Another Op-Ed Smackdown

Well, here I am again, trying to smack down an argument on the same old thing.  Some numb-nut Assemblyman from Virginia wrote in to the Baltimore Sun this morning with an anti-gay marriage diatribe.  Same thing happened here in March, when Maryland was considering a law permitting it, and someone wrote in a bunch of bigoted bullshit masquerading as religious mumbo-jumbo.  I wrote into the paper and they ran my letter online.  It didn’t make the print version, but I was OK with that.  I got a good post out of it.

I tried it again this evening and I’m pretty sure this one won’t make the paper either, mostly because it’s longer than the average Letter to the Editor.  But again, I at least get a post out of it.  You can see the original op/ed piece here. 

If I was writing it solely for the blog, I’d have went into more detail and used more of his quotes.  But since I was trying to be compact and not give his views any more exposure than they already got, (other than to make fun of them), I only hit the major points. 

My letter is below:

Regarding the commentary by Bob Marshall (On Marriage, O’Malley Should Heed O’Brien), the author should be commended for providing a veritable litany of logical fallacies, errors and oversights that would serve as a real-time example of “How Not To,” for any high school debate team.

Right out of the gate, he starts out, “As a Catholic, a 20-year member of the VA General Assembly…” When talking politics, religion is irrelevant as a basis for argument.  State law must apply to everyone in the state, not just those adherents of any particular brand.  In America, being Catholic gives one no more standing than being Jewish, Muslim or the Buddha himself.

Next he claims that by O’Malley telling O’Brien to stick to administering to his flock, he is infringing on the Archbishop’s First Amendment rights.  The Governor was questioning whether he should be speaking on the topic, not whether he was allowed to.  This is a common dodge because it appears to help bolster a weak argument by vociferously claiming the right to make it, which of course, was never in question. 

While I acknowledge he has a right to express his opinion, perhaps Assemblyman Marshall should stick to misdirecting those in his own state.

He goes on to compare sexual orientation with the usual scare-issues: pedophilia, polygamy, necrophilia, bestiality and so forth.  He claims that there is no logical reason to draw the line between these things and same-sex marriage, because they’re all behaviors.

Of course, they are not all behaviors.  Scientific studies have overwhelmingly shown that homosexuality is an inborn trait.  (At least, the studies that weren’t bought and paid for by religious conservative think tanks, where the conclusion is written before the testing is done.)  The rest of these scare-tactic actions are not inborn and there is no one campaigning to legitimize them.  In fact, the most common place you hear about such things is in arguments from people wanting to prevent gay marriage.

Marshall even drags poor Thomas Jefferson into it, of all people… the Poster Boy for Separation of Church and State!  Perhaps he should look up what Jefferson had to say about limiting the power and influence of priests.

The last big swing and miss comes when Marshall explains how permitting gay marriage will “impact the rest of us.”  He raises a lot of preposterous predictions about how religious schools will lose their tax-exempt status and will be forced to “promote (not just tolerate) homosexuality.”

Even a cursory reading of the law that passed in New York (in addition to the one that was proposed in Maryland this year) will show the protections for religious institutions that were baked in.  Once again, we have a lot of horrible-sounding scare tactics about possible actions that aren’t really in play.

And isn’t that exactly how you push an argument when you can’t win on facts?  You play on fears and misdirect attention.

Gay marriage has zero affect on traditional marriage.  Zero.  There is roughly a 50% divorce in this country right now and there will no doubt continue to be one if gays are allowed to marry.  If people would work on their own households rather than worry about what’s going on next door, perhaps that percentage might improve a little.

When you strip away the fear mongering and scary language, this is really all about withholding civil rights from people because of the way they were born.  And that’s wrong.  It was wrong in 1776, it was wrong in 1964 and it’s wrong right now.

I really wish I could shelve this topic for a while but the shit just keeps coming back.  As long as a bunch of holier-than-thou hypocrites are making it their mission to keep good people from being happy, I’m going to have to keep holding feet to the fire and calling ‘bullshit.’

