So what is lamer than going to see Foreigner? Many asked this epic question throughout the mid 1980's. These same people also wanted to "know what love is." Only a band with the soul and passion of Foreigner could properly lay the groundwork for such a timeless inquiry.
So me and Gig made our 1st trip to First Niagara Pavilion last evening. While Hurricane Irene was pummeling the East Coast, we sympathized with the plight of those in the path of its destruction. What better a way to commiserate than going to check out this triple classic gritty rocker - Night Ranger, Foreigner and Journey. Every year, Starlake throws out a crappy trio of bands. Steppenwolf, Bad Company and Foghat would be a prime example. Either way, a bunch of old school rockers load up the 'ol Chevy Malibu and head out route 22 on their way to Boogertown, PA. My point - you know how there's that one concert that's weaker than all the others during the course of the whole summer... Yep, that's the one we chose. Sometimes it's a low end "country music round up starring Sawyer Brown." Or maybe it's one of those 80's shows. You know... something like Human League, Heart and the B 52's. Either way, it doesn't matter "who the bands are." It's just a matter of "them being the bands."
We set out around 5:30pm and got stuck in 2 separate parkway accidents. When we finally made it to the exit, traffic was way backed up. So I planned on doing the drive-past, median-turn-around and opposite-direction slide in. You'd think everyone would do this. You would be completely wrong. Instead, the roughly 400 cars opted to not even use the other turning lane. So instead of waiting the customary hour in traffic, we slid into the lot (grass section) in less than 10 minutes. Not bad.
Fortunately, me and Gig already had tix for this show. That's right. We camped out at the South Hills Kaufman's ticket outlet the entire night. They went on sale back in March 2011. Of course this is true. We made s'mores in the parking lot that night over a makeshift grill. And I regaled others in the crowd with inspirational bible stories. We bundled together in a sleeping bag and nearly froze to death. But it was worth it. The second the tickets went on sale, I proudly stepped up to the counter and chimed, "2 lawn, please!"
In reality, Gig scored 2 freebies from a roadie on a golf cart. Good seats too - ahhh, the purity of comps. Section 4 Row J. Anyway, while tailgating earlier, I asked the crew next to us, "Do you know what's lamer than going to see Foreigner?" They looked puzzled. "Nope, what's that?" they asked. I responded, "Going to see Foreigner in a limo!" Sure enough it was a harbinger of things to come.
For I would run into Daryl at the top of the steps by the main entrance. Daryl's one of my old friends from the limo driving days. And of course he had a crew from Wheeling. Out of curiosity, I asked him who he had driven up. He responded with the name of a self-deluded, narcissistic Wheelingite... in essence, the perfect limo occupant. Fucking incredible! Talk about an omen. It was if I had seen the future. Sometimes I wonder about these clairvoyant aspects. Sometimes I fear them.
I neglected to mention the size of the crowd. I was way off with my predictions. I thought it would be less than 10,000. Turns out I underestimated the WDVE fan base. Much to my chagrin, there were probably about 16,000 last night. It was a fairly disciplined crowd. A few wife beaters and some tattered jeans. Everyone looked like they had just changed their oil (begrudgingly at the 7,000 mile mark).
So yeah, we skipped Night Ranger and snagged our freebie tickets midway through Foreigner. And we missed our hometown heroes, Tongue n' Cheek who opened the show on the side stage. I'm sure they "tore it up" and "lit a fire" under Starlake's ass. Maybe they "rocked the house" or "blitzed everyone's brains out." They might have "smoked out the crowd" or "crushed the beer cans." I'm sure facebook will fill me in. These guys have never had an off night. Each concert is "even more rocking" than the last one.
Journey wasn't that bad. The bass player looked kind of stoic. He had this "I'm condemned to my fate - this is the life I have chosen" kind of gaze. The little Asian Steve Perry knock off did a pretty good job singing. Hard to tell the difference. Lead guitarist Neil Schon's permed mullet was just as ebullient as it was in 1986. Remarkable plumage. The fans seemed mixed. Some were very receptive. Others trended motionless. This crowd wasn't exactly connaisseurs of the finer things in life. Well, except for maybe the limo crew. Perhaps they had champagne and caviar. Dare to dream. A far more likely scenario, their "fearless leader" treated them to DiCarlos afterwards. Maybe he surprised them with Jagerbombs on the way home. Way to go. He is an truly an inspiration... to the uninspired.
On the way out, Gig and I snagged about 24 bags of complimentary chips. We should have just taken a few of the boxes, but opted to demonstrate a modicum of mercy on our sole Starlake voyage of the year. There still are a couple more shows. Toby Keith is hosting the "Beef jerky, it's what's for dinner" tour and this atrocious band "Avenged Sevenfold" is headlining one of those pseudo-emo-homo-goth festivals. The Avenged Sevenfold group has to be the most annoying band I've ever come across. I saw a clip of them playing on HDTV a month ago. They left me with this feeling of indescribable hostility and intolerable rage. Perhaps I'll book a limo for it.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Rick Perry poem
My father sent me this poem he wrote about Rick Perry.
Candidate Rick Perry
Of all the presidential candidates I’d like to bury
None comes close to Governor Rick Perry.
Unwanted pregnancies, he has clearly stated
Must never for any reason be terminated.
He doesn’t believe in the ecology or conservation.
Health coverage in Texas is the worst in the nation.
He’s very religious, though his prayers are in vain
He encourages all Texans to keep praying for rain.
“Evolution is a myth”, he states with defiance.
He puts his faith in faith and never on science.
He’s a great fund raiser, lots of corporate backing,
His speeches are inspired when Obama he’s attacking.
His foreign exposure has not been extensive
But at least his haircuts look expensive.
If you liked George Bush and voted for him twice
You should vote for Rick Perry, the hell with my advice.
--------------
As expected, the poem is a winner. Well done.
But it got me to thinking, just who's the most revolting of the Republican contenders. All are so beholden to the religious right, it sickens me. And even if they're not diehard churchies, then they feign conversion a la Gingrich. Yeah, he had a religious awakening. Sure! He's about as authentic as his wife Calissa's smile.
Bachmann thinks (or used to think) you can convert gay people. Now when asked about it, all she can say is "I am running to be the president for all Americans, both gay and straight." This is what her team calls "staying on message."
Santorum is the probably the biggest pro-lifer of them all. I think he'd probably support generous visitation rights for men who raped and managed to conceive. Not only would the woman be forced to have the baby, she would have to submit to conjugal prison visits. It's not the child's fault! The rapist has rights too.
Palin - probably don't need to go there. This blog entry is a quickie.
Herman Cain - Surely a black man stands a credible chance of being nominated. Maybe he'll select a member of the Log Cabin Republicans as his Vice Presidential nominee. What kind of delusional mushrooms are on this guy's pizza pie?
Paul - Why is it that the only sensible one comes across like he's griping and disoriented.
T-Paw - he's out. What a personality though!
which leads me to Mitt Romney. I think the Repubs should embrace this new urban nickname thang. Why not call him M-Rom??? Sounds just like Enron. I think someone might pick up on this. He's the unemployed multi-millionaire guy who never wears a tie. The crowd loves this guy on the stump... "M-Rom, M-Rom, We Want M-Rom, We Want M-Rom!"
Huntsman - why did this guy run in the first place? Honestly, he seems well-suited for high office. Why didn't someone tell him, "Hey dude, nobody knows who the fuck you are. It's just an inconvenient truth."
Chris Christie - Boy are you fat! (Jackie Gleason - I never heard the original. I saw Tony B. do an impression on The Sopranos)
Alright, needed a break. I've got other more important things to finish writing.
Candidate Rick Perry
Of all the presidential candidates I’d like to bury
None comes close to Governor Rick Perry.
Unwanted pregnancies, he has clearly stated
Must never for any reason be terminated.
He doesn’t believe in the ecology or conservation.
Health coverage in Texas is the worst in the nation.
He’s very religious, though his prayers are in vain
He encourages all Texans to keep praying for rain.
“Evolution is a myth”, he states with defiance.
He puts his faith in faith and never on science.
He’s a great fund raiser, lots of corporate backing,
His speeches are inspired when Obama he’s attacking.
His foreign exposure has not been extensive
But at least his haircuts look expensive.
If you liked George Bush and voted for him twice
You should vote for Rick Perry, the hell with my advice.
--------------
As expected, the poem is a winner. Well done.
But it got me to thinking, just who's the most revolting of the Republican contenders. All are so beholden to the religious right, it sickens me. And even if they're not diehard churchies, then they feign conversion a la Gingrich. Yeah, he had a religious awakening. Sure! He's about as authentic as his wife Calissa's smile.
Bachmann thinks (or used to think) you can convert gay people. Now when asked about it, all she can say is "I am running to be the president for all Americans, both gay and straight." This is what her team calls "staying on message."
Santorum is the probably the biggest pro-lifer of them all. I think he'd probably support generous visitation rights for men who raped and managed to conceive. Not only would the woman be forced to have the baby, she would have to submit to conjugal prison visits. It's not the child's fault! The rapist has rights too.
Palin - probably don't need to go there. This blog entry is a quickie.
Herman Cain - Surely a black man stands a credible chance of being nominated. Maybe he'll select a member of the Log Cabin Republicans as his Vice Presidential nominee. What kind of delusional mushrooms are on this guy's pizza pie?
Paul - Why is it that the only sensible one comes across like he's griping and disoriented.
T-Paw - he's out. What a personality though!
which leads me to Mitt Romney. I think the Repubs should embrace this new urban nickname thang. Why not call him M-Rom??? Sounds just like Enron. I think someone might pick up on this. He's the unemployed multi-millionaire guy who never wears a tie. The crowd loves this guy on the stump... "M-Rom, M-Rom, We Want M-Rom, We Want M-Rom!"
Huntsman - why did this guy run in the first place? Honestly, he seems well-suited for high office. Why didn't someone tell him, "Hey dude, nobody knows who the fuck you are. It's just an inconvenient truth."
Chris Christie - Boy are you fat! (Jackie Gleason - I never heard the original. I saw Tony B. do an impression on The Sopranos)
Alright, needed a break. I've got other more important things to finish writing.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Oliver Luck goes down on Sodexo
Alright... if I didn't weigh in on Mountaineer Field's new drinking policy, my faithful readers (about a bakers dozen) are going to assume I've passed out cold. Things will be different this year. For the first time in its storied history, Milan Puskar Stadium (doesn't that name make you cringe, it sounds like some Vulcanesque IT guy at a Star Trek convention) will be SELLING beer INSIDE the stadium. Sounds cool, huh? Well, not really.
This season, Athletic Director Oliver Suck hath decreed that WVU is joining the 21st century. So they hired this company Sodexo to handle the sale and distribution of everyone's favorite beer, Bud and Bud Light ($7.00 a beer). If you do the math, this comes out to $65 per gallon. And people are pissed off about gas prices at $3.59/gallon. And Morgantown Brewing Co. will be offering superior handcrafted suds for $9.00 per beer. I refuse to the math on that one. But now I just sound like a cheap Jew. I can say this without fear of reprisal because my mother's vagina was indeed Jewish. All this extra income will amount to somewhere between 500 lodge and 1.2 million per season. Now those are numbers I can comprehend.
And they're going to hire an additional 500 employees to handle all that demand! With an emphasis on not letting things get out of hand, they're going to meticulously train these people in the skilled arts of spotting a drunk. Hmmm, I would say, "Welcome to Morgantown. Does moonshine count?"
But what totally sucks is the end of the halftime "pass-out" ticket era. This is the proudest WVU tradition of them all. The drunken charge back to the parking lot - Slam 2 beers, down a shot of cheap whiskey and smoke a doob.
In addition, Oliver Fuck has also instituted the new "High Five Rules." This could possibly be the gayest promotion in all the Big East (even worse than the endless Panther growls at Heinz Field wrapped around the James Taylor "Sweet Caroline" anthem). Maybe Oliver Luck will contract with that internet singing sensation Rebecca Black for a special Friday night appearance vs. UConn. Have that Huskie mascot dry hump, or perhaps fur bump, the living shit out of her. She could do her bit "Gotta get down on Friday!" on the 50 yard line WV logo. Mountaineer games will be the new "place to be" (George Costanza). It's where I see all my friends. And yeah, I know, we play the fighting insurance salesman from Connecticut on a Saturday. But the thought of her fornicating with the dog...
For logistical purposes, we'll put Rebecca Black in the spotlight of the Backyard Brawl. It's in WV this year and it actually does fall on a Friday. Stick her in there with the feline, catlike creature and go with a lesbian, bestiality theme. It's a win-win.
But I digress. The new and innovative high five rules include the following:
1) No smoking (as I alluded to earlier, pass the doobie on the left hand side). And what will become of the legions of "chaw-billies?" Technically speaking, these are the overalls-wearing, smokeless tobacco spitting subset of the population who carry around their spittoon emblazoned with a WV logo. Yep, 35% are female.
2) No cursing (Even the fire and brimstone preachers could feel the heat - words like "Hell" or "Damn" could result in someone ratting you out via text alert). What will happen to the historically eloquent "Eat Shit Pitt" rallying cry? If you need security, call 304-293-FANS or text AID to 94597. I would suggest specifically flooding them with public masturbation complaints.
3) No throwing foreign objects onto the field (The Iron Sheik would be rolling over in his grave - no more sinister "loading of the boot" while the referee is distracted by Classy Freddy Blassie). I loved it when Hug-A-Bear took the mic at the Pitt game last year (2-3-10). Someone should have turned that tirade into one of those internet rap spoofs.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKWb3qDWUlA
4) No "excessive" drinking. This begs the most obvious question, then why initiate beer sales in the first place? Can anyone other than an out-of-state college freshman girl (likely from Topeka, Kansas) actually get loaded by just consuming Bud Light draft. I believe the tolerance of West Virginians to be much higher than the national average. Note: I did not say we are tolerant. We merely have a higher tolerance.
5) And here's the best one - fans must show respect and follow the instructions of security personnel. I once saw this motorist get out of his vehicle and try to engage the traffic cop in a fist fight. And this was at 9am and we were playing a Division II team, Tallahassee State or something. He wouldn't let him go the wrong way down a one-way road or something. I'd be eager to see some of the training techniques in spotting drunken fans. Apparently, Sodexo employs "role-playing" sessions. Maybe I should get in the action.
"Listen up you inbred. You are an unfortunate by-product of an incestuous encounter! I can detect the acrid stench of incest emanating from your groin 50 yards away as I'm pissing in the mens restroom. You are urinally and fecally omniscient! I'm an atheist Jew god-damnit! You... you biblical reading, you abortion fearing... gun wielding scum. You piece of shit hunter. You kill not for sustenance, but for the sole pleasure of killing a defenseless buck, you fuck. Then, you eat at McDonalds. You... you piece of McShit! Outta my way asshole!"
In my mind, this constitutes effective role playing. Sodexo will likely want to hire me as an outside consultant. Seriously though, I would like to test the skill of an average Sodexo temp. I doubt they are truly skilled in the arts of (verbal) war. Never forget what happened to that dude in Braveheart. Longshanks threw his bitch ass out that castle window. Splat.
But alright, what are we gonna do about this new policy bullshit. I would suggest some WVU grad student construct one of those dumbass facebook pages. Call it "JUST SAY NO TO SODEXO." This is effective because...
A. It employs the weakest rhyme in the history of catchy slogans. Hey, that's all people have time for these days. We simply need to "like" things or use a predetermined "status" via status shuffle. Then, our "friends" will lavish us with praise because we were so clever. We chose to press the button that said "I'm such a hottie, I'm a naughty!!!"
B. It's an offshoot of Nancy Reagan's 1980's campaign which still to this day, has a spattering degree of "umphhh." They really need her to make a decrepit appearance at the RNC Convention this year in Tampon Bay. She's always been such an inspiration to the Michele Bachman/Sarah Palin ilk.
But here's the real purpose of the Just Say No To Sudexo facebook group - to throw down a complete boycott of the beer sales and force them to rescind their new beer policy. Here's how you do it.
A. The most obvious routine. You smuggle in your own beer. Liquor is vastly easier. You just pour it in dual ziplock bags (yellow and blue make green). Surreptitiously place the bag in the crotchetal region of your pants. Then, just go buy a coke and fill 'er up. Or I would suggest using the ol' wheel chair technique. Find an old one from Goodwill and use it on game day. Hide the beverages behind your back or on the underside. Back in the day, this was how the bootleggers used to sneak in large recording equipment. And I really like the "bootlegger" connotation considering the prevalence of moonshine in central WV.
B. Now this could be entertaining. How about flooding the security people and ushers with tampon, insulin or various emergency illness requests. They'll still let you in and out of the stadium, IF IT'S WARRANTED. This will work for me on opening day against Marshall because it's a Sunday. "Listen you bastard, I have to get to my car and find my Torah. God said I must praise the Sabbath and keep it holy. You will NOT discriminate against my Jew-ass, lest ye burn in hell." Maybe I could tell them I forgot my yarmulke. Has anyone ever walked into Mountaineer Field wearing that dumb ass shit? I might do it just for kicks. Yes, I am that sick.
C. Here's a cool one. Distribute fliers that say Sodexo financially supports a shadowy terrorist network. Have students hand these out next to the beer stands and outside the stadium. The trick is to make it convincing. Okay, maybe not the company, maybe the CEO has ties to some fringe, shadowy Pakistani movement. Don't go with the obvious Al Qaeda choice. I'll be happy to help with the content. The main goal here is to just discourage and intimidate anyone who goes up to the beer stand. This would be so fucking cool - if the stands don't produce revenue, they'll be removed next season and the Oliver Luck infidel's decision will be regarded as a national embarrassment. You know what? Come to think of it, skip the terrorist insinuation. Just say he's a big contributor to, or in bed with, the Mountaintop Mining Removal crowd. That would be far more effective. And way more credible.
D. Demand free beer. I used to do this at Starlake. You just snag a cup and go up to the stand. "Hey I don't mean to sound like a jerk but (brief pause)... but, this cop bumped into me and spilled my beer. He said, just go back to the stand and ask them for a refill. Tell them Jonathan Parker, Badge #167 said you'd give them a refill. (another brief pause) Is that cool?" Then give them a slight look of assertive despair. Make firm eye contact, but don't try to stare them down. Middle aged, male concession people are your best bet. It's easy once you get the delivery down. I did this a record 5 times at an Eagles concert at Starlake on 8-15-94 (yep, still have the ticket stub). I scalped the living fuck out that show.
