It was near 90 degrees with plenty of humidity, and we were ready to take on the day. Truth was, Pittsburgh was focusing most of its attention on Lawrenceville this Memorial Day. As home to the Allegheny Cemetery and the Arsenal property, it makes sense. L’ville has done a parade every year on Memorial Day. Usually, it’s a 5-minute-long affair. This year, they did it up right. We even had a major dignitary like State Auditor General Jack Wagner. That’s right, haters, we got the general of all auditors. The one with all the stars on his shoulder whom all other auditors salute and march into audits for. Okay, that part’s not actually true, but when it comes to auditors, Jack is the Bomb!

So, the parade was much longer this year. Aaaaand, it was still kind of lame. Okay, a few points of parade etiquette here:

1.) Love the firefighter bagpipes leading the way. No problem here. This is a strong lead, with military color guard behind. And, may I say, Mrs. Bagger is “besmitten” by the pipes. To her, it is like Bono and Sting and Paul McCartney and Justin Bieber are all walking down the street at the same time. She’s such a bagpipe geek that she turned to me during the parade and whimsically exclaimed, “They’re playing ‘Ho Ro My Nut Brown Maiden’!!” She was positively giddy. She’s been watching this old Scottish movie, I Know Where I’m Going, over and over and over again. We now own it. They sing that song in the movie. I know where I’m going… probably to Scotland some time in the next calendar year. But here’s the thing: the pressure was now completely off of Yours Truly. This is now her best birthday ever. (side bar: Really, “Ho Ro My Nut Brown Maiden”? Is everybody drunk in Scotland?)

2.) Just because Steely McBeam is willing and available does NOT mean you have to put him in your parade. Notice the parade onlookers, who only moments prior were clapping enthusiastically at the troops and bands and military vehicles going by. Then, along comes Mr. Buzzkill. And you don’t have to team him up with members of the Pittsburgh Power, our arena football team, who were eagerly shaking hands with everybody they could reach. Turns out, they’ve never been before such a large crowd. Ba-da boom!

Which brings me to parade etiquette 3 and 4. 3) Nobody puts cement mixers in their parade. This is not something unusual or festive. It’s just a cement mixer. Why do people not put them in their parade? 4.) They are huge and block everything behind them. In this case, that would be the parade’s chief dignitary, Pennsylvania’s distinguished 5-star Major Auditor General Jack Wagner and a cadre of Marines. I’m just sayin’, it would have been nice to have seen the Marines, this being Memorial Day and all, and not Wet Cement Day. And I’m pretty sure that Wagner and the Marines were thinking how much better the parade might have been had they not had to spend all of it LOOKING INTO THE ASS-END OF A CEMENT MIXER!! Just FYI. You know, for next year.

The parade went right into Allegheny Cemetery. Have I ever gushed appropriately about Allegheny Cemetery before? It is one of my favorite places in all of Lawrenceville. It is freakin’ huge! It is built on 300 acres of hillside, featuring some of the most beautiful vistas in Pittsburgh.

From the Allegheny Cemetery Web site

It is beautifully maintained and home to huge herd of deer who are unfazed by human visitors — probably because dogs are prohibited and they have no natural predators within the gates. Walking through it, you instantly lose the sense that you are in a city. Like the cemeteries of Paris, the tomb stones range from a faded piece of limestone in the ground to incredibly artistic and ornate sculptures. The names on the stones include most of the names on the city’s street signs, buildings, and organizations. History just flows throughout. Some have been there since the early 1800s, and others were just interred last week. It is home to 16 former mayors, negro league star Josh Gibson, and to 1 percent of all deceased U.S. veterans. That’s right, 10,000 vets are buried there, from every war since and including the Civil War.

By this time, the heat was getting up there. Kids and dogs had brazenly wandered into the cemetery’s huge fountain. It looked pretty good to me, too, but I resisted.

They had a nice little ceremony with a fly-over by a big four-prop plane, probably from the Pittsburgh-based air wing base. I tried to snap a pic, but missed it on both fly-overs.

Cue the 21-gun salute by the Civil War reenactors. Then, a moving “Taps” by a marine bugler. And then, of course…

“Amazing Grace” by the pipers. By this time, Mrs. Bagger was getting kind of “stalky” — she needed to go home. And so did I. I swear, a couple of hours out in that heat and the ol’ brain starts to boil.

After watching the Pirates win their fourth game of the weekend, we enjoyed a restorative –  and air-conditioned — nap. By evening, I grilled an amazing hunk of salmon with THE best marinade I have ever accidentally concocted. All I know is that it included soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, brown mustard, olive oil, and Parisienne spice. Not brain science, but it was heaven. There were presents and candles in puffy custard-filled pastry (a no cake decree had been issued).

All in all, it was a good day, and a perfect cap to the three-day Memorial Day weekend. Well, we thought so.

A decade later, my father (Army) and my uncle (Air Force) served in ROTC and the reserves. This was between the Korean and Vietnam wars so, thankfully, they never had to serve during wartime. Despite his career as a Chicago banker, I still have vague memories of my father sacrificing one weekend each month to go off and do Army stuff somewhere.

We’ve lost that idea of service. I’ve written in the past of how small a segment of our population serves and fights anymore. And we have definitely lost the idea that every citizen has a sacrifice to make for the greater good.

As stupid as I think war is, and as foolish as I believe many of our wars to be, I am still humbled by the notion of a person laying down his or her life for the benefit of others. There are four photos that bring this home for me.

The first is of the wife of a Marine who requested that she be able to spend one last night with her husband. What is touching is that the Marines not only made a bed for her, but stood guard over it all night.

