The Mojo Boogie - The Ratbird Edition

Today’s the big day… the showdown between my Pittsburgh Steelers and the hated local team, the Baltimore Ravens.

This is the second time these two have played this year; the first time didn’t go so well.  The Ratbirds waxed us 35-7 in the season’s opening game, which they played in Baltimore.  This time the game is in Pittsburgh, where I believe things will go a little differently.  Think: the second time Rocky got to fight Clubber Lang. 

I don’t plan to go into a lot of detail with this post today.  You all already know that I loathe the Ratbirds and want nothing more than for my boys to shut their collective pie holes.  They are at the top of the Steelers Unholy Trinity.

Knocked off one last week, now it’s time for the next one.

Suffice to say that things get much easier for me around here when we don’t lose to the Ratties. 

At work, this week, we convened a meeting/pizza party with our rag-tag band of rebels, the Steel City Underground.  It’s so much fun to see the looks of disgust from the locals when they see us all decked out, on their turf.  They just don’t know how to process it.

No big plans for watching the game, I’ll just be at home in my chair, Terrible Towel on my knee and rocking my designated game-day mojo.  Now about that…

On one hand, I gave serious thought to wearing the Woodley jersey I wore last week for the wrecking of the Patriots.  But there are two problems.  For one, Woodley won’t be playing, as he pulled a hammy last week.  The other is that the Steelers are wearing their “throwback” jerseys, which dictates that I should do the same.

Because my man James Harrison is expected to play for the first time in 4 weeks, I’m going with my Harrison throwback.

Picture from Ginny at That's Church

Without Woodley on the left side, James is going to have to raise some havoc on the right.  So with that, this is my gameday mojo apparel:

Harrison throwback jersey, flannel Steelers jammy pants with Steelers socks.  Not pictured: The throwback long yellow-sleeved tee that I wore the last couple games.  It’s not pictured because I’m too lazy to take a fresh picture and I had this one on hand from 2009.

I plan to write up my Mrs. Robinson story for the next post on Tuesday, so non-sports fans (that like my Bow Chicka Wow Wow stories), just hang tight.

Late Update: 
Steelers spend the entire game unable to get off the field on 3rd down.  Offense claws back to take a 20-16 lead late, then can't hold the ball.  Defense gives up a 92 yard drive with 2:48 remaining.  

Cleaning the Erasers

Last Friday, I saw an article online about yet another teacher convicted of sleeping with her students.  It didn’t list the city, but said it was in Warren County, Ohio, which is between Dayton and Cincinnati.

I’ve often thought about addressing this topic when it’s come up in the news before but never have.  But I haven’t pissed anyone off in a while so I thought I’d take it up now.

The details are lurid, of course.  The teacher was convicted of “cleaning the erasers” with 5 boys, most of whom were 17 and on the football team.  One “victim,” or as I might call him, an “eager participant” described it like this:

“She started giving us all back massages.  She, like, gave us all each individually… we all took our shirts off and she was just rubbing down our backs.”

Among other things.  It sounds like she was trying to be the cheesesteak in a varsity submarine sandwich.  Eat fresh!

It should be noted that the age of consent is 16 in Ohio, however it remains illegal for a teacher to have sex with a student.

I think it’s unanimous that when a male teacher cleans the erasers with a girl student, everyone is onboard with righteous outrage.  But I always have to laugh when it’s a female teacher with a boy student.

My first reaction is always, “What’s the problem?”

This time it was followed by, “Why couldn’t I have lived in Warren County?”

South Park addressed this back in 2006, with kindergartener Ike cleaning the erasers with his teacher.  (Obviously, South Park exaggerates the point for comic effect by making the boy a kindergartener.)  Ike’s brother Kyle goes down to the police station to report the crime, but the policemen are unimpressed.

Policeman: The crime is that she wasn’t doing it with me!”

Kyle: Hey!  He’s totally underage.  She’s taking advantage of him.

Police Sergeant: You’re right.  We’re sorry.  This is serious.  We need to track this student down right away and… (pause)… give him his Luckiest Boy in America medal right away.

[Cops all laugh heartily.]

Police Sergeant: Dammit!  Were were all these sexed up teachers when I was a kid?

My point exactly.  Geez, when I was in school, there was a teacher where I never grasped a single thing she said.  I just sat there watching her lips move, thinking, “Boy, would I ever like to clean the erasers with her.  I’d clean those erasers until we ran out of chalk.”

If I would have had a shot like these kids had, do you think I’d have considered myself a victim?  Please.  The only thing keeping me from that “Luckiest Boy in the World” medal would have been the fact that I had to share with 4 other horned up jocks.  Who knew that her chalkboard produced so many erasers that needed cleaning?

So it cracks me up when I read the quotes from the parents…

One mother said: “She groomed these boys, she took advantage of their vulnerabilities, she crossed the line and it’s unacceptable.”

Of course, the subtext is, “I don’t want some woman my age screwing up my boy’s head about sex.  That’s MY job!”

A father said, “He suffered from depression, loss of motivation… almost didn’t go to college—he was angry at home and he didn’t want to be around family or anyone.  My son was not who he used to be.”