The most vital aspect is to convey the following message. We are Mountaineer Fans. We are cooler and more rebellious than all other universities. When they said, "Hey, great news, we're going to sell you schmucks over-priced beer and you will gather like sheep preparing to be sodomized... WE FOUGHT BACK. We sent a stern message. We will not buy your beer. Instead, we will get drunker and louder than ever before. We will return to the couch burning era of the late 80's and early 90's. If you think that was bad, we will torch your beer stand. And we will smuggle in our own alcohol. Take your High Five Rules and methodically stick each one up your ass.
All this needs is a little coordination at the student level. I'll assist, just drop me a line. In the meantime, I'm still struggling to write something far more important. I just needed to take my mind off the heavy stuff.
One last thought. This idea could have a special place in my heart if it makes the national news. If we go 3-0 to start the season and LSU starts off 3-0, I've heard rumors that ESPN Gameday will make it's first ever televised showing in Mo-Town. This would be completely bad ass as one of MY systemic disruptions would get a national audience. I'm pretty sure we'll start 3-0. Holgorson is seeking to annihilate. This guy is not some Bill Stewart-inspired, cunt-tree bumpkin. I think we'll beat Marshall something like 37-7. Then, crush the living shit out of Norfolk State (maybe 63-10). Then come back to earth for the away game at Maryland. Maybe 34-20 or something.
LSU has a tough opener against Oregon, but they're at home. Tigers never lose in the bayou. Then, another home game against Northwestern State (I don't know exactly what the "state" version of Northwestern is). Then, a road game against Mississippi State. So LSU at WVU, night game, televised, inverted alcohol policy, etc. It all sounds about right. Plus, you get the vengeance angle from last years game.
Here's one final idea, this one being the most distasteful. I remember an internet sensation from a few years ago. It started near Pittsburgh. These kids would go through the McDonalds drive thru and purchase a McShake. After they paid for it, they'd throw it in the face of the drive thru worker while the window was still open. They'd always yell the same thing... "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" They'd film the shit and put in on youtube. It was completely insane. What if fans started lobbing beers at the Sodexo workers? Anytime someone lobs in a half-full beer, they yell "LET'S GO!" and the crowd in the background chants back "SODEXO!"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpVQWTwtbJo
This season, Athletic Director Oliver Suck hath decreed that WVU is joining the 21st century. So they hired this company Sodexo to handle the sale and distribution of everyone's favorite beer, Bud and Bud Light ($7.00 a beer). If you do the math, this comes out to $65 per gallon. And people are pissed off about gas prices at $3.59/gallon. And Morgantown Brewing Co. will be offering superior handcrafted suds for $9.00 per beer. I refuse to the math on that one. But now I just sound like a cheap Jew. I can say this without fear of reprisal because my mother's vagina was indeed Jewish. All this extra income will amount to somewhere between 500 lodge and 1.2 million per season. Now those are numbers I can comprehend.
And they're going to hire an additional 500 employees to handle all that demand! With an emphasis on not letting things get out of hand, they're going to meticulously train these people in the skilled arts of spotting a drunk. Hmmm, I would say, "Welcome to Morgantown. Does moonshine count?"
But what totally sucks is the end of the halftime "pass-out" ticket era. This is the proudest WVU tradition of them all. The drunken charge back to the parking lot - Slam 2 beers, down a shot of cheap whiskey and smoke a doob.
In addition, Oliver Fuck has also instituted the new "High Five Rules." This could possibly be the gayest promotion in all the Big East (even worse than the endless Panther growls at Heinz Field wrapped around the James Taylor "Sweet Caroline" anthem). Maybe Oliver Luck will contract with that internet singing sensation Rebecca Black for a special Friday night appearance vs. UConn. Have that Huskie mascot dry hump, or perhaps fur bump, the living shit out of her. She could do her bit "Gotta get down on Friday!" on the 50 yard line WV logo. Mountaineer games will be the new "place to be" (George Costanza). It's where I see all my friends. And yeah, I know, we play the fighting insurance salesman from Connecticut on a Saturday. But the thought of her fornicating with the dog...
For logistical purposes, we'll put Rebecca Black in the spotlight of the Backyard Brawl. It's in WV this year and it actually does fall on a Friday. Stick her in there with the feline, catlike creature and go with a lesbian, bestiality theme. It's a win-win.
But I digress. The new and innovative high five rules include the following:
1) No smoking (as I alluded to earlier, pass the doobie on the left hand side). And what will become of the legions of "chaw-billies?" Technically speaking, these are the overalls-wearing, smokeless tobacco spitting subset of the population who carry around their spittoon emblazoned with a WV logo. Yep, 35% are female.
2) No cursing (Even the fire and brimstone preachers could feel the heat - words like "Hell" or "Damn" could result in someone ratting you out via text alert). What will happen to the historically eloquent "Eat Shit Pitt" rallying cry? If you need security, call 304-293-FANS or text AID to 94597. I would suggest specifically flooding them with public masturbation complaints.
3) No throwing foreign objects onto the field (The Iron Sheik would be rolling over in his grave - no more sinister "loading of the boot" while the referee is distracted by Classy Freddy Blassie). I loved it when Hug-A-Bear took the mic at the Pitt game last year (2-3-10). Someone should have turned that tirade into one of those internet rap spoofs.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKWb3qDWUlA
4) No "excessive" drinking. This begs the most obvious question, then why initiate beer sales in the first place? Can anyone other than an out-of-state college freshman girl (likely from Topeka, Kansas) actually get loaded by just consuming Bud Light draft. I believe the tolerance of West Virginians to be much higher than the national average. Note: I did not say we are tolerant. We merely have a higher tolerance.
5) And here's the best one - fans must show respect and follow the instructions of security personnel. I once saw this motorist get out of his vehicle and try to engage the traffic cop in a fist fight. And this was at 9am and we were playing a Division II team, Tallahassee State or something. He wouldn't let him go the wrong way down a one-way road or something. I'd be eager to see some of the training techniques in spotting drunken fans. Apparently, Sodexo employs "role-playing" sessions. Maybe I should get in the action.
"Listen up you inbred. You are an unfortunate by-product of an incestuous encounter! I can detect the acrid stench of incest emanating from your groin 50 yards away as I'm pissing in the mens restroom. You are urinally and fecally omniscient! I'm an atheist Jew god-damnit! You... you biblical reading, you abortion fearing... gun wielding scum. You piece of shit hunter. You kill not for sustenance, but for the sole pleasure of killing a defenseless buck, you fuck. Then, you eat at McDonalds. You... you piece of McShit! Outta my way asshole!"
In my mind, this constitutes effective role playing. Sodexo will likely want to hire me as an outside consultant. Seriously though, I would like to test the skill of an average Sodexo temp. I doubt they are truly skilled in the arts of (verbal) war. Never forget what happened to that dude in Braveheart. Longshanks threw his bitch ass out that castle window. Splat.
But alright, what are we gonna do about this new policy bullshit. I would suggest some WVU grad student construct one of those dumbass facebook pages. Call it "JUST SAY NO TO SODEXO." This is effective because...
A. It employs the weakest rhyme in the history of catchy slogans. Hey, that's all people have time for these days. We simply need to "like" things or use a predetermined "status" via status shuffle. Then, our "friends" will lavish us with praise because we were so clever. We chose to press the button that said "I'm such a hottie, I'm a naughty!!!"
B. It's an offshoot of Nancy Reagan's 1980's campaign which still to this day, has a spattering degree of "umphhh." They really need her to make a decrepit appearance at the RNC Convention this year in Tampon Bay. She's always been such an inspiration to the Michele Bachman/Sarah Palin ilk.
But here's the real purpose of the Just Say No To Sudexo facebook group - to throw down a complete boycott of the beer sales and force them to rescind their new beer policy. Here's how you do it.
A. The most obvious routine. You smuggle in your own beer. Liquor is vastly easier. You just pour it in dual ziplock bags (yellow and blue make green). Surreptitiously place the bag in the crotchetal region of your pants. Then, just go buy a coke and fill 'er up. Or I would suggest using the ol' wheel chair technique. Find an old one from Goodwill and use it on game day. Hide the beverages behind your back or on the underside. Back in the day, this was how the bootleggers used to sneak in large recording equipment. And I really like the "bootlegger" connotation considering the prevalence of moonshine in central WV.
B. Now this could be entertaining. How about flooding the security people and ushers with tampon, insulin or various emergency illness requests. They'll still let you in and out of the stadium, IF IT'S WARRANTED. This will work for me on opening day against Marshall because it's a Sunday. "Listen you bastard, I have to get to my car and find my Torah. God said I must praise the Sabbath and keep it holy. You will NOT discriminate against my Jew-ass, lest ye burn in hell." Maybe I could tell them I forgot my yarmulke. Has anyone ever walked into Mountaineer Field wearing that dumb ass shit? I might do it just for kicks. Yes, I am that sick.
C. Here's a cool one. Distribute fliers that say Sodexo financially supports a shadowy terrorist network. Have students hand these out next to the beer stands and outside the stadium. The trick is to make it convincing. Okay, maybe not the company, maybe the CEO has ties to some fringe, shadowy Pakistani movement. Don't go with the obvious Al Qaeda choice. I'll be happy to help with the content. The main goal here is to just discourage and intimidate anyone who goes up to the beer stand. This would be so fucking cool - if the stands don't produce revenue, they'll be removed next season and the Oliver Luck infidel's decision will be regarded as a national embarrassment. You know what? Come to think of it, skip the terrorist insinuation. Just say he's a big contributor to, or in bed with, the Mountaintop Mining Removal crowd. That would be far more effective. And way more credible.
D. Demand free beer. I used to do this at Starlake. You just snag a cup and go up to the stand. "Hey I don't mean to sound like a jerk but (brief pause)... but, this cop bumped into me and spilled my beer. He said, just go back to the stand and ask them for a refill. Tell them Jonathan Parker, Badge #167 said you'd give them a refill. (another brief pause) Is that cool?" Then give them a slight look of assertive despair. Make firm eye contact, but don't try to stare them down. Middle aged, male concession people are your best bet. It's easy once you get the delivery down. I did this a record 5 times at an Eagles concert at Starlake on 8-15-94 (yep, still have the ticket stub). I scalped the living fuck out that show.
The most vital aspect is to convey the following message. We are Mountaineer Fans. We are cooler and more rebellious than all other universities. When they said, "Hey, great news, we're going to sell you schmucks over-priced beer and you will gather like sheep preparing to be sodomized... WE FOUGHT BACK. We sent a stern message. We will not buy your beer. Instead, we will get drunker and louder than ever before. We will return to the couch burning era of the late 80's and early 90's. If you think that was bad, we will torch your beer stand. And we will smuggle in our own alcohol. Take your High Five Rules and methodically stick each one up your ass.
All this needs is a little coordination at the student level. I'll assist, just drop me a line. In the meantime, I'm still struggling to write something far more important. I just needed to take my mind off the heavy stuff.
One last thought. This idea could have a special place in my heart if it makes the national news. If we go 3-0 to start the season and LSU starts off 3-0, I've heard rumors that ESPN Gameday will make it's first ever televised showing in Mo-Town. This would be completely bad ass as one of MY systemic disruptions would get a national audience. I'm pretty sure we'll start 3-0. Holgorson is seeking to annihilate. This guy is not some Bill Stewart-inspired, cunt-tree bumpkin. I think we'll beat Marshall something like 37-7. Then, crush the living shit out of Norfolk State (maybe 63-10). Then come back to earth for the away game at Maryland. Maybe 34-20 or something.
LSU has a tough opener against Oregon, but they're at home. Tigers never lose in the bayou. Then, another home game against Northwestern State (I don't know exactly what the "state" version of Northwestern is). Then, a road game against Mississippi State. So LSU at WVU, night game, televised, inverted alcohol policy, etc. It all sounds about right. Plus, you get the vengeance angle from last years game.
Here's one final idea, this one being the most distasteful. I remember an internet sensation from a few years ago. It started near Pittsburgh. These kids would go through the McDonalds drive thru and purchase a McShake. After they paid for it, they'd throw it in the face of the drive thru worker while the window was still open. They'd always yell the same thing... "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" They'd film the shit and put in on youtube. It was completely insane. What if fans started lobbing beers at the Sodexo workers? Anytime someone lobs in a half-full beer, they yell "LET'S GO!" and the crowd in the background chants back "SODEXO!"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpVQWTwtbJo
Friday, August 19, 2011
Steagles preseason game, 8-18-11
Gigi and I hit the Steelers/Eagles preseason game last night. In typical fashion, we caught some Maury Povich paternity testing at 5pm. I was a little disappointed with Murree. Although it was a repeat, about half the results would be delayed until the following day. This is a game of pure Povich brinkmanship. He's trying to build you to the height of ecstasy and then magically carry you into to the weekend on some kind of "YOU ARE NOT ready for the weekend" bit. Yeah, I get it.
Gig has noticed that many of the larger women seem to wear an abundance of shiny clothes. Anything florescent or "housedressish" seems to be the wardrobe of choice. Hey, what better way to accentuate the curves on a 287 pounder. Ensconce her in a lime green moo moo! We surmised that Big Lots must have entered the fashion fray. What better way to introduce your line of apparel than teaming up with MoPo Productions. Think of it as the refurbished clothing business. For it is Maury who makes dreams come true. Whether it's putting morbidly obese babies on crash diets or transforming that nerdish high school girl into a famous porn star. Maury does it all. He's the Genghis Khan of daytime drama.
So we zipped down to the stadium. Weather was perfect, tailgating was semi-inspired. Of course it's only preseason, but it was the Eagles in town. I was expecting a little more hoopla and chicanery, but I'm always a little giddy around the stadium. Go figure. So we took our usual position. Standing on the bench outside Gate A. There were a few people with extras. Most wanted some compensation though and were willing to dine on expensive cardboard. Hey, you gotta eat it! Right?
We eventually snagged 2 freebies, but then decided to sell them for $20 a piece. Now it's about 7:45 (game starts at 8pm) and we don't have any tickets. But Gig came through and scored another 2. Kewl. As I'm finishing my wine, a couple in their 60's asks us if we have any tickets. They're allegedly in town from Charlotte and want to check out the action. They seemed pleasant, so we mutually decide to sell them for just another $40. Should have asked for way more as this couple seemed like wealthy pigeons, but I'm getting really soft in my old age. They seemed highly appreciative so we took the transaction as a gesture of good karma.
But now it's gametime and we don't have any tickets. Sure enough, Gig scores another freebie. I can't seem to get a break. Then the weirdest thing happened. This black guy asked us if we want to trade 2 for 1. I don't get it. Why would he want to give us 2 for 1? He explained his date backed out and he overheard our dilemma. How fucking cool is that? He didn't care about the seat - he just wanted to help us out. And I thought he had a scalping agenda... my WV heritage showing its true colors I suppose.
So we thank him and head in. The minute we walk through the entrance, Gig spots some money lying on the ground. She snatches it up. Ka-Plow! It's a $5.00 bill just lying there. Now we're up a grand total of $85.00 with a minimal expenditure of effort. But then, this father and his 10 year old son walk over and ask us if they have seen any money lying on the ground, "My son just lost some money!" Gig and I awkwardly freeze up for a second. Gig was just about to produce the cash and the two of them start laughing. "We saw you snag the cash off the ground. We're just messing with you!" was his reply. Then, we all busted out laughing. He was pretty convincing.
So we walked around the stadium and settled on some seats near the goal line in the corner level of the East end zone. The couple next to us was from Mt. Lebanon. The guy was originally from Belfast and had a super-thick Irish accent. He looked at me and said, "Ya can't sit here Boyo." I assumed that the seats were taken but he was actually referring to the Liverpool jersey I was wearing. The guy was just ripping on my attire. Apparently, he was a Manchester United fan. All in all, it was a pretty animated section with some 8 yr. old kid giving everyone in sight "Karate Kid (Part III) neck-chopping" massages throughout the second quarter.
We escalated up to the 500 level for the second half and ran into Bob and Missy T. They mentioned the doubleheader in Cincy in November. WVU at Cincy on Saturday / Steelers at Bungles on Sunday. Not a bad idea. I think I'll make a determination based more on the weather at crunchtime. Not as if I'd ever buy tix in advance anyway. Great concept though. I've never been to either stadium. When I think of people who know "how to roll" in Cincy, it's always about Dunkle aka The Wolf.
We left early in the 3rd period. Steelers looked good. Philly looked like my neighbor Fuckface... a pile of shit. On the way out, I found a dollar bill lying on the ground. I was in ecstasy. That brought our total winnings to $86.00. Well, minus $8.00 for a Coors Light. So I guess it was a grand total of $78.00. And we snagged an army green nap sack on the way out. We found it amidst a pile of confiscated bags.
When we got back home, Gig threw the live feed up on the computer. At the end of the game, Heinz Field was still rocking. Yep, I'd say there were a total of 1,378 out of 65,050. I'm going to check what the real attendance actually was. I'm guessing it was 61,600.
Steelers 24
Eagles 14
All in all, a fun night. Fortunately this game wasn't well-suited for an A.G.S.
Gig has noticed that many of the larger women seem to wear an abundance of shiny clothes. Anything florescent or "housedressish" seems to be the wardrobe of choice. Hey, what better way to accentuate the curves on a 287 pounder. Ensconce her in a lime green moo moo! We surmised that Big Lots must have entered the fashion fray. What better way to introduce your line of apparel than teaming up with MoPo Productions. Think of it as the refurbished clothing business. For it is Maury who makes dreams come true. Whether it's putting morbidly obese babies on crash diets or transforming that nerdish high school girl into a famous porn star. Maury does it all. He's the Genghis Khan of daytime drama.
So we zipped down to the stadium. Weather was perfect, tailgating was semi-inspired. Of course it's only preseason, but it was the Eagles in town. I was expecting a little more hoopla and chicanery, but I'm always a little giddy around the stadium. Go figure. So we took our usual position. Standing on the bench outside Gate A. There were a few people with extras. Most wanted some compensation though and were willing to dine on expensive cardboard. Hey, you gotta eat it! Right?
