After a long deliberation, we decided to cancel Thanksgiving for this year. It's just too much work. The dining room is unmanageably cluttered and we're just too tired. Jen made a point of making us feel a little on the guilty side of the matter.
We ended up taking an invitation for supper at aunt Jan and uncle Ed's house. Our contribution was Marieke's wonderful sweet potato oranges and some cranberry sauce. Mom brought bread and some wine. It was a nice evening overall.
We were expecting to see Patrick, his family and the new addition, my little second cousin once removed, whose name continuously escapes me, but it is another Irish-ish name and his middle name is Michael. Sadly, there is some strife between he and his parents and only Aiden (whose middle name I cannot remember!) came over at the last minute. It was very nice to see everyone, not even Audrey could darken the mood.
Uncle Mike called with the news that Ling delivered their new baby. Nathan is his name and he is adorable!
At the request of aunt Jan, we left a large portion of the oranges over there so that she could take them to her mum's in Beaver, where they were planning a trip for the weekend.
Our Black Friday began at 2:30am, when the alarms went off. Our target? Samsung T401G sliding phones with full keyboard. On sale at Best Buy for $69.99 each, but they each came with $30 worth of minutes, so the actual price of the phones themselves was $39.99. We arrived at the Waterfront bright (actually not so bright since it was still dark) and early (actually, it was late for me because I hadn't yet gone to sleep), at the unholy hour of 3:17am. The line was already about 100 or so long and it started to drizzle freezing bits of rain on us while we waited for the doors to open.
The people in blue shirts came around at least twice to hand out vouchers for big ticket items such as tvs, appliances, computers, stereos, that kind of thing. We were in line waiting to buy Net10 Prepaid phones, which we learned were guaranteed to number at least ten at every store.
Jen was handing out fliers to the people in line, so when she got to where I was, we chit-chatted for a while. Then the doors opened and the chaos was toward the rear of the store and we largely avoided it. Afterward, we visited Jen for a while since she was standing in front of BB&B handing out coupons to the incoming crowds (about 3 in the twenty minutes we were standing with her!).
At last we were at home and while Marieke caught up on some z's, I transfered my contact list and played sudoku on my new phone.
Just after Kara got into her accident in October, Shannon and Will bought a house in Monroeville somewhere in the middle of an epic hill. Move-in day was the first week in November, but I couldn't help because of my finger and Marieke just doesn't do the 'moving' thing and besides, they had a team of movers.
We got a bunch of stuff as a result of their move: one large dining room table (capable of seating eight), six red chairs, one air conditioner, two wooden, fold-able shelf units, the square cat food table, and a few other odds and ends.
All they asked in return for this stuff was to help Will take the larger, unusable pieces to the dumpster, which I was too happy to help with.
Bill came with his giant truck to help us move the giant table and carry it up our front steps.
Mom's old kitchen table/dining room table/Marieke's sewing table is finally retired and now resides in the basement. Our antique dining room table that Neil and I rescued from the trash is now Marieke's sewing table. The process we used for switching the two tables was in fact so complicated, that it became the subject of a writing assignment I had for College Comp I.
The cats love their new eating spot, but it needs a little fixing since it wobbles under Opie's massiveness. Summer will be bearable at night thanks to the air-conditioner, which sits in the gecko room for now.
So instead of 'doing the dance' of bringing the office table downstairs and crowding everyone around a taller-than-the-available-chairs-can-comfortably-accommodate, not-sturdy-enough-for-the-people-we-have-over two table mish-mash for Thanksgiving, we'll have one, nice, long table with chairs enough for everyone.
I give you a poem, in two stanzas, arranged but not authored by yours truly, in preparation for the such-huge-life-changing-news-that-it-has-to-be-rolled-out-over-two-days announcement... enjoy!
Blinded, (I) lost (my) way, through the side streets and the alleyway Although my eyes were open, they might have just as well have been closed
Something, is about to give, I can feel it coming, I think I know what it is
I had to get a refill on my Percocet, but they gave me Vicodin, which works just fine.
On Saturday after the surgery, the bottom of my finger was hurting very badly because the splint was digging into it. There was a deep indentation and the surrounding area was black and blue, so back to the ER we went. It took like five doctors to come and examine the situation before they took the dressing off and re-positioned the splint. I couldn't even look at it when they unwrapped it. I could feel it pulling, but didn't feel too much of anything else and spent most of the time in my happy place.
On Suday or Monday (the days are blending together, now), I walked to Hollywood video and apparently spent about 45 minutes gathering five movies, including Day the Earth Stood Still, Changeling, Doubt and two or three others, which I do not remember.
Despite the pain medication, it is beginning to feel sore. I have no idea what it looks like or what is happening inside there.
Marieke continues to take care of me and I continue to wait until I can function again.
Percosets are nice. I'm asleep all the time and I swear Marieke is calling my name all the time.
The surgery was nasty. I had a lot of bad experiences. The first was when they did an ultrasound through my shoulder to administer a nerve block for my entire arm. It was painful and felt like I was being stabbed by a machete. The damn block barely worked anyhow and I needed some additional anesthetic. Guess what happened then? I had a bad reaction to the anesthetic they gave me and broke into a cold sweat and felt like I was drowning in sand.
What was really scary was that the doctor or whatever was there kept cursing his computerized instruments for not having the correct display or for not working or for whatever... but it was downright scary as shit, especially since I knew what was happening.
Afterward, I woke in the recovery room with mom and Marieke there. My finger is covered in gauze and according to the x-ray, very straight, but one of the four screws has no head. It broke off during the procedure.
My whole right arm was numb and it felt like I had a mannequin's arm instead of my own; I couldn't even look at it. So unsettling was it to have a portion of my own body just completely not function, I had to go for a walk int he hopes that my body would metabolize the anesthesia quicker.
Marieke scrambled to make me comfortable. Within ten minutes, the swivel chair was in the middle of te living room, with a dining room chair in front of it for feet proppage. She was a saint taking care of me. And I know it was difficult because it was just a month since we quit smoking.
Kara came over to keep Marieke company, but had to leave suddenly and without much explanation. She has become something of a bitch since she moved away. Oh well. Back to my percosets. Hopefully I'll be able to write more as the days go on and maybe I'll clean this post up a bit since I am aware that it is a bit shit right now.
It is August 13th. I go in for surgery tomorrow at UPMC in Oakland. I got directions, but they're a little fuzzy since I can't frigging write with my broken effing finger.
To 'celebrate' the first game for the Steelers since winning the Super Bowl, we decided to bring in the new season at Hough's with mom. Yes, mom came to Hough's with us. It was about 25 minutes before game time and we just settled into our seats at a high table near the back, before the bar got really super crowded.
Suddenly, our plans were shot to shit and our lives got more interesting as Barb came to us and casually said 'Do you guys wanna go to this game?' I said 'Oh yeah. I'd love to be there, it would be great... I've never been to Heinz Field for a Steelers game before.' Barb then offered tickets to the game, a gold parking pass and the most exciting way possibly imaginable to spend the day before surgery.
We dropped a dejected mom off at her apartment with our heartfelt apologies, raced home, changed into Steelers gear, grabbed the camera, Terrible Towel and off we went to Heinz Field for our first Steelers game. It was against the Arizona Cardinals, upon whose ass we very concisely cracked a bottle of whoop in the last meeting on, of all days, Super Bowl Sunday!!
Needless to say, we were geeked out. It was a great game. In very short order, we found that there were only two ATMs within walking distance of our amazing seats and a line of 13 people takes exactly 28 minutes to render.
We had some snacks, of course and a couple drinks. The parking was primo. The seats were awesome.
Marieke and I had the distinct honor of being one of about thirty-thousand to bear eye-witness to the first pre-season game of the World Champion Pittsburgh Steelers. It was truly memorable.
The sixth Lombardi Trophy was among it's five brothers in the hall of champions, but it was surrounded by fifty-thousand people, s we opted for a zoom-in pic.
I would change nothing about that night.
It's just after midnight and I'm nowhere near tired. Just slapped my last patch onto my arm. The next couple weeks are not going to be nice.
...it's official, I need surgery and the guy who is gonna do it is a complete god-complex-egomaniac. The 'fellow' from Africa was very nice and has no problem with *his* bedside manner.
My finger is unstable and requires several screws, which requires knock-you-the-hell-out-surgery. I am scared to death.
It's scheduled for this Friday, the 14th. I'm told that even though it is admirable that I've quit smoking, the patch will complicate the healing process. For the sake of Christ, I'm not even finished with the first step yet and it hasn't been a month. Great. Wonderful. Stupendous. Splendid. Fantastic. Jolly Good. Excellent. Hooray.
I know it's been two weeks because August 2nd was yesterday. Did I mention that the hard candy put a hole in my tongue?
Dr. Kaufmann's office finally rendered help to Marieke and I have an appointment next week. This is good because I'm really not able to function at work as I should.
The New York study required a ton of paperwork and I have to constantly request to be put on other assignments. My request is met with inconsistent results depending on who is the designated internet surfer in the office.
Annoyingly, everyone has some kind of comment about either my splint or my condition and almost everyone who hasn't come into direct contact with me since the incident has heard either second or third hand about what has happened. I guess it's not that annoying because I know they care... the whole situation makes me so cranky.
I don't see any major change in anything for the next week... so more after my appt.
At the risk of publishing three sentence posts per day due to my injury, I've condensed them into posts of about a week or so.
Sunday (D-6) My broken finger has added to an already difficult period of time an element of frustration and incomprehensible pain. Normally when I experience such pain, I smoke. I can't smoke. And it makes it hurt more.
