A Win Against Voter Suppression

Finally… some good news on this subject.  On Monday, a Baltimore jury found Robert Schurick, a gubernatorial candidate’s campaign manager, guilty of election fraud, for authorizing a series of misleading election night robocalls.

The Situation

In last year’s race for governor, incumbent Martin O’Malley (D) ran against the man he unseated four years prior, Robert Ehrlich (R).  Maryland is a true blue overwhelmingly Democratic state so for any Republican candidate to win statewide office, a perfect storm is needed.  Ehrlich was able to win his initial run for governor, I believe, due to the weakness of the Democratic candidate, former lieutenant governor Kathleen Kennedy-Townsend, who was seen as a rather “empty suit” and completely uninspiring speaker.

His bid for re-election was squashed by O’Malley, the energetic former Baltimore mayor, councilman and leader of an Irish rock band.  Polls had O’Malley picked by a landslide to win re-election, which he did.

 O’Malley, onstage with his band, O’Malley’s March.

What Happened

The only chance the Republicans had to win here was to severely suppress the voter turnout.  In fact, it came out during the trial that a campaign consultant developed a document called “The Schurick Doctrine,” which was designed to “promote confusion, emotionalism and frustration among African-American Democrats.”

These efforts came to the surface in the previous election, where the Ehrlich campaign bussed in homeless people from Philadelphia, hired to hand out misleading fliers that indicated that Baltimore’s black political leaders were backing the Republican ticket.

On this election night, far behind in the polls, Schurick approved a robocall targeted at Democrats in general and black Democrats in particular, telling them that the results were in and to stay home.  I received one of these calls at my house, so I can vouch for this. 

The call said that O’Malley and President Barack Obama (who was not on the ballot) were “successful,” and that “our goals have been met.  The polls are correct and we took it back.  We’re OK.  Relax.  Everything’s fine.  The only thing left to do is to watch it on TV tonight.”

Because I voted first thing in the morning, I didn’t give it another thought, except to think, “geez, that’s a waste of time, calling people just to tell them to do nothing.”  I had no inkling that the call came from the Republicans.  There was no “authorized-by” tagline or any other accreditation.

The defense tried out several arguments.  They said that it was approved during the fog of the campaign and that Schurick didn’t realize what he was approving.  Not finding any traction there, they then said that they were attempting “reverse psychology,” and trying to impel voters to the polls. 

That, of course, was a pretty tough sell, in that they only sent the calls to Democrats.  To account for that, the defense got the person that programmed the calls to testify that she meant to send the calls to Republicans too, but she “didn’t want to do the work and was lazy.”

The thing that amazes me is that they actually made these claims to the jury, with a straight face.  They’re just so ridiculous that it strains comprehension.  The jury apparently agreed because they only deliberated for 5 hours before coming back with a guilty verdict.  Republicans are preparing to appeal on the grounds of infringement upon their First Amendment rights. 

My Analysis

I say it’s about freakin’ time that the authorities get serious with this stuff.  I mean, I know that dirty tricks go on all the time and the robocall seems to be the blunt instrument of choice.  Across the country there have been calls (usually targeting minorities) telling people to get out and vote on the wrong day, that they have to bring their voter registration card, home ownership documents, or photo IDs, or that their registration has expired.

Luckily Maryland has some pretty strict verbiage on the books, relating to election laws.  It says that you can’t “willingly and knowingly… influence or attempt to influence a voter’s decision whether to go to the polls to cast a vote through use of force, fraud, threat, menace, intimidation, bribery, reward or offer of reward.”

There is no way that this robocall didn’t rise to that level of illegality.  And it was such a pitiful, stupid gambit, which was a surprise to me.  The Republicans have been effectively maneuvering to suppress voter turnout among minorities and the young for the last couple years.  Of course, it’s under the guise of preventing “voter fraud,” which they claim is rampant.

They’ve spent the last 5 or so years busily “solving” this problem by passing laws that require various IDs and eliminating EZ-registration programs.  According to Justice Dept studies, the number of fraudulent votes cast because of these kinds of issues number in the hundreds, nationwide.

Contrast that to the thousands upon thousands of people targeted by fraudulent robocalls made by Republicans bent on keeping people that are likely to vote against them, from going to the polls. 

Also you can throw in the institutionalized voter suppression found in states like Ohio, where the election officials are also high-ranking Republican party officials.  (As is the CEO of the Diebold, maker of the voting machine used there.)  They have the ability to ensure that the polling places in urban areas are woefully under-equipped, thus ensuring long lines and numerous walk-outs.  That’s exactly what happened in the last several Presidential elections.

The Republicans realize that if registered Democrats ever get off their collective asses and vote against the Republicans, and especially if Independents join in as well, they’ll never win another general election.  There are too many people that are not well served by their top-down economic positions or evangelical moralizing.  Their only recourse is to reduce the number of voters likely to vote against, which include minorities and our idealistic young.

Once again, the Republicans, posing as the paragons of American virtue and wholesome values, working feverishly behind the scenes to circumvent the very Constitution they claim to revere.

I want to see a stiff jail term here.  Imagine the chill that will send down the spines of these political hacks that are so cavalier with our Constitutional voting rights.  I want that message out there… If you engage in dirty tricks to keep people from voting, you can look forward to getting ass-fucked in prison for the next 3-5 years.

Yeah, I know they’ll actually end up in a cushy white-collar joint where their biggest complaint will be that the TVs aren’t in HD, but I can dream, can’t I?

