Let There Be AC-DC

I’ve never made it a secret that my favorite band is AC/DC.  What is not commonly known is that I used to hate them.  I know, right?  Unbelievable.  I blame my brother, Ed.

Actually, my brother gets both credit and blame.  He’s the one that “found” them.  When he first heard them, he brought home a couple of records, “Highway to Hell” and “High Voltage.”  Then he played them… over and over again, but only one side.  I would hear those same 4 or 5 songs constantly.  It drove me up the freakin’ wall.  With me, that much repetition will turn me against almost any song.  So I dismissed them pretty much flat out.

When I first heard that their singer, Bon Scott, died, my first thought was, “Maybe they’ll stop making those shitty records now.”  For the record, I’m not proud of that moment.

But two events changed everything.  Maybe three… First, I heard “Hell’s Bells” from their “comeback” album, “Back in Black.”  For the first time, I noticed the powerful riffs and big chorus.  I loved the slow build, starting with the stately bell, no doubt tolling for their fallen singer.  That song opened the door a bit for me.  After that, “You Shook Me” became a huge hit, and nobody with ears could deny that it was a practically perfect rock single.

After “Back in Black” came out, they re-released “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.”  The title track went straight to rock radio and was all over the airwaves.  AC/DC had a hit with 2 different albums made in 2 different decades.  I was taken with the pounding drums and lowdown and dirty guitar sound.  Hmmm…

The second thing was that my brother went to see them in concert, up in Detroit at Cobo Hall.  They were on the very beginning of their “For Those About to Rock” tour… in fact, that album hadn’t even been released yet.  They were basically playing the songs from their “Back in Black” tour, but they closed with “For Those About to Rock.”

Ed came home from that show raving about what he’d seen.  He could barely put it into words.  “He (guitarist Angus Young) keeps going like this (mimicking Angus’s trademark head-bob and scissor-walk) the whole damn show… he never stops…  They had a big bell that came out of the ceiling for Hell’s Bells and these giant cannons for the last song…” He showed me a cannon on the front of his concert jersey.

This is the shirt, now bequeathed to Ed’s son and new AC/DC disciple, Daniel.

Remember that back then, there was no MTV yet, and the only music videos were in Europe or late at night on the Midnight Special.  No one knew what a band was like unless they went to a concert.  My brother has never been one that is easily impressed, so if he was that excited about this band, I’d have to give them another look.

My opportunity to do so came shortly after that.  AC/DC released a concert movie called “Let There Be Rock,” shot in Paris with Bon Scott singing on their “Highway to Hell” tour.  I went to see it with my buddy Brill.  It knocked our fucking socks off.  Still best concert movie I have ever seen.

I didn’t know many of the songs, only those my brother had drilled into my head, but it didn’t matter.  I finally understood what AC/DC was about.  Seeing was believing.  This band was incredible and Angus Young was a freak of nature.

Several years later, when VHS tapes took hold, I bought a copy of “Let There Be Rock” as soon as it came out.  It was like owning a piece of history.  But over the years, technology changed and dealing with videotapes became cumbersome.  I probably haven’t played my copy in over 10 years.  But this week, “Let There Be Rock” was finally released on DVD/Blu-Ray.  I had it pre-ordered as soon as I heard about it, right along with their latest concert video, “Live at River Plate”.  (That one was filmed in High-Def, in Buenos Aires during last year’s world tour.)  “ River Plate” arrived 2 weeks ago, and yesterday, I received “Let There Be Rock.”

The Blu-Ray/DVD combo pack on the left, and my old about-to-be-retired VHS, on the right.

The discs came in a nice tin case with a booklet, some picture cards, and a guitar pick.  Still, it bugged me that they used a molded plastic filler to take up about half the room in the case.  Why not just make the case thinner?  Why take up all that room on my video shelf?  Anyway, it’s just a small quibble.

So last night, I fired up the Blu-Ray, kicked on the surround sound, opened a beer and returned to the years when I was young and the band was about to become legendary.

The booklet that came with the package taught me an interesting tidbit.  On the day they filmed, the band actually played two shows.  The film crew used the first one for rehearsal and then filmed the second one for the movie.  Plus, Bon Scott woke up with laryngitis that morning.  Two shows in one day… two AC/DC shows… Unbelievable.

I smiled through the entire opening as Angus kicked off “Live Wire,” standing atop one of those big Marshall stacks, because this is how I saw him and the band for the first time.  The song is a perfect opener because it builds slowly. First, the bass, then the drums kick in, then Malcolm Young’s rhythm guitar, and finally, as he hops down from his platform, Angus’s guitar comes smashing through to grab you by the throat while he dashes maniacally back and forth across the stage.

My first glimpse of Angus and the band. I was hooked by the 1:30 mark

Immediately, I found myself comparing this concert to the one from last year.  OMG, they looked like babies.  Angus must have been in his early 20s when it was filmed.  The difference in energy was apparent, too.  Angus was in his 50s when he performed in this show, and while he still had his incredible energy (compared to most mortals), it was nothing compared to the zest and energy from “Let There Be Rock.”  He was back and forth, head bobbing in constant motion for the entire show, just like Ed had first told me.