This next photo is dramatic but I’m not fully sure if it because of disconnection or connection. It either represents the disconnect between Americans going about their daily lives, unaware of the sacrifices made on their behalf, or it is one of complete connection as American citizens share the final ride of an American soldier. Whichever it is, I also find this very moving.

This one just speaks of the immense and silent cost of war that is kept too far away from the country’s conscience.

And this one completely tears me up, as a dog lover. It is a picture of complete loyalty, and of man’s best friend who refuses to leave the side of his master.

Thank you to all who serve or who have ever served. I will always pray for peace to prevail and that the function of war would fade away with slavery and genocide. But just as slavery and genocide refuse to completely disappear, I’m afraid that we are not done with war, either. And I will always be inspired by those who put the well-being of others above their own.

Thank you, and God bless.

This week, a 3-mile stretch of the Parkway West, entering the Ft. Pitt Tunnel, was named the 9th most congested stretch of traffic in the nation. Never fear however. All eight above us are in LA and New York. So outside of NY and LA, we’re #1! Woo-hoo!

Suck it, Philly!

Last month’s announcement by President Obama in support of gay marriage was called courageous because it was seen as a move that could turn off black voters. In March, polling showed that a gay rights bill on the ballot this fall in Maryland had only 39 percent support amongst black voters. This week, the same poll revealed that 55 percent of black voters approved of the bill, with only 36 percent in opposition. That is a 36-point swing in two months. Nothing moves 36 points in two months in American politics. Nothing. The same kind of shift was identified in North Carolina, where black support of gay marriage is up 12 percent since the state changed their constitution banning it. Could it be that America is just waiting for President Obama to provide some leadership on the issue? Was his endorsement that much of a game-changer? No other issue has changed as quickly in this country as the issue of gay marriage.

Pirates’ fans love to bemoan their teams low payroll and the inequality of money in baseball. Interestingly, as of tonight, with more than 1/4 of the season in the books, of the top 5 payrolls in baseball this year, 4 are at .500 or below and 3 are in last place in their division.

Of course, big money teams can always spend money mid-season to fix what ails them, but still… $150 million won’t necessarily buy you what you think it would.

Over thirty states have or will be considering legislation that would require voters to present government-issued photo ID in order to vote. Most all of these efforts are GOP-led and are said to be necessary to prevent voter fraud. Problem is, voter fraud has not really been a big problem in this country. Rolling Stone recently reported that: “A major probe by the Justice Department between 2002 and 2007 failed to prosecute a single person for going to the polls and impersonating an eligible voter, which the anti-fraud laws are supposedly designed to stop. Out of the 300 million votes cast in that period, federal prosecutors convicted only 86 people for voter fraud – and many of the cases involved immigrants and former felons who were simply unaware of their ineligibility.” 86 people. 86 votes. Out of 300 million. Over 5 years. That’s really going to swing the election.

And for this, studies suggest that up to 11 percent of American citizens lack the proper government-issued ID, and would be required to navigate the administrative burdens to obtain it or forego the right to vote entirely. Of course, this will most significantly affect the elderly, the poor, immigrants, and college students. For instance, in Texas, you can register to vote with a handgun permit, but not a college ID. Most states now require a valid driver’s license, will accept an NRA ID as well as a hunting license, but refuse to accept a valid student ID for voting purposes. Thousands of students across the country will be denied absentee ballots as well. Why? Because it is obvious that a majority of students support President Obama. You know, I thought it was Stalin and Hitler who won elections and support by eliminating the opposition. Guess somebody has been studying history. What does it say about your party that your best chance to win is with fewer people voting?

This must be keeping NBA commissioner David Stern up at night. You know how all the big-time free agents want to go to the bright lights of the big-market teams to maximize their earning power? Problem is, that doesn’t always equal wins. Of the four teams left in the NBA playoffs, 3 of them represent the 28th (San Antonio), 40th (Indianapolis), and 50th (Oklahoma City) media markets in the country. If you were wondering, Pittsburgh is 25th. (All according to Arbitron.) You know he’s doing all he can to pray that Miami (12th) makes it to the finals. Otherwise, it could be a ratings disaster for the NBA. You can throw out the record books when Oklahoma City and Indianapolis get together!

(UPDATE: Miami won tonight. Stern will get his big market team in the East. He’s still screwed in the West. Plus, NBA is the only league without parody. While the NFL and MLB and NHL only have a handful of teams that have never won it all, half of NBA teams have never won a championship. This is a league that is comfortable with a small group of elite front-runners. Go home and get your shine box, Indy. You’re not ever winning anything in this league!)

As in 1 transformative moment. I love the picture floating around this week. It was take two years ago when a State Department employee brought his or her children to meet the President. They were each allowed one question. This little boy’s question had to do with the President’s hair. He wanted to know if the President’s hair was just like his. I guess his little brain just couldn’t believe the fact that someone with hair like his was actually the President of the United States. President Obama allowed him to see for himself. If this isn’t the iconic photo of Obama’s presidency, I don’t know what is.

My father never played an instrument and is fairly tone-deaf — i.e. he has a hard time humming the note you play for him on the piano. My mother, on the other hand, could (and probably still can) play piano in the dark. She taught lessons. (Not to me. She wisely refused and sent me to another teacher.) Still, our generations were very different. My parents did not have a soundtrack to their lives. This is probably due to technology as much as anything else. Music was not portable to them. When they were teenagers in the early 50s, music was limited to static-filled radios, jukeboxes, and gigantic phonographs.  My mother told me stories of working as a lifeguard one summer and listening to Bill Haley and the Comets sing “Rock around the Clock” over and over. But as far back as I remember, their music was only for special occasions, like candlelight, pearls, and cologne. They’d break out Frank Sinatra, Johnny Mathis, Barbara Streisand, and the Ray Connif Singers for dinner parties, but not for everyday enjoyment. Even in the car, they usually listened to talk radio. By the time I discovered pop music, they put up with loud sounds coming from the basement, but I wouldn’t say that they were fans.

