The Fraud of "Voter Fraud"

I saw a letter-to-the-editor in today’s Baltimore Sun that got my shorts in a twist again.  It was in response to a solid Leonard Pitts column on Sunday that called the black community into question for their silence on the attempts to dump the poor, the elderly and the young from state voter rolls.

The letter writer believed that these transparent attempts at disqualifying Democratic voters were actually valid, because someone found a couple of dead people and pets (dead and otherwise) that were registered to vote.

He also claimed that asking for an ID is no big deal because sometimes retail stores ask for IDs when you charge a purchase.  You can read the full letter, here.

After the smoke cleared from around my ears, I submitted the following letter to the paper:

Leonard Pitts was spot on, in his column about how people are silently standing by while thousands of voters are being purged from the voter rolls by Republican administrations, under the guise of ferreting out voter fraud.

Letters like the one headlined “Voter ID no threat to black civil rights, July 17,” demonstrate how twisted the logic becomes, to justify this blatant attempt at voter suppression. 

As has been widely reported, Justice Department investigations prompted by the Bush Administration turned up scant evidence of voter fraud influencing any national elections.  Yet we are to believe that the goal of purging a handful of names from voting rolls should take precedence over erecting barriers that keep thousands of poor, elderly, or young voters from exercising their Constitutional right to vote?

Is purging voter rolls in Florida really more important than the resulting consequence, where thousands of valid, legal registrations were wiped out of the system without verification that they were indeed non-citizens?  And we’re to think that it’s all just a big coincidence that these registrations overwhelmingly came from people that traditionally vote Democratic?  Please…

Another red herring is the bit about being asked for an ID at the store.  When shopping, if you don’t like the policy, you can shop somewhere else.  There’s only one time and place to vote in a given election.  To interfere with that right is to go against a fundamental principle for which this country stands.

Apologists also love to bring up the Miami mayoral election of 1997, which was nullified due to rampant voter fraud.  What they don’t mention is that the fraud in that case was due to the mass filing of absentee ballots.  Obviously, none of the Voter ID bills affect absentee ballots, which makes the “Miami” argument nothing but a red herring.

Obviously, ineligible voters should be removed from voter rolls, but it should be done in a careful, systematic way and carefully verified.  It should NOT be done in an election year rush, in a partisan attempt to influence the outcome.  As for requiring voter IDs, Mr. Pitts is right, that it’s nothing but a sledgehammer solution to a mosquito-like problem.

Bluzdude

Sez Me, Maryland

Because I was trying to keep it short, I didn’t mention how easy it is for others to sit back on their big, fat, white, asses and decide what extra steps that other people should take, in order to exercise the same privileges that they have. 

“Sure, you people without cars, or who are too old to drive any more… all YOU have to do is catch a ride  or take the bus down to the DMV and stand around on your bad knees for a couple of hours, shuffle some papers, pay your fees, and get your new State ID.  Meanwhile if I have to wait for a cashier to change her register tape, I’ll lose my shit on her and puff like Rush Limbaugh walking a flight of stairs.”

I probably should have cut the bit on the Miami election, but I already saw someone mentioning it in the comments online, defending that letter.  People love to grab at that one exception to “prove” that the thousands of other instances are invalid.

I also wanted to really nail down how obvious this whole thing is, this effort to suppress Democratic voting, and highlight the consequent twisted logic that conservatives are forced to adopt (in public) in order to justify the practice.  It amazes me how easily it happens though… If Fox says it enough times, the sheep believe it.

I’ll let you know if my little rant gets any traction.

Oh, and the Baltimore Sun is a pay-site now… no pay, no commenting.  I couldn’t even submit my letter online; I had to email it.  But at least you can still view for free.

In other news, just to end on a lighter note, I saw an article online about how authorities found a couple of bodies that had washed up from the Detroit River.  The heads, hands and feet had been cut off.

If this happened in Arizona, people would be screaming about Mexican drug violence.  Who are they going to blame for this one?  The Canadians?  Right, like there’s a gang of plaid-shirted lumberjacks running amok.

He’s OK.

Actually, this tragedy was probably home grown, right there in Detroit.  I wonder how much it would take to pay Canada to take Detroit off our hands…

Late Update:

They haven’t run my letter online yet, but they did run one from someone else that takes issue with the original offending letter.

If only I could learn to make such powerful points in so few paragraphs.


Even Later Update: You can see Misty's post about our lunch, described in my previous post, by clicking here.

Odd Bits - The Meet-Up Edition

As I've thoroughly documented before, I’ve been to three bloggers’ meet-ups in the past, with all of them taking place in Pittsburgh.  I've never met any bloggers from my own locale, here in Baltimore.

I’ve always been a little hesitant to dive into the blogging scene here, as I have a more Pittsburgh-centric blog, and Pittsburgh is Public Enemy #1 around here.  I don’t mean to pick any fights (that aren’t football-related).  But on Friday, I took a step in.

