  We may come into town for a game, but then we head right back out afterwards.  Every once in a while we’ll stay downtown for a game but we don’t really get around the city much.  We check in, we eat, have drinks in the room, walk to the game, go back to the room, drink some more, sleep, then leave in the morning. 

This time, I’ll have the opportunity to wander around a bit. 

When I think about all this, I can’t believe this is really happening.  When I started writing this blog in early 2009, I just wanted a place to post some goofy shit and rant about whatever was pissing me off.  Entertain my friends and family a bit.  I never dreamed that “strangers” would actually come here to read what I had to say on a regular basis.  And I really never dreamed I’d be meeting up with so many of them in real life.

In November of 2009, I did a post about reaching 1000 hits.  Since between February and September I’d only amassed 260 of them, getting to 1000 in 2 months was astounding to me.  But not wanting to talk about numbers and stuff, I said that I wouldn’t bring up hit totals again until I hit 10,000.  Which was yesterday. 

Of course 9,950 of them were misplaced searches for Hot Indian Aunties.

But I’m still astounded.  How the hell did that happen?  What happens if someone in authority finds out?  Every day I expect to log in and see a big red graphic that says,

“ACCESS DENIED, LOSER!”

across the screen and see the picture wink out like the Terminator’s vision at the end of Terminator 2 when he gets lowered into the molten steel.

But I digess…

So yesterday when I saw the hit counter reach 10,000, I checked my StatCounter site to see who it was that tripped the switch on that milestone.  To my delight, it was my pal the Carpetbagger, purveyor of Pittsburgh’s finest Carpetbaggery.  As a token of my gratitude, I’ve agreed to let the Bagger give me a ride from the Penn down to the Podcamp Welcoming Cocktail Party. 

What, you think I have a prize budget?  I had to get my room on points!

Anyway, I’m glad I’ll have him for moral support because by that time, I’m sure to be a nervous wreck.  You see, my blogging idol Ginny aka PittGirl aka the Fairy Godmother of Pittsburgh Bloggers* is going to be there because her husband’s restaurant is providing the food.  As I’ve written many times before, she was my inspiration to start this site.  She was slated to come to the Darwinfish Fry, but last minute issues kept her from attending.

Her coming to my little soiree would have been perfect because there would have been a handful of other familiar bloggers there to act as a buffer.  Tomorrow night, she’ll be in a room crawling with other people that may be fighting for her attention.

It reminds me of back in the day when I’d have a backstage pass to meet some famous rock star or guitar hero.  I’d try to figure out what to say in the 30 seconds or so that I had the star’s attention, that would be meaningful without making me look like a fawning idiot.

I’ll see what I can come up with on the drive out.  I mean, I’ll have 4 hours of solitude.  Maybe I can practice into my MP3 recorder.  Or, hey!  Maybe I can work on the speech until I get it just right, then record it and play it back to her at the party! 

Or not.

“ACCESS DENIED, LOSER!”

*OK, nobody calls here that except me, but I’m hoping it will catch on.

NOTE:  Of course I’ll post a full report upon my return on Monday.  If I can access a computer, I’ll try to get something posted over the weekend as well.  Wish me luck!

Odd Bits - Football Aftermath Edition

It’s always a good Monday at work after the Steelers win, because usually the only time I hear from Ravens fans is when the Steelers lose.  Then they’re out like the carrion-eaters they are.

But I got on the elevator on Monday as one of my fellow members of our secret Steelers alliance, the Steel Citi Underground, came on talking football with another employee.  She stood right in front of me so I said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

One of the Ratties fans said, “You know, you’re still outnumbered.”

To which I answered, “Not in Super Bowls,” eliciting “Ooooooooohs” from the rest of the riders.

“Wow”, she said, “Right for the jugular.”

You gotta play tough.

It’s been funny how sensitive about all the Jet’s smack-talk the Ravens are.  Before the big Monday Night Football game between the Rats and the Jets, the Jets’ coach (and former Rats coach) Rex Ryan was doing a lot of talking, and the Rats players and fans went ape-shit.

