Beat the Steelers? Nevermore!

Is it just me, or is the sun a little sunnier and my Diet Coke a little cokier this morning?

Life is good at the House of Bluz this morning, after the Steelers’ huge 2^nd half comeback against the Ratbirds.  My black Polamalu jersey and other mojo gear got the job done.  And once again, I reclaim my title as Poster Boy for Schadenfreude.

Also, please allow me the opportunity to celebrate my prescient abilities to identify the excuses to be used by the fans and media in this town, to explain how victory was so unjustly snatched away from their dear football “team.”

Yesterday, I wrote:

“But whenever the Steelers beat the Ratbirds, there is always an excuse.  It’s the League, the officials, bad calls, bad non-calls, and the ever popular, “We beat ourselves.”  That one’s the most annoying because in most cases, it’s designed for the sole purpose of avoiding giving any credit to the other team.”

Cut to the 3^rd paragraph of the lead story in the Baltimore Sun sports page, quoting Rats QB Joe Flacco: “When you look at those turnovers… and then you could look at it and say we beat ourselves.”

That didn’t take very long.  So, the turnovers by the Ravens were because they beat themselves.  But let me guess, the turnovers by the Steelers were due to the incredible ability of the Rats’ defense, right?

Speaking of, in the same article, Sun homer and hack Jamison Hensley goes on to say this about Steelers running back Rashard Mendenhall’s fumble, “In a pile, the Ravens’ Dannell Ellerbe knocked the ball from Mendenhall.” 

I’m not sure what Hensley was smoking, because everyone in America watching the game on TV could see that Steelers guard Chris Kemoeatu knocked the ball out with his elbow.  But the hack writer doesn’t want to mention that little fact because it might accidentally take a chink out of the idea that the Ratbirds defense is the bestest ever.  Plus, “we beat ourselves” is the Rats’ excuse and no one else is allowed to use it.

Again, in the same article, the writer says of the Steelers opening drive: “Helped by a questionable 37-yard pass interference penalty on the Ravens’ Josh Wilson…”

Oh that’s the questionable call?  And no mention of the 31-yard interference penalty called on the Steelers?  That one was legit, right?  The one that gave the Rats the ball right up in the red zone?  Not even worth mentioning, huh?  (FYI, in my opinion, both were legitimate penalties.)

At least there were a couple of players that spoke the truth.  Terrell Suggs, who spent the day rampaging through the Steelers backfield and generally being a beast, said this: “We didn’t put them away.  We have nobody to blame but ourselves.  We have to take a long look at ourselves.  You can’t say the refs took one.”

Hmmm.  When I first marked this quote for use, I read it as he was taking accountability.  But in reading it again here, it does seem like a longer, more indirect way of saying “We beat ourselves.”  At least he wasn’t blaming the refs.  (The fans will take care of that… just check any Ratbird blog in the state, today.)

I will also give Rats’ cornerback Lardarius Webb some credit.  He’s the guy that got torched by Ben’s long pass to rookie Antonio Brown for a 58-yard completion on 3^rd and 19.  He said, “He just ran by me, man.  That’s it.  I wasn’t expecting something different.  He just ran by me.”

I was stunned.  This is a Ratbird player actually giving credit to an opponent for playing better.  Obviously, Webb hasn’t been with the team that long and may not have fully gotten through their media-quote playbook.  I’m sure they’ll give him a crash course in the off-season to make sure he learns his lines.

But with the media in this town, you can’t trust them to run it, if it goes contrary to the expected company line.  In the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, Rats’ coach John Harbaugh is quoted saying: “It was one heck of a comeback, and the Steelers earned it.”

Obviously, there is no such quote in The Sun.  That would go against the “They stole it/We beat ourselves” company line.

Another item not mentioned in the media here is that the Steelers lost their starting cornerback and both starting tackles during the game.  They literally did not have another offensive lineman to put in the game if there were to be another injury.  And what did the substitutes do?  Drove down the field for the winning touchdown.  Granted, none of them blocked Suggs worth a damn…

If I may address a few facts here, the Rats gained a total of 126 yards of total offense, including 28 yards in the entire second half.  That is not “beating yourself,” that is getting owned by another defense. 

Also, throughout this entire season, fans have been complaining about Rats’ offensive coordinator Cam Cameron for going conservative once they have the lead.  This time, up 14 in the second half, he kept his foot on the gas and called a number of passes, leading to a couple of turnovers.  Guess who’s now getting criticized for NOT going conservative?  Just goes to show, “the fans” don’t know jack shit.  (Except me, of course…) (Snork…)

One other item of interest… just to combat the “The refs robbed us” contingent, the Rats were called for 6 penalties for 74 yards.  The Steelers were called for 9 penalties and 93 yards.  Yeah, the refs are reeeeeeally bending over backwards for the Steelers, aren’t they?  So when Hines Ward and Ed Reed get into that scuffle where they both take pokes at each other, then 4 other guys jump on Hines in the pile-up and only Hines gets penalized, that’s Steelers bias, right?

I agree that the officiating was not good, but I didn’t see a slant one way or another.  The refs had entirely too large of a presence in the game.  It was like you could never just enjoy or appreciate a play without worrying about what the penalty would be.

Anyway, I get to enjoy going to work tomorrow.  I get to revel in the sweet salty tears of the Ratbird fans and listen to them squawk about the grave injustices that must have been done to their purple warriors.

Hey Rattie fans… I’ve got a purple warrior you can worship, right here!

Playoff Mode

"Our Father, With Art in Pittsburgh, Football be Thy Game, Let Mendenhall Run, 6 Superbowls Won, On Earth as it is in Heinz Field. Give Us this Day a Playoff Win, and Forgive Us Our Penalties, as We Defeat Those who Playoff Against Us. But Lead Us into a Victory, and Deliver Us to Texas. For Thine is the D-Line, the Polamalu, and the Harrison... A-Ben."

(Author unknown… it was on an email that went around.  And I tweaked it a bit myself.)

Yes, it’s another football post.  But truthfully, it’s not really about the football, it’s about all the stuff surrounding it.