Enjoying the Fruits of One's Labor

I usually talk on the phone with my parents every weekend or two.  As you may recall, they retired to Florida just over 5 years ago.  We haven’t lived in the same town since 1986 so the calling habit is pretty ingrained.  

When we spoke on Sunday, I received some very happy news.  My dad had finally been able to fulfill one of his lifelong dreams: to walk outside and pick an orange from his very own orange tree.  Seriously, I think that was the main reason they moved to Florida… that and the fact that no one has invented a tree that grows giant fish sandwiches. 

OK, I make room for the fact that living with Green Bay’s 76,000 feet of snow every year might get a bit tiresome in one’s Golden Years.

It took quite a while to get to this point.  There were some false starts with tree plantings, and trees that never yielded anything but hard, green little nuggets.  (Remember, this was the guy that used his golf clubs as tomato stakes, just to amuse his next-door neighbor.)  And as I recall, he also has pear and fig trees planted, but I don’t think those efforts have borne fruit yet.

Finally, the day was at hand when Dad could begin the harvest of his crops!

How cool is it to be able to pick fresh oranges in December?  Unfortunately it may be a while until he has enough for juice.  I predict that pretty soon, he’s not going to have a back yard at all; he’ll have a grove.  I don’t know what he’s going to do, though, once the trees get bigger than him.  (Which won’t take much!)

But the back yard wasn’t the only area of improvement.  I also learned about a new story.

Aside from orange trees, Dad always wanted palm trees too.  They house they bought came with 2 big sega palms, which were along the driveway.  Right beside the palms appeared this other plant.  Dad didn’t know what it was but it grew like crazy.  In fact, they took to decorating it with twinkle lights for Christmas.  Because it grew so quickly, Dad took to trying to shape it like a pine tree, to make it more Christmas tree-ish.  At one point, it grew to 12 feet tall.

The arrow marks the plant in question, during its early days.  I’m approximating the 12’ mark to which it grew.

Eventually they asked a neighbor what the plant was and were shocked to find out that it was basically a weed.  And thus it became known as The Christmas Weed.  The neighbors (once again) must have thought they were nuts… Crazy Yanks.

Well, you can call it the Temporary Christmas Weed now, because Dad yanked it out of there last week and replaced it with something more traditional.

I don’t know what it is, but it’s conical and came from a nursery, so it must be an official plant.

While we were talking about the Christmas decorations, I asked if they’d put up my favorite of their ornaments this year.

I’ve mentioned in the past that our family’s ornaments tend to be a series of one-of-a-kind things, as opposed to boxes of the same bulbs.  We put up crazy quilt Christmas trees, not thematic statements.  And we tend to have some pretty weird stuff up there, like mini Jack Daniels bottles and lots of kid-art.  But one item takes the cake.

It was a gift from my dad’s friend Frank, aka “Frank the Lob.”  Dad and The Lob have a long history of gag-gifting each other, each more ridiculous than the next.  One year, The Lob sent Dad this:

I present: the “B’jhonk” Warmer, thoughtfully knitted in Steelers colors.  It’s not stuffed or anything.  It’s made to “encase.”

I have no idea how to spell “bajhonk,” so I’m making an approximation.  That’s what Dad usually calls it.  It sounds like “ba-zhonk,” which is another term for… well… I think you can tell from looking at it.  It’s another word for “lob,” if you will.

Dad described it this way: “The Steeler Salami Warmer was a present to me from The Lob when we moved to Green Bay.  He thought it would help keep me warm, but it was way too small.  He said he thought it was the perfect size but that was a guess.  Anyway, from 1990 on, we have been putting it on our Christmas Tree and is “One of Our Favorite Things.”

If I know my parents, Dad probably puts it right up front on the tree, and once he goes back to watch football, Mom moves it around to the side.  Here’s a shot of it up on the tree:

I’m not sure if they hang it there (snicker), or just slip it over one of the branches.  Talk about a little prick…  (Woooo!)

Dad has a bunch of crazy-assed stories about The Lob; at some point, I’m going to have to tell them.  It’s not like he’d mind… Who do you think sent me all the pictures to post?

Think Before You Speak: A Cautionary Tale

When I was babysitting my nephews last weekend, I spent a lot of time talking with my older nephew, Daniel.  We talked about all kinds of stuff, from music to pro sports, to all the sports with which he’s been involved.  He especially enjoys hearing stories about his father’s childhood as well as my own stories.

As we were talking about his burgeoning floor hockey career, I told him this cautionary tale.

I’ve written before about the 4 years I played in a co-ed pick-up hockey league, back in the 90s.  There were about 20 of us in the “league” (mostly hockey parents) and we would divide up into teams each week. 

Sometimes we would be short on numbers and some of the parents’ kids would join in.  It was especially important that we had two goalies.  Not just anyone can throw on the pads and try to stop pucks, without hurting themselves.  Such was the case one night when Ellen, one of our usual goalies and founder of the group, couldn’t make it.  In her place, she sent a boy that played goalie on her kids’ team.  The boy was 15 or 16, I’d say.

It’s often said that goalies are the “characters” of the team and that certainly held true with this kid.  He came in the locker room and as we were changing into our gear, proclaimed loudly how he was going to slam the door on us old people and pitch a shutout.

“No way you geezers are scoring on me,” he said.  “I’m younger and faster; this ought to be an easy night.”

Robert, our other goalie and an attorney in real life, tried to advise the kid that he probably shouldn’t be running his mouth, lest he provoke an unpleasant response.  But the kid wouldn’t stop.  He continued to crow about how we wouldn’t be able to score on him.

