Dude, they're PIRATES!!!

Alright, I can't take it anymore. I saw this story when it broke and since then, Paul has been doing a good job of keeping me updated semi-weekly. For those of you who have not seen this ridiculous situation, let me break it down. A couple weeks ago, a group of "Somali Pirates" seized a Russian vessel carrying high powered weaponry. To start, they demanded a $20 million ransom to spare the on board sailors' lives and avoid blowing the ship up.

The pirates then dropped their ransom from 20 to $10 million, laid off the threats to kill the crew, put the kibosh on the explosion, and later dropped the ransom to $8 million. Now, just today, they decided, "the crew would probably die tomorrow." Now let's put this in perspective: The crew will "probably die tomorrow" not because they especially want to kill them, but because they have just recently ran out of food and water.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that, during this entire escapade, the United States Navy has had the seized ship surrounded. The United States Navy. Ya know, the most powerful maritime force (aside from Niagara Falls) in the history of the world.

It's at this point I have to ask myself the question....ARE YOU SERIOUS - YOU'RE LETTING PIRATES HOLD A SHIP HOSTAGE??? They are PIRATES!!!!!!!

When was the last time a band of ye ole Pirates did anything even remotely effective? It's like these guys were sitting around watching Pirates of the Caribbean and were like, "Yea, let's go plunder some stuff."

They must be keeping George Bush in the dark about this whole thing. If you haven't heard, things haven't been going real well for him the past eight years lately, and I'd figure he would be chomping at the bit to beat the hell out of some pirates on his way out of office.

On a couple side notes, the South Park guys proved their genius once again tonight, suddenly realizing how much they hated 'Cloverfield'. Also, just saw a preview for Saw V and I gotta believe that everyone is completely over it. Didn't the guy die a few movies ago? I'd be really surprised if there was a bunch of gore and cleverly heinous situations capped off by a crazy twist ending.

Hoop Life

The majority of the group bounded up the stairs with the typical Friday night excitement. A slim minority trailed behind them, contemplating each stair and how many times they'd climbed them. The eternity of those stairs was outdone by the narrow hallway, miles long and lit now only by a glowing red exit sign and fluorescent white seeping in under the door.

They shifted their sweats, those shorts underneath always seemed to ride up. The door swung open and a cadre of neophytes blasted through. The group, regimented, lined each wall, to these kids coming through it must have felt the walls were closing in. They were pushed, hazed and scolded until the final one passed. A voice raised above the laughter. It was the beatbox we'd all become so familiar with in the past months. Another voice chimed in, for those ten seconds, Biggie Smalls was resurrected. On cue, the rest of the group joined and they brought it together, one last time.

In an instant they were at another doorway. The swarm of people inside anticipated their arrival. Whether it was the casual conversations of adults or the immature shouts of the teens, it all subsided. For a moment, it was silent...


Some say that at death, your life flashes before your eyes. Granted, no one knows (well, almost no one) if this is true or not. The semantics of the whole thing are largely meaningless. But, if I were to see my life flash before my eyes, a small number of things would appear: My family, my wonderful girl, my friends, and basketball.

You see, for as long as I can remember, basketball has been the rock of my being. No matter what situation I've found myself in, the game has been there to see me through. Be it the death of a family member, a fight with my parents, the break up of a relationship or the disappointment of missing out on a job opportunity - I've been shooting jump shots.

Whenever Gordon Bombay reached a crossroads, he'd lace up a pair of skates and hit the ice. I grab a Wilson and shoot until I smile. Sometimes those smiles take minutes, other times hours.

Basketball and I have always shared a love-hate relationship. Breaking an arm in second grade and learning to play left-handed turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Dad locking me in the garage (granted I could've just opened the door to the outside, but it was winter!) and making me dribble for an hour every day left me in tears. Aside from an intramural league here or there, I basically shunned any previous connection to the game I loved. For some reason, sour grapes took the place of affection.

Perhaps I was bitter because my days of competitive action were through. My physical ability just wasn't enough to get me to the next level. Sure, I probably could have played at a small college, but if it wasn't the big time, who really cared?

The beauty of the game wasn't the jump shot or the perfectly executed offense. To me, it was my body parallel to the ground, five feet in the air as I dove head-first into the crowd for a loose ball. It was the echo of Coach Faulx's "Niiice Paaass" after forcing a ball through a lane no one else could even see. Above all, it was always being the "1" in the Box and 1.

The past few springs and falls I've joined a league at the local Y. I'm winded three minutes into every game. The past few sessions, I found myself in arguments and near fisticuffs with the opposing team. For what? Why should I crap on the brilliance of this game? There's no reason I should hold anything against basketball, it never has to me. My strength is helping our team, not bitching about someone calling a foul. The team is what made me a player. It showed me who I was.

Basketball took me as a child and spit me out a man. But the ability to continue those head-first dives and blind-luck passes have kept me ageless.


...the crowd erupted as the pep band fired up a rousing rendition of "You ain't seen nothin yet". The seniors came out last, Buzz the caboose as usual, and fired our Sharpie-personalized head bands into the student section, which housed our greatest fans. Our parents, our teachers, our friends all cheered while we celebrated our final game as Knoch Knights. Nothing would stop us that night. At one point I hit a shot and turned around to look at the crowd. As usual, I had found my smile.

Some say that at death, your life flashes before your eyes. Whether it does or doesn't, I don't care. Mine already has.

What a great time to be an American!

I should have figured I was on to something back in the spring of 2004. Prof. Hettler popped us a quiz in Macro, and me, being completely unprepared did nothing but write "Laissez-faire" in giant capital letters across the five question exam. He gave me a 2 out of 5, which wasn't bad. At least I showed some effort.

Turns out my foresight was top notch. Here we are in the most dire financial situation in generations and Laissez-faire is a main point of contention. The infamous label of American greed finally hit its peak. Normal Americans stretched their limits to live in the nicest neighborhoods. Corporate executives welcomed this hubris with open arms. Henry Paulson's face is beginning to have the look of one of those rotted jack-o-laterns you see sitting on a porch two weeks after all the candy has been passed out.

My peers and I are educated. We are intelligent, fairly successful for our age, nice looking and most of all, really fucking pissed. Too bad if we wanted to enjoy our twenties, and don't even talk about buying a house. Like that's going to happen.

