Category Archives: Random
Somewhere, Shaun Suisham still sits on a sideline bench with a stunned expression on his face and the devil in his leg.
Somewhere, the Steelers defense is still looking for Terrell Pryor. They can’t find him. They also suck at Where’s Waldo, Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego, and Where’s My Water.
Somewhere, Mike Tomlin is a bit worried about job security. Just a little. A skoosh.
Somewhere, Zoltan Mesko is packing a bag and then punting pigeons in anger as hard as he can. The pigeons are landing about three feet away.
Somewhere, Todd Haley is thinking “I should’a went with a bubble screen.”
Somewhere, Steely McBeam is asking, “Am I still a thing?”
What a game.
What a piece of football puke.
And do you know how to make a piece of football puke even more putrescent? You watch it with your diehard Oakland Raiders-loving brother-in-law and the 11-year-old son he managed to raise as a Raiders fan despite my sister Pens Fan’s best efforts to instill Steelers love in him.
You remember Muchacho, yes? The first and only person in the history of the world to catch a foul ball?
Calm down, Muchacho. Calm. Down.
Let’s talk football. Wretched, wretched football.
1. We arrived at my sister’s house at 4:08 p.m., walked into the living room carrying our contribution to the potluck, and Muchacho was freaking out because Terrell Pryor had just run something like 482 yards to score a touchdown while the Steelers defense was busy picking lint from their bellybutton holes. Either that or he engaged his cloak of invisibility.
This is basically what happened, in goat form:
On the first play of the first possession. Breaking a record for a QB touchdown rush.
The Raiders are leading by 7 points only five seconds into the game. Steeler Nation reacts accordingly:
2. Then we blinked and it was 21-3.
21-3. To the Raiders. The NFL’s bastard child. The black sheep. The poop on the NFL’s shoe. The 1992-2012 Pittsburgh Pirates of the NFL.
Beating the vaunted Steelers 21-3.
Steeler Nation reacts accordingly.
Did I just use a Tom Brady “F–k you bitches” gif to represent Steelers fans? I did.
Come at me, bro.
3. Up next, my father’s impression of Zoltan Mesko’s punting:
4. After managing only two takeaways since 1972, the Steelers had THREE yesterday.
Too bad they counted for ZERO POINTS.
5.What running game?
6. What offensive line?
7. The Steelers broke a long time ago, but they had one good working part and that was Shaun Suisham. Our rock. Our solid foundation. The man who would miss no kick. The man who could find the center of the uprights in a sharknado raging in the middle of an anaconda-cane.
It was his 47-yarder that brought the score to 14-3 earlier in the game.
So at 21-3 with the Steelers on a drive that chewed like nine minutes off of the third quarter clock, Suisham is called upon to kick the ball 34 yards after the offense failed to record a TD (shocker!).
34 yards. Easy as pie, for our rock. Our anchor. Our–
And it’s wide. Steeler Nation reacts accordingly:
I wasn’t mad. I mean, there was so much blame to go around; I couldn’t put it all on him.
I wanted to hug Suishy. Tell him it was okay.
But then later in the game, another short field goal attempt. This one he’ll make. Because he’s our rock. Our foundation. Our one good-
And he missed it.
And I wasn’t mad. We were down by two touchdowns. Six points won’t make a difference.
SIX POINTS WILL NEVER MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THIS GAME!
I wanted to hug him even harder now. Poor guy. He’s so cute. And sad. Let me hug your sad away my Suishy.
And the Karma Boomerang makes a U-turn because guess what?
Here’s how I felt about Suishmiss by the end of the game when those six points would have meant everything:
This is also how I felt about my brother-in-law by the end of the game. I wanted to throw all the punches and I came very very close to slapping his phone out of his hands as he was posting celebratory messages on Facebook.
8. The fourth quarter is when the Steelers showed up, coming so close to tying the game up, which wouldn’t have been necessary had Suisham made those damn easy field goals.
But with no timeouts left, and Tomlin arguably wasting one with 1:48 on the clock, it was too little too late as Suisham sends an onside kick directly into the hands of the Raiders and time runs out before Benny can get any sort of final play off.
Steelers lose. Raiders win. Steelers’ chances of making the playoffs are smaller than Luke Ravenstahl’s brain.
Steeler Nation reacts accordingly:
That’s right. 100% out of shits to give at this point.
And next week we play Tom Brady.
Expect a score of ALL OF THE POINTS to NONE OF THEM.
Our only hope for any joy to come out of that game is if someone accidentally telestrates a penis coming out of Tom Brady’s butt.
— Luke Ravenstahl (@MayorLuke) October 16, 2013
Setting: Present day at the Office of That’s Church inside of the Market Square Dunkin’ Donuts.