I’ve been following Misty’s Laws for several months now.  Misty is a lawyer who blogs about her family and observations around Maryland and downtown Baltimore.  (The lawyer part doesn’t really play into it.)  I found her via trading comments on Hoody’s blog. 

One of the things she does that kills me on a regular basis, is when she takes clandestine pictures of some of the fashion disasters found walking the streets.  I look at these closely, not only to try and recognize the locale, but also to ensure that I’m not one of the subjects.

Since we both work in the same general vicinity, I suggested that we meet up for lunch one afternoon.  That day turned out to be yesterday.

Quick side note: on the way to lunch, I shot this picture, which seemed quite out of place for a busy downtown street.

I call it, “Baltimore Salad,” although it probably looks more like something you would have found on the set of “Lost.”

Once we met up, she made sure I knew the Ground Rules, which had to do with preserving her anonymity.  Few people know that she writes a blog and she intends to keep it that way.  I certainly didn’t have a problem with that, as I’m more or less anonymous too, although I don’t go to quite the same lengths.  I just want to keep this blog out of Google searches on my actual name.  But obviously, if someone knew me, and found this blog, they’d know it was mine.

Anyway, it was cool.  We had a delicious lunch and yakked about her experiences with the legal system, out mutual blogging acquaintances, and our brushes with the movie business when the filmmakers set up downtown.

We had a great time and I hope we can do it again, now and then.  And perhaps even draw in another blogger or two.  (Thoughtsy and Hoody, I’m looking at you!)

In keeping with the Ground Rules, I won’t post any photos of us together, but I was given permission to run one of Misty’s traditional meet-up shots.

Here you have the feet from the two of us, making this a Ground Rule Double.

And now, it’s time for, “Hey Bluz, what do you think about…”

…the two Florida teens that have been attacked by alligators?  I think it’s a hoax.  Everyone knows that alligators aren’t found in US rivers; they’re found under your bed.  Every kid in America knows that…

…the news that the use of the anti-hair loss drug Propecia may cause long-lasting sexual side effects?  Geez, another tough pill to swallow for bald guys.  It’s bad enough that they get overlooked by our culture in general and women in particular, making it very tough for them to get laid.  But now if they take steps to correct the problem, they still can’t get laid.

What a Catch-22… stay bald and be ignored, or grow hair and be unable to get it up.  Luckily I prefer the tougher but more gratifying route; to find the rare gem that appreciates a perfectly-shaped head that’s untarnished by messy, “product-filled” hair.

But on the bright side to all this, maybe we can start feeding Propecia to sex criminals.

“Boy, Jerry’s not screwing kids any more, and does his hair ever look great?”

…Mitt Romney getting booed at the NAACP convention?  I read a columnist, I can’t remember who, that said (and I’m paraphrasing from memory), that no one should call his appearing there an act of bravery, because everyone knows that the NAACP is not his constituency and is not likely to vote for him.  He had nothing to lose by appearing.  An act of bravery would be appearing before his own people, say, the NRA, and advocating some kind of gun restrictions.  THAT would be bravery.

I’m going one further.  I think he was counting on getting booed, to solicit sympathy (and votes) from middle class independents and conservatives who might think, “Oh look at those savages booing the poor man…”

You think those boos aren’t going to be used in political advertising this year?  Count on it.

...the continued use of Monty Python references to describe this season's election?   I love it!  I saw this article that notes about a half-dozen different pundits that use Python sketches to compare to political stories.

Among those listed:

* Rick Perry’s denial of his dying candidacy being compared to the Dead Parrot Sketch.

“Now that’s what I call a dead parrot!”

* Rick Santorum’s and Newt Gingrich’s refusals to give up being compared to the Black Knight from Holy Grail,

“Look, your arm’s off.”

“No it t’isn’t...  It’s just a flesh wound.”

* The politics of wealth-denial, compared to the Four Yorkshiremen Sketch, wherein each character boasts about how poor he was when he grew up.

“We were evicted from our hole in the ground… We had to go and live in the lake!”

* The Republicans’ policy of consistent rejection of anything Obama proposes, compared to the famous Argument Clinic Sketch, where John Cleese disagrees with everything Michael Palin says.

“An argument is a collective series of statements, intended to establish a proposition.  

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is! It isn’t just contradiction.”

“Look, if I argue with you, I must take up a contrary position,”

“But it isn’t just saying ‘No it isn’t’”

“Yes it is.”

“NO IT ISN’T!”

I think the pundits may have missed one.  What do you get when you mix the Republican’s Argument Clinic-esque Party-of-No-obstinacy, with the Holy Grail of a presidential election? You get…

Update: You can see Misty's post about our lunch by clicking here.

Dream On

Last weekend, I had one of those “WTF” kind of morning-dreams... a real doozy. (Sadly, neither Tina Fey nor Cat Deeley were involved.)

