Sunday, Probably...

I'll be posting about my very first, live, Stanley Cup final.

Go Pens Go!

I Need to Read More of the Paper

Instead of hitting only the Editorial and Penguins/NHL sections and calling myself informed.

If I had read more of the paper on May 11, I would not have missed that CityReachers Pittsburgh is raising money to place copies of the New Testament in the Sunday Post-Gazette on September 7.

Pittsburgh themed copies of the New Testament, with a “front cover showing the Golden Triangle, a back cover photograph of Steelers kneeling in prayer and will include testimonies of well-known Pittsburghers”.

Because nothing says “Come to Jesus” quite like a photograph of the Pittsburgh Steelers.*

Fortunately, there are several readers who do peruse more of the paper and wrote letters to the editor, the first protesting the idea and threatening to cancel their subscription, the second praising the potential positive effect of essentially forcing the New International Version translation of the New Testament into the homes 250,000 subscribers.

I'm interested in seeing how this unfolds.

*I can't believe there does not exist a Pittsburgh Steelers last supper image somewhere on the Internet. In a city that turned Gary Roberts into a cult hero, not one photo shopped marvel of Big Ben as Jesus? Which begs the question – who do Steelers fans hold more sacred: Big Ben or Jesus?

Notes From the Finals - Game 1

There is a restaurant at the Waterfront that will never receive my patronage again. Not because their meals are a pale imitation of the southern style barbecue I enjoyed during my brief time in South Carolina. I ended up with a case of food poisoning and am spending the first game of the Stanley Cup finals on my couch, alone, while J enjoys the game with good friends, wings and beer.

If the first period is any indication, the Detroit Red Wings are a very worthy adversary and it would be an honor if the Penguins lost the Finals to such a team*. The Red Wings played a flawless first period and were robbed of a goal due to a terrible goaltender interference call by the referees*.

As fantastic as the Red Wings are, I am a fan of one of the coolest organizations in the NHL. The executives opened Mellon Arena, lowered the JumboTron and charged fans $5.00 a person to watch the game on a very big screen. All proceeds from the entry fee are going to the Mario Lemieux Foundation. Thirteen thousand fans have taken the organization up on the offer. Versus was considerate enough to show a couple of shots of the fans in the arena, madly waving white rally towels.

*Real fans acknowledge when the other team is better and also acknowledge terrible calls that fall in their team's favor. Realistically, I have genuine doubts that the Penguins can pull off four wins against the Red Wings and will not be too pained to see Detroit take the Stanley Cup.

Comfort

Can be found, at the end of a day in which I wonder why I bother interacting with humanity-at-large, by reading that even David Byrne has stupid accidents that break bones.

Humanity-at-large was in fine form in the Pittsburgh area today. Humanity as defined by the middle aged businessman who insisted on taking up all of his seat and half of mine on the bus this morning, forcing me to pretzel my upper body away from his elbows for the duration of the ride. I am amazed anew at how much space an average sized person can take up. And at the sense of entitlement that this man had, as he seemed to expand even further as we rode into town. I felt very little regret when I accidentally stepped on his foot on the way out the door.

Humanity is also defined as the middle aged woman I encountered this afternoon. She became slightly miffed when I could not tell her if her bus had passed by and repeatedly ignored my attempts to get away from the smoke of her cigarette by repeatedly moving closer to me.

And now the gods have gotten even with me for stepping on that man's foot by forcing me to trip over a loose, defunct telephone line wire running across the floor of the spare room door. Twice.

Quick Hits

• I'm tired. Really tired. And a little bit sick. A little too much celebrating this weekend.
• In case you don't have NBC or Versus... the Penguins are going to the Cup! I'm going to a Stanley Cup final game!
• We attended a wedding in Williamsburg, VA this past weekend. Bride and groom were married at the Jamestown Church and the reception was held at the Shield's Tavern in Historic Williamsburg.
• It appears that the Penguins will be playing the Red Wings. Detroit is up 4 - 0 early in the second period.
• New bedroom furniture (and mattress) arriving sometime tomorrow.

Burned Out?

I took a sick day today, a necessary measure to preserve my mental health as my stress and anxiety levels have been going up in increasing increments over the past several weeks. I've made multiple mistakes this week that indicate that unless I take a day off very soon, I am going to be suffering significant burn out.

When I woke up and decided to stay home, I used the awesome powers of the Internet to verify that I had no work waiting for me. That pleasant, confident feeling that I could take a day to get my head in order guilt free lasted until approximately nine A.M., when I called my manager to let him know I would be out.