Mayor Luke Ravenstahl walks in, sees the Secretary of the Office of That’s Church sitting with a steaming pumpkin coffee on her table and a look of epic doom on her face. Turns to leave.
PittGirl: “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.”
Luke: [droops his shoulders and sighs]
PittGirl: “Have a seat, Hizzoner.”
Luke: [turns to face her] “Not if you’re going to call me –”
PG: “HAVE. A. SEAT … HIZZONER.”
Luke: [reluctantly takes a chair] “Can I order a –”
PG: “Have you lost your damn mind?”
PG: “You know, I sit here and ask myself, ‘When did The Office of That’s Church just become you sitting there stuttering like a kid caught looking at the naughty pages of a National Geographic and me sitting here asking you if you have LOST YOUR DAMN MIND?’ When did that happen, do you know?”
PG: “Let me just talk myself through this. Okay? Can you help me talk myself through this?”
PG: “Did you, or did you not, use the city’s official webpage, not your own personal website, but the city’s OFFICIAL site, to begin a TWO AND A HALF MONTH LONG series of posts in which you will tell the people of Pittsburgh in great detail all the the things you believe you have accomplished in the last seven years?”
PG: “And did you write that you feel since there is so much negative attention focused on you right now, it is ‘my responsibility to remind people just how much we’ve achieved?’ You FINALLY start worrying about responsibility and THAT’S what you think your responsibility as mayor is? Patting yourself on the back?!”
Luke: “You’ve –”
PG: “And did you actually use Twitter to create an official hashtag for this recounting of your successes over the last seven years? And is that hashtag ‘#sevenyearsofsuccesses?’”
Luke: “It kinda–”
PG: “Tell me your Twitter account was hacked.Tell me. Go ahead. Tell me your password was something easy to guess like ‘PEDUTOSUCKS’ or ‘TIGERWOODS4LYFE’ and it was hacked. Go on. Say those words to me. Say, ‘I was hacked.’ Please.”
Luke: “I wasn’t–”
PG: “Because if you weren’t hacked, and you are actually willfully and knowingly and deliberately and intentionally and all the words that mean those very things … launching this desperate legacy-grasping initiative on this the very day your police chief and highest deputy testified in front of a grand jury investigating your questionable political and financial ethics, I am going to have to believe that you have the mental maturity of Caillou and the mental capacity of a urinal cake.”
Luke: “Now, that’s a bit–”
PG: “You can’t GIVE a legacy after the fact. Do you get that? You can only LEAVE one. It’s like trying to go back and change your footprints in the sand. You can’t! You already left them. So no matter how much you trumpet your successes over the next two point five months, no matter how much you try to feed us the positives in the hopes we’ll appreciate them, it won’t affect the legacy you have already left. There is no amount of bullet points that will negate, erase, or diminish the areas you’ve left us wanting. In fact, by publicly using city resources and staff to trumpet your successes, you’re only drawing our attention to your shortcomings. We’re not going to replace those shortcomings with your successes. We’re going to look at them side by side, because we have the mental capacity to do that. WE are not the urinal cakes in this scenario.”
Luke: “I wish you’d stop saying–”
PG: ”URINAL CAKE URINAL CAKE URINAL CAKE.”
Luke: [stands to leave] “Are you quite done?”
PG: “Done!? I haven’t even been put in the oven yet! The oven isn’t even preheated yet! THE OVEN HASN’T EVEN BEEN INVENTED YET!”
Luke: “You’re out of –”
PG: “Luke, before you walk out of this office this one last time, allow me to say, if as you near the end of your political career you feel the negative is shining so brightly that it has completely hidden the positive and has motivated you to begin a self-serving, self-applauding, self-backslapping look at your tenure, you’ve got to ask yourself, is the blinding negative a PR issue or is it a ‘me issue?’ If you’re honest, you’re going to see it’s a YOU issue and you’re going to realize no amount of shouting about the positives is going to in any way impact the legacy you’ve already left in your wake. You look stunned. Blink twice if you understood what I just said.”
Luke: ”I’m leaving.” [walks toward door]
PG: “Fine. But one last thing.”
Luke: [turns] “What?”
PG: ”URINAL CAKE!”
Luke: [storms out]
(Jim Lokay, formerly of KDKA, singing his heart out. All photos from last year’s event by Jonathan Wander)
I can honestly say that in 2012, the most fun event I attended was the inaugural Haitian Families First Live Rock n’ Roll Karaoke party at Shadow Lounge.
I stayed out until 2:30 a.m. Me. The girl who when she looks at the clock and it reads 1:00 a.m. says, “WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?! DID THE BUS DROP ME OFF IN CRAZYTOWN?! WHERE IS MY BED?!?!”