It’s funny seeing a concert from so long ago. You notice how much things have changed.  The biggest thing to me here was that they still had cords on their instruments.  I have no idea how Angus was able to run around the way he did without ensnaring everyone in guitar cord.  If ever there was a poster boy for wireless, it’s Angus.  As a result, they keep it simple.  Bon’s up front, Malcolm and Cliff (the bassist) stay in the back flanking the drummer, and Angus runs around in between.  Then, for the choruses, Malcolm and Cliff stride up to the mics, yelp their lyrics, then step right back.

You can see this dynamic in the video above.  But sometimes I wonder if their mics are even turned on.  The trademark “big choruses” from the records aren’t all that big, live.  But I’ll give them credit for not using any tricks like adding echo or backing tapes.  It is what it is.

Between songs, you can hear the amps buzzing and crackling through the speakers, adding a crispy, crunchy sound texture.

This show was stripped down to basics.  There were no lasers or video screens.  No big inflatable “Rosie” for “Whole Lotta Rosie.”  No big Hell’s Bell or Civil War cannons.  No gimmicks at all.  It was just a stage and a band, playing their asses off.

The best part was the way it was filmed, using lots of long, lingering crane shots that followed the players.  That contrasted heavily with the new concert video I’d just seen, where no shot lasted longer than a second or two, like a 90-minute music video.

The sustained shots allow you to focus on a single thing: the guitarist’s fingers, the drummer changing drumheads during the song, or the interplay between band members while the singer struts around the stage.

Ah, the singer.  Has there ever been a frontman with more charisma than Bon Scott?  Bon’s brilliance lies in that he always lets you know that he’s in on the joke, like an impish Aussie scamp.  I think Bon is kind of like Jim Morrison, only without the sleaze (and serious poet-y stuff).  The Lizard King once whipped out his lizard onstage.  Bon would be more likely to tell you about it in metaphorical terms, then grin and shoot you a wink before strutting off. 

The movie is interspersed with short interviews and vignettes with the band.  There, you can see their sly wit and self-deprecation.  They have never taken themselves too seriously, other than to make sure everyone gets a show they’ll never forget.  In one segment, they ask Cliff, the bassist, if he composes.  He says, “Nothing to worry Lennon and McCartney about…”

In another segment, the interviewer asks each band member about Angus.  When Angus is asked what people think of him, he says, “Who’s the ugly little man up there?”

And Lordy, he is tiny… 5’2” and nothing but sinew and gristle, as far as I can see.  He plays a large guitar as it is (a Gibson SG), but on him, it looks like a guitar with a gnome riding it.

The show barrels through their early hits.  They hit their stride around the 4^th song, “Sin City,” and never let up.  Later, after charging through “Whole Lotta Rosie,” where Angus has to change guitars in the middle of his solo, they chug into “Rocker.”  This bit always slays me because this is where Angus runs backstage, grabs some oxygen and water, then hops onto a roadie’s shoulders and rides out into the crowd, flailing a solo as he goes.

Angus performing amid a sea of people.

It’s actually kind of scary to watch.  There are no barriers and people are slapping his back, pulling on his arms, pushing them to and fro, and still he never breaks the solo… Not so’s you’d notice, anyway.  This video picks up when he goes into the crowd:

Absolutely unreal.

In later years, they would have an aisle cleared, and Angus would come out with a phalanx of security people.  I remember one show I was at, sitting in the 2^nd row on the side when the Angus entourage passed by.  I was close enough to poke him with a stick.  It was to me what it might be to someone else being that close to the Pope.

Angus finally makes it back to the stage, then gets on Bon’s shoulders for a ride to center stage, where Bon chucks him off, and Angus goes scissor-kicking across the way before climbing the Marshall stacks again for the guitar solo.

After all that, it’s finally time for the big finish: the cathartic “Let There Be Rock,” which is a veritable marathon of high-speed thrashing to a Chuck Berry beat.  This song is nothing but adrenaline, and I figure it needed to be, given that it comes at the end of a 2^nd 2-hour show.  Like I said, to be that active and frenzied every night, 200 nights a year, for 35 years, and NOT be brain-damaged… Angus is a freak of nature.

Then, the show concludes with a final frozen spotlight on the singer, with the words, “To Bon.”

Good on ya, Mate.  You were the greatest.  And I’m sorry I was ever glad you were dead.

I finished the night worn out but with a smile on my face.  My legs were tired from doing the Angus-bob from my easy chair.  It wasn't as bad as when I used to go to their concerts... I've seen them 5 times (sadly, never with Bon Scott), and each time was better than the last.  But they demand something out of you.  They demand every ounce of sweat and energy that you can give, and when they're done with you, you're as spent as they are.  I could probably do a post just on seeing them on concert, and I just may, depending on how this one goes.