The kid should have listened to Robert, because all of us that ended up on the kid’s opposing team vowed that we were going to provide a little educational opportunity. 

We went out there and won the game 8-0.  Everyone that scored took the opportunity to emphasize the lesson to the kid.  I scored two goals myself, and after each one, screamed at him, “Shutout, huh?  Shutting the door on us, huh?  How’s that for a buncha old people?  Try shutting your yap next time.”

It’s hard to be subtle when you’re teaching a life lesson. 

Later, back in the locker room, I saw Robert talking to the boy again.  He had his arm around him, saying, “Repeat after me.

“I’m just going to come out and do my best.

“I’m glad to be here and hope I can give everyone a good game.

“I’m grateful to have the opportunity to skate with everyone here tonight.”

It was like that scene in Bull Durham where Crash Davis teaches Nuke LaLoosh all the classic interview clichés.

This time, the boy was soaking it up like a sponge.  I hope my nephew did as well.

Bluz, after a hard night on the ice. (OK, it was a Halloween get-up, but I had my real gear on…)

The Mojo Boogie

The Steelers game is not on TV here this week, so it’s another day at the sports bar for me.  The last 3 times I went to the bar, I wore the same thing and we won, so I won’t be breaking the streak today.

Black Steelers polo w/ white piping, yellow-fronted hat with Steelers socks.

My Questionable Taste

I want to bang out something quick tonight because the Penguins/Capitals game comes on at 7:00 and it’s already 6:45.  This is when the DVR pays off.  Anyway, I’m going into the archives and pulling out one of those email questionnaires that went around on email about 5 years ago and unearthing some nuggets from there.  I made a few updates to reflect the passage of 5-years time.

Sorry, not every post can be a sepia-toned memory about getting humiliated in church while wearing expensive boots.

Note: you GOTTA check out the prior post and look at the comment from Bryan (of A Beer for the Shower).  He has the all-time best church horror-show story, ever.

The Meme (which has been edited for brevity and levity): 

1. What time did you get up this morning?  Six AM.   OK, that was when I woke up.  When I got up was 6:50.

2. Diamonds or pearls?  Diamonds.  I don’t have anything that goes with pearls.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?  Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt 2.   Bloody brilliant.

4. What’s your favorite TV show?  Modern Family and 30 Rock.

5. What did you have for breakfast? Diet Coke and a breakfast bar.

6. What is your middle name?  I don’t have one, but I always say that modesty is my middle name, and don’t think that didn’t get me teased on the playground.

7. What’s your favorite meal?  Mom’s pasta or my pork chops.

8. What foods do you dislike?  Broccoli or any other multi-syllabic, double-lettered, vowel-ending vegetable.

9. What is your favorite CD?  Meatloaf, “Bat Out of Hell.”  (Still.)

10. What kind of car do you drive?  2002 Chrysler Concorde… my first Big Boy car.

11. What’s your favorite word or phase?  “Don’t mess with the Big Dog… The Big Dog is always right.” (Thank you to Tommy Lee Jones.)  Runner up: “Because Daddy knows things…” (Something I tell Pinky after something I’ve said turns out to be balls-on accurate.)

12. What characteristics do you despise?  Inconsideration, egotism, aggressive ignorance, lack of awareness of anyone but ‘self.’  (In other words, most Maryland drivers.)

13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?  Australia, just to hear them speak.

14. What color is your bathroom?  Mold.

15. Favorite brand of clothing?  Don’t care… anything with a Steelers or Penguins logo on it.

16. To where would you like to retire?  A cruise ship.  I hear it’s cheaper than assisted living.  Short of that, Pittsburgh.  I’d save big on my cable bill.  All the sports packages I pay extra for are considered “local TV” there.

17. What type of detergent do you use?  I wash in Tide (because it’s too damn cold out’tide.) 

18. Are you a morning person or a night owl?  I’m a lunch person.

19. What size shoe do you wear?  Size 12, which is really handy when I’m measuring rooms and stuff.

20. Do you have pets?  No, I live vicariously through the pets of others.

21. What did you want to be when you were younger?  Bigger and cooler, and see?  I’m half way there.

22. Best childhood memory?  Playing outside in the neighborhood or at the local pool every day during the summer.

23. Piercing?  Just my gaze.

24. Ever been Toilet Papered?  Sure, but I usually do it myself.

25. Ever love someone so much it made you cry?  Yes, but then she rolled off my schlong and I felt much better.

26. Croutons or bacon bits?  Everything’s better with bacon.

27. Favorite day of the week?  Saturday.

28. Favorite restaurant?  Mom’s dining room table.

29. Favorite ice cream?  Butter Pecan.  Got that from my dad.

30. Favorite flower?  Torrenia.  I have a knack for growing them. 

 Also know as Clown Violets.

31. Disney or Warner Bros.?  Warner Brothers!  Bugs rocks!

32. Favorite fast food restaurant?  Wendy’s.

33. How many times did you fail your driver’s test?  Never; I didn’t dare.  Besides, they have GOOD driver’s ed in Ohio.

34. At which store would you max out your credit card?  I would NEVER max out my credit card.  (Or else I wouldn’t be able to afford my cruise ship retirement.)  But if I had to, probably Best Buy.

35. What are you listening to right now.  The Sound of Silence.  Not the Simon and Garfunkel song, just silence.  (Obviously, Pinky isn’t here right now.)

36. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?  The Egg, because the Chicken needed too much foreplay.