Bluz… OUT!

Grass Stained

First off, I apologize for not getting a post up on Thursday night, as is my habit.  Thursday was Pinky’s birthday, so there were festivities and ceremonies to which I had to attend.  Surely you can understand my position…

“Of course I understand, and… well… you know.”

So this week, as the NFL picked itself up and dusted itself off to begin training camps in earnest and assemble their teams, I had to laugh when my football nemesis, the Baltimore Ratbirds signed Ricky Williams to provide depth at running back.

I laugh because of Williams’ long history of violating the NFL’s drug policies, in addition to general weirdness.  I wasn’t sure if the team’s upper management was aware of their new running back’s proclivities, so I submitted the following for them to use to open their press conference:

“The Baltimore Ravens are proud to announce the signing of Ricky Williams to our football club.  Please rest assured that this is not the token signing of some veteran gone to pot.  It was a joint decision among the team executives, after hashing out some differences and weeding out a number of unsuitable options that had been in the pipeline.  We look forward to getting Ricky out on the grass with his new buds and using his blunt force power to sow the seeds for a championship.  And now if you will refer to the overhead screen, you can get a look at our next potential free agent targets.

“Thank you.”

Let it be said that I don’t really have anything against Ricky Williams; at least, not until now that he’s hooked up with the enemy.  Actually, I’m kind of thankful for the ammunition for when the Rattie fans start yapping about Hines Ward’s DUI.  Say what you will, but that was one stupid misjudgment and he’s going to pay for it. 

Williams, on the other hand has jumped in and out of the NFL like he was doing the Hokey Pokey.  And the Ratbirds went out and signed him.  Sure they’ll spin it like it’s a big chance for redemption and they’re really concerned with running a team that with character, but in actuality, they’re just bringing in anyone they think will help, regardless of their off-the-field life.  And there’s nothing wrong with that.  But don’t then go out in the press and preach about what a high-class organization you have when, not only do you continue to employ an accessory to murder like Ray Lewis, but then go out and obtain a player known for willfully violating the NFL (and federal) drug laws.

Director’s DVD Commentary: I was really trying to find a picture of the old SNL Garrett Morris rasta character he used to do on Weekend Update, that was always saying, “Must be ganjaaaaa…”  Alas, I couldn’t find squat.  But that was kind of a mixed blessing, because who knows how many times I’d have to explain the joke to youngsters like Cassie.

Also, try as I might, I couldn't find in a way to work in the word, "bong."

Vacation Finale and Recap

Well, my annual vacation to wild, wonderful, Whitehouse Ohio is now but another memory.  I made it home safely and without incident, although we did get bounced around during our Baltimore approach.  It was probably just turbulence emanating from Washington DC.

Still, I can’t help but feel like I left with some work left undone.

You can see my leftover Myles Pizza box in there too, but that made the trip home with me.

I’ve never left that much beer behind.  We seriously overbought for the party and then barely put a dent on the leftover beer.  We kept one batch on ice for 3-4 days and I worked on it every night, but it seemed like it never got any emptier.  Between the leftover beer and the leftover BBQ, it was like staying at a theme park dedicated to the Seven Deadly Sins.

The Sloth and Gluttony were givens.  It there would have been an actual sloth in the garage, he’d be like, “Damn, dude, get going…”

For Wrath, Rik was still pretty pissed that all his bar-sluts never showed up for the party.  For Greed, we really didn’t need two Myles Pizzas, but I wanted to be sure I had plenty to bring home with me.  For Envy, I was certainly envious of my buddy’s neighbor that had the great house and hot wife.  For Lust, see “Envy.”

The only one I think we’re lacking is Pride.  When you’re this slothful and gluttonous, it’s hard to be very proud.  Sitting out there in the Dad Cave, surrounded by beer and meat, I can’t imagine I would seem like much of a ‘catch’ to any passing hotties.  I suppose I can settle for being proud of how much water I can displace, sitting in the tub.

