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Commentary Photo I Like sheer awesomeness Yinzerism/Pittsburgh Advocacy

Huffington Post: Go Check Out Pittsburgh (Yes, Really)

Pittsburgh

The more I blog, the more I want to blog.  I stumbled across two different articles raving about the complete fantastic-ness of Pittsburgh–which actually happens pretty regularly.  For the record: I live in a small university town out in the woods but still near enough to get into “The Burgh,” but I’m in love with the city. I feel fortunate that I got to live there for 3 years when I was in my 20s, –long enough to learn my way around, and to gain a clearer understanding and appreciation of the forces that were being marshaled even then, that would lead to the surge in energy and vitality of the present day.  So, from now on, when I read something great about my favorite city, I pass it along to you.  And by all means, get yourself over for a visit.

Got a Little Free Time This Spring? Maybe Go Check Out Pittsburgh (Yes, Really)

There are many ways in which Pittsburgh is not like other cities — let’s start with the grand entrance. Whether you’re coming in from the Pennsylvania Turnpike and through the Squirrel Hill Tunnel, or shooting under Mount Washington on their way in from the airport, you can’t help but notice: Here is a city with a lot going on in the looks department.

The setting, along those famous three rivers (Ohio, Allegheny, Monongahela) at the foot of those dramatic hills, is pretty great. That impressive skyline is a constant reminder of a time when Pittsburgh was one of the world’s most important industrial capitals….

 

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Funny and/or Strange Poetry

Jimmy Stewart & His Poetry on Shprockets : Best SNL Sketch Ever

hqdefaultQuite possibly the most gut-wrenchingest, funniest SNL skit of all time.  If anyone has a copy of this video–which I’ve been unable to find–send me a link, drop me a line, let me know and I’ll be eternally grateful.

Sprockets

Announcer…..Phil Hartman
Dieter…..Mike Myers
Jimmy Stewart…..Dana Carvey

[FADE IN on the “Sprockets” opening, with the nuclear bomb and city scenes.]

Announcer: Shprockets. Shprockets. Vest German television presents, “Shprockets.” Vith your host: Dieter.

[SUPERIMPOSE “LIVE SHOW” and then FADE to Dieter.]

Dieter: Velcome to “Shprockets,” I am your host, Dieter. Tonight our guest is vone of America’s foremost poets of anarchy and rebellion. An obsessed outcast, whose dark visions drag us to the edge. His book, “Jimmy Shtewart and His Poems”… [holds up book] …is filled with biting images that assault the senses, unmasking both reader and poet alike in a macabre dance of despair. He has also appeared in films. Please velcome Jimmy Shtewart!

[Audience cheers as Dieter stands up, claps stiffly, and then sits again. Jimmy Stewart finally dodders onstage in a dark gray suit and dark-rimmed glasses. He takes a seat next to Dieter.]

Dieter: Mr. Shtewart. Critic Graus Greck, in the latest issue of “Verdkunst,” described your book as an asylum, vhere man meets his Creator and screams.

Jimmy Stewart: Well, uh, thank you, Dieter. That’s, uh… Y’know–y’know, Gloria and I are big fans of YOURS.

Dieter: In your poem, “Old Rocking Chair,” you write: “You sit in the corner/Old rocking chair/It makes me feel good/To know you are there.”

Jimmy Stewart: Yeah…

Dieter: I feel emotionally obliterated.

Jimmy Stewart: I’m glad–glad–glad to HEAR that, y’see, good poetry is about DESTRUCTION.

Dieter: Under vhat conditions does a man experience such raw truth?

Jimmy Stewart: Well, Dieter, it’s no picnic, I can tell you that right now. I was holed up in a Mexico City slum. I hadn’t eaten in weeks, and what few pesos I had, I’d spent on alcohol. Some cheap crap called chocho. I was down and out. That’s when I wrote “Good Old Rockin’ Chair.” You see, you’ve gotta go through the PAIN.

Dieter: And vhat of your poem, “Funny Little Pooch”?

Jimmy Stewart: Yeah. There’s a rather interesting story about that “Funny Little Pooch” thing… There was a period of intense creativity for me, Dii-eter.

Dieter: Dieter.

Jimmy Stewart: Dooter.

Dieter: Dieter.

Jimmy Stewart: Yeah. yeah. You know, I’d been hitchhiking through Paraguay when I finally settled in Bella Cristo with a 15-year-old WHORE. For a week straight, I was either having sex or hallucinating. Yeah… And then I woke up one morning and she was GONE… she’s just–just GONE. And she’d taken all my stuff, and I–I just got crazy paranoid for a minute–well–you–know–how it can be. And I just curled up on that floor like a little baby, and just bawled my eyes out. And–and then a very interesting thing happened. I realized that I was just a speck of crud in a godless VOID. And twenty minutes later, I’d written “Funny Little Pooch.”

Dieter: Jimmy Shtewart: you are a running sore. Running from yourself, yet your scab heals us all.

Jimmy Stewart: Yeah. Yeah. Well, y’know, I just do what I do.

[laughter]

Dieter: May I read a passage from “My Kitten, My Pal”?

Jimmy Stewart: Well, I’d be HONORED, Dau-Daughter.

Dieter: Dieter.

Jimmy Stewart: Dooter.

Dieter: Dieter.

Jimmy Stewart: Yeah.

Dieter: [reading] “My kitten, my pal/You sit on my lap–”

Jimmy Stewart: Well, well, now–now–wait a minute. Now, now, you gotta read it–you gotta SCREAM it, like it’s a matter of life and death, you, can-can I show you… how, here… [takes book from him]

Dieter: Go right ahead.