I’m really nervous about this game.  At 4:30 today, the Steelers play their hated rivals, the Baltimore Ratbirds.  I despise this team, and I’ve previously documented the many specific reasons right here.  This is a high-risk/high reward game.  I feel like a guy that just bet everything he had on “black,” at a Vegas roulette table.

Because I live in Baltimore, this is a must-have game for me.  The entire town here is going crazy.  Well, even crazier then normal.  If the Steelers lose today, it’s going to be a very bumpy Monday for me and the ragtag band of Steeler fan rebels I run with at work.  Rattie fans are insufferable when they win.

If the Steelers win, I still keep to myself.  Sure, I’m wearing my Steelers hat and coat and a smile in to work and I may post the front page of the sports section outside my cube, but I certainly don’t go around seeking out Rats fans to smack talk.

But if the Rats win, I guarantee I have a line of people outside my cube waiting to gloat and to the "Dundalk Butt Dance."

Objectively, this should be the best game of the year.  Two hard-hitting teams that truly don’t like each other, square off for the right to play one game for a Super Bowl appearance.  That's Old School football.  At work, I’ve just been telling people that my only hope is for a clean game, with no excuses and no controversy.  (I never predict big wins or ass-whippings of any kind… that’ just asking for a karmic smack down.  It’s just bad mojo.)

But whenever the Steelers beat the Ratbirds, there is always an excuse.  It’s the League, the officials, bad calls, bad non-calls, and the ever popular, “We beat ourselves.”  That one’s the most annoying because in most cases, it’s designed for the sole purpose of avoiding giving any credit to the other team.

Odd fact:  After consulting my Sports Event Attendance spreadsheet, (yes, really) I discovered that this is the first year since 1991 that I haven’t been to a Steelers game.  Weird…

Speaking of mojo, which I did three paragraphs ago, I decided to mirror my game day apparel after the AFC Championship game two seasons ago, in which the Steelers beat the Ratbirds, to go to Super Bowl XLIII.  But since I watched that game at my brother’s, I wore regular jeans.  I won’t be wearing jeans to watch at home, so I decided to use the pants I wore for that Super Bowl.  So, for today’s game, I’ll be wearing my black Troy Polamalu #43 jersey, over a cream Steelers ¾ sleeve V-neck and a “Stillers” t-shirt, with AC/DC flannel sweatpants, my ubiquitous Steelers socks and my Terrible Towel over my right knee.

As for the other games this weekend, it goes like this:

Packers/Falcons: Rooting for the Packers, but I picked the Falcons.  The Pack is my second favorite team, ever since I read the book “Instant Replay,” in 3^rd grade.  (Written by Packers lineman Jerry Kramer.)  If they were playing in Green Bay, I’d have picked them over a dome team.  But Atlanta looks very strong and they have the home crowd.

Seahawks/Bears: I don’t really give a shit about this one, but I picked the Bears.  After all the whining they still do about the refereeing in Super Bowl XL, Seattle can blow me.  The Steelers made big plays and the Seahawks didn’t.  Crybabies…

Jets/Patriots:  PIcking the Patriots, probably rooting for the Jets.  I have to say “probably” because it depends on who wins the Steelers/Rats game.  If the Steelers win, I root for the Jets, because I think we can beat the Jets.  The Pats; not so much.  If the Ratbirds win, I root for the Patriots, because above all, I can’t deal with the Rats going to the Super Bowl, and the Pats are the most likely to beat them.  If the Ratbirds go to the Super Bowl, I may have to take an unexpected out-of-town vacation that week.  And if the Rats win, I may not come back.

Normally on a day like this, my biggest problem is killing the time between now and the 4:30 kickoff.  Luckily, the forces of nature have conspired to give me a Penguins game to watch at 1:00.  Thank you very much, NHL!  Sure would like to see a Pittsburgh sweep today…

So wish me luck.  If you notice that this site goes dark for a while, just picture me on a beach somewhere, with a 32-ounce insulated mug filled with gin and tonic in my grasp, muttering “Ratbirds… the fucking Ratbirds…”

PS. Happy 12^th birthday to my nephew Daniel!  May the Steelers deliver you a big “W”, all gift-wrapped in black and gold.

Swing Your Partner

Story time!

Back in the mid-90s when I was married (cold chill runs down spine) and living in Albany NY, I was in need of some extra cash.  I had a full-time job at a local craft store, which paid my end of the household bills, but not much else. 

I had an idea that maybe I could put my new video camera to use and start a videotaping business.  My brother-in-law worked regularly as a wedding DJ and gave me some sound advice.  I did some library research on home businesses, tax obligations and such, then went and got myself registered with a “dba.”

I had business cards made, put up flyers and stuff, and put an ad in the local newspaper and Pennysaver.  My catch phrase was “You name it, we’ll tape it!”  I was open for weddings, graduations, recitals, picnics, reunions, filming valuables for insurance purposes… whatever. 

“Whatever” was the general reaction.  I was kinda bummed about the slow start.  I got a quick job from my Craft Store… they paid me $100 to film their First Anniversary Party event. 

Later, a friend of mine knew a young couple that was getting married and directed them to me for a very reasonably priced wedding video.  I thought I had some really good ideas on how to do that.  It can be an iffy proposition getting a friend or relative to videotape a wedding.  They often concentrate only on their friends or side of the family, or just set up the camera pointed at the dance floor and walk away.

I was determined to put out a good product.  I went to the rehearsal, not only to get some good candid footage but to scope out the best angles and work with the Church People on where they would let me set up.  During the periods of the reception where everyone is waiting for the Happy Couple, I set up to record people’s best wishes and advice for the bride and groom.

Best response was when I took the camera to a table with what looked like two aunties and a grandma.  Both aunties went on about not going to bed mad and how they should always compromise.  Then Grandma piped up, “I’m so sick of compromising!”

My best idea was to make two edits of the video.  Obviously, I’d include one with all the useable footage possible… the Director’s Cut, if you will.  But in addition to that, I included what I called the “Wedding Smash”, where only the high-points were shown.