My generation was different. We grew up with music, took it with us, and played it whenever we could. Now, as adults, we share musical tastes with our kids. We may not like all the same music, but there is definite overlap, and we share the same need of having music as a background to the events of our lives.

Watching coverage of the passings of Summer and Gibb, I couldn’t help but reflect on my high school years, specifically 1978-1980. I was a bit young to have been a participant in the disco era. We suburban high schoolers were not sneaking into places like Studio 54. Plus, as the oldest child in my family, I had no older siblings to provide a musical education, or to cue me in as to what was hip and happening. I had to figure it all out without a roadmap. My earliest memories of music happened in the homes of some of my friends in grade school, where I discovered the Jackson 5, Credence, and Alice Cooper. Later, it was sneaking an AM transistor radio under my pillow and listening to Wolfman Jack do a countdown of the hits on WLS. I wondered what these strange people looked like, these singers of songs like “Kung Fu Fighting,” “The Best of My Love,”  “Philadelphia Freedom,” and “Lady Marmalade.”

By high school, I mainly hung out with three different groups, each with their own musical roots.

The jocks, strangely, were a music-free zone. Walkmen and iPods did not exist. Portable radios were fragile and had these low fidelity ear phones, and usually only for one ear. Thus, workouts and practices were silent and music-less. The only sounds were squeaking tennis shoes, crunching pads, and the clanging of weights. There were no tunes playing in the locker room, the weight room, or on the track. Bus trips to away games were silent affairs. We were like Amish athletes training for the music-free Olympics.

Then there were the guys I hung out with. They were rock and rollers. This was pre-punk or alternative. They were mostly into crunching guitar bands like Zeppelin, Kiss, Nugent, and Cheap Trick. We started a little garage band. We only did covers. We called ourselves Midnight. Lame, I know. I hadn’t yet entered into the creative phase of my life. I played an electric piano that made these rather “bloopy”-sounding tones. Very little of what we played called for piano. They were nice to let me in. We actually played some gigs wearing these hideous, polyester jump suits made by the mother of one of our friends. We were like a forerunner of Devo, without the hats.

The third group was the theater kids. I had gotten into theater at some point because I had hurt my back weight lifting and was ordered to desist activity for a while. The theater director was a former football player himself who had also worked in the Houston Musical Theater. He sort of made theater “cool.” To us, he was like Roy Scheider in All That Jazz. He was in his twenties, but looked older — cigarette smoking, gruff temperament, and much more visionary than most high school drama teachers. It was at the theater cast parties that I was introduced to disco music. I didn’t love it, but as it played and played during our Old Milwaukee/Meister Brau drinking parties, it became a part of the soundtrack of my youth. I never owned a Bee Gees album, including the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, but I knew it front to back. In fact, to this day, I have never seen the movie all the way through.

Having sung in choir, and played the piano and french horn, I think I was drawn to a wider variety of music than the 3-chord guitar bands of my buddies. I got into Elton John and Rush and Fleetwood Mac and Chicago and Stevie Wonder and Genesis and Steely Dan and Boston and Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Queen. The closest thing I owned to disco were the Commodores and Earth, Wind & Fire. Sorry, but I don’t consider either “Brick House” or “September” to be disco.

(Side note: At the time, I don’t think it ever occurred to us that Elton John or Freddie Mercury were gay. And would it have mattered? I’m not sure we even knew what “gay” was. They were just flamboyant like Alice Cooper and Roger Daltry and David Bowie and Steven Tyler and Mick Jagger. Remember, unless you went to a concert, you only ever saw them in still photos, if that.)

Then, a funny thing happened in the seventies. One genre of music went to war with another. Rock and Roll decided that Disco Sucked. I don’t think this has ever happened since. I can’t imagine Indie Rock or R&B declaring war on Country & Western. But back then, there were limited radio stations for teens and some of the rock and roll stations were suddenly becoming disco stations, which didn’t sit well with the Rock and Rollers. Steve Dahl was a popular radio personality in Chicago. He led all his listeners in an avid anti-disco campaign. We all went along because he kept us entertained at our crappy summer job all through the sweltering summer of 1979. It culminated at a White Sox game that summer where you could get in for 98 cents (WLUP 98.5) with a disco record. They were going to collect them all and blow them up between games of a doubleheader. The Sox were only drawing about 6,000 fans a night that year, but that night, they packed it out. The Sox were not prepared and the event was not well thought out. Let’s just say that they weren’t there to see a baseball game. The LPs became dangerous projectiles. After the records were blown up,  kids began to run onto the field. They began to tear up the grass. They took over the rolling batting cage and began to push it around the field. There weren’t enough cops. The White Sox had to forfeit the second game. Here’s some footage from a documentary.

I was not there, but that day is burned into my memory. We listened to Dahl’s show at our crappy job leading up to the event, and especially the day after. It was also at that job that we listened to the Beatles White Album all the way through about forty times. Number nine. Number nine. Number nine. Number nine. Number nine….