I can’t sing. You know this about me. But there is something so damn fun about watching people who CAN sing get up on stage with a live band to belt their hearts out.
It was just the best time of music and drinking and conversation and camaraderie and I’m beyond excited for this year’s event which will be bigger and better and at The Rex:
It will feature your host for the evening, the one and only Randy Baumann of the ‘DVE Morning Show, seen here on the right in his appearance on TBS’ “Sullivan and Son”:
(“Oh, no. I promised my kid a car!” Still funny.)
In addition to regular folks getting up there to sing live with the band to a tune from a list of 100 songs, you’ll be voting for one of three celebrity contestants to sing on stage!
They are … last year’s winners/losers Mikey and Big Bob from the Kiss Morning Freakshow:
Her Royal Highness Sally Wiggin of WTAE who I think should sing “Wrecking Ball”:
And future mayor Bill Peduto:
That’s not all!
- Just by attending, you are entered into a giveaway of an epic collection of local restaurant gift cards.
- Raffle tickets will be for sale for a pair of tickets to the November 18 Penguins home game vs. the Anaheim Ducks
- Additionally, you’ll have the chance to purchase Haitian Love Beads and get your picture taken in the HFF photo booth.
- Prize package from our friends at The Scarehouse will be awarded for best costume.
All proceeds benefit Jamie and Ali McMutrie’s Haitian Families First.
To enter to win two free tickets to the event, simply leave a comment before Wednesday, October 16 at 5:00 p.m. at which time Random.org will pick the winner. So you have something to say, tell me one of two things, or be a rebel and tell me BOTH things:
- What should my costume be? Preferably something that requires brunette hair, and that isn’t one of those ridiculous “sexy” outfits like “sexy porcupine.” Last year I went as Slash. Don’t say, “Sexy Slash.”
- What’s the spookiest/unexplained thing that’s ever happened to you? I love reading stories like that because I don’t really have any to tell.
Or just leave a generic comment and you’re entered to win.
If you don’t win or if you plan to go no matter what and want to reserve your spot to sing as it’s first come first served, you can get all the details right here.
See you there!
I WON’T be the sexy enchilada.
1. Do you suppose science will ever get to the point where we can design a car so that when you drop something between the seat and the center console, it can be humanly retrieved without sticking chewed bubble gum onto the end of a long pointy stick?
Let’s get on that because I’ve lost too many mascaras to that abyss.
2. David Conrad will appear on Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. tonight. Here’s a sneak:
He is also writing a blog now and you can read his daily thoughts right here.
Hell of a writer.
3. Happy Thanksgiving! Mayor Luke lives!
And if you think he’s back because he wants to let us know he’s busy doing mayor things, LOL.
If the Pirates win the World Series, and this absent mayor goes out in a blaze of glory riding in the parade with Andrew McCutchen, I will shit so many bricks they’ll have enough to repave Grant Street six times over.
4. “No One Survives Alone” Zombie Party!
Get yourself zombified and head over to CHS’s party on October 19 where you’ll be treated to a beer bar sponsored by Yuengling, appetizers, music by DJ Zombo and more.
5. Along those same Halloween lines, you can head to the Warhol this weekend for the Arthritis Foundation’s Bone Bash!
6. The Knit the Bridge short is done and it’s awesome. Take a look:
Next year, they should yarn-bomb the incline cars. But then the yarn might unravel and get stuck under the wheel mechanism and cause the inclines to separate from the tracks and then the cars would go hurling down the mountainside with terrified Yinzers stuck inside all, “SHIT, N’AT.”
Boy, I just talked myself out of that idea SUPER fast.
7. My latest column, “The Mayor’s Manual: Six simple rules for the next mayor of Pittsburgh” is online and here’s a snippet.
5. Don’t be for sale. Not to anyone — including the party, unions, valet companies, sports teams and universities. This is not Walmart, and you are not a Rollback Special. Let it be known that you are not, and never will be, available to the highest bidder … or you will be spending a good portion of time in the shame chair with only a juice box and millions of scolding eyes to keep you company. Despite that, we want you to know …
8. I need your funny wedding/reception stories for Pittsburgh Magazine’s Weddings issue! Mishaps! Falls! Swears! Faintings! I DON’Ts!
Email me, yo.
9. Let’s go, Bucs!
Especially you, Neil Walker.
(My husband, me, and my dad. Photo taken by the gorgeous Katie O’Malley of Pens-TV who just happened to be sitting directly behind me!)
I had this post all written out in my head if the Pirates lost.
I knew exactly where I was going to go with it.
I was 100% prepared to deal with a loss and all the myriad of feelings that would come with it.
I was not 100% prepared for what actually happened last night. I was 0% prepared.