This was meant for times when the couple wants to show some wedding footage to friends, but without keeping them on lockdown for an hour and a half.  So BANG, there’s the limo, BANG, there’s the groom waiting at the altar, BANG, here comes the bride, BANG, the vows, BANG, I do, I do too, BANG, kiss the bride, BANG, the happy couple walks out.  Then BANG, they walk into the reception, BANG, the toast, BANG, the first dance, BANG, cut the cake, BANG, everyone say goodbye.  Whole wedding wrapped up in 10 minutes.  Now the party guests can get back to the barbecue.

Anyway, it all went well, and I turned over a wedding videotape of which I was very proud.  It was just too bad I wasn’t getting any other work.

OK, none of that is why I wanted to tell this story.  This is…

One evening, near the end of my ad’s run in the paper, I got a call at home.  A guy saw my ad and how I’d “tape anything,” and wanted to know if I’d do a “swing party.”

I considered the phrase.  Did the guy mean, like, 50s dancing? Or…

So I asked him to clarify.

He said, “Well, you know, we get together one weekend with some other couples…”

 Hot damn!  They wanted me to make a porno!

I said, “Well, I haven’t done one before, but I’d be happy to see if I could help you out.”

He asked about price and going back to what my brother-in-law told me about not undervaluing my time or talent, I told the guy I’d do it for $50 an hour.  He said he’d check with the rest of the group and get back to me.

Not sure what I was getting myself into, I then had to sell the idea to Future Ex.  Surprisingly enough, she didn’t go apeshit, or even poo-poo the idea.  Perhaps I should have realized there was trouble in paradise right there.

She was mildly concerned that I might be dragged into the frenzy, so I tried to put her mind at ease about it.  I really didn’t think it would even be an issue, I mean, ultimately it would be up to me and I could just refuse.

(I’ll now wait for the women reading this to stop laughing at the prospect that a man could opt not to join in a wild sex party.)

I think Future Ex was more concerned with me bringing home some more cash, so she grudgingly signed off.  But the thing is, I had no freakin’ idea what was going to happen.

Immediately I began to assemble a list of questions for the “group.”  How did they want it filmed?  Like a story?  Individual liaisons?  Just keep sweeping the whole room, from activity to activity?  I mean, from a service perspective, I needed to know how to keep my customers satisfied.

Also, I began to wonder if I’d made a horrible mistake.  I mean, at first blush, it seemed like the dream project for a red-blooded guy.  But then I realized that I could be succumbing to the rose-colored glasses version where I’m airdropped into Hef’s grotto to film some hot naked co-ed monkey love.  In reality, it would more likely be a bunch of overweight, droopy, pasty-assed middle-agers, flopping around like salmon spawning in an Alaska riverbed.

Ewww.

I didn’t hear from the guy for another couple of weeks.  Then finally he called and said the price was acceptable and they wanted to schedule a date.  He gave me his first choice date, and it just so happened that Future Ex and I had tickets to see AC/DC on a Saturday night.  No way was I missing Angus for a bunch of randy PTA parents.  So I told the guy that I couldn’t do that Saturday, but hold on while I get my appointment calendar so we could find another date. 

I put the phone down, ran up the stairs to the kitchen, grabbed my book, ran back downstairs and picked up the phone again.  It couldn’t have taken more than 15 seconds, but the guy was gone.  I never heard from him again.  He must have really had his heart set on that night.  Maybe it was an anniversary party or something.

Anyway, I wasn't too busted up about not getting to do the shoot, although if I had, I probably would have told you the story a long time ago.  And it would have been a much better story.

I just missed out on another would-be perfect job, when I had an audition to DJ at a local titty bar.  (Remember, I was a college radio DJ, and also did occasional work with another wedding DJ.  I could definitely rock the house.)  Couldn’t believe the Ex went for that one either, but again, she wanted me coming home with more money.  I was just happy for the opportunity to capitalize on all the time I’d spent in strip clubs across Ohio and New York, during my wild youthful days. 

I spun the music for a couple of hours one night and I thought I did OK, but I didn’t get that job either.  Still, it was a pretty cool way to kill an evening.  Beat the hell out of working in a cubicle, that’s for sure.

I always thought there was a TV show to be made out of life in a strip club.  There’s such a distinct culture there.  Showtime or HBO could do it.  Or maybe I’ll just have to graft the idea onto one of the Sitcom Kelly episodes. 

“Sitcom Kelly takes pole dancing lessons at a local strip club, so she can entertain her Pit-dwelling guests.”

The Babysitting Playoffs

Like I mentioned in the last post, I got to babysit my nephews Daniel (12-on Saturday) and Sammy (5).  I love getting to hang out with the boys.  It’s always an adventure.  I never know where it’s going to end up.  This time was a breeze, though.  Heck, Daniel was like my deputy.  He did most of the heavy lifting, getting Sam to eat dinner, and take his shower. 

Nothing happened that was nearly as traumatic as the first time I watched them, when Sam was just a little wiener and forced me to deal with changing my first loaded diaper.  And I’ll have you know it was changed successfully, with minimal screaming and crying (from me.)

This time, we had two NFL Playoff games and a Penguins game to watch.

Note to self:  Never watch any more games at your brother’s house.  It is not mojo-compatible.

The Pens lost, as did both football teams I wanted to win.  Worst of all, the Colts lost to the Jets, meaning there was no longer a chance of sending the Ratbirds up to New England to beat on the Patriots.  The Rats are coming to Pittsburgh.  More on that later.

When we weren’t watching the games or eating, we were looking up 80s music videos on YouTube.  Daniel has acquired a taste for 80s rock (thank you satellite radio) so I’ve been trying to show him some stuff I think he’d like.  In fact, for his birthday this Saturday, I got him a fistful of primo 80s CDs… Hits collections from Kiss, Bon Jovi and the Scorpions, Def Leppard “Pyromania,” and AC/DC “Fly on the Wall.” 

What, you think I’m getting the kid Duran Duran?  Let his mom get him weenie music like that.  Uncle Bluz is bringing the crunch.

While I was showing them some of the videos, little Sammy asked to see a song he liked: "I Love Rock & Roll."  Whoo hoo!  The boy wants to see My Queen!  After we played that, I showed them "I Hate Myself For Loving You."  It went over well.  How could it not?  After that, I showed Sam the shots of me with my close personal friend, Joan.  How can you tell if a 5-year old is impressed?