Congratulations, dude.  You just described every teenage boy I ever knew, at one time or another.  We teenage boys were not known for our sensitivity or level-headedness, which explains every groin-smashing video you see on YouTube.

You want to safeguard your teen’s fragile ego?  Take his skateboard away so that his nut-cracking escapades don’t live on long after he can walk upright again. 

And maybe if he gets his freak on with an experienced older woman, he won’t be pestering the girls all the time just so he can get his buddies off his ass about getting his cherry broken.  Plus he might actually learn something, so he’ll be a little more skilled, further up the road.

If any of those boys were complaining, I bet it was only because they got caught and sensed they were in trouble and saw Mom coming apart at the seams.  No sense getting grounded, so might as well act the part.

I can just imagine coming home and telling my dad that I just banged my teacher.  He’d be like, “Was she cute?”

 [High five!]

“Did you wear protection?  I don’t need any more mouths to feed.”

To teenage boys, there’s something alluring about Mrs. Robinson.  Perhaps it’s the aura of experience and sophistication.  Or perhaps it’s the belief that the older woman knows all the tricks. 

It could be a mutually beneficial arrangement.  She gets youth, a hard body and stamina.  He gets somewhere to put it besides his fist, some valuable experience and a story for the ages.  Hell, it should be mandated!  You kill two birds with one stone; you take some steam out of the boys who would be out on the prowl and you protect the young girls!  Temporarily, anyhow, until they realize what they’re missing.

And I know what I’m talking about.  I may not have cleaned any erasers with my teacher, (although not for lack of feverishly wishing to do so), but I did once dally with a friend of my mother’s.  Yes, Mom knew about it, too.  Hell, she practically set it up.  Granted, I wasn’t in school any more.  I was probably 23 or24 and I imagine her friend was in her late 40s to early 50s.  I don’t have space to tell the tale tonight, but I may later on, should anyone be interested. 

But I turned out just fine, right?

Right?

The Killing of Everybody

When I was in college, my major was called Radio/TV/Film.  My main concentration was in radio, but one had to take classes in all three disciplines.  That’s how I came to take a filmmaking class.

Back then; the medium was 8mm or Super-8 film.  Oh, things would have been so much easier with video tape recorders or digital camcorders or cell phone video…  But we had to learn the entire film production process.  Then we had to rent video cameras, shoot movies, get our film developed (and pay for it), and cut it together in an editing bay.

There is absolutely no use for this know-how in 2011.  (As if I still knew how.)  None.  But I did have a hell of a lot of fun shooting our movie.

Just for the hell of it, I had an idea for a horror movie spoof centered on our Barn and I had some script notes jotted down long before I ever took this class.  In class I was paired up with this frat guy, Dave, and when we were trolling for ideas, I mentioned my horror spoof idea.

I was a junior so it must have been around 1982, so movies like Halloween, Friday the 13^th, and Nightmare on Elm Street were all the rage.  It seemed like fertile ground to play with.  But rather than use our Barn, we decided to shoot the movie up at this state park on Lake Erie, somewhere near Sandusky OH. 

I wrote up a script for it… well, more like a detailed outline… and I named it “The Killing of Everybody!”  He got a handful of his friends to “act” in it.  It wouldn’t take much.  After all, there is no sound on Super-8 movies.  To get sound, you need a special camera setup, and even so, as we learned in class, the sound doesn’t sync up directly with the visuals.  It lags a few frames behind what is seen on screen.  That would make editing a nightmare.  We decided that if we wanted audio, we could do a narration separately on cassette.  (This turned out to be a horrible idea.  We should have shot some subtitles instead.)

So six us set out for the park, with our homemade props and a case of generic beer.  (We were broke-ass college students; that’s all we could afford.)

The fun part was that as we began shooting, we saw how much room there was in the “script” to play with, so a great deal of our movie was improvised on the spot, including an entire overriding plot point.  All I really had in the script was that a psycho killer kills of a bunch of campers one by one, in ever more ridiculous ways.  I had some notes on the “methods,” but it’s hard to write a detailed script when you’ve never seen your “set.”  We found that the terrain was perfect for us, with woods, bluffs and a nice beach and waterline. 

Dave would play the detective, his friends would be the campers and I got to play the psycho killer.

I wish to hell I had a copy of our finished product.  You know I would have put it on You Tube long ago.  Dave ended up with the only copy of the film and I never saw his ass again once our class ended.  So instead, let me describe the movie as I remember it.  (Which is shaky, I’ll admit.)  I’ll tell you what you see on the screen, and then in my usual Director’s DVD Commentary, which I usually use to talk about how I wrote a post, I’ll talk about how we filmed the movie.  Annnnnd… go.

Four college kids, 2 boys and 2 girls, are seen striding into a forest, carrying blankets, coolers and a tent.  They find a clearing and begin setting up their tent.  Then the kids are seen from a viewpoint a ways back, behind a tree.  The camera pulls back to show a hooded figure from behind, peering around a tree trunk. 