We eventually snagged 2 freebies, but then decided to sell them for $20 a piece. Now it's about 7:45 (game starts at 8pm) and we don't have any tickets. But Gig came through and scored another 2. Kewl. As I'm finishing my wine, a couple in their 60's asks us if we have any tickets. They're allegedly in town from Charlotte and want to check out the action. They seemed pleasant, so we mutually decide to sell them for just another $40. Should have asked for way more as this couple seemed like wealthy pigeons, but I'm getting really soft in my old age. They seemed highly appreciative so we took the transaction as a gesture of good karma.
But now it's gametime and we don't have any tickets. Sure enough, Gig scores another freebie. I can't seem to get a break. Then the weirdest thing happened. This black guy asked us if we want to trade 2 for 1. I don't get it. Why would he want to give us 2 for 1? He explained his date backed out and he overheard our dilemma. How fucking cool is that? He didn't care about the seat - he just wanted to help us out. And I thought he had a scalping agenda... my WV heritage showing its true colors I suppose.
So we thank him and head in. The minute we walk through the entrance, Gig spots some money lying on the ground. She snatches it up. Ka-Plow! It's a $5.00 bill just lying there. Now we're up a grand total of $85.00 with a minimal expenditure of effort. But then, this father and his 10 year old son walk over and ask us if they have seen any money lying on the ground, "My son just lost some money!" Gig and I awkwardly freeze up for a second. Gig was just about to produce the cash and the two of them start laughing. "We saw you snag the cash off the ground. We're just messing with you!" was his reply. Then, we all busted out laughing. He was pretty convincing.
So we walked around the stadium and settled on some seats near the goal line in the corner level of the East end zone. The couple next to us was from Mt. Lebanon. The guy was originally from Belfast and had a super-thick Irish accent. He looked at me and said, "Ya can't sit here Boyo." I assumed that the seats were taken but he was actually referring to the Liverpool jersey I was wearing. The guy was just ripping on my attire. Apparently, he was a Manchester United fan. All in all, it was a pretty animated section with some 8 yr. old kid giving everyone in sight "Karate Kid (Part III) neck-chopping" massages throughout the second quarter.
We escalated up to the 500 level for the second half and ran into Bob and Missy T. They mentioned the doubleheader in Cincy in November. WVU at Cincy on Saturday / Steelers at Bungles on Sunday. Not a bad idea. I think I'll make a determination based more on the weather at crunchtime. Not as if I'd ever buy tix in advance anyway. Great concept though. I've never been to either stadium. When I think of people who know "how to roll" in Cincy, it's always about Dunkle aka The Wolf.
We left early in the 3rd period. Steelers looked good. Philly looked like my neighbor Fuckface... a pile of shit. On the way out, I found a dollar bill lying on the ground. I was in ecstasy. That brought our total winnings to $86.00. Well, minus $8.00 for a Coors Light. So I guess it was a grand total of $78.00. And we snagged an army green nap sack on the way out. We found it amidst a pile of confiscated bags.
When we got back home, Gig threw the live feed up on the computer. At the end of the game, Heinz Field was still rocking. Yep, I'd say there were a total of 1,378 out of 65,050. I'm going to check what the real attendance actually was. I'm guessing it was 61,600.
Steelers 24
Eagles 14
All in all, a fun night. Fortunately this game wasn't well-suited for an A.G.S.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Alice Cooper w/ special guest Batboy (8-12-11)
Yep, me and Gig went to see one of her long time heroes last night... Alice Cooper. Last year we saw him at a minor league ballpark in Eastlake, Ohio as we were coming back from Cedar Point. And it was very cool. I googled him this morning because I was wondering how old the guy is. The answer is 63 years of age. But what's really impressive is his "tour strength." If you check out the dates, he plays tons of those monster festivals in Europe. But aside from playing for 100,000+ on several nights back to back, he comes back to the states and plays these small and midsize venues, old school theaters and modern casinos. Secondary markets like Scranton, Syracuse, Toledo, etc. I have the utmost respect for this guy because, and I know this sounds gay, he honestly cares about his fans. He's the true definition of rock and roll, even though he doesn't really sing. It's more like he's making these repeated snarling declarations with an occasional grunt or growl.
His band consists of consummate professionals. In a weird way, they reminded me of Paul McCartney's band. Totally different style but they all seem to understand their respective roles. I really dig the 1980's hollow metal drum sound. The bass player is fucking loaded with attitude. The one rhythm guitarist had this "gay biker/Rob Halford" motif which I thought was a little bit peculiar. And of course, Alice was at the top of his game. All the usual theatrics and the sound was exceptional. Stage A&E probably has the best sound of any outdoor venue I've ever been to. I can't think of any place better. It was a little bit loud, but it was one of those times when the volume level made sense. Usually it's just loud for the sake of being loud. As usual, we skipped the opening act and strolled in on the cusp of crunchtime for the opener - Gig's favorite song "Black Widow." As luck would have it, they closed with my favorite - "Elected."
Before the show, we snagged some beef pad thai and spring rolls to go with our wine and Amstel Lights. Great stuff from Nicky's Kitchen on the North Side. I highly recommend grabbing takeout from there. I know, I know, you only want to get Primanti's. Not much of a tailgating presence which I thought was kind of surprising considering it was a crowd of seasoned, veteran concertgoers. And it was refreshing to see plenty of younger kids dressed up to the hilt, adorned with face paint and spikes. But these are kids that actually love rock'n'roll, not those moronic, emo-vampirical, gothic, wannabe douchebags with their overpriced t-shirts their mom bought for them at JC Penney's. Hey, she thought it looked cool because "it's the style these days."
So we rocked it out and bolted back to Reserve township. We conked out before midnight. So much for rocking til the break of dawn. But then it happened. At 6:45 am, I awake to Gigi hysterically screaming her brains out running around the bedroom naked. She's in frantic convulsions trying to put on a nightgown. "Eric, HELP! There's a bird in the room! HELP ME!
But it's not a bird, It's a FUCKING BAT and it's flying back and forth. It nearly misses the ceiling fan. It may have gotten clipped. My first reaction was to cowardly cover myself with the blanket. I figured if the window was open, it would just fly away. Gig runs downstairs to get the cats. Maybe Tyson or Cooper will offer assistance. Nope. Their reaction was to "tuck tail and run" back to the basement. You'd think they'd at least be interested in all this ruckus. You would think wrong.
So there's a moment of brief calm as I get up. The bat has seemingly disappeared. Hopefully, it flew out the window. WRONG. I nudge the bedroom door and it's on the floor twitching around between the door and a large cushion. Gigi starts yelling for me to kill it. She runs down the stairs and grabs a broom and hands it to me. Then, she runs out of the room and shuts the door behind me!
This was my moment of truth. It's just me, BroomHilda vs. Batboy in an ill-timed bedroom brawl. I wouldn't recommend purchasing this if it ever shows up on pay-per-view. So I took the broom and mercilessly started beating the hell out of it. The bat really never stood much of a chance. I think I slammed the base of the broom (where the bristles unite to form that solid part) upon the bat about 14 times in 2.6 seconds. Each crushing blow delivered with maximum impact. The sweeping fury was executed with such force, I somehow managed to slightly dislocate my left thumb. But hey, it was a major adrenalin rush and I wasn't leaving anything to chance. Following the bat beat, beat bash, broom down, there was a small puddle of blood which stained the carpet.
Comparisons have already been made to the Navy Seals night time commando raid on Bin Laden's compound in Abbottobad. Would I wrap up the remains of batboy in a ceremonial shroud, bow my head in a gesture of respect, say the appropriate prayer and dump him in the Allegheny? Nope. I broomed him into a cardboard box and Gig skiddishly threw a tall kitchen bag around it. Then, it was temporarily taken to the basement. About 10 minutes later, she grabbed the bag and said she was going to throw it in the WPXI dumpster. As for the stained carpet, the flood of blood was treated with a heavy dose of Renuzit or the OxyClean stuff.
All the meanwhile, I had a pretty bad hangover. My headache got much worse when I got back home. So I went to Riesbeck's and bought a container of "Our Family" Ibuprofen. I gulped down 3 pills and walked around the parking lot a few times in a complete daze. I resembled something like a disheveled zombie. It got me to thinking about all the weird coincidences of last night/this morning.
A. All the blood, guts and gore from the Alice Cooper concert
B. The irony that they've been filming the new Batman movie all over Pittsburgh and it's constant coverage on the news.
C. I felt like and resembled one of those zombies from the show last night.
D. One of my all-time favorite scenes from The Office was when Dwight went after the bat and traps it inside a garbage bag along with Meredith's head. Her shrieking reminded of Gigi's screams. Dwight's heroism somewhat mirrored my own.
As if the bat every stood a chance. It was much like Munich, with the Jews doing the asskicking. That anti-semitic Hezbollah winged bat should have thought twice before he declared war on a hungover West Virginian atheist Jew.
His band consists of consummate professionals. In a weird way, they reminded me of Paul McCartney's band. Totally different style but they all seem to understand their respective roles. I really dig the 1980's hollow metal drum sound. The bass player is fucking loaded with attitude. The one rhythm guitarist had this "gay biker/Rob Halford" motif which I thought was a little bit peculiar. And of course, Alice was at the top of his game. All the usual theatrics and the sound was exceptional. Stage A&E probably has the best sound of any outdoor venue I've ever been to. I can't think of any place better. It was a little bit loud, but it was one of those times when the volume level made sense. Usually it's just loud for the sake of being loud. As usual, we skipped the opening act and strolled in on the cusp of crunchtime for the opener - Gig's favorite song "Black Widow." As luck would have it, they closed with my favorite - "Elected."
Before the show, we snagged some beef pad thai and spring rolls to go with our wine and Amstel Lights. Great stuff from Nicky's Kitchen on the North Side. I highly recommend grabbing takeout from there. I know, I know, you only want to get Primanti's. Not much of a tailgating presence which I thought was kind of surprising considering it was a crowd of seasoned, veteran concertgoers. And it was refreshing to see plenty of younger kids dressed up to the hilt, adorned with face paint and spikes. But these are kids that actually love rock'n'roll, not those moronic, emo-vampirical, gothic, wannabe douchebags with their overpriced t-shirts their mom bought for them at JC Penney's. Hey, she thought it looked cool because "it's the style these days."
So we rocked it out and bolted back to Reserve township. We conked out before midnight. So much for rocking til the break of dawn. But then it happened. At 6:45 am, I awake to Gigi hysterically screaming her brains out running around the bedroom naked. She's in frantic convulsions trying to put on a nightgown. "Eric, HELP! There's a bird in the room! HELP ME!
But it's not a bird, It's a FUCKING BAT and it's flying back and forth. It nearly misses the ceiling fan. It may have gotten clipped. My first reaction was to cowardly cover myself with the blanket. I figured if the window was open, it would just fly away. Gig runs downstairs to get the cats. Maybe Tyson or Cooper will offer assistance. Nope. Their reaction was to "tuck tail and run" back to the basement. You'd think they'd at least be interested in all this ruckus. You would think wrong.
So there's a moment of brief calm as I get up. The bat has seemingly disappeared. Hopefully, it flew out the window. WRONG. I nudge the bedroom door and it's on the floor twitching around between the door and a large cushion. Gigi starts yelling for me to kill it. She runs down the stairs and grabs a broom and hands it to me. Then, she runs out of the room and shuts the door behind me!
This was my moment of truth. It's just me, BroomHilda vs. Batboy in an ill-timed bedroom brawl. I wouldn't recommend purchasing this if it ever shows up on pay-per-view. So I took the broom and mercilessly started beating the hell out of it. The bat really never stood much of a chance. I think I slammed the base of the broom (where the bristles unite to form that solid part) upon the bat about 14 times in 2.6 seconds. Each crushing blow delivered with maximum impact. The sweeping fury was executed with such force, I somehow managed to slightly dislocate my left thumb. But hey, it was a major adrenalin rush and I wasn't leaving anything to chance. Following the bat beat, beat bash, broom down, there was a small puddle of blood which stained the carpet.
Comparisons have already been made to the Navy Seals night time commando raid on Bin Laden's compound in Abbottobad. Would I wrap up the remains of batboy in a ceremonial shroud, bow my head in a gesture of respect, say the appropriate prayer and dump him in the Allegheny? Nope. I broomed him into a cardboard box and Gig skiddishly threw a tall kitchen bag around it. Then, it was temporarily taken to the basement. About 10 minutes later, she grabbed the bag and said she was going to throw it in the WPXI dumpster. As for the stained carpet, the flood of blood was treated with a heavy dose of Renuzit or the OxyClean stuff.
All the meanwhile, I had a pretty bad hangover. My headache got much worse when I got back home. So I went to Riesbeck's and bought a container of "Our Family" Ibuprofen. I gulped down 3 pills and walked around the parking lot a few times in a complete daze. I resembled something like a disheveled zombie. It got me to thinking about all the weird coincidences of last night/this morning.
A. All the blood, guts and gore from the Alice Cooper concert
B. The irony that they've been filming the new Batman movie all over Pittsburgh and it's constant coverage on the news.
C. I felt like and resembled one of those zombies from the show last night.
D. One of my all-time favorite scenes from The Office was when Dwight went after the bat and traps it inside a garbage bag along with Meredith's head. Her shrieking reminded of Gigi's screams. Dwight's heroism somewhat mirrored my own.
As if the bat every stood a chance. It was much like Munich, with the Jews doing the asskicking. That anti-semitic Hezbollah winged bat should have thought twice before he declared war on a hungover West Virginian atheist Jew.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Wheeling phenomena
Yesterday I read an old note on the facebook page of this guy Larry C. He shares an ignominious distinction. He's probably the closest approximation to an Ohio version of myself. He generally shares my "take" on East Ohio and Northern WV. But he resides on the other side of the Ohio River. He spoke of "the way of things" in East Ohio and made a list of 15 observations. He took more of the obvious stuff - DiCarlos Pizza, wings, excessive tattoos & piercings, Jamboree, the weather, Ford vs. Chevy debate via Calvin urinating on one or the other, etc.
So in keeping with that same spirit, here are some Wheeling area anecdotes and observations...
1) Whenever a new restaurant opens up, everyone must be there for the grand opening. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. It's imperative that you be the first one to experience this epic new cuisine. The waiting line loops around the building. The parking lot is exceeding capacity, but it's now or never. The irony is that it's always one of those chain restaurants - usually a Red Lobster, Olive Garden or Applebees (I believe their spokesperson used to be John Corbett).
And another aside along these same lines... Why is it that when locals travel outside the area, say Chicago or Philadelphia... When they select a restaurant, it's usually that same type of mid-range establishment (Olive Garden or Chi Chi's). We came all the way to Indianapolis for the Indy 500... so naturally, we decided to hit up Cracker Barrel.
2) Having severe problems with non-traffic related issues. If you're from Wheeling, you find it unacceptable or very disconcerting to go through an additional rotation of green/yellow/red light. How on earth could this have happened? Why was I stuck at the stoplight for a full extra cycle? There must be a reason and I want answers! Something doesn't make sense. There must be a problem with the electrical or maybe it's the Department of Highways fault. Or maybe people around here just don't know how to drive. Something has gone horribly wrong. And I will voice my complaints about this particular traffic light to all my friends at church bingo. After all, they dealt with this same atrocity/traffic injustice on the way here.
3) A fascination with all things Texas, despite never having been there. Northern panhandle residents are obsessed with the state of Texas for reasons unknown.
A. They must name their male children after cities in Texas (Austin, Tyler, Dallas or Houston) or even worse, a combination of those aforementioned names.
B. They must dine at any Texas themed "Roadhouse" restaurant which offer "humongous" portions. And they revel in the novelty of discarding peanut shells on the floor. For some reason, this excites the locals to no end. They also enjoy it when the waitress introduces herself and writes her name on the paper towel using a crayon. No matter how many times it happens, it's always a seemingly unique jubilant experience. Forgive the poor service. It's okay. Our waitress was busy with the other employees... line dancing the night away.
C. And some must express their die hard love and support for the Dallas Cowboys, usually because they have issues with a Steelers fan, likely a close relative. It's how they secretly manifest their disgust for cousin Billy, not because he slept with my wife... it's because he likes dem Stillers. The odd thing about all this - they've never been to Texas and don't know a soul that even lives there. Most likely the farthest West they've ever been is Indy (you know, for the big race).
D. And of course the cowboy hat wearing phenomenon exhibited during mid-July at Jamboree in the Hills. Other than this one week, the hat stays in the closet year round.
4) There seems to be this odd fascination with bad 90's music. It doesn't matter the band. Spin Doctors, Gin Blossoms, Collective Soul, the band that plays that atrocious "It's good, good, good, good" song. As long as the lyrics are bad, and the song is overplayed and the melody is something you can annoyingly hum in a long line at Krogers. And the other prerequisite, local cougars must aggressively charge the dance floor. This is their time to shine. It is their American Idol moment, a moment of hedonism. They will bask in the glow of Friday night as their ex has the kids for the weekend.
5) The greatest game in the world is... Cornhole. We refuse to call it by its other name... Beanbag Toss. Only southwestern PA folk use that terminology. In these parts, it's Cornhole. Most locals believe this game to be worthy of Olympic status. And they take tremendous care in hand-crafting and designing the wooden boards. One is WVU, the other usually says "SHIT" cleverly disguised as the PITT logo. That's some down-home creativity.
6) The ultimate honeymoon destination of choice is a Caribbean resort, preferably Aruba or for the more flamboyant newlyweds... Jamaica. And we will not leave the confines of the hotel. It's far too dangerous. Women are routinely raped by the locals. Men are fearful of being sodomized. It's strictly airport > hotel room > hotel bar > hotel beachfront and back to the airport. We had such a wonderful time despite the fact that we never ventured from this 1/4 square mile vacation hot spot. Our only experience with the local culture was getting ripped off by the cab driver on the way back to the airport.
7) We must let the world know (usually via facebook) if we venture outside the confines of Wheeling. Any trip to Pittsburgh or Columbus is deemed newsworthy. For some reason, it usually involves a trip to Ikea or Kennywood and a sandwich at Primanti's. God forbid you go to Cedar Point or board an airplane. All must be immediately notified of your heroic journey. You have indeed achieved the status of world traveler. Let no one doubt your brazen spirit and vehicular navigation skills. You survived the big city and lived to tell about it.