Later, I tried to help Daniel out in the area of playground trash talk.  He’s at a new (Catholic) school this year and seems to be “new meat” for the Ratbird and Capitals demon-spawn.  To tell the truth, he’s holding his own pretty well, to hear him tell it.  I mostly advised that whenever there’s a Steelers or Pens loss, he should have an angle in his pocket already, in anticipation of having some other schmuck say something.

The Capital fanboys are easy.  A) They don’t know hockey worth a damn and B) They’ve never won jack-shit.  The Pens have beaten them in 7 out of 8 playoff series.  Penguins star Sidney Crosby is a consummate all-around player, makes his teammates better and excels at whatever he chooses to.  Capitals star Alex Ovechkin is a hotdog showoff who hasn’t passed up a shot in 5 years, doesn’t play defense and thinks that taking cheap-shot runs at people makes him a big hitter.

Anyway, that’s all the ammunition he needs there, and he knew it already.  He also says he gets a lot of good material from his dad.  He said, “I just have to sit there and he’ll say stuff and I’ll think, ‘Hey, I can use that.’”

I believe him.  His dad was talking shit before the term “trash talking” was even invented.  My brother was the most profane kid on the block.  When he was in elementary school, he used to say shit to the teenage girls across the street that left them gasping.  They’d come over to tell my dad, and he’d say, “Well, what did he say?”

They’d say, “I can’t say THAT…”

What really bothers me is that in going to this “nice,” religious Catholic school, Daniel is already getting hardened by the other kids.  I can see it right now.  This is a smart, polite, considerate kid getting surrounded by jackals, trying to bring him down to their level.

Mostly, they seem to spend an inordinate amount of time on the subject of ‘who’s gay,’ the go-to slur of the elementary school set.  Daniel said that there’s one kid that has vagina photos on his cell phone that he eagerly shows around the playground, in addition to a photo of his own little dick.  Sixth graders!  Isn’t technology wonderful?  When I was in sixth grade, we had to get our cheap thrills out of the encyclopedia.  (Volume “R” under reproduction and Volume “S” under sex.)

This same kid seems to be the one most often calling other kids ‘fags’.  I told Daniel to tell him that’s a strange accusation coming from someone that carries a picture of his own dick on his phone.  I told him that the next time the kid breaks out the dick pic, ask him if it’s a shot of a Chinese dinner because it looks like a tiny little mushroom cap.

Daniel thought that was hilarious.  Dick jokes never fail.

It’s just sad to see all that bullshit coming out at so young an age.  All too often, little pricks on the playground grow up to become big pricks on campus or on the job.  I guess the best one can do is arm the kid with some resources or options and hope he’s strong and smart enough to get by.  It’s not like you can (or should) hover over the playground.  (Although I can see the appeal.)  Kids need to know how to handle conflict on their own.

When I was a kid, other kids used to make fun of my lunches.  I don’t even remember what they were… probably leftovers from dinner.  But they weren’t PB&J on Wonder Bread and were therefore “different.”  Mom told me that when someone makes fun of my lunch, to ask them, “Well, what’s that slop you’re eating?”

I know, it wasn’t exactly Don Rickles but it got the job done.

The Mojo Boogie

On Sunday, my football plans went further awry when the Ratbirds quite handily beat the Chiefs, setting up the next round of playoffs with the Rats playing in Pittsburgh and the Jets going to New England.

Playing the Rats in the playoffs is a high risk/high reward prospect for me.  Victory is sweet but defeat is unbearable.  I feel like a guy in Vegas that just put everything he has on "red" at the roulette table.  Either way there will be racing pulses, a lot of swearing, followed by a lot of drinking. 

But I’m breaking out my Steelers Mojo early this week.  I plan on wearing Steelers hats every day (as opposed to mixing in some Pens hats, like I usually do), and wearing a lot of black and gold.  Sitcom Kelly is considering having a Playoff Party on Saturday, so I may end up there.  Mojo-wise, that would be uncharted territory, but that will be the least of my worries.

Primary concern is to stay away from the Pit in her basement.  I’d hate to trip or “accidentally” get elbowed in. 

Good thing I really like ziti.

Odd Bits - The Guest Services Edition

Just a jumble of quick bits here for you today, on this busy weekend.

Special Guest Star

Remember how shows used to have “Special Guest Stars?”  I always wanted to be one, preferably on The Love Boat, just so I could hit on the cute cruise director.  Anyway, today I got to do just that!  (Be a guest star, not stalk Lauren Tewes.)

Yummy!  She made waves on my Love Boat…

My dear friends and Darwinfish Fry alumni, Rich and Cher at AskCherlock, asked me to do a guest post for them.  If you’ve ever been to their site, you know it’s an oasis of eloquence, wit and compassion.  It’s not a place you’d normally find the profanity, soapbox rants, football nonsense, embarrassing stories and bathroom humor for which my site is noted.  So I asked if they were sure that they’d be able to recover their readers after I’d defiled their blog. 

Apparently they’ve both been shot up with horse tranquilizers because they still wanted me to guest post.  And out of respect to them, I refrained from the frat-house frivolity that I usually scratch out and instead, wrote something of which I’m actually very proud.

New Year’s Eve was the anniversary of the death of my childhood hero, Pirates right-fielder and legend, Roberto Clemente.  I’ve been meaning to write about him since I started my blog, but the time never seemed right.  Please click here to have a look.  (After you finish here, of course!)

Ten Years Gone

Today is another sad anniversary for me.  It was 10 years ago this morning that I got a 5:30 AM phone call to tell me that one of my best friends had died. 

Brill was one of my best buddies… one of the guys with whom we started The Barn.  He lived two doors down and we used to spend a lot of time together, even when the rest of the guys weren’t around.

I’ve never stopped missing him.  And I still can’t look at a fighter jet “fly-over” before a big game, without tearing up a bit and thinking about how my buddy would know exactly what it was.

Last year, I wrote the full story on my buddy Brill.  If you’ve begun visiting here since last January, you should really have a look.

Rest in peace, buddy.  You were the best!