Then you see the hooded person’s feet.  They’re in green rubber boots, which are on the wrong feet.  The camera pans up and you see the business end of a double-bladed ax.  The hooded figure is holding the ax with big, rough, nappy gloves.

Again, the camera is behind the hooded man, who is still peering around the tree trunk at the kids.  The camera comes up close behind, and slowly the hooded figure turns to reveal his face, which is wearing a Groucho nose and glasses.

Director’s DVD Commentary: I had a specific idea about how to reveal the killer and that was it.  I was wearing a big maroon hoodie and my gumby boots.  (You know, those waterproof boots with the black latches that go up the front?)  I also had this awesome pair of glass handler’s gloves, which are used to handle molten glass from a glass factory.

Back to the camp… one of the girls has changed into a tracksuit and goes off to go for a run.  Groucho notices and leaves his peeping tree.

We see the girl running along the park’s access road, which is long and straight (in this scene).  Cut to Groucho behind the wheel of a car.  The girl is running along the left berm.  From in front of her, you see a car swerve into the left lane.  Inside the car, you see Groucho put his hand on the door handle.  From in front of the girl, you see the car door swing open.  From across the street, you see the car pass between the camera and the girl, then the girl is on the ground after the car has passed.  From behind, you see the car driving away and a hand reaches out to close the door.

Director’s DVD Commentary: This whole scene was based on an old joke, with the punchline, “Yeah, but I got him with the door.”  The setup details vary.  I was especially happy with how we figured out how to film it, making the audience infer what happened, even if we couldn’t show the girl getting clonked by the door.

A detective wearing a trench coat and fedora drives up, checks the pulse on the girl, sadly shakes his head, pulls a sheet out of his coat and places it carefully over the body.

Director’s DVD Commentary: The detective is a Columbo ripoff.   Like any of us had suits that we’d wear out in the woods?

Back at camp, one of the guys has gone for a walk, up on top of a steep bluff.  He drains one of the generic beers and tosses the can along that path.  He continues on before turning and reacting in alarm.  He recoils up against the trunk of a large tree at the top of the bluff.  A swinging ax glints in the sunlight, then there’s a close-up of the blade biting into the bark of the tree, while a body falls away underneath. 

View from the bottom of the bluff of what is obviously a basketball flies over the edge and bounces through the woods.  There are several angles of the bouncing head/ball.

The detective happens by the scene.  He examines the body, (which is obviously just clothes stuffed with newspaper), pulls a folded sheet from his trench coat and covers the body.  Next he is at the foot of the bluff, looking at the “head,” which is out of camera view.  He covers it with a much smaller piece of sheet.

Director’s DVD Commentary: The idea was to make the body to look as obviously fake as possible.  I wanted multiple angles of the ball/head flying over the edge of the bluff and bouncing away, but I wanted it to look like it was following a single progression.  Unfortunately it was edited to show a full shot of the fall and bouncing away again and again.  This is where I learned that I needed to be much more specific when talking about an idea.

And OK, I lied.  The detective never used a second smaller sheet for the head.  I just thought of it now and I totally wish I’d thought of it then.  Would have been hilarious.  The sheet gets more play later.

It was up on the bluff that we decided to make dropping the generic beer cans a theme, and that the killer didn’t like littering.  It doesn’t explain the first killing, but we didn’t have time to set up by the road again and work in the beer cans.

Now we’re back at the tent, where the other two campers remain.  They are sitting together, holding hands and drinking the generic beer.  They kiss, look at each other randily, put down their beers and dive into the tent.   Various articles of clothing are tossed out the tent door before the whole tent begins to shake like there’s a great commotion going on inside.  Occasionally, a leg appears sticking out of the doorway before it’s pulled back in.

Director’s DVD Commentary: We had 4 of us in the tent punching and slapping the tent fabric simultaneously.  It looked like there was a rugby scrum going on in there.  It was a terrific sight gag.  But you know what happens to anyone that dares to have sex in a horror movie…

While the commotion was going on, the Killer sneaks over to where the couple left their beers.  He picks up one of the beers; in his other hand, he has a large bottle, simply marked, DRUGS.  He drops a couple pills into the beer can and swishes it around before tiptoeing off.

Boy and girl come back out of their tent she picks up her beer, takes a swig, then goes into an elaborate death scene, with much arm flailing and swooning before spinning around and dropping to the ground.  The boy runs off to find help.

Director’s DVD Commentary: Perhaps they were generic DRUGS.

From the opposite direction from which the boy had run, in walks the detective.  Again he examines the body; again he pulls out a folded sheet to cover the body. 

Back in the woods, the boy is seen stumbling along the trail.  The Killer lurks behind a tree, eating a banana.  As he finishes, he tosses the banana peel onto the trail.  As the boy goes by, he slips on the banana peel and conks his head on a rock.  Pleased with his day’s work, the Killer comes out from behind his tree and slips away.

Director’s DVD Commentary: This scene was my biggest disappointment.  Obviously, we were going for “ridiculous” with the banana thing.  But we had a true moment of ridiculousness drop fall right into our hands and we let it get away.

