Showing posts with label Nadine's South Side. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nadine's South Side. Show all posts

Sunday, August 14, 2016

A galling story on useless body parts (from '12/for Earl)

Just got word from my Nadine's buddy Greg that one of our favorite bartenders underwent emergency gall bladder removal surgery God speed, Earl. The world needs great bartenders. Not to mention great people and you're definitely one of them. 


I’ve known people who’ve returned from vacation without golf clubs, sweaters and sunglasses.

Joe’s the first one who’s ever come back without his gallbladder.

He’s maybe my favorite of the bar’s eight Regular Joes who are all conveniently named Joe.

He’s 72, looks 58 and acts 23. He’s just a lot of fun.

He was returning from Hilton Head when he started feeling severe abdomen pains around Bridgeport, W. Va. He told a friend he needed to be dropped off at the nearest hospital right away.

Happily, the two were in a car, not an airplane, or this story would have a more gruesome ending.

The ER doctors determined the trouble was his gallbladder. It had to come out.

So a lot of us learned a lot about the gallbladder about which we’d previously been ignorant.

For instance, we all have ‘em but don’t really need ‘em.

Most of us confused the gallbladder, which we never think about, with the urinary bladder, which we think about every four beers.

The gallbladder stores bile from the liver until it is needed in the digestive system to break down fatty foods and cholesterol. That sounds more useful than it is.

Turns out the gallbladder is like the fourth “wax” option at the automatic car wash. You feel better about having it, but you don’t really need it and no one will notice whether it’s there or not.

The human body is chock full of useless organs. 

These include commonly understood body parts like tonsils, adenoids, wisdom teeth, and the all-too-often cranky appendix.

It’s a lot of excess weight.

Joe, in fact, said he lost 15 pounds after they removed his gallbladder. I don’t know whether that means these popsicle-sized organs are incredibly dense or the weight loss was a coincidental side affect of the tricky treatment.

He started to tell me, but I was already getting bored and ready to move on to other topics.

See, one of my useless organs is the part of my brain that allows others to concentrate when someone’s talking about their health.

I make an effort to appear concerned and then once it registers I’m ready to change topics to the things that matter more to me, like the baseball playoffs and if Joe’d gotten laid in Hilton Head.

I envision a day when Americans are so obese that we opt for elective surgery to remove unnecessary body parts as handy weight loss methods.

I’ll bet right now if you removed all the body parts I don’t need or things I don’t use I could drop 40 pounds pronto. Excess weight’s not really an issue for me, but I believe in being prepared in case someone notices I’m still using profile pictures from my svelte 1997 days.

I’d start by having my left thumb severed. It doesn’t do squat. Neither does yours, I’ll bet.

Pay attention next time you type something. Or just glance at the shiny worn parts on your space bar. There’s none on the left side. We type with eight fingers and one thumb. The left thumb just sort of dangles there.

When it comes to typing, the left thumb doesn’t lift a finger.

Same goes for hitchhiking. Even southpaws rely on their right thumbs to bum rides.

Many people could lose about two quick pounds of ugly by having their ears removed. It’s amazing how many people have ears but fail to listen.

I’ve heard it said we only use 10 percent of our brains. I’ll bet 98 percent of men are perfectly content with that equation as long as another comparatively inconsequential recreational organ a little further south keeps giving it all its got. 

It might be beneficial if people who contend they are “right-brained” or “left-brained” had the half they deny needing simply removed so all the cerebral energy could be concentrated in the remaining area. It’d be like adding horsepower to a sports car by stripping away the frilly extras.

The world is full of mean and heartless people. I wish we could, purely for the sake of experiment, physically remove their hearts just to see what happens to people without heart.

We might learn something, or at the very least drastically reduce the jerk population.

Of course, the most obvious weight loss could come from our meatiest region. That means anyone could lose about 20 quick pounds if they’ve ever admitted to having ever done a job half-assed.

Coming from me, I know, it’s a suggestion that takes a lot of gall, more than my friend Joe could ever dream of mustering.

Especially now.


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Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Brushes with celebs & why I'm #TooCoolToSelfie

(911 words)

I texted five of my NYC buddies with news I was sure would make them envious. I was drinking at Nadine’s on Pittsburgh’s South Side with Earl.