I know this is a jumble of memories, but this is what has been running through my mind this past week. Soon, the era would be over. By the time I was old enough to go to clubs, disco had given way to Dire Straits, the Eurythmics, U2, Laura Branigan, the Police, R.E.M., Hall & Oates, and Spandau Ballet. Kiss and Ted Nugent gave way to ZZ Top and Van Halen. And the clubs seemed to run a continuous loop of “Ride the White Horse.”

But I do find myself sort of nostalgic now and then for a Bee Gees fix. Hey, no other band other than the Beatles had three songs in the top 5 at the same time. But I prefer the pre-Saturday Night Fever stuff. And never has a band’s voices and faces been so strangely mixed.

And here’s a golden oldie from 1975. Extra credit: try counting all the keyboards.

I was NEVER really in to Donna Summer, but this song was always the last one played at ever dance. If you hadn’t worked up to ask that girl yet, now was the time.

It’s funny how music brings back a flood of memories. In this case, it’s a bunch of kids with blow-dried hair driving around town in a large gas-guzzling Suburban, just looking for party. The girls either had the Dorothy Hamill wedge cut or the Farrah Fawcett flip. The guys all tried to look like Willie Aames or Bruce Jenner. Me, I went with more of the Gabe Kaplan look, without the mustache. Nice, I know. Those were nights of cheap beer, grabbing a burger at Yankee Doodle (the local fast food joint), and cruising around Glen Ellyn, Illinois, without finding much else going on. Despite our stupidity, we were fairly harmless. I don’t remember anyone passing out or throwing up. We really didn’t overdo it. Drugs were not big, or if they were, I wasn’t invited. There were some bongs here or there, but I remember being scared to death of drugs in general. To me, one taste and you were instantly addicted and on your way to becoming a junkie. I was pretty sheltered.

I’m pretty sure that all these memories have been fit with rounded edges and soft focus in my memory. But I have a much warmer spot in my heart for the 70s than I do the 80s. The 80s were filled with drama and more stupidity and pain and struggle. I really didn’t get my act together until the 90s. But I don’t think I’m alone in that. And that’s a story for another day. In the meantime…

from the Jersey Jazzman

But I can’t resist posting about hypocrisy, no matter where it’s found, or on which side of the aisle it resides. Have I ever given it to Democrats? Why, yes, I have. I am not pleased at the hawkish qualities of the Obama administration, particularly when it comes to their secret, unaccountable drone program, their warrantless detainment of U.S. citizens, and their penchant to hire ex-Goldman Sachs executives to sort out the Wall Street mess.

But this week, there were two huge examples of Republicans having it both ways in regards to government spending. Apparently, when government spending is done on them, or on issues they agree with, it is called “necessary investment.” When it is spent on other people, it is labeled as “entitlements.”

Welchers

Remember that debt ceiling debate last fall? Remember all the dire threats and the formation of a “Super Committee” to come up with a solution? Remember all those “triggers” that were supposed to take effect if they didn’t come up with said solution? These triggers were supposed to be equally painful to both sides: huge military spending cuts and huge cuts to social spending. Both conservatives and progressives were supposed to have some skin in the game. Well, the Super Committee failed. And now, the GOP has welched on the agreement, taking military cuts off the table and replacing them with cuts to food stamps, retirement benefits, and health coverage. You know, “hand-outs” for people living “the good life.”

Cartoon by Steve Sack of the Star Tribune

On Saturday, as John Boehner gave a speech on the evils of spending, and praising the specter of the next deficit ceiling debate as a chance to cut even more, the GOP-led House passed the National Defense Authorization Act, permitting $642 billion in defense spending next year. This is more than the Pentagon was asking for. Among the unrequested changes, the bill keeps aging aircraft and ships the military wants to phase out, maintains the Army and Marines at larger force levels than needed, and orders construction of missile defenses.

As an offset, the bill would cut more than $80 billion in federal retirement benefits, nearly $50 billion from Medicaid programs, and more than $36 billion from programs to feed the poor, including food stamps.

Not only that, but the measure adds $8 billion more than called for in the Budget Control Act that Congress agreed to last summer in exchange for raising the nation’s debt limit. And Obama’s the big spending liberal? Here is the GOP… spend, spend, spend. Adding to the deficit. Adding to the debt.

(And reaping huge campaign contributions from defense contractors perhaps? I’m sorry, now I’m just being cynical.)

Don’t worry. It’s not going to pass the Senate. And the GOP will blame the Dems for blocking a fiscal budget bill once again. Gridlock. (head desk)

Government Aid for the Cubs!

And perhaps you also heard about the kerfuffle over that Obama attack ad, one that was going to dredge up the Rev. Jeremiah Wright all over again. A Super PAC wanted billionaire Joe Ricketts — founder of TD Ameritrade and a huge opponent of government spending — to donate $10 million to fund it. It was titled “The Defeat of Barack Hussein Obama: The Ricketts Plan to End His Spending for Good.” After the proposal was leaked through the New York Times, Ricketts completely disavowed any participation in it, even though the proposal itself referred to his preliminary approval of the plan at a previous meeting. Whatever.

I really could care less about the ad. If the GOP wants to waste their money bringing up a subject that didn’t hurt Obama four years ago when we didn’t even know him that well, go ahead. It’s your money. Go for it. Spend away. Spend, spend, spend, spend, spend.

The Ricketts family — Laura (far left, as usual), Joe (2nd from left), and Tom (2nd from right)
(AP Photo/Nam Y. Huh)

But the funny part is how this is playing in Chicago, where Ricketts’ extremely wealthy children own the Chicago Cubs. Principal owner Tom Ricketts is currently trying to get the city to give him more than $150 million in city entertainment tax revenue to spend on Wrigley Field renovations. That’s right, in this economy, when Chicago schools are crumbling and inner city youth are being “left behind,” why not give a billionaire millions of dollars of public money to spend on his crumbling baseball stadium.