OK, get this… I dreamed that I was selected as an offensive lineman in the NFL draft, as the 4^th pick overall, by the Seattle Seahawks. 

Now, just let all that ridiculousness wash over you, as you consider the absurdity.  I mean, I’m 50 years old, for cryin’ out loud.  And even at my most athletic, I would have never been confused with an offensive lineman.  (Those are the guys that usually go around 6’5”, 300-plus pounds, with arms as big around as my thighs.  Best I ever could have hoped to be was a pass-catching tight end, or in other words, a tall white guy with good hands, that’s too slow to be a wide receiver.)

And it gets worse… the dream setting was not Radio City Music Hall in New York, with the NFL commissioner, a podium or TV cameras.  My setting was some kind of wooded hillside and the situation was like choosing sides on a playground.

The Seattle coach just pointed at me and said, “You, you’re with me.”

He had already selected this other dude with the 3^rd overall pick, who was definitely “offensive lineman” caliber, a huge black guy with a big, thick beard.  I figured they must have made a trade to land two consecutive first-round picks.

Even weirder than all of these strange things happening in the dream were the things that were going through my head, as I considered my situation (during the dream.)

My concerns:

* Ugh, I gotta play for the Seahawks??  Seattle is such a long way from everything I know.  And I don’t even LIKE Starbucks.  And what about all the rain?

* You mean I have to wear those ugly uniforms?

* I wonder if the Seattle fans will ever forgive me for rooting against them in Super Bowl XL.  (You know, the one I attended, adorned head-to-toe in Steelers gear?)

* On the other hand, getting picked 4^th overall in the NFL draft is going to land me a shit-pot full of money.  I suppose I can get used to the change of scenery.

Next thing I knew, I was in the den at “my house,” which I didn’t recognize directly, but it resembled the place I used to live in New York.  And I thought to myself, “OK, now what do I do?”

I considered my situation for a second and thought, “Well, I guess I better start working out, or else these guys are going to kill me.”

That’s when I woke up, going “What the hell was that?”

I went right back to sleep though, and promptly started dreaming about telling people all about my NFL dream.  I’m serious!  It was totally carrying over, like a dream within a dream.  I imagine that somewhere in a pit-filled basement, Sitcom Kelly was “Inception-ing” me.

So what do I make of all this?  There are several options I can think of…

* I want to be recognized for my abilities.

* I want to be part of a team, because I was rarely picked early for teams, during grade school, and the effects are still rattling around my brain.

* I vastly overestimate the value of my so-called skill set.

* I really need to get into better shape.

* Seattle really was robbed of a Super Bowl title by poor refereeing and I should try to fix it.  (I threw up in my mouth a little bit, just typing that.)

* I secretly think I’d look good in sea-foam green or whatever hideous color that is.

* I should avoid hanging around with groups of large men, out in the woods.

* I’m just ready for football season to start.

Yeah… it’s probably the last one…

I checked in with Sitcom Kelly, to show her a draft of my post, and to see if she’s the one behind all this.  Turns out that because she’s been gorging herself on the 30 Rock DVDs I loaned her, she’s been having dreams about Tina Fey.  So we have agreed to switch dreams.

I can see it now, she’ll get a hillside full of athletes and I’ll get “Liz Lemon,” safely contained in a basement pit.  I bet she’d love my ziti.

Next, I just have to get Sitcom Kelly to watch some DVDs of “So You Think You Can Dance”. 

Odd Bits - The Heat Stroke Edition

I know that no one is reading blogs this summer, but since it’s too damned hot outside to do anything else, here I am, writing anyway.

It’s supposed to reach 104 degrees today.  It’s been in the hundreds downtown all week and it’s to the point where I almost dread going home every night.  Stepping outside is like walking into a punch in the mouth, and our front door is shaded by 5:00.  Then when I step out into the sun, it feels like I’m about to disappear in a puff of smoke, the way those vampires do when the guy turns his fancy headlights on him in that commercial.  Just walking to and from the subway makes me feel like I’m breathing hot pudding.

Yes, I know it gets like this in the south all the time, but here in the upper Mid-Atlantic region, we’re just not conditioned for that.  Pity the poor folks that don’t have their power back on yet.

OK, enough bitching about that… there are plenty of other things I can bitch about…

WTF, Blogger?

With all the changes Blogger has been making, I keep hearing about people having all kinds of trouble with it.  Up until this week, that trouble has missed me, but it sure found me on Tuesday.

As I was putting up that day’s post, I noticed that I needed to add a label to my prior post.  I went in and made a very quick update, then hit {Update}.  Unfortunately, I think I was too quick.  Because my post was still loading into the template when I clicked {Update}, I ended up fixing the label problem but completely wiping out the post!

I noticed that just after I published the post I was working on, which triggered a mild panic attack.  It was only minor, though, because I’m me.  And me keeps every post I write on a Word file, as backup.  So I was able to very quickly lay the post back in, thus avoiding trying to remember everything I wrote about the first time.

