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Dude, shouldn't you be getting ready for the Super Bowl?
Whatever, I'm just jealous that I wasn't invited to the party.
Go Big Ben! Lay off the sauce 'til Sunday night, though.
Love,
Mrs. Randle-El
P.S. This post has been amended by request (see comment to Bode Miller post) to include a shot of Jimmie (from the weekend in WV) wearing the same shirt as Big Ben. Coincidence? I think not. E-A-G-L-Nevermind.
GO STEELERS!
I saw this quote on a poster this past weekend & I just wanted to say to the author, "Brilliant!"
You have captured in a very precise, yet simple way, what I have been feeling inside for the last 10 years of my life. I don't want to leave my sweet Pittsburgh, but it doesn't seem to want me to stay that badly. I can't find a job doing what I want to do here. But, I am on a mission to make it work between da 'burgh & I. I'll just look harder to find a position as an enviro lawyer.
As far as giving credit where credit is due, I emailed the Partisan Project, headed up by Brett Yasko, for more info on this quote & the poster it rode into my brain on. This group also printed the posters from the 2004 election that you may have seen arahn tahn. One of my favorites (by Kyle Goen, of Brooklyn, NYC) follows.
One of the many highlights of Friday night went down during our pre-game at Mick McGwire's: Scene: Our crew be sipping Guiness draughts & other assorted bevs at two tables in the front of the bar.
Two men approached the booth where Dan, Chris & I were sitting & began to empty the contents of their pockets onto our table. Contents = 5 Speed Sticks + 1 Lady Speed Stick = 6 sticks of deodorant. They inquired as to whether we would like to purchase some & we declined. Honestly, I was so effing perplexed for the first 30 seconds when the deodorant was being revealed that I kinda stared at these dudes with a look of total confusion. In retrospect, I really wish that I would have asked these gentlemen, "How much for the Lady Speed Stick?" Just to see how low would they go.
A. mazing.
I was informed of this interesting & cute, but kinda freaky website today...Steelerbaby.
Maybe I could crochet a Steelerbaby of my very own?
Maybe I'll use my blender to make Primanti's babyfood for dinner?
Maybe I'm just a tad confused about the whole thing.
Comments, anyone?
P.S. Credit to Mr. J. Bull for supplying the mind-boggling URL.
Big ups to Big Weave (my hip-hop aerobics drill-masta, to whom I owe a substantial explanatory post) for dropping this new track from Remy Ma. The second chorus of the song "Conceited" plainly states:
"See, I look too good to be fucking you..."
See I look too good to be fuckin you
And I look too good to be loving you
You know I look way too good to be stuck with you
I'm conceited I got a reason
Wow. That's quite a statement.
Not one I necessarily subscribe to, but...DAMN! You've certainly gotta respect this woman's high level of self-esteem!
Actually, at 8:30am, standing in the sardine-squished isle of the 54C, bus-packed-completely-to-the-gills - someone's touching my butt! typa-situation, this song will do wonders to brighten your day. Put it on your "Mornings Suck" playlist. Not to mention that it gives you a special kinda swagger as you walk to grab some coffee & a cig before you descend upon the Barco for the day.
Amen.
Are you ready for this? Seriously, you might want to get a garbage can & keep it handy as you read this post. This Tiger Beat lookin' stud is Ashley Parker Angel. No, really. That's his legal name. And unbeknownst to me, he was a member of the copycat mid-to-late-nineties boy band called "O-Town." And here's the thing: he's currently broke. Furthermore, MTV has decided to document his sad little post-stardom pussy-ass life in a show titled There & Back: Ashely Parker Angel."Formerly an O-Town member, Ashley Parker Angel, struggles to make it back to the top of the music industry in this heartwarming series about losing it all and second chances."
Heartwarming, my ass! More like completely infuriating! He claims to have only 22 dollars left in his bank account. He has also knocked up his girlfriend, Tiffany & is seriously prone to hissy fits. I could kill him. At least figuratively. I could take my Terrible Tahl & beat him with it...or maybe just take him into a local punk bar & introduce him to the regulars. Ahhh. So many options, really.Seriously, dude, I haven't even been famous once (yet) & I have more money in my bank account than you. Most responsible people do. Why, oh why, must your story be broadcast over the airways? You never saw M.C. Hammer crying on his own sitcom after he went bankrupt. (Wait, was he on a season of The Surreal Life? Hmmmm.)So there, I hope that you have not puked up too much of your dinner reading this. Bra, I wish DOG The Bounty Hunter would just kick this dude's ass. K?
Time to reveal a dirrrty little secret. There's a certain TV show on A&E that I have fallen in love with: DOG The Bounty Hunter. Don't skip the musical intro, or you will miss the theme song which was composed & performed by Ozzy Osbourne.
This is the life of Duane "Dog" Chapman, proprietor of DaKine Bail Bonds on the island of Maui, Hawaii. This is a family enterprise, as his sons, brother & luscious wife, Beth, all work together to hunt down and "rehabilitate" convicts. Mostly, DOG does not care to revoke bonds, but if the co-signors are fed up with the criminal in question, it becomes "go time."
I can't quite explain why I love this show...the family values? Tough love? DOG's amazing hair & accessories (which include bicep bands & those dangly feather thingys for your hair that you used to win at carnivals & county fairs)? Sigh.
Another interesting aspect of the show is seeing the real Hawaii. These folks are straight-up from the island. My naiive exposure to images of the 50th state have always included leis, hula dancers & volcanos...maybe I'm a bit sheltered in terms of Hawaiian culture, but damn, there are some crazy folks living there (maybe even more than in P-Burgh...um, naaaah.)