How am I going to keep from smoking!?
Monday (D-7) Atop the fact that the injury is on my right hand, it prevents me from writing, which is about 40% of my job. Although I've gotten some exception to the rule of writing, it still makes me unable to perform my duties for at least half of the studies we are working on.
Tuesday (D-8) I tried the doctor's office and was told that an office visit costs between $70 and $400 depending on what might be needed. THe scheduling desk had nothing else for me. She sounded ignorant and confused, so maybe after a day or two they'll have someone who knows something helpful on the other end of the phone.
Friday (D-11) We have discovered Tootsie pops. They come in a bag of goodness which informs the user that this bag contains one of the new flavors. And ours did in fact have one of the new flavors. Pomegranate! So good.
Sunday (D-13) This is hard and I'm starting to get major cravings again nearly five days after I had my last rreally big craving. I've got the jittters and my feet will not stop moving. The bright spot is that for the first time in my life that I can remember, my hands are not cold. This might be from the increased bloodflow to my extremities that I was missing out on as a smoker, or it could be a reaction form the adrenalin that is now freely able to flow throughout my body.
It really does feel like I'm doing much better with this than Marieke is. Last night, she cried herself to sleep because she wanted to smoke. Today, she is a bit moody.
I find that it's hard to concentrate on anything or have any coherent thought. The mints are helping, but I now have an annoying sore on the left side of my tongue. Marieke's sore is actually a giant hole in the left side of her tongue. I'm assuming that these sores come from constantly having a peppermint of some sort in my mouth.
Smoking is pretty much an exercise in instant gratification. I can't tell you how many days I woke up and while making my coffee, would be smoking that first cigarette, getting light-headed, relishing the feeling of the nicotine coursing through my body. Peppermints, conversely, are exercises in patience. As a result, the peppermints usually don't last more than about 2 or 3 minutes before I chomp into them.
What the neighbors didn't realize when they were setting off fireworks exactly 15 days after the Fourth of July was that Oskar does not like fireworks. I'm sure they didn't know this because if they knew what transpired because of their inconsiderate stupidity, maybe they might have reconsidered violating a long standing city ordinance and state law. But they didn't, so I'm guessing they weren't aware that Marieke and I had just quit smoking and having the dogs become upset and excited- unreasonably so- was just fuel to the fire of our discontent.
Oskar had just parked himself on the windowsill in the upstairs hallway when Marieke yelled up to inform me that if the dogs didn't stay on the second floor, they would not see the sun rise tomorrow. I rushed to his aide, trying to close the window and keeping him upstairs. Just as I had both my arms around him, in an attempt to pick him up and move him away from the window, there was a loud bang and Oskar lurched backward, jamming my right ring finger into the wall with his butt.
The initial pain and welling made me think that I had just stoved it. But then my knuckle began to resemble a concord grape and pain began shotting up my arm. When my finger tip listed to the left more so than is normal, it was off to the emergency room we went.
I wasn't really convinced just yet that my finger was actually broken because a broken finger is very expensive and I didn't have insurance. Maybe it was just dislocated or perhaps stoved. The ER doc explained the process of setting a dislocation. It involved needles into the base of the finger, which I was not thrilled about. The x-rays had not come back yet, so I decided to hope for the best and psych myself up for the massive amounts of pain that I was about to have to go through without the benefit of Novocaine.
Marieke and I were able to contemplate in real time the fate of the universe before the doctor came back with good news and bad news. The bad news was that there was no good news. The humor escaped Marieke and I, but not the good doctor. Apparently I had a vertical fracture which had the potential to become unstable. I was given two splints and sent on my way with a referral to the Orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Robert Kaufman, with whom I was to see within 2-3 days.
Just what I wanted on the fifth day of quitting smoking!
It is a foregone conclusion that quitting for as long as we have already has had far reaching benefits. Until today, none have really been tangible. My feet and hands are warm. They've never been warm. They've always been cold. I've also noticed an ability to type faster and feel different tactile details that were not previously perceptible.
My only concern during the 2hr, 33min Harry Potter movie that Tanner and I saw today was that I had to use the privy but didn't want to miss anything in the movie. It was nice to not look at the cellphone halfway through wondering if I could make it another __ minutes until the movie was over so that I could smoke. I only had to look at it once- at the end- to see if Marieke texted me about where she and the other rent-a-kid were.
I switched from Blow Pops to Tootsie Pops and had only four of those today, two during the movie... and I actually ate something before the movie started, in the movie theater, and didn't get a craving afterward- which I just thought of... BTW. That's a good sign! I cleaned off a river rock from the pots outside last night before bed and use it to keep my hands busy.
I'm almost out of peanuts and the carrot sticks are a very good replacement for the pumpernickel onion sticks. It still feels like I'm eating nearly everything in sight. I managed to also not drink 48oz. of V8 juice today, which may be a good thing- I have got to drink more water, though post-movie I evacuated an un-natural amount of liquid in the Starbucks men's room.
The viscousness of the cravings have finally ebbed in strength, but not in frequency. I fear the only option is to completely re-arrange the office, for I am sitting in the exact position, with the exact items surrounding me, except that the ashtray is filled with snacks and candy and gum and not disgusting butts and ashes, as I did before quitting. I did most of my smoking here, where I sit presently.
What is of concern is that this is one of maybe two ways that the room fits together with the furniture that we have in here and the power requirements needed for the equipment. I don't really have the inclination to completely alter the room's configuration, so I may try arranging the contents of the bookcases and fiddle with the items on the table and desk so that they look different.
The only thing left over from Day 1 is that I am lacking in sleep. I've taken two meletonin pills and had two glasses of wine. Hopefully that will do something to help knock me out. I'm feeling a little drowsy now.
Off to the Vintage Grand Prix tomorrow with Jenny. Keeping busy with activities is immensely helpful!
Marieke was in her usual high spirits today and maintains that the cravings are not so bad for her. I'm jealous of that, because it's pretty rough for me.
Before leaving for work, we got a call from our 'rent-a-kid' family and agreed to go to the movies on Friday. That should be interesting.
During the call, I told our friend that we had quit-smoking patches on. She said 'Oh, trying to quit, huh?' I then heard myself say the following: 'Not trying, doing. Do or do not, there is no try,' quoting Yoda.
Work was difficult by myself. I found concentrating a little easier. In retrospect, I didn't miss the smoke break too much, but I still felt uneasy in my chair and took several laps around the office to work off some of the anxiety.
Mostly everyone at work is supportive, though, which is nice.
Back home, we made it through dinner- our first grill of the season. It was delicious. Then I began eating. More pretzel sticks, more V8 juice, carrot sticks... then dinner.
Kara gave us her left-over blowpops from when she quit. I had one of those, then we went to Rita's for some cold stuff in a cup. Then another blow pop.
In for the evening, I decided I needed another small bowl of baked beans, another corn on the cob, some Swedish Fish and I don't know how many pieces of gum.
My tongue is blistered from the Life Savers and Marieke actually has an open sore on the back of hers from the hard candy.
Overall, today was better. Though the cravings were a bit more powerful, they didn't last as long and were a little further spaced out than the last two days. My chest is still a little tight and my throat is sore. The constant din of a headache I've had since quitting has gone down to a lower frequency dull ache.
I still find myself reaching for the cigarettes every now and again, or thinking 'it's time for a smoke,' but not as often.
The biggest thing is that I haven't slept very much since quitting. I'm afraid I'll fall asleep at the movie tomorrow if I don't get some good shut-eye tonight.
Today was a little different. Marieke's patch came off int he shower, so she had to get a new one less than twelve hours after the first one.
Before work, we ate at Qdoba and watched the Sotomayor hearings on CNN.
It was a little odd at work because we usually measured time by how many smoke breaks we went on. Instead, we decided on a long, half-hour break, during which, we went for a walk on the Soldier's And Sailor's Memorial Lawn. It was nice, but the cravings were difficult to ignore.
By the end of the day, I came to the conclusion that the process of quitting is the exact opposite of what I predicted would happen. I surmised that I would be the 'Zen Master' of quitting and Marieke would be the one becoming un-hinged. In a sick twist of fate that makes me want to snap people's necks like dandelions, the exact opposite is true.
Marieke is handling the situation with her usual grace and poise. We've exchanged a few unpleasantries, but it wasn't too bad.
With the possibility of diabetes onset becoming a real concern for the both of us, we stopped for some non-sugar snacks: pretzel sticks and V8 juice among them.
Ever the cheerleader and never ending source of support that she is, Marieke read a couple lists of things that happen to your body when you quit smoking. Apparently, by this date, the carbon monoxide levels in my blood stream have gone down to normal levels. In about another day or so, my feet and hands will become warmer because of circulation issues and blood constriction associated with smoking.
Yikes. But the cravings are so strong.
Marieke suggested a walk at around midnight and it was the best thing ever, since it was cool and we got to go do something. We took a completely different route than normal. The dogs loved it.
Another sleepless night was in store for me and Marieke didn't sleep to well, either.
I ate about three quarters of the two bags of prezel sticks, hit the peanuts pretty hard and finished an entire quart and a half of V8 juice in a little less than 5 hours.
The cough seems to be less frequent and I seem to be able to laugh without coughing directly afterward.
This might not be so bad afterall. I've eaten less today than last night and I feel a little better. My chest isn't so tight and it doesn't feel like I'm 5 seconds away from having a panic attack.
At work, though, I found it a little harder to concentrate and I kept having to rise and walk about the office.
In lieu of smoking, we've decided to drive everywhere with the windows up and the air-conditioning on so that we're not thinking about ashing out the window.