The weird part is that it bumped the post up by one entry, so that it appears after the “Power Outage” post instead of before.  I guess in the greater scheme of things, I can live with it.  But it totally messes up my month-by-month stats, making my scant June postings look even skimpier.

Van Failen’

Remember how I was all excited to take my 13-year old nephew to his first rock concert, to see Van Halen, and then they postponed their tour?  It gets worse.  I found out last week that they have now cancelled the rest of the dates on their US tour.  They were originally scheduled to be here next weekend.

Bastards!  Is it really that much to ask that they get their collective shit together and honor their obligations?  People like me shelled out a lot of money to see their aging asses play the songs we so fondly remember. 

A lot of people get hurt with things like this, because it’s not just the band that’s affected here.  The arena loses a date, which means no work for the arena staff, technicians, vendors and maintenance people.  The area loses because there are 16,000 fewer people coming downtown to eat and drink, or just pay for parking.  And I don’t get to be a corrupting influence on my nephew.

I had the damned tickets in hand!  Gah!  So close…

Ticketmaster is supposed to be providing refunds.  I’ll be following that situation very closely.  I paid almost $150 each, which is more than twice the amount than the highest price I’ve ever paid for a show.  (George Thorogood, $65.50 in 2008.  Also, $75.00 to see Springsteen in 1984, but that included a bus ride from Toledo to Detroit and back.)

And speaking of the refunds, they better refund ALL of the ticket price. Have you ever seen all the freakin’ fees they tack onto concert ticket orders?  Holy shit!  Look at my receipt:

The fees tack on an additional $19.80 per ticket!  That’s more than I paid for most of the concerts I’ve ever been to!  And all that is for using a ticketing system that requires LESS human processing and handling than the old methods of distribution.  “Convenience Charge,” my ass.  We’re charged for their convenience!  Just call it the “Because We Can” charge.  Freakin’ leeches are what they are…

But not all my retail news is bad.  I received my Lehigh Valley IronPigs hat this week!

And thank you to the Carpetbagger, for telling me that an “Iron Pig” isn’t just a nonsensical minor league baseball team name; it’s an actual thing.  It’s a nickname for a squat iron railcar used for hauling coal up out of a mine.  I can always count of the Bagger for gems like this.

But it’s actually a more logical name than the one for the Single-A ball team around here, the Aberdeen Ironbirds.  The “bird” part comes from the fact that they’re affiliated with the Baltimore Orioles, or “The Birds.”  And the “Iron” part comes from the fact that their owned by Cal Ripken, aka “The Iron Man.”  Plus there is a military base in Aberdeen, meaning planes, or “Iron Birds.”  OK, I guess it does make sense after all.

Hot Cross Words

Back in November of 2009, I wrote about my crossword puzzle habit.  (I do them every day at lunch.)  The focus then was that I had just come off a huge streak of correctly completing 36 Baltimore Sun crossword puzzles in a row.

Now I haven’t come close to a streak like that again… I think my next best may be around 18 or 20 in a row.  I always shoot myself in the foot by doing something stupid.  But I was pretty proud of myself today, because I completed the Saturday crossword (traditionally the toughest one of the week), in pen!

Only a couple of trouble spots…

Not bad for a guy that was just too lazy to go across the room to get a pencil.  And then for bonus points, I did the Jumble in pen, too.  No chance on the Sudoku though.

A Story: “Body Language Counts”

Part of my job is to set up and assist with the Audio/Video part of my company’s meetings and town halls.  My colleague usually handles anything that the company president does, and I take care of the rest.  Last month, I was asked to help him out for a meeting held by our president.

She was having a Q and A session, so he needed someone to help to get microphones to people in the room that wanted to ask questions.  It’s not that the room is that big, but that there are also people calling in, and they can’t hear anything that’s not on mic.

Our handheld mics have different colored foam caps on the end.  We had red, green and blue, so I obviously picked the blue.  Bluz gotta represent, even if only subliminally.

Once the Q and A started, I stood up and to the side of the speaker.  Most of the questions came from the other side of the room, so I was not called upon to move very often.  For the most part, I stood there at attention, with my arms crossed low at the wrist, and the mic pointed downward.

After the event, I spoke with a friend, who giggled at me, poking fun at the way I was holding the mic and noting what it kind of looked like.  I hadn't considered that aspect of the visual.

All I could say was, “Thank goodness I didn't use the red one.”

A Week of Crazy Pt 5 - The Finale

OK, the power’s back on, food it saved, the candles are put away… time to put a wrap on my June Vacation Extravaganza.

One of the cool things about my room at the Doubletree was that I could see the Pittsburgh Penguins new arena, the Consol Energy Center, from my window.  Sunday morning, we wanted to go over and visit the new statue of Penguins owner and legend, Mario Lemieux.  I would have been able to provide a nice aerial shot, except that there was a damned church in the way.

The Damned Church.  The arrow points to the Lemieux statue.