This music was the soundtrack to every party I ever threw.  In fact, it was the apex of every party… when the moment was right and everyone was happy and rockin’ out, only then was it time to bust out the AC/DC, sending the party into a sweaty overdrive.  We’d start with “TNT” go to “Dirty Deeds,” then “Highway to Hell,” “Back in Black,” “You Shook Me,” “Hell’s Bells” and then eventually, tear the place down with “Whole Lotta Rosie” and “Let There Be Rock.”  I was always spent by the time that was finished, drained of energy by daring to imitate the mighty Angus.  And I always woke up with a sore neck.

But it was always worth it.  

"Oi.’

Note: Both pictures of the band and the shot of the movie poster are scans of the photo cards that came with the video package.

Pittsburgh Trip - The Other Stuff

The weekend before last, I went to Pittsburgh, went to my cousin’s wedding (which I posted about) and co-hosted the Bag’O Fish BBQ (which I posted about).  This post is about the rest of the stuff from that weekend.

I let nothing go to waste when it comes to mining my life for blog material.

Since I already had a dry-run trip to the Burgh the prior weekend (which I posted about), I wasn’t terribly worried about this trip.  I had my Diet Cokes in a insulated soft-side bag, I still had my tunes and I still had my GPS.  But also, I had my Check Engine light come on.  I didn’t notice it until I was about 18 miles down the road, so I couldn’t be sure when it came on.  But I knew not to panic.  It just bugged me because it meant that now I had one more thing to worry about.  It was probably something stupid, like the gas cap.  But Big Silver ran like a top, so I didn’t pay much mind to the warning light.  I love having a car that has Woom.  (That means, when you need get around some fuckstick that’s been driving beside some other fuckstick on a 2-lane highway for 35 miles, you stand on it and it goes “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOMM!”)

About 15 miles inside the Maryland line, I saw that I got a message from the Carpetbagger, wanting to know what kind of beer I wanted for our blogger’s bash that Monday.  The rub was that I had to wait to answer.  Maryland is a no texting/no using-hands cell phone while driving state.  I had to wait until I got into Pennsylvania before I could call him back.  It would have been ironic if I, the one who hates talking on cell phones, were to get a ticket for talking on a cell phone.

I made it to my Breezewood checkpoint in decent time, and by that, I mean Wendys.  I rarely pass up an opportunity to go to Wendys.  I didn’t have very good timing though, because there were about a dozen people in front of me in line.  Wendy’s is usually pretty well run and they move the line, so I waited it out.  But naturally, there was one big family up there and they monopolized a good deal of time.  Meanwhile, I shot a text to my brother, to see where he was.  Turns out, he was almost to my Aunt’s house, about 2 hours ahead of me.  Guess they got an early start.

I heard the folks in line ahead of me discussing things they’ve found in their burgers.  Guy in front of me said he found a screw in a burger once.  He had one front tooth missing, so maybe that’s how it happened.  Anyway, I made the mistake of acknowledging the conversation so the next thing I knew, I got to hear all about 1-Tooth Guy.  I heard how he was unfairly pulled over by the cops for speeding.  I heard how he was unfairly fired from McDonalds.  I heard how he was unfairly harassed by park rangers over fishing without a license, even though they didn’t catch him with any no fish.

I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, before some of that unfairness rubbed off on me!

I made it out to my Aunt and Uncle’s house just in time to go straight out to the deck and hang with family and commence the weekend’s eating activities.  There was a lot of family out there, at least four generations worth.  Not only have so many of my cousins been getting married, they’re also reproducing like crazy.  It’s like Baby-Mania around there.

Lots of stuff was going on.  Grandpa was dispensing timeless advice to his great-grandchildren and to his pretty-good-grandchildren as well.

Grandpa drops some knowledge on Matthew; probably about the best time to plant tomatoes.

Grandpa schooling my nephew Sammy on how to break up a double play.  I think.

We had wiffleball going on in the back yard:

Not exactly a conventional alignment.  I think they were power-shifting against my brother.

We had introductions to the youngest cousin, EJ, whose birth to my cousin Angela, I wrote about here.

EJ rocks his Buccos onesy!

Then after some beers, some grilling and some more beers (and wine) it was time to feed EJ.  Angela brought the baby out and presented him, stark naked, to his Grandpa Ange.  (The baby was naked, not Angela.)

No, the boy’s peen is not glowing.  I figured I’d edit that bit out, to save me from the pedophile traffic.  I figure I can send the boy the original one day, in case he wants to send it to some hot chick with whom he’s Twittering.

Eventually someone brought out a bib for the boy, which was immediately tied around his… waist!  Why ruin Grandpa Ange’s golf shirt?

The bib says, “Kiss me, I’m Half-Italian.”

So the boy got fed, then got a change of clothes.

So did the Grandpa.  Like the boy wasn’t going to pee on his Grandpa anyway?  That’s how babies mark their territory.