Bye Week Mojo

The Steelers earned a first-round bye for this weekend, so they won’t play until next Saturday.  Their opponent will be determined by the games today and tomorrow.  My rooting interests are… complicated.

I’m predicating everything on the other team that got a bye, the New England Patriots.  I don’t want to face them; not after the way they destroyed the Steelers during the regular season, in Pittsburgh.  If they were to play again, it would be in the AFC Championship game, in New England.  They’ve already beaten the Steelers in 2 AFC Championship games, plus another Divisional round game. 

The only hope to not play the Pats is for someone else to beat them next week.  For my money, only the Colts and Ratbirds have a chance.  The Colts have Peyton Manning, but they are a dome team with a poor history of playing in New England.  The Rats gave the Pats all they could handle this season.  I think they provide the best shot at beating them.  And I’m not worried about then having to face the Ratbirds… We split the games this season… they beat the Steelers who had to play their 4^th string QB, then lost when the Steelers had Big Ben back. 

So this puts me in the unenviable position of actually having to root for those purple clowns.  First, I have to root for the Colts over the Jets.  Normally, I’d root for the Jets, but if the Jets win, they go to New England and I’m sure will get pounded (again) into the ground.  Steelers would then get the Chiefs or Ratbirds.  If the Colts win, they go to Pittsburgh no matter what.

A Colts win against the Jets sets up the next game like this… Chiefs win, they go to NE.  Rats win; they go to NE.  Even if the Rats don’t win, perhaps they can beat up on them a little… maybe throw a couple of those cheap shots like they did against Pittsburgh.  Ben looked like a big goober before he got his nose mashed.  Let’s see how pretty-boy Tom Brady handles it.

Ultimately, I win either way.  Rats win, they go to NE to do my bidding.  Rats lose, I get to make fun of them all week and savor the suffering and mental health breakdown that this city will undergo.  After all, they’ve been planning the Super Bowl Parade route here since the opening week.  The writers are still touting the Rats “amazing defense”… a defense so amazing that just last week, the Bungles moved the ball up and down the field on them at will.  (At least they did until someone would fumble the ball on their own, or knock passes up in the air to be scooped up like yesterday’s trash.)

Their defense is over-rated.  Teams have been moving the ball on them all year.  I just hope they have enough to bang up Tom Brady a little.

I’m going to have to watch tonight’s football (and the Penguins game) from my brother’s place.  I’m on babysitting duty tonight, so that should be good for a memorable blog post.  I’ll have to see what the boys have in store for Uncle Bluz this time around.

Until then, I leave you with another cartoon, from the brilliant stash of First Door on the Left.

As a reminder, be sure to visit my guest post at AskCherlock, by clicking here.

Tooth or Consequences

I was reading a blog this week that documented the writer’s uncomfortable history with dentist visits and apprehension of getting more work done.

I can relate to this completely.  I’ve been an “on and off” dental patient since I was a teenager.  The trouble started when I was a senior in high school and broke my front tooth.

I wish I could tell a really cool story about how it happened, but in fact, I was just screwing around with my brother, Ed.  We were in our upstairs hallway, playing a made up football-type game where one person had to get by the other, as if he was running with a football.  The hallway provided a narrow lane for us to negotiate.  I ran up on my brother and attempted to execute a nifty “spin” move and deftly spun my mouth smack into the wooden railing alongside the stairwell.  Knocked my front left upper tooth clean in half.

Man, for a kid, I could really string together the swear words.  I was so pissed, because my brother had just wrapped up his own dental adventures from breaking his teeth in 4^th grade.  He had fallen on the tiled gym floor at school and someone else fell on his head.  He smashed out both front teeth.  He’s worn temporary caps until his mouth had fully grown, but in the meantime, a number of years later, we were playing catch with a baseball and a ball I threw to him skipped off the top of his glove and hit him square in the mush.  I had my accident shortly after Ed finished getting his permanent caps, so I knew what I was in for.

I went in to the dentist’s office the next morning, before school.  He couldn’t find any hidden damage and arranged for me to go to a special office where they would make me a permanent cap, hand-painted to match the surrounding teeth exactly.

Meanwhile, I had to go to school with half a tooth, still steaming mad at the stupidity of the whole thing.  I went through the entire day, not talking, not smiling.  My buddies were wondering “WTF?”  It wasn’t like me.

Finally, in study hall after lunch, they applied the screws, trying to find out what was wrong with me.  I was tired of dodging and figured I couldn’t keep it up indefinitely, so I just gave them a big smile.  They were like, “Holy shit, dude!  What the hell happened?”

I must have told them 3 or 4 different stories before I finally copped to the real one.  But on the bright side, at least I’d already had my senior picture taken.  Also, I looked really tough.  If I sneered, I looked like a real rough dude... just as long as I didn’t actually say anything.  You can only be so tough when you have a lisp like Daffy Duck.

Eventually I got my tooth nicely capped, but it didn’t last long.  I started getting this persistent pimple on my gum, right above the capped tooth.

I know, right?  Gross!

So I had it checked out and my dentist said that there was a small crack in the root that he must have missed on the original X-ray, and it was abscessing.  He’d have to pull the whole thing out, file down the 2 surrounding teeth and apply a 3-tooth bridge.

Lovely.  My dentist and I saw a lot of each other that summer.  And that’s when I learned about the wonders of nitrous oxide.  Great Flaming Jesus; that was the best stuff ever.  I’d only recently begun drinking beer and partying, but this was just the greatest buzz, and there was absolutely no side effect.  Doctor would switch the hose to oxygen and I’d be fine and dandy almost immediately.  No hangover, no nausea, no headache… just a desperate longing for my next appointment.

I began to look forward to going to the dentist.  I’d practically skip up to his office door, but as soon as I got in, I’d have to act nervous.  See, that’s why he gave me the nitrous… to calm my nerves.  I figured I had to play the part or else he might cut me off.

I think they had me pretty well figured out, though.  As soon as they’d put the nozzle on me, I’d be breathing like a veteran phone-sex line perv: “Heeeeeeee-ha heeeeeeee-ha heeeeeeee-ha!”