Fortunately, there’s one benefit to growing older…

Our last ‘big’ event was Friday when John and I did a little fishing in the local quarry. 

Whitehouse Quarry

Back when I lived there, it used to be a great place to swim, but that’s forbidden now.  In fact, it had been all closed up for years.  Recently opened, I was sure that it would be packed with fish and that we would be out catching dinner.  But I was wrong.

The fish were out there, but apparently had held a meeting to discuss how best to annoy us.  In fact, I’m sure they held that meeting directly surrounding every piece of bait I threw out there.  I could see them in the clear water, encircling my drowning worm and discussing which one of them should take the tiniest peck at it and then disappear.

Little fuckers made me look like Carl Spackler in Caddyshack.

“License to kill bluegills, by the Government of the United Nations.  Man free to catch bluegills at will.”

For over 5 hours I sat out there on my perch, gazing into the blue water.  It really was a pretty cool spot.  I had a nice place up on the top of a 6-foot rock wall.

I was pretty sure that the only reason they kept pecking the worm was so that I’d have to replace it frequently, which meant I’d poke my finger with the hook about 7000 times.

Most of the perimeter was made up of rock-wall so you had to be on your toes, so to not accidentally tumble in.  The fact that you couldn't take any beer there, helped my odds of staying dry immensely. 

Well, dry from the quarry water, sure.  While the temperature was pretty comfy in the mid-80s, the sun beating down on my back was still troublesome.  Luckily, I had some sun block with me so I was able to protect my arms, legs and neck.  Unfortunately, I forgot about one spot.  I’d figured my ball cap would keep my melon from getting scorched and it pretty much did… except for that open half-moon space in the back, over the adjustable band.  If I still had the hair up there that I did when I was a teenager, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but alas, that’s a long way behind me.  So for the next couple days, I had a nice half-moon shaped sunburned patch on the back of my head.  Nice.

During our last hour, I finally got a fish on the line… a little rock bass.

Ernest Hemmingway, I ain’t.

John had caught two earlier, so I was glad to at least get on the board, but none of our prized catches were keepers.  We went home as empty-handed as we’d come.

So for about the 4^th or 5^th time, we went out to Shawn’s Irish Tavern for a meal.  (It had been a frequent stop for mid-day beers and lunches.)  Honestly, if the food weren’t so good (and cheap) we wouldn’t have kept going back.

After that, we stopped by the ‘other’ bar in town, Mad Anthony’s.  Unfortunately, it was karaoke night.  Did you feel that breeze Friday night?  That was the corpse of Elvis, spinning rapidly in his grave.

You know, when a karaoke business in set up in a place that houses very few people that can carry a tune, they really ought to have a special playlist of songs that don’t require actual singing.  Like “instrumentals” would be good… songs like “Green Onions” “Frankenstein” or “One Step Beyond.”  Or you could use “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” the Blues Brothers “Rubber Biscuit” or any song by Johnny Cash.

I told the bartender that she must have the best seat in the bar, because she gets to look at the faces of everyone there as they cringe during the painful parts.

One thing I saw in the Dad Cave sent me straight into a painful flashback:

My dad used to have one just like this when I was a small boy.  He’d cut the grass and my job would be to clip along the fence where the mower couldn’t quite reach.  I don’t think he really cared about the grass; he was actually trying to turn me into an 8-year old ringer at a Lumberjack Arm-Wrestling Contest.  Man, I hated that thing.  I’d be out there clipping and snipping until my arm fell off and my hand applied for asylum on someone else’s body. 

He probably just wanted to build some character.  And guess what?  I am one now.

So while I was happy to get back to my own comfy, queen-sized bed, I always hated leaving those tranquil evenings.  That far from a city, you can really see the stars and hear the quiet.  As we sat in the garage, it could be hours between cars driving by.  A guy enjoying a couple of beers out there can go pee on the lawn without any chance of being seen.