We stayed up half the night just yakking and drinking wine.  It’s just what we do, besides eating.  That night merged right into the next morning, which found us all up and back at the kitchen table.  Only now, we were eating breakfast food instead of dinner food.  Still drinking, though.  Had to have those traditional Sunday Morning Shots.

My dad, pouring the shots.  Gentleman Jack always satisfies!

 Salute!

It’s fun when we get to sit around and visit.  Sometimes I get to hear stories that lend some insight as to why things are the way they are.  Like when Uncle Ange was talking about how my Grandpa knows everything, from how to plant tomatoes, to when to bury the fig tree, to how you should empty the garden hose of water before watering your plants (the water is heated from the sun) to how to prune hedges and cut grass, to how to dunk your biscotti in wine, etc.  And woe to those that don’t follow his directions.  Uncle Ange said that long ago he learned to just do what Grandpa told him, because in almost every case, the Old Man was right.  He didn’t do anything arbitrarily.  He had a lifetime’s worth of experience and knew the best way to do certain things.

So now I know where I get it.  I don’t mean all the gardening expertise, but I do have ways of doing things the to me, make the most sense.  And I don’t get why everyone wouldn’t want to do things my way.  In fact, I did a post about that once.  Anyway, I mentioned that at the table and the response was unanimous:

“Poor Pinky.”

Meanwhile, Sammy broke out the Smurf Village to play with.  You know, I never knew that the Smurfs actually lived in little penis replicas.  See for yourself…

Watch out, Sam.  There’s a congressman that wants so send a picture of that Smurf House to some girl…

I shouldn’t have had those shots though… I had a decision to make that afternoon before the wedding and the shots made it that much more difficult:

Which ball-cap goes with the suit?

The wedding went off well, as I already blogged, and next thing you know, it’s Memorial Day Monday!  Same routine though… sitting around the kitchen, eating eggs and homemade sausage, juice…

I swear, before I started getting ready to go to the Bag’O Fish BBQ, my Aunt wanted to feed me again.  Seriously!  I was like, “But I’m about to go to a barbeque!”

She says, “But they might not eat until later, you might get hungry.”

I learned long ago not to argue with my family about eating, because my answer is basically irrelevant.  Whether I agree to eat or not, food will appear in front of me.  I might as well just accept it.  So that’s why I ate before I went out to eat.

I left for home on Tuesday, but not before stopping off at a local market for some Pittsburgh delicacies:

Isaly’s chipped chopped ham and BBQ sauce, and Mancini’s Italian Bread.

I knew that there was going to be a major Sandwich Event on my horizon.

I wasn’t terribly worried about getting through town… I’d made this trip several times before, so what could go wrong?

I’ll tell you… My goddamned GPS.  Or rather, me not listening correctly to my goddamned GPS.  As I was sailing through that series of ramps before crossing the Allegheny and hitting I-376, I heard “Keep right, then keep left.”

So I kept right at one fork, and then took a left at the next fork.  Which was wrong because the GPS always gives you your following step, after a direction.  So I “kept left” before I was supposed to keep left, missed my turn, and took (another) scenic trip through downtown Pittsburgh.

At least the GPS led me out the other side.  After that, it was clear sailing.  I didn’t even stop at Wendy’s this time.  (I was still full from the weekend’s feasting.)  I barely had my bag unpacked before I hit that sandwich stuff.

That, my friends, was a work of art.  Granted, I could have used some provolone instead of Kraft Singles, but you make do.

Wednesday morning, I was NOT in the mood to go back to work.  Who would be, after all that fun?  But I had to pay it back.  I got on the scale and saw that I gained 7 pounds in 4 days.

Sigh.  Guess who’s been having salads for lunch?

Weens World! Weens World!

Party time, excellent…

We interrupt the stream of personal and family-oriented stuff I’ve been running lately to talk about some of the political whatnot this week.

Tough week for Weiners, don’t you think?  I haven’t seen the doors come off like that since the end of The Blues Brothers movie.

           

Like a lot of liberals, I liked Anthony Weiner.  He was quick, funny, and hit hard on issues I believe in.  I just wonder how he could have been so monumentally stupid.  Do these politicians never learn?  I mean, the roadside is littered with the corpses of politicians that thought no one would ever find out.

I mean, I can kind of see what happened… Here’s a guy that was probably a nebbishy kid and not very popular with the ladies.  Now he’s got some power and stature and wants to stroke his ego (and other things) a little.  (Remember that President, a few terms back?)

When the story started breaking, I was so hoping that it was just another dirty trick by some right-wing blogger out there.  But once I saw his press conference?  Sheesh.  Most unbelievable denial of all time.

Just once I’d like one of these guys to just come out and go, “Yeah, it was my dick and it’s none of your freakin’ business.  What, do you think I fold up after the session lets out and get put away under my desk?  The Ween’s got needs.  No one works on the People’s Business 24/7, and those that say they do are lying.  You got something to say about my legislative work, bring it on, otherwise, you’re cordially invited to go fuck yourself.  Peace…”

But then, there’s a wife involved in it too.  Ugh.  That amps up the damage.  Gonna be on garbage detail for a while.  He’d better go shopping for one of those big-ass Kobe Bryant “I’m Sorry” diamonds.