Now it is nearly two hours later and I'm still near tears and my frustration and anxiety have increased even more. Suffice to say, it was not the most pleasant conversation. I found myself being called accountable for issues I thought I had resolved and communicated, including one item that wasn't my responsibility to begin with, but that I set up and taught the item's owner (as I was running out of time and had to leave by 4:00 PM yesterday) how to do, so he could do his job. And communicated to the project manager what I had done. And he (the task owner) did not do it. And I am to blame. Even though my manager told me “don't worry about it, I'll take care of it”.

I cried a little, because as much as I like to think I am some tough feminist woman, I am such a girl. I pulled up my resume and reactivated one of my job search accounts. I edited and refined and threw it out into the wild to see if I could trap an unsuspecting employer into granting me an interview.

But the tape in my head, the one that likes to turn on in such times, tells me that I am wasting my time. That no one is interested in hiring an almost 35 year old woman with such a spotty and inconsistent resume. That for all my varied skills and education, I am not valuable enough of an employee for anyone. Because I prize having some type of a life above ambition, I have basically killed any opportunity to move forward into something interesting.

So, yes, I am burned out. And I'm not sure what to do about it. Advice (seriously) appreciated.

This Was Supposed to be a Post About Girls in White Dresses...

Then hockey got in the way.

The Post Gazette sports writers and fans who have been following the Penguins have been providing some truly priceless exchanges between Penguins and Rangers players.

Exhibit Number 1:
"I just told him I wanted to fight," Laraque said, shrugging. "I wanted to change the momentum."

Orr's response?

"He just said, 'C'mon, Georges, it's 3-0. I can't,' " Laraque said.

Exhibit Number 2:
“According to EN reader Nick Porto, Pierre McGuire, the NBC analyst stationed between the benches, said Sean Avery make a remark to Crosby near the benches during a television timeout. Hal Gill responded, "You know what? You just weren't hugged enough as a child. That's why you have issues."

----------------------------------------

I'm also realizing, for the sake of my sanity, that I am going to have to stop reading the New York Times Slapshot blog and sports articles, at least in the short term.

There is the sheer sexism in spelling Crosby's first name as "Cindy". The accusations that Crosby and Therrien are whiners. The (invalid) complaints about Crosby diving. All of these statements are familiar. All of them stem from fans who must resort to impugning a player's character because they have nothing legitimate to add to the conversation.

But sometimes, I wonder. Am I watching the same game? Do his detractors actually watch him play? Do they notice that the one thing Crosby does above all others is keep going? He never, ever stops moving when on the ice. He lowers his center of gravity when he curves around a net, protecting the puck. He constantly hones moves such as this in practice.

Which makes these latest accusations, coming from Straka (and Jagr) especially painful as I have great respect for the talent and work ethic of two men who contributed an enormous amount during their time with the Penguins.

My attire when attending Penguins games is an game-worn, autographed Martin Straka jersey. Straka is my favorite player, no matter what team he is a part of. But if this is how is going to chose to play the game - to act out from emotion instead of calling on his talent and skill to score goals and win games- then allow me to be the first to suggest that it is time for him to hang up his skates and for me to frame his jersey and place up on the wall. In a matter of seconds he managed to throw away the ten years worth of good will he built up as a member of the Penguins organization. The fans booed him when he stepped onto the ice today.

But whose fault is it, that I am disillusioned by a player I so admire? Mine, actually. I put Straka on the pedestal. I need to take him off it now.

And now, just for the sake of showing my intended post...

Without the blue satin sashes. With white patent leather shoes, white socks, white gloves and crowned with white flowers and veils.

Today was the first holy communion and confirmation of J's oldest niece. This is the second of three first communions I will be required to attended, as J's youngest niece will go through the ritual in another two years. And two years from now I will be disturbed, once again, by the girls in white veils.

I hate this custom. It burdens a group of eight year old girls with social and sexual connotations that they are too young to understand. Most of the parents have no idea about the symbolism behind the veil. They argue tradition without fully understanding why they are arguing in tradition's favor.

I was pleasantly surprised when J's brother, a priest, agreed with my objections, for essentially the same reasons. He also added an angle I had not thought of. Simple economics. Some families cannot afford to purchase such a dress (or suit) for a single occasion. Buying a nice outfit the child can wear to church or other occasions is less of a waste and prevents parents from turning a religious celebration into a competition.