And who is he trying to get this money from? Try Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel. Yeah, Obama’s former chief of staff. That guy who swears a lot.

I’m betting that Rahm wallpapered city hall with some highly colorful grammar when he read about this. Currently, Da Mayor (as we call the office there) is not returning the Ricketts’ phone calls.

Oh, and Tom’s sister Laura (a co-owner of the Cubs) is an Obama fund raiser. She is the first openly gay owner of a major sports team in this country, and an well-known LGBT activist. I’ll bet they could raise money for Wrigley Field by selling tickets to the Ricketts’ holiday get-togethers. Those must be fascinatingly awkward.

This all would be funny if it weren’t so tragic. It would be amusing if it weren’t wasting millions of dollars at the same time we are cutting money for the sick, the hungry, and the poor. It would be a comedic look at silly, foolish adults if it the GOP wasn’t also cutting money for food stamps, and if half of the recipients of food stamps weren’t children.

Nineteenth century Christian theologian Charles Spurgeon once wrote, “Sincerity makes the very least person to be of more value than the most talented hypocrite.”

Oh, if we only had a little more sincerity in public life, maybe we would find more value in “the least of these” and we would stop giving all that money to the talented hypocrites. If only…

I love scotch. Scotchy, scotch, scotch. Here it goes down, down into my belly…

–Ron Burgundy, “Anchorman”

It’s been one of those weeks. Filled to the brim and overflowing, both at work and at home. Actually, at work at home. Besides writing posts, I haven’t had time for reading other blogs, Web sites, or news reports. I feel like I really don’t even know what’s going on out there, let alone do I have an opinion about it. Deadline pressure at work has forced me to take it home with me. If I were paid a salary, I guess one would consider that a part of the job. But since I get paid hourly, and only when actually at the office, it just seems like I’m doing stuff for free, and I hate that. But my life will be better when I can get on top of the crush and not beneath it.

On Wednesday, however, I squeezed in a short break. Two buddies and I went to the Industry Public House, a new bar and grill here in the Pittsburgh neighborhood of Lawrenceville. We’ve had a lot of these opening as of late. They have all become very trendy. They are the kinds of places where a guy like me (over 40) can feel more like an intruder than a customer. There’s the Round Corner Cantina, New Amsterdam, Eclipse, and Tamari, all filled at night with skinny jeans, strategically mismatched layers of American Apparel, and expensively ironic eye wear. You know, hipsters.

From the Tribune Review‘s article.

It was nice to discover that Industry is much more of a neighborhood joint than a see-and-be-seen pick-up emporium. Now, I’m not going in there at 11:30 on a Saturday night, but at 7:30 on a Wednesday night, it was a breath of fresh air. It’s a great layout. Huge u-shaped bar with tables (made from steel girders) on the outside. I had already had dinner, so I was only in it for the booze. But my friends had food. From all I’ve heard of their kitchen, it’s not going to win any culinary awards, but it’s not objectionable. What is prize-worthy, however, is the liquor. They have a huge selection of two things: beer and scotch — pages and pages of each. Beer-wise, they feature a full array of IPAs, stouts, and ales, including ones from the local Full Pint Brewery. They have more than 60 artisinal bourbons,  and Scottish and American whiskeys.

From the Pittsburgh Magazine review.

As you know, bourbons are only made in Kentucky. Otherwise, they are basically scotch. But the added bonus is the “smoke stack.”

Pick any scotch or bourbon and for an extra three bucks, they will infuse it with your choice of three flavors of wood smoke: apple, cherry, or mesquite. Yes, we were going with this one.

I went with a mid-shelf Knob Creek Kentucky bourbon. My friend, Chris, went with the more inexpensive Wild Turkey. We both went with the mesquite wood. It just reminds me of walking around my parents’ neighborhood in Scottsdale, Arizona, in the winter, when everyone is burning mesquite in their fire places. It really makes you feel like you are in the West.

The smoke stack is quite the floor show. First comes three shots of bourbon. Then a splash of maple syrup and a few dashes of bitters. A martini strainer is put on top of the glass. The bartender then puts a few nuggets of wood on the strainer and lights it up with the power of butane.

It ‘s a bit dark for iPhone photography in the Industry Public House. But you can see my drink on the left, smoking away while he fires up Chris’ campfire. Mine has a mixer on top of it to let the smoke infuse for a few minutes. Then, he garnishes it with an orange peel and one over-sized ice cube. I like the large ice cubs. That way, the ice melts much more slowly and doesn’t water down the drink too fast.

The result is a little bit of Kentucky heaven. The flavors all mix together brilliantly. You never really taste the syrup or the bitters or even the smoke. And the smoke takes the edge off of the scotch. It’s just so smooth. I decided to follow it up with a second Knob Creek by itself (no smoke) and the first sip really knocked me back with its strength. It just underlined how smooth the first one was.

Yeah, this might become my occasional treat. I’m planning to go back and try both the cherry and apple woods at some point. Maybe I’ll try the actual Scotch from Scotland next time. And maybe next time, I’ll go hungry so that I can enjoy the pot-roast fries, drenched in gravy and bits of slow-cooked beef. Or the Catalyst Chilli. Vegetarian? Try the Truffled Fries with sage, rosemary, truffle oil, and Gorgonzola. You’re welcome. There’s huge burgers (topped with wild boar bacon?) and all sorts of other pub food fare.