All I know is that if I ever go to Hawaii & get arrested, I am definitely going to DaKine & procuring DOG's services. K, bra?
Danny pointed out that I misspelled a beneficiary's name in my Last Will & Testament.
"I did notice that you misspelled Gregolooch's name: "Ernesto Barbareri". That's not even phonetically correct, Dicer. It is spelled Barbieri ("Bar-Bee-Air-Eee")."
Thanks to my editorial staff for such a sharp eye.
Mr. Judas Bull, your portraits will be up soon...patience, my dear man. Te amo siempre.
So, after reading about Throck's personality reincarnated as a FRCP, I have to admit I was curious. (Sorry Friday Random 10...I'm working up to you.) And as embarrassed as I felt answering the survey questions while wondering W.W.T.D. (What Would Throck Do?), I did it anyway.
The results?
YOU ARE RULE 20(a)! You are Rule 20, an important part of the Federal Rules' policy of permissive joinder.
You are designed specifically to allow as many parties in an action as can be tried efficiently, and you'll include someone as long as there is some factual overlap between a claim involving them and the rest of the case at hand.
You are popular, out-going, and are never far from friends. However, your overly gregarious nature and magnanimous approach do make things a bit crowded--you're the reason that lawsuits are often cluttered with innumerable parties and even more numerous claims for relief. Still, despite the crowds that you attract, you can't argue with the efficiency of getting everything done at once!
Exxx-actly. Except for the whole popular thing. And my need for alone Dice-Time. Daily.
I know you know, but hey, "Pittsburgh's Goin' to Da Super Bowl"...and you also know that you sang that line with many friends and strangers at the top of your lungs last night. In the streets & in the bars. And it was FINALLY a fact! We've been singing abaht it for a freeking decade. And it became a fact last night, Super Bowl XL, a fact supported beyond a reasonable daht. Fuck. Yeah!
It's our first trip to the Super Bowl in 10 years. I remember that game, um Super Bowl XXX (Quick query, why do we get some of the coolest adjectives you could spell with Roman numerals each time we make it to the big game?) versus the eeevil Dallas Cowboys, with Neil O'Donnell at the helm. We lost. I was a junior at Upper St. Clair High School at the time.
Back to the current sweetness. Everything about yesterday rocked. From getting up & putting the (preliminary) finishing touches on my new Steelers scarf I've been crocheting to seeing Mayor Bob O'Connor at the blocked off intersection of E. Carson & 18th, hanging aht with the cops, having a blast.
Oh, and the game. The Steelers were so convincing with every play. We rocked the third-down conversions, changed up the passing game by relying on Cedric Wilson & scared the pants off of Fake Plummer. Did you see this man huffing oxygen in the 4th quarter?
Dude, you LIVE in Denver. Man up. Even the refs threw us a bone by overturning the Willie Parker "fumble." Leftover guilt from f-ing up last week? Maybe, but either way, we'll take it.
Following seven "SHOTS!!!!" & three IC Light pahnders, much victory dancing, hugging & singing at Jamie's haus, we took to the streets of the Soufside. As promised, the po-po were blocking E. Carson & getting into the celebration by high-fiving fans. Our aforementioned Mayor was sighted as we walked into the street & joined hundreds of other fans chanting & yelling in ecstacy outside of The Locker Room. After a bit, we rolled down to Tiki to meet up with friends who all had great stories to tell & a hearty appetite for alcohol. Just add more friendly faces, some dancing on the booths, singing along with the jukebox & stir. Everyone was in love with each other. Maybe it was just for the night. But it sure felt good.
The rest of the past 24 hours went dahn like this:
Went to bed at 5 am. Thanks guys.
Woke up at 7:45 am, still kinda drunk.
Rode 8:37 am 54C to Oakland.
Managed to get cash, pack of smokes, bagel & coffee all before 9 am.
Copyright Law, 9-9:50 am. While I was zoning aht/fantacizing about the Super Bowl, Madison points out that I am wearing a Bus jersey like the one in his slide...goes into policy argument as to why the photo should be protected. Selling jerseys, making moolah = incentive. OK, I'm paying attention now.
Enviro Litigation, 10-11:50 am. Oh yes, two hours of admin. procedure & the CWA. And I paid attention & asked 3 questions. Nice form, my good woman.
Celebratory hugs with Seesh, Andrew & Emily. Shit talking with the Speranz & Marc.
More feel good love.
Wendy's No. 2 Extra Value Menu...my favorite: Double burger, plain, no cheese. Fries & Coke, with a side of ranch dressing for dipping said burger & fries. An apt reward for such impressive punctuality & attendance today. While in line, a crazy, wasted man wearing a x-mas ornament dangly earring would not stop talking to me. He claimed that:
1. He was 18, but had a 41 year old daughter.
2. That he planned on drinking for two weeks solid...all the way to Detroit & the big game.
3. He was retired.
4. He was a Green Beret at one point in his life.
5. He won one million, two-hundred & eighty thousand U.S. dollars on the game yesterday.
6. He had asked every woman in Oakland to marry him.
7. Would I marry him?
And it was kinda funny, but he actually smelled more drunk than me. The line was long & when he finally got up to the counter, all he asked for was some ice for his water. Wow.
Lit a cig after the Wendy's gluttony & walked to the Atwood Bus Stop (Thanks, Bussy, we love you). Of course, the 59U came immediately. (Magic tip: Sick of waiting for a bus? Light a cig. Poof! The bus will come instantly.) It was raining, sure, but I really wanted to smoke that cig. So, I passed up the timely ride, smoked & people-watched. The 84A came a lil' while later & gave me a lift. So here I sit, home again, still in disbelief/in love with the fact that we are going to the Super Bowl, just as planned. For the Bus's (prolly) last game. Mama Bettis, we love you too.