I don’t think it was because of what was said… I think it was because it’s their job to flap their gums and beat their chests.  When someone else does it, it’s considered intellectual property theft.

In the actual game, the Ratbirds were the beneficiaries of 14 NY penalties, 6 of which gave them first downs when the Jets had held them on 3^rd down. 

For years around here, Ravens players, coaches and the media have been peddling these conspiracy theories that the league and the refs are out to get them.  (As opposed to simply being a sloppy, undisciplined team that can’t keep their egos in check…)  I think we just got this cleared up.  It’s not the Ratbirds that the refs have it out for… it’s Rex Ryan.  Now that he’s with the Jets, the refs are unjustly stealing the games from him!

Electile Disfunction

I went to vote in the Maryland primary election today.  Ya.  Hoo.

I probably vote in the lamest precinct anywhere.  Every time, I always get the volunteer that seems like she’s never been there before.  And the worst part is that they don’t give out stickers that say “I Voted.”  Harrumph!  That’s like going to give blood, because it’s the right thing to do, then you don’t get your juice and cookie.

I was lucky this time that there was no line at all, probably because this is not exactly a “glamour” election.  When I showed up, there weren’t many people milling about out front.  I hate that… I’m just trying to get in and out, then get to work.  But first I have to dodge a gauntlet of people trying to press their candidate’s flyers into my hand.

I wonder if that really works… like people were just going to show up and push some buttons, but at the last minute, they’re all, “Ooooh, 4-color tri-fold brochure… I’m voting for him!” 

Anyway, this morning, the guy running for Baltimore City District Attorney was out front getting interviewed, so the volunteers were watching the “showbiz” while I was able to slink around behind everyone.  Not to worry, I made sure not to scratch anything as I moseyed by.

More Search For Reality

The Indian Aunties phenomenon just won’t quit.

I had the following searches show up this weekend (includes home country):

India: Hot Indian Aunties

Saudi Arabia: Indian Aunties Photo

Dubai: South Indian Hot Aunties

Maybe I should just call my blog “Hot Indian Aunties”, by Indian Uncle Bluz

Albania: Porno Vidio Bubble Butts.  I have NO idea how that search landed here.  I don’t think I’ve ever used the phrase “bubble butt.”  Maybe it was truncated from Hot Indian Auntie Bubble Butts.

Another search from India landed on my picture titled Dude and Dog.  (the one of StillaDog and me at the Orioles game.)  I can’t imagine how that one got here either, unless it was a search for pics of dudes and dogs… er… frolicking.

We may be many things, but this Dude and that Dog do not frolick.

Lastly, for the last week or two, I’ve been getting a whole bunch of searches for pictures of Pennywise the (evil) clown, from Steven King’s “It”.

I ran that back in March of 2009 when I posted the tragically under-read All Time Favorite Movie Villains post.  (That was Part One: Monsters.  Part Two (Comic and Character Villains) is right here.)  I have no idea why all of a sudden Pennywise has become a big search item.  Most of the searches come from European countries.  Maybe it’s just been on HBO: NATO or something.  I also get a lot of searches for the “Cloverfield” monster, in the same post, but not nearly as many.

Damned clowns… always leaving white greasepaint marks on the mirror and their red noses laying around.

You know why cannibals don’t eat clowns?

They taste funny.

There, for the ending… the only clean joke I know.

The Mojo Boogie - Week 1

At long last, today is the “real” opening day of pro football.  Yes, I know they played the first game on Thursday, but to me, opening day is when you can sit at home, watch your game, keep up on the rest of the day’s games and root home your picks.  And drink beer in the afternoon.

Last year, I would do a rundown of each Steelers game… just my impressions and such.  For actual game coverage, there are too many other sites that do it better and more in depth.  And for funny game coverage, nothing beats Ginny’s “What They’re Really Thinking”, where she covers the action via word bubbles in the game’s action photos.