Not into beer and scotch. Try the Confection: Three Olives cake vodka mixed with cake batter, chocolate liqueur, and cream, finished with an explosion of multicolored jimmies, and served in an icing-laced glass. How did I not get the memo that cake-flavored vodka is a thing? It’s probably for the best.

Check ‘em out at http://www.industrypgh.com/.

Too much of anything is bad, but too much of good whiskey is barely enough.

– Mark Twain

Man City players can’t help looking a little effeminate in their glee. Yes, I said Glee!

This past weekend saw an incredible moment in sports, and it was nearly ignored by most of us here in the U.S. It was the final week (no playoffs) of the most popular league in the most popular sport in the world. At the end of a season that began last August, the championship of the English Premier League came down to two teams from the same city that were tied for first. Manchester United is pretty much the New York Yankees of the soccer world. Manchester City is more like the Pirates, in that they hadn’t won the title in 44 years. Since there are no playoffs or championship game, it just comes down to who is ahead at the end of the season. And Man City, despite being tied in points, was far ahead in the tie-breaker: point differential. To win the title, they just needed to match whatever Man United did. All the league games started at the same time so as not to give one team an idea of what they needed to do. But when Man United took a lead, it became obvious that Man City needed to win. Even a tie would give United the title.

At the end of regulation, Man City was down 2-1. But then came stoppage time, those few extra minutes added on the end of the game for injuries and penalties and all stoppages of play. Man City did the impossible. They scored twice in those few minutes of stoppage time to beat the Queen’s Park Rangers and win the title. Here’s what it was like.

And the world went nuts. Well, not here, but pretty much everywhere else.

Here’s Manchester United after they won, wondering if they were champs only to find out they weren’t. Remember, last they knew, Man City was losing at the 90 minute mark.

Something I love about English soccer is what they call “relegation.” That’s where the lowest three teams in the league are demoted to a lower league in exchange for the top three teams in that lower league. That may not sound like a big deal, but for those teams, it means a loss of millions of dollars in revenue. Imagine the Colts, Dolphins, and Rams being bumped down to the Arena League, or something like that. Or better yet, let’s fix baseball, shall we?

Imagine if we broke baseball into two leagues by payroll. Rich teams in the upper league; poor ones in the lesser. Let’s do it by 2011 numbers. Here’s the top league. We’ll call it the American League. First number is their payroll in millions. Second number was their record. This league would get most of the press, TV coverage, and attention. All the best players would want to be in this league.

AMERICAN LEAGUE

The National League would be a step down. No national TV coverage. Only local newspaper attention. They would have to make do with lesser, under-priced talent.

NATIONAL LEAGUE

Of course, these records wouldn’t be accurate because you would really only play the teams in your own league. That would certainly help the fortunes of teams like the Marlins, Pirates, and Blue Jays not to have to play the Yankees, Red Sox, and Phillies. Some say this wouldn’t really solve the problem of big cities having the big payrolls, and that, in fact, it would only get worse. Well, maybe we should stop fighting it and just go with it. Darth Vader will remain Darth Vader no matter how much you want him to change. Hopefully, once in a while, the rebels will take out their defense shield. Wait, am I nerding out? Sorry.

The only way for National League teams to move up and go after that bigger media money would be to increase their payrolls, unless they can be like the Rays and D-backs and win with a low payroll. But in general, owners would be under pressure from their own accountants to step it up and make an investment.

In this scenario, the Cubs, Rockies, and Twins would face the disgrace of moving down to the National League. The Rays, Brewers, and D-backs would move up to play with the big boys. And for shame, as the Orioles, Mariners, and Orioles would be on their way to oblivion (or, as Mike Tyson called it, “Bolivian”) — Triple-A, or somewhere like that, to play the likes of the Toledo Mud Hens and the Norfolk Tides.

Wouldn’t this spice up baseball a bit? It would create fierce rivalries. It would feature a changing landscape every season while still holding on to the traditional aspects of the game.

Of course, it will never happen because it would be borrowing from soccer. Even Obama things that would be Socialist. There’s no way that baseball would ever stoop so low.

Decades of movies ruined

So last night, in an attempt to suck the marrow out of a Thursday evening, I watched about 15 minutes out of the middle of Die Hard. (Every time I go to L.A., I marvel at how well they were able to repair the Nakatomi Tower!)

www.the-filmreel.com

Watching it, I was struck by how hard it must be for screenwriters these days now that technology has ruined so many of their plot lines. Just imagine what John McLean would have been able to do with one smart phone that could call, email, or text? Movie over. Roll the credits. Or if the terrorists had them, instead of those crude, cheap-ass walkie-talkies.

How many horror movie victims were silenced and cut off from the world by the snipping of one phone cord? How many times has a character walked out of the house just as the phone rang trying to warn them that the crazed killer escaped from prison, or something like that? There was so much more drama in life when we were more disconnected from the world.

How many grainy instagram photos would there be of an awkwardly stripping Clark Kent?

How many lead characters were forced to physically deliver a video tape with crucial evidence on it when YouTube would have solved everything (See Blue Thunder, et al.)?

Not to mention how Jenny from Forrest Gump and the guy in Philadelphia could have been successfully treated with HIV medication, thereby denying Tom Hanks of two Oscars.

I’m pretty sure that every Seinfeld episode would have been ruined with the existence of texting.

Sonny Corleone would have had EZ-Pass and would not only still be alive, but would be sitting in a federal prison on racketeering charges.

In Say Anything, Lloyd would not get the girl because who has a boom box anymore? Think how lame he’d look holding an iPhone over his head.