He’d go, “Bluz, you better stop that, or I’m gonna turn it off…”

So I’d try to suck it in with shorter breaths, like, “heeep-a heeep-a heeep-a heeep-a heeep-a…”  Lord knows, I was gettin’ while the gettin’ was good.  Plus, I needed something going for me if I had to endure the Novocain shots.  They were just the worst.  But the funny thing is that they used to give me the nitrous even when I just came in for cleanings.  My dentist rocked!

Once he pulled out the bad tooth, I had to wait a couple months for the tissue to heal, before he could take the imprints to have a bridge made.  In the mean time, I had to wear this device that looked like a retainer with a single tooth stuck on the end of it.  It was bizarre. 

Yes, I still have it.  Also featured is the knocked out piece of tooth.  I really need to clean out my dresser drawers.

I never knew how integral the roof of your mouth is, in the eating process.  The device cut off all sensation there.  And eating with the thing in would get it all gunked up, so more often than not, I’d just take it out to eat.  Luckily this happened over the summer so I didn’t have to deal with it at school. 

The cool part was I would fuck with people.  I could suction the device up and down with my tongue, which would naturally make the tooth move up and down.  So sometimes when I was out in a bar or something, I’d smile at someone across the room and make the tooth go up and down, then turn back away.  They’d be left wondering exactly how drunk they really were.

Once I got that cap done, I had one more thing to take care of before I was off my folks’ insurance.  The dentist recommended that I get all four wisdom teeth out.  I had to go to an oral surgeon for that, and as you may know, they don’t play around with nitrous or Novocain, they just knock your ass out.

I hadn’t had a general anesthetic since I got my tonsils out when I was 4, so I was curious to see what it would be like to drift out of consciousness like that.  I’m still wondering.

Doctor said, “Count backwards from 100.”

There was no drifting involved.  I went, “One hundred, ninety nuh…” 

Next think I knew; I was awake with my mouth packed with cotton. 

I was lucky with the whole thing.  Mom took me home, with my buddy Billy G there for backup in case I couldn’t walk.  Mom would have had to drag me by the foot, otherwise.  But I was fine… I practically danced over to the car.  We picked up my meds and I went home and slept.  For a day and a half.  I vaguely remember being woken up so I could take more pills.  When I finally arose, there was no swelling, no bruising, no problem at all.  (OK, there might have been some discoloration, but I had a full beard so I couldn’t tell.)

After that, I didn’t get out to the dentist much.  I just brushed my teeth and went on with life.  Unfortunately, I spend 20 years brushing my teeth with the toothpaste equivalent of sandpaper.  (Avoid prolonged use of Ultra Brite, no matter how zingy it tastes.)  Over the years, I managed to brush away a great deal of enamel.  I was on my own then and spent most of the time without dental insurance coverage.  So rather than go to the dentist, I learned how to smile with my mouth closed.  It wasn’t exactly a satisfactory solution, but I made do.  I didn’t have the cash to dump into a shitpile of dental work.  When I was married, I saw the Future Ex’s dentist a time or two, and he kind of “spackled” over the trouble spots.  But that wore away over time as well.

When I finally moved to Baltimore and got a job with proper insurance benefits, I began to see the dentist my brother and his family used.  Remarkably, I still didn’t have any cavities… just the enamel damage.  We discussed a plan of attack and I had time to build up my “war chest”.  Even with insurance, I still had to pay 50%.  And I was lucky for that!  The first time he submitted the paperwork, they claimed it was only a cosmetic fix.

It totally wasn’t.  There were parts where the enamel was totally gone.  Anyway, I changed insurance providers and he applied to the new company for me; this time with pictures.  They accepted and shortly after my new dentist replaced my 25-year old bridge and put on 5 more caps.  It was nice to be able to smile again.  It was at that time that I decided to shave the full beard into a goatee.  By the time I made both upgrades, I was a whole new dude… Bluz 2.0

On the down-side, I learned that they don’t use nitrous any more, so I didn’t get to refine my dental-chair huffing skills.  I could have used it too, because my new dentist really wasn’t so new.  In fact, he used to work on my sister-in-law, when she was a little girl.  He was getting up there.

On one hand, it meant he really knew his stuff.  But on the other hand, he often had to use my forehead for leverage when trying to work on a stubborn tooth.

It was like, “Ow, Doc!  My nose!”

Although it probably sounded more like, “Ahh Daghh!  Ghie hose!”

Dental patients ought to come with sub-titles.

Spoiled

Before Christmas break, I borrowed seasons 1 & 2 of the Showtime series “Dexter.”  I don’t get Showtime, and Sitcom Kelly and another friend of hers thought I would like it. 

Dexter is a show about a serial killer that works as a blood spatter expert, to catch other killers.  He only kills bad people… those that have gotten away with killings of their own.  The show is kind of like CSI, only with a darker twist. 

I’m not going into a full-scale review, but I am going to mention some things about the show.  Also, don’t feel you have to be familiar with the show to continue reading.  The show itself is not really the point.  But if you are currently watching, or plan to watch “Dexter,” I recommend skipping ahead.  Look for the next red text. 

See, that’s called a “Spoiler Warning.”  I don’t want to ruin any future viewing for you.  Because Lord knows, I haven’t been able to get out of my own way on this one.  I’ve already ruined several plot points for myself and for someone else.

Before I sat down to watch the first disc, I looked at the episode description blurbs inside the DVD case.  They were sufficiently illuminating about the direction of the show, but didn’t really give away anything.  All I got was that the season was predominantly about catching the “Ice Truck Killer.”

Where I got into trouble was when I decided to peek inside the case for Season 2, where the first line I read was, “Now that Dexter killed his brother Brian, the Ice Truck Killer…”

Gahh!  Big twist ruined before I even start; so much for the mystery killer.  But still, the show was highly entertaining and far more engaging than one might think, given the subject matter.  So I felt like it would be a good idea to make note of my thoughts and share them with Sitcom Kelly and her friend, to whom the DVDs belong.  Given how Dexter uses a lot of voice-over to explain what he’s thinking, I immediately thought that it would be fun to add a “Dexter” spoof to our sitcom.  And we can have Sitcom Kelly called upon to perform as a “wine-spatter” expert, hired to reconstruct party spills on expensive furniture.  Lots of room to play there…

Meanwhile, I was at Target this week and noticed Season 4 for sale.  Right on the cover, it showed Dexter with a baby.  Gahhh!  So now I know that he gets in deeper with whom I suspect is his current girlfriend on the show. 