It wasn't just any ordinary anniversary. No, such a monumental undertaking would not be conceivable on any other anniversary and no gift to each other more appropriate. 14 July 2009- our 10th anniversary. I had smoked for 7 years before we became something worth celebrating.
My childhood was spent in a virtual haze of smoke; I remember always having been sensitive to the smell when my parents would smoke and it would waft into my bedroom as I was trying to sleep (even up to today, the sensitivity is present). Despite that fact, I began smoking not out of peer pressure, since none of my friends smoked, but, I think, out of longing. Having so much smoke around me at home made me an addict without my consent or knowlege. This unhappy realization came via a close friend, who noticed an ongoing short fuse, which he likened to what his mother felt after she quit smoking just the previous year. At first, I took the news quite well, but later I began thinking and for the next several months, I became acutely aware that he was correct.
Not long after my 16th birthday, I began working at a place where everyone smoked everywhere and my mood was becoming unbearable, even for myself. On the way home one random spring night, I stopped for gas (which was $0.99 per gallon at the time) and purchased my first pack of cigarettes (which was about $1.29 a pack at the time). They were Marlboro reds, because that's what I saw everyone else smoking at my workplace and figured it was the best place to start. I justified starting the habit by focusing on my mood swings and general anxiety when I left the house compared to the near calm while at home. Reason told me that it was just until I went off to college, or got a place of my own or a new job or whatever- basically I wasn't going to be smoking for long. In the beginning I had maybe three total all day long. As life began to pile more crap on my shoulders, it gradually became a half pack a day. I held at this level for maybe a year or two. For various reasons, the habit shot up to a pack a day and eventually grew into a slightly more than a pack-a-day habit with bouts of chain smoking and periods of relative smokeless days in between.
During our time together, Marieke and I had made empty resolutions to quit, usually at the beginning of the year, usually forgotten by Marieke's birthday- less than a month later. None came to fruition or had been given serious thought.
Late last year, we finally decided that instead of saying that we were going to quit 'on' New Year's Day, that we would quit 'in' the new year. We promised ourselves the time to think about quitting and actually consider it. We loosely decided that we would quit a week after Marieke's family went back home. As motivation, we made a list of things we could do with all the money we would save by not having to constantly feed our habit.
That was in May.
But we weren't ready. Then our close friend quit. We still weren't ready. In late June, we went to the store for groceries and reminded ourselves that we needed smokes. I said 'smokes or patches?' A comment that was meant with a glare.
We asked the clerk to fetch us a carton and Marieke surprised me with 'This will be our last carton.' It came as a shock, more so that she was actually committing to a time frame of some sort to quit.
After that carton was finished, we still weren't quite there as far as quitting, so we continued to buy single packs. Finally, after much debate, we decided that we would quit on the date of our anniversary and that it would be a gift to each other.
14 July fell on a Tuesday, a day we both worked. Before dinner, we ran some errands, including getting the patch. Not ever wanting to jump into something without looking first, we enlisted the help of a pharmacist at Target named Nicole. She explained the process and gave us some pointers. With box in hand, we headed to the candy aisle and stocked up on Swedish Fish, peppermint Life Savers, Twizzlers, gum, almonds, peanuts and gummy bears.
Dinner at the new Asian buffet just down the street from us was amazing. In the parking lot, while having our post-dinner smoke (which would become our second-to-last), I read the instructions for the patch. It said that we should clean out all the ashtrays, packs, garbage and butts out of everywhere we smoked and throw/put them all away. We started on the car ashtray and garbage. When we got home, those went as well. At 9:56pm, we sat ourselves down on the porch and lit up our last cigarette.
At around 10pm, we put each other's patch on after giving each other a preemptive group of apologies for what may come.
We then proceeded to eat nearly every snack we bought. Our teeth were aching by the end of the day. I tried to sleep the night, but the dog woke me up and I had to spend the next 9 hours awake, facing my cravings and desires to smoke, alone and in the dark.
I found that inserting a straw into the little hole in the peppermint Life Saver and then putting the whole thing in my mouth helped ease the initial shock of not having a cigarette in my hand.
The patch is a little itchy, but bearable. I have a tightness in my chest that feels like a giant cushion is resting square in the center of my torso. My heart is pounding and beating a bit fast. I've tried three times to go to bed, but each time I lay down, my head begins to ache.
I coughed for the first time since my last cigarette and the pain in my head was exquisite and emphasized itself with each heave. My nose hasn't stopped running since putting the patch on and I've sneezed fourteen times.
The withdrawal is intolerable. I am not tolerating it, I am wading through it at nose hight.
This is not something that I ever intend on putting myself through ever again. Therefore, as of this date, I am a non-smoker. That will never change.
The Wigger Steven Hawking (Greenfield Nation) Date: 2009-06-23, 9:54AM EDT Somewhere in Greenfield there is a concentrated point of wigger energy(WE). Its drawing all the WE from surrounding Pittsburgh areas toward it. Its feeding off rap, white tee's, black and milds, newports, ....anything that contains even trace amounts of WE. Once the WE is pulled toward this point the energy attaches itself to th other WE swirling "inside", and collapses inward creating highly dense and concentrated Wiggerishness. Its extremely dangerous, and highly misunderstood. Anything coming into contact, or even close proximity with this Wigger Vortex(WV) will instantly be ionized with PURE RAW WE! Causing a transformation which has the power to change the very fabric of existence.
re: The Wigger Steven Hawking (Greenfield Nation) (Needs re-write) Date: 2009-06-23, 10:08AM EDT Sorry dude, good effort but it's not working for me. As the Skipper aka Jonas Grumby (Alan Hale, Jr.) would say to the Professor aka Roy Hinkley (Russell Johnson), "Can we get that in English please?"
The Wigger Steven Hawking II (Greenfield Nation) Date: 2009-06-23, 10:49AM EDTThe potential for confusion exists surrounding the phenomenon of WE. Observers from rural environs may have difficulty comprehending the complexities of the WV. Some have dedicated their lives to the enlightenment of the masses concerning all things wiggerish. Try this...... G=(WE+Wu)÷ 3(WV). Remember ordah of operations. Solve for WE............
Somewhere in Greenfield there is a concentrated point of wigger energy(WE). Its drawing all the WE from surrounding Pittsburgh areas toward it. Its feeding off rap, white tee's, black and milds, newports, ....anything that contains even trace amounts of WE.
There's not much WE yet in Swissvale, but there is a thug singularity (TS) in nearby Rankin, on Kenmawr before the bridge. It is the East End epicenter of thug energy (TE), located precisely at the convenience store on the corner of the newly redesigned intersection. Here, thug energy photons (TEPs) swirl about and converge, bending with the extreme gravitational pull of the TS. Only they can escape alive (being pure TE)--nothing else would dare enter.
Once the WE is pulled toward this point the energy attaches itself to th other WE swirling "inside", and collapses inward creating highly dense and concentrated Wiggerishness. Its extremely dangerous, and highly misunderstood.
Only the TEPs know what occurs in the TS, though others speculate it is, in fact, the purchase of white tees, Newports and Black and Milds.
Anything coming into contact, or even close proximity with this Wigger Vortex(WV) will instantly be ionized with PURE RAW WE!
I've learned that one way to neutralize this effect is by spending approximately twenty minutes at the Starbucks in Squirrel Hill, where Caucasian electromagnetic waves (CEWs) penetrate the body, expunging all WE.
Causing a transformation which has the power to change the very fabric of existence.
Eventually there will be no turning back.
I'm not sure if this crosses the line of anything. I find it incredibly funny. If it offends anyone, I apologize.
Just about four months ago it was -15F in the 'Burgh. I know this because as much as I wanted to attend the Steelers Super Bowl Victory parade, it was just too cold, so I recorded it from the internet and watched it like three times. Today was different- and in so many ways.
Today it was time for a 17 year drought to come to an end- that of a Penguins Stanley Cup Victory Parade. It was great weather- a little too hot for Marieke, but just right for me. We left as soon as the announcement was made online that streets were being closed ahead of the parade. Driving along the route that would take us to the First Ave Garage, I took notice of several dozen people waiting along Greenfield Ave for a bus that would take them to where we were going. The bus that ended up passing us on Second Ave was stuffed with revelers wearing jerseys. 87, 9, 48, 13, 11- even 81 and quite a few 66- all headed to the same place for the same reason: to welcome home an old friend- Lord Stanley.
It wasn't until we spent four minutes driving in the upward spiral to the top floor of the garage that I realized just how many people could potentially be at the parade. My estimation bore a smaller number than that of the Super Bowl parade.
With parking ticket in hand, we marched toward the elevator with all the excitement of school children (at least I was that excited). Luckily the first elevator was too full to join and we had to wait for another. It was lucky because we came across a very awesome, very large, very green poster held by a woman named Jenny. She proceeded to tell us that she is from Nova Scotia and her sign was for Sidney Crosby. Well, that geeked me out and I immediately had to have a picture of her and her poster. Just new to the city, having only been here since Friday, she asked if she could tag along with us since she didn't know where anything was. We were only too happy to oblige. I always think of Pittsburgh as a friendly town (as long as your not driving on the parkways or trying to merge onto one) and I rather enjoy making others feel welcome here, so it was an added treat for me.
Jenny is training in Monroeville to be a paramedic and said many times that she can not believe that the Penguins won the Stanley Cup. I kindly informed her that since she had been in the city since Friday (the very day we won the Cup), that she would now have to remain in town for forever since she seemed to bring some good ol' fashion Canadian good luck with her.
After scoping out the large crowds int he parking garage on The Boulevard, we decided to remain closer to Grant St near the TV crews because there would probably be alot of pauses so that people would be able to talk to the news and that meant we would have ample opportunity to ogle our favorite players or even *gasp* the Cup itself.