Boot Scootin' Bungle

Since my last couple posts have been kind of unfocused, I figured I’d break out a story from The Archives.  Actually, I’ll have to tell you two stories and surprisingly, one of them has to do with shoes.

[Watches female eyes light up across the blogosphere…]

It all starts with the boots.

One day back when I was living in Albany, Future-Ex and I were cruising through the mall, just her and I.  This was before we were married, but after we’d bought the house together.  As we passed in front of this exotic boot store, I stopped at the window to look at the snakeskin boots.  I’d always thought they looked really sharp. 

So in passing, I said, “Man, if I ever had a couple hundred bucks to toss down the toilet, I’d get a pair of snakeskin boots.”  We continued on our way and I never mentioned it again.

Cut to my birthday later that year and lo and behold, she got me a pair of snakeskins!  I was overjoyed!  I had no idea she remembered that comment and was thrilled to have such an extravagant wife.

My snakeskin boots. I’m sure they could use a good clean and shine.

The thing I learned about wearing the snakes was that while the tops were soft and pliable, there was nothing to the soles.  Between the steel bar in the arch and the forward edge of the boot heel that cuts into my heel, it was clear that I wouldn’t be able to wear these things for any long stretch of time.  (And this was before the Delayed Pressure Urticaria.  These things kill me now.)

But boy, they looked good.  With the big heels, I looked like I was about 8 feet tall and with every stride you heard that distinctive boot-click, letting everyone around know that a badass was approaching. 

Side note: I wore them to work here in Baltimore one time.  I figured that since I sat down most of the day, I’d be OK.  On the contrary, my feet were throbbing by the time I got home.  But on the way in, as I was walking up out of the subway, I heard someone say, “Love the boots!”

I turned around and saw that it was a young black girl, who just so happened to be wearing skin-tight snakeskin pants.  It was probably a stripper, on the way to the day shift at one of the clubs on The Block.

OK, so back to Albany…

We spent the next spring in a whirlwind of wedding planning.  First and foremost, we had to find a place that would marry us.  Both of us were recovering Catholics, but while it was my first time, she’d already been married twice before, so a Catholic Church wedding was out of the question.  That suited me just fine.  I didn’t much care who married us; I knew that the only praying I was going to do on Sundays was going to be on the behalf of the Pittsburgh Steelers.

So we checked around and found a Unitarian church nearby, conveniently located right down the street from where we wanted to have the reception.  The Unitarians take pretty much everyone so I wasn’t too worried about getting turned down.  The minister (or whatever) only asked that we come in one time for a counseling session.  I was fine with that, as I wanted to get a handle on him too.

We managed to act like we were a good match and convinced him to take the gig.  Obviously, one of the reasons churches like this will marry people that are unaffiliated with them is to try to change that fact and get them attending services.  Naturally, he asked Future-Ex, her kid and I to come to the following Sunday’s service and we agreed.  I figured that it would be a good idea to go and make sure they weren’t into anything too weird, you know, like fires or dragons or rolling on the floor and speaking in tongues.  I thought we’d just slip in and sit in the back, observe like flies on the wall and make sure we weren’t making a terrible mistake.  We’d slip in and slip back out, without drawing any undue attention.

I was feeling particularly jaunty that morning so I decided I’d wear my snakeskins to the service.  I mean, why not?  If we were sitting in the back, it’s not like I’d be blocking anyone’s view?  Why not go in stylin’?

I’ll tell you why.  Because things rarely turn out as you plan.  You’d have thought I’d learned that by that point in my life.

As we walked in the back doors, we were greeted immediately by an overly cheerful usher, who after introducing himself to us newcomers, briskly led us straight down past all the shiny, happy Unitarians right to front fucking row.  There I was, clomp-clomping down the aisle like a Clydesdale, 8-feet tall and as awkward looking as a kid holding up the side wall of an 8^th grade dance.

Not seeing any graceful way out of it, I just went with it and tried to sit down as low as I could.  Just one more in the crowd, right?

Wrong.  This service, while relatively pleasant, had a lot of call and response throughout the service.  We didn’t know any of it and that really shouldn’t have mattered.  Even when I did know all the responses, like with the Catholic mass, I never actually participated.  I never saw the point of group responses; they’re a little too much like mass-hypnosis for me.

But then they got to this one part; geez it still gives me a nervous stomach to think about it to this day.  There was this song to be sung and unlike how you usually just sit there and move your lips and pretend to sing, everyone had to stand up in circles of 6 or 7, hold hands facing each other and sing together in little groups.

So there we are, way up in front, me with my 8-feet tall snakeskin boots and deer-in-headlights eyes, holding hands with the scripture reader and people in the row behind us.  Everyone is singing except us, because obviously we don’t know enough of the words to even fake it.  I can’t even look at anybody; all I can do is look at the floor and fidget on my feet.

Have you ever had that dream where you’re in front of an audience to give a big speech and you don’t know what to say?  Or are pushed out onto a stage with a guitar in your hand, but you don’t know how to play a single thing?  And you hope that you can just start doing something with the strings and some notes would pour out, but still you just stand there because you don’t even know where to start?  That was me, living out my personal nightmares in front of a bunch of shiny, happy Unitarians, swaying and sweating high up above the congregation in my stack-heeled snakeskin boots.

What I wouldn’t have given for Scotty to beam me the hell out of there in that instant.  I felt like a complete and utter 8-foot dork.  While the minister may have known our plight, nobody else around us did.  We just looked like a nice family of dipshits.  I could not WAIT to get out of Dodge.