Last year, though, the only people reading me were overwhelmingly from Pittsburgh.  This year, not so much.  Therefore I don’t feel like I should devote that same level of Steelers coverage.  There are too many that just don’t give a rip.  I know it sounds like I’m complaining, but on the contrary, it fills me with a great deal of pride. 

Believe me, I’m still going to talk about my Steelers and football, I’m just not recapping the game every week.  What I WILL be doing is continuing the fascinating online pursuit of Game Day Mojo.  If one doesn’t like Pittsburgh sports, there’s always fashion!

As you may remember from last year, I use a spreadsheet to track a number of categories regarding game logistics and what I wear.  Regarding the games, I track home vs. away, what jersey the team wore, and day/time of the game.  For me, I track what I wore during the week, on the preceding Friday, on game day, and where I watch the game.

This week, we had Jersey Day at work, so I had to pick one to wear.  I went with my new #56 Lamarr Woodley black jersey.  Ultimately, I wish I hadn’t because after running through my options, it was the logical pick to wear today.

Usually I start the season with my Willie Parker replica jersey.  But with Fast Wille no longer on the team, that option is not appealing.  Since the Steelers are at home, that eliminates my white jerseys.  I’d rather not start with the Throwback jerseys yet, so they’re gone.  I have an old-school Jack Lambert black jersey, but I try to use the classics very sparingly.  Lastly, I have a black Troy Polamalu, but that’s my crown jewel that I usually save for the late-season and playoff games. 

All that leaves me with having to double up on the Woodley.

Well, here goes nothing.  I am ready for some football.

Update
Steelers win 15-9 in overtime.  Jeff (Skippy) Reed missed a 40 yard FG with time running out, after incredible interception by Troy Polamalu.  Rashard Mendenhall breaks offa 50-yard run for a touchdown on the Steelers first playin OT, after a big defensive stand.

The Woodley jersey is 1-0 for 1:00 home games.

The 9/11 Bluz

I know a lot of people are doing 9/11 posts this weekend.  This is mine.  So sue me for being unoriginal.  Who else posts about football mojo?

I was at work on September 11, 2001, like so many millions of others.  I was working at an office building in downtown Baltimore.  My friend Karen yelled at me to come over to her cube and then told me that a plane just hit one of the Twin Towers.

I assumed it was a small personal aircraft, like a Cessna or something.  So I was like, “Wow, that’s too bad.  I hope there’s not much serious damage.”

I went back to my cube and continued with the day’s affairs, until a few minutes later when she called me over again and said, “A second plane just hit the other tower.”

Now I knew there was something terribly awry.  The first could have been an accident; the 2^nd made it a plot.  I stood in her cube and we both listened to the radio.  Eventually, the word came out that it was 2 airliners that hit The Towers, which were now on fire.

“Holy shit!  What the hell is going on here?”

I returned to my cube and put on my own radio, then spent the rest of the morning pretending to work while I followed the rest of the events of the day. 

More planes hijacked.  The Pentagon.  A field in Shanksville.

“Christ, how many more balls do these assholes have in the air?”

It was inconceivable that all this could be happening, on this beautiful September day.  This shit just doesn’t happen here.

When word came that the towers collapsed, that was it.  I just sat in my cube, staring at nothing.  I didn’t know anyone in New York City, let alone anyone that worked at the WTC.  But it didn’t matter.  The radio reports were horrifying.  Untold thousands of innocent people just perished in terrible ways.  They were people that, like me, were just sitting at their desks or in airplanes, carrying out their day’s affairs.

There was some concern building about our own safety.  Baltimore is within easy flying distance of all the crash sites.  Ours is an 18-story building; not the tallest around by far, but still a possible target.

I also knew my parents were away from home and would need to be traveling again soon.  I wondered if they were OK and what would happen with them.

Around 3:00, we were given the option to go home and I jumped at it.  I spent the rest of the day glued to the TV.  I don’t think I even ate dinner that night.  I just stared at the film of the destruction, pondering the lives lost and letting the tears stream down my face.

I didn’t live through the Cuban Missile Crisis.  I wasn’t born for Pearl Harbor or D-Day or Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  This was my Big One; the one I’d remember forever, which would forever divide my time on earth between Before and After.