As I came out from behind the tree to scoot away, I slipped on wet leaves and took a perfect pratfall.  I mean, feet up, butt down, ass over elbows.  Knowing this was gold, I stayed in character, got up, and limped away.  I thought it would be the scene of the movie.

Dave had other ideas though.  When he edited it, he cut the whole fall.  The film showed me coming out from behind the tree, then suddenly I was far away from the camera, limping up the trail.  I couldn’t believe he cut it.  Perhaps he forgot we were filming a comedy.  More on that later.

The detective now discovers this body, and he’s about had it.  This time, he pulls a wadded up sheet from his coat and just flings it across the boy’s head before stalking off.

Director’s DVD Commentary: I totally loved that bit.  The detective ad libbed it, probably because we got sick of folding the damned sheet, plus we were losing light and we had to get this film “in the can.”  It was probably my favorite bit in the movie.

Now the scene is down on the beach.  The detective walks thoughtfully along the waterline, trying to piece together the day’s events.  Walking the other way, strolls the killer, wearing the big hoodie, fat gloves, gumby boots, a Groucho nose, with an ax slung over his shoulder.  The two pass, giving nods to each other. 

Suddenly the detective grabs his head in realization.  He might have just seen the Killer!!  He whirls around to go after the hooded figure but stops, puts his hands on his hips and sadly shakes his head.

From his point of view, you see the killer standing beside the film crew.  There is a camera on a tripod, someone sitting in a Director’s Chair.  Someone has big bulky headphones on.  Everyone is holding a generic beer.  Even the headphones are plugged into a beer can.  Enraged, the detective runs at the film crew, and the chase is on.  The detective chases the crew back along the waterline zigzagging away from the camera, in fast-motion/Benny Hill style.

The moral of the story is: Don’t Drink Generic Beer.  The end.

Director’s DVD Commentary:  I loved the crazy, 4^th wall-shattering ending.  I’m aware that Mel Brooks has done gags like that before, (I know he did in Robin Hood-Men in Tights) but I swear, I hadn’t seen them yet when we did this.  I think we did a number of things that turned up in later horror spoofs.  Perhaps the professor was selling his student’s ideas to Hollywood, I don’t know.  The only thing we knowingly stole was the Benny Hill chase finale.

So with the filming complete, we finished our beer, cleaned up our “campsite,” and then got the hell back to Bowling Green.  I was going to work on editing as soon as we got our film developed, but I probably dilly-dallied about getting started, because I was really nervous about the editing process.  It looked so confusing.  Remember, you basically had to physically cut your film apart and tape it back together in the order you wanted.

So when I finally called Dave to schedule a time to go to the editing bay, he told me he’d already done it.  (Also, he had the advantage of living on campus.  I commuted from 40 minutes away.)  I was so relieved, but only until I saw the final cut.  While I was slightly annoyed at the “basketball” scene, I was really pissed about the Killer’s face-plant.  That was gold, right there.  I never even had a chance to see how it looked.  And there was no way to re-do it… I mean, our only copy of the film had already been cut apart and put back together.  Whatever was cut was long gone.

But I really shouldn’t bitch.  He did the work that I put off.  I never thought to ask for “final cut.”

We played our film to the class and received decent laughter and a modicum of applause.  It was really rough, but we had a ball doing it.  I wish I had the opportunity to try it again.  I could call it: The Killing of Everybody Else!  Filming and editing is so much easier now, with PCs and digital technology.  Hell, I could film it with my freakin’ everyday camera.

It’s tough when technology has to catch up with your vision.  Now I know how James Cameron felt.

Or at least Benny Hill.

Happy Halloween

A lot of people seem to be doing their Halloween stories but unfortunately for me, I told every good Halloween story I have back in 2009.  

On the bright side, I bet you weren't following me then, were you?  If not, then this post, Hallowed Weiners will be as new to you as it would if I'd written it today.

Happy Halloween to you, and don't let the little bastards egg your house!

Photo courtesy of Failblog.org

Unexpected Walkabout

Remember, in my last post, how I was complaining about having to bust ass over to the local park because Tuesday was the only day it was going to be sunny, and I wanted to take some fall photos?

All for nothing.  When I woke up today to dazzling sunshine, my first thought was, “Fuckin’ weathermen…” So after I got my newspaper and blog fix, I headed back to the park to get my fall pictures with sunshine, glorious sunshine.

See, doesn’t this look better when the whole side is lit?  Also, do you see that cave right by the shore?  Remember that because I got a better shot of it later.

Pinky and I have been going to this park since shortly after we met, in 2006.  But a couple years ago, they closed it down because the access bridge was deemed unsafe.  They only reopened the place a couple weeks ago.  It always used to be a haven for dog owners and in this incarnation, they’ve fenced in a place for dogs to play off-leash.  I like this idea because it allows dogs to run around without bothering or scaring the non-dog people who might just want a peaceful walkabout.

Last week when I went, I didn’t have time to cross the new bridge and go into the park, so I had my chance today.  The bridge crosses right in front of a dam and I took advantage of the many angles provided as I walked around the dam.

Caption: I took this from under the bridge at the bottom of the dam.