Other notables/funny shit:
You've prolly already heard this, but we broke an NFL record for becoming the first number 6 seed to make it to the S.B. We knocked off the top three teams, on the road, in this order: 3-1-2.
Did you notice that the Broncos fans all had orange pom poms? Listen up, NFL teams:
You can't beat the Terrible Towel. Stop trying. Stop it. White (surrenderish) towels will not work, Indianapolis. Um, Denver, orange pom poms will also look extremely lame in the shadow of the visiting, but prevalent, Terrible Tahl. Please, please stop. Seattle, don't even think about it. You're on notice people.
Last night, a cop told T that she could do whatever she wanted, but just not set anything on fire. Please.
I attempted to make it onto the news on Carson St., behind some local news reporter, bouncing & screaming with about 20 other fans. The reporter & cameraman kept telling us to be quiet so that he could hear & report the "story"...we were too lahd. So, just when we had quieted dahn enough, another group of fans would spot the light on the camera & come running & screaming over. Then we would try to tell them to be "silent Steelers fans" & get the noise dahn again. Rinse & repeat, say four times. T said it best, "It was like moths to a flame." Eventually, some guy came running over to the poor reporter & just jumped on his head in inebrieated exuberation. Amazing. After about 5 minutes, I gave up & walked back to find T. Soon thereafter I received a text that I had, indeed, made it onto the news...as a flash of the Dice. Sweet.
Andrew, as previously noted by Throck, said that yesterday's game was better than voting. Um, yeah, dude. It was waaaaaaaay better than voting (& having the election stolen from us twice. Consecutively.) You get huge props for your amazing dedication these past weeks. I love it. I love it. But, one thing: WTF is up with you only having to follow the Stees for, like, 5 weeks before getting to see them in the S.B.? I mean, like I said, I haven't seen that shit since high school! Lucky bastard.
I need a nap. I have been running on straight adrenaline for over 24 hours & my body is about to quit on me, so I'm gonna lie my ass dahn. I'm sure that I'll have more musings to share...
I know that we can do this. The elusive "one for the thumb." For real, this time. I want to see what it feels like for the Steelers to win a S.B. I was just months old in 1979 when we won our last one. Although I love my parents' stories about those days, I want my own generation to have a chance at making our own victorious memories.
Thank you, Steelers. You did it.
Can't really blog right now...too nervous, too excited.
2 hours 'til kickoff. This is it. And I may have just convinced my pops to plan a family vacation to Detroit...that is, of course, if (um, when) the Steelers win today. Has the 'Burgh gone crazy? It's about to.
And, for the record, Throck-woman: put your school shit away. This is no time to be alone with law school work. It's time to be with your friends, making memories that will last forever.
I love you all...GO STEELERS!
Dying for some post-Colts-thrashing locker room trash talk?
Look no further.
Just listen to "Peezy", the Bus & Coach Caher...chills, baby, chills.
"Who ride? We ride!"
Let's ride them Broncos all the way to Detroit.
OK, OK, OK.
We all know that professional football playas are athletic, strong & (mostly) hot. I have been trying to explain this to my male friends for years: Sports are a win-win situation for us ladies. Not only do we get to experience the whole thrill of competition thing, we get some truly up-close views of some of the tightest bootys in the United States of America. Take football: bending over at the line of scrimmage...the camera tightens in on some ass. Another replay...more ass shots. Tackling = additional asses coming together in a celebration of some tight asses.
Now, baseball uniforms are a bit looser in their cut & well, hockey, um, you have to really wait until the locker room interviews to get a decent look at the goods. And, I'm sorry, but I have no real devotion to b-ball, except to say: Go Pitt & I will start paying attention in late February for the NCAA tourney.
Anyway, today the Post-Gazette printed a fluff article chronicling the ladies' love of the Stees that made me giggle & feel kinda funny. Hines Ward is a metrosexual? No, it's just that Orr's Jewelers rocks, man.
And, for the record, Antwaan R.E. has always been known as "my baby's daddy." (Note to reader: I have no kids; it's just an expression of eternal hope.) And I also swoon over the thought of Troy pledging his devotion to me.
Back to reality: Let's get away from this whole imaginary exercise & focus on killing the Broncos Sunday. Seriously. Go Steelers!
Apparently, I might have to bring a sleeping bag to Jamie's for the AFC game...um, the Pittsburgh Police are threatening to shut dahn the Soufside if the Stees beat Denver. Who's gonna feed D-Dogg?
Yikes!
Otra vez, Go Steelers!
Perusing the blogospere, sipping a nice glass of (um, iced-dahn) Shiraz, I vaguely listened to the WPXI Channel 11 evening news. All of a sudden, a hysterical John Fedko, the infamous hair-plugged "The Fedko Zone" sports newsman, began freaking out...live from Denver.
He spoke emphatically, pointing to a print copy of the Rocky Mountain News & calling out some journalist who is currently visiting the Burgh from Denver. Be warned, Bill Johnson: Fedko's got your number.
You may be wondering by now, what the hell was Fedko so pissed about? Well, in fact, he was super-mega-irate because this Bill Johnson character called the Burgh of Pitts "one butt ugly town" in an article titled, "Shot-and-beer Pittsburgh froths at mouth."
