Grad school is kicking my ass. Right off the bat, let’s start with that. I’m reading about 600 pages of history a week and let me tell you … that’s a time suck on par with the strongest of Dysons. Otherworldly suction power.
I have no one to blame but myself for taking on a full-time slate of classes, but I just wanted to whine real quickly.
[whine]
[flail]
Okay. Done. Let’s talk.
1. “We are goin— oh, wait. No, we aren’t.”
My Artemis scrub essay was published on Sunday, along with my high school senior picture because I’m the most extra dork that ever extra-ed.
I want to tell you that one paragraph of this essay came from a longer personal essay I wrote last year but haven’t published called Beneath the Pandemic Sky: How the Night Sky Saved Me. While the essay published by the P-G goes to a personal place about my pandemic life and divorce, the essay I haven’t published goes much further in telling my story. I don’t know where, when or if I’ll ever publish that longer essay, but for now, this P-G piece will give you a peek into its theme, and I hope it will make you laugh, think, and heed the lessons I learned about perspective and loss.
If you’re asking yourself why I’m publishing these essays at the P-G and not here, to be honest, with my book coming out next year, it’s beneficial to me that I expand my audience as much as possible before then. But also because I want to stick it to every dude that ever said I’d never be more than a blogger.
Vengeance, she cackled before punting a pigeon for no reason.
2. Could they BE any suckier, Chandler Bing?
Oneil Cruz being a Pittsburgh Pirate is like putting a 100 Grand candy bar among an entire bucket of Tootsie Rolls. And not the chocolate kind. The fruit flavored kind. Bullshit Halloween candy given out by bullshit people who don’t love joy.
That is to say, the Pirates suck. So hard. They suck harder than grad school sucks my time. They are a black hole*.
Last night, your last-place Pittsburgh Pirates, conceivably on their way to 100 losses, gave up a four-run lead to the New York Yankees by way of a ninth inning walk off grand slam that came only after they issued a solo homer to … Aaron Judge for his 60th of the season.
Yinz, please do some math with me: Aaron Judge has five more homeruns than the Pirates have wins this season.
And the AP says …
Stun? Really? Stun?
No. The Pirates aren’t stunned. The Pirate fans aren’t stunned. Bob Nutting sitting in his lair while absentmindedly stroking his devil tail isn’t stunned. This is what we know. What we expect.
This is a team that no longer cares about baseball or winning this season. So much so that they’ve got cell phones flying out of their pockets during play, or are taking breaks mid-play to root around in a bag of sunflower seeds for the choicest kernels. Next week, you’ll see two infielders setting up a table and chessboard in the middle of the fifth inning while a third pours them all drinks.
It’s time for fans to face the fact that as long as Bob Nutting is in charge, we are about three shitty seasons away from a complete-ass bookclub forming in the outfield. But how ‘bout that Oneil Cruz exit velocity?
*Nerd time. Black holes don’t really suck; they eat. Okay. Class dismissed. Wait. None of that was a euphemism. Okay. NOW class is dismissed.
3. This napkin is delicious
I want to start this off by telling you that “mouthfeel” is the worst word that has ever been created with the Latin alphabet. I read that word and I want to take a six-year shower … in bleach.
Apparently there is this thing called Dining in the Dark and you can experience it yourself here in Pittsburgh. Basically, you’ll be served a meal for which you will be blindfolded so that “the focus shifts to taste, smell, mouthfeel (I WILL KILL YOU) and sound. The blindfolds also discourage distractions — such as checking your phone — during the meal.”
Feeding yourself while blindfolded? I imagine it takes the blind some practice to eat without seeing, so I’d be less interested in this event as a “mouthfeel” (DO YOU WANT TO DIE TODAY?) thing and more as an exercise in understanding the daily lives of the blind. That said? I do not in any way believe I could successfully feed myself while blindfolded without having to put my hands in my food, attempting to scoop soup with a fork, knocking over my drink, or accidentally eating my napkin.
“Hmm. Interesting flavor profile. High in fiber, but bland in taste. The mouthfeel (I WILL BURN THIS WHOLE PLACE TO THE GROUND) is certainly a bit unpleasant.”
If you go, let me know how it goes and whether or not you pierce your left or right nostril with your fork.
4. … and an Ahrn for my emotional support dinosaur
Someone brought a lizard as long as a skateboard to Gooski’s.
That’s some strong, “Look at you. You have a baby. In a bar.” energy right there. Only in Pittsburgh. Only in Gooski’s.
And maybe seven other bars in this city.
Also, Gooski’s Lizard is 100 percent my new band name.
5. Speaking of monsters
Public Enemy #1 in Pittsburgh during any given fall or winter week is going to be a member of the Steelers organization, and that is true this week as the city directs the entirety of its ire at Matt Canada, the Steelers’ offensive coordinator who puts the “offensive” in “offensive.” Yes, Steelers fans can get whiplash by how quickly they can go from “put him on the Burghy Mount Rushmore” to “fire his ass and dump him in the Mon yesterday!” That’s the way it has always been.
Tomlin. FIRE HIM! ANOINT HIM KING! FIRE HIM! GIVE HIM THE KEY TO THE CITY!
Big Ben. BENCH HIM! TATTOO HIS STUPID FACE ON MY WHOLE BACK! BENCH HIM! PUT HIS STATUE AT THE POINT!
But honestly, it’s hard not to be offended by how the Steelers played against the Patriots this week, particularly the play-calling as summed up by this graphic:
There’s a whole debate now as to whether this falls on Mitch or Matt Canada or a little casserole of both, but, I have to ask: is there a monster in the middle of the field about five yards from the line of scrimmage at all times? Because that would explain so much.
Look. It just makes sense:
I wouldn’t throw there either, Mitch. Maybe your therapist can help you.
“Tell me, is this velociraptor** in the room with us right now?”
** Really an Albertosaurus, but that doesn’t sound nearly as funny. Might as well name a dino Chadosaurus.
6. The cruelty is the point
Let’s check in on the Twitter account of gubernatorial candidate and insurrectionist Doug Mastriano:
Oh.
It costs nothing to be … not a complete asshole and to call people what they ask to be called rather than acting like you’ll only be governor of the people who live their lives in a way of which you approve. And last I checked, Twitter had rules against this very thing. But this is what we have now—political battles waged on Twitter all about “dragging” and “trolling” and “dissing” and “handing out Ls” and being “savage.”
And guess who loses? Not the politicians. Us. The people. As we come to accept rudeness, crassness, cruelty, childishness, and mockery as valid political discourse until the whole thing devolves into chaos that weakens the foundations our republic.
We lose. Every time. That goes to Mastriano. Fetterman. Oz. All of them.
It’s gross and I’m ready for this election and all its performative jackassery to be over.
7. Speaking of the state of discourse
Here’s a fun exercise.
Click this link to go to a story in the P-G about how Beechview has basically become Little Latin America (a very cool and good thing), and then take a gander at how many comments the P-G had to delete because they violated their commenting policy.
Seriously. Just scroll and scroll. All because of bigotry toward immigrants.
I’m starting to think the Internet was a big mistake. Thanks, Al Gore.
8. Let’s wrap it up there!
Have a great week! Pray for my poor history-clogged brain. If you want to be mad at me about my Mastriano comments, here’s the number to call:
Press 3 for “I would like to speak to Perd Hapley who is an option on this phone menu for speaking to an individual about my thoughts and feelings via telephone.***”