Right now I'm watching last night's Daily Show and there's Bill Clinton doing his Bill Clinton thing and making me fully confident he could rescue us from this abyss in like ten minutes. But seriously, what is going to happen? George W says $700 billion of tax payer money will do the trick. Yea, that'll be good.

My education on the crisis is rather broad, I understand the premise and what happened to cause this shit show, but where do we go from here? Hell, this thing is so messed up I actually just enjoyed watching Jon Stewart. I even laughed a few times.

The shameful thing about it, is that I have absolutely zero faith in anybody charged to fix this. Who is going to help? George Bush. Henry Paulson. Ben Bernancke. President Bush is about to speak in a few minutes. Just what this douchebag needs three months before the end of his tenure. A massive financial crisis. I'm just wondering who Bush will wage war on this evening, some country somewhere has to be at fault for this, right?

I have no idea. This is about the time where Americans unite. After an emotionally charged primary season followed by an even more emotionally charged election campaign, the two sides have agreed to come together and try to solve the equation. Unfortunately, Americans uniting generally has one main ally. Someone to lead them. Who will lead us now? A Wall Street executive who spent billions getting us into this mess? I hope not.

My gut hates when I'm cynical. Cynical citizens are some of my least favorite. There's no benefit to cynicism and some always leads to more. The past few years have flown by. My support for our troops is endless, I even gave a benefit of doubt to the war in Iraq, however misguided it might be (maybe it isn't, who knows...that's not my point).

A fear of mine is that America has finally reached the precipice that's been predicted for years. There's never been a doubt in my mind that we wouldn't be saved. But it could be different this time.

In the meantime, I'm gonna try to get that quiz re-graded.

The Ghosts of Tomorrow

Tonight marked the first time in awhile a few of us assembled at the always formidable Star Grille on the West Side of Winfield. As you would expect, as the baskets of wings and pitchers of beer were rendered nothing more than empty plastic molds, conversation turned to days gone by.

In days long since past by, during our respective sabbaticals from college, a crowd convened each Monday night (yes, I know it's a Tuesday) at the house of 50 cent wings and five dollar pitchers. Despite the infamous chicken wing shortage of '04, our laughs were plentiful and the discussions were priceless.

But here we sat this evening, mere years removed from ten minutes ago, barely able to rustle up five young men when in the past 15 to 20 were the norm. Tonight, the group sat a sole table where the group of old would merge and splice tables and jockey for the center-stage seat as to not miss a moment of any far-fetched tale or current-day saga.

Tonight we discussed the past - in all its glory: The blindness of the day-long tailgates for Pitt football games, the insanity of a Tuesday night pickup baseball game and, most of all, the trials and tribulations of every waning moment as a kid growing up in the rural confines our hometown.

Talk shifted to the impending weekend. A possible 'last hurrah' at the Klugh Cabin. To number the times we've spent eating a hot dog in one bite, squeezing a tap, throwing a ping-pong ball or jumped back as the wind blew flames from the bonfire a bit too close for comfort at this hypothetical house of memories would be like trying to list the combined marriages of Pam Anderson and Elizabeth Taylor.

There were the fall nights after football games with my body mind-numbingly achy, or the post-dance free-for-all that left the ground singed with liberty. What about the rainy morning exoduses with headaches the size of wrecking balls?

It's with all this we prepare for a Labor Day weekend full of drinks, friends and a baseball diamond. Granted, the baseball diamond has shrunk a bit as we're now playing softball, but the feeling remains. Oh how far we've come since those early days of debauchery. While some stalwarts of the past won't be able to attend - Mitch, Rozic, Scott, Brown, Shaffer: you're in our thoughts - we're fully ready to embrace what could certainly be defined as the end of an era.

With that, I say goodbye to the clutch of those days. You were the definition of my youth, just please remember me when I get old.

Here's to You, Disgusting White Crust on the Milk Jug

Here's to you, disgusting white crust on the milk jug. You're always there to flake off and gross me out on the rare occasion I open your container. Sure, I don't drink as much milk as a growing boy probably should. Is that enough reason to hate on me?

Take last night, for instance. Right after my mother prepared a deliciously chewy batch of brownies, I decided to wash them down with a nice cold glass of milk. After my first swig, there you were, floating around my mouth like a loose fingernail. I'm trying to drink milk, not eat soup in a Mexican restaurant.

This is hydration, not a Head and Shoulders commercial. So quit layering the top of my chocolate milk like curd at a dairy farm.

Arrogant Baconator Guarantees Heart Attack this Sunday

PHILADELPHIA -- Wendy's rookie hamburger Baconator shook up Brent Kaslin's Sunday lunch plans by offering what some are calling "Bulletin board Material."

The burger, known for its large patties laced with pepperjack cheese, which are in-turn covered with strips of bacon, jalapeno peppers and smothered in melted cheddar, talked to the media today after Kaslin ate a Burger King Double Whopper.

"He can eat what he wants, when he wants. I respect that. But just so he knows, when you come to my house, it's gonna be different. I'm going to give him a heart attack. I guarantee it. He better have 911 on speed dial, if you know what I mean."

This is not the first time Baconator has guaranteed bodily harm. During its debut last winter, the popular Wendy's sandwich informed an unsuspecting Rebecca Cartwright of her future in the bathroom. "Man, she had that coming. She stood in line and asked her friend Chrissy if 'she dared her to try a Baconator.' I straight up told her the afternoon was gonna be miserable, but she didn't listen."

Kaslin, a junior at Temple University, seemed weary when told of Baconator's guarantee. "I've heard it all before, ya know?. Last year after the Alpha Sig party I went to McDonald's and had a Big Mac, two Double Cheeseburgers, a large fry and a Shamrock Shake. Guess who woke up the next morning just fine...And I didn't even have a hangover," Kaslin quipped. "Regardless, he can play his game and I'll play mine - I never put too much emphasis on what the latest young hotshot burger is claiming. I've been around the block a time or two."

My parents quit drinking

I arrived home today at the typical time, half past five-ish, to an odd aroma. Scaling the stairs, I immediately knew something was afoot. Generally, each morning upon waking up, the whiff of Folger's in my cup gets me off and running to the shower, the sink, the breakfast nook and out the door.