There’s nothing like simple country living.

Director's DVD Commentary: I wasn't sure I was even going to be able to do any posts while I was away; that's why I set up the reruns to post.  My concern was getting my new camera to work on my buddy's Mac, without having to install any software.  I usually just remove the memory card and stick it in the slot on my PC, but I knew his Mac didn't have that slot.

As it turned out, he'd just gotten a new printer, that DID have the memory card slot, so I was back in business.  But wait... the pictures were straight from my camera, so they'd be about 2 MB each.  I didn't want to load that much weight on my blog-use photo album (lest I run out of space) and among all his fancy Mac photo gizmos, I didn't see anything to reduce photo size.

But!  I figured out that I could load the shots I wanted to use from his Mac to my Flickr account, then reference the html code from the blog.  That way I could use all the pictures I wanted, without housing the large files.  I know that might be 'everyday' procedure for you, but it was new to me and I was happy that I figured it out.  

You may have even noticed that my traditional format was broken on those posts... the pictures and captions were all left-justified.  I always center them, like with this post.  Still, I was glad just to be able to bang out those updates for you in a timely manner.  Apologies for overloading your senses with 5 posts in 5 days.  I think that's a record for me.

The Bluzdude Rules of Vegetables

I read last week that not only do fruits and vegetables not taste as good as they did in your grandparents’ day, but produce today is 5-40% lower in minerals than that grown 50 years ago.

I don’t have anything against fruit. They make candy, cereal, and Pop-Tarts in fruit flavors, so it must be pretty good. Even the Vitamin C tablets taste good, kind of like a fortified Sweet Tart.

Vegetables, on the other hand… well… have you ever heard of Frosted Spinach Pop-Tarts? How about Tropical Broccoli Lifesavers? There’s a reason for that.

Vegetables are evil, and I’ve never trusted them. Now I find out they’re losing whatever scant upside they had to begin with? Now, the only reason Moms have to force-feed the peas to her horrified offspring is just to see the look on their faces.

It seems as good a time as any to revisit some of my “produce” from the past called: “The Rules of Vegetables”. 

People have always called me a fussy eater, especially when it comes to vegetables. I never thought so, but when confronted with the evidence, I had to scramble for logical reasons why I like what I like. Thus, this post was born. For the longest time, it’s just been something I’ve explained to people, as a kind of performance art, but recently, a friend asked me to forward it to one of his friends, and I realized that I had nothing to forward. I rectified the situation, and now I proudly present “My Rules of Vegetables.”

My Rules of Vegetables

1. The more syllables there are in the name, the worse they are.  The good veggies have 1 syllable… Peas, beans, corn.

  · Veggies with 2 syllables are good raw, but not cooked… carrots, peppers, spinach. (even Popeye didn’t cook his spinach.)

  · After that, the more syllables you add, the worse they become… asparagus, cauliflower. Any vegetable that gets compared to a boxer’s ear can’t be good for you.

2. Several conditions act as “multipliers” of badness. The more of these conditions that are present, the worse the vegetable's taste.

  · Veggies that end in a vowel… broccoli, zucchini, origami. There must be something especially potent about a double “C”, which makes broccoli into my personal kryptonite.

  · Double letters… Brussels sprouts, eggplant. Regarding eggplant, I could also add that purple vegetables are also bad, but I don’t want to sound petty or biased against “vegetables of color.”

  · Any veggie with a “Q” in it. Or, as I call it, “The Squash Rule.” This rule also encompasses any little-used letters, like “Z” or “X”. I don’t know if there are any vegetables with “X” in them, but if there are, I’m sure I won’t like them.

My Rules of Meat

The rules of meat are much simpler, and hark back to a simpler time when the menfolk found themselves hungry, they left the cave and went out a’huntin’.