Our spot was chosen, we rooted ourselves and prepared for the spectacle we were about to witness. Jenny had other ideas, excusing her way to the very front so that her poster could be seen by Crosby. A cameraman from Channel 4 took interest and interviewed her about it, much to our amazement, since she had only just gotten to the city only four days ago and now she would be on the local news. We chose to stay put and enjoyed the view just as well from our spot (the best one, in my opinion). There was so much to see and take in during the hour we had to wait before the parade started. It was harrowing for me to admit that I was in a very large crowd of people, but I was determined to maintain composure and focused on the signs that other people made, their championship shirts, everyone's hats, the dog whose person was wearing a classic #66 jersey, complete with a 'Badger' Bob Hohnson patch worn on the jerseys of the first Pittsburgh Penguins Stanley Cup Champions in 1991.
The police horses were agitated by the occasional pop of confetti crackers and their bowels were clearly quite disturbed by them; the people surrounding us frequently wondered aloud weather or not the situation would pose an unsurmountable obstacle for the parade participants. Marieke and I, taking the high road in the matter simply giggled to ourselves.
Alby Oxenrider from Channel 11 wanted to interview the crowd near our location, but could not get through the barricades and so he decided to crowd surf down to the sidewalk. Literally. He jumped into the crowd of people and for about a minute, was completely at the mercy of the arm strength of those below him.
The corner of Grant St and The Boulevard of the Allies is normally a very major intersection and the Trib Total Media decided a few years ago to install a news ticker and electronic billboard at the location. For once, there were no adverts on the billboard and no news on the ticker. In their place, a series of very nice photographs from the trophy presentation at the end of Game 7 and other Penguins tributes were displayed.
We had been at our 'spot' for nearly an hour when we heard someone mention by relay of a cell phone text message, that the parade had started and that Mario Lemieux was leading it off. Three large PAT buses went by shortly thereafter, their marquee red 'SPECIAL' and 'LET'S GO PENS!'. I mentioned to Marieke that they were going to be used to transport the parade participants back from the end of the route, a supposition that was carried throughout the nearby crowd. The excitement in the crowd was palpable. The Pittsburgh Police Pipes and Drums led the parade, followed by a Pittsburgh Police Color Guard. Then someone in the first row shouted, 'There's Mario!!' We all gawked at the same time. One of the busiest corners in downtown Pittsburgh was transformed into a schoolyard filled with children awaiting the arrival of the ice cream truck.
With amazing alacrity, a black convertible arrived just in front of us. Seated in the back and along the rear panel were Mario Lemieux and co-owner Ron Burkle. The crowd erupted in chants of 'Mario! Mario!' as he exited his car to talk to the media. My view of his person was obstructed by the throng and Marieke pointed out that the Mayor was in the car just behind Mario's. I snapped a few shots of the guy as he commented that he's not as important.
As times bring special moments to the city I often think how much Bob O'Connor would have loved to have seen them. *sigh*
After Le Magnifique rounded his car and hoped back in, Mayor followed suit and had a short pressie. His re-mount into his car was not as graceful since he almost fell down and went boom.
This was followed by three 'Just Ducky' tour buses filled with lucky people whose identities remain a mystery. Then it began. The twenty-seven Pittsburgh Penguin players perched in the rear of pick-up trucks of alternating black/red colors (helpful in piecing together a chronology of the parade) began passing our vantage point, each one briefly stopping while the one in front paused to allow an interview.
The order was as follows:
Truck 1- Satan (81), Kennedy (48), Fedotenko (26) Truck 2- Curry (1), Thiessen (30), Garon (32), Scuderi (4) Truck 3- Boucher (43), Staal (11), Goligoski (3), Minard (23) Truck 4- Taffe (22), Dupuis (9), Kunitz (14) Truck 5- Jeffrey (42), Talbot (25), Guerin (13)- Also the Prince of Wales Trophy. Dan Bylsma and his family followed the fifth truck and he was kind enough to get out and walk around, greeting the fans that lined the route. I got maybe one or two shots of him and they're not that good. Truck 6- Gill (2), Adams (27), Letang (58) Truck 7- Eaton (7), Lovejoy (65), Godard (28), Zigomanis (15) Truck 8- Orpik (44), Sykora (17), Cooke (24) Truck 9- Malkin (71) with his Conn Smythe award for MVP and now famous parents in tow. Truck 10- Crosby (87), Fleury (28) with the Stanley Cup.
When the Cup went by, I shrieked like a girl. It was the first time I had ever seen the Cup that close. Seventeen years ago when all of Pittsburgh Public School students skipped class to attend the victory rally at Three Rivers Stadium, it appeared a dot whose definition became apparent only when it was hoisted by Lemieux. I was at first struck by how shiny it was, then by how old it was, then by the fact that it is the same cup that has been hoisted and paraded and won for the last 111 years. Truly a moment to behold for which I have a total of 33 images to remember it by.
After that, everything became a blur. We met up with Jenny who said she didn't even get to see the Cup because she was holding her poster up for Crosby, who ended up not seeing it, but Fleury did and gave her a thumbs up. We exchanged contact info and started back toward the garage.
On our way, I ended up two paces from Sally Wiggin. She was so polite and even posed for a snapshot. It was a really awesome way to end a really awesome day.
I have no recollection of what happened between then and now, aside from sorting the nearly 700 pictures I took of the day, getting the exact spellings of the player's names correct and writing this.
It is now 3:45am and I shall slumber with visions of the Cup dancing in my head.
After an amazing season, a coaching change and quite a few heart-attack-games, The Pittsburgh Penguins won the Stanley Cup!!!
What an amazing run!!
My two cents about the Cup Final:
I can not count how many times one brawl or another broke out between the Pens and the Wings before game 7. There were so many fights and penalties and really nasty hits and so much of this series was defined by this. Malkin suddenly became emotional on the ice and got off a few really awesome punches on more than one occasion. The Wings were all over any Penguin who had the puck to point where turnovers were becoming ridiculous.
By game 3, when the Pens came home, it wasn't looking too good for us, but the argument had been made over and over again, especially after the disaster that was game 5, about how very important home-ice is for a team in the Stanley Cup Finals.
Game 6 was nerve wracking. I can remember shouting at the television when the cup was brought out of its box and was being polished, 'PUT IT BACK!! PUT IT BACK,' not wanting to re-live the disappointment of last year's Cup Final result.
Having won game 6 and forcing a game 7, the odds really were stacked against the Penguins to win. None of the commentators, sports writers or average Joes on the street were tired of pointing out that only 3 of the last 17 Stanley Cups were awarded to the visiting team in game 7. Contrary to this ubiquitous fact, I became overly fond of pointing out that there is something of a 'negative space' issue in these statistics during the time between game 6 and game 7.
It's not about what the statistics say, it's about what they don't say. It's the element of probability that is absent from the commentators', writers' and Joes' estimation of the chances for a Penguins win. The Penguins had more of a chance to win game 7 because of the stacked statistics. It was more probable that they would win because the numbers were due for a tick in the other direction. It's like playing the number 314 in the PA Lottery. 314 rarely comes up. It is the least hit-upon number combination. So, based on the history of the PA Lottery, one wouldn't play this number because it doesn't come up often, right? Wrong. 314 has a greater chance of hitting because it doesn't come up that often.
Regardless of the commentary, articles and conversations, the Red Wings didn't loose the game. The Penguins won the game; and it was the first time during the entire series that we lead the series. Detroit led four times.
It took all of six games, but the Red Wings finally looked at the Penguins and respected the team for having forced a game 7, for having the guts and the stamina to deny them a cup in game 6, even after the whipping we took in game 5. There were virtually no 'stupid penalties' in this game, no fights and the hit count was almost even- especially the real zingers. It wasn't tipped way in favor of the Wings this time. So good on them for having the guts to respect the Penguins. It takes alot for a team to put everything else aside and give an opponent some respect.
I could, at this point, say something really un-sportsman-like about Hossa right now; such as 'he's now reduced to a curse' or 'serves him right for bailing on Pittsburgh' or 'he got his just desserts' or something equally ironic about his situation. But I won't.
The Penguins so deserve this victory... and so do we, the fans.
WOW!! Two major national championships in the same year! What is my application of the 'negative space' theory of statistics to the Pittsburgh Pirates? Yeah, not so much.
The Penguins win marks the first time in professional sports history that a Super Bowl winning team is from the same city as a Stanley Cup winning team in the same year. That's a really clumsy way of putting that, but it's 4:13am and I've just realized that there will now be no more hockey for the next few months... but I think my point was made.
Congratulations, Penguins, on an amazing championship season!!
Some video from NHL.com:
#71 Malkin MVP!!!
I'm not sure exactly what happened a year ago at this time, but I'm pretty sure the fans in Mellon Arena were not booing this loudly...
The first thing I'll always remember about Star Trek is Kirk yelling 'KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!'. I was 6 years old and that was about my first movie theater experience (my first movie was E.T. at the drive-in). Admittedly, Trek didn't sink it's claws into my cerebrum until The Voyage Home (movie #4). That was a classic Kirk/Spock story that really got me into the whole thing. The quote '...I'm from Iowa, I only work in space,' did it.
I've been a faithful Trekkie ever since. I've seen every episode of every series and all of the movies, even as the Enterprise series eked out a slow, painful death and the last movie (Nemesis) killed off a favorite character, to say nothing of the franchise itself.
After that, nothing. For literally the first time in my life, there was no Star Trek.