I wonder if that was a Unitarian initiation prank.  I bet they only do that to punish the heathens that come to use the Unitarians strictly for marriage services.

“They think they can just waltz in here and use our church?  We’ll fix their asses… Here, we’ll sit’em right up front, so we can all laugh.  It’ll be like a bonding exercise.”

“Dude, did you see the look on that big one?  I thought he was going to throw up right there in the pew.  Good thing we didn’t go through with part two.”

“What, where we make them do The Lord’s Special Dance?  Ten bucks says Tallboy would have tripped over the kneeler and busted his lip on the railing.”

And you wonder why I haven’t found religion…

Odd Bits - The Thankful Edition

So far, it’s been a successful holiday weekend.  I worked on Black Friday, and am taking Monday off instead.  It was weird working on Friday.  There were only a couple of us there on my floor for most of the day.  By leaving time, I was the only one left.  It was like I was a marble, rolling around an empty boxcar.  In fact, all of downtown was a ghost town, which is a huge improvement, in my book.

Uncle Bluz

I went to my brother’s house for the Thanksgiving feast and had a wonderful time.  But even better was getting to come back on Friday night and baby-sit.  My brother and his wife were going to dinner and then to see Bob Seger, (who still rocks, according to Bluz Brother).

So I packed a bag and went directly from work.  I had to pack a bag because the Penguins were playing and I had to be dressed in the appropriate game jersey for the occasion.  Even “on the job,” I still have my mojo responsibilities.

Once we settled in, we had some time before the game started so we watched the AC/DC concert movie, “Let There Be Rock.”  (I wrote about it a while back.)  Because you can’t seem to buy a decent Blue Ray package anymore that doesn’t also include the DVD, I figured I’d give my DVD copy to my nephew.  I made up some cover art, provided a jewel box and produced a nice little package for him.  (I did the same with the latest Harry Potter and Pirates of the Caribbean movies too.  When are the movie studios going to realize that they might be able to gouge us out of an extra $5 for the bigger package, but they lose on a whole other sale?  Because who really needs both movie versions to use for themselves?)

As I’ve mentioned before, my nephew Daniel (12) is an AC/DC freak now, so I felt I owed it to him to show him the band at their performing prime.  It was cool.  Sammy (6) was unimpressed though, and rolled over on the floor and had a nap.

I had to take Daniel to his basketball practice at 7:30, so we paused the game and ran the errand.  When we got back, Sammy perched up on my lap and we watched the game together.  I tell you, the kid is pretty observant for a 6-year old.  He knew all the players and everything they’d done lately.  It was some really nice Uncle/Nephew bonding time.  We get very little time for the two of us because when Daniel is home, he tends to dominate the conversation.

We paused the game again to go pick up Daniel and them came back to watch the end.  (Pens crushed Ottawa, 6-3, in a game that wasn’t really as close as the score indicates.)

Then, because my brother’s TV setup is different than mine and had a jillion different channels, we just scanned around to the other hockey games in progress.  It was really just background noise though, because we mostly just yapped the rest of the night.

Daniel and I tend to get into very detailed music conversations.  He tells me what he likes and then I tell him what I know about the artist.  Sometimes we have to go to the YouTube to provide examples.  God, what I wouldn’t have given for that kind of technology when I was a kid.

I’ve had this other idea kicking around in my head for a while now: a way to help guide Daniel in his musical journey… to steer him toward high-quality rock and roll, and away from the noise that passes for music today.

I pitched the idea to my brother first, that I could set the boy up with an email account, to which I would maintain access.  (That way, I could monitor use and dump the inevitable inappropriate spam.)  Once a week, I would email Daniel a song of choice, along with any relevant information.  For example, I’d tell him why I like the song, what the cool parts of it are, what to listen for, and most importantly, seek his feedback on what HE thinks of it.

My brother told me not to bother setting up a separate email.  He would just add an account onto his current email, for Daniel’s use.  Fine by me… whatever works.  I was just trying to minimize what anyone else would have to do.

I pitched the idea to Daniel on Friday and he was all over it.  I don’t get to see the boys as often as I’d like, so I figured he was old enough now to take advantage of the tech we have available.  (Yes, I know we could be doing Skype… one step at a time!)  He’s into texting, too, so we traded cell numbers. 

My goal is to teach the boy HOW to listen to music… how to seek out the bass line; how to appreciate a solid opening build; how to pick out the guitar riffs on multiple guitars; and mostly how to appreciate real people playing real instruments that do NOT include the abomination that is auto-tune.

I’ll let you know how it goes, once we get going and the email account is set up.

Buckeye Bluz

ESPN has been hyping the Ohio State/Michigan game as “The Game.”  While I may be all “Pittsburgh” for pro sports, in college sports my family rolls with the Buckeyes.  We lived in Columbus for 5 years, my mom taught and got her Masters there, and my brother graduated from there later.  He and I saw our first college football games there, and it stuck.  So the OSU/Michigan game has been a big deal for us since we were kids.

While I was at my brother’s place on Friday, it reminded me of a story, which I then told to the boys.

When I first moved to Baltimore and was staying with my brother and his wife, on the morning of the OSU/Michigan game I was awakened by the sound of the Ohio State Marching Band, aka The Best Damn Band in the Land.  My brother was playing the CD on the house stereo.

When I cleared my head, I stumbled downstairs and saw my sister-in-law in the living room.  I asked where my brother was.