Fucking read it. Aside from the whole P-Burgh bashing angle, he actually captures some of the local flavor. But then quickly insults and/or retreats in awe of our hard-drinkin', Steeler-lovin' ways.
I have a hard time believing that a publication as respectable as the Roc-key Mahntin News would actually allow a journalist to use the phrase "butt ugly." My mind has been blown for the day.
Anyhoo, the Broncos are goin' dahn & picking on Pittsburgh will not change a damn thing about it.
Do I even have to say it? Go Steelers!
This is a little extracurricular project that I have decided to undertake this semester. Yes, I am writing my will. Estates & Trusts has enticed me into determining what shit I do own & who should get it. It's not like I think I am going to die soon, or that this course has me thinking about death; I just think that I would like to work on devising my assets.
I guess that another impetus for this will-writing thing is the fact that neither of my parents have a will. And they both turn 60 this summer. And...wait for it...my dad's a lawyer. So, I am trying to set a good example, look death straight in the eye & give everyone a head's up.
Plus, it would be kinda funny if I did unexpectedly die & whether a will posted on a blog on the internet is binding would probably be an issue of first impression. Yea.
So, here goes:
*****************************************************
I, Diceburgh, of the city of Pittsburgh, County of Allegheny, and Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, do hereby declare this to be my Last Will & Testament, which will be supplemented periodically on my blog, http://www.hotpinkbutter.blogspot.com.
First, I hereby direct that all of my debts, funeral expenses & expenses of administration of my estate be paid out of my estate as soon as practicable after my death. Under no circumstances shall any portion of my viewing, funeral or wake be in any way asscoiated with the practices or beliefs of the Roman Catholic Church. For that matter, there shall be no religious association at these events whatsoever.
Second, I name & appoint my BFF, Timily Frazier McCloud, to be the executor of this Will. I further direct that she not be required to give bond or other security.
Third, I direct that my bodily remains be promptly cremated & scattered into the confluence of the Three Rivers at Point State Park, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Fourth, I give my most economically-valuable worldly possession, my 1998 Dodge Durango (aka "The Durangelo"), to my only sister, Nicole A. Stockey. To Nicole, I also give my snowboards in the hope that one day she will learn to ride in addition to being a great ski racer.
Fifth, I give my Australian Cattle Dog, Daisy, to my parents, William E. & Judith A. Stockey. They shall also take possession of all dog related accessories, such as toys, leashes, veterinarian documents, etc.
Sixth, I give my fish tanks, pet fish & all related accessories to my good friend, Kevin Scott Brown. To Kevin, I also give my "Pennsylvania" belt buckle, which he is very fond of.
Seventh, I give one-half of my collection of books to Timily F. McCloud. I give the other one-half to Ernesto Barbareri. These two beneficiaries shall meet to divide the books & if there is a dispute as to the equitable nature of the division, an outside appraiser shall be consulted.
Eighth, I give my iPod, Sony Vaio desktop computer & Dell Inspirion 5160 laptop to Timily F. McCloud. This includes all related hardware, such as my printer, speaker system & wireless router. I direct her to permanently delete all personal files on the two computers & use them as she sees fit.
Ninth, I give my Sony television, Play Station 2 (and related accessories) & VCR to Ryan J. Provil.
Tenth, I give my Kenmore sewing machine to Jennifer Verna Boyd.
Eleventh, I give my "Baby Jesu" statute to Daniel J. Vogel.
Twelveth, I give my Black's Law Dictionary & Bluebooks to Michael A. Byrne.
Thirteenth, I give all my board games to the Pittsburgh Boys & Girls Club.
Fourteenth, I give all bikes in my possession to Free Ride!, an Pittsburgh non-profit organization that recycles & repairs bicycles.
Fifteenth, I give my compact disc collection to my sister, Nicole A. Stockey.
Sixteenth, I give my camping gear, including my EMS 6-person tent, Sierra Designs sleeping bag and 2 camp chairs to Timily F. McCloud.
Seventeenth, I give all of my pirate & buccaneer costuming & accessories to Stephen J. Driscoll.
Eighteenth, I give my Nancy Grace autographed photo to Kelsey Walko.
Ninteenth, I give my Jerome Bettis autographed football to my father, William E. Stockey.
Twentieth, I give my gold muppet-like wig to Christopher Barrone to use exclusively for Pittsburgh sporting events.
Twenty-first, my furniture shall be divided among my immediate family members. If there remain pieces which no one desires, they shall be donated to The Salvation Army.
Twenty-second, my clothing & shoes shall be likewise divided among my friends & family. Remaining pieces shall be donated to The Salvation Army.
Twenty-third, I give my Oreck vacuum & Oreck "lil' buddy" canister vacuum to my mother, Judith A. Stockey. I also give to her my 4 Coach purses.
In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my hand & seal this 18th day of January, 2006.
/s/
Candace Ann Stockey
**********************************************************
OK, OK...I got bored. So, if anyone out there knows of something of mine that you want, lemme know so that I can supplement my will.
Peas aht.
These four little words stopped me dead in my slipper-footed tracks last night. My first instinct was to say, "Hey, fuck it." Actually, I wanted to type the words "fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it" ad nauseum until I felt better. Note my restraint.
But these words have helped me to "turn the corner" on something that I have been thinking about for a very long time. The problem is, of course, that I am quite sure of something. Or at least I am sure that I want to take a chance on something new. I want to risk it. I want to know if it could work or fail or kickass or evolve into a natural disaster. I am too old to just go about wondering what could happen. The suspense is killing me.
Check it aht!
The NFL just issued a press release admitting that Ref Pete Morelli MADE A MISTAKE IN REVERSING THE POLUMALU INTERCEPTION! Son of a bitch!