But why on this sun-soaked late summer afternoon was a pot of coffee brewing? At first the thought was discounted as there were still donuts lying around from Saturday morning. After all, what's better than a coffee with a couple days old donut? As the usual post-work chit chat with mom and dad transpired, my curiosity was peaked. There was Cathy Boyd, the queen of Chardonnay, lounging in the rickety old rocking chair watching her soap with a glass of iced cranberry juice.

"We quit drinking wine," she said. Funny enough, I hadn't even asked. While laughter crept from my lips, the Chianti Cowboy Ed Boyd added "We only spend 300 dollars a month on wine."

Before I go any further, 300 dollars a month for wine isn't much, especially when considering the high end options one has when drinking these grapes of wrath. But, when you spend 300 dollars a month on Franzia, the tables have turned a bit.

Judging by Paul's calculation, that's roughly 25 boxes a month. For two of them. So here are my parents, one 70 and the other nearing 57, drinking 12-1/2 boxes of wine each every 30 days. My liver hurts just thinking about it.

It's this fact that makes me question my future. For the past two years or so I've lived a relatively subtle life in my parents' home. They stay out of my business and I stay out of theirs. If this new found sobriety of theirs changes that...I'm not sure how I'll continue.

No more walking downstairs on a Friday night at 8pm to go out and seeing them passed out on the porch. Gone are the days of the dog being the only sober person at 7am on Saturdays. And out the window is the idea of drinking myself to oblivion during family gatherings just to get through it. Well, I guess I'll still do it but I won't have my mom there to commiserate.

You'd think I'd be happy at my parents' decision to quit drinking. But there are constants in life. Death, taxes, and my parents hazed. So goodbye, drunk mom and dad, you'll be missed.

I'm gonna get some Franzia.

Endangered Gorillas Found - Kill em while ya can!

So here's a heartwarming story, a "trove" of endangered gorillas was found in Africa recently. The specific type has been considered "critically endangered" and in the 1980's the complete earth's population tallied approximately 100,000.

The conservative..err conservationist in me is happy that these things are doing well in a world so often defined by doom, gloom, warming, thinning, fleecing, rising and ravaging. But the cynic in me can't help but question the judgment of those nature nerds who so exuberantly broadcasted these monkeys' locale in the aforementioned world.

If one of the main factors in the dismantling of this species is a hunter spraying them like Cheney in Texas, is naming the exact location of this freshly found hangout the best idea? We all remember the infamous Geraldo incident and his subsequent expulsion from the entire country of Iraq. For shit sake, how bad does someone mess up to get kicked out of Iraq?

Back to the matter at hand. It seems to be bad form that, in any situation, divulging the exact details of critical intelligence might not be in the best interest of anyone who may be in a position to help. In most cases, the only ones who benefit are the ones who have something to gain - and in this instance, it's the hunters and traders - not the khaki-vested beards whispering into a camera.

Thanks for the heads up, DEP

While perusing the PG today I run across this article in which the Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) has warned citizens that ash from a landslide contained the hazardous material arsenic.

That's all well and good, and it was nice of the Department to fill nearby residents in. If I lived there I'd definitely be interested in finding out some detrimental substance was creeping into my water supply. At the same time though, I'm not sure how happy it'd make me to find out three years later. Nice to see our regulatory agencies are really keeping on top of their game, isn't it?

On top of it all, the DEP managed to shift blame to "a power company and municipal authority." Thanks for the news guys, we appreciate it.

The Potent Stuff

I'm never one to analyze a cup of coffee. Certainly there are those who consider the deconstruction of a decaf a personal hobby. Different strokes, different folks. But here's an example of a collective mindset I just don't get:

Each morning I get to my desk, log on and then go downstairs for that first cup of coffee. Most days, I end up having to make a pot because the MIS guy who gets here at seven drinks an entire pot and leaves about two drops without making a new one. Not that I particularly care because it takes like 30 seconds, it's just one of those peccadilloes, I've used that word before....ummm...misdeeds, that make offices such goofy places to work.

Regardless, if you've not experienced it before, standing around waiting for a pot of coffee to brew is about as exciting as sitting through those human resource videos on orientation day. That's why I'll typically pull a dangerous yet exhilarating move. While the joe is pouring, I'll quickly whip the pot away and replace it with my cup.

Many times this move works, resulting in minimal spillage. It's also good for one of those awkward-conversations-with-passerby like "You must be feeling it today!" or the ever-popular "Hot off the presses!" One day, as I'm filling up, an IT consultant walks past and tells me he used to own a donut shop, and the coffee that comes out of the machine first is always the most potent, not to mention that I must really need it.

Apparently, people at my office really respect the ideals of a (former) donut shop proprietor. The awkward conversations of the past have turned into over-the-top warnings of impending giddiness and loss of inhibitions.

I'm still having trouble believing the first few drips are any stronger than the last few drips, but I appreciate everyones' conviction. Now, if you'll excuse me, someones car needs lifted.

"Rocket Fuel"

I Was In the Minors!!!

[pregame]

Coach: Here we go guys. Let's do it. You better win this game or you're all losers. I don't mean just losers like you lost a game. I mean like pathetic, no life, have-a-kid-when-you're-17 and gotta drop outta school and live in a trailer park losers.

Team: We always do our best, Coach!

Coach: Unfortunately your best isn't good enough. Hey, lead off batter...

Leadoff: Dad, it's me Ma...

Coach: You better get on base. And you better not strike out. If you do strike out, you better go down swinging. This team does not tolerate looking at strike three. You hear me?

Leadoff: Yea Dad, I get...

Coach: Don't call me Dad. I'm not your father. I'm your coach. Listen, I played minor league baseball when I was younger. I know baseball better than you know Pixar.

Assistant: That's right guys. Go out and give it your best. And remember, we're here to have fun!

Coach: Fun? Are you kidding me Gary? We are here to win and kick ass. Is that understood? Win. Kick ass. Gary, apparently you forget when I led our high school team in strike outs and home runs. Do you remember that, Gary? I was the toast of the town. Your parents wanted me as their son, not some washed up fatty who could barely make the throw from third to first. Maybe if you had had less 'fun,' you wouldn't be a lawyer who can't even make it to practice. You could have been the head coach of a little league baseball team.