Of course, the Republicans are all over it with their mock indignation.  I’m sure they’re just relieved that it’s not one of them this time.  The head of the Republican National Party called for Weiner’s resignation yesterday.  Funny how I never heard any such calls for Sen. John Ensign.  So if I read that correctly, sending a pic of your underwear-wrapped peen is worse than having an affair by banging your chief of staff’s wife and then paying hush money to buy his silence.  Ensign didn’t resign; he rode out the end of his (6-year) senatorial term.

But that’s commerce… goods bought and sold… money changing hands.  No wonder the Republicans didn’t find any outrage over that.

One part of me thinks that he shouldn’t resign.  For one, he didn’t commit a crime.  As far as I know, it’s still legal to send a picture of your swaddled love monster to another consenting adult.  It doesn’t make you a bad legislator; it makes you a bad husband.  And personally I don’t give a shit what our congressmen do in their spare time, with other consenting adults.  I’m just glad when they’re screwing someone that wants it, for a change.  And if his wife wants to throw his ass out into the street and file papers, do it!  Take him to the freakin’ cleaners.  Just make sure he’s back on the job when it’s time to vote on the next big bill.  I think he should have to submit to a lecture from Maryland’s own, Senator Barbara Mikulski.

Senator Barb will give him the old what-for.

I think it’s a mistake to expect every lawmaker to be perfect.  They’re not and we’re not.  We shouldn’t be surprised when these guys do something stupid. 

Oh yeah, there’s the other point.  Why would I want someone to stay in office that is stupid enough to pull that shit and think he won’t get caught?  And then lie about it?  The truth always comes out.  The media makes sure of it.

And by the way, that’s some “liberal media,” right?  Just passing right by the story to protect their liberal icon.

NOT.

This is just one more chunk taken out of the right’s Liberal Media whining.  Listen, it’s the media’s job to play an adversarial role to government, no matter who is in charge.  I don’t see Weiner getting any breaks, just like I didn’t see John Edwards getting any breaks or Clinton getting any breaks.  The media forces out the truth, period.  I think it’s just that when they do it to the Right, they can’t handle scrutiny of their crooked ways, so they have to blame the messenger.  The only way to counter the damaging facts that get uncovered is to claim bias.  And sadly, it works.

When Fox “News” crows about being “fair and balanced,” it’s nothing but window dressing.  When you prop up everything one side does and excoriate everything the other side does, even when the side you’re raking is doing the same shit that “your side” has done, that’s not being a journalist, that’s being a shill.

And speaking of the Unpaid Arm of the Republican National Committee, aka Fox “News,” I had one very important issue about them answered for me this week.  You know how they’re always running some kind of inflammatory graphic and then claim it’s a mistake?  Like when they “accidentally” caption a picture of Obama, “President Osama?”  They say it was a simple mistake.  And then it happens again, and it was another mistake.  And the mistake is always to the detriment of the Democrat.

I always wondered if that was malice or incompetence and this week we got the answer.

Fox “News” did a piece on (their own special correspondent) Sarah Palin and used a picture of Tina Fey, impersonating Palin.  So I guess the answer is “incompetence.”

But after this incident, they sent an internal memo around threatening disciplinary action against anyone that screws up like that again.  (It’s in the article linked above.)

Right.  Nooooooow, it’s a serious matter, when it’s their own golden calf that they’ve slaughtered.  Come to think of it, I think they’re malicious AND incompetent.

Speaking of Caribou Barbie, you may have heard she gave a less than stellar history lesson last week in mis-describing the Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.  You know… the tale that every kid learns in grade school?

I’m not going to get into all the details of that story, but there was one episode that I found indicative of the typical Republican manipulation.  First of all, rather than just say she misspoke, like a normal person does when she’s totally and obviously wrong, she trotted out this half-baked parsing of words about how since the Americans were still British subjects, he really was warning the British.  And to make matters worse, her lackeys logged into Wikipedia and began changing the entry regarding Paul Revere, in order to make her version less, well... wrong.  Fortunately for those that like our history to be recorded the way it actually happened, these changes are being deleted as soon as they’re posted.  Long live Academia.

She also claims it was a “gotcha” question.  You know, I expect “gotcha” questions to be more like, “Who is the foreign minister of Whogivesafukistan?”  Palin obviously has another standard.  If “What newspapers do you read?” is a “gotcha” question, I’m sure that Fox “News” won’t ask her anything harder than the questions the knights had to answer before crossing the Bridge of Doom in Holy Grail.

What is your name?

Sarah.

What is your favorite color?

Red, doncha know!

What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?

Hey, that’s a “gotcha” question… SPROIIIIIIIING!