From near the top of the dam.  Rushing water fascinates me.

From just behind the precipice of the dam.

The foliage still isn’t in full swing… there were a lot of yellows but still lots of green.  Where is the red?

From along the path.

The main portion of the park is like a peninsula that juts into Roland Lake.  There was a path that we used to walk, that went around the perimeter.  As I was walking it, I saw that the dog park was placed on the end of the peninsula, which blocked off some of my favorite places to shoot.

Not being one to take that kind of disappointment lying down, I went “off-path.”  I scrambled down to the bank of the lake and went around the fences.  Hey, it’s a park, not an African safari.  Where’s the fun in staying on the path?  So I got down to my favorite picture spot, where I could shoot the lake, the trees and a railroad crossing.  For a change, I actually had a chance to shoot a train running over the bridge.

OK, it’s not technically a “train.”  It’s the light rail.  So sue me.

I’ve got a number of pictures from that vantage point, from winter, summer and spring.  This is the first time I’ve gotten decent fall shots here.

While I was “off-path” I made my way around the water’s edge. 

I love using fallen trees in the foreground.  This one looked like a sea serpent.

Also while I was on the perimeter, I was able to grab a better shot of what I call “The Bat Cave.”   Last time I was out here, my camera didn’t have a sufficient zoom to get an angle like this.

The Bat Cave.

I know I call it The Bat Cave, but it really remind me of that asteroid monster from the first Star Wars movie.

Put some teeth in that thing in my picture and change the angle, and you have the famous Space Slug. 

Along the way, I met up with a guy that was walking his golden retriever, Luna.  I’m completely captivated by goldens, so we talked for a bit as we walked the path.  I really wish I had taken a picture.  She’d just been in the water, as retrievers are prone to do.  That was probably a good thing for the owner, because it kept me from picking her up and running away with her.

I took about 125 shots in the space of an hour.  Of those, I deleted about 20 because I intentionally over-shot, not wanting to lose a good shot because of a random jiggle or loss of focus.  So while my main mission was to get fall foliage, this one ended up as my favorite.

Maybe it just captures my reflective mood.

The Mojo Boogie

Big game today against the Patriots, who have had the Steelers’ number in recent years.  I believe Tom Brady is 6-1 against the Steelers.  That’s called ‘ownership.’

I won last week wearing my Hines Ward jersey, with the Steelers at home and me watching the game at home.  Those circumstances remain, but I opted against wearing the Hines jersey again.  First off, Hines isn’t playing, due to an ankle injury.  Also, this is the jersey I wore when I went to the AFC Championship game in Pittsburgh against the Pats in 2005.  The Patriots mopped up the field with my boys that night, so I’m hesitant to wear it today.  I’m going with the defense, who has to step up tonight.

Lamarr Woodley jersey with throwback long-sleeved T, flannel Steelers jammie pants and the Hot Arizona Auntie-approved Steelers Socks.

Late Update:

The Steelers won 25-17 in a thrilling, hard-fought game.  The mojo worked, however Lamarr Woodley, whose jersey I wore, got hurt during the game.  That means that the Steelers may face the hated Ratbirds next week, missing 3 of their 4 starting linebackers.  As big a win as this was, I only hope that it's not a pyrrhic victory.  But it's still pretty sweet to get this hoodie-wearing monkey off our back.

Odd Bits - The Hurry Sundown Edition

I’m not up to tackling anything in depth today, so let me whip out some short and partially formed bits I’ve had running around in my head this week.  But first, let me apologize for not posting on Tuesday.  My department at work had a happy hour on Tuesday and I didn’t get home until right before the Penguins game was to start.  Not feeling capable of getting anything coherent down in such a limited timeframe (with my beer-induced limited brain power), I gave it a pass.

We had the happy hour at a Turkish place downtown and while the seating proved inconvenient for a tall person such as me, (low, overly soft ottomans around low tables) they had a neat decoration scheme.

Multi-colored lanterns hung from the skylight.

I wish I had gotten a shot of the giant hookah.  It looked like you had to kick start it. 

Subway Tales

You may “Eat Fresh” in a Subway, but that doesn’t mean people smell fresh in there.  I recently had two almost vomitous incidents while riding the subway to work.

I always look for the empty seat when I get on the train.  One rainy day last week when I got on to go in to work, I spotted an empty seat near the back of the car.  Behind the empty seat sat an obviously homeless woman, with her head down on her chest and her parka flopped over the seatback in front of her.

I figured I’d just leave her coat alone and sit on the end.  She wasn’t hurting anyone and people sleep on the subway a lot.  It’s a warm, dry place when one doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

As soon as I sat down, I realize my mistake.  The woman reeked to high heaven.  I’m not sure if it was the filthy coat beside me, the B.O. behind me, or the funky bare feet under my seat, but the cumulative effect was nausea.

Normally when somebody smells bad, I wait it out, because one’s nose only registers the funk for a short time before becoming immune to it.  But I swear, every time I moved my head the slightest bit, I’d get a fresh whiff.  It was so bad; it almost made me feel sick.  It was like I could feel the fungus growing on my lungs. 