Later, I was on imdb.com, looking up the hot actresses in the cast to see if I’ve seen them in anything else.  And there it was… Dexter’s girlfriend listed with her last name/Dexter’s last name.  Gahhhh!  So now I know that Dexter marries her.

So what do I do?  I bat the email back to Sitcom Kelly and her friend, telling them the details on how I just spoilered myself again.  Her friend wrote back, “Shut up!  Don’t tell me any more!”

Gahhhhh!  She hadn’t seen any further seasons and I just spoilered her!  Now how would I know that?  I figured since she was buying the DVDs, she must really have liked them, and at least, have already seen them!  God dammit!  Now I’m dragging innocent people into my web of spoilerism. 

I tell you, the show has been on since 2006 and I didn’t know diddly-squat about it.  Now, all of a sudden, I can’t turn around without being getting plot points in the face.  WTF??

Then this morning, I was delighting in the return of That’s Church, from hiatus.  Wouldn’t you know, right there in the first post I read:

"Got addicted to Dexter, the Showtime series, thanks to my husband. I thought he was going to cry when Burgher Julie Benz died."

Gahhhhhh!  Julie Benz played Dexter’s girlfriend.  Shit!  Shit!  Shit!  Shit!  (And she was hot, too.  Shit!)

I was all revved up to complain in Comments… not mean-like… you know I love Ginny… Hell, I stalked her at Podcamp, for cryin’ out loud.  But I thought better of it after her next lines:

"If you’re going to comment that I just spoilered an episode that aired two years ago starring an actress that is no longer on the show because she has a new show, then let me also inform you that Darth Vader is Luke’s father, he sees Bruce Willis because Bruce is dead, and Jerry had her at hello. HE HAD HER AT HELLO."

OK, point taken.  But damn it, why is it NOW that all this shit is just coming out of the woodwork on me, for a show I never gave two shits about for the last 4 years?

If this is how 2011 is going to unfold, I’m in for a bumpy ride.

**********OK, no more Dexter spoilers - Total subject change ahead**********

You may remember that back in October, I did a post on my friend Pam; my former “work wife.”  I wasn’t even going to tell her, but some of you were curious to see her reaction.  So about a week after I posted, I sent her the link.  I anticipated a major fuss from her end. 

What I got was… absolutely nothing.

I haven’t heard a peep from her since.  I suspected it was due to computer issues with her, but I wasn’t sure.  Could she have been pissed at me for talking about her online?  Or did she not like the pictures of her I used?  I wondered.

Then last Friday, I sensed a disturbance in The Force, emanating from out her way.  Pam finally found my email, read the post, and responded with a comment.  But since she was commenting on a 3-month old post, I knew the comment would be seen by approximately no one.  So as a public service, I thought I’d run it here.  Sunshine, the floor is yours.

"Bluz...Bluz...Bluz...OMG!!!!! I can't believe you wrote a blog about me. OK I am boo-hooing right now... let me get it together.

I guess you are wondering what took me so long to read/respond to your wonderful post. In the past I used the MSN browser for email (loved it) and for some reason it stopped working so I have to use HOTMESS (oops Hotmail). Can't stand it! Any hoo... Bluz, as you know my sun has not been shinning lately, I haven't been checking email on a daily and now have accumulated thousands of emails in my INBOX...well no more. Operation Clean Out My Inbox has begun. At first, I was just going to hit DELETE button and delete all of the emails at one time but I thought (yep, I do that sometimes) “Pam, delete the emails in sections.” I am soooo glad that I listened to myself! You were email #918."

So that explains the extended “radio silence.”  OK, onward…

"At work Bluz and I were two peas in a pod. Really, you should have seen our cubicle. Beware, don't talk to Bluz before he has his morning bottle of Diet Coke, and don't let something happen on the subway or the walk from the subway to work...BAD MOOD!!! At least when he arrived, there I was with a smile on my face to brighten his day. The real reason why I was smiling is because I was thinking about my bacon and pancake breakfast. LOL!!!! I miss those days.

What I miss the most is eating lunch together, exploring our taste buds at all of Baltimore Inner Harbor restaurants. I must admit everything that Bluz wrote is TRUE. He is my best friend and a person who I know will be honest with me whether I like it or not. It doesn't matter whether it's been 2 days, 2 weeks or 2 months we pick up right were we left off. You will always be my special friend.

P.S. Bluz, I never thought people were talking about us, were they? Was I that clueless?

P.S again... writing this made my day!"

Thank you for writing back, Pamela, and thank you for being “you.”  If you enjoyed reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it… well then I enjoyed it twice as much as you did. 

PS. My boys are going to the playoffs.  What happened to your (Cow)boys?? Gahhhhhhh!

New Year's Mojo

This morning’s comics had a strip (Pearls Before Swine) that shows exactly what goes on here at the House of Bluz on Steelers game days:

Thank goodness the Steelers and Ravens are done playing this year.  Unless… OMG… the Playoffs!  I’ll have to make sure Pinky is out of the house, should they meet again.

Today’s is the last regular season game of the year.  The Steelers are playing the Brownies at the same time that the Ratbirds play the Bungles, so I have to go out to Jilly’s to see the game.

Upon reviewing my Mojo Spreadsheet, I see that I’ve only been to Jilly’s for one game where the Steelers were “away,” and in that game, they wore black.  I anticipate them wearing white today, so I have no track record to go on.  That means I’m free to go any way I like.

I chose to go with the white James Harrison jersey, with yellow sleeves underneath, my Steelers socks and what I call my Honus Wagner hat.  (I bought it at Honus Wagner’s Sports in downtown Pittsburgh in September.)

The stakes for this game are high.  If we win, the Steelers are the #2 seed and will get a first round bye and will play their first round at home.  If they win, it doesn’t matter what the Ratbirds do against the Bengals; we win the division.  Or, if both the Steelers and the Rats lose, we still win the division.