1. Meat is Good.

2. Organs are Bad.

I’m quite certain that when the pack went out and brought down a mastodon or something, that they roasted the meat right there on the spot. This routine became the earliest known evidence of “grilling out”. (And the one thing that always helped get the fire started was the mastodon’s bushy tail, hence the enduring term, “tailgating”.)

Everyone participated in the hunt, except the women and, of course, the French. So when they realized that they had eaten all the meat out there in the field, they looked for something they could bring back home to the wife and kids. Now, they knew that bringing home nothing but the oddly shaped and weirdly colored scraps would get them a real ration of grief, so they figured they’d better come up with a plan.

So these wretched leftovers were presented, with great reverence and fanfare, as “the best parts, the parts where all the nutrition is!” (This is also the birth of “Marketing,” as we know it) This prehistoric bait and switch took hold right down to our DNA, and the remnants remain to be seen today. Next time you’re at “Henri’s Bistro”, just take a look at who’s ordering the pancreas, and who’s serving it. And you can just smile knowingly, as you order the pork chops. With corn.

Mudhens and Pizza: Vacation Week Continues

As I mentioned in the Wednesday's post, we went out to see the World Famous Toledo Mudhens on Monday night.

I say "World Famous" because that's how the team promotes itself.  The only reason they're "World Famous" is because Jamie Farr's character "Klinger" talked about them all the time on M*A*S*H.

We had nice seats, 5 rows behind the Hens' dugout on the 3rd base side.

I got some decent action pictures but not of anyone terribly noteworthy, other than Brandon Inge, who had recently been banished to AAA baseball for having the gall to bat under .200.  But I did get a good shot of the Hens' mascot, Muddy.

They also have a female version, called Mudonna.  Welcome to 1986.

The best part of the night was that I got to meet long-time blog friend Sherry.  We all met in Waterville to hop on the shuttlebus that takes you from out in the sticks, straight to the ballpark (for $1)!

You can tell she's totally jealous of my World Famous Toledo Mudhens ballcap.

Sherry was just as fun and smart and cool as I thought she'd be.  You really should check out her blog, even though she has her mother writing it right now, which is an idea that I'm totally stealing.  (Only I'm using MY mother and not hers.  If she agrees to it.)

As someone that lives for swag, I took advantage of going to the Mudhens Swamp Shop to pick up some goodies to sport around Baltimore:

Toledo Mudhens t-shirt.  Logo is sewn on and the whole thing is soft and comfy.

Dig that cool-ass logo!

I don't know why the Hens' shop sells stuff for the local ECHL hockey team, the Toledo Walleye, but I'm glad they do.  This will pass for 'exotic' back home.

On a note completely unrelated to the Mudhens or Walleye, but entirely related to swag, they also have a gift shop around here that sells stuff for the local high school from which I graduated.

You can't pick up Anthony Wayne Generals swag just anywhere...

Anyway, we had a ball at the ballgame and it was completely worth the $9 ticket.  I love small town life!

On Tuesday, the big event was to go to my old college haunt, Myles Pizza in Bowling Green.  As you may remember from my last trip, this pizza is as thick as an apple pie... and not because of the crust!  It's just loaded with toppings and cheesy goodness.

John sat out this excursion, so I went with Rik and all of his girls.  (His son Jake had soccer practice.)  I'll tell you that I'm apprehensive about taking a baby out to a restaurant, but Rik's little granddaughter Ailey was solid gold.

"Where's the pizza, Pappy?"

She pretty much just sat and cooed and played the entire time we were there.

"I may need some help with this."

We stuffed ourselves silly with pizza and I still had plenty to take home.  Although since we went fairly early in my week here, some of it may not make the trip.

After lunch/dinner, we took a cruise by my first apartment.  This was the place where I lived with my girlfriend and another female mutual friend, during the Summer of Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow.

I must say: it looked much better in 1984.

As you can see, it used to be the garage to the large white unit on the right.

Clearly, it's seen better days.  It's a pity.  It was such a cool little place at the time.  Now it looks like the backdrop to an episode of "Cops."