8) Ahh, the Festival of Lights. Despite the fact that this ordeal runs nonstop for 6 months, there are only 2 viable options, you must go the night before Thanksgiving or the night before Christmas. Sure enough, this coincides with the only time traffic is backed all the way into the Wheeling Tunnel. But you must load up the Dodge Minivan with all the children and relatives. You must embrace the spirit of the season. It takes you 5 hours to get through the whole display, but it was well worth it. The florescent, blinking nose of Rudolph alone was well worth the $20 suggested donation. In retrospect, you were admittedly too eager to impress your out-of-town relatives with your charitable generosity, supporting the noble holiday efforts of the Oglebay Park Commission.
9) All John Corbett sightings must be spoken of immediately via every communication device (payphone, text, internet, make a sign and stand on the corner). It is more than your duty. It is a moral obligation. Everyone must know that I saw this famous Wheelingite at Exxon or the Alpha. I must know that he purchased a bag of Munchos or was drinking an Amstel Light. And I must tell every living soul. Rest assured, we will all sleep well tonight after having been sufficiently briefed on all that is Corbett.
10) There must always be an incessant number of reoccurring DUI Checkpoints at every hundreth block on National Road. Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday... Fulton, Woodsdale, Elm Grove, Tri-Dirty... 7-12am, 8-1am, 10-3am... Does it really matter? Oddly enough, no one has ever been caught in one of these valiant sting operations. But it's the goal of every resident to spread fear and paranoia. It's some kind of anti-DUI-awareness, anti-cop-awareness campaign. And the best part... if you wish, an alternative route will be provided. But your decision to take it results in getting pulled over by some "alternate-universe, rogue, cleverly hidden" cop car . If you hadn't been scared shitless, they would have just waived you on through.
11) It's the obligation of any local dee jay or musician to play as loudly as humanly possible. If the people in attendance are not screaming at the top of their lungs, you have failed to provide an enjoyable atmosphere. When your head hits the pillow, if your ears are not ringing, the entertainment has been an abysmal, abject failure. We the locals need it amplified to the next level. I love it loud. Which brings me to the irony of #12...
12) We must sit in complete silence on our front porches and... just stare. Chain smoking cigarettes is widely encouraged. And it's also permissible to drink cheap, domestic canned beer. But of the utmost importance... ABSOLUTELY NO TALKING (with 2 minor exceptions... if a family member has been charged with a felony or misdemeanor and/or a family member just discovered she's pregnant or has decided to file for divorce).
13) There seems to be an unusual per capita number of weirdos with gaping holes in their earlobes. Yes, tattoos and piercings were part of the last forgotten Bush/Cheney decade. We need more youth with frisbee-sized disc openings in the ears. It's a matter of great pride and distinction. The bigger the hole, the more superior your act of rebellion. Do not bother expressing yourself through athletics or academics. Earlobe hole girth is all that matters.
14) When devising plans for a picnic lunch or park outing, quantity is of paramount importance. Variety is scoffed at. Why grill chicken or fish? It's all about the amount. We need MORE burgers, MORE hot dogs, MORE macaroni salad, MORE cheesy poofs. This will make it intrinsically better. We will never run out of average picnic food. This will make it a great day. We will have an endless supply of food. And this will make it much more fun.
15) We must wrap our entire identity around a specific brand of domestic beer. Bud, Bud Light, Miller Light, Coors Light, Rolling Rock and... drumroll please... the newest other possibility is now Yuengling. We have waited so long for the Yuengling to cometh. And now it hath arrived. Choose from only these selections, lest ye be labeled as a "fag beer" drinker.
Honorable mention: You must play the gambling machines in the back of the bar. The enclosed, smoke filled room will not be a deterrent. You must feed your social security check into the machine. Cherry, lemon, orange, starfuit, mango... these colorful representations of fruit are a source of inspiration. Ricky's college fund will be secure. The $5.00 bill I inserted will magically turn into $362.00. Then I cash-out at $80.00. And I will buy the entire bar Jagerbombs and be regarded as a hero. Little Ricky's educational dreams will take a backseat, until my triumphant return (tomorrow evening).
So in keeping with that same spirit, here are some Wheeling area anecdotes and observations...
1) Whenever a new restaurant opens up, everyone must be there for the grand opening. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. It's imperative that you be the first one to experience this epic new cuisine. The waiting line loops around the building. The parking lot is exceeding capacity, but it's now or never. The irony is that it's always one of those chain restaurants - usually a Red Lobster, Olive Garden or Applebees (I believe their spokesperson used to be John Corbett).
And another aside along these same lines... Why is it that when locals travel outside the area, say Chicago or Philadelphia... When they select a restaurant, it's usually that same type of mid-range establishment (Olive Garden or Chi Chi's). We came all the way to Indianapolis for the Indy 500... so naturally, we decided to hit up Cracker Barrel.
2) Having severe problems with non-traffic related issues. If you're from Wheeling, you find it unacceptable or very disconcerting to go through an additional rotation of green/yellow/red light. How on earth could this have happened? Why was I stuck at the stoplight for a full extra cycle? There must be a reason and I want answers! Something doesn't make sense. There must be a problem with the electrical or maybe it's the Department of Highways fault. Or maybe people around here just don't know how to drive. Something has gone horribly wrong. And I will voice my complaints about this particular traffic light to all my friends at church bingo. After all, they dealt with this same atrocity/traffic injustice on the way here.
3) A fascination with all things Texas, despite never having been there. Northern panhandle residents are obsessed with the state of Texas for reasons unknown.
A. They must name their male children after cities in Texas (Austin, Tyler, Dallas or Houston) or even worse, a combination of those aforementioned names.
B. They must dine at any Texas themed "Roadhouse" restaurant which offer "humongous" portions. And they revel in the novelty of discarding peanut shells on the floor. For some reason, this excites the locals to no end. They also enjoy it when the waitress introduces herself and writes her name on the paper towel using a crayon. No matter how many times it happens, it's always a seemingly unique jubilant experience. Forgive the poor service. It's okay. Our waitress was busy with the other employees... line dancing the night away.
C. And some must express their die hard love and support for the Dallas Cowboys, usually because they have issues with a Steelers fan, likely a close relative. It's how they secretly manifest their disgust for cousin Billy, not because he slept with my wife... it's because he likes dem Stillers. The odd thing about all this - they've never been to Texas and don't know a soul that even lives there. Most likely the farthest West they've ever been is Indy (you know, for the big race).
D. And of course the cowboy hat wearing phenomenon exhibited during mid-July at Jamboree in the Hills. Other than this one week, the hat stays in the closet year round.
4) There seems to be this odd fascination with bad 90's music. It doesn't matter the band. Spin Doctors, Gin Blossoms, Collective Soul, the band that plays that atrocious "It's good, good, good, good" song. As long as the lyrics are bad, and the song is overplayed and the melody is something you can annoyingly hum in a long line at Krogers. And the other prerequisite, local cougars must aggressively charge the dance floor. This is their time to shine. It is their American Idol moment, a moment of hedonism. They will bask in the glow of Friday night as their ex has the kids for the weekend.
5) The greatest game in the world is... Cornhole. We refuse to call it by its other name... Beanbag Toss. Only southwestern PA folk use that terminology. In these parts, it's Cornhole. Most locals believe this game to be worthy of Olympic status. And they take tremendous care in hand-crafting and designing the wooden boards. One is WVU, the other usually says "SHIT" cleverly disguised as the PITT logo. That's some down-home creativity.
6) The ultimate honeymoon destination of choice is a Caribbean resort, preferably Aruba or for the more flamboyant newlyweds... Jamaica. And we will not leave the confines of the hotel. It's far too dangerous. Women are routinely raped by the locals. Men are fearful of being sodomized. It's strictly airport > hotel room > hotel bar > hotel beachfront and back to the airport. We had such a wonderful time despite the fact that we never ventured from this 1/4 square mile vacation hot spot. Our only experience with the local culture was getting ripped off by the cab driver on the way back to the airport.
7) We must let the world know (usually via facebook) if we venture outside the confines of Wheeling. Any trip to Pittsburgh or Columbus is deemed newsworthy. For some reason, it usually involves a trip to Ikea or Kennywood and a sandwich at Primanti's. God forbid you go to Cedar Point or board an airplane. All must be immediately notified of your heroic journey. You have indeed achieved the status of world traveler. Let no one doubt your brazen spirit and vehicular navigation skills. You survived the big city and lived to tell about it.
8) Ahh, the Festival of Lights. Despite the fact that this ordeal runs nonstop for 6 months, there are only 2 viable options, you must go the night before Thanksgiving or the night before Christmas. Sure enough, this coincides with the only time traffic is backed all the way into the Wheeling Tunnel. But you must load up the Dodge Minivan with all the children and relatives. You must embrace the spirit of the season. It takes you 5 hours to get through the whole display, but it was well worth it. The florescent, blinking nose of Rudolph alone was well worth the $20 suggested donation. In retrospect, you were admittedly too eager to impress your out-of-town relatives with your charitable generosity, supporting the noble holiday efforts of the Oglebay Park Commission.
9) All John Corbett sightings must be spoken of immediately via every communication device (payphone, text, internet, make a sign and stand on the corner). It is more than your duty. It is a moral obligation. Everyone must know that I saw this famous Wheelingite at Exxon or the Alpha. I must know that he purchased a bag of Munchos or was drinking an Amstel Light. And I must tell every living soul. Rest assured, we will all sleep well tonight after having been sufficiently briefed on all that is Corbett.
10) There must always be an incessant number of reoccurring DUI Checkpoints at every hundreth block on National Road. Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday... Fulton, Woodsdale, Elm Grove, Tri-Dirty... 7-12am, 8-1am, 10-3am... Does it really matter? Oddly enough, no one has ever been caught in one of these valiant sting operations. But it's the goal of every resident to spread fear and paranoia. It's some kind of anti-DUI-awareness, anti-cop-awareness campaign. And the best part... if you wish, an alternative route will be provided. But your decision to take it results in getting pulled over by some "alternate-universe, rogue, cleverly hidden" cop car . If you hadn't been scared shitless, they would have just waived you on through.
11) It's the obligation of any local dee jay or musician to play as loudly as humanly possible. If the people in attendance are not screaming at the top of their lungs, you have failed to provide an enjoyable atmosphere. When your head hits the pillow, if your ears are not ringing, the entertainment has been an abysmal, abject failure. We the locals need it amplified to the next level. I love it loud. Which brings me to the irony of #12...
12) We must sit in complete silence on our front porches and... just stare. Chain smoking cigarettes is widely encouraged. And it's also permissible to drink cheap, domestic canned beer. But of the utmost importance... ABSOLUTELY NO TALKING (with 2 minor exceptions... if a family member has been charged with a felony or misdemeanor and/or a family member just discovered she's pregnant or has decided to file for divorce).
13) There seems to be an unusual per capita number of weirdos with gaping holes in their earlobes. Yes, tattoos and piercings were part of the last forgotten Bush/Cheney decade. We need more youth with frisbee-sized disc openings in the ears. It's a matter of great pride and distinction. The bigger the hole, the more superior your act of rebellion. Do not bother expressing yourself through athletics or academics. Earlobe hole girth is all that matters.
14) When devising plans for a picnic lunch or park outing, quantity is of paramount importance. Variety is scoffed at. Why grill chicken or fish? It's all about the amount. We need MORE burgers, MORE hot dogs, MORE macaroni salad, MORE cheesy poofs. This will make it intrinsically better. We will never run out of average picnic food. This will make it a great day. We will have an endless supply of food. And this will make it much more fun.
15) We must wrap our entire identity around a specific brand of domestic beer. Bud, Bud Light, Miller Light, Coors Light, Rolling Rock and... drumroll please... the newest other possibility is now Yuengling. We have waited so long for the Yuengling to cometh. And now it hath arrived. Choose from only these selections, lest ye be labeled as a "fag beer" drinker.
Honorable mention: You must play the gambling machines in the back of the bar. The enclosed, smoke filled room will not be a deterrent. You must feed your social security check into the machine. Cherry, lemon, orange, starfuit, mango... these colorful representations of fruit are a source of inspiration. Ricky's college fund will be secure. The $5.00 bill I inserted will magically turn into $362.00. Then I cash-out at $80.00. And I will buy the entire bar Jagerbombs and be regarded as a hero. Little Ricky's educational dreams will take a backseat, until my triumphant return (tomorrow evening).
Sunday, August 07, 2011
2011 Debbie Green 5K... the Welling Smelling
I think I've ran the past four Debbie Green 5K's. This year the course was a little different. Some light uphill action during the first mile and then it flattened out. The humidity was pretty rough, but I did the thing in 26:46 (8:38/mile pace). I'm relatively content with that.
First, let me praise the people who put this thing on. They do a tremendous job. People have absolutely no idea how difficult it is to coordinate all the logistics. I checked out the website, the coverage on WTRF and WTOV and of course I read the article from this morning's Wheeling Intelligencer. They seemed to focus on the "sights" and "sounds" of the race. I'm going to take this opportunity to focus on the "smells." I've often heard the term "Wheeling Feeling." I will now introduce a a new term which is unlikely to gain traction. Let's drop the "h" and the "e" and add an "l"... whaddayaget??? The "Welling Smelling."
Just before the start I opted to line up in the front, just off to the right. Last time I got caught up in some flailing walkers and nearly tripped over a bunch of kids who decide to engage in an all out sprint for the first 1/4 mile. This yearly problem could easily be averted if you stagger the people into 3 separate groups. Runners, competitive walkers and then walkers. Regardless, it was pretty congested near the start line. A slight hint of B.O. wafted through the crowd. I'd define this particular scent as "elderly shirtless male with a slight hint of armpit and sternum."
So we rounded through the maze of the Wheeling business district (mostly parking lots and law offices). As we passed the police station, I could detect the faint smell of pork. Yeah I know... the pig reference is kind of weak, but I represent the only race entrant with the following perspective... strict kosher, self-hating, devout atheist, circumcised Jew.
As we ran up Chapline St., I detected a slight hint of cheap beer emanating from the breath of a flabby man seated on an apartment stoop. Somehow he was able to force feed himself a bag of Cheetos while simultaneously clutching a 7/11 Monster Gulp of Mountain Dew. As he launched into a spattering of errant applause, I witnessed actual particles of orange dust floating near his face. Each micron of artificial snack dust appeared timelessly suspended in mid-air, somehow in defiance of the laws of conventional gravity.
As we began the brief downhill descent onto Main street, I could see the Wheeling Intelligencer building in my sights. As I approached the Nutting fortress... KABOOM, it hit me. The first encounter with belligerent sewage. This one's the rough equivalent of the scent found in Morristown, Ohio on the final day of Jamboreee in the Hills. Yes, it's commonly referred to as the "acrid stench of incest" - shit, beer, piss, vomit, with just the slightest hint of tampon. It crushes you with this take no prisoners attitude. It begs the following question... What did the repeated homosexual prison rapes of Andy Dufrane in the Shawshank Redemption actually smell like? Well... look no further than the main entrance to the Wheeling Intelligencer.
As we ventured into Center Wheeling, I could see the 2 mile marker. We passed through the central market area and I smelled the notorious "Coleman's Alley." It's that tiny midway alley where the fish market employees travel back and forth. Hauling massive buckets filled with batter, these hair-netted women are metaphorically forced to "walk the plank." As the Pittsburgh Pirates descend into a potential 10 game losing streak, the best I can stammer is a lifeless "arrrggghhh." This scent reminds me of "the bottom of leaky kitchen trash can." Yes, inexpensive tall kitchen bag has failed yet again. It was only meant to serve as a trash bag for the discarded junk mail in a business office wastepaper basket. But some evil marketing executive decided to up the ante. Hence, it's improperly labeled as a "tall kitchen bag." And it desperately needs hosed out. At the bottom of the trash can is a combination of mildew, raw meat fat, dead insect and Ken's Ranch dressing surrounded by a tiny puddle of congealed merlot.
By now, I'm working up a good sweat. My shirt is soaked and I'm admittedly compounding this olfactory dilemma. As I round the corner by Lowes, I think I've died and gone to Jew heaven. I can finally see the light. It's glimmering in the distance. But alas! Lo and behold! It ain't Jesus Christ who wants to take my hand. Instead it's the Wheeling Sewage Treatment Plant and they want to take my shit! Yes, I've seen Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and his river of chocolate. But this is Wheeling and our blessed river consists of poop, sludge, murky diarrhea and Chesapeake Energy fracking chemicals. I've said it before and I'll say it again. There's good and there's not good. This is not good. It's reminiscent of the Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, where a million Muslims discard all their worldly possession (specifically deodorant, which the application of seems historically frowned upon by Muslims and Hindus for reasons I will never be able to accurately codify or quantify) and travel to the holy Temple Mount. This is where the stampedes take place. A thousand or so of the world's holiest, wealthiest Muslims, seeking eternal peace, calm and tranquility. Instead, they end up in twisted piles of human wreckage, the result of severe compression and crush asphyxiation. The lucky ones are trampled to death. Alright, this is getting a bit severe. I should probably tone it down. But hey, it's the internet, right? I've seen and read stuff that's far worse. Probably not from a Wheeling Feeling perspective though. Unless it's that "Wrath" buffoon who always posts on the Intelligencer website. To be honest, some of his comments are meaningful. I just can't stand the "to the far right of Palin" ideological take.
Suddenly, a group of hookers emerge from an alley near the remains of the My Club. They reek of inexpensive perfume and cheap vodka. Nope, not Popov. It originates from the shelf below. It's just a generic bottle named "Vodka Alcohol." Their youthful pimp smells like Mexican dirt weed. He casually glances at me without making eye contact. He points at his squadron of crack whores and nonchalantly says, "Hey man, you want some of this? Ten for a hand job, twenty for a blow. Can't BEAT 'dem prices on a Saturday night."