Assistant: I don't know if that's the right attitude there Coach! These kids are young, let em play!

Coach: I guess I'm the only one here who has any idea of what baseball means. Does anyone remember who I am? I was in the minor leagues. And not just some semi-pro team. I was in Class A Salem before any of you were a glimpse in your parents' eyes. I know what it takes to succeed in this game you whiny brats....WHAT ARE YOU DOING JASON???

Jason: I just saw my mom walk in!!!

Coach: [puts Jason in headlock] I DON'T WANT YOU EVER LOOKING IN THOSE STANDS AGAIN. THIS IS MY TEAM AND MY FIELD. I AM LITTLE LEAGUE BASEBALL AND EVERYONE BETTER REALIZE IT OR NONE OF YOU ARE GONNA MAKE THIS TEAM NEXT YEAR!!! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD????

Jason: I'm not in the army!!!

Coach: YOU'RE IN MY ARRRRMMYYYYYY!!!!

Thank You Penguins

To say the NHL gained a fan over the past five months would be to underscore the sheer amazement and enjoyment I've experienced while watching the conclusion to the 2007-2008 season. Looking back, the small amount of blogging I have done in the past few months has been centered more around the Pens and their corresponding actions than anything else. In fact, it has been the main focus of my out-of-work life since roughly mid-January.

So, with pride, this is the last time I say: "Now I don't know enough to form an educated opinion about [hockey]..." I feel like through the course of the season and the extremely exciting playoffs I've picked up enough to be a somewhat educated hockey fan. Granted, some of the rules and terms still baffle me, but with time I hope to improve.

There's already been enough "I's" in this entry to make me puke. This one is deservedly sent out to our Pittsburgh Penguins, who have done their best in the past two years to not only make me realize what a truly great sport hockey is, but to inspire an entirely new generation of Pittsburgh hockey fans.

To hear the raucous ovation given to every Orpik bone-crusher, to every Crosby deke, each Malkin laser to the back of the net and the flashes of brilliance displayed with a Fleury glove save (and a beauty) makes the hair on the arms stand up and the heart race with an intensity not present anywhere else in my sports watching life.

The NHL season is grueling to say the least. To think I've been glued to my still not digitally upgraded television multiple nights a week since before the playoffs started shows that the game of hockey is not nearly as dead as some may think. You really form a relationship with your team as you see them crash the boards and raise the sticks each night. For as much as I was disappointed the Pens did not procure the oldest trophy of them all this year, I was equally as disappointed to see the season come to an end. Going into tonight, it became apparent that the most hockey there'd be to view until the fall were two games.

Sure, it's easy to poke fun at Mike Emrick. But the man endeared himself to me this post season. I certainly won't appreciate Jim Nantz's overly-judgmental attitude in the upcoming NFL season as I do Emrick's "Driiiiiive!" calls and his innate ability to make each and every second exciting just by his diction.

So, it's with this we leave the NHL season until next fall. Some wish the season would be shortened as to increase the excitement for each game. But I say let's start skating as soon as possible. Penguins, it was a hell of a season and you all deserve a standing ovation. Because, as it turns out, there's more to sports than waving a Terrible Towel. Thanks.

Blah, Blah, Gas Prices, Blah

By even acknowledging the proceeding subject goes a ways to play into the proverbial hands I'm about to slap, but my frustration is peaked. I'm sick and tired of hearing about gas prices. Yes, the title quotes my girl Rihanna's latest hit, but unlike her mind-grabbing tunes, the continuous exposure of our nation's oil problem is not nearly as catchy as one of her Top-40 mixes.

You see, to complain about a gas price is like beating your child for dropping a plate of spaghetti: There's nothing you can do about it. That's why I flinch each time a co-worker or passerby pontificates the evils of an oil corporation or political stance.

On the NBC Nightly News tonight, Brian Williams pulled out the trusty old 'email bag' and began reciting lines from viewer emails. There was nothing special about the emailers, just your typical Kenny Midwest or Vanessa Down South. The thesis statement of each note was, you guessed it, 'feel bad for us because we have to pay for gas.'

To paraphrase a couple of the entries: (please note I'm not making up these lines)

"This summer will be different than most. Instead of grilling steaks and racks of ribs, we have to settle for regular hamburgers and hot dogs."

"Typically, we go to the beach for a week. This year, we will have to drive to the nearest beach in the morning and drive back the same day."

"We're going to have to rent movies on cable instead of going to the theaters."

At that point, I couldn't bear the sob stories any longer. My mind was rife with pessimism and sympathy.

Give me a break. Hamburgers and hot dogs instead of steak and ribs? What a shame. A day beach trip instead of a whole week? Get me the Kleenex. Pay per view movies instead of a night at the Cineplex? Quick Molly, get me the revolver. We can't live like this any longer.

The audacity of these people to send these comments as if they have some sort of legitimate plight. Furthermore, a double minus goes to Brian Williams. Isn't he supposed to be reporting actual news, not regurgitating tales of woe from Josh and Annie from Greenville, South Carolina?

By no means have I always been the most sympathetic person - many times I think people in a bad situation don't do enough to remove themselves from their problems - but on the same token, there are people out there who have bigger problems than having to go to the beach for just one day instead of five. Some folks can't have the electricity required to make the begrudging choice to stay at home on a Friday night and watch There Will be Blood.

Sure, anyone would rather have steaks and ribs than hamburgers or hot dogs, but if you can't, so what? I've never seen a more American problem than to make the hard decision of cutting off one luxury item to move down a rung to a less expensive luxury item.

To quote the immortal Curb episode "The Survivor," when a former Survivor (TV) contestant was arguing with another former Survivor (The Holocaust), "Have you ever seen our show? You never have anything to eat and someones always trying to back stab you." 'Have you seen our show? It was called...THE HOLOCAUST!!!!!!"

For all of the complaining and squabbling people are doing over the cost of a gallon of gas, no one seems to do anything to even improve their situation a little bit. Well, aside of course from eating burgers instead of rib eyes.

Rather than complaining, why not save $1500 and buy a small car for your commute to work? Some of you need a truck for your job? That's not anyone else's problem, so please quit forcing it on us.