Nadine’s is maybe my favorite bar in my favorite city and Earl’s my favorite bartender. He’s one of those great big guys who can be described with words that seem to conflict.

Earl is gruff. Earl is jolly.

Earl’s like Santa would be if Santa ever felt like being sarcastic.

So to have him greet me as warmly as he did really made my day. I hadn’t stopped in for about six months, the last time to give him a copy of my book. I had a funny feeling he’d like it.

He did. A lot. He couldn’t have been more effusive.

“I keep passing it around between me and four of my buddies,” he said. “It’s hilarious. My one buddy says next time we’re in Ligonier we’re going to have to get together and spend an afternoon drinking with you.”

I told him that would be quite a feat because I live in Latrobe and five different Latrobe bars would have to burn to the ground before I felt like driving to Ligonier for a good brain soaking.

But he made a big deal of me in front of the whole bar. It felt great.

It was the kind of thing most people today would have commemorated with a viral selfie blast to the social media world.

Not me. And certainly not Earl.

Guys like us wouldn’t dream of ruining a perfectly good human moment with technological distractions.

Guys like us are too cool to selfie.

I thought about it on the drive home and realized just how much I could raise my profile if I wasn’t #TooCoolToSelfie.

Just think of the hits I’d have gotten had I selfied my way through what was by all standards an amazing day to be me.

It started at the election booth at Baggaley Elementary school. Our voluptuous county commissioner candidate Gina Cerilli was there. She said, “Aren’t you the guy who wrote that great blog post about me?”

I told her I was.

“Well, it’s because of that post I’m sure I’ll finish today with the most votes of any Democratic candidate.”

In fact, she did.

She asked if she could give me a hug, but would I mind if she took a quick moment to change into the swimsuit she wore when as Miss Pennsylvania she finished in the top 10 of the Miss USA contest?

“If that makes you more comfortable, go right ahead,” I said agreeably.

In a moment, she emerged in her swimsuit. Traffic along State Route 982 screeched to a halt. She gave me a big hug.

And, guys, in case you’ve ever wondered, she is very soft.

“Don’t you want a picture?” she asked.

I told her, no, the memory would suffice. I was #TooCoolToSelfie.

I told Arnold Palmer about it. It’s not something I brag about, but a few years ago Palmer asked me to stop by the office every morning to discuss the daily news with him. He said it helps him sort out his thoughts.

As one of the most photographed people on the planet, he has a unique insight into the selfie world.

“Well,” he said, “I never like to refuse a fan so I usually don’t mind.”

I told him him he was hopelessly old-fashioned. I rose to leave and he asked, as he always does, if he could snap a picture of the two of us talking to post on www.ArnoldPalmer.com.

I told him, as I always do, sorry Arnold.

I’m #TooCoolToSelfie.

“I knew you’d say that,” he said. “Same time tomorrow?”

Yes, Arnold. Same time tomorrow.

On the way to Pittsburgh, I saved an old widow’s cat from a 100-foot oak; I foiled a bank robbery and helped deliver triplets in the parking lot of the Murrysville Burger King. 

What can I say? I kept hitting all the red lights so I had the time.

Do I have any proof of these heroics?
None.

I’m #TooCoolToSelfie.

It’s always been a dream of mine to meet The Rolling Stones.

What surprised me was meeting me has always been a dream of theirs!

The boys were in town for a site check for their June 23rd Heinz Field concert. How’d they know I was going to be in the city the same day?

Letterman told them.

#TooCoolToSelfie.

So the summer season is already off to a roaring start and it’s not even Memorial Day.

It promises to be an exciting few months. Will and Kate have booked me to babysit while they’re in the Caribbean, there’s golf with Jeter, dance lessons with Elin, and ping pong with the pope.

Not Pope Francis. The retired one. Pope whats-his-name.

Pope Francis and I had a falling out last year when I told him his interpretations of The Book of of Revelations were too literal.

Hey, if The Pope doesn’t want to hear my opinions on Biblical prophesy then The Pope shouldn’t ask.

I’ll try and keep you all informed. I know people are into all that celebrity stuff, but I prefer writing about things like the yearly lawn mowing contest between Paul and myself, if the ability to play a harp helps get you into heaven and, of course, stink bugs.