She said that he was outside putting up the Buckeye flag.  Then she added, “At least this year, he’s not running up and down the street with it.”

That was the funniest thing I ever heard her say.  The “visual” just slayed me.

Alas, we lost the game yesterday, thus breaking a 7-game winning streak against That Team Up North.  Oh well… 7 out of 8 ain’t bad.  Yinz kin look it up.

The Mojo Boogie

The Steelers play the KC Chiefs tonight on Sunday Night Football, at Kansas City.  For the Steelers to win the division they need to win out the rest of the season AND have the Ratbirds lose one, otherwise, it’s Wild Card City.  So we need this one.

I decided to wear the same gear I wore the last time I watched at home while the Steelers were “away.”  I could have gone with what I wore the last times they were on SNF, but the results were inconclusive.  So for tonight:

White Polamalu jersey, gold-sleeved throwback tee, flannel Steelers jammy pants with the Hot Arizona Auntie-approved Steelers socks.

As I have the day off tomorrow, staying up late will not be an issue.

The Obligatory Thanksgiving Post

Whoo Hoo!  Day off!

I actually have to work tomorrow, so this day off will have to stand alone.  Friday should be an easy day though.  It’ll be a ghost town at work.  I only know of one other person in my department that’s going to be there.  I’m taking Monday off, so I’ll get my long weekend on the back end.

I’m going to my brother’s for Thanksgiving dinner, so that means I’ll get to play with my nephews and watch some higher than usual-quality football for a Thanksgiving Day.  Even better, they need me to baby-sit for them on Friday night, so I’m sure I’ll have some adventures to chronicle for you this weekend.

As I sit here today, I easily realize how good I have things now.  I have a good job, a secure place to live and some dough in the bank.  I have family, friends and a Pinky that love me.

Also, I have you, who stops by regularly or occasionally, to see what I have to say.  The gift of your attention is something for which I can never adequately express my thanks.  Thank you for your visits, your comments and in many occasions, your friendship.

Happy Thanksgiving!

"Mangia!"

It's All Greek to Me

Can you be nostalgic when you’re only in 3^rd grade?

I remember back when we lived in the Chicago suburbs and I was but a wee lad of 7 or 8, my parents got this Greatest Hits album by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.  This was the late sixties and even then, Herb and the TJB weren’t exactly “hip.”  But their brassy instrumentals were catchy and fun, for a household with 3 little kids.

I mean, we couldn’t play the soundtrack to “Hair” all the time, could we?

Tell me these guys don’t look like they should be playing in a crappy Holiday Inn lounge somewhere…  And I could swear that the 2^nd standing guy from the left was Dick Martin from Laugh In.

Every so often, mom or dad would put on the Herb Alpert and we would carry on and dance around the dining room table.  I remember at the time, feeling nostalgic about those tunes, because I remembered them from when I was an even younger boy.

When we still lived in Pittsburgh, we had this big basement with a bar.  My folks would have the occasional New Years Eve party back then, which obviously set the precedent for the NYE parties we had out in The Barn, 15 years later.

I still remember the ritual of Dad sweeping out the concrete basement floor and wiping off the bar.  I used to love those parties because of all the fun… the soft drinks that we were allowed to have, the snacks, and the music.  My brother and I were allowed to stay up for a little later than usual and enjoy the first hours of the party.

“That’s enough root beer for this one.”  5-year old Bluz and almost 3-year old Bluz Brother, New Years Eve, 1966.

My parents would fire up the record player down there and play 45’s, Herb Alpert’s among them.  I used to be fascinated by the sight of the records spinning round and round.

OK, I was a very easily amused kid.  We didn’t have Playstations, we had radio stations… AM radio stations at that.  But I just always thought that records were cool to play with, from the time I was, like, 3.  Anyway, I’m drifting…

The thing is; I could remember those songs from the time I was a very small boy, so that even hearing them in elementary school made me wax nostalgic.

My favorite of the lot, hands down, was “Zorba the Greek.”  It was one tune that was nothing like any of the others, most of which had a Latin vibe.  “Zorba” was anarchy!  It was fast-paced, featuring a bouzouki player, Herb’s lightning-lipped trumpet, and lots of hooting and hollering and “Ayiiiiiii-yip-yip-yip!”  It was a four and a half minute party! 

 A Greek "bouzouki."

Even as a kid, I could picture a loud, wild affair with sunshine, brilliant colors and lots of people dancing around with their arms in the air.  Check this out; you’ll see what I mean.

You needn’t even pay attention to the visuals; (some album stills, some dancing video), the music says it all.  You can skip the slow part in the middle, but be sure to catch where it starts to speed up again at the 2:45 mark.

My brother used to have his special moves for this song as well, (again, when he was very young.)  During the slow part, he’d lay face-down on the couch, and then as the music gradually picked up speed, he’d shake his butt from side to side in time with the beat, faster and faster until he’s practically throw himself off the couch.  Used to make me laugh myself silly.

When we finally got around to growing up and throwing our own parties out in The Barn, especially in our first, small, neighborhood Barn Parties, we found a home for Zorba there too.  None of our friends had heard any of this kind of things before but they caught the same vibe as we did.  In fact, we invented our own dance to it.  Granted, it wasn’t nearly as good as the people you see in the video…  Ours was more like a long Conga Line, only with more hormones… three ass-shakes, then a pelvic thrust on every kettle-drum beat.  Call it a Bunny Hop for prospective pole dancers.

You know, maybe if the Greeks didn’t make such catchy music, their economy wouldn’t be in the toilet.  It’s hard to hold down a steady job when you’re always dancing around with your arms in the air.  And how could you ever hold a business meeting?