Just face facts. The world is changing. Every bit of it. Guess what? I remember the days when gas was 95 cents a gallon too. And I'm 23 years old. Oh, you remember it at 50 cents a gallon? 25 cents a gallon? Well shame on you for living in the past. These "why me?" and "we're owed" attitudes displayed by a good many people in this country are as sickening as the volatile prices of energy, fuel and food.

The old days are dead and gone. The best way to "My dad worked everyday of his life but sucked it up and bared it without ever complaining," is to suck it up and bare it like the generations before us. The problems we face today are different than the ones in the past, but that shouldn't change the way we handle it. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can get back to enjoying your life...One two dollar movie at a time.

The Honeymoon's Over, Penguins

Well, there it is Penguins. Your first lost of the 2008 playoffs. Out the window is the chance to become the first team since the Oilers in 1985 (by memory, if that is wrong correct me) to win their first eight playoff games in a single playoff season. From the eyes of this uneducated fan, there wasn’t any lack of hustle or complacency, ya just lost the game. After all, the Rangers are a good team. Beating them twice on their home ice would be tough. Besides, what’s sweeter than a series-clinching victory on home ice in front of 20,000 raucous fans?

There is one thing I’d like to let you in on, though. The honeymoon is over. As they say, welcome to Pittsburgh, aka, the most pessimistic and critical sports town on earth, with one of the most uneducated fan bases this side of the Siberia golf league.

On the drive to work today, I could just hear it in the radio DJ’s voice. It was all they could do to not criticize the Pens for losing one game. One asked, "Sooo, how many points does Crosby have in this series?" His question was laced with judgment, but fortunately, the sports guy on the other end sat in silence until muttering, "Uhhh, I don’t have it in front of me, but quite a few."

The answer is four, and you would think a person getting paid to absorb the sports knowledge of the day would have an answer to how many points hockey’s biggest star would have in this series.

That’s the problem with bandwagon Pittsburgh hockey fans. Admittedly, I’m a bandwagon Penguins fan. No question about it. But, as I’ve said before, I only know two people who were fans while the team sucked. Bandwagon fans, regardless of the sport, should be prohibited from publicly or privately offering any sort of negative or critical opinion on the state of the team.

Pittsburgh is a town that feels connected to its teams. It all goes back to the 1970s and the steel bust and the blah blah blah story we’ve heard ten thousand times before. So with the Steelers it is expected. Steeler Nation is incredibly vocal in their support (or disdain) of their team. Despite 70% of the fans not knowing a damn thing about the game, they still feel entitled to scream their opinion from the nearest sports talk show.

With hockey it’s a completely different story. I’m figuring roughly 95% of current Penguins ‘fans’ know nothing more about hockey than goals, assists, offsides and icing. These are the same people that will diagnose the Penguins’ loss, or why they aren’t playing nearly as well as they should be. I don't believe for one second that anyone aside from Scott or Cory can tell me anything about hockey that can be considered educated.

So for now, Penguins, you remain the sootiest city’s darlings. But if this whole ‘losing games’ thing continues, expect to be lambasted, insulted, and generally discredited as athletes humans by people who have absolutely no right to do so.

Vending Problems

Two consistent frustrations of mine are the old vending machine at my office and the incompetence of its filler (best word I could think of). I've wasted countless coins on this ancient device and while all it takes to recoup the losses is to fill out a mini-manila envelope and wait til the guy replaces the cash during his next visit, the retribution I see a week later does nothing to appease the Butterfinger craving I might be feeling at any given late afternoon day.

My angst at the problems with the machine go deeper than just its deficiencies at the point of dispensing, but with the variety of goodies placed in the machine. If you'll kindly take a look at the picture above, which was taken recently, the lack of creativity is mildly disappointing at best.

Let's start by totally dissing the 'Wise' company. Wise chips are obviously the poor man's Lay's, and by no means should those little mini-bags be considered anything more than a dime bag of crappy, burnt-up chips.

Secondly, who would ever buy microwave popcorn out of a vending machine? Microwave popcorn is gross enough after sitting in a box in your pantry for years on end, I'd hate to get involved with a bag that's been rotting in a dusty vending machine. Act II? Yea right.

The most blatant problems come with the laziness of the loader. Granted, the guy who fills the vending machine is likely fairly unhappy with his life's work, but I always consider the vending proprietor to be somewhat of an artist. Just think of it, there's nothing better than walking up to a vending machine and seeing the perfect blend of salt and sweet, the cornucopia of unhealthy snacks that help us navigate the dark hours of 2:30-5 on a Friday afternoon.

In this case, we have three bags of pretzels and two selections of Reese's Cups. Where's the creativity in that? Why not substitute the second Reese's for a Twix? Or the second bag of pretzels for a Salt and Vinegar? And don't even get me started on the third bag of pretzels. I'd rather see wet-naps in that thing than a third bag of pretzels.

I'd bring this up to someone in my building, but I'm figuring the only person considering these options is yours truly. I figure the best course of action is to cope and move on...one, two and three bags of pretzels at a time.

In Re: Obama's PA Diagnosis

The following was a comment I was writing to Rick's Cafe and Tranquility Lost when it became so long, I figured it'd do just as well as my own post. Of course, I accidentally copy/pasted overtop of the original comment, effectively erasing about 25 minutes of work, but I'll do my best to re-write it.


A fuss was made recently over comments President Senator Obama made in regards to small towns in Pennsylvania and in the Midwest. If you've not been privy to the outrage, please check it out. Since the name of this blog is in fact Small Town Scandals, I feel obliged to, at the very least, comment.

Leave it to the people of small-town Pennsylvania to raise hell over an ideal that they hold so near and dear to their hearts. Tranquility Lost (link above) called the comments "condescending, offensive, and repugnant." That seems a tad overzealous. Let me admit that there should have been a more calculated attempt by Obama to verbalize his feelings on the subject at hand. However, we can hardly criticize a candidate for telling the truth, can we?

If you're from this area, have spent any time in this area, or have been around anyone from this area, you know there is always an overwhelming pride that they are from the "Steel City." While my affection for the area may not be as unbridled as some, let me assure you my pride is there, in spades.