The result that absolutely cannot happen is that we lose and the Ratbirds win.  That would throw the division and #2 seed to them and we’d have to play 3 playoff games on the road to get to the Super Bowl.

So, hi ho, hi ho, it’s of to the bar I go.  Wish me luck!

Note: For a high-quality, non-sports related post with lots of pictures, scroll down to the one I wrote yesterday, that describes our New Years Eve in fabulous downtown Baltimore.

Happy New Year Hon - The Bawlmer Edition

Happy New Year, my friend, and welcome to 2011.  On the horizon this year, I see no changes at all to the ol’ D-fish site.  We plan to continue pushing the boundaries of sensitivity and good taste this year as well as the last.

Right off the bat, a brilliant "Non Sequitur" cartoon in the paper today.

But I don’t care to get into all that right now.  Instead, let me tell you about my New Years Eve.  I have time to kill now before the Winter Classic, anyway, which was rain-delayed until 8:00 tonight.

When I first started seeing Pinky, we started a tradition of going to downtown Baltimore for NYE and staying in a nice hotel.  We normally go to the Marriott Waterfront Hotel, which is smack dab on the Inner Harbor and has a splendid view of the annual fireworks.  We’d have a late dinner there, kill some time listening to the jazz combo they have in the lounge, roll outside for fireworks, then dive back inside and go to bed.  (Remember, we’re old.)

The last couple years has had a lot of job uncertainty for me, in that my company is up for sale, so we haven’t been out for NYE since 2007.  The situation hasn’t really changed, but I’ve been laying in cash for a while and figured it’s time we stepped out again.  But this time, I decided to try out a new hotel. 

A couple years ago, they put up a big Hilton directly across from Camden Yards (where the Orioles play baseball).   In fact, it completely wiped out the view of the skyline from inside the park, which is why I usually call it “The Eyesore Hilton.”

The Eyesore Hilton as seen from deep down the 3^rd base line.

But I’m not one to hold a grudge, especially when a room there was going for about $150 less than the Marriott, so I booked one with a ballpark view.  Might as well try something new… maybe it will be better, maybe not. 

We got a room on the 10^th floor (roughly where the arrow is in the above picture.).  I’d have preferred one higher up, but didn’t care to fuss about it. 

The view from our room.

There must have been some kind of tint to the window glass.  When I turned off the flash, like I always do when I’m shooting out a window, everything looked blue.  Later at sunset, I tried both with and without a flash, and using the flash gave me the actual colors.

The B&O Warehouse; picturesque backdrop for Orioles Park at Camden Yards.

I had taken the subway into work, so Pinky drove into town to pick me up at the office.   From there we drove the next few blocks and parked at the Hilton.  I’d already eaten lunch, but Pinky hadn’t, so we had to go out and get her some lunch and a couple beers.  Our reservations weren’t until 8:30.

If I had any willpower left, I’d have just let her eat, but where’s the fun in that?  I don’t remember what she got, but I had a nice pulled pork sandwich.  I really should have taken a picture… it was beautiful!

Speaking of, I got to snap a few more pics on the way back to the room.

The famous Baltimore landmark, the Bromo Seltzer Tower.  You used to be able to see it from inside Camden Yards, until they built the Hilton.

The Warehouse, from ground level, looking down Eutaw Street.

I saw a trailer out front of the Hilton, which explained why there were so many happy young white kids swarming all over the place.  The Baltimore Convention Center was hosting a big Evangelicals Jamboree.  There were a bunch of them staying at the Hilton.  And I’ll have you know that I totally refrained from baiting by showing them that Non Sequitur cartoon.  I was just thankful it wasn’t a more typical Baltimore-style convention… like the Atlantic Brotherhood of Crack Dealers.

On the way back in, we noticed that the hallways were kind of weird… walking down them seemed like something out of The Shining, only in bright orange.

I see one kid on a trike, I’m outta there.

So after killing some time in the room, we eventually got all dressed up for dinner and even though it wasn’t time yet, we were bored and thought maybe we’d get a drink somewhere before going to dinner.  Turned out, we peeked in the restaurant and it was almost empty.

I said to the hostess, “We have reservations at 8:30, but it doesn’t seem like it will be a issue to eat now…”

Dinner was great.  We both got scallops, because they were fairly light, coming after my two lunches.  What I really wanted to know was “what the hell is up with this mutant spoon?”

What’s for desert, cocaine?

I know I have some very learned readers… Do me a favor and tell my why they have a big knife and a big fork but a tiny little spoon?  Pinky got one two, so I know mine wasn’t an accident.

On the way out of the restaurant, we went right by the Baltimore Sports Hall of Fame, which looked very nice, all lit up.

Maybe this is where Ray hid the knife.

All along we’d been asking people where there was a good spot to watch the fireworks.  Unfortunately we were about 4 blocks away from the Harbor, where masses of people gather to watch the show.  I was hoping to find a patio or viewing deck at the Hilton, but there didn’t seem to be any.  We considered taking the free bus to and from, but ultimately, we just didn’t want to go stand around, mashed up against a bunch of drunks.  Or evangelicals… they might think it’s The Rapture and start a panic.

We ended up finding a window up on the 18^th floor.  (We had to sneak up the stairs… the elevator wouldn’t go up there unless you had a key-card for that floor.)  There were already some people at the window, but they weren’t taking up much room, so we got to have a look.  The fireworks were lovely.  Then we got to watch the replay on TV back in the room and then called it a night.

This morning, my primary missions were to A) Finish sleeping, B) get to a McDonalds for our traditional First Egg McMuffins of the Year and C) be home in time to download my pictures before the Penguins/Capitals Winter Classic came on at 1:00.

Obviously, I didn’t know it was delayed until I got home and put on the computer.  On the plus side, I got to bang out my First Post of the Year.  You're welcome!

Tomorrow, it’s off to Jilly’s to watch the Steelers last regular season game.  I’ll probably just twitter-post my game gear mojo.  I’m sure life will carry on…

Best part of the year so far: I got to write a check with the date: 1/1/11.  It was like I was tallying hash marks up to five.