Alright! I've finished the race and gulp down an ice cold water and refreshing Pepsi. I'm exhausted yet satisfied. I zip to my car and grab a fresh shirt. I'm heading into the Wheeling Civic Center for some grub, compliments of Undo's and Dominos Pizza. They did a fantastic job with the set-up and execution. The lines were long, but they flowed effortlessly. But it was the final stench that took me aback. I was unprepared for something I'd call "Frigid B.O." I think they turned the thermostat to maximum Celsius aka the never-before utilized setting of "Top of Mt. Everest." It was like 2,000 human flavored perspiration popsicles. It did feel good though. It just didn't smell that great. Not sure how this problem could be addressed, unless you force everyone to strip down and hose them off with a soapy brush... You know, like the "smell Gestapo" in that episode of Seinfeld when everyone ends up smelling like B.O. from the valet parker. It wasn't B.O. It was B.B.O. It was Beyond B.O.
So I gather my plate of food and "Sherpa Saffy" makes his final journey... the steps of Wesbanco Arena (for some reason I think it's amusing they bought the naming rights). I wanted it to be the Wheeling Intelligencer, but I suspect it wasn't part of their business model. I just like the idea of saying, "Hey, let's go catch a Nailers game at "The Wheeling Intelligencer & The Wheeling New Register Arena!" Reminds me of the HSBC Arena in Buffalo. If you didn't already know, that one stands for "Hong Kong Shanghai Bank of China Arena." Kudos on the acquisition of those naming rights. I'm sure your company made out on that one. Banks these days are such noble, venerable institutions.
Regardless, it was a great race. Great cause. Fantastic job. I just wanted to offer my unusual take. Will I run it next year? Of course! I like the course!
First, let me praise the people who put this thing on. They do a tremendous job. People have absolutely no idea how difficult it is to coordinate all the logistics. I checked out the website, the coverage on WTRF and WTOV and of course I read the article from this morning's Wheeling Intelligencer. They seemed to focus on the "sights" and "sounds" of the race. I'm going to take this opportunity to focus on the "smells." I've often heard the term "Wheeling Feeling." I will now introduce a a new term which is unlikely to gain traction. Let's drop the "h" and the "e" and add an "l"... whaddayaget??? The "Welling Smelling."
Just before the start I opted to line up in the front, just off to the right. Last time I got caught up in some flailing walkers and nearly tripped over a bunch of kids who decide to engage in an all out sprint for the first 1/4 mile. This yearly problem could easily be averted if you stagger the people into 3 separate groups. Runners, competitive walkers and then walkers. Regardless, it was pretty congested near the start line. A slight hint of B.O. wafted through the crowd. I'd define this particular scent as "elderly shirtless male with a slight hint of armpit and sternum."
So we rounded through the maze of the Wheeling business district (mostly parking lots and law offices). As we passed the police station, I could detect the faint smell of pork. Yeah I know... the pig reference is kind of weak, but I represent the only race entrant with the following perspective... strict kosher, self-hating, devout atheist, circumcised Jew.
As we ran up Chapline St., I detected a slight hint of cheap beer emanating from the breath of a flabby man seated on an apartment stoop. Somehow he was able to force feed himself a bag of Cheetos while simultaneously clutching a 7/11 Monster Gulp of Mountain Dew. As he launched into a spattering of errant applause, I witnessed actual particles of orange dust floating near his face. Each micron of artificial snack dust appeared timelessly suspended in mid-air, somehow in defiance of the laws of conventional gravity.
As we began the brief downhill descent onto Main street, I could see the Wheeling Intelligencer building in my sights. As I approached the Nutting fortress... KABOOM, it hit me. The first encounter with belligerent sewage. This one's the rough equivalent of the scent found in Morristown, Ohio on the final day of Jamboreee in the Hills. Yes, it's commonly referred to as the "acrid stench of incest" - shit, beer, piss, vomit, with just the slightest hint of tampon. It crushes you with this take no prisoners attitude. It begs the following question... What did the repeated homosexual prison rapes of Andy Dufrane in the Shawshank Redemption actually smell like? Well... look no further than the main entrance to the Wheeling Intelligencer.
As we ventured into Center Wheeling, I could see the 2 mile marker. We passed through the central market area and I smelled the notorious "Coleman's Alley." It's that tiny midway alley where the fish market employees travel back and forth. Hauling massive buckets filled with batter, these hair-netted women are metaphorically forced to "walk the plank." As the Pittsburgh Pirates descend into a potential 10 game losing streak, the best I can stammer is a lifeless "arrrggghhh." This scent reminds me of "the bottom of leaky kitchen trash can." Yes, inexpensive tall kitchen bag has failed yet again. It was only meant to serve as a trash bag for the discarded junk mail in a business office wastepaper basket. But some evil marketing executive decided to up the ante. Hence, it's improperly labeled as a "tall kitchen bag." And it desperately needs hosed out. At the bottom of the trash can is a combination of mildew, raw meat fat, dead insect and Ken's Ranch dressing surrounded by a tiny puddle of congealed merlot.
By now, I'm working up a good sweat. My shirt is soaked and I'm admittedly compounding this olfactory dilemma. As I round the corner by Lowes, I think I've died and gone to Jew heaven. I can finally see the light. It's glimmering in the distance. But alas! Lo and behold! It ain't Jesus Christ who wants to take my hand. Instead it's the Wheeling Sewage Treatment Plant and they want to take my shit! Yes, I've seen Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and his river of chocolate. But this is Wheeling and our blessed river consists of poop, sludge, murky diarrhea and Chesapeake Energy fracking chemicals. I've said it before and I'll say it again. There's good and there's not good. This is not good. It's reminiscent of the Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, where a million Muslims discard all their worldly possession (specifically deodorant, which the application of seems historically frowned upon by Muslims and Hindus for reasons I will never be able to accurately codify or quantify) and travel to the holy Temple Mount. This is where the stampedes take place. A thousand or so of the world's holiest, wealthiest Muslims, seeking eternal peace, calm and tranquility. Instead, they end up in twisted piles of human wreckage, the result of severe compression and crush asphyxiation. The lucky ones are trampled to death. Alright, this is getting a bit severe. I should probably tone it down. But hey, it's the internet, right? I've seen and read stuff that's far worse. Probably not from a Wheeling Feeling perspective though. Unless it's that "Wrath" buffoon who always posts on the Intelligencer website. To be honest, some of his comments are meaningful. I just can't stand the "to the far right of Palin" ideological take.
Suddenly, a group of hookers emerge from an alley near the remains of the My Club. They reek of inexpensive perfume and cheap vodka. Nope, not Popov. It originates from the shelf below. It's just a generic bottle named "Vodka Alcohol." Their youthful pimp smells like Mexican dirt weed. He casually glances at me without making eye contact. He points at his squadron of crack whores and nonchalantly says, "Hey man, you want some of this? Ten for a hand job, twenty for a blow. Can't BEAT 'dem prices on a Saturday night."
Alright! I've finished the race and gulp down an ice cold water and refreshing Pepsi. I'm exhausted yet satisfied. I zip to my car and grab a fresh shirt. I'm heading into the Wheeling Civic Center for some grub, compliments of Undo's and Dominos Pizza. They did a fantastic job with the set-up and execution. The lines were long, but they flowed effortlessly. But it was the final stench that took me aback. I was unprepared for something I'd call "Frigid B.O." I think they turned the thermostat to maximum Celsius aka the never-before utilized setting of "Top of Mt. Everest." It was like 2,000 human flavored perspiration popsicles. It did feel good though. It just didn't smell that great. Not sure how this problem could be addressed, unless you force everyone to strip down and hose them off with a soapy brush... You know, like the "smell Gestapo" in that episode of Seinfeld when everyone ends up smelling like B.O. from the valet parker. It wasn't B.O. It was B.B.O. It was Beyond B.O.
So I gather my plate of food and "Sherpa Saffy" makes his final journey... the steps of Wesbanco Arena (for some reason I think it's amusing they bought the naming rights). I wanted it to be the Wheeling Intelligencer, but I suspect it wasn't part of their business model. I just like the idea of saying, "Hey, let's go catch a Nailers game at "The Wheeling Intelligencer & The Wheeling New Register Arena!" Reminds me of the HSBC Arena in Buffalo. If you didn't already know, that one stands for "Hong Kong Shanghai Bank of China Arena." Kudos on the acquisition of those naming rights. I'm sure your company made out on that one. Banks these days are such noble, venerable institutions.
Regardless, it was a great race. Great cause. Fantastic job. I just wanted to offer my unusual take. Will I run it next year? Of course! I like the course!
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Wheeling Park Dance Revisited 2011
Having attended the Park Dance Revisited last night and the inaugural one from last year, I think I have a pretty good perspective. Not many people know this but I used to deejay the Park dances back in the summer of 1986. I would spin records downstairs and the WOMP FM guy would work the ballroom upstairs. Lacking any real scratching or mixing talent, I'd pretty much just play the hits of the day (stuff like Prince's "Kiss", Aerosmith/Run DMC's ill-advised, overplayed rendition of "Walk This Way" and Bananarama's "Venus" come to mind as they would evoke girlish shrieks of delight from the crowd). But I'd also play Judas Priest, Metallica, Dokken, etc. which would quickly drive most kids running for the steps. Yet I did have a small legion of devoted metalheads who praised my commitment to headbanging. I wouldn't say I was their superhero. Perhaps the equivalent of the androgynous male Wonder-Twin or their chimpanzee cohort is more like it.
The renewal of the Park Dance was a tremendous idea conjured up and executed by Tim Boudreau and several others. Considering it's a benefit for local veterans and a light-hearted social mixer for locals, I believe it to be a win-win. My only request is that a few of the old-timers hit the 9th hole of the Wheeling Puke golf course for sexual intercourse and illegal narcotics. That would add a vital new dimension to its soul. We could even station a modern day look-a-like of "Joe the Park Ranger" to scare off trespassers who would violate the sanctity of the woods.
Considering that there were around 1,500 people at this thing, they really need to host it INSIDE the White Palace. Yes, I realize they had a wedding booked for the upstairs ballroom, but the Park Commission needs to clear the inside for this one day. I would suggest throwing 80's music on the ice rink, 70's music on the main floor and 60's music in the upstairs. Have three separate dee jays and decorate each level accordingly. Since it's a benefit, I think you'd find 3 that are willing to provide their services for free. Maybe that guy named DJ TACO could enter the fray. Perhaps I could resume my career and be known as SONofSPIN or something relatively uninspired. Plus, each level would be like walking through an era. And you could have best costumes for each decade.
And you really need to lower the volume level accordingly. I must be the only one who finds it annoying that you have to scream at the top of your lungs to establish verbal contact. If it's too loud for me at age 41, I can't fathom how disturbing it is for people in their 60's. Seriously, this drives people AWAY from future events. The White Palace is an interesting structure. Why not use it? I'm sure the Park commission could withstand the revenue drop from one night.
Even though I didn't eat anything, the vendors looked decent. Jepsonian had a pulled pork sandwich which he described as "very meaty." And OMP fulfilled my dreams by consuming a Dickie's dog. An aptly named hot dog. My only suggestion would be to call it "Dickey's Diggetty Dog." I think this would appeal to Wheelingites far and wide, not to mention the re-burgeoning NASCAR populace. Maintaining a strict kosher diet isn't always easy as it steers me clear of such culinary delights. Perhaps if a rabbi were on hand to properly salt and bless the aforementioned meats, my views would change.
Speaking of rabbis, I usually adorn the pedophile tag on Catholic priests, but I recently had a revolting revelation of religilous shit that entered my head. I wonder if there's a subset of sadistic moils who garner sexual gratification from hearing the cries of a week old baby that gets circumcised. I went to one of those "ceremonies" when I was about 14 or 15. The kid was screaming at the top of his lungs as the moil hovers over him with a Ginsu and this deranged look of spiritual satisfaction. Meanwhile the parents are celebrating, drinking shots of some top shelf rye-whiskey. That bizarre contrast is something etched in my head for eternity. Not kewl.
Honestly though, I rarely eat anything at these types of vendor/county fair events. I'll usually go hungry and eat something later. Last night, I devoured the final slices of roast beef from the Jenn/Justin wedding around 2am.
The beer lines seemed to flow much better this year, even though I customarily don't drink draft beer. And if I do, it's never Bud or Bud Light. I prefer to bring my own bottled wine - this time it was a cheap merlot in the traditional Nestle's water bottle. Did i feel a pang of guilt when I crossed through the cardboard sign that read "Absolutely no alcohol beyond this point?" Well... not really. I did like the fact that someone chose to utilize the word "absolutely" though. I might use this in the future... "I want an absolutely free ticket." Makes a bolder statement and encourages some light banter.
So what was the highlight??? For me, it was the authentic 2002 Jamboree in the Hills purple wrist bands providing evidence of paid admission. I like the idea that someone, somewhere resurrected a stack of Jambo wristbands for the Park Dance. Seriously though, I give mad props to everyone who put in all the behind the scenes work. Fortunately, the weather was cooperative, but they really need to look into the possibility of using the actual White Palace. Isn't that what the park dances were all about? Well... except for the rival high school fights and the deflowering of virgins on the 9th hole. And did anyone see the two cops that wandered through the ice skating rink? Just how old were those guys? 18? 19? I do not know. They really should have parked that "OHIO COUNTY DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY CENTRAL COMMAND STATION" monster RV outside the White Palace. Instead all we got was a limo parked near the steps. I was honestly tempted to pull up right behind the limo and pop the hatch of the SubarJew and commence my own tailgating. Why would I find this so appealing? Probably because most people would find it so upsetting.
Honestly though, did anyone see that nonsensical RV at the Italian Festival? What the fuck is that colossal monstrosity? What does it do? How much did it cost? What a fucking complete waste! The thought of Janet Napolitano lounging in the mid-section of that Winnebago gripping a wine-spritzer while some minion feeds her cheese and grapes is pretty revolting. I'm not sure what sickens me more, our beloved Homeland Security Director or the mammoth RV. It reminds me of the unstoppable "monster train" from that one Speed Racer episode. Napolitano just reminds me of a monster of gargoyle-like origins.
One last thought about the Park Dance revisited. For next year, I would suggest a flash mob afterwards in the Wheeling Park pool. If orchestrated properly, it would get national exposure. Wouldn't that be completely bad ass? You can't stop a crowd of 1,000+ (well, except maybe with help from the local Dept. of Homeland Security RV). And what if everyone dove in naked and started splashing all over the place? Dare to dream...
The renewal of the Park Dance was a tremendous idea conjured up and executed by Tim Boudreau and several others. Considering it's a benefit for local veterans and a light-hearted social mixer for locals, I believe it to be a win-win. My only request is that a few of the old-timers hit the 9th hole of the Wheeling Puke golf course for sexual intercourse and illegal narcotics. That would add a vital new dimension to its soul. We could even station a modern day look-a-like of "Joe the Park Ranger" to scare off trespassers who would violate the sanctity of the woods.
Considering that there were around 1,500 people at this thing, they really need to host it INSIDE the White Palace. Yes, I realize they had a wedding booked for the upstairs ballroom, but the Park Commission needs to clear the inside for this one day. I would suggest throwing 80's music on the ice rink, 70's music on the main floor and 60's music in the upstairs. Have three separate dee jays and decorate each level accordingly. Since it's a benefit, I think you'd find 3 that are willing to provide their services for free. Maybe that guy named DJ TACO could enter the fray. Perhaps I could resume my career and be known as SONofSPIN or something relatively uninspired. Plus, each level would be like walking through an era. And you could have best costumes for each decade.
And you really need to lower the volume level accordingly. I must be the only one who finds it annoying that you have to scream at the top of your lungs to establish verbal contact. If it's too loud for me at age 41, I can't fathom how disturbing it is for people in their 60's. Seriously, this drives people AWAY from future events. The White Palace is an interesting structure. Why not use it? I'm sure the Park commission could withstand the revenue drop from one night.
Even though I didn't eat anything, the vendors looked decent. Jepsonian had a pulled pork sandwich which he described as "very meaty." And OMP fulfilled my dreams by consuming a Dickie's dog. An aptly named hot dog. My only suggestion would be to call it "Dickey's Diggetty Dog." I think this would appeal to Wheelingites far and wide, not to mention the re-burgeoning NASCAR populace. Maintaining a strict kosher diet isn't always easy as it steers me clear of such culinary delights. Perhaps if a rabbi were on hand to properly salt and bless the aforementioned meats, my views would change.
Speaking of rabbis, I usually adorn the pedophile tag on Catholic priests, but I recently had a revolting revelation of religilous shit that entered my head. I wonder if there's a subset of sadistic moils who garner sexual gratification from hearing the cries of a week old baby that gets circumcised. I went to one of those "ceremonies" when I was about 14 or 15. The kid was screaming at the top of his lungs as the moil hovers over him with a Ginsu and this deranged look of spiritual satisfaction. Meanwhile the parents are celebrating, drinking shots of some top shelf rye-whiskey. That bizarre contrast is something etched in my head for eternity. Not kewl.
Honestly though, I rarely eat anything at these types of vendor/county fair events. I'll usually go hungry and eat something later. Last night, I devoured the final slices of roast beef from the Jenn/Justin wedding around 2am.
The beer lines seemed to flow much better this year, even though I customarily don't drink draft beer. And if I do, it's never Bud or Bud Light. I prefer to bring my own bottled wine - this time it was a cheap merlot in the traditional Nestle's water bottle. Did i feel a pang of guilt when I crossed through the cardboard sign that read "Absolutely no alcohol beyond this point?" Well... not really. I did like the fact that someone chose to utilize the word "absolutely" though. I might use this in the future... "I want an absolutely free ticket." Makes a bolder statement and encourages some light banter.
So what was the highlight??? For me, it was the authentic 2002 Jamboree in the Hills purple wrist bands providing evidence of paid admission. I like the idea that someone, somewhere resurrected a stack of Jambo wristbands for the Park Dance. Seriously though, I give mad props to everyone who put in all the behind the scenes work. Fortunately, the weather was cooperative, but they really need to look into the possibility of using the actual White Palace. Isn't that what the park dances were all about? Well... except for the rival high school fights and the deflowering of virgins on the 9th hole. And did anyone see the two cops that wandered through the ice skating rink? Just how old were those guys? 18? 19? I do not know. They really should have parked that "OHIO COUNTY DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY CENTRAL COMMAND STATION" monster RV outside the White Palace. Instead all we got was a limo parked near the steps. I was honestly tempted to pull up right behind the limo and pop the hatch of the SubarJew and commence my own tailgating. Why would I find this so appealing? Probably because most people would find it so upsetting.