It's this sense of pride that hurts this area as much as it defines it. People are happy to be known as 'blue collar' and 'hard working.' There's no reason to deny them that and there's certainly nothing wrong with it. Sure, many people suffered as the area lost its industry, but why does that mean no one can come in and say it? In that sense, it seems to me the terms 'blue collar' and 'hard working' wind up nothing more than synonyms for 'stubborn' and 'resistant to change.'

To not shout your pride in this area can best be deemed heretic. One of Obama's points came to me loud and clear: "And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations."

If your base operation is in downtown Pittsburgh or somewhere on the outskirts, there can be a sense of blindness in reading those words. They could seem out of line, short-sighted or just stupid. But, between growing up in such a place and now working in one of these towns that can be considered 'depressed,' let me tell you each sentiment Obama put forth is correct.

How do I know? Because I hear it on a daily basis. Many people in this area are unhappy. They've seen the great steel boom of the last century and they've seen it collapse. They're left bitter. Rather than taking the slight and turning it to a positive, they remain stuck in their ways and content to complain. Foreign corporations infringing on the American way is an unfortunate situation, but a global economy depends on it.

The social conservatism is more annoying than it is endearing. Without fail, I hear colleagues of mine discussing their rights to have as many guns as possible and their devotion to religion. Their inability to see that this country was formed through immigration discredits their notion that no one should be allowed in this country to take jobs that no one else in their right minds would want.

Rubino (Tranquility's author) smartly pointed that healthcare in this area is a booming industry. No doubt about that. I can't imagine it'd be as prevalent without five hundred million old people sitting around dying with a Marlboro in one hand and an Iron City in the other.

This city and this area are old. Old-aged and old-fashioned. Residents are quick to point out the crookedness of politicians and the lack of trust they have with our government. Why is it such a problem when someone comes along and precisely details the collective mindset? Isn't the truth a good thing? As they say, sometimes the truth hurts.

The pride displayed around our great city comes with a Catch-22. If you're from here, expect carte blanch. If not, don't say anything that can be construed as offensive unless you're planning a crucifixion for this Sunday down at the Point.

It would be refreshing for this area to come to grips with what happened a quarter of a century ago and stop holding a grudge. The world changes, and the sooner that's accepted, the sooner we can move on and stop feeling sorry for one another. Then, potentially, we could have a metropolis known less for a great football team, bad baseball team and burgeoning hockey team, and more for the great people, gorgeous city and the crown jewel located between those other two places who just love being down on their luck. You know them better as Ohio and West Virginia.

The Accidental Flip - The John Adams Experience

This evening started different than most for me. Upon arriving home, I stopped in the living room to exchange pleasantries with my Dad and admire the new carpet which had been laid earlier in the afternoon. While practicing my putting stroke on the makeshift 17th, OMB was practicing his customary technique of haphazardly surfing the satellite.

"What the hell is this?" I heard him say. Turning around, the first thing that caught my eye on the gorgeous 56" LCD was a naked dude being tarred and feathered much to the delight of a gathering mass. For one, this was my first experience viewing a high-definition group humiliation. Secondly, I'm not sure why both my Dad and I attentively watched as the black goo was dumped all over this poor guy's head and body.

Luckily, our curiosity kept us in tune long enough to see Paul Giamatti come on screen next, decrying the group's ambition. The program in question is the critically-hyped, HBO/Tom Hanks collaboration, John Adams.

My knowledge of the miniseries was there and my excitement to see it was peaked, but my ability to watch was in question. First of all, I had missed the first two parts, which played this past Sunday. Despite my friend and co-worker Jon's ravings of the series, the chances of me actually watching were doubtful. My desire to "jump in" on programming just isn't there. If I'm not there from the beginning, I'll either wait for the DVD to come out and try to catch up, or forgo viewing altogether.

When we turned it on tonight, I was able to watch about 1/2 of the first part and the entire second part. By no means am I a history buff, but I do take an interest to these types of entertainment - especially the ones that showcase our country's origins. The miniseries format caters well to my inability to sit and watch a thirty-thousand hour film, a la Gettysburg. I'll gladly watch a weekly, hour and a half incarnation on Sunday nights for a couple months. After all, what the hell goes on on Sunday nights this time of year anyway? Golf ends around 6, so I'm left twiddling.

The cast is extremely well put together, with a bunch of "Hey it's that guy!" and "What else has he been in?" but most of all, Giamatti puts together a whale of performance, as usual, and Laura Linney plays a better Abigail Adams than well, Abigail Adams.

One of Jon's favorite aspects of the program and admittedly mine too, are the inclusion of all of the historic figures and their interactions. It blows my mind how incredibly bright these guys were. Their rationales and foresights are incomparable. Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington and others all debating and thinking together in one room make for ridiculously educational programming.

A surprise for me was John Adams' importance in the whole thing. I had no idea how instrumental he was in the fight for independence. The majority of Act II revolves around the framing of the Declaration of Independence. Adams enlists Thomas Jefferson to write the thing, and later, Adams, Franklin and Jefferson sit in what could've been the first American "writer's room" and nitpick over every word featured in the document.

A depressing matter that had been ignored in the apparently propaganda-laced PA Studies class in 7th grade was Pennsylvania's complete resistance to join the revolution. Some quaker by the last name of Dickinson (who I'm assuming is the bearer of Dickinson University) fought that til the bitter end. I had no idea what a sissy state I live in.

Regardless, the movie was a pleasant surprise. I sat engrossed for three hours, still in my work attire because I didn't want to miss a second of it. It's a behind the scenes look of the war that started it all.

I give it five powdered wigs.




*UPDATE*

Immediately after writing I went to IMDB and found that John Hancock was in the show, quite prominently actually. I guess I'm just anti-John Hancock. I still think that "Bond as John Hancock" thing was funny though.

Here's to You, Painful Pimple Underneath my Skin

This one goes out to you, little red area I noticed about a week ago that slowly but surely becomes more painful with each passing day. Don't think I'm not aware what you're doing down there. I've been around the block enough times to know you're a zit in disguise, just waiting for the most opportune moment to break through the friendly confines of my skin and be as embarrassing as possible.

Oh sure, you tease me for awhile. At first you're nothing more than an apparent scratch. But then three days later you become a bit bumpy. Then, two days after that while blowing my nose, I get that irritating feeling that something is amiss. "What? You have a business meeting on Friday? Maybe I'll stop by!" you say with such contempt.