“And now, Cristos will talk about our 4^th quarter projections.”

“Thanks, Stavros.”

[Climbs up on table, begins dancing…] “Ayiiiiiii-yip-yip-yip!”

[Everyone links arms and dances around the boardroom table…] “Woooooooo!”

Marginally-related thought: If I were Greek, I think I’d like to be named “Cheerios,” or if I was having a bad day, “Belicos.”

I have Zorba on my MP3 player, so it comes up occasionally on my way to or from work.  It’s kind of a “WTF” moment when it follows something like AC/DC or Metallica.  Or Abba.  Such is the peril of “shuffle mode.” 

But it never fails to make me smile and look for the party.  And want to shake my butt and put my arms in the air.  It’s impossible to have a bad day with this tune running through your head.

Ayiiiiiii-yip-yip-yip!

Odd Bits - The Bye-Week Edition

The Steelers are on their “bye” this week, so there is no game for me to dress for or obsess over.  So what to do, what to do? 

Make do, that’s what to do.

Ratbird Whine

Earlier this week, I spotted a story about the Ratbirds coach John Harbaugh complaining about some of the music that was played when his team was at Heinz Field, two Sundays ago.

Seems he was incensed that the scoreboard operator was displaying the game stats comparing the two quarterbacks, the Ratbirds’ Joe Flacco and the Steelers’ Ben Roethlisberger.  At the same time, the PA was playing Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “What’s Your Name (Little Girl).  He was presuming that it was a shot at his guy, but hell, that could have been Big Ben’s own personal theme song, up until last year’s great Operation Reputation Rehabilitation.

I don’t even know that it was done on purpose… that’s the kind of song that you might hear at a Steelers game anyway.  But even assuming that it was on purpose, wouldn't you think that an NFL coach has more important things to worry about?  Just goes to show how badly the Steelers are in the Ratbirds’ heads.

John, just take your win and shut the fuck up.  What happened the next week when your guys ate it in Seattle, did they play The Bitch is Back in your honor?  Considering all the scoreboard bullshit (like never replaying any play that doesn’t favor your team) and public address insults directed at the Steelers (like never announcing who made the tackle against your offense) in your stadium, you just look like a hypocrite.

Towel Mania

I saw this clip on That’s Church last week and had to steal it run it myself because it’s just that cool.

Earlier this year, ESPN had solicited fans to submit photos or video of themselves waving their Terrible Towel in interesting places.  At the time, I considered sending something in, but I really hadn’t been anywhere noteworthy, with Towel in hand.

Nothing I could have done would have made the cut, because the commercial is on YouTube now and is just amazing.  It goes to show how widespread the Steeler Nation is across the world.  Check this out…

Baltimore hates us because they will never be able to do something that it this cool.

Twi-Lights Out

I hear the new Twilight movie is out this weekend.  I am on neither Team Edward nor Team Jacob.  I am on Team Who Gives a Shit about Sullen Sparkly Vampires That Take Three Movies to Finally Bang the Hot Chick.

And what’s up with all the grown-ass women that love these movies?

Now, leave me alone… I can’t be bothered with this weak-ass bullshit… I’ve got the last Harry Potter movie to watch on DVD.

What?  Hermione’s smokin’ hot.

The No-Mojo Boogie

Since I don’t have a game to dress for, I thought this would be a good time to show you what I’m NOT wearing.

I have a couple articles of Steelers apparel that I no longer wear during any Steelers game.  I figured that with the Steelers not playing, it was a good time to drag these out for a picture.

(Note: I am NOT wearing either one today, either, I’m just showing you the picture.)

Steelers boxer shorts and Loud Steelers Zubaz pants.

The last time I wore either of these was Super Bowl XXX in 1995, which the Steelers lost in heartbreaking fashion to the Cowboys.

They hadn’t done me any good in previous games, but I was not yet experienced enough to correctly read the tealeaves.  I just figured, ‘the louder and uglier, the better.’  It worked insomuch as it was a loud, ugly game.

To tell the truth, I don’t think I can squeeze my big ass into anything I wore in 1995 ever again, so I have a built in insurance policy against any future lack of judgment.

Code of Silence

I was thinking about this story from my ‘old life’ the other day and thought I might like to talk about it.

As you may remember, back in the early 90s, I managed to make the leap from managing record stores to working in our company’s home office.  My boss, Dave, who I’ve mentioned in my previous “Music Years” series, was the VP of Merchandising.  In other words, his department was in charge of all the merchandise that our store sold, from music to video to accessories.  It was definitely the ‘cool’ department to work in.  I loved working there and I loved working for Dave.

There was this one time that he needed me to send a request out to the field.  I don’t remember the details at all, but there was something we needed the stores to do.  He told me to run it by our Operations Manager first, and then send it out.

When I talked to the Ops Guy, he totally kiboshed it.  I forget why, but he was emphatic that it wasn’t a good time.  I reported this back to Dave and asked what to do.  With a twinkle in his eye, Dave said to send the message anyway.  I did, happy to be included in the conspiracy.

The next day, the Ops Guy came by my cube and he was most unhappy.  He told me to get into Dave’s office, immediately.

I went in and sat down, while the Ops Guy proceeded to tear me a new asshole.

“Damn it Bluz, I told you not to send that out!  Why would you do that?  I won’t tolerate such blatant disregard for what I thought was a crystal-clear direction.”