I’ve never gotten up out of a seat and moved before because of someone nearby, becaue I don’t want to embarrass anyone, but it was either move or hurl.  About halfway through the trip, I got up to stand by the doorway.  Thankfully there was enough fresh air coming in when the door would open, to dilute the funkiness.  But I swear, the rest of the day, I could still catch a faint glimmer of funk still on my clothes.

So now flip to a couple days later… I get on the train again and sit next to an Asian guy who was reading something with Asian characters on his Kindle.  I thought I’d be safe enough buuuuuuut… no.  I don’t know what the dude ate that morning but he had an overpowering odor of strong pepperoni and sour milk.

I didn’t move this time, but I basically turned out read my paper facing the aisle.

I was like, “Why me?  What the hell did I do to draw Grim Reeker to me AGAIN?”

I guess I’ll have to change my ways.

Nein Nein Nein

You may have noticed a marked lack of political material posted here lately.  I just had to check and I found that I’ve only done two political pieces since the beginning of August.  One was a letter to the editor about gay marriage and one was a quick video post with a comment on the reaction to the President’s jobs speech, in September.

The reason for this is that nothing has changed.  I have absolutely nothing to say that I haven’t said already.  I will not keep grinding the same gears over and over; not until there are some new gears to grind.

The gridlock in Congress is practically set in stone and the art of compromise is ridiculed as weakness.  Whatever is in the middle is being pulled apart by the lunatics on both edges of the fringe.

The Republicans are still voting down anything that might help the economy unless it’s a stand-alone tax cut.  They ensure that nothing gets done and then blame the President because he hadn’t fixed the economy yet.  This has been going on since the day he took office and went into overdrive since the 2010 elections.

Common people are trying to make their points by gathering in cities across the country (and world) but they continue to be marginalized and misrepresented by the media, who if they can’t boil the issue down to ten-second sound bytes, tend to create their own.

To me, there’s only one way to get any changes done for the middle class and that’s to vote for Democratic candidates.  If any of the people that are participating in the Occupy movements either didn’t vote or voted Republican, all I can say is that you got what you voted for.  Happy?

I know there is fault to go around on both sides, but you cannot deny that there is one party that is 100% bought and paid for by big business and big banks and that is the Republicans.  Look how feverishly they fight to eliminate the regulations that were enacted specifically to prevent more financial collapse due to financial risk-taking and malfeasance.  Look how they cling to keeping the lowest tax rates in history for the highest earners in history.  Big business has the leashes and the Republican Congressmen and Senators are the dogs. 

I’ve made these points before and I’m mad at myself for even bringing them up again.  I’ll be back on the topic should anything new transpire.

The Frustrated Photographer

As you may know, I love to take nature pictures.  Bright fall foliage is my favorite, but it’s tricky here in the Mid-Atlantic.  There is a very small window to get good colorful leaf pictures because A) The trees don’t seem to turn at the same times and B) once they do, the leaves fall soon after.

In going through past files of fall pictures, I’ve narrowed down the optimum time for shooting to the last week in October.  The trick is to have a sunny day coincide with my opportunity to go out and get the pictures.  It was perfect on Tuesday, but in looking at the forecast for the rest of the week and weekend, I saw that it was expected to be cloudy and rainy throughout.  So even though I’d have Thursday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday off, the weather was not going to cooperate.

So I made an executive decision to try to get out to the park on Tuesday evening after work.  I left a work a couple minutes early, knowing that I’d be in a race against the setting sun.  Actual sunset may be after 7:00, but I needed to get there before the sun went below the tree line.

I hauled ass home, quickly changed out of my work clothes and headed back out to our closes park.  There were two ways I could go.  One was a more heavily traveled route with 4 to 6-lane roads and stoplights.  I figured that way would be choked with rush hour traffic so I opted to take a back way, via twisting, turning 2-lane roads.  I got about halfway there before I came to a dead stop.  And stayed there.  The traffic was bumper to bumper and all I could do was idle forward and stop.  Idle forward and stop.  This continued as I watched the sun slowly sink lower and lower.  I felt like Jack Bauer trying to get someplace to stop a bomb from going off.

After about 15 minutes, I managed to creep up to the intersection where the problem was.  This problem was called a “stoplight.”  It seemed that whenever someone needed to make a left, they’d wait at the beginning of the intersection so that no one else could get past.

Fucking Baltimore drivers.  No one matters but themselves.

Anyway, I got to the park by 6:00, just in time to see the sun lighting only the upper edge of the colored trees.  A helpful park ranger said that the park was closing in 15 minutes and they’d be locking the gates in 30.  I took about 25 shots in 10 minutes and I managed to get a couple decent ones before the light faded into duskiness.

Roland Lake in Robert E. Lee Park, Baltimore MD.

Same target, different vantage point.

180 degrees around from the last shot; the sun sets over the top of the dam.

Ironically, this is probably my favorite of the lot.

Maybe I’ll catch a break and find some moments of sunlight on Monday.  But I can live with these if I have to.

