Snap out of it

So I really like the idea of the opera. I can't say "I like the opera" because I have never actually seen an opera. However, the idea of the opera appeals to me. Maybe it is the elitist in me coming out (for God's sake, I'm 23 and I drink gin martinis). But maybe it's something more--those of you who have seen Moonstruck or Winona's version of Little Women know what I'm talking about. Both of these movies feature a woman who is well-educated but somehow has never been to the opera. Enter the Man: in Winona's case, a handsome university professor (played by the guy who went on to be D'Artagnan in the Leo version of The Man in the Iron Mask); in Cher's case, it was a one-handed bread maker in the form of Nicolas Cage. In both stories, the woman does not know the language that is being sung and can't translate the lyrics, but can translate the passion on the stage, which tugs at their deepest emotions and inevitably leads to a camera shot of a single tear sliding down a very moved young actress' or old pop singer's face.

I want a single tear to slide down my cheek while an earnest man sits beside me and some woman sings in Italian.

Here we go, Buccos, here we go!

So we took my dad to a Pittsburgh Pirates game for Father's Day.

For those of you who haven't been, PNC Park is a gorgeous ballpark. It is situated right at the juncture where the Three Rivers come together. The outfield backdrop is the Pittsburgh skyline, which for a blue-collar city is quite breathtaking.

The best part of the ballpark, however, is a small sandwich stand called the Primanti Brothers. The Primanti Brothers are a Pittsburgh institution (my dad used to walk down the hill from Pitt to eat their food). The sammich that they serve at the ballpark and around the 'Burgh has a hunk of meat, cole slaw, cheese, a fried egg, tomato and french fries on thick Italian bread. It is a memorable sandwich, mostly because you will keep it with you in the pit of your stomach for the rest of the day and around your middle area for the rest of your life.

Like most baseball franchises, the Pirates have tried to come up with interesting things between innings to keep fans better entertained. One of these is the Pierogi Race. Cheese Chester narrowly defeated Oliver Onion, whom the Pirate Parrot tripped as he entered the stadium. Bastard.

My dad is a huge baseball fan. I always felt a little guilty that I didn't take up the sport and learn about all that crap. So whenever I get the chance, I try to take him to a game. But it can get boring sometimes (particularly when you are watching two bottom feeder teams, like Pittsburgh and the Rockies). So my sister and I entertained ourselves, much to the disappointment of our father:
1) "Where did clapping originate?"-Katelyn

2) "That guy is cute."-Me
"He plays for the other team." Katelyn
"So? I'd still take him home with me."-Me
"You will do no such thing!" My father
"Is it because he is a man, or is it because he is not a Pirate?"-Me
"Just watch the game." My father
"Oo, he threw his helmet because he got out. That's not very sportsmanlike."-Katelyn
"It doesn't change the fact that he's cute."-Me

3) "Oo, I definitely want a pirate wedding."-Katelyn

"Rum and hardtack? I think Dad can afford that."-Me

"Really, I just want a cannon to announce me."-Katelyn

4) After Pirate first baseman makes a diving catch and hurts his shoulder:
"Walk it off!"
"Rub some dirt on it!"
"There's no crying in baseball."
"Wow, what a great play--hey, where's Dad?"
"He went to get me some lemonade."
"He missed the best play of the game."
"Yeah, probably."

We're going to a Yankees/Indians game in a couple weeks. I'm sure my father is looking forward to it.

"My brother George reckons he had a bogey flavored one once..."

So I love Jelly Belly jelly beans. (That is another way to get off my shit list...are you taking notes?) I also love Harry Potter. So what could be better than if these two got together? Enter Bertie Bots Every Flavor Beans, courtesy of Honeydukes, the sweet cart on the Hogwarts Express (and Borders Bookstore).

The every flavor beans, like normal Jelly Bellies, come in a yummy assortment (toasted marshmallow, grape jelly, etc.). There are also some not-so-yummy varieties: grass, earwax, sardine, etc. I'm not sure of the chemistry behind making a sweet taste like soap, but I'm sure something can be said about the power of suggestion (the beans are identified on the back of the box so you can avoid the vomit one if you must...but look carefully-- vomit and tutti-fruiti look remarkably similar). I think the worst so far is bacon. The tiny little bean tastes exactly like bacon and leaves a hickory smoked taste in your mouth that only the power of Diet Coke seems to be able to remove.

Polite society at work and in the toilet

So there is this concept I have come to know as workplace etiquette. At times it can be a very refreshing change from the mean world outside; people bring in cookies and other goodies for a special occasion or for no occasion in particular, there is lots of door-holding, almost everyone says "Good morning" when I'm trying to sneak in late in the morning or "Good night" when I'm trying to sneak out early at the end of the day. But underneath all this politeness, some of the people (and, I hate to say it, it's mostly the women) are bitchy angerballs from hell. They say nice things to each other in the hall, in the bathroom, in the aisles, etc. But when they get behind their cubes the drama begins. I hate to spoil their fun, but cubicle walls are only about 5'3'' (I can barely see over the top of mine if I'm not in heels). Every little menopausal comment can be heard throughout the office.