I was already starting to think of it as “The Damned Church,” and then when I heard that Sitcom Kelly’s room was looking the opposite direction, so I told her to come get a look out my window.  When she said, “But there’s a Damned Church in the way,” I knew the name would stick for the rest of the trip.

Our itinerary for Sunday was to go see the Lemieux statue, visit the Rivers Casino and then go to the Pirates/Tigers game at 1:30.  After the game, Sitcom Kelly and her sister were heading home.  My plans were still up in the air.

My big dilemma was whether or not I should wear my Pirates game jersey right away, or carry it until game time.  But then, I remembered that I was in Pittsburgh… a game jersey is appropriate at all times.

As we strolled around town, we came across this fountain.  I took some shots while Sitcom Kelly looked for an ATM.

The fountain outside the PNC Tower, with the Omni William Penn in the background.

It occurred to me, while I was moseying around the square, how much I enjoyed just being in downtown Pittsburgh.  There’s really no city like it.  I felt such a sense of comfort and ease.  Perhaps that’s because I knew that the likelihood of being jumped and robbed by a pissed-off Ratbirds fan was practically nil.

We made our way over to the Consol Arena to visit the statue.

This is the front side of the Mario Lemieux statue, showing Le Magnifique splitting a pair of NY Islanders defensemen.

Just about everyone that has seen pictures of the statue have seen it from this angle.  So I figured I’d get a shot of the other end.

I was pleasantly surprised by the detail that went into the two defenders.  I almost expected a thought bubble to emanate from them both, going, “Oh shit!”

I didn’t want to stay out in front of the arena for too long, or else I’d find Sitcom Kelly plastered to the outside glass, like a kid outside a candy store window.  I’m not saying she’s got a thing for hockey players, but I’d hate for maintenance to have to come out and clean the boob marks off the glass.

Our next stop was to get back onto “The T” and take it under the river and over to Rivers Casino.  This is a new subway route that just opened a few months ago.  It’s a free service that runs from downtown, under the Allegheny River, over to the North Shore, where the casino, Heinz Field and PNC Park sit all lined up in a row.  Residents may debate whether it was a worthy project for taxpayer dollars, but it sure helped us out. 

“I’m all for it!” says the non-taxpaying nonresident.

The Rivers Casino is a full service gambling joint with slots and table games.  None of us being much of a gambler, the sisters and I settled on playing some slots, to kill the time before the game.  While I was there, I met up with my cousin Greg, who had managed to procure himself a ticket to the game, right beside our seats.

While I was busy pissing my money away, I swear he sat down beside me, fed in $5 and instantly hit a big one.  I don’t know how much he won on that roll, but he played for about another 15 minutes and still walked away with $50.  Bastard!

So Greg won, I dropped about $40, and the sisters broke close to even, before we broke and headed for the ballgame.

This is the Duquesne Incline.  It’s not the one we rode the night before; that ones about a half mile to the left, but they are similar.

Our seats were pretty good… 3 rows from the field (not including the row of special needs seats), down the third base line.

The game was a rare sellout, mostly because a lot of Detroit fans realized that this was a cool road trip to make.  And why not make the trip?  It’s still the most scenic ballpark in the country.  (In my humble, but biased opinion.)

OK, it would have looked nicer, if it had been sunny and we were shooting from behind home plate.

Justin Verlander was pitching for the Tigers.  To me, this was good news and bad news.  The good news was that I’d be getting to see a future Hall of Famer pitch.  The bad news was that the Pirates were probably going to get their asses kicked.

That’s Verlander, on the left.  The big guy on the right is Prince Fielder, who isn’t so much a first baseman but a nose tackle.

As for the game, the Pirates were down 2-0 early, came back to tie it later, gave up another run in the 8^th, had guys on in the bottom of the 9^th but couldn’t score and lost 3-2. 

It was an exciting game, but boy, was it hot.  With no shade and few clouds, we were left to simmer in our own juices.  Carpetbagger and his wife were with us too, although Mrs. Bagger spent most of the game back on the concourse, in the shade.  (Obviously, she’s the brains of the operation.  And so are Sitcom Kelly and her sister, as they ducked out early, to start their drive home, in glorious air conditioning.)

With the game over and goodbyes said, I had the rest of the evening ahead.  I had originally planned to hang with Greg for a while before retiring to my hotel, and then go out on Monday morning to see my Grandpa on the west side of town.

But before the game, Greg said his mom was making homemade pasta and invited me out for dinner.  Homemade spags?  You don’t have to ask me twice.  So Greg ran me out to Coraopolis so I could hang with my 96-year old Grandpa and other loved ones for a while.

Greg and his wife recently had their 2^nd child, a girl whom they named Luci, after our Grandma.  Needless to say, that made my Grandpa a very happy guy.

Grandpa with his great granddaughter, Luci.

Check out the cheeks on this one!  She looks like a cabbage patch doll…

There’s enough room in there for a bowl of pasta and a couple of meatballs!