I Am Not a Prude

I don't have issues changing in front of other women in the locker room. The time when I have found the being naked in front of a bunch of other women fraught with peril has passed. Granted I had to join a gym to get over it, but over it I am.

However, I am getting increasingly irritated by my gym's failure to repair the faucets in the private showers. All three of the private stalls are out of commission, forcing the women who use that particular locker room to use the open showers instead. As the gym will be moving to a new building in less than a year, the maintenance staff has zero motivation to make repairs.

Which means there are going to be a lot of angry people on the bus for the next few months, especially the unlucky individuals who are forced to sit down next to my sweaty, smelly self.

So Sweet

The Penguins recently put out a "fanciful" team picture as a desktop wallpaper. It was on the Pittsburgh Penguins website for a very brief period of time before someone decided to take it down. Which is a pity, because it is a great team photograph.


Even Sergei Gonchar has a smile.

h/t The Sidney Crosby Show for posting the photographs.

Spring Ride

J and I went for a twenty mile bike ride yesterday, on a new (to me) portion of the YRT, along the Youghiogheny River. I successfully managed to avoid breaking bones in my hand by turning the ceiling fan off before changing out of my pajamas.

There were not as many houses on the this portion. Simply miles of blooming forest, teeming with large -flowered trilliums, wild violets and bluebells on one side and the river filled with fishermen (and women) and boaters on the other. In between were abandoned buildings and closed coal mines.

Still Tired – a Meandering Post

I'm still tired, the natural consequence of the overtime I put in on Saturday and cramming three days worth of work into two on Monday and Tuesday.

As tired as I am, it has not stopped me from reflecting on my disastrous “girl date” on Saturday evening. I'm still alternating between amusement, indignation and (if I am honest) indulging in a little bit of self-pity. All while trying to keep up with a work schedule that promises to be busy and highly stressful until mid-June.

That strange sense of déjà vu, of seeing what should be an enjoyable evening with an interesting person go completely off the rails. The gender has changed, the goal has changed, the ending is the same.. All these married years later, I still find it difficult to connect with women on a social level.

And I am indignant, insulted really. Tiresome it is, to be lectured on the ticking of my biological clock, with little regard to the reasons behind the choices I have made. Tiresome it is, to be judged on how much (or how little) alcohol I chose, once again ignoring the reasons behind those decisions.

With all this in my head, I stopped work for a few minutes to step outside into the sunshine. With a whopping $3.80 in my checking and $6.25 in bills and quarters, I head the long way towards Starbucks.

First I passed a panhandler, Dot. Dot comes every day and sits near the abandoned McDonald's on Forbes and Wood. She says “God bless you” to everyone who passes her by, whether they give or money or not. When she collects what she needs daily to supplement her welfare income, she goes home.

I give her a dollar.

Next is the abandoned Foto Hut and an empty lot. The lot has been empty for two or three years. Before the building was emptied and the roof fell in, it was a used bookstore. Now a chain link fence blocks the lot from the street.

Someone has hung an urban art installation on the fence, a series of cut out books with photographs of the building, deeds and other written pieces of Pittsburgh history. Someone else has removed some of the books. The rest will most likely be gone tomorrow, when I am able to return with my camera. This small tribute to Pittsburgh's past is surprising and touching and makes me wonder whether there are more moments like this erected about the city.

Later, on my way home from the gym, I look out the bus window and see two more panhandlers, street people actually. One is a woman who looks shell shocked, as if she cannot believe that she is sitting on a street asking for money. The other is an older man, one I have seen before. A second man walks past him, then turns around comes back to put a dollar in his cup.

I watch this homeless man for what seems like several minutes. He lifts the cup to his face and peers intently into its short depths. His face registers no emotion. He considers the contents and places the cup firmly back on the ground. And he waits.

I Spent All Day in Front of a Computer...

...to come home and spend more time in front of a computer, as tired as I am. Because life has been a little too interesting to allow events of the past several days to pass without commentary.

Hockey:

The Penguins are now 3-0 in Playoff Round 1 and looking towards wrapping up the best of seven series in Ottawa on Wednesday night. The highlight of the series was Game 1, when 41 year old Gary Roberts challenged two Senators to a fight, had to be forcibly removed from the ice by two linesmen and amassed 16 minutes in penalties with 12 seconds left to play.



The Cult of Gary Roberts is strong in Pittsburgh.

Well known Rangers pest Sean Avery inspires a new interpretation on rules about screening the opposing goalie, nicked named “The Avery Rule”. Points to Avery for creativity.