One element of the politeness protocol that I am still having trouble with is the paper towel dispenser in the ladies room. Most of the time it is just me in there, so I can get my own paper towel. But sometimes I end up in there at rush hour (old ladies are so regular, it's like clockwork). Inevitably, I will exit the stall and there will be a bit of paper towel floating from the dispenser, enticing me to use it. At first, I was at a loss. It was like free paper towels. Then, I thought that the politeness had spread to the women's loo. But now, after careful observation, I have found that it is actually a germ thing. I understand there are some people who dispense their paper towel before they wash their hands so as to avoid re-mucking their hands up with the grody handle of the paper towel dispenser. But am I supposed to wait until they are done using the facilities to get my paper towel? I could take it, then give the next available hand-dryer a fresh sheet. But part of my anal retentive nature does not permit me to leave a bit of paper towel dangling. And I don't want one of the angerballs getting mad at me and calling me a towel-stealer or bathroom-disrupter or some other Seinfeldesque moniker.

I wish they would just install a second paper towel dispenser. That would make my life so much easier.

Man of my dreams, or, Ddyn chan 'm breuddwydion

So I have finally met the man of my dreams. I know what you're thinking: you could have sworn there was either a monastary or a couple dozen cats in my future. And I didn't so much as meet him but see him on a big screen with several other people. Be that as it may, I will say it again: I have finally met the man of my dreams: Ioan Gruffudd.

Let's go through his finer points, shall we?
--Gorgeous.
--Dark hair. (I went through a phase recently where I departed from my Guy Standard and was attracted to fair-haired, blue eyed cherubs. But now I'm back to my roots.)
--He's Welsh (With a last name that has more f's and d's than vowels, he has to be. Plus it is close enough to Scotland)
--Gorgeous (This really does bear repeating).
--And really, he hasn't been in a show that I didn't like (I vaguely remember him in Titanic, so that doesn't count).

Jumping the shark

So I was bored today. To amuse myself, I went to Jump the Shark. For those unfamiliar, the term refers to when a beloved television show takes a turn for the worse. It originated from an episode of Happy Days, when Fonzie did a water-ski jump over a group of sharks (school? pod? gaggle?), leather jacket and all. (If you missed the episode, Fez also does it in a dream sequence on That 70's Show).

The site has categories for various plot devices that serve as the demise of a sit-com or drama. There is a birth, a death, puberty, "I Do", actor replacement, etc. Here are a choice examples:

Tony and Angela get married. I had a problem with Who's the Boss to begin with, never really understood why the Grandma was supposed to be hot, and Angela's hair defied gravity sometimes, but the show definitely deflated like Alyssa Milano's training bras after the housekeeper and the career woman got it on.

Chrissy Seaver is born. Again, Growing Pains was painful to watch, with Kirk Cameron mugging it up for the camera every five minutes, but this was another fine example of what happens when a sit-com gives birth. Chrissy went on to age like six or seven years over the summer (you can see her all grown up in the Mel Gibson flick What Women Want and in Growing Pains reunion shows). Another fine example of a new kid ruining everything is Olivia on the The Cosby Show. Olivia is one of the reasons that even as a young person I knew that I would never produce fruit from my loins. Of course, this was a great spring board for the oh-so-talented Raven, who has now graduated to the Disney talent machine and the occasional TV Guide channel guest spot.

The Andy Griffith Show goes Technicolor. In my household, we are a bit prejudice: we don't like colored Andy. Now, to be honest, I can't recall whether Barney Fife left before or after he was colorized, so whichever happened first was the beginning of the end of Mayberry.

A Very Special Episode of (insert sit-com here). Every show had at least one episode that dealt with a very serious subject that we can all learn from, usually involving one of the children doing something horrible, getting yelled at by their parents, yelling back, storming off to their room, and then getting a heart to heart talk (cue the music). I think Full House based their entire plot structure on this, and Blossom had at least seven or eight Very Special episodes...

It's also fun to see where your favorite sit-coms stack up. I am happy to say that the Simpsons have never jumped shark after 13 years on the air. And, as much as I adore Scots in general and Billy Connolly in particular, Head of the Class did jump when he replaced Howard Hesseman (aka Johnny Fever).

Pizza! Pizza!

So I love Little Caesar's Pizza.

There aren't many Little Caesar's Pizza places around anymore, but I was tipped off to one south of here by the man of my dreams. So yesterday, as a study-break snack for Michelle and to satisfy a craving for me, I got in the car and headed south for pizza. The Little Caesar's is located inside a K-Mart in Massillon. So I spent roughly forty minutes driving there. The best part of the whole journey is that I probably pass 13 or so pizza places on the street that the K-Mart is on (three of those being Papa Johns).

I'll be the first to admit it--there is something a little trashy about buying pizza from a K-Mart. Let's face it: it's a little trashy to be buying anything from K-Mart. But I love going there. For some reason, every time I go to this particular K-Mart, the Amish are also shopping. (Although not in line for Little Caesar's Pizza.) They were hovering around the $5 shoe bin, trying to find something that wasn't a sequined flip-flop. (Does the Bible say anything denouncing sequins?? Or showing your toes in public?)

A large pizza and krazy bread cost $6 something. Add two small sodas for $9.06.

As for the pizza? Veni, vidi, vici.