Granted I should have dealt with you at the first signs of danger, but I didn't. I was stupid to think you'd just go away. But here you are, six days after I caught you sneaking around beneath the surface, ready to pounce and make me look like a 15 year old. "Differin Gel? Ha! Not on my watch!"

It's become quite clear what stance you're taking, and I can't say I blame you. You've worked hard to grow strong and adapt to harsh conditions before making your debut. You know what it takes to survive in a world filled Proactiv and Noxema. As usual, you have me right where you want me.

So I'll be here, painful pimple underneath my skin. Hit me with your best shot. Until then, good night and good luck you opportunistic S.O.B..

Facebook Unsure of Penguins' Trade

A chuckle and head shake were all the more I could manage last night upon signing into Facebook and checking everyone's status. Roughly 50% of the 36 friends with recently updated profiles had their status set to their reaction about the Penguins trading Colby Armstrong, Erik Christensen, Angelo Esposito and whoever the other guy was for Thrasher's star Marion Hossa and some French guy. Some were "excited!", while others believed "Hossa's great, but not worth the price we payed," and there were the skeptics who remained "unsure :-/."

I'll follow the Pens, can't say I'm a diehard, but I give credit to those who are. Hockey is a tough sport to be a fan of. Your games are on Versus and the league is consistently fighting for its mainstream survival.

Back to the Facebook thing, the reason I got such a kick out of it is that, a few years ago, everyone a lot of people besides Scott and Cory trounced the Penguins and said they didn't care if they stayed in Pittsburgh or not. They claimed hockey sucked, the Penguins sucked and it wasn't worth wasting time following such a bum team. Many of these people are now thrilled with the team and can't imagine a Pittsburgh without them. I tend to agree.

How quickly many forgot the glory days of the 90's and the mania the Pens instilled. The rants of apathy for a once formidable organization and competitor for the other Pittsburgh sports team accompanied the Pens on their way to the basement of the NHL. This of course all changed when the Pens miraculously won the lottery draft after the lockout season and landed Sidney Crosby, who immediately regained the old fanbase while luring an entire new generation of fans to the Igloo.

I don't mean to say that the fandom displayed on Facebook is bad, I don't mean to make fun of Penguins fans, hell, I don't even really care to use the word 'fandom.' I just wonder where all these people were four years ago?

UPDATE: 10:15 am

Get ready for the 'RIP Myron' statuses tonight.

Lack of Green Contacts Frustrates Worker

BUTLER -- Local office worker Casey Boyd is disgruntled this morning due to the lack of 'available' Gmail contacts currently online.

The popular instant messaging software helps Boyd through the usually mundane and tiresome workdays.

"It's all I really have," Boyd said. "Like, last night Paul told me he had meetings basically all morning. There was no way to hide my disappointment, I knew it was gonna be a long day."

Boyd, like many other twentysomethings in the workplace, appreciates the solace and entertainment the Google-created "Gmail" e-mail service provides. When the company debuted the 'chat' option in 2005, many said goodbye to the old-time remedies they used during summer jobs or college classes.

"AIM [AOL Instant Messenger] Express is so three years ago," UPMC Admissions Coordinator Paul McCartney said. I have a BS in Accounting and an MBA in Management, there's no time to be pussy-footing around with Buddy Lists and away messages with the inability to see profiles,' McCartney continued.

Gmail users are happy with the ease of communication to the outside world during their not-so-busy times of the day.

"We like to afford office workers the ability to have a real-time conversation with their pals and at the same time e-mail crude forwards and pictures to those who've yet to be 'invited' to Gmail," Google co-founder Sergey Brin said.

Deloitte & Touche IT Consultant Ian Mavero is often away from his desk, but enjoys the myriad of messages left by Boyd, Adam Novak, Ryan Sullivan and Matt Brown when he returns.

"I work about 22 hours a day, so it's nice to know I still have friends out there enjoying themselves," Mavero said. "Sometimes I'm even able to respond to them if I get back quick enough."

As for the afternoon, Boyd is optimistic.

"Right now I have three messages going and hopefully a lot more to come. 'LOST' is on tonight so I'll probably chat with people about that, or maybe some financial stuff. It depends. I do have to be careful so I don't swear. 'NSFW' sucks, man. Hopefully later I'll be able to throw something on my sweet blog about it. Have I mentioned that yet? So awesome dude, check it out."

Boyd's post-lunch Contacts list

Maybe Congress can investigate the $900 trillion deficit

One of my work rotation sites, FreeMoneyFinance, had a post today mentioning the current onslaught by Congress into the various malfeasance's and underhanded tactics used by our professional sports leagues. The point of the discussion was to ponder whether Congress is too busy interrogating Roger Clemens and Bill Belichick to kind of sit back and focus on other things.

What do I mean by 'other things'? Oh I dunno, like the war? Or maybe the terrible economy? Trust me, I'd love nothing more for the Patriots to be found guilty of cheating during their Super Bowl years. I am from the Steel City, after all. While my opinion on steroids is somewhat neutral - if everyone was doing it, who cares? - I appreciate watching Roger Clemens fumble around like a sack-drunk Tommy Maddox as much as the next guy, but come on.

Does Arlen Specter really have so little to do that he needs to be taking initiative to go after the NFL?

Paul showed me an article today entitled: "Bernanke: 'Outlook For The Economy Has Worsened'"

Are you kidding me? Where has Ben Bernanke been for the past year that he's just now admitting that our economy has worsened? All of this is happening while the United States has a national deficit of somewhere near seven hundred million trillion dollars.

Here's to You, Spec of Unknown Substance in my Drink

Here's to you, little spec of grossness gracing the bottom of my drinking glass. Whether it's an iced tea, beer, Sprite or water, you're always infiltrating the friendly confines of my delicious beverage with your underhanded schemes and germs.

How do you get in there? From what I can tell, hunks of alien matter aren't falling from my skin, and God forbid you suggest I backwash. So, what gives?

Invariably, you create such a stir that I'm forced to waste my fluids and dump them in the nearest sink or drain. All I'm left with is the taste of an equally as cold, but not nearly as fulfilling, replacement that pales in comparison to the original.