There’s You’ve Got Mail, where, today, they’d each have a Facebook page devoted to their stores with photos, but they’d still get together because ebooks would drive them both out of business and into each others’ arms.

And don’t get me started with all the Hitchcock films that would be impossible today. Can you imagine the kind of reviews the Bates Motel would get in Yelp? “Creepy place with a perv owner. The showers are kind of hinkey, too. Try the Motel 6.”

Poor Hollywood. Maybe that’s why movies aren’t what they used to be.

Conflicted

http://juniordsports.com

There’s no doubt about it, when it comes to sports in this country, football is king, and the NFL is Zeus. I mean the NFL just aired a 3-hour show on the release of their schedule! And this when every team and their fans already knew who they’d be playing, they just didn’t know the dates and times! The NFL draft is like a big Amway convention.

But man, how could you not take pause at the death of Junior Seau? It’s not like this was an isolated incident. NFL players have been committing suicide at an alarming rate. How many more suffer from the trauma and depression of long undiagnosed and under insured head and body injuries? I wrote about this before when I was urging Hines Ward to retire. I referenced the suicide of Dave Duerson who, like Seau, shot himself in the chest so that his wounded brain could be studied intact. In fact, there have been twelve acknowledged NFL suicides in the past 25 years.

You can tell the NFL is in complete panic mode about this because of the huge fines and suspensions being handed down for on-the-field violence. They are well-aware of the approximately 1800 lawsuits being brought by former players. They are aware of how, for years, they ignored the issue of head trauma, sending woozy players back onto the field for more collisions. They know that there are greedy lawyers out there who would love to get their hands on some of that sweet, sweet NFL cash.

You know, for generations, another sport was number one in America. It held the front page of newspapers and magazines. It dominated the sporting airwaves. It produced hero after hero for children across the country. That sport was boxing. For nearly a century, almost every American would have been able to tell you who the heavy-weight champion was. No more. What parent would want their child to grow up to become a boxer? Could this be the future of the NFL? Remember, the only thing Americans love more than putting people up on pedestals, is tearing them down again.

I have to admit, I am more uneasy with my football desire than ever. Sure the equipment they wear is better and, perhaps, safer, but the players are also stronger, faster, and bigger than they have ever been before. My brain says that there is something immoral about deriving entertainment by watching these men do real damage to themselves. It’s like cheering for someone as they smoke. My heart counters, saying, “What’s wrong with it? Hey, it’s not like they are all going to die early because of it!”  There’s just such a Roman coliseum/gladiator/blood lust component to it that I think it should appall me. Especially when young children, whose central nervous systems are still developing, put on pads to play in pee wee leagues.

But my heart insists that it really wants to see what kind of offense Todd Haley brings to the Steelers this year. My heart wants to see how TCU does in the Big Twelve and how Pitt does with Paul Chryst. My heart wants to cheer loudly for the total and complete destruction of “the coach who shall not be named” and his Arizona State Party Devils. My heart thinks these new Rutgers uniforms are completely bad-ass. And I could care less about Rutgers!

My heart is such a hypocrite.

My yellow-tinted computer glasses are currently my only non-broken pair of reading glasses. But the color scheme works, while also giving me a sort of John Lennon mystique, don’t you think? Mrs. Bagger with her scarf. Always channeling Coco Channel and Audrey Hepburn, that one. As the temps went down, though, that scarf became more than just a fashion accessory. We look like a couple of aging hippies.

With a rather sparse crowd in attendance, and the Nats coming to bat, I decided to wander down to the right field corner to check out the new Bowtie Bar, the Budwiser-themed bar they installed into a rather wasted space in that part of the park. I’ve gotta say, it was bigger than I imagined. Here’ s a shot looking at the bar with the playing field — and the private party — in the background.

Yes, now you can attend a Pirates game and also watch the NBA playoffs, or hockey, or The Voice, I guess. They had large portable fire heaters up there, too, but I guess it wasn’t cold enough to get those bad boys humming. Looking out the back of the bar, you get a great view up the river.

 I didn’t stay for long because when I’m at a ballgame I actually like to, you know, watch the game. Plus, some incredible clouds were moving in.

This was from the aisle right outside the bar. Check out those clouds. As ominous as they seemed, you could tell that they weren’t going to do much. First, they were moving too fast to do any damage. And second, they were too low and unorganized. But they were great to look at.

What followed was a great show in the sky, as well as an ever-changing light show projected on the skyline. I couldn’t help it. Every 5 minutes the view completely shifted in shape and color, and I kept taking pictures of it. The clouds were roiling above, the setting sun was peaking through behind us and reflecting off the buildings, changing shades like a kaleidoscope, and then, finally, a pink glow stretched across the once dark gray cumulus as some sort of grand finale. My iPhone doesn’t do the colors justice, but it did okay. Enjoy the show; we sure did.

Nice, right? It made the baseball game more interesting, too. The wind was constantly swirling around, batter by batter. For one hitter the flags were blowing straight in. The very next hitter they were pointing to the right field bleachers. Then, three pitches later, they were blowing out. I couldn’t believe the flags didn’t end up completely wrapped around the poles.

The game was typical Pirates. Newly acquired Erik Bedard mowed the Nats down in 5 pitches in the first inning. But three pitches into the second inning, he was bent over with back spasms. Thus, it was a 5-man bullpen by committee for the rest of the game. The Buccos scratched across three runs in the third inning in extremely lucky fashion. It involved a dropped third strike that allowed our pitcher to take first base. There was an error, a walk, and some dribbling ground balls that eeked their way into the outfield. I almost felt bad for their pitcher because he should have been out of the inning. I almost felt bad for him. I got over it. After that inning, the Pirate offense predictably shut down. But our relief pitchers did just enough. We even shut down their rookie phenom, Bryce Harper (0-3, walk), although he made two great plays in the field to rob us of doubles. Yamaico Navarro made a great catch over the wall in left field to take away a home run. It felt like they constantly had multiple people on base and were about to break the game open, but we always got that key strikeout or pop up at just the right moment.