Honestly though, did anyone see that nonsensical RV at the Italian Festival? What the fuck is that colossal monstrosity? What does it do? How much did it cost? What a fucking complete waste! The thought of Janet Napolitano lounging in the mid-section of that Winnebago gripping a wine-spritzer while some minion feeds her cheese and grapes is pretty revolting. I'm not sure what sickens me more, our beloved Homeland Security Director or the mammoth RV. It reminds me of the unstoppable "monster train" from that one Speed Racer episode. Napolitano just reminds me of a monster of gargoyle-like origins.
One last thought about the Park Dance revisited. For next year, I would suggest a flash mob afterwards in the Wheeling Park pool. If orchestrated properly, it would get national exposure. Wouldn't that be completely bad ass? You can't stop a crowd of 1,000+ (well, except maybe with help from the local Dept. of Homeland Security RV). And what if everyone dove in naked and started splashing all over the place? Dare to dream...
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
U Tuesday
I originally had a concert a review in my head for last night's big show. Kind of lame, but kind of cool. Kind of weak, but kind of strong. Kind of pretentious, but kind of slick. Etc. blah. But it didn't turn out like that. I'll start from the beginning.
I zipped up to meet Gig for the big Heinz Field show last night. A 5 car accident at the Hazlett St. exit near McKnight had me a little worried as traffic came to a complete stop on 279N. But it picked up after 15 minutes or so... so no big deal. So armed with the obligatory water bottles filed with red and white wine (cab and chardonnay) we headed down to the PNC lot to hook up with some friends for some tailgating action. I have made the determination that any wine with the word "OAK" in the title is the maximum allowable expense ($4.00 to $5.00 range) for concert libation purposes. Especially since the consumption mode originated via one time-used Nestle plastic water bottle. Kudos to Walmart for 35 bottles for $4.35 or whatever they charge for the monster water package.
As always, I had my sign ready to go (I use the cardboard from the underside of the water - you see, Scalping Jew uses all of the components, much like his Indian ancestors used every part of the buffalo, just like his Apache ancestors). I used to say I was 1/10 Iriquois, but I'm pretty sure the Iriquois were more centrally located in the U.S. Apache sounds like the better tribe anyway. More belligerent and warlike. Jam on it!
Having paid a small fortune for tickets, our fellow tailgaters weren't too amused with my sign for this evening's festivities...
IF YOU GIVE ME A FREE TICKET
I WON'T MAKE FUN OF YOU FOR PAYING $269.00
So Gig and I made a trek down to the main gate area on our usual quest for freebies. As I expected, tickets were everywhere.
A. It was an off night - a Tuesday.
B. They announced this concert and put the tickets on sale about 11 months ago. Way to build the hype, Bono.
C. And Pittsburgh just doesn't have the local attendance draw of the cities like Chicago and Boston for football stadium shows.
I expected a crowd of about 44,000 - about 2/3 full. The crowd ended up being much larger - I'd guess around 55,000. Heinz Field capacity is 65,500 and I think they added more seats this year. Not quite sure how many - I'll have to look into that.
Regardless, Gig got a free ticket from some drunk dude who dropped his cell phone. And about 1 minute later I asked this guy if he had any extras and he gave me a 500 level comp ticket. I also asked one other guy before this, but he probably was looking for cash. So we asked a grand total of 3 people and secured 2 free tickets. It took us about 9 minutes and a 1/2 mile of walking. I would call his minimal effort. We never even made it to the main gate. The sign never came into play so I left it sticking out of the bushes. In my dream world, someone else will find the sign and use it to secure freebies. Once again, visible evidence of my Indian/Jew ancestry.
We headed back to the tailgate which was mildly raging. Around 8pm, we headed down to the Gate A entrance and stood on some kind of "pool lifeguard - deer stand - people watcher" contraption. A perfect source of "elevation" - an omen of a song we'd hear later that night. To be honest, I checked the set list from the previous few nights. Ours was similar but not exact - I like the fact that they mix things up a little. Kind of surprising considering they must synchronize the lighting with impromptu song choices for this elaborate, futuristic stage show.
While up on our perch, we snagged 2 additional tickets for our some new found friends below (some guy walking his dog and some other "Guido sounding" dude with a large patch of expertly exposed chest hair in various states of growth. We suggested the one guy pretend to use his dog as a seeing eye dog, but I doubt he followed up on that suggestion. I suppose it could have worked. I think the ultimate achievement would be to get one of those St. Bernard dogs and fill up his dangling thermos (as in the old-school Bugs Bunny cartoons) with scotch or whiskey. Then, you have your drinks for the evening.
Truth be told, the last thing we needed was more drinks. So we snagged an empty block of seats on the lower level. The background David Bowie selection of "Major Tom" effortlessly segued into a surprisingly strong rendition of "Even Better Than The Real Thing." Then I think it was "The Fly", "Mysterious Ways" and maybe "I Will Follow" - very cool energy level. About 4 songs in, some of the people in our row showed up for their seats. There was still sufficient room but I was overcome with a tremendous sense of guilt for "stealing" the seats near them. So we walked to the top of the stadium and hung out in the end zone bleacher seats for most of the show. These were pretty decent because they offered the entire view, with the city skyline serving as a more visible backdrop. We eventually made our way back down to the first level for the last 10 tunes.
And the stage show was really impressive. I've seen some strong stadium presentations - Stones at PNC, Floyd at Three Rivers and other venues, the usual Kiss theatrics, but this one was really over the top without seeming obnoxious. And I've seen some elaborate productions in smaller venues, like Alice Cooper, King Diamond and that ilk. But this one was definitely near or at the top. U2 really gave the crowd their monies worth. Well, maybe if you weren't one of the suckers who paid $269 for the best seats. Ohhh, and I forgot, you also had to eat an additional 2 tickets because Uncle Ray blew all his money at the gambling parlor and Aunt Brittany couldn't find a babysitter on such short notice. Hey, she only had an 11 month heads up. Ouch! All in all, I'd have to say that U Tuesday was a "Good." And they even closed with a heartfelt rendition of "Bad." Sorry if you missed this one. Then again, it was wing night at the Alpha.
Honestly, the show wasn't just "good" - I'd rank it somewhere between "Very Good to Excellent." High praise indeed.
I zipped up to meet Gig for the big Heinz Field show last night. A 5 car accident at the Hazlett St. exit near McKnight had me a little worried as traffic came to a complete stop on 279N. But it picked up after 15 minutes or so... so no big deal. So armed with the obligatory water bottles filed with red and white wine (cab and chardonnay) we headed down to the PNC lot to hook up with some friends for some tailgating action. I have made the determination that any wine with the word "OAK" in the title is the maximum allowable expense ($4.00 to $5.00 range) for concert libation purposes. Especially since the consumption mode originated via one time-used Nestle plastic water bottle. Kudos to Walmart for 35 bottles for $4.35 or whatever they charge for the monster water package.
As always, I had my sign ready to go (I use the cardboard from the underside of the water - you see, Scalping Jew uses all of the components, much like his Indian ancestors used every part of the buffalo, just like his Apache ancestors). I used to say I was 1/10 Iriquois, but I'm pretty sure the Iriquois were more centrally located in the U.S. Apache sounds like the better tribe anyway. More belligerent and warlike. Jam on it!
Having paid a small fortune for tickets, our fellow tailgaters weren't too amused with my sign for this evening's festivities...
IF YOU GIVE ME A FREE TICKET
I WON'T MAKE FUN OF YOU FOR PAYING $269.00
So Gig and I made a trek down to the main gate area on our usual quest for freebies. As I expected, tickets were everywhere.
A. It was an off night - a Tuesday.
B. They announced this concert and put the tickets on sale about 11 months ago. Way to build the hype, Bono.
C. And Pittsburgh just doesn't have the local attendance draw of the cities like Chicago and Boston for football stadium shows.
I expected a crowd of about 44,000 - about 2/3 full. The crowd ended up being much larger - I'd guess around 55,000. Heinz Field capacity is 65,500 and I think they added more seats this year. Not quite sure how many - I'll have to look into that.
Regardless, Gig got a free ticket from some drunk dude who dropped his cell phone. And about 1 minute later I asked this guy if he had any extras and he gave me a 500 level comp ticket. I also asked one other guy before this, but he probably was looking for cash. So we asked a grand total of 3 people and secured 2 free tickets. It took us about 9 minutes and a 1/2 mile of walking. I would call his minimal effort. We never even made it to the main gate. The sign never came into play so I left it sticking out of the bushes. In my dream world, someone else will find the sign and use it to secure freebies. Once again, visible evidence of my Indian/Jew ancestry.
We headed back to the tailgate which was mildly raging. Around 8pm, we headed down to the Gate A entrance and stood on some kind of "pool lifeguard - deer stand - people watcher" contraption. A perfect source of "elevation" - an omen of a song we'd hear later that night. To be honest, I checked the set list from the previous few nights. Ours was similar but not exact - I like the fact that they mix things up a little. Kind of surprising considering they must synchronize the lighting with impromptu song choices for this elaborate, futuristic stage show.
While up on our perch, we snagged 2 additional tickets for our some new found friends below (some guy walking his dog and some other "Guido sounding" dude with a large patch of expertly exposed chest hair in various states of growth. We suggested the one guy pretend to use his dog as a seeing eye dog, but I doubt he followed up on that suggestion. I suppose it could have worked. I think the ultimate achievement would be to get one of those St. Bernard dogs and fill up his dangling thermos (as in the old-school Bugs Bunny cartoons) with scotch or whiskey. Then, you have your drinks for the evening.
Truth be told, the last thing we needed was more drinks. So we snagged an empty block of seats on the lower level. The background David Bowie selection of "Major Tom" effortlessly segued into a surprisingly strong rendition of "Even Better Than The Real Thing." Then I think it was "The Fly", "Mysterious Ways" and maybe "I Will Follow" - very cool energy level. About 4 songs in, some of the people in our row showed up for their seats. There was still sufficient room but I was overcome with a tremendous sense of guilt for "stealing" the seats near them. So we walked to the top of the stadium and hung out in the end zone bleacher seats for most of the show. These were pretty decent because they offered the entire view, with the city skyline serving as a more visible backdrop. We eventually made our way back down to the first level for the last 10 tunes.
And the stage show was really impressive. I've seen some strong stadium presentations - Stones at PNC, Floyd at Three Rivers and other venues, the usual Kiss theatrics, but this one was really over the top without seeming obnoxious. And I've seen some elaborate productions in smaller venues, like Alice Cooper, King Diamond and that ilk. But this one was definitely near or at the top. U2 really gave the crowd their monies worth. Well, maybe if you weren't one of the suckers who paid $269 for the best seats. Ohhh, and I forgot, you also had to eat an additional 2 tickets because Uncle Ray blew all his money at the gambling parlor and Aunt Brittany couldn't find a babysitter on such short notice. Hey, she only had an 11 month heads up. Ouch! All in all, I'd have to say that U Tuesday was a "Good." And they even closed with a heartfelt rendition of "Bad." Sorry if you missed this one. Then again, it was wing night at the Alpha.
Honestly, the show wasn't just "good" - I'd rank it somewhere between "Very Good to Excellent." High praise indeed.
Friday, July 15, 2011
This one guy at Jamboree
Has anyone encountered this guy at Jamboree? He's some guy in his mid 20's wearing cut-off jeans drinking Budweiser cans. He walks around trying to strike up a conversation with anyone who will give him the time of day. I'll award him with the fictitious name of Tyler Austin. Nothing beats a multiple redundant name based on cities in the great state of Texas. I neglected to mention - his middle name is either Houston or Dallas. Does it really matter?
Anyway this guy needs to get something off his chest. He's word about the "integrity" of Jamboree in the Hills. He's tired of this new breed of pop country musicians. Although only 24, he needs to convey his longing for all the old-timers. You know, the good ol' days of country music. When it was just a man and his guitar. It was a time when a cowboy hat, meant something. Just because you wear a cowboy hat doesn't mean you ever rode a bull. "Where's Boxcar Willie? Now that's real country music. All this new breed of sugar-coated country performers is for high school girls and na't. Damn-it! We need to put the "country" back in country music. I'm tired of all the fancy videos and pretty boys!
Tyler Austin, although he would never realize it, reminds me of 2 other types of subhumans from distinct backgrounds. First and foremost, he reminds me of the born again dumbshit who's always clamoring that "we need to put the Christ back into Christmas!" We've heard it all before. There's hardly a shortage in them in the WV northern panhandle. They yammer incessantly about the commercialization of their beloved holiday. We need to get back to the bible and its teachings. It's about so much more than the covering the living room floor with presents and singing songs about some florescent antelope. I must now spontaneously recite the Pledge of Allegiance and sing God Bless America before I tune in the old Nascar race.
Tyler Austin also reminds me of this guy at a bachelor party. He's relatively bright guy, kind of a socially awkward nerd. Hardly offensive though. But this guy has a niche. A strategy, if you will. He's going to hit on the girls at the strip club. We'll call him Xavier. And the conversation goes something like this.
Xavier is sitting at the bar. One of the relatively attractive dancers approaches Xavier. She acts shy at first but slowly steps up the pressure. As she starts grinding on him, asking if he wants a private lap dance, Xavier beckons, "Ohhh, you're soooo beautiful. You know, you don't have to do this!" the stripper doesn't know what to make of this. All she wants is a $20 bill for a lap dance. But he carries on, "Don't you know how degrading this is? You can do sooo much better." This back and forth carries on for a while, until the woman becomes thoroughly disgusted and gives up. For the love of god, she's trying to make some cash and you're wasting her time. This ain't a church bake sale, dumbass.
Tyler Austin, preacher man and Xavier all have one thing in common. Someone needs to explain to them - "Hey man, you're really annoying the living fuck out everyone. Stop using that same, tired refrain. Try to come up with a new routinel. Yes, I realize this material has worked for you in the past. But it's not because people agree with you. They just nod in accordance so you will shut the fuck up. Hopefully, you'll just wander away. You're just a splinter group of those people who only discuss the weather or why the damn guvmint's the problem."
Anyway this guy needs to get something off his chest. He's word about the "integrity" of Jamboree in the Hills. He's tired of this new breed of pop country musicians. Although only 24, he needs to convey his longing for all the old-timers. You know, the good ol' days of country music. When it was just a man and his guitar. It was a time when a cowboy hat, meant something. Just because you wear a cowboy hat doesn't mean you ever rode a bull. "Where's Boxcar Willie? Now that's real country music. All this new breed of sugar-coated country performers is for high school girls and na't. Damn-it! We need to put the "country" back in country music. I'm tired of all the fancy videos and pretty boys!
Tyler Austin, although he would never realize it, reminds me of 2 other types of subhumans from distinct backgrounds. First and foremost, he reminds me of the born again dumbshit who's always clamoring that "we need to put the Christ back into Christmas!" We've heard it all before. There's hardly a shortage in them in the WV northern panhandle. They yammer incessantly about the commercialization of their beloved holiday. We need to get back to the bible and its teachings. It's about so much more than the covering the living room floor with presents and singing songs about some florescent antelope. I must now spontaneously recite the Pledge of Allegiance and sing God Bless America before I tune in the old Nascar race.
Tyler Austin also reminds me of this guy at a bachelor party. He's relatively bright guy, kind of a socially awkward nerd. Hardly offensive though. But this guy has a niche. A strategy, if you will. He's going to hit on the girls at the strip club. We'll call him Xavier. And the conversation goes something like this.
Xavier is sitting at the bar. One of the relatively attractive dancers approaches Xavier. She acts shy at first but slowly steps up the pressure. As she starts grinding on him, asking if he wants a private lap dance, Xavier beckons, "Ohhh, you're soooo beautiful. You know, you don't have to do this!" the stripper doesn't know what to make of this. All she wants is a $20 bill for a lap dance. But he carries on, "Don't you know how degrading this is? You can do sooo much better." This back and forth carries on for a while, until the woman becomes thoroughly disgusted and gives up. For the love of god, she's trying to make some cash and you're wasting her time. This ain't a church bake sale, dumbass.
Tyler Austin, preacher man and Xavier all have one thing in common. Someone needs to explain to them - "Hey man, you're really annoying the living fuck out everyone. Stop using that same, tired refrain. Try to come up with a new routinel. Yes, I realize this material has worked for you in the past. But it's not because people agree with you. They just nod in accordance so you will shut the fuck up. Hopefully, you'll just wander away. You're just a splinter group of those people who only discuss the weather or why the damn guvmint's the problem."
Monday, July 11, 2011
jambo debate
I'm debating whether or not to attend Jamboree in the Hills this year - aka the "Acrid Stench of Incest." I might head out on Thursday for a little but am unusually indifferent. I think the main idea is just to avoid Sunday (that's when the stench is particularly brutal). Maybe I'll head out. I do not know. At this point, I do not care.
But I do have an intriguing idea. I was considering posting a comment on facebook - preferably on Steve N's page. It would read...
Eric Saferstein > Steve N
Steve,
I can't believe that Wheeling Island Casino is accepting wagers on the "death count" at Jamboree in the Hills this year. Apparently, they set the line at -1.5 bodies. This is truly abhorrent. You really need to look into this.
Eric
O-tay. First the obvious admission. There is no official "death count" although I do like the line of 1 1/2. I think 1.5 is a pretty reasonable estimate. Secondly, choosing Steve for this sick experiment is kind of brutal. It's just that he has the broadest scope and seemingly largest base of local facebook friends. Plus, he often likes to address controversial topics. This would unfairly piss him off.
But of course this is complete nonsense. Or is it? Depending on how its phrased, I think a few people out there in internet land would fall for it. Plus, I like the idea of condemning Jambo and the casino all in one post. But here's the real crux of it. Without fail, every year the WTOV9 broadcasters harp on and on about how flawlessly everything went at Jambo. The cunt-tree performers were spectacular! The production was immaculate! The fans were rowdy but well-behaved!
Fuck all of this. I think this thing's a compete disaster every year. Why do they lie about it? And why doesn't anyone ever challenge these falsehoods? Here's the REAL tally of what transpired.
