Archive for October, 2013
Cool Project (that Deserves Support)
Have you seen those antique blue dinner plates? The ones with the complex design and tranquil scenery? Well, there’s a designer in Pittsburgh named Don Moyer who re-draws the pattern–but with a twist. He adds a calamity, like attacking aliens or a pirate ship. Check out some of the images here on Flickr. They’re a hoot!
At this point, Don is trying to raise the money to actually produce one of his Calamityware Dinner Plates as a real plate. He has a project up on KickStarter, a site that helps everyday folks help other everyday folks fund creative projects. You make a pledge to fund the project. If the project doesn’t get completed, you get your money back. You can pledge as little as one dollar, simply as a show of support for this delightful bit of genius. For $25, you’ll get one of the Calamity plates. With flying monkeys. (Flying monkeys!)
This image is not mine. Copyright Don Moyer. I’m just borrowing it so you can see how cool it is!
Check out the Calamityware Dinner Plate KickStarter page here for more info, including a video from Don Moyer explaining the project and all of the details about KickStarter. Consider making a donation. I just did. Because I like to support silliness and creativity in the world. And I want one of these plates!
To make a pledge, you have to create a log in on KickStarter and then pay via amazon.com. If you already have an amazon account, you just use your regular log in. If you do not already have an amazon account, you would need to create one. But the pledge process is really simple. If the project is successful, plates will ship around February 2014.
I do not know Don personally, but he is a friend of a friend, so I feel comfortable vouching for this project. Check it out!
Here’s the Problem. (And a Solution.)
In thinking about the pompous clusterf*ck that is our government these days, I wondered how they can still have a job while not going to work, not managing to a budget, and, generally, behaving so badly. I thought, Surely, there has to be a way to fire these people for such incompetence. Surely, our brilliant Founding Fathers covered this?
Well, no. We the People cannot impeach or fire members of Congress. According to Article 1, Section 5, Clause 2 of The Constitution:
Each House may determine the Rules of its Proceedings, punish its Members for disorderly Behaviour, and, with the Concurrence of two thirds, expel a Member.
For comparison: Allow a large group of teenagers to stay home alone for a four-day weekend, with an unlocked liquor cabinet, a big bowl of pot, a stack of 50s, a swimming pool, three sports cars, a kick-ass sound system, and internet access. When you get home, ask them if they’ve behaved themselves.
Sound ridiculous? Well, what goes on in Washington, D.C., is just as illogical, just as stupid, just as out of control. Our Senators and Representatives can make their own rules and do pretty much anything they want because they can only be fired if they vote to fire each other by a two-thirds majority.
Our current national debt is $16,750,300,206,723.60. (That’s nearly $17 trillion.) (Trillion!) But they can decide (among themselves) to say “That’s okay. No worries.” They decide if they get another raise, get ideal health care, have a private retirement fund outside of Social Security. They decide to take more vacation annually than most of us get in 10 years. They decide to pay for limo service or ride in private jets. They decide if they walk off the job. They decide how much we pay in taxes.
And they can raid that liquor cabinet over and over and over again.
We have only one option. We have only one opportunity to change things. We vote.
Apathetic? Disillusioned? Snap out of it. We are not helpless. We are not trapped. And it is our duty as citizens to do our part.
You can bet your bottom dollar, they are all assuming that, by the time the next election comes along, we’ll have forgotten the preposterousness of the current situation. You know they are relying on voter turnout of around 50 percent. They’ll spend a ridiculous amount of money to continue to promote the myth that there are ginormous, life-altering philosophical differences between the democrats and republicans in office. They’re going to do everything in their power to keep us fighting among ourselves, while the majority of them—the majority who are legally allowed to decide on the consequences of their behavior—slide back into their seat, with a thumbs up across the aisle and a knowing chuckle.
While searching the web for the information about how a Congressman can be removed from office, I came across this site: kickthemallout.com (Kick Them All Out). Sounds like a good idea to me.
Let’s not forget how much they have screwed up. Let’s ignore their example and work together to get something done. For at least the next election cycle, set aside your preference of democrat or republican or whatever. Vote American, and punish their incompetence. Let’s make sure there isn’t a single incumbent who gets to come back for another term. It won’t guarantee a perfect Congress, but it will send a message. It will show our representatives that We the People will not tolerate greed, corrupt ethics, and gross negligence. It will teach them an important lesson: There are consequences for bad behavior.
Welcome Back, Baseball
If you’re an older Pittsburgher, you were kind of spoiled as a kid when it comes to sports. And, beyond the thrill of winning, beyond the community pride, beyond the bragging rights, a part of you forever yearns to relive those days.
Not, as outsiders may think, because you’re part of an obnoxious fan base that always expects to win. But because your love of sports is forever entwined with the past, when:
- Your grandparents (and for some, your parents) were still alive. You learned about sports because they loved sports. You love the Pirates because they loved the Pirates. You watched games together crowded around a small TV or radio. And you miss those days. You miss them more than a World Series appearance.
- Gas stations still had attendants. A man would pump your gas, wipe the windshield, and hand you the latest Pirates give-away, like a drinking glass or a glossy 8×10 of a player.
- If you were lucky as me, you had a big brother who let you and your sister sit in his room, where he used a team photo poster to help you memorize every name and number.
- There was no ebay. Kids lined up to get autographs for the pure joy of having the signature of a player they adored.
- It was nearly impossible to get tickets to Opening Day.
- Team budgets weren’t hamstrung by greed.
- Baseball players were baseball players, part of one team, part of the city where they played the game.
- Pittsburgh wasn’t a small-market town struggling to make payroll. It was your whole world.
Somewhere, in the same brain that now wrestles thoughts of mortgage and clients and deadlines, you still have Manny’s smile, Steve Blass’ leap, the towering-fame/guy-I-could-have-a-beer-with dichotomy of Bill Mazeroski, the grace and heartbreak of Clemente, the grin and grit of Danny Murtaugh, an enduring crush on Richie Hebner, the mustache of Phil Gardner, the crazy arm of Kent Tekulve, the reassuring presence of Willie Stargell.
As we have a tendency to view most of the past from a distance: It was better then.
As we have gotten older, as we have been forced to let go of the ways of childhood, it felt unfair to also be asked to give up Our Team. To handle years of losing. Years of disappoint. Years of expending deep empathy for the young men who tried. Years of watching bright sparks fade away. Years of feeling like hostages to folks who did not appear to share our beliefs, who did not seem to care, who did not behave as if they had a clue about baseball in this town. Even a couple of years when we very nearly lost baseball altogether.
And then.
Changes were made. A cog shifted and the wheel of a plan we had ceased to believe in began to turn. The gate creaked open and in that rush of air, from that collective gasp, a roar went up. A resonating, goose-bumping, awe-inspiring roar in the hearts, in the homes, in the stands, and in the town where the Pittsburgh Pirates play baseball.
Something in each of us came alive again. We believed again. We hoped again. And that’s a fairly miraculous phenomenon, a life preserver for those of us of a certain age. Even if the season didn’t have a movie script ending. The current run may have ended last night, but — for at least a year, and maybe more — baseball returned to the City of Pittsburgh.
A very Pittsburgh-y group of men led by a very Pittsburgh-y coach gave us an awesome gift.
It was not 1992 all over again. It was not the last hard kick in the pants that pushed you into adulthood.
It was something else.
Life Preservers 