Locally:
Rumor has it that the explosion that destroyed two houses in the North Side was not caused by natural gas. It is a slow spring in Western Pennsylvania.

H/t and personal to Jay: While I fully acknowledge that a gunshot in the head is the most effective way to dispatch meteorite zombies, it does not have the same panache as beating them on the head with a pool cue in rhythm to Queen's Don't Stop Me Now.

U.S District Attorney Mary Beth Buchanan will retry Dr. Cyril Wecht. Wecht's first trial ended in a hung jury. Why is the District Attorney wasting her time with this?

Personally:
I had a girl date on Saturday. I met a new friend for dinner and to see a band play 70's and 80's AM radio covers.

While the evening started out innocuously enough I'm not sure whether I'll hang out with her again. During the course of the evening she announced that she was a pothead, alternately grilled and lectured me on my childlessness and pressured me about my conservative drinking habits.

FYI - Most disgusting email subject in my Spam folder to date: “Used g-strings for sale”. Uh, no thanks.

Sunday Cat Blogging

Also known as An Engineer's Guide to Cats



via Metafilter

Dear Don Brennan,

When you find yourself in a hole, you stop digging.

Stop digging.

Harm's Way

As promised, some of the mural seen on Saturday while walking through Oakland.






And a little bit of fun:

Saturday

J and I went for a walk yesterday. Although still chilly, the air was too fresh, the sun too sunny, to remain inside with a clear conscience.

But first we decided to go for a little drive. To a friend's house to drop off our first payment for playoff tickets and a Jordan Staal bobble head doll. Then to a used car dealership, to take a look at a 1999 Porsche Boxster that caught J's eye earlier in the week.

We walked into a nearly empty showroom, the majority of the staff gathered around a desk talking. The salesman who rose to greet us was an older man, nicely dressed in a well pressed polo shirt and crisp pants. On first impression, he appeared to be the standard equivalent of the modern day used car salesmen.

Upon further interaction, we learned that this man was the sales equivalent of the anti-Christ, coming on smooth and sophisticated while simultaneously attempting to sow discord. His technique consisted of the full press hard sell with a combination of insults, flattery and transparent attempts to play J and I off against each other.

I did the only thing that I could under this assault. I played the dim, whiny and much beloved wife.

I snuggled up to J and carefully fixed the collar on his coat and the scarf around his neck. When the salesman asked me what it would take for me to “let” J have the car, I said he would have to teach me how to drive it, then complained that he had not taught me how to drive his Miata. Sensing an opening, the salesman asked if J intended to teach me to drive. J said “no”.

While J talked engines and spark plugs I went over the car, opening every possible door, sitting in the passenger's seat, running my hands across the body and frame and peering into the two trunks. My inspection of the car (which was in excellent shape) made the sales guy uncomfortable to the point that he started closing trunk lids and doors and moving both of us away from the vehicle, into his office for further discussion.

In the office, the salesman returned to J's refusal to teach me to drive. He said HE could teach me in fifteen minutes, he had a guaranteed system. J tried to contain his laughter as I enthusiastically thanked him for his offer. As the conversation turned to finances, we learned that we could not get an estimated payment unless we agreed to buy the car.

After much coaching, J was able to convince the salesman to write down some rough numbers. As we were leaving, I was asked if I thought J would purchase. Still in character, I smiled sweetly and told the man that since J had “let” me buy the car I wanted, I certainly was not going to stop him from purchasing the Boxster, but that the decision was ultimately his. We shook hands and left the showroom.

Off to Oakland we went, for a walk around the urban neighborhood, with several stops to take photographs of some of the new murals. Pictures coming soon.

Mercyhurst Does Me Proud*

My Alma mater, Mercyhurst, made the Post Gazette today for doing something radical.

At the request of the Student Government, college officials invited all three Presidential candidates to speak to the student population and surrounding community. Hilary Clinton is the first candidate to accept the invitation and will speak on campus this evening.

What makes this invitation “radical” is that two of the three Presidential candidates (Clinton and Obama) are pro-choice. Inviting them to speak on the grounds of a Catholic institution in the Diocese of Erie runs counter to diocese's “pro-life**” policy

Bishop Trautman announced that he would not be attending Mercyhurst's graduation ceremonies in protest. In what can only be described as a veiled threat, the Bishop stated “I am open with to meeting with [college President] Dr. Gamble in the future to ascertain how the Catholic identity of Mercyhurst can be better clarified”.