18 DUI's.
87 misdemeanor assault charges
17 felony assault charges
2 rapes
about a dozen unreported rapes
38 underage drinking citations
22 drug possession charges
20 indecent exposure charges (mostly urinating on hillsides, next to port-a-jons).
and there's a list of obstruction charges and tons of other shit that make the Wheeling Today section resemble a kindergarten picnic. My point - things didn't go as smoothly as they claimed. There's plenty of fall out from this drunken debauchery/festival of squalor. Some peoples lives are completely devastated during the week long "escapade in excrement." That's really what they should call it.
Regardless, I like the idea of a "death count" at Jambo. I think 1.5 is a realistic estimate. But I couldn't go through with the facebook posting experiment because that Rusty guy died last year. I didn't know him that well but he seemed pleasant. We'd usually do one of those brief acknowledgements (Hey, what's up? how's it going? etc.). So I won't do it. Although I do think it's a good idea because it broaches a wider discussion. And that is the ugly truth of Jambo. This shit is much more than drunken fun. It often destroys lives. Of course, that destruction could be deemed a good thing because it helps weed out the undesirables.
More than just... Ohhh, we got so fucked up! We had a blast. Uncle Ray made a cooler out of a toilet on wheels. It was so much fun. This fat guy was offering free lap dances! They kept on squirting Kayla in her boobies! And Toby Keith rocked the house! He got the audience singing during "I Love This Bar!" He had them all yelling "I love this crowd" instead. How clever. Lest I forget, the endless sunburned displays of patriotism drenched in cheap beer.
Like I'm saying, the above nonsense is just that. Worthless blather. However, plenty of horrific things do go down. Think about it whenever the announcers say what a "great time everyone had." Can't wait til next year. We'll boot scoot boogie til the break of dawn. As far as the death count this year... I'll take the OVER. I'm guessing 2 fatalities.
But I do have an intriguing idea. I was considering posting a comment on facebook - preferably on Steve N's page. It would read...
Eric Saferstein > Steve N
Steve,
I can't believe that Wheeling Island Casino is accepting wagers on the "death count" at Jamboree in the Hills this year. Apparently, they set the line at -1.5 bodies. This is truly abhorrent. You really need to look into this.
Eric
O-tay. First the obvious admission. There is no official "death count" although I do like the line of 1 1/2. I think 1.5 is a pretty reasonable estimate. Secondly, choosing Steve for this sick experiment is kind of brutal. It's just that he has the broadest scope and seemingly largest base of local facebook friends. Plus, he often likes to address controversial topics. This would unfairly piss him off.
But of course this is complete nonsense. Or is it? Depending on how its phrased, I think a few people out there in internet land would fall for it. Plus, I like the idea of condemning Jambo and the casino all in one post. But here's the real crux of it. Without fail, every year the WTOV9 broadcasters harp on and on about how flawlessly everything went at Jambo. The cunt-tree performers were spectacular! The production was immaculate! The fans were rowdy but well-behaved!
Fuck all of this. I think this thing's a compete disaster every year. Why do they lie about it? And why doesn't anyone ever challenge these falsehoods? Here's the REAL tally of what transpired.
18 DUI's.
87 misdemeanor assault charges
17 felony assault charges
2 rapes
about a dozen unreported rapes
38 underage drinking citations
22 drug possession charges
20 indecent exposure charges (mostly urinating on hillsides, next to port-a-jons).
and there's a list of obstruction charges and tons of other shit that make the Wheeling Today section resemble a kindergarten picnic. My point - things didn't go as smoothly as they claimed. There's plenty of fall out from this drunken debauchery/festival of squalor. Some peoples lives are completely devastated during the week long "escapade in excrement." That's really what they should call it.
Regardless, I like the idea of a "death count" at Jambo. I think 1.5 is a realistic estimate. But I couldn't go through with the facebook posting experiment because that Rusty guy died last year. I didn't know him that well but he seemed pleasant. We'd usually do one of those brief acknowledgements (Hey, what's up? how's it going? etc.). So I won't do it. Although I do think it's a good idea because it broaches a wider discussion. And that is the ugly truth of Jambo. This shit is much more than drunken fun. It often destroys lives. Of course, that destruction could be deemed a good thing because it helps weed out the undesirables.
More than just... Ohhh, we got so fucked up! We had a blast. Uncle Ray made a cooler out of a toilet on wheels. It was so much fun. This fat guy was offering free lap dances! They kept on squirting Kayla in her boobies! And Toby Keith rocked the house! He got the audience singing during "I Love This Bar!" He had them all yelling "I love this crowd" instead. How clever. Lest I forget, the endless sunburned displays of patriotism drenched in cheap beer.
Like I'm saying, the above nonsense is just that. Worthless blather. However, plenty of horrific things do go down. Think about it whenever the announcers say what a "great time everyone had." Can't wait til next year. We'll boot scoot boogie til the break of dawn. As far as the death count this year... I'll take the OVER. I'm guessing 2 fatalities.
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
mindless heckling
I just went for a 2 1/2 mile run. Just as I was entering Wheeling Park, a school bus inscribed with the phrase "Laughlin County Schools" passed me by. This fat kid with a crew cut and glasses pokes his head out the window and yells "FAGGOT!" I'm guessing he was in 4th grade, maybe 5th. But it was definitely elementary school, not middle.
Anyway, much to my surprise, the bus comes to a complete stop. I see the fat kid immediately raise the window. I zip around to the bus driver side and engage the bus driver.
Driver: "What did he yell at you?"
Me: "Hey, let me on the bus. I want to talk to him. It'll be great. I assure you he'll never yell out the window again."
Driver: "I can't let you on the bus. I'll get fired. So what was it he said?"
Me: "I can't give you specifics on that. C'mon just let me on the bus. I won't do anything bad. I just want to have a word with him.
Driver: I can't. What did he say?"
Me: "Well, I just can't rat him out. Let's just say he made a derogatory remark that wasn't profane."
Driver: "That's what I thought."
I was really bummed he wouldn't me on the bus. My shirt was on the verge of getting a little sweaty. Could you imagine the fear in this kid's heart as I make the slow walk down the aisle to the end of the bus?
Honestly, I wasn't even remotely upset. I thought the whole incident was kind of comical. My initial idea was to lecture him on his first amendment rights. I was going to explain that his behavior was similar to that of the Westboro Baptist Church. Personally though, I enjoyed the experience and while I cannot condone his actions, I'd let him know that others might be very offended. I also wanted to ask the kid how he inferred from my appearance (shorts, t-shirt, tennis shoes) that I was gay. Maybe I was running like a pansy, you know - in a manner which incorporates "gay frolicking." I don't think so, but it's possible.
Hey, I just ran that 5 mile "Freedom" race on Monday, July 4th. I remember my time as 46:02. Basically 9 minute and change miles. As I crossed the finish line, I even yelled "FRREEEEDOMMMMM" like my favorite anti-semite Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart.
And one other observation. I might be way off base. He may have yelled "MAGGOT" but I seriously doubt it. I would have vastly preferred the term "Maggot." As if I was a side of beef running through the hot sun covered in a swath of gnats. But it sounded like "Faggot" to me (98% sure). I imagine the bus driver disciplined the punk, but I really don't care either way.
Maybe I had it coming. A couple weeks ago I flipped off this maroon F-150 pickup truck at the Washington PA I-70/79 split. This asshole was driving like a maniac, weaving in and out of cars, and then of course had to slam on his brakes because of the traffic in front of him. So I gave him the finger and a look of disgust.
This fucking idiot veers off at the last possible second. In my rear view mirror I see the dust kicked up and him charging towards me. This piece of shit got right on my ass and starts swerving at me, forcing me off the road (not the median, the rumble strip lane on the right side). Seriously, it was either go off the road or he would have hit me.
He grinds to a complete stop, angling me in against the guard rail. He starts screaming at me from the drivers seat. A terrified grandfather is sitting in the passenger seat (the passenger looked like Bill Cosby's dad from the Cosby show). And there was a little black girl in the back seat poking her head out. She looked like a lighter version of "Rudy Huxtable" from the same show.
Anyway, this guy is just screaming his head off. "Fuck you! I'll kill you next time mother fucker! Fuck You!" Stuff of this nature for about 8 seconds. I'm just blown away that he came to a dead stop in the middle of the slow lane. The back part of the truck is sticking out into the interstate. Could have easily been an accident as this is a highly traveled section of I-70.
Then he simply pulled away and got off at the next exit. I was still a little in shock. Not really scared, just more in disbelief. I've had a few encounters with road rage, but nothing like this. He was intent on using his car as a weapon. It never dawned on me to call 911. Maybe I should have afterwards and reported him. I didn't get the plate number, but it was an Ohio plate. Oh well, so be it.
What's crazier is I never flip people off on the road. Occasionally, I'll give them the "you really shouldn't be allowed to operate a motor vehicle" look of admonishment. However, a couple years ago I did flip off a stretch of vehicles at the same intersection. Now that is some crazy irony. It was the entire Pitt Panthers entourage on their way to Mo-Town for the backyard brawl. They had been hogging up both lanes with a police escort. And it wasn't just one bus. It was more like 3 buses, 6 vans and a few police cruisers with their lights flashing. So I sped past with my middle finger outstretched, proudly out the window for the entire dozen or so vehicles. And I got all of them, knowing full well they'll all be taking I-79 South at the split. That's the only time I've ever been so bold as to flip off the pigs. And I must say, this momentous perching was flipping spectacular.
So I probably deserved it as everything kind of came full circle. Ahhh, the balance of life.
Anyway, much to my surprise, the bus comes to a complete stop. I see the fat kid immediately raise the window. I zip around to the bus driver side and engage the bus driver.
Driver: "What did he yell at you?"
Me: "Hey, let me on the bus. I want to talk to him. It'll be great. I assure you he'll never yell out the window again."
Driver: "I can't let you on the bus. I'll get fired. So what was it he said?"
Me: "I can't give you specifics on that. C'mon just let me on the bus. I won't do anything bad. I just want to have a word with him.
Driver: I can't. What did he say?"
Me: "Well, I just can't rat him out. Let's just say he made a derogatory remark that wasn't profane."
Driver: "That's what I thought."
I was really bummed he wouldn't me on the bus. My shirt was on the verge of getting a little sweaty. Could you imagine the fear in this kid's heart as I make the slow walk down the aisle to the end of the bus?
Honestly, I wasn't even remotely upset. I thought the whole incident was kind of comical. My initial idea was to lecture him on his first amendment rights. I was going to explain that his behavior was similar to that of the Westboro Baptist Church. Personally though, I enjoyed the experience and while I cannot condone his actions, I'd let him know that others might be very offended. I also wanted to ask the kid how he inferred from my appearance (shorts, t-shirt, tennis shoes) that I was gay. Maybe I was running like a pansy, you know - in a manner which incorporates "gay frolicking." I don't think so, but it's possible.
Hey, I just ran that 5 mile "Freedom" race on Monday, July 4th. I remember my time as 46:02. Basically 9 minute and change miles. As I crossed the finish line, I even yelled "FRREEEEDOMMMMM" like my favorite anti-semite Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart.
And one other observation. I might be way off base. He may have yelled "MAGGOT" but I seriously doubt it. I would have vastly preferred the term "Maggot." As if I was a side of beef running through the hot sun covered in a swath of gnats. But it sounded like "Faggot" to me (98% sure). I imagine the bus driver disciplined the punk, but I really don't care either way.
Maybe I had it coming. A couple weeks ago I flipped off this maroon F-150 pickup truck at the Washington PA I-70/79 split. This asshole was driving like a maniac, weaving in and out of cars, and then of course had to slam on his brakes because of the traffic in front of him. So I gave him the finger and a look of disgust.
This fucking idiot veers off at the last possible second. In my rear view mirror I see the dust kicked up and him charging towards me. This piece of shit got right on my ass and starts swerving at me, forcing me off the road (not the median, the rumble strip lane on the right side). Seriously, it was either go off the road or he would have hit me.
He grinds to a complete stop, angling me in against the guard rail. He starts screaming at me from the drivers seat. A terrified grandfather is sitting in the passenger seat (the passenger looked like Bill Cosby's dad from the Cosby show). And there was a little black girl in the back seat poking her head out. She looked like a lighter version of "Rudy Huxtable" from the same show.
Anyway, this guy is just screaming his head off. "Fuck you! I'll kill you next time mother fucker! Fuck You!" Stuff of this nature for about 8 seconds. I'm just blown away that he came to a dead stop in the middle of the slow lane. The back part of the truck is sticking out into the interstate. Could have easily been an accident as this is a highly traveled section of I-70.
Then he simply pulled away and got off at the next exit. I was still a little in shock. Not really scared, just more in disbelief. I've had a few encounters with road rage, but nothing like this. He was intent on using his car as a weapon. It never dawned on me to call 911. Maybe I should have afterwards and reported him. I didn't get the plate number, but it was an Ohio plate. Oh well, so be it.
What's crazier is I never flip people off on the road. Occasionally, I'll give them the "you really shouldn't be allowed to operate a motor vehicle" look of admonishment. However, a couple years ago I did flip off a stretch of vehicles at the same intersection. Now that is some crazy irony. It was the entire Pitt Panthers entourage on their way to Mo-Town for the backyard brawl. They had been hogging up both lanes with a police escort. And it wasn't just one bus. It was more like 3 buses, 6 vans and a few police cruisers with their lights flashing. So I sped past with my middle finger outstretched, proudly out the window for the entire dozen or so vehicles. And I got all of them, knowing full well they'll all be taking I-79 South at the split. That's the only time I've ever been so bold as to flip off the pigs. And I must say, this momentous perching was flipping spectacular.
So I probably deserved it as everything kind of came full circle. Ahhh, the balance of life.
Monday, June 27, 2011
many have inquired...
Many people have asked me, "Saf, what's up? Why haven't you posted any profound tales or disturbing observations in the past couple months?"
Answer - I've been writing a book. My goal is to submit the entire thing for copyright on August 1, 2011. On the same date, I'll publish the entire thing as one sole blog entry. The book consists of 10 chapters in which I discuss my opinions on a variety of topics (Art, Labor, Leisure, Music, People, Politics, Sports, Religion and a "brochure" of misguided self-promotion). The 9th chapter deals with a potential imminent threat to the national security of the Unites States - a prognostication of epic proportions which has fundamentally shaped the way I perceive government, private industry, humanity and the future of warfare.
After the dust settles, I'll get back to writing about the usual crap - Maury Povich, bad restaurants and a few concert reviews. Until then, be well and enjoy the summer. SAF
Answer - I've been writing a book. My goal is to submit the entire thing for copyright on August 1, 2011. On the same date, I'll publish the entire thing as one sole blog entry. The book consists of 10 chapters in which I discuss my opinions on a variety of topics (Art, Labor, Leisure, Music, People, Politics, Sports, Religion and a "brochure" of misguided self-promotion). The 9th chapter deals with a potential imminent threat to the national security of the Unites States - a prognostication of epic proportions which has fundamentally shaped the way I perceive government, private industry, humanity and the future of warfare.
After the dust settles, I'll get back to writing about the usual crap - Maury Povich, bad restaurants and a few concert reviews. Until then, be well and enjoy the summer. SAF
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
tree progression
Well, there has been an intreeging turn of events. I spoke with Fuckface's grounds crew and they said they'd cut a path through my driveway and throw everything up on the hillside for $250. I was relatively pleased with this arrangement. Then, 20 minutes later they rang my door bell and said it would be an additional $350 to handle the debris and remainder of the trees on said property of Fuckface. They said it would have enraged him if they left the remaining trees and branches on his hillside. From their perspective, that does make a lot of sense. And while I could care less if my neighbor loathes, detests, despises and has great animosity for me... I wouldn't want to drive a wedge between his grounds crew and him. They get plenty of business from the subhuman.
So I was a little distressed. I decided to get a second opinion and revisit the cemetery. I had earlier met with the claims/risk manager for the company which represents the cemetery. Although very pleasant, he dismissed my concerns in an email claiming it was "an act of God." Now whether I believe in invisible overseers or not... that's largely irrelevant when it comes to a massive tree stump. Even though Jesus is supposed to appear on May 22, 2011 with this end of the world thing on the way, I doubt he'll have time to grind up Stumpy.
So I went back to the cemetery and this time spoke with the manager. We drove up and I showed him the carnage. He was incredibly receptive and seemed very interested in assisting. I think my demeanor may have played a role. I was very honest and forthright. I told him I didn't want to play semantics and deal with potential surveyors, let alone insurance carriers. I just told him it was a close call with 2 out of the 4 trees. He said he'd look into it and get back to me later this afternoon. He proclaimed, "If they were our trees, we'll take car of it." He sounded very reassuring, but I was still anxious and generally pessimistic.
Well, I got back from lunch and parked at the bottom of the hill. As I walked up the hill in the rain, I see a sedan sitting in the spot at the base of my driveway. I'm afraid to park underneath this tree that's hanging there. Honestly, it could go at anytime. Anyway, there these 2 guys standing in the rain. "Are you the one who owns the brown house?" Yep. "We're waiting on the boss. Looks like we'll be removing everything."
I'm blown away. "You mean the cemetery is going to take care of everything?" Yep.
Sure enough, the boss stopped up and we all hung out in the overhang of Fuckface's garage and chatted for a bit. They said they'll take care of everything tomorrow. Talk about ecstasy. I'm still a tiny bit guarded. I'll believe it when I see it, but at least for now, it would appear that I have been the recipient of a miracle.
It's odd how God works. First he unleashes agonizing wrath and venom in the form of a microburst. Then, his Catholic insurance rep, although very pleasant, dismisses my claim. Fuckface's maintenance crew gives me a reasonable offer but then has to tack on the cost of clearing "the yard of the enemy." So I go back to the cemetery people and get a much more rewarding response. So we'll see how it all transpires. I'd be shocked if things take a turn for the worse.
At least for now, it would appear as though the "Catholic" God is the correct choice. He seeks for you to undergo trials and tribulations with these natural disasters. I've always wondered which particular God is the right choice, as if inferior humans would have the ability to determine which one's correct. I suppose that's why the choice is usually made for you in advance via your parents and their parents and their parents and so on.