Thank god we won the game, or else T & I would be filing a class action lawsuit against the NFL on behalf of the City of Pittsburgh for intentional infliction of emotional distress.
Holy f-ing shitballs! The Steelers beat the Colts! And I almost had 3 heart attacks! And peed my pants! I hope you did too.
Yesterday's game was an insta-classic. Our black & gold underdogs coming out & dominating the first half like they were ready for some serious payback.
And then, in typical Steelers fashion, turning the game into a do-or-die situation. For those of you who haven't followed the Steelers for more than a few games or seasons, let me tell you that yesterday's game is (unfortunately) trademark Steelers playoff football. I can not tell you how many games have driven me to the edge of insanity & back over the years. And yet, I keep watching & screaming year after year.
Because when we do take out a Super Bowl favorite like the Colts, it is sooooo much sweeter. This town & this team deserved that win. The Bus deserved it. Polamalu & Big Ben, too. The Steelers Nation believed in this team & our beloved Stees proved us right.
I, along with many Steelers pals, watched the entire game outside on Jamie's back porch. We were LAHD. And cold. At one point, I realized that we were much colder than those lame-Os in the RCA Dome. But, then again, that's what makes us Stees fans so tough.
As far as some of the deficiencies of the game, I will briefly comment:
The officiating was not total crap. BUT, they missed a crucial pass interference call on a pass to Randle El & of course, the overturning of the Polamalu interception. If you break that play down into 3 parts, here's how I see it:
1. Polamalu caught the ball cleanly while diving sideways across the intended receiver. He then rolled on the ground (maintaining control) as the rules of physics took over for a sec.
2. He began to stand up & bumped the ball loose with his one knee while the other knee was still on the ground. (This is where the officials claimed that there is a rule that says that if the ball is knocked loose with one knee stilll down, then the player does not have control.) This would be a fumble.
3. Polamalu recovered his own fumble. So, WTF?
I eagerly awaited last night's SportsCenter so that I could have some light shed on this call. But, really, the commentators were just as confounded as I. Apparently, the only folks who know about this rule of possession/control are the refs.
Other notables:
Peyton was sacked 5 times, more than any other game this year. (He was sacked for a total of 17 times in the regular season.)
The Stees are the first number 6 seed to ever make it to the Conference Championship!
The Stees are the first number 6 seed to beat a number 1 seed in the playoffs.
Jamie thinks that Peyton was a victim of fetal alcohol syndrome.
The "noise" in the dome..."Can you hear me now?" "Fucking right!!!" Not a one penalty for a false start. But, the Colts had one. Ha!
Big Ben's Terrible Tackle will live down in black & gold history forever. So be glad you were a part of it.
The Colts gave out free white "towels" (which actually looked like dishrags) to all attendees. Again, where's the originality? We Stees fans buy ours at a retail price of 7 snaps each. And we bring'em everywhere we go.
Before the game, the Colts organization & related scalpers would not sell tickets to anyone with a 412 or 724 area code or any indicia of black & gold-ness. My friend Ronnie said that if he were there, he would overcome this problem by spending 10 bucks on a Colts hat, go up to a scalper & buy the tix, then whip off the hat, bring out the Terrible Tahl, unzip his coat to reveal his Porter jersey & yell, "Go Steelers, Sucka!" Trickery, mmmmm good!
My adrenaline levels were higher yesterday than any time in recent memory. So, today, I must recover by being very calm.
Vanderjagt's missed FG to tie it up was such a "Noonan!" moment that I feel like we might've actually helped that ball to soar so wide from all the way back here in the Soufside. And, I never knew much about that dude, but shit is he cocky. I'm sure that you heard his comment after the game that he never imagined that he would miss a field goal. The best version of this was on ESPN, where they showed the kick, they then showed Tony Dungy mouthing, "He missed it" in disbelief. And then Peyton, "He missed it" with a quirky, knowing smile. And then Bill Caher, "HE MISSED IT!!!!!" freaking out...and then finally, the Bus (on one knee, praying) "He missed IT!!" with a crescendo of amazment. And then, all was right with the world.
So, tomorrow, it's time to refocus, reload & repeat. The Broncos are goin' dahn next Sunday.
Everything is awesome! Thanks, guys!
I've been pondering the Colts amid all of the hoopla that has been going on this week in anticipation of Sunday's game. And here's what I've come up with:
1. No serious NFL team has cheerleaders. See, e.g. The Steelers, The Packers, The Browns.
2. There is no legitimate reason for the Colts to play in a domed arena. Indiana is not really that different, climate-wise, from Pittsburgh. The only team that can rely on the whole "it's way too cold here thing" is the Minnesota Vikings. Football is meant to be played AHTSIDE. So, quit being such pussies & tear the roof off that muthafucka.
3. Yeah, Peyton is good, but it all too often seems to be a smoke & mirrors thing that simply confuses the opposition. And I guess if you want to win by confusing, rather than actually fairly playing the other team, then go right ahead. Thank the football gods that the rest of the NFL still subscribes to the whole play-by-the-rules version.
Wait, I've got a really good analogy. The Colts are like the attorneys who know the rules of law, but constantly look for the loopholes that will allow them to win their case.
Again, cool for lawyers. Super-lame for football.
4. Astroturf is soooooo 1980s. And bad for the knees.
5. Penn State called the colors blue & white in 1855. Try to be just a little bit original.
6. "If you ain't a Steelers fan, you ain't shit!"
Oh, and thanks for askin'...I'm feeling much better.
Jesus, Mary & Joseph!