Fletch Lives

One final word…  I ask you to send your best thoughts and wishes to Bluz Sister Annie, who on Tuesday had to have her beloved white-socked tabby Fletcher put down.  He was 11 and was suffering from kidney problems.  He’s lost a good bit of weight and was having trouble with balance and continence.  That it was the right thing to do under the circumstances does not make it any easier, as I’m sure many of you know.

Fletcher was a good puss, friendly to all and fiercely loyal to my sister and her husband.  He’s been with them for about as long as they’ve been together.  He was my sister’s constant companion; always there to listen, lay nearby, and amuse.

He is survived by auxiliary, backup cat, Gracie.

Fletch, I hope you finally can get those squirrels.

 Bluz and Fletch, from 2010.

DVD Director’s Commentary: Today’s title is based on a song by the southern rock group, The Outlaws.  Kudos to any good redneck that caught the reference before reading this far.

A Worm's Eye View of the Big Apple

Back in 2007, the summer after I transferred to a new department within my company, I was sent on a business trip to New York City.  Our headquarters are there and I had to go to a 2-day “Train the Trainer” seminar for a new application tool they wanted to roll out.

When I lived in Albany, Future-Ex and I had taken several weekend trips to the city and we always stayed around Midtown… Times Square, Central Park, Radio City Music Hall, etc.

Because I didn’t yet know the Belle of the City, Katie Ett of Unapologetically Mundane, I had to make do with my own planning.

For this trip, I would be going to a different part of town, Chelsea, which is on the southwestern section of Manhattan.  I knew I was going to take the train up from Baltimore, so being me, I dove right into finding an appropriate hotel and planning my routes.  (Hopstop.com proved to be very useful in finding the best methods of public transportation to get around town.)  I decided to head up the day before the seminar.  While I thought it was the best thing to do, I wasn’t the one footing the bill so I was happy that my company was OK with the extra night in a hotel, because goddamn, they’re expensive.  The location I found that was the closest to the seminar cost over $300 a night.  Surprisingly, it was one of our “approved” hotels, so I was OK’d to stay in the Hotel Gansevoort.  Sounded all hoity-toity to me, so I figured I’d have me a nice little adventure.  I decided to take notes on my trip, to better tell the story later.  Gee, it only took me 4 years… 

I enjoyed the train trip up there.  I hadn't been on a real “train” train since I was a kid.  I was thankful for all the legroom.  The ride was much smoother that I remembered, but there wasn’t much to look at… mostly other train tracks.  So much for the “romance” of that rural train track crossing small-town Main Street.

I enjoyed a comfortable solitude until we got to Philly and some smelly guy slid into the seat beside me.  Probably a Flyers fan.

I was also a bit surprised by how short of a time the train spent in each station.  It would stay there for about 5 minutes.  You’re S.O.L. if you don’t have your ass on the platform when the train comes.

Upon rolling into Penn Station in NYC, I immediately jumped on a subway that would take me south a couple stops, to Chelsea.  To tell the truth, I was pretty proud of myself for working it out and pulling it off and saving the company some money. 

Subway fare: $3-something.

Cab fare: No idea, but I know it’s a lot more than $3-something.

Using my map, (subtly, so to not look like a tourist), I found the Hotel Gansevoort.

The Hotel Gansevoort.

The place was pretty ritzy, at least compared to the Marriotts and Hyatts I’m used to.  There was an orchid in my room.  And the bathroom was intriguing. I’d never pooped amidst such luxury.

“What the hell am I doing in a place like this?”

I especially liked the shower, which was like it wasn’t even separate from the room.  It was like they just tacked a shower nozzle on the end of the wall and put a curtain in front of it.  There was no barrier or wall on the floor; it was the same surface as the rest of the bathroom.

 Yes, I admit that I’m easily amused.

After inspecting the room, I decided to inspect the grounds.  They had a bar/pool setup on the roof, so I thought I’d check it out.  I probably shouldn’t have.

OK, the view was interesting, I’ll give them that.

View from the pool side of the rooftop bar, 13 floors up.

This was the view from the other side, of what I think may be New Jersey.

It wasn’t the accommodations that made me uncomfortable, it was the atmosphere.  What is it about NYC that all the trendy, expensive places make a regular dude feel like a rube?    I felt like an infiltrator there, like they’re going to run my credit card and get a message back that I don’t belong there.  “Poser!  Poser!”

The rooftop bar was a meeting place of the beautiful.  I was an intruder in my polo shirt and jeans surrounded by young models and business people wearing haute couture.  It didn’t feel like the kind of place to sit quietly by myself.  It made me feel very, very conspicuous.

Luckily, I’d planned for exactly that kind of contingency.  I had a map with me of all the bars and restaurants within a comfortable walking distance, so I decided to go take a walk and see what I could see.

To me, Chelsea seemed like a kind of blue collar area, which was probably due to all the construction that was going on.  I believe it used to be a big garment district, but there was also a high degree of artsy-fartsy that made for some interesting sights.  Like this place:

A hotel, as if it was designed by Tim Burton.  I presume that the interlacing effect is a nod to the area's garment industry roots.