After we got back to Rik's place, Kyrie realized that I hadn't yet taken a picture of her with her niece, so we took care of that oversight on my part.

The big event on Wednesday was our first grilling of my trip.  Usually that's the first order of business, but this week, we never really had the chance.  We had all kinds of leftovers from the big 50th Bash, then the trip to Myles (after which you don't think you'll ever be hungry again) so finally it was midweek.  John busted out the steaks!

Before.

After.

My perfect dinner is served.

We spent the rest of the night working on our remaining mountain of leftover beer, out in the Dad Cave.

This is the Dad Cave.

John has the perfect collection of sports stuff and tools.  There's the fridge for beer and freeze-pops, a giant work bench, a couple of massive table-saws (under the blankets) Steelers paraphernalia, and beer lights.

This was the first beer light we ever acquired for out in our Barn.  It has found a nice new home in the Dad Cave.

This is the altar work bench.  Yeah, John pretty much has everything... or at least that's what I think.  But you can't go by me because every one of MY tools fits in a little tool bag.

When we were straightening up for the party on Saturday, I felt the need to straighten out one of the beer lights which was hanging crookedly and just out of reach, so I grabbed that long metal wrench-thing at the upper left corner.  John sees what I'm using if for and goes, "Yeah, I have a tool for that."

As for the bumper sticker on the top, suffice to say that we agree not to talk politics.  It's just easier that way.  In fact, I refuse to acknowledge anything that happens in the political world, while I'm on vacation.  I'm getting away from it ALL!

Coming up next (reruns aside): Fishing!

Villains Redux, Part 2

Greetings from rustic Whitehouse Ohio!  For your entertainment today, I give you part 2 of my recycled post about movie villains.  Hey, if you never saw it the first time, it’s not a rerun to you!

Last post I began running down my list of favorite villains, starting with Monsters. This installment will be a little lighter, covering two smaller lists of “Comedic” Villains and “Character” Villains.

Comedic Villains
3. Hedley Lamarr, played by Harvey Korman in “Blazing Saddles
Harvey Korman stepped out from the Carol Burnett show to portray a brilliant comedic villain, foil to Sheriff Bart and confidant of the “Gov” (Mel Brooks). No word if Tim Conway was unavailable.

Key quote: “I want you to round up every vicious criminal and gunslinger in the west. Take this down. I want rustlers, cut throats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, con men, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswogglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass-kickers, shit-kickers and Methodists!!” (See below for full effect.)

2. Kim Jong Il, voiced by Trey Parker in “Team America: World Police”
Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the guys that do “South Park” did an action movie that makes fun of the lunkheads that blow up the entire city in pursuit of the bad guys, and the weenie Hollywood establishment that protests their methods. And they did it all with marionettes.

The brains behind this particular bad-guy operation is North Korean dictator Kim Jong Il. He is played with a broad Asian accent and he gets most of the good lines. Then after numerous scenes of depraved brutality, he gets the show’s big number, the somber lament, “I’m So Ronery”.

Key quote: I'm… So… Ronery / So ronery / So ronery and sadry arone / There's no one / Just me onry / Sitting on my rittle throne / I work rearry hard and make up great prans / but, nobody ristens, no one understands / Seems rike no one takes me serirousryyyyy / And so, I'm ronery / A rittle ronery / Poor rittle me.

See below for Kim’s assault on UN Inspector Hans Brix… I mean, Hans Blix.

1. The French Taunter, played by John Cleese from “Monty Python and the Holy GrailIn a movie with so many bizarre characters and memorable scenes, this guy is completely stands out with his over-the-top French-accented insults.

Key quotes: (too many to list just one): “I’m French!” Why do you think I have this outrrrrageous accent, you silly king?”
“You don’t frighten us, English pigdogs! Go and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King; you and all your silly English kennn-iggits!”“So, you think you can out-clever us French folk with your silly knees-bent-running-about-advancing behavior. I wave my private parts at your aunties, you cheesy lover second-hand electric donkey bottom biters”

Both scenes in which the French Taunter appears are in the clip below.