Jimmy Stewart: All right… [reading] “My kitten, my pal/You sit on my lap/You’re a friendly sort of chap.” [muttering] I’m a little… thirsty here…

[Jimmy picks up a bottle of tequila and swigs from it.]

Jimmy Stewart: Now… GOOD.

[sets bottle down between him and Dieter]

Jimmy Stewart: [reading] “A little bit of gray and a little bit of white/I’ll tell you, little kitten/You’re doing all right.” Yeah.

Dieter: That poem pulls down my pants and taunts me.

Jimmy Stewart: Well, that’s exactly what it’s supposed to do. Yeah, it’s not rare when something happens like–I wrote that one on a piece of toilet paper, after waking up in a puddle of my own SICK.

[laughter]

Jimmy Stewart: Now, it wasn’t pretty, wasn’t pretty.

Dieter: Is it true that you vonce killed a man?

Jimmy Stewart: N-now, now, wait a minute there, Daughter. No–

Dieter: Dieter.

Jimmy Stewart: That’s right, Dieter. No man ever really dies by the hand of another, you see, every man’s responsible for his own DEATH. And by the way, you haven’t asked me if I want to touch your MONKEY.

Dieter: I thought it beneath you.

Jimmy Stewart: Well, Dieter, if that monkey knew where I’d been, he wouldn’t LET me touch him.

Dieter: Then touch him. Touch him! Touch my monkey! [babbles in German] Touch him, LOVE HIM!

Jimmy Stewart: [walks over to monkey] All right, you little pal, let’s go–

[Dieter’s monkey squeals and jumps off his pedestal after Jimmy touches him.]

Jimmy Stewart: [yanks back hand] Oh! Oh, son of a bitch BIT me!

[Jimmy leaps back to the table and breaks off the top of the tequila bottle.]

Jimmy Stewart: [brandishing broken bottleneck] C’mon, monkey, let’s see what’s in that belly of yours!

Dieter: [standing up] Now is the time on “Shprockets” when we dance!

[The theme song starts up as the other dancers join Dieter and dance stiffly. After a moment, Jimmy squats down and starts doing the Charleston.]

Dieter: That’s all the time we have on “Shprockets.” Our guest has been Jimmy Shtewart. My name is Dieter. Auf wiedersehen.

[Dieter trots up close to the camera and dances in front of it.]

Jimmy Stewart: Hi, Gloria! [waves] I’ll see ya in six weeks! I’m making a pit stop in Turkey!

[FADE to black over applause.]

I did find this (the real deal)–Jimmy Stewart doing Jimmy Stewart is almost as good as Dana Carvey:

 

Categories
Commentary

100th Post. Hot Damn, I’m Heroic.

For that small minority of readers who haven’t been counting, breathlessly, the Captain Picard post was my 100th all-time Old Road Apples post.  All-time meaning since this summer, when I started prepping for my vow to write a post a day for a year.  So: boo-yah.

I admit that I wasn’t prepared–like one of those people who refuses to rush out to the storm to load up on milk and toilet paper before a big snowstorm. I sort of knew this post was coming (Okay, I knew very much: WordPress tells you every time you publish an entry…”you’ve published XXX posts”) but it still snuck up on me. Sneaked up on me?  Snook?  Hiccup.

One hundred posts is a pretty cool milestone–even if a lot of those posts are lame. (can we still say “lame” or do we need to say things like “alternatively ambulated” or “Limping American”?)  So far, so good.  I’ve never come close to sustaining nearly-daily content for so many months.

5255717796_99f508368c_m
Merry Yikes-Mass!

I’ve been wondering how to celebrate. The obvious answer was to write something that would give me a context for posting pictures of scantily clad young women–but that would just be coarse, and a google search for applicable content might actually misfire and terrify, if not scandalize, the innocent.  And besides, my family reads this blog.

So I need something better.  Six-Million Dollar Man-better.  Better, faster, stronger…arms and legs creak like they need oiled when I run fast better. Ever notice Steve Austin makes more noise then the Tin Man when he runs?  Maybe that’s what I’m looking for.  Noise.

I’ve been looking for an excuse to post this video of my favorite college-era band playing on The Tonight Show with Joan Rivers as host.  This is a mind-blower.  What do you think, Steve–the awkward, but well-meant, interview is a blast.

So, yeah.  That’s good enough.

Categories
Uncategorized

Blog Behavior, Minor Milestone: Post #50

Well, I’ve been feeling pretty smug about myself–not quite 3 months into taking this blog seriously, and I’ve managed 50 posts (with a bunch more in queue, in fact) and close to 100 followers (thanks, by the way)–and I could probably scare up some more, except that I realize that at this point most of my followers are folks whose pages I’ve visited and either “liked” or “followed” myself and I don’t feel right just following a blog to get a follower in return.  I only follow blogs that I actually enjoy and hope to keep up with.

So, fifty posts.  I guess that requires some sort of special post–and not the Tribute To George Dubya Bush I had planned, or even the next 12 Days of Halloween entry (I know, I’m behind…it’s about 7 days to Halloween…deal).

So: Hurray. That’s me. Celebrating. I’m going to go all out and eat a baked potato, too–as a snack.  With butter and salt and black pepper, maybe even some sour cream on the skins.  Bill and Mary Ann brought us 20 pounds of ridiculously good potatoes from their garden, and they’re off the hook.

I have never used that phrase before.  It occurs to me that a lot of kids in the cell phone age probably don’t even know what that means.

50 Posts.

It’s not big deal.  I found this blog today, and i’m in awe.  She just celebrated her 1000th Post, and they’re good posts, too.  From London and South Africa and Red Lobster.  None of that “helicopter cat” nonsense.  We’re talking REAL BLOGGING.

Anyway, thanks for reading.  Feel free to send your friends.