Eventually, I found a place where I could feel comfortable, a bar called Hogs and Heifers.  It reminded me of the small bars I go to when I go back to Ohio, only with a little more edge.

As someone that revels in kitsch, I loved all the special touches that made the place unique.  Like the bumper sticker behind the bar that said, “I ‘heart icon’ ‘hand icon’ jobs!”  Beside that was a sign that said, “FBL,” which stood for Fuck bin Laden.  And there was this sign on the jukebox:

Welcome to New York.

The jukebox worked, they just didn't want anyone playing something lame.

Most eye-catching were the thousand of bras tacked up above the bar.  I swear, they were up there thicker than grass, about 3 feet deep.  Some were meant to cover teeny-tinies.  Others you could parachute with.  It was unbelievable.  Here, look for yourself…

OK, the bartender was all “NO PICTURES” as I was snapping… like the whole thing is a big secret that no one in authority has noticed yet. There were bras up there from the Eisenhower Administration.

There were also about a dozen hard hats stuck up there too.  No idea if they any of the bras and hardhats came from the same people.

So I sat at the bar and had a couple beers.  I noticed someone else ordering $2 Pabst Blue Ribbons.  We used to call that “Riot Beer” when I was a teenager.  But for $2, what the hell?  I filed that away for later, because I was already drinking my Miller Lites.  (Don’t judge.)

Within minutes, I was talking to another dude at the bar, who was from right outside Baltimore.  He had his little dog with him, who was sitting on the bar.  Most of the people in the bar were kind of a countrified blue collar.  I felt at home.

I realize that the jukebox actually did work when one of the (hot) bartenders turned it on to play some music so that they could dance up on the bar in their middie shirts and short shorts.  They played some Skynyrd, some Charlie Daniels, some Johnny Cash, and Foggy Mountain Breakdown.  It was like all of a sudden, the place turned into a scene from Coyote Ugly.  It was great.  If they’d served food, I’d have stayed all night.  But since they didn’t I had to set off in search of a meal.

I really wasn’t digging any fancy-schmancy restaurant so I found a nice diner that fit my needs perfectly.

After dinner, I went back to the room to clean up a bit, then went back to Hogs and Heifers for round two.  There were no dogs there this time, but there was a huge bro at the door, checking IDs with a scanner.  I made a mental note not to start any bar fights. 

Remembering the deal from earlier, I sat down at the bar and ordered a PBR.  The (hot) bartender said, “What are ya shootin?”

I said “Just the beer for now.”

She said, “PBRs are $2.00… what are ya shootin?”

I said, “Crown Royal, please.”

There went half of the money I was going to use to drink all night.  I should have said Evan Williams or something.  But no matter.  The place was filling up with a real cross section of humanity and I had a ringside seat.  There were construction workers, bikers, jocks in track suits and executives in power suits.  Everyone was carrying on like they knew each other.

There was one older guy in there with a long blond beard and wire-rim specs.  I was like, “Shouldn’t you be on tour somewhere, singing ‘Tush?’”  (To myself, I said this.)

I overheard a conversation between my bartender and another dude back there.

Bartender, who is trying to make her booty bounce: “Can I wiggle it like Beyonce?”

Dude: “Nah, she’s black from Detroit, you're Jewish from New Jersey.  Give it up.”

I guess that explained the up-sell on the shot…

Anyway, the music was rolling by then and so was the crowd.  The (hot) bartenders were singing into a bullhorn and leading the dancing on the bar.  A (hot) bartender from Missouri was totally kicking the shit up there, dancing like the dude from Deliverance, only much more hotly.  They drew 5 other women from the crowd up there to join them… one in jogging shorts, one in a power suit, with others in between.

I felt like I was in a duck blind, observing native cultures in their home environment.  I stopped just short of going all Jane Goodall and naming everyone.  Anyway, I had a tremendous time and stayed as long as I dared, knowing that I had to get up and actually function the next morning.

The seminar was fine… we all went out to dinner the first night and I didn’t really have sufficient time to hit the Hogs and Heifers again.  The next day was a half session, so I caught an afternoon train home.

But I tell you, a bar like that was the last thing I thought I’d find in the cultural capitol of the country.  It was like a down-home barbeque in the midst of a snooty French restaurant.  The only thing missing was a bacon cheeseburger. 

The Mojo Boogie

Steelers play at Arizona today at 4:15.  I haven’t found a consistent look yet for away games so I’m trying something new.  I’m pulling out another old jersey, my white Troy Polamalu #43.  I’ve had it for quite some time… it used to be a #99 Levon Kirkland, then after he left, a #97 Kendrell Bell.  When HE left, I had it made into the current incarnation, which it will remain hereafter.  Good vibes with this jersey… it’s the one I wore to Super Bowl XL in Detroit.  We’ll see if it still has any magic left.

White Troy Polamalu jersey, throwback long-sleeved Tee, plaid flannel Steelers jammy pants and the Hot Arizona Auntie-approved Steeler socks.

Late Update
The tried and true jersey worked again as my Steelers won 32-20 in a game that didn't seem that close.  Now I'm going to have to come up with some serious mojo next week, when the Steelers host the hated New England Patriots.