So we ate and yakked and had wine and looked at old pictures and yakked some more.  It was a great way to finish up a wonderful week and another satisfying trip to The Burgh.  Greg got me back to my room in time for True Blood on HBO, so I’d have less DVR to catch up on the next week.

Having my visit on Sunday night allowed me to head for home first thing Monday morning.  But the down side is that I wouldn’t be able to stop by the local market for some authentic Pittsburgh chipped-chopped ham and fresh Italian bread.  At least I learned that the place that serves the monster fish sandwiches that I love, was closed Monday too, so I didn’t miss anything there.

I got home uneventfully, which is good.  I made my usual Wendy’s stop in Breezewood, and for once had time to stop at that place that sells all the Steelers and Penguins paraphernalia.  Lord, I spent 30 minutes in there and could have dropped a ton of dough, but I was able to keep it under $35. 

My biggest problem was that I now had to go back to work on Tuesday.  

After all the craziness I’d just been through, I figured I’d need at least another day or two to recover from the vacation.

A Week of Crazy Pt 4: The Burgh

First off, the walleye tasted wonderful!  Had some for dinner last night and again tonight.  That’s a first-rate “eating” fish right there.

So, it was home on Friday, then back on the road on Saturday.  I took off about 10:30 Saturday morning, and pointed the car at Pittsburgh.  The first thing I noticed was that the road was filled with these guys:

The fucksticks were everywhere!

The most common variation was the people that camped in the left lane, usually right beside or just barely behind a car in the right lane.

There was one guy in a red compact that was holding me up for miles, as he slightly passed and then fell behind the same car over and over again.  Then I look and he’s got his hand out the window, playing with the wind current.

It’s times like that when I’m glad I don’t carry a gun, even though once I spelled out the circumstances, I’m sure no jury in the world would have convicted me.  I still want that hood-mounted water cannon though.

After a couple of traffic jams, some caused by accidents, another by the dreaded Squirrel Hill Tunnel Monster, I rolled into the downtown Doubletree about 3:30, just minutes behind Sitcom Kelly and her Sitcom Sister.

I had asked her if she wanted to come out to our bloggers’ get-together so that my friends could finally meet the person I’ve been writing about for the last couple years, and to prove that she was not a figment of my imagination.  She accepted because she finally committed to starting a blog, plus there was a Pirates game in the plans.  And any time she has a chance to stalk and capture an athlete to keep in her basement Silence of the Lambs pit, she takes it.

As luck would have it, the NHL was holding their amateur draft over this same weekend.  It was taking place at the Penguins hockey arena, which was just down the block from the hotel.  Bringing Sitcom Kelly to a target-rich environment like this was like bring the perv to the playground. 

Sitcom Kelly studies the NHL Draft Conference Schedule in the hotel lobby, to plan the most effective stalking spots.

When I checked in, I was told that I had an “eco-room,” designed for maximum energy savings.  This meant that they gave me a card that you stick in a slot by the hallway light.  When the card is in, you can operate the lights and stuff.  They also gave me a warm cookie, probably so that I’d go along with the eco-room scam.

I also noticed that the room thermostat was calibrated to the Celsius scale.  I assumed that was so that most people would be too confused to mess with it.

I loved that I got a king-sized bed and 5 pillows.  I didn’t know what to do first… freshen up from the drive, or make a pillow fort.  Alas, we had places to go so I freshened up.

After much consideration of options, we decided to take the subway, aka “The T,” across the river to Station Square, and have a few drinks there before going to the restaurant.  Our meet-up was at La Tavola, and they didn’t serve alcohol.  You could bring your own, but I really didn’t want to schlep a bottle of wine all across town, so we figured we’d have a few early, meet for dinner at 6:00, then come back for a nightcap.

The restaurant was up on the top of Mt. Washington, so to get up there, we had to take the Incline.  An “Incline” is like a single trolley car that while remaining on a horizontal plane, travels up the mountain on a railroad track.  I’d only been on one once before, back in the 80s, so I enjoyed the ride.

Waiting for our car (on the left) to arrive.  The other one is on the way up.

Once on top of Mt. Washington, we sought out the tourist platform, from which to shoot dazzling pictures of the city… like this one:

I love this city!

While we were all fixed up with Google Maps to get us to the restaurant, we ended up going a different way around the block that was in front of us.  This proved to be a karmic gift, because we just so happened to walk by a liquor store.  Figuring we were most of the way there by now, it was a much more manageable schlep for a wine bottle.  I wanted to bring a wine box, but I have no idea what the corkage fee would have been on that.

By the time we rolled in, most of the people were already there.  Maybe one day, I’ll actually arrive somewhere before Cassie does, but it hasn’t happened yet.  But it was good to see my best blog friends.

Cassie was there, with Jessica, our friend from Shreveport LA.

Cassie, me, and Jessica.  Jess also had her husband and daughter with her.