I soon learned that my folks were fine.  During the time when all flights were grounded, Dad rented a car and drove back to Green Bay.  I think they were in Georgia, so it was quite a trek.

I still have so many of the emails from the aftermath.  Most expressed this sentiment:

There were newspaper columns, editorial cartoons, pseudo-letters from President Bush to the Taliban or Osama bin Laden, and lots and lots of photoshops.

My favorite out of all of them was this one, which beautifully demonstrated both our communal sadness and steely resolve:

It’s unfortunate that this was the last time our country was united.  I’d say it lasted from September 12^th to the day The Shrub took his eye off the ball and invaded Iraq, a country that actually had something we wanted.  It was like, “while we’re over there, we might as well pick us up some oil rights.”  Like it was just one big Middle Eastern grocery store… “While I’m here in Aisle 5, I might as well pick up some cheese doodles in Aisle 6.”

Anyway, I digress…

I could have written this post last year, but I didn’t.  I knew I had some additional material to use but I wasn’t prepared to extract it just yet.  That has changed.

I’ve actually been up in The Towers before.

Back when I was married (cold chill runs down back) and living in Albany NY, we took a couple of weekend trips down to NYC.  In 1994, we mainly stayed around Midtown.  We did Time Square, Central Park, and went up in the Empire State Building. 

The next year, we spend a day in lower Manhattan, ferrying around the Statue of Liberty, taking the Ellis Island tour, and going up in the World Trade Center.

I was surprisingly moved by the close-up sight of the Statue of Liberty.  I was absolutely floored by the Ellis Island tour.  Two of my grandparents and two great-grandparents came through there and I had no idea how chaotic and frightening it must have been.  After the tour, I found the name of my mom’s grandfather on the long, winding “Immigrant’s Wall.”  My Uncle Joe had it put there back in the '70s.

But the highlight of it all was going up in The Towers.  I had a new videotape camera then used it to shoot our whole trip.  That’s the “material” I had to unearth.  I wanted to find some of the selections and get them into electronic form.

Because I’m still pretty low-tech about my media hookups, I was reduced to playing the video on the TV and shooting the screen with my digital camera (in movie mode).  The quality isn’t the best, but it gets the job done.

First, we went up to the observation deck on the 107^th floor of the South Tower.  It was nice and safe and glassed-in.  The funny thing was that whenever I pointed the camera at the antenna on the North Tower, I got a lot of buzzing feedback.

More from the observation deck:

After that, we took an escalator up to the outdoor rooftop of the South Tower.  That was the coolest part to me because that’s where I saw the giant ape jump from one tower to the other in the shitty 1976 remake of King Kong.

They had an inner wall set back about 20’ from the edge of the building, so there was no way to have any “accidents”.  Even so, Future Ex was scared shitless up there.  She wouldn’t come anywhere near the inner wall.  She stayed back by the building doorway, clutching the wall like she was Spiderman.  Seriously.

Anyway, this footage is what I remember about The Towers… looking down at the ground so unbelievably far below.  And that what hurts the most; thinking about how bad it must have been in the building to make people think it was a better idea to jump out.

There are millions of stories from this day.  2996 of them end in tragedy.  Our country has yet to psychologically recover and it’s understandable.

It’s a thin margin between maintaining the freedom that makes this country what it is and protecting it so that this kind of abomination never happens again.  I don’t know if we’re up to it.  I know it will take more than burning books or thinking with one’s balls.  We can’t fix symptoms; we have to fix the roots.

Until that happens, we can never truly relax again.

The Wayback Machine Part 4

Because I’m having so much fun with my new toy, I’ve decided to drop another story about my primitive social skills as a bluzteen. This go-round is set for the autumn after the Big Move from Columbus.

Sherman, now set the Wayback Machine for Whitehouse OH, 1976.

The Situation:

It was Sophomore year… another new town, another new school. But unlike years prior, love found me before the first snow. I’d decided to take advantage of this relocation as a way to start to change the way I was. I wanted to be more outgoing and not so shy. I wanted to speak up rather than blend into the background. It started off OK.