Now that’s an interview I’d like to see…

Anyway, back to Anthony Weiner being stupid.  It’s not just that he’s sending pictures of his deli-rye across the internet to someone other than the Missus.  What I want to know is that in the entire history of pictures, has a girl ever been won over by a picture of some guy’s meat whistle?  I mean, the dude was a pretty glib guy… he should have made that work for him.  Why leave your cheese hanging out in the digital wind?  I’m almost 50 and I’ve never felt the need to snap a pic of Bluz Junior and send it anywhere.  And I’ve even been asked! 

I think this is one place where we take a page out of the Teabagger’s Handbook and make all of our politicians take a pledge: The No Peen Pledge.

Do you, Senator Horndog, vow to keep your peen under wraps?

I do.

And do you swear that you will never photograph said ‘peen’ for any purposes other than perp identification?

I do.

And do you swear that you will adopt a life of monogamy for the duration of your term, or death (by natural causes) of Mrs. Horndog, whichever comes first?

I do.

Do you agree that you may wave the flag, wave to the crowd, wave your rights, catch a wave, enjoy the amber waves of grain, but you will NOT wave your willy?

I do.

And if you should break any of these commitments, you accept that Mrs. Horndog will be allowed to administer the Bobbett Solution?

Ummmmm…

SPROIIIIIIIING!

Just in case you’re wondering, there will be no such reciprocal pledge for our women of Congress, who thus far have been able to refrain from flashing their hooters from the Capitol steps.  Not sure what will happen if they elect a Congresswoman from Louisiana though.  No beads on that campaign trail, I tell ya…

Ultra Mart

For the longest time, we had regular family reunions on my Dad’s side.  We had them at Moon Park, west of Pittsburgh.  I think we started in the 70s and I know we ran through 2003 before it ran out of steam.  I loved the reunions; we always had a blast.  We had beer, grilled burgers, dogs and chicken, salads, cookies out the wazoo, pepperoni, cheese and crackers, and more beer.  I never missed a single one, no matter where I had to travel from to get there.  It was really my only chance to hang out with my cousins.  After eating, we’d always get up a big softball game or volleyball game, or whatever court/field/game area was open. 

As the firstborn of the lot, it’s been a trip watching them all grow up in 1-year increments.  I didn’t have much of a chance to get back to see everyone, otherwise.

But there was this one time, I think it was the Christmas of 1987 when we made it back for the holidays.  At one point we went over to my Dad’s cousin Deni’s house.  That was the first time I remember seeing her.

Director’s DVD Commentary: I’m sure I’d actually seen her before at a reunion, but she would have been a baby or toddler, and I wouldn’t have paid her much mind.

Deni had 3 kids, the youngest of which was Marta.  She was probably 3 or 4 at the time.  No sooner did we all troop in the door, she came up to me and pulled me into the family room and had me sit on the couch.  She then went over to the VCR, put in the Batman movie, (the one with Michael Keaton and Jack Nic), plopped on my lap and pulled my arm around her.  We stayed there for the entire movie.  I don’t know why she picked me out of the crowd, but she must have had her reasons.

So yeah, I guess I was wrapped around her tiny little finger from the get-go.

Eventually, when it was time to go, she wanted to know when I was coming back.  I told her I’d see her at the reunion in June.  That didn’t go over very well, but what can you do?  I’m sure 6-months seemed like forever to a 4-year old.

Then there I was that June, down in a pavilion shelter, when her family car rolled up.  She came running down that hill and hit me like Dino hits Fred when he comes home from work.  She took me by the hand and led me down to the playground stuff, where we climbed on things, I pushed her on the swings and twirled her around the twirly things until it was time to eat.

That’s how it would be for the next number of years.  At each reunion, she’d be on me like white on rice.  Various grownups would tell her to go play and leave poor Bluz alone for a bit.  To me, it was never a problem.  I enjoyed playing with her and we always had a good time.  Some years, when my parents and brother and sister couldn’t make the reunion, I came anyway.  Sure I wanted to see all the family, but mostly, I’d promised Marta I’d be there and there was no way I was going to disappoint the little girl with the eyes big and brown like Hershey’s Kisses.

Happiness is a fistful of marshmallows.

Hanging out with Marta always made my heart happy.  There’s nothing like getting that blast of pure love from a little one, before all the grownup games and issues make things so complex.  It was like that with my buddy Rik’s girls too, which I wrote about here.  But Marta was there first.

I swear, a second before the picture, she was all smiles.  Now it looks like I have her stapled there.

As always happens, grownups become less interesting to little kids as they get older and Marta was no different.  After all the years of playing closely together at the reunions, she started missing them here and there.  When she was there, the magic seemed to have faded away.  Which was fine; that’s how it goes.

I remember seeing her at one of our last reunions.  I think Marta was going to St. Vincent’s then, the college where the Steelers hold training camp every year.  She brought a boyfriend with her this time, a kid named Phil.  Seemed like a nice guy.  At one point, I might have told him that he had a good one there and better take care of her.  (I say I “might have” because that far in the past, it’s hard to remember what I actually did versus what I thought about doing.)