Mr. and Mrs. Carpetbagger were there as well!

Bluz, Carpetbagger, and the Mrs on the far side.

Bethany was there, with her man Casey and son Jones.

I was trying for a candid mother/son shot, but I probably should have asked her to look.

Facie was a newcomer to our events; she sat down on the end of the table with the Carpetbaggers and I.

Facie and Bluz

I swear, the next time we have an event at a restaurant, we have to get a round table or something.  It’s so hard when half the group is only reachable via shouting.  I never had much of a chance to talk to Cassie’s mom, Cassie, Jessica, or their husbands, the latter of which made an early break for it, with the kids.  I’m curious what it’s like having your life written about when it’s not you doing the writing. 

But I’m not complaining.  I enjoyed getting to know Facie, and the Carpetbaggers are always entertaining.  One thing I learned that surprised me was that until recently, Carpetbagger though my name was pronounced with a short “u.”  I was shocked… I always thought it was obvious that Bluz should rhyme with “booze.”  (Or “boos,” as it were.) 

Maybe I should start spiffing up my branding and call myself “Blüzdude.”  Probably not though… it just took my five minutes to find the umlaut.  (Or are those what you call the fringy things on Michael Jackson’s shoulders?  I get confused…)

About 7:30, much to my shock, amazement and utter delight, in walked Ginny, (nee PittGirl) of That’s Church, along with her 2 kids.  I’d been trying to get her out to one of our meet-ups and while she’s been agreeable, Real Life has always intervened.  We’d chatted briefly once before, after I spent half a day at Pittsburgh Podcamp 5, stalking her from room to room.

I promise, I tried really hard not to jibber at her about how great I think she is, but I’m afraid I was only partially successful.  I’m pretty sure that I beat into the ground the fact that she was the one that inspired me to take up blogging.  (So if you’re tired of reading my bullshit, blame her!)

Let me apologize right now to anyone else that wanted to talk to her that night.  She couldn’t stay more than a half hour or so, so I’m pretty sure that I monopolized most of her time.  But I couldn’t help it.  Must have been that third glass of wine that eliminated my last shred of decorum.

But on the other hand, I got this…

Now I know for sure that talking to her was NOT a figment of my imagination.

Eventually, all our wine ran out, which signified the end of the event.

We bade our fond farewells and headed off into the night, once Cassie finished giving wrong directions to three different motorists.  Sitcom Kelly, her sister and I took the Incline back down the mountain and went straight back to the bar at Station Square.  Carpetbagger joined us, after dropping his wife back at home.

We had a few beers and gabbed there on the patio, enjoying the end of a thoroughly wonderful night.  In fact, it was such a nice night; we eschewed taking The T back to the hotel and hoofed it ourselves. 

I say, whenever you have a chance to take nighttime pictures of the city from the Smithfield Street Bridge, you take it.

I’d like to sincerely thank everyone that came out to our event and made it the special day it was.  (Even if I hardly got to talk to you.)  You are all beautiful people and your friendship means the world to me.

Next up: City walkabout, a Pirates game, and the siren call of homemade pasta.

Powerless

We interrupt this vacation travelogue to bring you a breaking news update.

Friday Night, 11:15 pm:

Bluz: Shit!  The power’s out.

Saturday Morning, 6:00 am:

Bluz: Shit!  The power’s still out.

Saturday Evening: 10:00 pm:

Bluz: Shit!  The power’s still out.  I’m going to bed.

Sunday Morning, 6:00 am:

Bluz: Whoo Hoo!  The power is on!

If you’ve watched the news lately, or live in the Great Lakes or Mid-Atlantic region, you heard about the storm that rolled through on Friday night, which generally made a mess of everything.

Around 11:00 pm, I was sitting up, watching “Spaceballs” on HBO and contemplating going to bed.  I already had the PC turned off and was waiting to develop enough energy to get off the couch and go to bed, when I heard all hell breaking loose outside.

I’d heard there might be a storm coming but I wasn’t expecting anything like this.  The last two hurricanes that hit this area (Floyd and Isabelle) weren’t nearly this bad, at least not this far inland.  Then, around 11:15, the power went out.

I have candles and a flashlight and stuff, but it can be hard to find your stuff in the dark, especially when you’re not totally sure where you last put it.  I was lucky that I have a wristwatch that has a light, for night viewing.  It also creates sufficient light, in a darkened room, so that you can find stuff and not smash your feet into the table legs.  With that, I was able to find my flashlight, and successfully maneuver into the bathroom to remove my contact lenses and then go to bed.

I used to lose power during every single thunderstorm, when I first moved in.  Then after a couple years, my municipality got serious about trimming back tree branches away from the power lines.  Since then, I hardly ever lose power.  So when I got up Saturday morning and the power was still out, I knew it might be a bad one.