So I curse you, spec of unknown substance in my drink. I damn you to hell.

Clemens Seen at Local Restaurant

SAXONBURG -- Major League Baseball's Roger Clemens exited Hotel Saxonburg on Tuesday after a light lunch of salad, crab cakes, and human growth hormone.

The Yankee's hurler has been mired in steroid allegations stemming from December's Mitchell Report. "Regardless of what's going on in my life right now, the Hotel has always been a favorite eatery of mine, and that won't change," Clemens said.

Hotel owner Mrs. Gentile has searched for a way to replace the clientèle lost after her husband, the beloved Fred Gentile, passed away a couple years ago.

"We're doing whatever we can. If that means catering to the needs of a washed up, sell-out cheat, then that's what it means," Gentile said.

Pat Sajak = $$$

Seriously, is there a better job in the world than hosting Wheel of Fortune? There certainly can't be many. I ate a late dinner tonight and had the fortune of catching Sajak at his peak: celebrating the victor and barbing the loser semi-sarcastically. I'm thinking Pat means it as sympathy, but you know he's thinking, "What a moron."

Occasionally I figure Pat Sajak would like to stick his contestants' faces in those ludicrously dangerous spikes they use to spin the wheel, but all in all, he has a pretty sweet gig.

It seems that every time I view an episode of Wheel of Fortune, the same thing happens. Yea, yea, I get it. There's three hundred of these shows a year and they're bound to feel the same. But if you have any history of watching Wheel, which I kind of do, you know the following to be true:

The contestants:

Left-most contestant: Overly-enthusiastic white guy...


Center contestant: Middle-aged black woman, usually from the healthcare industry...



Right-most contestant: Fairly attractive white woman...


In the old days, contestants would draw straws to see who would spin first. These days the first spinner is chosen through a toss-up puzzle. Either the white guy or black woman will almost always win this first puzzle. The winner gets a sum of money dependent on how long the puzzle took to solve.

Let's say the white guy wins the toss-up. He spins first and immediately loses a turn. Next up, the black woman gets a couple hundred bucks, buys a few vowels, then goes bankrupt. In comes the attractive white chick and she fills in most of the puzzle. Then ... ugh! Loses a turn. White guy spins and guesses some obnoxious letter like X. Black woman, being in this position a thousand times in the comfort of her own home, picks a letter, nearly solves, then decides to get greedy and takes an extra spin and either bankrupts or loses a turn. Who solves the puzzle? White chick.

Next puzzle: Black woman up first, guesses N, S, T but then misses on the R. White woman goes back to work, gets some cash, then loses a turn. White guy comes up, bankrupts with zero dollars. At this point, Pat interjects witty comment about white guy's bad luck. Black woman is up, guesses L, nothin doing. White chick spins, picks up free spin, connects on a letter. She then loses a turn, but guess what? Free spin. White chick uses this to her advantage, picks up two M's on the $3500 dollar slot and ends up solving the puzzle.

She's not done yet. Pat comes over to greet her. Guess what? Prize puzzle! Cute white chick is going to Ireland while the black woman gives the look only black women can give and the white dude feigns an enthusiastic clap to hang on to the idea he might bed cute white chick. But white guy forgets one thing, attractive white chick's wonderful husband Kenny she mentioned at the top of the show.

Regardless, attractive white girl has the thing sewn up and winds up calling four letters of the seven-letter final puzzle and takes home a new Ford Fusion while Kenny hugs, Mommy cries, middle aged black woman fumes and average white guy goes back to his XBOX.

Not a bad day at work for Pat Sajak.

Bye Bye, American Pie

When we look back on the events that have shaped our lives, we're no doubt left with indelible images accompanying them. As I typed 'events' in that first line, it was spoken in broad terms. An event could be anything: a movie, a song, a party, a tv show ... I think you get the point.

For me - and I'm thinking many others in our generation (those of us in our early to mid-twenties) - one of these events was the advent of the 'American Pie' series. What a perfect set of films to drop when you're in the last couple years of high school. Everyone wanted their experiences to mirror those of the gang. No matter how embarrassing those situations may have been, they let everyone in on what it was like to be a hard-partying, wannabe cool guy in what I believe are the true "formidable years."

You know you wanted your senior trip to be at a beach-front mansion, ya'll strived to throw the Hail Mary into a blanket full of co-eds.

I'm afraid those days are over, my friends. Well, maybe not for us, because we have these scenes etched in our minds and will not soon forget the smiles and laughs brought to the table. My concern lies with a younger generation of kids who are being raised on a new blend of 'American Pie' shenanigans. Gone are the days of Finch unleashing in the girls bathroom, today we have 'American Pie Presents Band Camp'. Forget the band geek revealing a scandalous occurrence at summer camp, now the kids get to see Eugene Levy and Stiffler's brother in "The Naked Mile". Even my least favorite part of the original films - Oz pining for Heather - is replaced with run-of-the-mill frat house debauchery in "Beta House".

Gross.

I've not seen any of the new breed, and I refuse to, but they have to suck. It'd be like claiming "The New Class" was better than the original "Saved by the Bell". But, as I said before, the younger generation is who suffers. I think of my niece and nephew, both nearing the end of their respective high school careers, and I find it ashame they weren't able to enjoy and emulate the original American Pie's the way my crew did just a number of years ago.

Sensationalism can't be ignored. It happens in every form of media, hell, it happens in every form of life. If something is popular, someone will drag an otherwise good name into the dirt.

Seriously though. I've never seen 'National Lampoon's Animal House'. You know why? Because aside from 'Van Wilder' and the 'Vacation' movies, National Lampoon throws out nothing but straight to DVD garbage year after year. 'Animal House' is probably the Godfather of some of my favorite comedies of all time, be it 'Old School' or the aforementioned 'Pie' movies, and I'll never see it due to the ever-present desire to make a buck.

I'm sure my niece and nephew will look back on the original 'Pies' and have the same sense of who cares and whatever that I feel for 'Animal House,' all I'm saying, is it sucks it has to be that way.

So blame it on the producers, blame it on the studios ... shit, blame it on Eugene Levy. Just don't blame it on the fans. After all, we were there from day one ... We remember the old days. And they were just as great as that beach front mansion.