The little girl is growing up.  And I’m just getting old.

After we stopped having the reunions, I didn’t get to see Marta very often except for weddings.  All those cousins started getting married so they became de facto reunions.  Same fun, only we’re all better dressed.

I saw Marta in 2008 at my cousin Angela’s wedding and good Lord, was she ever all grown up.  Not that it surprised me that Marta would grow up into a dazzling young woman.  It was, in fact inevitable.

Her: Dazzling.  Me: Very very old.

This brings us to last Sunday, for the wedding of my luminous cousin Marta and the very lucky Phil.

I would have come across the burning desert to be there for this.  Luckily all I had to do was navigate through Pittsburgh.  With a desert, you often find yourself looking at an oasis, only to find that you can’t really get there.  Pittsburgh is a lot like that.  You can see your destination, but can’t find the right sequence of ramps and bridges that can take you there.  But I digress…

The wedding was beautiful and blessedly short… All business, just the way I like it! 

It was a little toasty in the church; a very old church.  So old, in fact, that they didn’t build the doors very high.  Of course, I found this out the “hard way” as I clonked my head on the top of the door on the way in.  I came very, very close to saying some unholy things in a church.  I won’t tell you what they were, but they sounded a lot like, “Bun of a snitch, my duck’n bed.”

Maybe that’s what knocked so many of my wedding pictures out of focus.  They looked good to me at the time, in my semi-concussed state.

I wasn’t very happy with my pictures… I still have to learn a better combination of settings for low-level light, but I did get one good shot.  In fact, I think this was the best one I’ve ever taken with people in it:

Maybe I just like it because I finally got one in focus.

The reception was wonderful; they jumped right into things… The Happy Couple arrived,

the First Dance,

the Cake Cutting,

the Toasts, then right to dinner.

I had the lamb.  It was darned good, except by the time I was done, I had an urge to go put on a sweater.

Had to stop by the Cookie Table, of course.

Oh my.  The goodness abounds.

It’s a good thing they were brisk about things because they needed to leave plenty of time for the Lebanese Circle Dance.

Director’s DVD Commentary: The mother of the bride is Lebanese so there was a great blending of the Italian and Lebanese traditions at Marta’s wedding, as there had been with her older siblings.  And one of these traditions is the Lebanese Circle Dance.  I’m sure that’s not the real name, but it’s what I call it.  Or the LCD, for short.  All forthcoming descriptions are my own non-expert observations.

The LCD takes about half an hour and it involves a big circle of people who move clockwise and go sidestep/sidestep/stomp left/kick right… repeat.  Inside the circle, the bride does a ritualized dance with various partners. 

The bride’s partner can be either male or female.  Sometimes, the male waves a white towel while he’s dancing, like Meat Loaf used to do with the red hanky.

At one point, both the groom and the bride’s father came in the ring with the white towels.  I think that symbolized the moment when the father says to the husband, “She is now off my books and on yours.  No take-backs.”

It’s all very ritualized.  I’m sure there are meanings behind every gesture.

For example, this gesture means, “Let’s go bowling.”

Hey, who bleached the Terrible Towels?

Even after the LCD was done, I swear the bride never left the dance floor.  Baby girl must have incredible stamina… either that or she was all hopped up on goofballs.  Wasn’t my kind of music though, but that’s just a generational thing.  I was digging when they played Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” though.  Can’t deny The Funk.  But the kids, God bless’em, they danced long into the night.

And me?  All night long I couldn’t help looking at the portraits up on easels in the corner.

No matter how grown up she gets, I can’t help but see that little girl with Hershey’s Kiss eyes.

Charted Waters

I had every intention of writing a post tonight, but now after being out to happy hour with Sitcom Kelly, I’m just not up to writing anything coherent right now.  So time to go to the vault!

Check out these graphs I found on Failblog.org:

This can actually go on for days…

Obviously I’ve left a major area out of my disaster recovery plans.

I totally cop to this one.  Of course I DID use it to look at the entire route from my old house in Toledo, all the way to downtown Pittsburgh.

And here, I can only come up with three chords… I don’t even make the chart.

I can state uncategorically that this applies to the Wendy’s on I-70 at Breezewood, in spades.

I’ll be back with more of last weekend’s trip, soon.

The Bag'O Fish Fry Bloggers Bash

Great weekend!  Big wedding fun, lots to eat and drink with family, and hmmm, what else? 

Oh yeah, the Darwinfish Fry II – The Bag’O Fish BBQ (a Darwinfish2 and Carpetbaggery Production.)

I’ll get into my trip overall and the wedding stuff with the next post, so I’m going to jump ahead to Monday’s affair.

All I can say is I thank my lucky stars (and my Dad) for that damned GPS.  I had to find my way from Moon Twp. to the Lawrenceville section of Pittsburgh.  On Google Maps it looks all nice and easy.  And it might have been, if once again, the goddamned bridge I wanted to cross wasn’t closed!  If not for the GPS, I probably would have just pulled over and cried until someone told me where to go.  But my little GPS calmly took me further up the road to the next bridge where I crossed and came back down into Lawrenceville and successfully found the Chateau de Carpetbaggere. 