For at least the last couple years, I knew the new movie was coming and tried not to get obsessed about it. Of course, it was common knowlege that the franchise was being handed off to a whole set of new, fresh talent and that it was going to be a prequel.
My mind had been made up that when it was time for the movie to come out, I would wait to see what everyone said about it and then go see it at the dollar theater if it was any good.
Until December 28, 2008.
That was the day that Tanner and I went to see The Day The Earth Stood Still. The first preview started out with some misfit young boy in a convertible careening through the desert headed straight for a cliff. Suddenly, he jumped out and stopped himself from being pulled over the edge by the inertia at the last minute. A police officer stood in front of him and asked his name. The response was 'James Tiberius Kirk'. I had no idea that this was the preview for Star Trek. Before a single space scene came on the preview, I quickly threw out my previous decision and resolved to see the movie on its opening day. Isn't that something... that a space adventure movie can hook someone without even showing space.
...I digress...
May 9, 2009. I hadn't been overly excited to see this movie until that morning; I didn't want to have my expectations crushed if it were terrible. My mom and I are the Trekkies in our family, so it was only fitting that this was my birthday present from her. We found our seats and became giddy as the lights went down and the opening scene lit up the screen.
From that point until the moment we left the theater, I was stunned. Amazed. Awestruck. This movie grabbed me first by the heart, then by the shoulders and shook me until everything I thought I knew about what to expect from Trek fell out, reformed it, then threw it all back in with a force that made my head spin.
From the standpoint and perspective of a Trekkie, the movie made some pretty unorthodox twists and turns around what I've come to know about Star Trek. I'll admit, I was surprised. That's what made it good. From the perspective of a general audience member, the FX are wicked, the story is riveting and the fight scenes are awesome. That is what made it great.
As far as Trek cannon goes, well, the movie made a noble effort at sticking to as much of it as the story would have allowed. Yes, there were a couple plot twists that came up in the movie which may beg the question, 'WHAT?!'. Vulcan was destroyed and Kirk's father was killed. We've known for the past 40 years that neither of these events took place in Trek's past. Granted.
Perhaps cannon is better left to the Catholic church as far as absolutes are concerned. It was essentially cannon that caused Star Trek to founder. There was no where else it could have gone with what had already been done; the whole concept of Trek was at the mercy of and had become claustrophobic from the cannon closet. Introducing a few new elements is probably just what the franchise needs to allow for a much larger, broader, less confined creative process.
It is possible that cannon is perfectly, perfectly fine anyway. I mean, Kirk's father was the inspiration in his life for joining Starfleet. In this movie, he still is. Every 3rd grader knows that Vulcans have no emotions, so they probably renamed the planet they resettled on Vulcan again- without an emotional attachment to the planet itself, the culture was preserved and they rebuilt their population. It's not that difficult. Humans have managed to double their numbers in 50 short years. And now that Spock from the future is there, he can warn everyone that Romulus is about to be destroyed and can take quicker action to prevent it from happening again.
But... that might keep the events in the movie from occurring, thus not enabling future Spock to travel back in time and warn everyone... ...and maybe it might all happen again? Paradoxes are for the birds.
...I digress...
One of the precepts of Trek cannon is that the books and comics are not part of Trek cannon. Among the elements thrown into the movie is a central plot devise called 'Red Matter'. This is a concept that is taken from one of the comic book series. Other elements of the story, not as central as Red Matter to be sure, come from books and other sources. One of the other precepts of Trek cannon is that only what is shown on the big or small screen is accepted cannon. So that rule, in and of itself, makes the events depicted in the movie cannon, in its strictest sense.
I've made my peace with these issues thusly: contradiction be damned! If Jack Ryan can go from a young Alec Baldwin to an old Harrison Ford to an even younger Ben Affleck, why can't Trek blow up Vulcan?
Abrams did an outstanding job saluting all of Star Trek that came before him with the classic shots, lighting, those indelible lens flares. What a tribute. Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman's script expertly transforms our well known heroes into a young group rife with immaturity, love, lust, angst and anger. Doesn't everyone have a past like that? Nods to the Trek pop-culture were great! There was even an unfortunate death involving a red-shirted officer. This team of three laid a perfect foundation upon which the seven main actors were able to build a flawless performance culminating in hands down the best Trek movie ever made.
The box office returns seem to agree with me: the domestic total as of May 11, 2009 is $86,706,315 and it broke the record for an IMAX movie premier.
Maybe the franchise isn't dead after all.
I have this to say to a potential Trek 12: 'You're predecessor was daring in its concept and bold in its delivery. It surpassed the opening weekend of the 10 that came before it and shot the bar up to stratospheric heights. I dare you to do better.'
In a previous blog post, the 11th Star Trek movie is discussed, which premiered in the US on May 9, 2009. I liked it alot.
My views are not shared with the idiot City Paper movie reviewer Harry Kloman, whose scathing review not only proves that he hasn't seen the movie, but further cements the popular posit that he is no longer capable of writing reviews (none of the movies he has reviewed this year have fallen within his good graces).
He writes: 'There are some, I'm sure, who will argue that the Star Trek we all know (and, if you're reading this, probably love) had nowhere left to go with its original template, and if it were to survive at all, then someone had to erase the disk and begin compiling new data.'
Of course the original template had nowhere to go. That's exactly the reason it hasn't gone anywhere since the last movie. What Captain Obvious fails to recognize in his first paragraph is that the team behind the 11th movie is new to Trek. J.J.Abrams wasn't even a Trek fan until he came on board the project.
Paragraphs 3 and 4:
'But what's wrong with saying something is over? How about a little death with dignity? There may have been one movie left in this graying enterprise, but Star Trek, directed by J.J. Abrams (Alias, Lost), isn't that movie. You can't grip an audience by destroying things that we all know still exist. The planet Vulcan -- obliterated? And Romulus -- just gone? Impossible! We've witnessed their futures in myriad detail.
And yet, they are gone, just like that. In fact, that's the concept with which I choose to quarrel. Why create a prequel about the lives of characters we've come to value by starting their lives over? Why not just concoct a snazzy action plot that shows us how they met and how they formed a peerless team?'
Death with dignity? Nemesis was no dignity and this is not death. This is new life. Gene Roddenberry himself once said that he hoped that the future of Trek would include a new generation of writers taking what he left us with and updating it and making it relevant again. That is what has happened here. I'm not going to belabor this point... Marcel does an excellent job of schooling Kloman in his comment to the article. Proof that Kloman did not see this movie? '...And Romulus -- just gone? Impossible! We've witnessed their futures in myriad detail.' Romulus wasn't destroyed in the timeline of the film, but 189 years in the future, after everything we knew about it had already taken place. Idiot.
Yes, Vulcan was obliterated in this movie. Also, Kirk's father died. Both of which we've known for the last 40 years not to have happened in Trek's history. It's called time-travel. Look into it. If the idiot Kloman thinks he knows everything there is to know about time-travel, perhaps he can educate us as to why he thinks M-theory is so asymmetrical. Oh wait. M-theory is supersymmetric, isn't it? Sorry to get all nerd up in here, but when an idiot such as Kloman begins to speak about things they clearly have not the first clue about, it angers me. Just like when people describe something that takes a really long time in terms of light years... I want to smack them. A light year, just so we're clear, is a measure of distance, not time. If one were to say 'that took five light years,' they would be saying that it took 1,825 days... which is five years.
If there is something about this move 'with which to quarrel,' this is not it. If it is, you didn't follow the story and you didn't see the movie, because in fact, a snazzy action plot that showed us how the original crew met and how they formed a peerless team, was what I took away from the movie. Perhaps the idiot Kloman saw a different film and thought it was Star Trek?
Paragraph 8:
'If they make another movie with this cast and its reiterated world, what character stories are there left to tell? The original Star Trek crew boldly went with a sense of wonder and adventure. Their clones are emotionally damaged in ways that make the galaxy a menacing place of perpetual war with no hope of even temporary peace. It's a completely different premise, masquerading as a brand name, and it promises no hope of originality.'
This is the overwhelming proof that Kloman is no longer fit to review films, since he obviously doesn't know a good one when it smacks him square in the face.
'...what character stories are there left to tell?'
How about Spock and Uhura? How about Spock rebuilding his race? How about Scotty becoming chief engineer? How about anything with Sulu, since we know nothing about him other than the fact that he fences. Seriously, is this guy stupid or what?
'...a menacing place of perpetual war with no hope of even temporary peace.'
Star Trek has always, always, always reflected the present. Our time is that of a menacing place of perpetual war with no hope of even temporary peace. What an idiot.
'It's a completely different premise, masquerading as a brand name, and it promises no hope of originality.'
The whole point of this movie IS that it is a completely different premise, you dolt. The whole story was nothing short of original.
To support my point of view, Leonard Nimoy says, 'Star Trek began in a time of great upheaval. There were antiwar demonstrations. There was political turmoil. There was social unrest. The world was a mess. A lot like it is now.'
Kloman needs to stop writing reviews of movies he hasn't seen before. And then he needs to go see this movie and realize just how utterly wrong he was.
It has been a long, long, cold, icy winter. MLB teams across the country kicked off their opening days this week which can only mean one thing... spring is officially here (and it did not snow in Pittsburgh yesterday, that was ash from the Butler volcano!!).
The Pirates won their first game of the season (I'm as shocked as you are!!) and the Red Sox had to postpone their home- opener against the Tampa Bay Rays by one day.
Senator Ted Kennedy threw out the first pitch at Fenway Park:
You know how when you look back at a particularly momentous occasion in your life, you can remember the main details very vividly, but the surrounding details are a little fuzzy? I've been having a few of those moments for most of the week.