My body temperature is finally normal. Thank Jezebel for Tylenol & other prescription drugs. I am happy. There's a bacterial war going on inside me & the good guys are finally winning a few battles.
Whooops. That really sad metaphor must be residual brainslop from the fever, or else I've done permanent damage. I'll have to wait & see.
Here are my body temps over the past 20 hours:
6pm - 101.2 F
8pm - 100.8 F
11pm - 99.1 F (looking good, right?)
2:30am - 103.8 F
This is the moment where I freaked. I was going to call a PCP this morn when I got up, but I was afraid that I had already fried/boiled the portion of my brain that holds the law school info. KB came over after finishing his shift & whisked me to the venerable SoufSide Hospital ER.
There, my temp was only 102.2 F, but I was diagnosed with strep throat. I am on penicillin (such a throw-back, old-school antibiotic) & Tylenol to keep my brain from additional sizzling. I usually balk at the thought of taking anitbiotics, as our collective overuse over the years has made them quite ineffective. But, I am a desperate woman who would like to sleep more than three hours at a time & not wake up feeling as though I have pissed the bed (with sweat, of course).
So, today I ventured out of the house for the first time in two point five days (excepting the ER visit) to fill my 'script & get some commercial fluids other than water. It is such a beautiful day! And I am so sick. Gawd. Anyway, as grumpy as I am after four days of sweating, everyone in the outside world seemed like an asshole. A 20-year-old driving a Lexis parking in the handicap spot at CoGos. Cars running the light at the Birmingham Bridge...almost hitting pedestrians. And the dude in line behind me at CoGos. I was trying to buy 2 blue Powerades, 2 OJs, 1 Swanson's Turkey Pot Pie & some smokes (bad for me, I know). So, I have all my shit on the counter & am paying & this dude has to get all up in my personal space to place his 1 pint of box tea on the counter. It's not like he had his hands full. He didn't say "excuse me." And he was waaay to close for comfort, especially since the person who's been in closest contact with me over the sickness was Dr. John Kim, ER doc. I've been monitoring my contact with others in a effort to be considerate. So, I almost licked his iced tea. Tainted it forver with my bacterial infection. This makes me a bioterrorist, doesn't it? (Ha, DOJ & you lousy "sources of intelligence", thought you were goin' to get a serious lead off this post, didn'tcha?)
Be warned. For the next 24 hours, I have a strong bacterial weapon in my command. If you cross me, I will lick you where it counts. And you will be the one stuck at home, miserable & blogging about it.
Roar.
Just a quick "Thanks" to my pal Jack. He provides excellent company, time & again.
Now, go to class!
An update on the sickness:
I have sweat-soaked 3 "outfits" (read: T-shirt, hoodie, PJ pants & undies) since I fell sick Monday evening. I can't break my fever. I am sooooo cold & sweaty at the same time. I can't stop my hands from shaking. My right lymph nodes are golf-ball sized; the ones on the left are only gumball-sized. Perhaps things will improve by tomorrow?
To further infuriate me, this is how today has proceeded: I woke up at 8am & showered to remove the layers of sweat that have accumulated since my last bath Tuesday eve. I quickly realized that there was no reason to try to go to Copyright Law in such a miserable state. So, I laid down on the couch & waited for the pre-scheduled electricians to come over & install/fix my smoke detectors.
(Backstory: The house I live in was sold in September to some richie-rich who is from P-Burgh, but lives in Manhattan. He has implemented some decent changes, such as paving our gravel parking lot & the smoke detector thing, but now is embarking on some additional changes which I find greedy & retarded.)
So, first I had to lock D-Dogg in the small bathroom b/c there are only three rooms in my loft-style apartment & they needed to get into the main area & the bedroom. And as previosuly noted on this blog, she would eat their pants off. Next, I fell into a kinda dozing state whilst I listened to the workers installing the detectors downstairs. Around noon, they were ready for me. It actually wasn't so bad; it took them about an hour & 1/2 to complete the job. Plus, I'm a bit safer now. And, since the lady that lives below me lights over 20 candles a day, I guess we're all really much safer.
OK, here's where I start to cry. The masons (not The Masons) who paved the lot stopped by last night to measure the super-freaking-scary-I won't go down there alone-basement so that they could pour concrete. I have some things stored down there on the dirt floors in the moldly atmosphere & wondered why they were going to give it a real floor. They told me that they planned to renovate it into a 4th apartment! Jesus, it has no windows! And I call it "The Silence of the Lambs Basement." This is truly ridiculous. But it gets worse.
OK, so another apartment; I'll have to finally move my stuff, which ought to be awesome. The mason (who is really, really cute & has the same face as my first serious high school boyfriend) told me that he would be ripping out the old, f-ed up brick sidewalk in front of the house today. That sounds good to me b/c I'm the one who shovels & salts & the uneven nature of the bricks makes it quite a tough job. So, as the electricians are finishing up, I begin to hear bricks hit the inside of a dump truck. The mason had arrived. So, I quickly ran downstairs to try to save my last bit of country in this city: my brick flowerbed.
I pleaded with him. I live for gardening (well, & boating) in the summer! But, he told me that since it was ajacent to the house, it would bring moisture to the basement. Ha! Another reason why no one should live in that rat-infested shithole basement.
So, I lost. No more flowers. All I have left is my three little planters for herbs on the side of the house. God-damn. Just then, T called & I started tearing up on the phone. I really don't know what to do. Gardening in all of its glory made me feel great. Now, fifteen minutes of planting will be all that I am left with. I really have to get outta here.