Translation: I will be meeting with Dr. Gamble and giving him a definitive smack down for daring to subvert the authority of the Church. If he steps out of line again, his tenure as college President will be short and swift.

Dear Bishop Trautman – the day your representatives stop referring to Gannon University as “THE Catholic college of the Diocese of Erie” and actually pay more than lip service in support of any Catholic grade, middle or high school outside the county of Erie is the day that I will consider giving you the benefit of the doubt. You are one of the key reasons I no longer set foot in a Catholic church, except under duress***.

Dr. Gamble, to his credit, refused to rescind the invitation, maintaining that it was extended to all candidates in accordance with a long standing policy of not supporting or opposing any political candidate, and in protection of the college's non-profit status.

I'm pretty certain how this little standoff will play out, and it will not be in the favor of academic freedom or intelligent discourse, to the detriment of the students. Mercyhurst will be forced to put into a place a policy that effectively prevents any candidate from speaking on campus. To protect their non-profit status.

Email link here if you feel like throwing a little bit of love Dr. Gamble's way. Be sure to choose the Thomas Gamble whose department is President.

*All apologies for the deliberate bad grammar.
**Only as far as abortion and contraception go. If you are pro-war, pro-death penalty, pro-corporate welfare, (enter your pro that really is an anti here), you get a pass from the diocese.
***Duress, in this case, means I will attend mass when not attending would only create more trouble.

I Am Lazy

A. What I planned on doing over my three day weekend:
Get blood drawn for a final round of blood tests.
Clean out closet.
Make pile of clothes for tailoring
Make pile of clothes for charity.
Iron.
Clear out my study, dust shelves and wash floor.
Clean bathroom.
Clean out spare room.
Bag clothes and other items (that have been sitting in spare room for weeks) for charity.
Laundry.

B. What I accomplished over my three day weekend.
Got blood drawn from a final round of blood tests.
Laundry.

C. What I did instead of the majority of list A:
Spent most of Friday after blood draw sleeping (the nurse took 5 vials of blood).
Took J to Seviche for dinner on Friday night.
Watched Ocean's 11 on Friday night.
Attempted to locate and purchase a enameled dutch oven on Saturday afternoon.
Watched Ocean's 12 on Saturday night.
Breakfast at Eat N' Park in Sunday morning.
Attended Penguins game. Took many photographs of all time favorite player, Martin Straka, during warm ups. Yelled at fans who refused to sit down while puck was in play.

FYI: I don't know why the photographs are blurry. I think I need to get the lens checked.



Some scoreboard text messages from the last two games:

"Chuck Norris wears Malkin pj pants".
"Gary Roberts counted to infinity twice".
"Captain America wears Gary Roberts Underoos".
"the forecast finally says fleury!!"

Small Swift Birds

I've had a lot to write about in the past several weeks. I've had a lot to write about and very little to say. Emotionally I am tired, numb and discovering that there is a limit to the amount of distressing information I can process at one time before I shut down.

I lost a friend to suicide two weeks ago. A second, untimely death in a period of three weeks. I lost my friend and I am having a difficult time mourning his loss. I'm having a difficult time thinking anything good about him, and I know that there was a great deal of good. He loved me like a younger sister and watched over me during the brief time I spent working in South Carolina ten years ago. He loved his adolescent son. He was incredibly literate and had a quick, sharp wit. He was self educated. He embraced J as his own and enthusiastically blessed our relationship.

He was also terribly flawed. At his worst, he was verbally abusive, emotionally intrusive and pushy. He had very little respect for other people's physical and emotional boundaries. He was stubborn, impulsive and self destructive. These flaws cost him his marriage and created a rift between himself and his son.

He tried to seek redemption and make amends. To his ex-wife, to his child, to his friends. It was not enough. The trauma of unemployment, of near homelessness, of debt, of estrangement from his son, of a million other things he never talked about, it wore him down and wore him out.

There has been no explanation for how he died, no invitation to his memorial service. On some level his siblings blame his friends for his death. Because we should have know he was clinically depressed. We should have known he stopped taking his medication in September and ceased meetings with his therapist. His family knew the signs, why didn't we?

We did not. So my friend left, like a small swift bird. One day we looked, and could not find him anywhere.

A Good Easter to be A Penguins Fan

As St. Francis Central Hospital finally comes down:



As Evgeni Malkin tops 100 points in the season.

And the Penguins move into first place in the Atlantic Division by beating the New Jersey Devils 7-1.
Happy Easter.