That’s what’s important to me.

And I’m just #TooCoolToSelfie.



Note: Follow my new Twitter account @TooCoolToSelfie!


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Friday, March 27, 2015

Germanwings & the art of living suddenly



“Anytime we hear of anyone dying suddenly, it should reinforce the need we all ought to be living suddenly.”

Is that the best line I’ve ever written? It’s one of them.

I can’t remember what national tragedy inspired the notion. There have been so many it’s hard to keep track.

I can’t tell which is more surprising: That anyone follows the news or that anyone who follows the news is ever brave enough to step outside.

Our tragedies are so redundant we barely have time to grieve and the never-ending grieving crowds out what little time we have left for living.

That’s not going to happen to me.

So right after I heard the news, I drove straight downtown for lunch with Pittsburgh Mayor Bill Peduto, Allegheny County Executive Rich Fitzgerald, and Chris Jamison, the Pittsburgh singer who did so well on “The Voice.”

Sounds like a real power lunch for such an underachieving blogger, huh?

Well, there were 495 others in the room, too, but what’s a little resume inflation among friends? It was the VisitPittsburgh annual meeting at The Westin Hotel.

Why all these prestigious organizations keep inviting me to their lavish soirees is a mystery.

Doesn’t anyone ever notice all the missing silverware?

I was very happy to be there. I’ve made some bone-headed career decisions, but picking up stakes and moving to New York or California for illusory professional improvements isn’t one of them. I never wanted to be more than an hour from the Golden Triangle.

I’ve been for 20 years telling everyone Pittsburgh is the greatest city in the world. Now, as we learned at the banquet, everyone finally agrees with me. The presentation was a greatest hits package of all the publications that over the last year have touted Pittsburgh as the coolest, hottest, hippest, most livable, etc. I can only hope it’s not another 20 years before everyone thinks my blog should be profitable.

The lunch put me in a perfect frame of mind to enjoy Pittsburgh. And that’s what I did.

One of my A-Team drinking buddies had called the night before to say he was in town. Was I free?

It was a silly question. Much to my professional detriment, I’m always free anytime anyone calls with time to giggle. We commenced at the Oyster House.

John’s my old college roommate. I love him because he has a very clever mind, says whatever he thinks, and he’s perfectly corrupt.

Example: He yesterday initiated a conversation about if we could go back in time would we save Phil Hartman or would we save the 149 victims of the plane crash. He had pity for the victims, sure, but he really loved Phil Hartman.

I wish I didn’t so enjoy the company of someone so utterly tasteless, but I’ve always found it mentally invigorating to be in the presence of anyone who just doesn’t give a shit. That’s John.

So we had a good buzz on and were strolling down the street when someone inside Sonoma Grille on Penn tapped on the window. 

A man was giving me the finger.

It was Buck!

Buck owns the Tin Lizzy, the outstanding three-tavern bar/restaurant that would be my go-to bar if I didn’t already have an office above another go-to bar. (Note: Tumult among local bar ownership led, in fact, me to me moving my office onto the 3rd floor of the Tin Lizzy three months after this was written. I'm still here.)

I love it that my friends feel at liberty to insult with such a public gesture. I choose to view it as a sign of affection. That’s a helpful attitude because if I let every time  someone who shot me the bird hurt my feelings I’d often be in tears.

So we stopped in for a chat with him and wife Louise. We told them we were heading to Nadine’s on the South Side. It’s kind of hard to find, and we didn’t think they’d show.

They did!

There was a lot of great conversation but what I’ll remember most from our afternoon is Buck sliding up to the internet jukebox and finding the 1949 Guy Lombardo version of “Enjoy Yourself.” We all knew the words.

First verse:

You work and work for years and years, you’re always on the go
You never take a minute off, too busy making dough
Someday, you say, you’ll have your fun when you’re a millionaire
Imagine all the fun you’ll have in your old rocking chair

Chorus: 

Enjoy yourself. It’s later than you think!
Enjoy yourself. While your still in the pink!
The years go by as quickly as a wink
Enjoy yourself! Enjoy yourself! It’s later than you think . . .

So cheers, my friends, to sudden living.

May you make sure it is among your life’s priority.



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