In response to Andrew's tagging, here goes:
3 Things That Very Few People Know About Me:
1. (Sorry to steal the topic): My first CD was Janet Jackson, Rhythm Nation 1814. Um, it's in my iPod to this day.
2. I must have ice in my red wine. This is completely gouche, but so am I.
3. I love the smell of BO. There, I said it.
I can still hear the bricks being ripped from their homes in the ground. This house is over 100 years old. I wonder if the bricking is too?
RIP flowerbed of mine. Thanks for 3 solid years of beauty.
I would like to personally thank Kimo von Oelhoffen for tearing Carson Palmer's ACL! It was the start of some serious pahnding, let ME tell YOU. Then we took out Chris Henry & a couple other Ben-gals, just for good measure. Now the first half was not quite what we were looking for; Jamie definitely yelled "douchebag!" more times in the first half than the second.The highlight of the game was obviously the gadget play that involved Big Ben, Antwaan Randle El, Big Ben (again) & Cedrick Wilson for the TD!! If you have not seen it yet, (& shame on you if you didn't watch the game), check aht SportsCenter tonight & get right with the Stees! Now, the awful news is that we must face the Colts next Sunday. Peyton Manning. This will be the game of the year. Another tough one. I am already nervous, but if the Stees are on, they can beat 'em. My approach would to be to tear Peyton's ACL in the first quarter. That would be a bit dirty, but effective.To wrap up the rest of the wildcard weekend, let me just say that:1. The 'Skins v. Bucs was more interesting than I thought it would be. Very good defensive matchup. Watching Jon Gruden freak out is actually scarier than Caher's chin. 2. I was very disappointed in the Jaguars v. Pats game. As you might guess, I HATE the Patriots, Tom Brady (well, those commercials are kinda funny where he asks for the grocery store worker's autograph on a melon), & Belichick. But poor little Byron Leftwich & his f-ed up ankle couldn't do shit. And the Jags' unis left something to be desired, fashion-wise.3. The "holy shit!" game of the weekend goes to the Carolina Panthers! I wanted them to kill Eli Manning & his Giants, but WOW, they really just had to scare him into throwing innumerable interceptions. If I were a Giants fan, today would suck. And tomorrow. And every day until the embarassment wears off. 4. The Steelers v. Bungles has already been discussed, but I am glad that I watched it with the "crew." What I drank from 4:30pm-9:30pm: 5 shots to celebrate our scores; 1 rally shot (which really worked); 1 victory shot; 3 IC Light pahnders; 1 Molson XXX bottle; 2 IC Light aluminum bottles. And then I slept.School started today. And I made it on-time to my 9am Copyright Law class. 3 cheers for punctuality! Feeling a little bit shakey, I also made it through an abbreviated Enviro. Litigation class. I. Am. Victorious!But the rest of the day has CRAWLED! The time is going by soooo slowly & I am just waiting for Wild Bill to go book shopping with. I mean, why else would I be blogging at the Barco? When will 3pm arrive? Aaagggghhh!Peas aht.
For those of you who have never had the pleasure of meeting the D-Dogg, here she is boating on the Allegheny River this past summer. Don't let the smile fool you; she will eat your pants right off your butt. Seriously.
Daisy is an Australian Cattle Dog who loves to kill sticks, tennis balls & frisbees. She was born on a farm known as "Noah's Landing" in Aaronsburg, PA in 1999. Although I found Daiz as a result of some pretty tragic shit, namely, my Beagle getting hit by a train whilst being dog-sat, she is a great compadre. Except for the pants-eating thing.
Great moments in Daisy's life:
Visiting 30-odd states (& some Canadian provinces) on her way to Alaska & back during the summer of 2000.
Living in a tent in Chugach State Park in Anchorage, AK for 6 weeks (with me).
Took on a moose & lived.
Went back-country skiing in Wyoming on New Year's Day 2001 & got bloodied by some ski edges...a few stitches later, she was feeling fine.
Took on a porcupine & lived. With 27 quills in her snout. On election day 2000. Really.
Various "Dogg Parties" at the S.S. Cooter over 3 years.
Going overboard on Kels' boat...by accident. Again & again.
Refusing to learn how to swim. Ever.
Biting everyone's ankles.
Being the best Dice-guard there could ever be.
Hope that you now understand the dog behind the fur.
Jack Osbourne : sport climbing :: peanut butter : dog poo
That's what I would've thought before midnight last night.
I was getting ready to turn in after a few glasses of wine, but as I channel surfed, I came across a show called "Jack Osbourne - Adrenaline Junkie" on the Travel Channel. Apparently, Jack quit poppin' Oxys, shed 70 pounds & took up climbing! I watched 3 back-to-back episodes, which culminated in his 6-day ascent of El Capitan, one of the most revered big walls in the world. It was awesome watching him lead pitches that I could only wish that I could climb...
It really made me remember all the fun, frustration & triumph that goes along with that sport. Maybe if I quit law school now, I could have the time to follow my dreams of becoming a professional snowboarder or climber. Let's not ponder such factors as lack of funds or suitable location or aging body...
Anyhoo, fucking congrats, Jackie. You did it!
For the record, today I ate lunner (that's not a typo) at Long John Silvers. I have been craving LJS in a pregnant-lady-craving sorta way for at least a week & today, as I was in Monroeville, I finally satisfied my urge.
A few things to note about me & LJS:
1. I do not eat seafood.
2. I refuse to eat at LJS more than once/year. No exceptions.
3. Each thing tastes exactly like everything else. The only way you can tell each item apart is by the internal texture of the food.