There are sloths better prepared to take the SATs than I was prepared for what happened last night.
I was an emotional wreck leading up to the game as I sat in Las Velas sucking down two margaritas.
I was an emotional basket case as we crossed the Clemente Bridge.
I was an emotional lunatic sitting down in my seat an hour before the game. I distracted myself by helping a confused couple in front of me learn how to do the Zoltan. She was putting her pinkie to her thumb and looked like she was trying to make the world’s most elaborate butterfly shadow puppet, where the butterfly is also riding a horse.
I was not prepared for how cool the blackout looked. Some predicted it would look like there was no one in the crowd. Excuse me a second while I LOL at that. It looked amazing. A sea of black with glowing faces shining out. A spot of red here and there, but they were hard to find. They looked like drops of blood on a canvas of Pirate glory.
And that, my friends, is what we call “waxing eloquent.”
I was not prepared to see Doug Drabek, my old baseball crush, find the plate again, or how hard I still swoon for that delicious, delicious man.
I was not prepared for pre-game.
I wasn’t prepared for the roar for Jay Bell, for the Parrot to literally bow down to Clint Hurdle, for Andrew holding his hand to his heart as he was introduced to a chant of “MVP MVP MVP,” or his mother’s rendition of the National Anthem (Gene Simmons who?). It was the a perfect pre-game ceremony and PNC Park was all, “That was the best ten minutes of my life. Got a cigarette?”
I sure as heck was not prepared for first pitch.
I texted Woy:
And I guarantee no one, not one single person on either team or in any seat in that ballpark or media booth was prepared for the noise. THE NOISE was the tenth man on the Pirates’ team.
This was beyond Heinz Field. I have been to plenty of Steelers games and have never once felt the need to turn down the volume on my hearing aids. Last night, I kept nudging the volume lower and lower until by the second inning, as the CuEEEEE-toeeeeee chant grew to an absolute deafening, undulating, seizure-inducing roar, both of my hearing aids were as low as they could go without being turned off, and that’s only because they don’t actually have an off switch.
YOU WILL HEAR THIS ROAR, AND YOU WILL LIKE IT, DAMN YOU.
That “Cueto” chant? I’m sure you heard it if you watched the televised broadcast, but it does not do justice to what it sounded like standing in the midst of its wave-like cacophonous din. I wasn’t exaggerating when I wrote “seizure-inducing.” It was the perfect tone to crawl inside your head, take root in your brain, and just shake it mercilessly. It was a brain earthquake. CuuuuEEEEEEEEEtoeeeeeee. CuuuuuuEEEEEEEEEEtoeeeeee. Like the Tomahawk Chop [patoooie] on steroids.
If I was ready to chuck my hearing aids over the railing because of that chant, I can’t imagine what it did to Cueto’s psyche. Well, yes I can; he dropped the ball and served a home run to Russell Martin on a silver platter with a side of cheese.
Fans, 1: Reds, 0
I spent most of the game, as they say, beside myself. Trying to keep it together and losing it anyway, whatever “it” is. Probably “my shit.”
I didn’t relax. Not once. 5-1 and I was still nervous. My brain was humming. My heart was pounding. My stomach was churning. I was shivering and sweating at the same time. The margaritas were threatening to evacuate the premises for higher ground. It was either the flu or menopause, I thought. It can’t just be nerves making me feel like I’m dying alive, right, Jaromir?
Somehow I made it to the top of the ninth without puking or fainting or texting “SECURITY” and my seat location to the number they flashed on the big screen and then when they arrived being all, “I AM NOT WELL, YOU GUYS. DO YOU HAVE ANY XANAX ON YOUR PERSON?”
It was there in the ninth that I lived and died by Jason Grilli. Each pitch had me at fever pitch. I stood up. Sat down. Put my head in my hands. Thought about barfing discreetly into my purse.
I stood up again.
And just like that … three.
I sat down.
I’m sure the place was loud, but I didn’t hear it. I didn’t even see the immediate on-field celebration where I’m sure Grilli beat Martin in the chest so hard he put a dent in him. I didn’t see, but I’m sure the outfielders did their little jump! celebration.
I was in my own world, just sitting there with my head in my hands in disbelief with a few tears falling from my eyes. Because I’m such a girl and there is SO crying in baseball, Tom Hanks.
Who died and made you king of baseball crying anyway?
There IS crying. And there’s giant flag-waving and chanting and hugging and high-fiving total strangers and there’s Cinderella stories that unfold before our very eyes.
And sometimes there’s barfing margaritas into purses.
Bring on the Cards, and let’s go, Bucs!
Especially you, Neil Walker. I’m still waiting for my prediction to come true.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go see a man about a Xanax prescription.