Character Villains
3. Catwoman, played by Julie Newmar on the TV show “Batman”Oh, my. This “villain” had my little 6-year-old world all screwed up. I know she was always setting deadly traps for Batman, but me-yow, even my tiny elementary-school brain could see she was fiiiiine. Even Batman just wanted to get her up to the Bat Cave. (Nope… no jokes about the Bat Pole… must… resist…)

There have been a number of Catwomen… Eartha Kitt? She predated Julie Newmar but I never saw her play the role. Lee Merriweather played Catwoman in the 1966 movie… she was OK, but something just wasn’t quite right. Michelle Pheiffer? OK, you got me there… she was also fiiiine. But also stone cold crazy. Lastly, Halle Berry in the 2004 movie… Fine, but the movie was so bad it doesn’t really count. No, my heart belongs to Julie Newmar and my mixed up 2nd-grade memories.

Key quote: (Batman) “Oh Catwoman… Catwoman, will you never learn?”

Catwoman comes in at about the 1:20 mark, and makes me want to do things to her of which the ASPCA would not approve.

2. The Joker, played by Heath Ledger in “The Dark Knight”
“Why so serious?” Because this was a serious role, that’s why. I saw the Dark Knight in the theater last year and you just couldn’t take your eyes off the guy. The role was richly written and brilliantly acted. I used to think that Jack Nicholson’s Joker was the gold standard… he had it way over the TV version. But the thing is, you always knew it was Jack Nic. He never stopped being Jack. I don’t know where Heath Ledger went during the filming of that movie, but he was gone and only insanity was left, along with that lizard tongue.

Key quote: “Do you want to know why I use a knife? Guns are too quick. You can't savor all the... little emotions. In... you see, in their last moments, people show you who they really are. So in a way, I know your friends better than you ever did. Would you like to know which of them were cowards?”

1. Dolores Umbridge, played by Imelda Staunton in “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix”
This is what you get when you cross a mean, small-minded bureaucrat with unfettered power. The reason she gets this ranking from me is that I know people like this, sans that magic. The shallow veneer of civility can only hide so much. Putting people like this in charge of children is like putting a necrophiliac in charge of the Coroner’s Office.

Key quote: “As I told you, Mr. Potter, naughty children deserve to be punished.”

Coming soon: the “Regular-People” Villains.

(Well, coming as soon as I write it.  This is where the series stopped in 2009.)

150 Years of Causing Trouble

I made it into town without any trouble, although on the plane, I did have cause to add one more item to The Book of Bluz:

Bluz 3:24 - The second some kid on the plane starts screeching will be the very moment they announce that you have to shut off all electronic devices and take off your earphones.

But why quibble?  My flight was uneventful and on time.  My buds met me at curbside within minutes of my arriving there.  We had a car-full this time.  Instead of being picked up by one gorilla in a tweed jacket (John, while on the road for his work), there was John, his grandson Gavyn, Rik, and Rik's son Jacob.  I got the full monkey house.

The highlight of the ride home was determining who cut the cheese in the back seat.  After much interrogation, Gav finally fessed up.  Then later, as we were discussing other things, John said, "Something just smells funny."

From the back seat, Gavyn piped up, "Sorry Papa, that was me."

After a few deliveries and pickups of personnel (dropping off little Gavyn and picking up John's dad), we made our way to Shawn's Irish Pub to commence festivities.  As usual, we ate, drank and made merry.  As payback for the ride to and from Detroit, this one is always on me.  Still, I have to cackle at the ridiculously low tab.  God love small town prices.