I knew we had water, but forgot that due to the electricity-operated water heater, I wouldn’t have hot water.  Unfortunately I didn’t realize this oversight until I was in the shower.  (You might have heard the screaming.  Homie don’t like the cold showers.)  So I cleaned up the best I can with a washcloth.  Sometimes having really short hair (and little of it) pays off.

After reading the paper, which had limited information about the storm, due to its late arrival to the area, I decided to go to the movies.  (Nothing like putting your head in the proverbial sand, to pretend that everything’s OK.)

Quick movie review: I went to see Prometheus, and loved it.  It was my first 3-D movie, so that may have tipped it even further to the positive.  The movie was shot in 3-D, (as opposed to adding the effects later, which isn’t nearly as effective), so it was really eye-popping.  Well, it was, once I got used to wearing the glasses.

Prometheus is a “prequel” to the “Alien” series, which is one of my favorites.  If you like the “Alien” movies, you should like this one.  It has all the same ingredients: Great effects, suspense, ugly creepy-crawlies and a strong female lead.

After the movie, (and a meal at Wendy’s), I called home to check on the power.  My answering machine didn’t some on, so I knew there was still no juice.  That made WalMart my next stop.  I have some supplies at home, but as yet, I didn’t know how long we would be in the dark, so I wanted to stock up.  I picked up a new flashlight and an oil lamp and a long-nosed lighter.  About the latter, I figured I may need to light our gas stove burner manually, so I wanted to be able to keep my distance, thus saving some valuable knuckle hair.

What Wally’s didn’t have was ice, so I made my neighborhood liquor store my next stop.  (OK, it wasn’t just the ice that I needed.)  I was worried, because of the widespread power outage, that all the stores would be cleaned out, but I was in luck, because they crowds hadn’t hit the liquor store yet.  This was good, because as I drove home past my local grocery store, they didn’t seem to have any power themselves.

As I was driving around the neighborhood, I got a good look at the scope of the damage.  There were huge limbs and trees down everywhere, some blocking 3 of 4 lanes across the road I was on.  There were many stoplights that weren’t working.  Now, I know that broken stoplights should be treated as a 4-way stop sign, but I believe I’m in the minority, here in Maryland.  Lucky for me, the traffic was light.

When I got home, I split my bad of ice in half and put the pieces into two soft-side coolers I have.  Then I filled in around the ice with all my frozen perishables.  (I’m not giving up that bag of walleye filets without a fight.)  So with the freezer full of ice and frozen goods, I knew they would keep for a while, as long as I could stay out of it.

By the time I was done, it was about 4:00 pm.  Pinky was staying at her place, so all I had to do was amuse myself for the next 6 or 7 hours, without TV, PC, DVR, VCR, or A/C.  It was time to go “pioneer.” 

So I sat in my computer chair, (because it’s right beside a window) and dug into a new book, Keith Richards’ autobiography, called “Life.”  (Great read, by the way.  I’m about a third of the way through it and it’s a fascinating read.  If you like the Stones, or rock and roll, go get it and read it.)

My new oil lamp, portable radio and Keef book, to take the place of all my useless toys.

I also have a portable radio so I was trying to find some news on it.  I scanned all through the AM and FM spectra and couldn’t find squat.  All the “News” stations were running national shows.  I settled on the Orioles game and was rewarded with a quick news break, wherein they stated that there were about 400,000 people in Maryland, without power, and it might take up to a week to get it all back.

When you need news, there’s noting more depressing than an inoperable computer.

Shit.  If the outage went on much longer, I’d need more ice and so would everyone else.  I figured I’d have to spend Sunday cooking everything in the freezer.  Maybe I could take some of it to work and put it in the refrigerator on our floor.

I also must state that I’m extremely luck to have a ground floor, partially below-ground apartment.  Even without the A/C, it remained comfortable inside.  I feel for the people, (like my brother) who had no such recourse other than to be both bored and sweaty.

My parents called around 8:30, when they heard my brother lost power as well and I wasn’t responding to emails.  This is another reason I always keep a landline with a corded handset.  The phone system has its own dedicated power supply that will remain on when outages occur.  I know I could have used my cell, but I was trying to conserve its battery, in case of greater emergency. 

As the outside lights dimmed, I lit the oil lamp and arranged 3 other candles around me.  I also have one of those little LED lights that you clip onto a book, to help you see in the dark.  I read until about 10:00 pm, when my eyes and my butt could no longer take the strain.  (From sitting so long, you pervert.)

Then this morning, as I foggily rolled over to face my alarm clock, I was rewarded by flashing numbers.  Seems that the power came back on around 5:00 this morning.  Stovetop cooking marathon averted and I get to take a hot shower.

So, after going ‘primitive’ for an entire day, (except for the part about driving around and going to the movies), I’m back in the saddle and living large in Century 21.

Viva la electricidad!*

I now return you to the regularly scheduled conclusion to my vacation posts.  You know… next time.

*Not sure that’s actual Spanish… my high school Spanish teacher is probably rolling in her grave.