I refuse to pick and choose any of the god(s), but if I must, I'll trend toward a hybrid God - 50% of whatever the Chrisagii tell me to worship and the other 50% - straight Catholic. Sounds like this could work. I'll be sorry to see the trees go. As disruptive as they were, I'm sure it was a considerable source of anguish for Fuckface. Ohhh the pain he must have endured. Kind of reminds of the movie "The Passion of the Christ." I watched some of that movie - kind of exhausting. Fuckface's pain and agony, although purely mental, must be comparable to the physical suffering endured by Christ. And what's truly amusing... half of this analogy is for real.
So I was a little distressed. I decided to get a second opinion and revisit the cemetery. I had earlier met with the claims/risk manager for the company which represents the cemetery. Although very pleasant, he dismissed my concerns in an email claiming it was "an act of God." Now whether I believe in invisible overseers or not... that's largely irrelevant when it comes to a massive tree stump. Even though Jesus is supposed to appear on May 22, 2011 with this end of the world thing on the way, I doubt he'll have time to grind up Stumpy.
So I went back to the cemetery and this time spoke with the manager. We drove up and I showed him the carnage. He was incredibly receptive and seemed very interested in assisting. I think my demeanor may have played a role. I was very honest and forthright. I told him I didn't want to play semantics and deal with potential surveyors, let alone insurance carriers. I just told him it was a close call with 2 out of the 4 trees. He said he'd look into it and get back to me later this afternoon. He proclaimed, "If they were our trees, we'll take car of it." He sounded very reassuring, but I was still anxious and generally pessimistic.
Well, I got back from lunch and parked at the bottom of the hill. As I walked up the hill in the rain, I see a sedan sitting in the spot at the base of my driveway. I'm afraid to park underneath this tree that's hanging there. Honestly, it could go at anytime. Anyway, there these 2 guys standing in the rain. "Are you the one who owns the brown house?" Yep. "We're waiting on the boss. Looks like we'll be removing everything."
I'm blown away. "You mean the cemetery is going to take care of everything?" Yep.
Sure enough, the boss stopped up and we all hung out in the overhang of Fuckface's garage and chatted for a bit. They said they'll take care of everything tomorrow. Talk about ecstasy. I'm still a tiny bit guarded. I'll believe it when I see it, but at least for now, it would appear that I have been the recipient of a miracle.
It's odd how God works. First he unleashes agonizing wrath and venom in the form of a microburst. Then, his Catholic insurance rep, although very pleasant, dismisses my claim. Fuckface's maintenance crew gives me a reasonable offer but then has to tack on the cost of clearing "the yard of the enemy." So I go back to the cemetery people and get a much more rewarding response. So we'll see how it all transpires. I'd be shocked if things take a turn for the worse.
At least for now, it would appear as though the "Catholic" God is the correct choice. He seeks for you to undergo trials and tribulations with these natural disasters. I've always wondered which particular God is the right choice, as if inferior humans would have the ability to determine which one's correct. I suppose that's why the choice is usually made for you in advance via your parents and their parents and their parents and so on.
I refuse to pick and choose any of the god(s), but if I must, I'll trend toward a hybrid God - 50% of whatever the Chrisagii tell me to worship and the other 50% - straight Catholic. Sounds like this could work. I'll be sorry to see the trees go. As disruptive as they were, I'm sure it was a considerable source of anguish for Fuckface. Ohhh the pain he must have endured. Kind of reminds of the movie "The Passion of the Christ." I watched some of that movie - kind of exhausting. Fuckface's pain and agony, although purely mental, must be comparable to the physical suffering endured by Christ. And what's truly amusing... half of this analogy is for real.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
trees
I went to the annual CRRC (crick ranch recreational compound) clean-up yesterday. Mowed the entire place - A damn fine work out. Then, I zipped home and showered and headed back out. We went on a crick run from around 7-8:30pm or so. Anyway, as I was rounding the driveway (fuckface bend) around 10pm and I ran into this.
Well obviously I couldn't go much further. So I get out in the darkness and salvage my way to the top of the driveway. There was no electricity as the entire street was without power. Understandable because we got hit by a fucking microburst. So I chilled out, called it a night and listened to some music.
The power came back on at some point and I went outside to survey the damage the next morning.
And look at the sodomization of his hillside...
As you can imagine, he must be pissed. His maintenance crew showed up on Sunday afternoon to inspect every twig as well as the errant leafs that blew on his roof. But they left everything else in tact. So I did what I do. I called Captain Lee and asked for some advice. He zipped up and said the removal is probably going to run a few grand. Thus, it looks like a homeowners claim. BUTT, and that's a but with an extra "T," all the uprooted trees are very close to my property line with the cemetery.
So, I'm heading down to the cemetery office to see what they say. Hopefully, they'll clean up the mess (I doubt it). This is going to be a close call. I have a hunch it could produce mixed results. I'd rather have one entity take care of everything. So, we'll see what transpires.
What if it takes a while? I personally don't mind. I could always park in the cemetery or at the base of the driveway as we figure out who's responsible for what. BUT (with another capital "T" based on the fact that my neighbor is an anal retentive asshole, he's going to go insane. None of the trees and branches interfere with anything important, but I can imagine the hearty scowl and self-centered anguish he'll feel when he walks by the devastation. And to see my car surreptitiously parked so close to his driveway... it's going to give the mother fucker a heart attack.
Regardless, I'll head down to office tomorrow and have them come take a look-see. There's plenty of damage in the cemetery and through Wheeling Park as well. This was a really focused, narrow tornado path. I suppose I should be grateful nothing hit the house. Could have been ugly. I'm surmising that it could still get ugly if our past relationship provides an accurate barometer.
I almost forgot... Here's "Trunky!" "You gots plenty of junk in that trunk," says Lasquisha on the Maury Povich show.
Well obviously I couldn't go much further. So I get out in the darkness and salvage my way to the top of the driveway. There was no electricity as the entire street was without power. Understandable because we got hit by a fucking microburst. So I chilled out, called it a night and listened to some music.
The power came back on at some point and I went outside to survey the damage the next morning.
And look at the sodomization of his hillside...
As you can imagine, he must be pissed. His maintenance crew showed up on Sunday afternoon to inspect every twig as well as the errant leafs that blew on his roof. But they left everything else in tact. So I did what I do. I called Captain Lee and asked for some advice. He zipped up and said the removal is probably going to run a few grand. Thus, it looks like a homeowners claim. BUTT, and that's a but with an extra "T," all the uprooted trees are very close to my property line with the cemetery.
So, I'm heading down to the cemetery office to see what they say. Hopefully, they'll clean up the mess (I doubt it). This is going to be a close call. I have a hunch it could produce mixed results. I'd rather have one entity take care of everything. So, we'll see what transpires.
What if it takes a while? I personally don't mind. I could always park in the cemetery or at the base of the driveway as we figure out who's responsible for what. BUT (with another capital "T" based on the fact that my neighbor is an anal retentive asshole, he's going to go insane. None of the trees and branches interfere with anything important, but I can imagine the hearty scowl and self-centered anguish he'll feel when he walks by the devastation. And to see my car surreptitiously parked so close to his driveway... it's going to give the mother fucker a heart attack.
Regardless, I'll head down to office tomorrow and have them come take a look-see. There's plenty of damage in the cemetery and through Wheeling Park as well. This was a really focused, narrow tornado path. I suppose I should be grateful nothing hit the house. Could have been ugly. I'm surmising that it could still get ugly if our past relationship provides an accurate barometer.
I almost forgot... Here's "Trunky!" "You gots plenty of junk in that trunk," says Lasquisha on the Maury Povich show.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Once, twice, three times a Gaga
G Mo invented a shot on the dome hockey table which has never been successful. A rare distinction. Actually, it has been done several times. But the "essence" of the shot has never been panned out. You're supposed to sing the phrase, "Once... Twice.... Three Times A Lady" Lionel Richie style AS you make the shot. It's virtually impossible as you would have to anticipate the first 2 blocked shots. And the puck would have to bounce directly back to the center each time. To have that type of heightened understanding of your opponent's capabilities, marked by your own failure is just too much. The advance knowledge of how specific dome shots play out is often difficult to envision. Well... unless I'm launching lasers and Bethlehem Temples with reckless abandon and tenacious resolve.
I surprised myself last night. Even someone as stoic as me is capable of experiencing the emotion of "surprise." I need to work on the spontaneity factor a little more. It seems the older I get, the less tolerance of I have for random acts of nonsense. So you're probably thinking, "Gee whiz, what happened to Saf last night?" I know that's what I'm thinking.
And the tendency to refer to oneself in the third person is NOT a recent trend! Although I've decided to jump on board in mid-2011, it goes way back. The two most important examples are Maury Povich (of course) and the great George Costanza (George likes his chicken spicy - maybe 1996?). Maury is far more indulgent with the obvious - "Call 1-800-MAURY" or "Log on! The new Maury website! It's Maur than you could ever imagine." Obviously it's not even close call. Can't Stand Ya wins in a landslide (comparable to Reagan over Carter - 1980).
There is this one person who refers to herself in the third person. It's Lady Gaga. Personally, I'm not a big fan. But I found myself mesmerized by the showmanship and choreography exhibited during her Madison Square Garden HBO special. It was hard to turn away. As far as the music goes, she basically just has an aggressive, updated Madonnna vibe. Good niche. But here's her real niche - even if you get ridiculed and feel depressed, just be yourself. Let's see, this applies to about everyone on the planet. She created an entirely new audience. And she makes sure to drive the point home incessantly before, during and at the end of every song. It's a simple message - the Glendale summer vacation native will make you feel good about yourself. This woman is the Lexapro-Prozac-Paxil of the music industry. She's basically a well-disguised pharmaceutical industry with not much relevant competition. No wonder she's such a success.
From a marketing standpoint, this is pure genius. Ka-Ching. And from what I've seen, her ticket prices are through the roof. Plus, she thrives off all the merchandising with the very susceptible gay male populous. Bingo. And the mainstream female population who are never content. Don't forget about them with the never-ending thirst for positive reinforcement. That's a lot more cash extraction potential than relying on cold veggie burrito sales from destitute hippies.
I always thought Lady Gaga had a "darker" personality. Kind of like a female Marilyn Manson. Not even close. I guess I got the wrong impression because of the red meat outfit and occasional smearing of blood on her arms and torso. She knows way better - stick with a modern day "Up With People" vibe. But most importantly, take it straight to the cash register.
All in all, she puts on one hell of a show. I'll give her the "e" for effort award. Would I ever go to one of her concerts? Doubtful. Would I go up and scalp? Yep. The thought of usurping money from her the Gaga machine would definitely buoy my spirits. And though I don't take pride in ripping anyone off, there is this weird satisfaction in exposing those who are inherently gullible. These people are always the followers, never the leaders. And they're very easy to quantify.
Kiddie shows, like Backstreet Boys, Jonas Brothers, N Sync are the best. Then would come the trendy "gay" acts, like No Doubt, GaGa and that whole ilk. Next up would be the emo-bands which sicken me to the depths of my soul. Nauseating bands like All American Rejects and Bowling For Soup. And how about, the religious inspired rock bands like Creed and misc. American Idol dumbshits that go the gospel route. Rounding out the list are the dreaded pop-country performers. This is the correct pecking order for greater success in future concert scalping endeavors. I doubt anyone has ever compiled a list.
These days, most scalpers just wear a laminated seating chart around their neck as they hoist their "Need Tickets/Selling Tickets" sign. For them, it's just about the quick monetary turnaround. I had multiple encounters with this one guy at Starlake. He was a disheveled white guy in his late 40's. I actually referred to him as "dirty white boy." Despite seeing me all the time, he couldn't get it through his head that I had no interest in buying his tickets. A complete fool who really degraded the profession with all its subtle nuances. And he'd approach me with that dim-witted look and mutter the same exact question. "Hey, you need a ticket? Got lawn here." It's kind of depressing. When I go to a concert or sporting event, the vast majority of scalpers have absolutely zero interest in advanced "scalping theory." Maybe I could teach a class at the collegiate level. Scalping 401 & 402. Has a nice ring to it. I'm only saying... it would be nice to see others kick it up a notch. But it will never happen. I'm the one who must adapt. My expectations are simply too high. "Ohhh Saffy, when will you ever learn?"
Then again, I do recollect this one shining moment where my protege Amanda stepped it up. It was a Starlake show - I believe it was either the "Fake Fest II" concert in 2002 or the 2003 Poison show. The Burgettstown cops have this guy cuffed. Blood streaming down his face. Amanda asks the cop, "Hey, is he going to the concert?" The cop quickly replies, "Nope, he's going to jail." Amanda further inquires, "Can I have his ticket?" The cop, "Well, that would be up to him." The bloody guy chimes in, "Yeah you can have it but I can't get to it. It's in my back pocket. My hands are cuffed."
Amanda walks behind him and snags the ticket. There's an urban legend that she just said one word as she extracted the "golden ticket." I believe it was "Yoink." This bold move earns you an "A" grade in Scalping 402. It was just one of those defining moments where "student becomes teacher." *
* - This is the quote used by the reformed villain Sato in Karate Kid Part II. Near the end of the movie, when Danielson asks Sato if they can have the Bone Dance in its proper historic setting (the temple), Sato looks at Danielson and Mr. Mayagi, pauses briefly and proclaims, "Your student become my teacher."
I surprised myself last night. Even someone as stoic as me is capable of experiencing the emotion of "surprise." I need to work on the spontaneity factor a little more. It seems the older I get, the less tolerance of I have for random acts of nonsense. So you're probably thinking, "Gee whiz, what happened to Saf last night?" I know that's what I'm thinking.
And the tendency to refer to oneself in the third person is NOT a recent trend! Although I've decided to jump on board in mid-2011, it goes way back. The two most important examples are Maury Povich (of course) and the great George Costanza (George likes his chicken spicy - maybe 1996?). Maury is far more indulgent with the obvious - "Call 1-800-MAURY" or "Log on! The new Maury website! It's Maur than you could ever imagine." Obviously it's not even close call. Can't Stand Ya wins in a landslide (comparable to Reagan over Carter - 1980).
There is this one person who refers to herself in the third person. It's Lady Gaga. Personally, I'm not a big fan. But I found myself mesmerized by the showmanship and choreography exhibited during her Madison Square Garden HBO special. It was hard to turn away. As far as the music goes, she basically just has an aggressive, updated Madonnna vibe. Good niche. But here's her real niche - even if you get ridiculed and feel depressed, just be yourself. Let's see, this applies to about everyone on the planet. She created an entirely new audience. And she makes sure to drive the point home incessantly before, during and at the end of every song. It's a simple message - the Glendale summer vacation native will make you feel good about yourself. This woman is the Lexapro-Prozac-Paxil of the music industry. She's basically a well-disguised pharmaceutical industry with not much relevant competition. No wonder she's such a success.
From a marketing standpoint, this is pure genius. Ka-Ching. And from what I've seen, her ticket prices are through the roof. Plus, she thrives off all the merchandising with the very susceptible gay male populous. Bingo. And the mainstream female population who are never content. Don't forget about them with the never-ending thirst for positive reinforcement. That's a lot more cash extraction potential than relying on cold veggie burrito sales from destitute hippies.
I always thought Lady Gaga had a "darker" personality. Kind of like a female Marilyn Manson. Not even close. I guess I got the wrong impression because of the red meat outfit and occasional smearing of blood on her arms and torso. She knows way better - stick with a modern day "Up With People" vibe. But most importantly, take it straight to the cash register.
All in all, she puts on one hell of a show. I'll give her the "e" for effort award. Would I ever go to one of her concerts? Doubtful. Would I go up and scalp? Yep. The thought of usurping money from her the Gaga machine would definitely buoy my spirits. And though I don't take pride in ripping anyone off, there is this weird satisfaction in exposing those who are inherently gullible. These people are always the followers, never the leaders. And they're very easy to quantify.
Kiddie shows, like Backstreet Boys, Jonas Brothers, N Sync are the best. Then would come the trendy "gay" acts, like No Doubt, GaGa and that whole ilk. Next up would be the emo-bands which sicken me to the depths of my soul. Nauseating bands like All American Rejects and Bowling For Soup. And how about, the religious inspired rock bands like Creed and misc. American Idol dumbshits that go the gospel route. Rounding out the list are the dreaded pop-country performers. This is the correct pecking order for greater success in future concert scalping endeavors. I doubt anyone has ever compiled a list.
These days, most scalpers just wear a laminated seating chart around their neck as they hoist their "Need Tickets/Selling Tickets" sign. For them, it's just about the quick monetary turnaround. I had multiple encounters with this one guy at Starlake. He was a disheveled white guy in his late 40's. I actually referred to him as "dirty white boy." Despite seeing me all the time, he couldn't get it through his head that I had no interest in buying his tickets. A complete fool who really degraded the profession with all its subtle nuances. And he'd approach me with that dim-witted look and mutter the same exact question. "Hey, you need a ticket? Got lawn here." It's kind of depressing. When I go to a concert or sporting event, the vast majority of scalpers have absolutely zero interest in advanced "scalping theory." Maybe I could teach a class at the collegiate level. Scalping 401 & 402. Has a nice ring to it. I'm only saying... it would be nice to see others kick it up a notch. But it will never happen. I'm the one who must adapt. My expectations are simply too high. "Ohhh Saffy, when will you ever learn?"
Then again, I do recollect this one shining moment where my protege Amanda stepped it up. It was a Starlake show - I believe it was either the "Fake Fest II" concert in 2002 or the 2003 Poison show. The Burgettstown cops have this guy cuffed. Blood streaming down his face. Amanda asks the cop, "Hey, is he going to the concert?" The cop quickly replies, "Nope, he's going to jail." Amanda further inquires, "Can I have his ticket?" The cop, "Well, that would be up to him." The bloody guy chimes in, "Yeah you can have it but I can't get to it. It's in my back pocket. My hands are cuffed."
Amanda walks behind him and snags the ticket. There's an urban legend that she just said one word as she extracted the "golden ticket." I believe it was "Yoink." This bold move earns you an "A" grade in Scalping 402. It was just one of those defining moments where "student becomes teacher." *
* - This is the quote used by the reformed villain Sato in Karate Kid Part II. Near the end of the movie, when Danielson asks Sato if they can have the Bone Dance in its proper historic setting (the temple), Sato looks at Danielson and Mr. Mayagi, pauses briefly and proclaims, "Your student become my teacher."
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