I was feeling a bit shell shocked… I mean, why wasn’t Dave setting the guy straight?  Direct disobedience was definitely unusual for me and I didn’t like anyone thinking otherwise.  But then I had a thought…

What if Dave was testing me?  Maybe he was checking my character… maybe he wanted to see if I would crack or if I would roll over on him to get myself out of trouble.  Or maybe this was something that could hurt Dave politically within the company.

Right then, I decided to say nothing.  If Dave wanted to see if I could take the heat, I’d take it all.  I figured; he must have his reasons.  And after all, Dave was my boss, not the Ops Guy.  My annual review and my paycheck were in Dave’s care, so if he needed me to take the fall for this, he could just call me Fallzdude.  I understood the Code of Silence, or as the Italians call it, “Omertá.”

The Ops Guy continued his tirade.  I don’t remember what he actually said but he was being very harsh and very critical of my character.  I just lowered my head and took it, saying nothing.

Then after another minute or so, (which seemed like an eternity), Dave just said, “Oh, calm down, I told Bluz to do it.”

Thank you Jesus!  It was over, and if it was a test, I figured I passed.  Dave told me I could go back to my desk.  I fairly dashed out of the office, while the two of them hashed it all out.  I never heard any more about it.

So as I was pondering this story earlier this week, I thought I might like to provide a better ending for you.  Dave and I had been Facebook friends since last year so I thought I’d write to him and see if he could provide any insight for the story.  Was he really testing me?  Or just screwing around with the Ops Guy? 

Good idea, right?

Wrong.  Dave had no recollection of the event I described.  I admit that it was a long shot.  Not only did it take place about 18 years ago, I bet he had dozens, if not hundreds of dicey office issues he’d addressed over the years.  I just had the one there, so it was easy for me to remember.

History does repeat itself though; you know that.

About 5 years ago, when I was with my current company but in a previous department, I got into deep doo-doo with a Department Manager from one of our facilities in another state.  His unit had to research files on retailers that we were trying to set up with our finance program and they often had quite a backlog.

When checking into a particular file, I emailed a good friend of mine in that department who used to work closely with me here.  She told me that the file I was looking for, along with a stack of others, was languishing on a desk somewhere until someone could get to them. 

This pissed me off, because this particular Department Manager had been agitating for some time to take on more of the retailer set-up process, (which would take it away from my team!)  So not only did he want OUR job, in my opinion, they were likely to do it poorly.  Dude was “empire-building,” plain and simple.

Director’s DVD Commentary: That did indeed happen.  The day my boss gave up the fight to keep Retail Setup in our house was the day I began posting out for other jobs.  When they did take over Setup, they promptly ran it into the ground with time delays and errors.  They didn't have nearly enough people allotted to do the job properly.  

Sometimes it sucks being right all the time.

So I called my friend to confirm what she emailed me.  The files were not being actively worked, despite the fact that my team was being pressured daily regarding the completion status.

As luck would have it, some of the sales guys that had submitted these files happened to be in the building.  I went over to where they were and mentioned what I’d learned, and that they might want to call up and “shake the tree.”

Oh, that tree got the living shit shaken out of it.  The Department Manager went absolutely ballistic when he found out that I’d told the sales guys that his group wasn’t actively toiling over their files.  He had one of the sales people bring me over to her cube and over a speakerphone, called me out and threatened my job.  He was dropping F-bombs all over the place that could be heard from several cubes away.  He was like, “Do anything like that again and I’ll have your fuckin’ job.”

He wanted to know how I got off saying these things about his department.  I could have told him right off that one of his own people told me, but I knew that he was a vindictive SOB and he would have initiated Witchhunt 2006.  So once again, I clammed up and gave nothing but 1-word non-answers.  I didn’t mention anything about my inside intel.

After we hung up, I went straight to my boss and told him what had just taken place.  I told him everything except for the identity of my source.  I said I’d have to keep that part to myself because I wouldn’t risk my friend’s livelihood.  But I guaranteed him that I had not gone off half-cocked and I was not throwing around unsubstantiated charges.

My boss just thanked me for dropping this giant turd in his lap and sent me on my way.  OK, he didn’t really say that, but I’m pretty sure he was thinking it.  Anyway, he hashed it out with the Dept. Manager and unfortunately it had to come out that I did indeed get my info from his team.

The aftermath dragged on for months.  The Dept. Manager conducted his witch-hunt after all, but it never turned up anything. 

“She turned me into a newt!" (I got better.)

Neither my friend nor I ever said anything further to anyone.  We stopped emailing each other at work, for fear that he had IT set up a net to catch all my correspondence.  Instead, we spoke on the phone from home, where I assured her that my lips were sealed.  I had other friends in the unit that kept me up on the goings on too.  The dude held a big staff meeting where he tried to coerce the information out of people.  It ended with his forbidding anyone on his staff from talking to me.

That was truly laughable.  I mean, my department and his department had to work hand in hand.  Luckily, no one listened to him about that and business went on.  And when the Dept. Manager’s boss found out about it all, (via complaints from the other employees there), he became most displeased.  He and the Dept. Manager had a long talk about effective managing.  I got the last laugh when he was canned a couple months afterwards, during a widespread reorganization.

I felt like, “No, I’ll have YOUR job, motherfucker.”

No, it’s not like he got axed because of me.  The guy ran his team like a tyrant and a bully long before this incident.  This thing just brought it to a head.  He made his own bed. 

But once again, keeping my yap shut paid off, not only for me but also for my friend.

Such is the value of Office Omertá.