With us winning 3-2 in the 8th, Bucco pitcher Jason Grilli loaded the bases with 1 out. It looked bleak, but then he reached back for two strikeouts. It was also a typical game because Andrew McCutchen carried our offense. In the bottom of the 8th, already 3 for 3 on the day, Cutch went deep over the 383 ft. marker in left to give us that crucial two-run cushion. Hammer time in the ninth was nervous time. Hanrahan had blown a save the night before and his grandmother had just passed away, so he was emotional. He allowed two base runners in the ninth just to raise our blood pressure before striking out the final batter for a rather ugly Bucco win. Raise the Jolly Roger!

Hey, there will be plenty of ugly losses down the road, so don’t look down your nose at the occasional ugly win. That’s two in a row over the first place team in the East. They’ve got Strausburg on the mound on Thursday. But the Pirates have already won the series. And two tired Baggers had to scurry home because they both had to work in the morning.

The princess hangs out in front of her likeness.

Yesterday was one of those days you just survive. It started with walking the dog in a downpour at 7:00 a.m. Not that I mind the rain so much, but I have a pretty prissy pet who prefers to pad down practically dry paths if practically possible. (That was fun!) Yes, my little princess (I’m done with that, now. Really.) hates wet bricks, wet mud, wet grass, and all forms of wetness in general. Walking her in the rain makes you feel like you are dragging her to the executioner. She looks at you like you have betrayed her trust at a soul level. “You were my friend! How could you?”

Then came the funeral of my boss (ex-boss), which was a beautiful service but, you know… ick. All afternoon, I labored over a manuscript with a raging headache. By 4 o’clock, I surrendered.

Hey, I’m fully aware that on a scale of bad things, this was a bad day only for someone who doesn’t have a lot of bad days. So I have a low pain tolerance for bad days. Sue me!

Bryce Harper. Somebody needs to knock that smirk off his face.

Today, however, is a new day, and a good day because I’m going to the Pirates’ game tonight. It’s my first time back to PNC since opening day, so I’m ready. At first, I was a little disappointed that the Nationals’ ace pitcher Stephen Strausburg wasn’t going to pitch until Thursday, but then I remembered how the Pirates struggle to hit against even mediocre pitching. Why would I want to see them blanked by a kid with a 100 mph fastball and some sick breaking balls? So, bring on Ross Detwiler and let’s see the Pirates take some hacks! I am excited to see their other phenom, outfielder Bryce Harper. Everybody is saying that this kid is some combination of Lou Gehrig, Pete Rose, and Barry Bonds, but with the showboating attitude of Terrell Owens. And he’s only 19 years old! Gotta get my hating reservations in early.

The Pirates have not overwhelmed anybody this year. But let me provide a couple glimmers of hope.

First, only the Seattle Mariners have played a rougher schedule this year, opponents’ winning percentage-wise. We have played all the division leaders and few of the teams in the cellar. Plus, we had ten home games and thirteen road games, including a long and demanding West Coast swing. May will be different. This month will feature 18 home games and only 10 on the road. Although we still play a lot of good teams, we also will finally see the Astros, Cubs, and Marlins. May will tell us a lot about the 2012 Pirates.

As bad as the bats were early in the season, there are signs that things may be heating up. Pedro Alvarez, who was horrendous the first two weeks, seems to be getting his timing back. In the last two weeks, he is hitting .333, with 3 HRs, 3 doubles, and 9 RBIs. (Yes, I know that RBI is plural already, but writing 9 RBI just makes you look pretentious!) Neil Walker is up to .289, Andrew McCutchen is over .300, and even Garrett Jones is up there at .279.

Last night’s heroics!

My horrible day was miraculously salvaged, however, with two events. One, seeing the Philadelphia Flyers ignominiously dispatched from the NHL playoffs by a team from over the river in New Jersey. Two, the Pirates’ stupendous, bottom-of-the-ninth, game-winning home run by, of all people… Rod Barajas. Hopefully, last night’s shot will get Barajas going, because the bottom of the order has been atrocious. Barmes, Barajas, and the pitcher has pretty much given other teams three automatic outs every time through the lineup. This has to improve.

And how about those pitchers? Last year, the Pirate pitchers were last in the majors in getting strikeouts. That means the other team puts the ball in play a lot. That’s when bad things happen. Plus, we also were near the top of the league in issuing walks. Not a good combination. This year, Neil Huntington addressed that by picking up two new strikeout starters: Erik Bedard and A. J. Burnett. Last night, Burnett notched 10 strikeouts in 8 innings, only giving up 2 runs. Unfortunately, Pirate hitters and closer Joel Hanrahan couldn’t get him the win, but at least they won it in the bottom of the ninth. This year, we are only near the bottom in strikeouts instead of at the bottom. (12th instead of 15th) And they are only 6th in the National League in giving up walks. Baby steps. But overall, Pirate pitchers have the 8th best ERA and are #3 in not allowing earned runs. Not too shabby.

I still have hopes that the bats will heat up at some point. When they do, we might in for some summer fun! Last year, the team’s best month was June. This year, I wouldn’t mind seeing them start their tear a little earlier.

See ya at the ball park!