Shortly after school started, I met a really nice-looking blonde named Kathy, who became my first girlfriend. That, alone, was an adventure in itself. I thought she might like me so I sent word through an intermediary, who then reported back that she did like me. I tracked her down immediately, and said something like, “Since I like you and you like me, want to go steady?”

No build-up, no sweet talk, just the facts. Yeah, I know:

Surprisingly, she accepted and our 2-year romance provided me many lessons about how not to treat someone in a relationship. I thank my lucky stars that she wasn’t experienced enough to notice. 

Now with a chance to start fresh in a new school, here I am awarded an opportunity to play Lady’s Man. Sadly, I hadn’t a clue how that was done. I tried to be cool, but my biggest fear was that she’d figure out what a putz I was and bolt. I was so determined to do nothing wrong, that I mostly did nothing, period. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for over 3 months, without ever having kissed... not once, not so much as a peck. We’d walk down the hall, holding hands, or with arms around each other, but at the end of the day, we’d walk out to the bus, and I’d be dying to sweep her into my arms and plant one on her. But we’d just kind of look into each other’s eyes, say goodbye, and let our hands slowly part as we walked away to our respective buses. 

I desperately wanted to kiss her, but the “moron” part of my brain kept telling me that she wouldn’t feel the same way. I couldn’t accept that someone that fine was interested in me. 

Eventually, after months of torment, (and I can look it up, I have it chronicled in painful detail in my 10th-grade journal) I brought up the subject. I basically asked for permission… hell, I did all but produce a graph and pie chart to back my case. She was totally receptive, so in the back of my mind, I was telling myself, “Nice going jagoff… you just wasted 3 months that you could have been sucking face with your hot girlfriend!”

Eventually, kissing became a regular event…hell, we practically OD’d on it. It wasn’t long before we were holding feverish make-out sessions, where I would spend hours kissing her, and plotting how I might “accidentally” brush the back of my hand across one of her boobs. (Yes, I had “taking it slow” down to an art form)

Take 2:

No mystery, I just kiss her.  I find a moment, look into her eyes, and say something like, “Would you mind if I kissed you?” Or maybe I just lean in and go for it.

Analysis:

There are probably no big life-changing results here…just a little more confidence in a relationship, and a lot less stress from fussing about it. We still wouldn’t have ever had sex…hell, she was a “good Catholic girl,” and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. 

It was a shame the way things went between Kathy and me. I mean, I had no idea what a relationship meant, or what was expected of a boyfriend. The only thing that kept us “together” was that she didn’t either. I mean a whole summer would go by and I’d never call or visit, even though we only lived a few miles apart. (I was far too shy to be that forward.) 

This doesn’t really have a lot to do with my premise in conducting these past-bending endeavors, but Kathy was a really good girl and I should have done a lot better by her. 

I broke up with her early in our senior year. This was around the time I was bonding with my buddies with whom I would set up The Barn. I’m sure I was influenced by their poon-hounding ways and decided that since no poon was forthcoming to this hound, I ought to hunt in another forest. She was most decidedly NOT happy with me and I can’t blame her.

The funny thing is that I would have had no idea what to do. I’m sure it would have been a disaster and I probably would have knocked her up. So that worked out…

After high school, we almost got back together. We went out a few times… made out a few times… I don’t remember why it didn’t “take.” But we parted on good terms.

I saw her again at our 20th high school reunion. She was an upright, square-shouldered, clear-eyed Air National Guard officer, and still damned fine-looking.  I told her that she’d been a “rough draft” experience for me and that I learned a lot about what not to do in a relationship. I told her I’d become a lot better man after we’d parted, and I was sorry that I couldn’t have done better by her. At least that’s what I think I told her. 

After all the beer that night, it’s hard to remember. I might have just said “Nice tits”.

The Wayback Machine Part 1

The last post about my junior high school romantic misadventures went over pretty well, so why not try another one?  I know I started with Part 2 last time and I’m following that with Part 1… Call me Quentin Blogentino.