I'm not one to leave any details out, so I thought I might record the 'fuzziness' for future reference.
I think it was Monday of this week that I found an old friend on Facebook who I lost touch with several years ago. That I found this friend is the momentous occasion. The fuzzy comes with the emotions I experienced when I got her first set of updates and saw how her life changed. It is exciting... it's like looking at an old photo album and hearing the stories that go between what this person or that house looked like then and what it looks like now. Even though I saw all these pictures on her profile, in this particular case, a word is worth a thousand pictures. Who, after all, carries their camera around and takes a picture at each and every moment of life? Pictures are good for some things, new things, maybe. But it cannot capture the emotion that can be expressed in a conversation of how the changes occurred- weather by email or even a simple wall-to-wall update. I can't wait to hear more.
The other momentous occasion is that one of our closest friends looks to be starting out on a new relationship and it looks pretty serious. That she is starting a relationship is the momentous part. The fuzzy seems to be how happy Marieke and I are that she is happy. I mean seriously happy. For the first time in a very, very long time, she is grinning and we are grinning right back at her. She is grinning so much that her cheeks are revealing the rare and hidden double dimples. We are also finding the occasion to revisit some of the feelings we had when we first started our relationship. It is very exciting and we are so happy that she is happy. Another fuzzy is that we got a virtual play-by-play via text during the evening while we were at work. We did so little work while we were texting. But that's ok... work owed us a few and we took one tonight. So now work only owes us a couple.
The fates, it appears, have chosen to give us a reason to only observe, but not obsess, over the impending unpleasant anniversary through the happiness of, and re-connection to, our friends. That is the best kind of reason I could imagine and I am actually spending this week being happy instead of being sad. It is a privilege and I am grateful to have the opportunity to dwell on happy things this week.
So, to friends and friendships. We gain so much from them and realize it so little.
In almost all cases of unlikely and random events, the occurrences number three. They are usually connected somehow and generally manifest within 24 hours or so, with the occasional overlap and pauses no more than 36 hours in length (you know... for the real doozies) here and there.
16 February was my birthday. Of all the random things to happen on my birthday, three utility trucks of varying sizes pulled in front of the house bearing the markings of Dominion People's Gas Company, followed much later by a backhoe. The quiet of my birthday morning was jackhammered away by three of twelve people intent on removing large portions of asphalt which until then constituted my parking space.
Just before moving the car to a safer location, I found out they were investigating a gas leak. One of them was smoking.
This is random in that there was a very low probability that this would occur on my birthday. It is accompanied by two other random events which happened the next day at work.
For those who do not know, my duties at UCSUR largely involve dialing a phone and conducting survey research on mostly unsuspecting people who may or may not fall within one or more ambiguous demographic or another. The particular research we are conducting presently is nationwide. Since I have worked for the University of Pittsburgh in one form or another after leaving college, I'm familiar with the habit of dialing '9' and then '1' to procure an outside line; dialing at UCSUR, I assumed, was no different. As a newer interviewer sat next to me, he shared an unusual tone with me that I immediately recognized as that which results from failing to dial the appropriate prefix in order to get the outside line. I instructed him to dial '9' and then '1' before the area code.
The look on his face was a mix between astonishment and disbelief. I came to find out that he had never dialed the '1' in any calling he had done for the research. After finally convincing him to dial the damned '1', the call went through with no problems. Curious as to how he could possibly have not been dialing the '1', I tried myself and found that it in fact worked. How strange. There existed a healthy balance of people who both dialed the '1' and those who did not throughout the office.
My curiosity was satisfied inasmuch as it allowed me to continue with my own assignments without worry of further course in the matter.
Remarkably, when I then dialed my next record with the '1', the phone produced the familiar tones as would any that failed in obtaining an outside line. Owing to my own slip, I tried again, paying close attention to the numbers on the base. No luck. Just then, the new guy said that he was getting the same tone. The survey managers then announced that long-distance dialing was down for the entire University. Opps.
I am not normally one to suggest that mere actions can have such wide-ranging consequences, especially in this situation... but it was, of course, our fault. For the next 45 minutes or so, the new guy and I pondered the connection to our actions and the phone melt down at the nation's 25th largest university. One of the managers did not quite understand the significance of our involvement and I decided it was for the best.
Seriously, though... what are the chances?!
The third random event to occur is only tangentially related by dictionary definition to the first RA of the previous day: construction and the presence of a backhoe.
Nearly an hour before my shift was due to end, I went outside for a smoke and discovered that the fire alarm in the neighboring building was active. An ominous voice warning against the use of elevators accompanied a blaring that could be heard clear over to Posvar Hall. The building is undergoing renovation and the alarm seemed to go unnoticed by any sort of emergency personnel.
I realize that these random events play no outstanding role in my life, but it is helpful and ultimately cathartic to document them.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a huge fan of the Boston Red Sox. There is a particular reason that I have such a deep admiration for the baseball team and their fans in Beantown.
Having said that, there is no love for my own hometown baseball team, the Pittsburgh Pirates. Through the 2008 season the Pirates have had 16 consecutive seasons with a losing record—tying a United States professional sports record. How does one 'rah' to that, exactly? One of the Pirates' better hitters, Jason Bey went to the Red Sox in 2008.
One often wonders if the Pirates are merely a joke.
Given the newest additions to the Pittsburgh Pirates 2009 Spring Training roster, the argument is now academic: Rinku Singh and Dinesh Patel, both from India. The fact that these two are the first Indians to ever sign with an MLB franchise is not the OMG factor here. The OMG factor lies with the fact that they are in Bradenton, FL as a result of the Indian reality TV show 'Million Dollar Arm'. Yes. A reality show. Other than the fact that they can throw 93mph fastballs, they have no notion whatsoever of how to play baseball. Billed as 'Baseball's 'Slumdog Millionaire' Story,' the signing has been hailed by the Pirates' owner Robert Nutting as a way to usher in a new path to an untapped market.
If this works, and the Pirates make it to October, I shall purchase and don a Pirates hat in place of my beloved 'B' for the entire post season (yes, even in the highly unlikely event that the Red Sox and Pirates will be playing in the 2009 World Series!)
PS- Because I do not post about the Pirates, this has been filed under Red Sox.
Long into the wee hours of February 2, 2009, there were still cars zooming through the streets of Pittsburgh, horns a-blare. There were still buses being loaded with rowdy celebrants on East Carson St. There is a palpable, physical excitement that lasts to this day. Pride scarcely describes what we, Steeler Nation, feel even six days after the win.
Until just this morning, I was still trying to decide which of the three major plays of the game was the best- James Harrison's 100 yard interception return (now dubbed the immaculate interception), Larry Fitzgerald's runback touchdown or Santonio Holmes' winning touchdown.
Since his football career gained national attention at the University of Pittsburgh (and ended there without the Heisman Trophy- much to everyone's collective shock), I've been a fan of Fitzgerald. Were the game to have ended with a different score, he could very easily have been the MVP. Alas, it was not to be- but he is still an amazing player and I will continue to be a fan. If I've learned anything about him, it's that titles mean little and lack of them only steels his resolve. Good for him if he comes back next year and plays better.
The last Pittsburgh play of Super Bowl XLIII left Steeler Nation breathless for what seemed like an eternity until the ref signaled touchdown and then again until the official review confirmed the ruling on the field. Pittsburgh won its 6th Super Bowl championship. In all honesty, I had convinced myself that losing the game was not the end of the world; I didn't think he had it until I saw the replay. But, no, Santonio Holmes had his feet in the endzone with possession and we won the game.
The longest play in Super Bowl history was the 100 yard sideline dash interception return by James Harrison. If you saw the game, the replay, a photograph, heard about it, it was spectacular. Harrison said in a locker room interview that he didn't think he was going to make it, but then saw that the endzone was closer and closer and he thought, '...aw hell, I might as well go for it'. He went for it, alright. With all the makings of one of the greatest plays ever, Harrison's record setting interception return was the greatest play of the game.
Perhaps some of the best stories of the game come from hundreds and thousands of miles away from Raymond James Stadium: fan support. Steelers fans are prolific at every away game we play during the regular season and are even more so during the Super Bowl.
Tokyo, Berlin, Johannesburg, Buenos Aries are just a few cities outside the US to have a Steelers bar filled, on Sunday, with the faithful. That make me smile because no other team has such an international following. Some of my favorite pictures are those of fans who have taken their Terrible Towels to different places around the world.
Nothing gets me going more than to see our men and women in uniform, fighting in wars on land sea and in the air, waving the Terrible Towel. At airbases, Naval bases, on submarines, ships, fighter planes, the Terrible Towels were flying:
U.S. Army Lt. Julie Glaubach, 30, center, Staff Sgt. Michael Sauret, 23, left, both from Pittsburgh, Pa., Maj. Thomas Spagel, 42, from Erie, Pa., second right and Spc. Justin Snyder, 21, from Mechanicsburg, right, cheer for the Steelers as they watch the Super Bowl XLII on television at Camp Victory in Baghdad, Iraq, Monday, Feb. 2, 2009. The Super Bowl aired on satellite television in Iraq beginning at 2 a.m. American troops in Iraq were allowed to drink beer without fear of court-martial for this year's Super Bowl, an exception to a strict military ban on drinking alcohol in combat zones. (AP Photo/Maya Alleruzzo)
In this photo released by the United States Navy, Sailors and Marines aboard the amphibious assault ship USS Essex at the South China Sea, react to a Pittsburgh Steelers touchdown, Monday, Feb. 2, 2009 during Super Bowl XLIII. (AP Photo/United States Navy, Matthew A. Ebarb)
On February 5, 2009, the USS Pittsburgh (SSN-720) returned stateside to their homeport of Gronton, CT- her crew having only heard the game on the radio. This video brought a tear to my eye:
What a game. I'm still trying to absorb it all.