First night, we just hung out in the garage, aka The Dad Cave, drinking beer and cranking up the music.  I woke up the next morning with a sore throat, from yapping all night long.  But there was a spring in my step because this was the day that we were having the big 50th birthday jamboree and hootenanny.  This year, John, Rik and I all turn the big 5-oh.  Technically, the two of them have already turned.  I don't turn until October, which means I'm not really old yet.  This is my payback for when they all turned 18 and could go out to clubs, but I couldn't.  Revenge is mine!

Before we could party, we had some chores to do.  After running out to pick up chairs and tables, John's brother-in-law Kenny and I went out to pick up the food, while Rik and John went for beer.

When we first envisioned our party, we were going to do a hog roast.  But as the date drew near, it occurred to Grillmaster John that it might be more fun to order up the food from a local BBQ house, than it would to stand over a hot pig for 7 or 8 hours, in 95 degree heat.  And so it was decided.  Kenny and I headed for City Q Barbeque and I can tell you, John did not overstate the yumminess.  We could smell the "Q" before we even got out of the car.

Sorry, you'll have to imagine the aroma.

We returned with 8 pounds of pulled pork,

8 pounds of beef brisket,

4 pounds of mac and cheese,

as well as 2 pounds each of baked beans and cole slaw.  Oh there would be a feast tonight...

Meanwhile, John and Rik came back with about 6 cases of beer.  (Plus, other people brought some as well.)  It didn't look like we were going to run short on food and drinks, that's for sure.

Yes, it's plain old American beer.  We're plain old Americans.  As Cassie would say, "Don't judge."

John made sure that there would be no doubt where the party was...

...as if all the cars and people in front of the garage and the blasting music weren't a dead giveaway.

Last weekend I was sufficiently inspired to order up some tee shirts for the occasion and I had them sent straight here.  So we had our outfits all ready for us when Partytime arrived.

That's 150 years of mischief, right there.

Shortly after 4:00 the guests started rolling in.  This was a non-gifting affair, but Rik's brother Adam generated some smiles with this present for me.  Who knew he was this concerned about my failing eyesight?

Obviously, some people got more into the spirit of these specs, than others.

More of Rik's family rolled in, including Kyrie, about whom I wrote last week.

If she gets any prettier, I won't even be able to look at her any more.

Heck, even Gavyn knows what's up.  Sure he was giving hugs to everyone in the garage, but he must have hugged Kyrie every 5 minutes for the entire night.  Boy's got game...

As co-Birthday Boy, I had to get some shared screen-time as well.

Bluz, hoping some of that hotness will rub off.

Rik's daughter Kia came by as well, bearing his Grand-baby #1, Ailey.

Commence spoiling!

John's wife Julie had a nice cake made for us.

It was really good, although I didn't have any that night.  Way too full of baked macs, meat and beer.  Later we had a cigar-lighting ceremony in honor of our dearly departed friend Brill, who would have been 50 earlier this year.  After that, John broke out a real relic... a gold-plated CD of Boston's first album that Brill had given him 20 years ago.  He'd never even opened the cellophane.  We had his son Jay do the honors after John gave a short but moving speech.  Judging from all the moistened eyes in the garage, we still miss our buddy like crazy.

Rik was a little P.O'd that none of his friends around town bothered to come.  I told him it's sad that bar-sluts are so notoriously unreliable.  That didn't seem to help any.

None-the-less, we ate like kings, drank like fools and carried on until the wee hours of the night.  Jay brought a bag of (mild) fireworks, so the chilluns had big fun with the sparklers and with making things go BOOM.

Meanwhile, we grownups sat around and shot the shit.

You're never too old to sit on daddy's lap.

I didn't get to bed until after 2:00 AM.  I am NOT used to being up that late, but time just seemed to have flown.  Needless to say, it was a lazy Sunday for all.  I wasn't out of bed until past 10.  I didn't even get dressed; we just watched TV all day and tried to dry out.

So obviously, it was a successful party.

Last night we went to see the Toledo Mudhens play; tonight we head to Bowling Green for some legendary Myles pizza.  Pics and details to follow later this week.  I might even get dressed for it.