Naturally, once inside, Cassie started ragging me about being late.  So sue me for not being a native, AND for not knowing that that bridge was actually open, despite all the signs saying it was closed.

Freakin’ Pittsburgh…

Anyway, Carpet and Mrs. Bagger were there with Casse, then Rich and Cher showed up almost immediately after me.  Cassie had her little tiny baby Maelie, who did a great job of keeping everyone occupied.

Cher with little tiny baby Maelie.  Sorry, it was hard to get a wiggly baby in focus.

The Baggers’ residence was amazing!  You could totally tell that it used to be a bar, mostly because of the big freakin’ bar built in to the front of the room!

The front of the Bagger Bar.

Their place used to be the Polish Falcon Social Club, Nest #176.  And that’s not all!  They took us down in the cellar and what do you know, it used to be a speakeasy!

This mural is in the style of the early 1900s and the other touches around the room indicate that it had been finished and decorated.  And the only cellars that got decorated back then were speakeasies.

So the mural wall was one thing… the rest?  OMG…

Total dungeon!  Dirt floors, block walls, low ceilings… Amazingly creepy!

That’s a coal chute on the right.  The coal-burning furnace was behind the camera.

You know, if the Carpetbaggers ever decide to move, I’m giving their number to Sitcom Kelly.  That is THE perfect room for her Pit.  She’d be right there in the city too which would be all the better for Penguin stalking.  And if she caught one before her Pit was ready, she could chain him up in the coal chute.

I can practically see "Letang" carved into the wall, right now.

Back upstairs, we had more arrivals.  Hot Mama, Hot Papa and their boys, and CC & Chilla (of Bitchburgh) rolled in, as did Red Pen Mama.  This was my first time meeting RPM so I was way excited.  It was she and I that dreamed up the original Darwinfish Fry but sadly, she had a scheduling conflict and couldn’t come.  So this was way overdue.

Cassie, Hot Mama and Red Pen Mama dish on smartphones.

Meanwhile, CC minds the baby.

Out back, Mr. Carpetbagger was tending the grill.  I suggested we try to make a Turtleburger.  Remember those?

I talked about these in a post from last September.

What better time than now?  So he gave it a shot…

Hmmm.  Maybe it will be better once it’s cooked.

OK, maybe not.  Proof of concept test: FAIL! 

Perhaps it would be better without pre-formed patties.  Maybe next time...

By the way... Most Amazing Sandals, Evah!

Some other nice touches around the Baggers’ place:

Blue bottles behind the bar, in front of the glass-block wall.

Only the finest in paper hand towels at the Carpetbagger Estate!  (the sign really cracked me up.)

Later on, who should show up but Bluz Mama and Bluz Papa!  Yes, the very two that spawned so many of my stories, plus, you know, me.

Lil Mother explains to Cassie and Maelie that Bluz wasn’t reeeeeally deprived just because he couldn’t have Pop Tarts, sugared cereal, grapes, head lettuce, a seat belt or toys.

Shortly after my folks arrived, so did Angie of Ranting in Pittsburgh.  I’m totally kicking myself for not getting her in a picture.  This was my first time meeting her after a couple years of reading her blog, so it was way overdue.

As people started to filter out, we adjourned to the back yard to yak under the gazebo.  But before long, I had to make a break for it.  I wanted to try to get out of town and into familiar territory before the sun went down.

Again, I was thankful for the GPS, because even though I was able to go back over the closed bridge that was really open, the Google Map that showed a nice smooth journey curving through town is actually a route loaded with ramps and overpasses crisscrossing every which way so that any time you’re caught in a wrong lane it will send you careening in some direction you don’t want to go and quite possibly never to return again.

Nevertheless, I made it home none the worse for wear, just in time for a nightcap.

So that’s another Pittsburgh bloggers get-together in the books.  I have to say a huge thank you to Mr. and Mrs. Carpetbagger, for opening their doors to us and putting out a great spread of high-quality food and drink.  (Turtleburgers aside.)

It makes me so happy to be able to sit face to face and talk with such amazing people, who labor day after day to put their thoughts down and throw them out to the world.  Whether it’s sports or politics or family stuff or fitness, you’re all such great blogging role models.  And it’s so satisfying to know that behind each brilliant blog is a brilliant writer, character or raconteur.  (And often, all three.)  To all of you, I bow and thank you for letting me into your world.  Yinz are the greatest!

And next time… we storm Cassie’s house!


Late Update!
Annoyed at the poor quality of the "people" shots I posted, respected blogger Red Pen Mama volunteered some of her actual "good" pictures from last Monday:

Red Pen Mama with Bluz

Red Pen Mama with Cassie.  Now there's the glamor shot.

Bluz with Cassie and Maelie.  The Circle of Pictures is now complete.