When my Uncle Mike was in Hong Kong, I kept him updated on the Steelers progress with text-message scores. The most recent text message to him was simply: 'That's 6'. The only regret I have about Super Bowl XLIII is that I could not watch it with him. Maybe next time.
And so, here we are again, for the seventh time, about to take the last step in a journey that brought us to the top of the toughest division, through the harshest schedule that the nay-sayers were convinced would leave us bruised, battered and at the bottom of our division, if not the entire conference. Our beloved Steelers have confounded everyone, clinched a playoff berth and won a bye-week leading up to the AFC Conference game against the Ravens. With that behind us, we enter Super Bowl XLIII as the heavy favorites, thank you very much. Mike Tomlin is not only the youngest NFL coach to lead a team to the Super Bowl, he is the third consecutive coach in the last 40 years to take the Steelers to the hallowed match. He has only been here for two years.
President Obama, Vice-President Biden, the NFL Commissioner and Keith Olbermann are just the latest in a long, long line of Pittsburgh Steelers supporters. There are hundreds of Steelers bars all around the nation, Steeler Nation, that is... I've been to a few of them. The one in Bismark, ND is my favorite- they serve a reasonable facsimile to the world-famous Primanti sandwich... these are the establishments that will play host to the 5-time World Champion Steelers' fan base this Sunday. With Terrible Towels at the ready in this country and across the globe- and in space since the Commander of the current Space Station crew is a Pittsburgh native and has taken the icon with him- we will be united in rabid support of our Steelers. HERE WE GO STEELERS, HERE WE GO!!!!
Jet-Blue began offering round trip flights to Tampa, FL from Pittsburgh just for the big game- no other carrier has direct routes- with the pilots of the first trip donning Reed and Roethlisberger jerseys, the flight crew dressed in Black & Gold, the ticket counters decked out with banners, bunting and all sorts of other accoutrement to send the faithful on their way to XLIII. The plane itself was sent off with a line of towel waving maintenance workers. I'll admit, it brought a tear to my eye.
A 'Cage the Cardinals' rally in dahn-tahn Thursday afternoon brought thousands into the streets to yell and scream and shout: HERE WE GO STEELERS!!!
Here we go indeed. My grandma was a Steelers fan. Not just any Steelers fan, either: she would get out of her chair and scold the television for a bad call, missed pass, fumble (occasionally slipping into her native German for the real doozies)... or jump, arms in air, at a touchdown. She had a pink Steelers hat, with lights. That is the essence of a rabid fan. Not just the scolding and the cheering and the fancy hats, but watching and absorbing each game with intensity as though it didn't matter if the sun came up the next day (though it always has, even in the darkest of days), just as long as the chains moved after the quarterback sneak on 4th and 2.
My Uncle Michael was probably the best role-model for how to be a rabid Steelers fan. I'll never forget singing the Steelers Polka with him on many occasions. Thinking back, I don't remember him not wearing a bright yellow tee shirt with the Steelers logo emblazoned in the center or the iconic font proudly declaring his allegiance.
We went to a Steelers game with my Uncle Sam at Three Rivers Stadium, in late 1980, carrying with us the hopes of an emigrating steel-worker population (eventually becoming Steeler Nation), that we could manage a come-from-behind playoff berth. The season stood at 8-6 with a good chance that we could repeat what we had done for the last four of six years- win another Lombardi trophy (you know... for the thumb). It was close to Christmas, not bitterly cold, but cold enough to have a knitted Steelers scarf, knitted Steelers hat, complete with pom-pom on top and a blanket atop our laps. We were playing the Kansas City Chiefs. Where we sat I can not recall, but we were trailing in the 4th with a score of 16-7. In the last minutes of the game, snow began to fall and Rocky Blier ran one into the endzone to finish the game 16-21. The crowd went nuts (so loud I knew I was screaming, but could not hear myself), Uncle Sam scooped me up onto his shoulder and we just cheered and cheered and cheered. Uncle Michael, kept yelling, '...did you see him run that ball in, did you see it, DID YOU SEE IT?!?!'
We were sure to get into the playoffs now! Alas, it didn't happen that way... the next game finished our season and it would be 26 years before we would finally get that one for the thumb.
But I don't remember ever being disappointed at a Steelers loss. I always look back to that one afternoon, a four-year-old at a snowy Steelers game with my two favorite uncles, sharing in the excitement of it all and I remember that it's not just about winning a game (though it is nice), it's about dancing to the Steelers Polka and eating chipped ham barbecue and wearing old, yellow tee-shirts, waving a towel, tailgating in the parking lot- even during away games. It's about sending a text message after a winning playoff game: GO STILLERS!!! It's about crazy fight songs...
It's about being a part of something special, something memorable, something that you can actually sense in strangers walking down the streets of Pittsburgh... pride. Thank you, Uncle Mike... you turned me rabid all those years ago and I couldn't be happier.
I'll always be a resident of Steeler Country. Here, we bleed Black & Gold. We take no prisoners, we'll run that ball, move those chains, go for 2... we've been here before... we are proud... we are many... we are STEELER NATION!!! Hear. Us. Roar!!!
Now, as we stand on the precipice of a seventh Super Bowl appearance, at the doorway of history, I call upon Steeler Nation... get out that old, smelly tee shirt that hasn't been washed since the post-season began, call ahead to Giant Iggle for your 4 pounds of chipped ham, put on your pink, lighted hats, clench that towel in your fist, batten down the hatches and hoist the main sails, cause this ship is goin' to Tampa and it ain't comin' back without a six-pack!!!
Washington- President Barack Obama may be surrounded in red as he signed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act today, but he'll be rooting for the black & gold on Sunday!
When it comes to Super Bowl XLIII, the Steelers have received the Presidential seal.
During an appearance at the White House this afternoon with Vice President Joe Biden, President Barack Obama was asked by a reporter, who he'd like to see win the Super Bowl.
The President said that while he likes the Arizona Cardinals, he will be rooting for the Steelers on Sunday night.
"You know, Kurt Warner is a great story -- and he's closer to my age than anybody else on the field," President Obama told reporters, "but I am a longtime Steelers fan."
Steelers Chairman Dan Rooney was an outspoken supporter of Obama. Several former Steelers including Franco Harris campaigned for Obama for the Democratic primary and general election.
Obama, who is from Chicago, says he's a die hard Bears fan, but next to the Bears, the Steelers are close to his heart.
"I wish the best to the Cardinals," President Obama added. "They've been long suffering. It's a great Cinderella story. But other than the Bears, the Steelers are probably the team that's closest to my heart."
Curse Of The Terrible Towel A Poem By Dave Crawley
There is power, they say, in the towels that wave. Like black and gold shrouds on the visitor's grave. It's a mojo opponents should never neglect. The Terrible Towel requires respect.
Then this! A deed unspeakably foul! The Tennessee Titans defiles the towel! Although their crass actions made Steeler fans wince, You'll notice that Titan team hasn't won since.
They lost to the Colts. Then the Ravens came in, A game Tennessee was expected to win. But the curse of the towel gave Tennessee shakes, As they sank in a series of stunning mistakes.
Our Black and Gold guys had a much different story. Santonio Holmes led the gallop to glory. Fast Willie scored, and the Steelers were winning. For the Chargers the torment was only beginning.
Third quarter. Alas, on the Bolts' only play, Foote gives them the boot, and he takes it away. The towels were twirling as Ben let it go, And the much maligned offense was starting to flow.
That towel brings sorcery into the fray. If you don't believe it, well, check out this play. To add to the Chargers' grim feelings of dread, A punt that careened off this poor fellow's head.
The message, of course, as we hooted with glee, From the Terrible Towel: Do not tread on me. A word to the Ravens. The moment draws nigh. This is the reason you're still flying high.
The Titans besmirched it, and now to our glee They will be watching this game on TV. As you enter the confines where Steeler fans howl: Beware of the curse of the Terrible Towel.
Truly, we are. By virtue of the fact that we have all, by now, witnessed the administration of the Oath of Office of Presidency of The United States of America, we are forever linked together with each other and with the significant historical event which unfolded at 12:05pm(ET) 20 January 2009.
Fifty, even one-hundred years from now, this will still be a major historical event.
There is a back-story before we get into Unlikely and Random Event (or URE) II of Saturday, 17 January 2009...
The computer was taking longer than normal to pull the latest RSS feeds into my aggregator the night before (this would be Friday night), so I decided to do without any sort of breaking news (though I did miss that there was video of the plane landing in the Hudson) and retire to the bedchamber. The top of my office window had been cracked to allow for smoke to escape, so I proceed to close it and noticed that not only was there a strange noise coming from outside, it appeared that our youngest cat, Manfred, was at the top of the back steps, stuck.
What's more, the strange noise seemed to be emanating from him. I quickly jumped into action, retrieving my flashlight and throwing on a pair of shoes, leaving my coat behind even though the temperature at that time was 7 below. After running full speed to the area where I thought Manfred was, I noticed that there was nothing but a snow heap that looked strangely like a cat, if one were to look at the heap from a particular direction and at a specific angle. In frustration, I demolished the snow heap with a kick and headed back inside via the side gate, just to make sure that our precious angel had not ventured out into the wilderness of the side yard. Upon regaining entry to the house through the front door and finally making my way to the bed room, I found Manfred quietly asleep at the foot of our bed.