4. I love to ring the Captain's bell as I leave, signaling to the crew that it was a job well done.
5. In the classic story Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson (written in the late 1800s), the ship's cook was named Long John Silver. Coincidence? I think not.
Anyway, here is what went into my belly:
3 chicken planks
approx. 25 french fries
8 hushpuppies
approx. 20 ounces of Coca-Cola
Fucking delish. 365 days til we meet again. Sigh.
The whole Sago Mine tragedy really gets my goat. In a few ways, really. First of all, the media should leave these folks alone. It's been four days now & I'll admit, I can't get enough of the story, but if there is no more coverage of it, then my addiction must end. Instead, I sit on the couch & flip from one channel to the next whenever the story changes from Sago to Ariel Sharon's stroke or Alito's ABA butt-kissing.
The other thing about constantly interviewing a miner's brother-in-law's second cousin (or some other such relation): these flashy reporters know that these folk are not the most well-spoken folk around. And the complete lack of subject-verb agreement that goes along with their dialect is underlined as they pour their hearts out on national network news. Simply put, they end up sounding quite uneducated. Do not misunderstand me; I do not think that they are dumb. I think that they are rural. I am familiar with rural. I like rural. But, I am afraid that the rest of the country might think that they are bumpkins.
Secondly, in my position at the Enviro Law Clinic this summer, I helped out on a longwall mining permit appeal-type thing. Of course, we dealt with the PA DEP...and the DEP has a special office in "Coal Center, PA." Actually, it's close to California, PA, where my mom went to Cal U (aka "Harvard on the Mon"). Reviewing the safety records of a certain mine that was to be expanded (and not mentioning my most hated coal company in the country, which coincidentally has its headquarters in the township in which I graduated from high school), I realized that having hundreds & even thousands of DEP safety violations does not prevent a company from receiving permission from the Commonwealth to expand mining operations. And make millions of dollars.
No matter that this type of mining fucks everything up: subsidence causes homes to crumble & crack, streams disappear underground, loss of habitat for wildlife & aquatic organisms, acid mine drainage turns waterways neon orange, millions of tons of waste coal are piled on the surface, which in turn causes more AMD, noise from drilling, heavy vehicle traffic, etc.
So, what I'm saying is, not only do these folk place their lives in danger by mining coal, their lives are adversely impacted by all of the secondary effects of mining. It truly sucks. And the DEP is rather (in my humble opinion) lenient about issuing permits for mining. Jesus.
The WV version of the DEP can't be much different, as WV leads the nation in coal production. Fuck. At least the Sago mine was block-and-pillar mining.
Next on the list: Tuesday evening, I was watching one of the many press conferences held by ICG's President, Ben Hatfield, as he described progress on the rescue mission. And after about five minutes of rather somber news, a cell phone went off. Really, really loudly.
At first, I just thought that the cell phone was ringing on one channel. But, as I flipped around, Fox News, MSNBC, CNN, CNN Headline, WPXI, KDKA, etc...the ring continued to blare over the speech. What ring was it you ask? What ring could be more inappropriate at this particular moment? Ahem, the theme from G-D Sex in the City. God, it was so fucking loud. And the reporter who owned it did not even try to shut it off! A-mah-zing!
Inappropriado.
More on Sago: Last night I was watching my hero, Nancy Grace, take on the mining story. She did it with class, as usual. Then, she brought up the Quecreek Mine rescue from the summer of 2002 and its legal fallout. She called upon the miners' lawyer to answer a few quick questions about similarities & differences between the two incidents. It took me about 20 seconds to recoginize this man. I picked up the Pittsbughese immediately, but had to rack my brain to figure out how I knew him.
It was Howard Messer, my Trial Ad professor from last Spring! On Nancy Grace! Fuck yeah!
I felt so close to Nancy at that moment...
Onto something a little less tragic: The Stees! Wildcard weekend. I hope to be nuzzled on my couch & ready to watch four, yes, four complete playoff games this weekend. I love playoff football! It is so nerve-wracking to watch, though. The Stees v. Bungles. 4:30pm Sunday, January 8th, 2006. Do not miss it. We are ready for some serious payback. The Bungles always sucked. Since they won our division, they think they're hot shit. Rude awakening, here you come!
Lastly, I had a great time Tuesday night at a new Soufside bar, The Locker Room. This bar has gained popularity due to Hines Ward's bartending and general presence. He was not there on Tuesday, though. Nonetheless, Stanley & I (Penn Staters, both), enjoyed the five-hour, FSU-tromping, Penn State victory at the Orange Bowl there. One drawback was that our cute little blonde bartender went to FSU & I kept yelling out "Florida State Criminals!", which she did not appreciate. But, aside from one Pitt fan who rooted for FSU, the bar was packed with Staters. Cheers of "We are" - "Penn State" rang out lahd & prahd. It was a blast. Then, I got home & realized that I pulled a muscle in my back from giving too many drunken & ecstatic high-fives. Oh well, at least I didn't bust my ACL.
Go Steelers!!
I just wanted to get this out there because I know that Pitt Law will do little to inform its beloved students of such news: My favorite Crim Pro Professor, Welsh S. White, died yesterday. I really can't believe it. I loved that guy soooo much.
Do you remember when he would pretend to be drunk to show us how certain types of pocket-pickers would prey on the intoxicated? Or when we talked about that entrapment case where the defendant was accused of ordering kiddie porn? Or Crim Pro II with Wes & his Wessisms? Gawd...I will miss him. I guess the whole Evidence disaster finally has some way-too-real closure.
His obit can be found at:
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/06001/631066.stm
RIP, dear Welshie.