All right, time to fire up the Wayback Machine!

“Sherman, set the Wayback Machine to 7th grade, Woodward Park Junior High School, 1974.”

The Situation: 

I’m just back from lunch and sitting in the teacher’s chair in the front of the classroom, waiting for Ohio History class to start.  Other students are just kind of milling about.  Brenda walks up and sits on the arm of the chair and begins fiddling with my hair.  She’s never done anything like that before, so my heart is beating a mile a minute. 

See, I’m totally sweet on Brenda.  She’s a very cute girl with glossy shoulder-length black hair and big blue eyes.  We’re kind of friends, in that she’s a girl and she talks to me.  She leans close and seductively says, “Hiiiiiii.” (The inflection kind of goes up in the middle.) (OK, that’s what passes for seductive when one is in 7th grade and it’s 1974.)  Anyway, I’m like a deer in headlights…afraid of other people seeing what’s happening, afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of being made fun of. 

I respond by kind of mimicking her…”Hiiiiiii”. 

She recoils looking hurt, and says, “You don’t even know how to flirt!”  She stands up and stomps away. 

Sighhhhhh.

Take 2:

She’s playing with my hair, and says, “Hiiiiiii”.  I look up and say, “Hey, Beautiful.”  Then I smile up at her and maintain eye contact. If I’ve been reading her right, she should be swooning right about this time.  (Remember, 7th grade.)  I have no idea what comes next.  7th graders don’t just ask each other out on dates.  (OK, maybe they do now.)  Maybe I suggest we meet sometime at the mall or roller rink.  But either way, I walk away with my dignity intact and a possible girlfriend.  In 1974, that entailed walking in the hallway holding hands, or going on the moonlight skate at the roller rink.  All I really had to do was to show a bit of interest along with some kind of composure and we would have been Jr. High sweethearts. 

Sighhhhhh.

Analysis:

If I’d made the right move, I believe she would have been my first girlfriend.  Unfortunately, I was a moron about such things.  She lost so much respect for me; I don’t think we hardly ever talked again until we were in 9th grade.  I do know she always thought I was cute.  She wrote as much in my 9th-grade yearbook.  To wit:

“Bluz, You’ve really changed since 7th grade, but it’s been for the better.  You were cute to start with, and that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.  Good luck in all you do.  You’ll accomplish a lot.  It’s clear to see that you’ll acquire everything you want.  Love, Brenda ‘79”

I thought she was really worldly for using our graduation year, 5 years in advance.

Also, 9th grade was the year that in music class, near the end of the year, she asked if she could sign my pants.  (I have no idea where that came from.)  So on the knee of my pants, she writes in ballpoint pen, “Brenda was here” and draws an arrow all the way up my thigh.  (You try to explain to your mom that you suddenly had to cut your green slacks into shorts.) Yes, this was the girl that I was too incompetent to land. Like I said, I was a moron. Anyway, if I could have managed my way through that first prospective romantic encounter, who knows how my young life could have been affected. 

It could have given me the confidence to successfully maneuver my way through my relationships soon to come. In my first couple of “relationships”, I was so insecure and always so afraid that the girl suddenly wouldn’t like me anymore, I was practically inert. This could have emboldened me to actually act like a normal guy! 

As I mentioned in the previous post, my family moved 200 miles away immediately after 9th grade, so I don’t see any Back to the Future-type paradoxes. It wouldn’t have changed any of my life’s basic circumstances. But such a scenario would have left me a much more confident person, and better able to conduct a healthy young relationship.

You know, that’s one often-overlooked benefit of moving around a lot as a kid. If I ever go back in time, I know that whatever trouble I cause by changing the past will be wiped clean once we move.

Now where’s a DeLorean when you need one?

Wait, maybe not… there’s the “Biff” variable… becoming fabulously rich through knowledge of the future. Do they let 7th graders into the OTB parlor? Still, it’s an avenue to which I remain open.

If only I could go back and teach Young Me how to flirt.

Eh, who am I kidding… I still can’t flirt.