Mystery solved. At least partially. What had made that awful noise? It really did sound like a cat in distress. Oh well, perhaps it was another cat in the neighborhood- we do have alot of those.
Unlikely and Random Event I
During the hitherto quiet Saturday morning, while anxiously viewing the video of the plane landing in the Hudson River on You Tube, I heard Marieke step outside, having called to the front door from the kitchen. Curious, I made my way down the steps to find that she was conversing on the porch with one of the two 'Corgi Ladies' that live on our street, with whom we are friendly, but not acquainted.
At first step out the front door, Marieke turned to me and asked what the name of Kara's first floor neighbor was- I didn't know. Linelle proceeded to re-tell the story she had obviously told Marieke before my arrival. Said neighbor's car, a teal Plymouth Sundance (previously marred by a brick through the windshield not 4 months prior), had been parked in front of their house for at least the past two hours while running. Concerned for the safety of the owner, Linelle had a police car dispatched to deal with the unusual situation.
The police informed her that the car was that of one of her neighbors, but could not provide exact identification. Linelle and her partner, Judy, then attempted to gain assistance from our end of the street, where she eventually came upon us. After failing to succinctly describe the confusing location of the owner's apartment within the mire of Kara's current multi-tenant domicile, I accompanied Linelle to the premises, two doors down, where we discovered the owner to be either not at home or not aware of our exertion to find him.
Finally and as a last resort- and by last, I mean that we had gone to all three of the doors associated with the apartment of the car owner- Linelle asked for the phone number of the landlord.
Oh lord.
His name is Yan. No manner of Pulitzer-prize winning author, or indeed, non-Pulitzer-prize winning author, in either the realms of fiction or non-fiction could possibly define this man by use of any known literary devise, creed or creativity. To describe him as simply a unique individual would be to describe the soon-to-be-former President of the United States (and in all likelihood, the current former President) in the same manner. They both are charming in person and on the surface there is a certain appeal and charm to the manner in which they express their personality. But the policies of these two leave a great many people, including neighbors, associates and those who have unwittingly given them authority, wondering if they are within the framework of any sort of pre-defined and existing law.
Any attempt at further description will heave this into voluminous explorations of sociology, psychology and other such subjects, of which I am ill-qualified to render.
At first contact between Yan and Linelle, the conversation seemed to be hindered by a thick accent on the other end of the phone and the fact that this end was grounded in logic. The second attempt didn't go very far either. By the third phone call, it was apparent that Yan took as much interest in the subject as he did with needed repairs to his properties.
The abrupt conclusion of the conversations led both Judy and Linelle to the unfortunate realization that the situation could not be helped by Yan. We parted ways with well-wishes and a promise to keep each other updated as the situation evolved.
At this time, I am not certain of the outcome... updates forthcoming. In and of itself, it could have just been a Random Event, normally not blog-worthy. The fact that it happened in the same day and within minutes of other Unlikely Events which also carry the distinction of Random, it is a part of this account.
Unlikely and Random Event II
Within minutes of stepping back into the house, I was prompted to fulfill the dogs request to visit the yard, since my absence and subsequent return was obviously an excuse to play in the snow. As I opened the screen door, I noticed an odd looking item that did not fit in with the other odd looking items of my placement in the mud room. It was a can top without its can. I questioned Marieke on its origins and was stunned by her answer.
She had come across the object laying in front of the door in the mud room on the floor, accompanied by the long lighter I use in the summer to start the grill. She then informed me that both the kitchen door to the mud room and the mud room door to the outside were unlocked as was the front door, when she first came down this morning to let the dogs out. Since there were numerous other odd looking items in the mud room, the origins of which she never questioned, as it was sort of my 'area', she didn't really give much thought to it; instead, simply relocated it to a spot where it would do no harm to anyone traversing the room.
Given our location of Greenfield, suspicious activity never came into mind. This was not the first time we had left one or more doors unlocked during the night due to our safety of being situated between two rather long and dangerously cumbersome sets of steps.
I, on the other hand, did not recognize this particular item, for it was so unusual, I would surely have made a mental note of its strange appearance before now.
For at least the past four or five years, Marieke has lovingly persuaded me to wake up by setting a steaming cup of coffee on my nightstand. She has informed me that I usually take this time to regale her in tales that either make no sense or are spoken in foreign tongues. I remember telling her of my exploits the night before that resulted in the kicking over of a snow heap that resembled Manfred, but she took this as just one of my many pre-wake-up, post-sleep deliriums she occasionally suffers through. She also stated that if true, she figured I was again sleep-walking (another of my afflictions she as patiently and understandingly suffered through during our relationship) and had placed the item, along with the long lighter in front of the door in a manner consistent with my unending effort to produce symmetrical lines of things during parasomnia.
I don't normally recall episodes of sleep walking and certainly not in that detailed a manner- and I seem to have trouble with screen doors when sleep walking (a fact which has kept me inside)- so I couldn't have been the night before.
After exchanging looks of puzzlement at the origins of the odd yet interesting item in question, my investigation began.
Of course, one begins such investigations with the philosophies of Sherlock Holmes close at hand: "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
Sleep walking was eliminated. Thus, the only logical explanation was that a strange person had entered the house, intent on plunging us into the quagmire of a mystery for reasons unknown, placed the interesting item on the floor in front of the door in the mud room in perfect relation to the long lighter. Without the usual pipe and magnifying glass, I ventured outdoors in search of the quagmire-inducing mystery person. Only one set of footprints were present at the side gate- mine from the night before. The back gate was undisturbed, as was the layer of snow covering the tire kept in front of the gate to keep the dogs from eating the people who walk past.
Marieke suggested that perhaps we had another case of hobos living nearby... the shed in the back, perhaps, since Autumn (who located the hobo guesting in the basement area of our old apartment) had been frequently going in there to sniff around. This was improbable because Oskar would have eaten him by now- and it was too cold to survive. But her suggestion got me thinking about the front door having been unlocked. I went on a frantic search for my wallet because that would be a logical end to these mystery-inducing means. The wallet was in my office. OK. What about the DVDs? Surely, whoever placed such an odd object was throwing us from the theft of our DVDs. They're all there. By the fates- what is going on here?!
The solution presented itself only after the events of the third URE.
Unlikely and Random Event III
For the past five consecutive summers, a blue-jay has been resident in the trees to the front of the side yard. Aside from their constant and irritating screaming every fifth second, they were of no concern to us. Until one of them dive-bombed me and left a gash in my head. Ever the stand-shoulder-to-shoulder-you-mess-with-my-family-you-mess-with-me kind of person Neil is, he scored an amazing shot to the blue-jay with his paint ball pistol about two days after the gash was inflicted.
We identified him later that summer by the yellow paint ball shell still lodged in his wing, when the bird flew into the porch for some retribution; all he managed to do was scream what sounded like a convincing approximation of my name- which duly freaked me out.
After Neil enlisted himself in the US Navy, I was forced to do battle with this bird on my own, though there were no further confrontations. I suspected the bird was 'sharpening his claws', as it were, for battle in the coming spring.
Having a suspicion that the perpetrator of UREII had used the small gap between our house and the one next-door to inflict his mystery on us, I went back outside to look for indications of his/her presence. It was then that the events of UREIII unfolded. On my way to look down the gap between the houses, I heard some rustling from the yard next-door. At first I didn't see what was there. I moved closer to the house to get a better view and to my utter amazement, I saw it.
Quietly, I called Marieke to the door and she saw it too. A Peregrine Falcon had the remains of a blue-jay pinned to the ground with its talons. The bird was near the top of the hill next door, too far away to obtain a better view. Marieke asked me where the camera was and brought it back, handing it to me.
The falcon must have been one of the ones living on the Cathedral of Learning. There are no other Peregrine Falcons within the city.
We watched as the majestic creature began de-feathering its prey.
Simply amazing.
And comforting. No blue-jay attacks to worry about this spring!
It was very cold that morning, so we watched for about another five minutes and would have liked to have stayed longer, but had to retreat back into the house.
Unlikely and Random Event II (conclusion)
Hoping I could get a better view of the carnage taking place mere feet from us, I went upstairs and looked out of my office window to find the event was obstructed by trees.
Satisfied that nature would take its course and the blue-jay would soon become nothing more than a splatter on someone's windshield, I was confronted with the as yet unsolved mystery of earlier that morning.
While Marieke was drying the dishes, we went over the facts that were present so far in our investigation.
We had a can lid without the can that nobody had placed in the position Marieke found it that morning.
Wait a minute.
We had all sorts of cans back there... for Christmas! They were the beverages and we kept them back there because we had no room for the giant ham AND the cans of pop.
Suppose one of those cans was still in the mud room and exploded from the record cold snap!!
Marieke's eyes went wide... that had to be the culprit.
Sure enough, I discovered a can of Diet Dr. Pepper filled with slush and without its lid! I took the lid, looking for a fit and found one. Even the source of the dents in the lid were apparent as I saw that the can was hidden under a plant pot and estimated the trajectory of the can lid upon explosion. It was a pretty good estimation- complete with sound effects and everything!
On the ceiling was a huge mound of stuck on frozen Diet Dr. Pepper. As we looked around the mud room we found several mounds of frozen Diet Dr. Pepper.
At least that mystery was solved. Now, what about the noises I heard that sounded like a cat in distress? Marieke came up with a brilliant solution: it was probably trapped gas in the can seeking escape through any minor opening it could find in the about-to-explode can. I probably missed the sound of the actual explosion in my efforts to save the mound-of-snow-that-looked-like-a-cat.
This may seem utterly random and completely unlikely, but in our house, it's just one of 365 other days on the calendar.
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30 November 2009
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