Yesterday was not normal. Far from it.

We’re talking “Crap, get out the GPS because we took a wrong turn out of Ordinaryville, PA.” Read for yourself.  And for the sake of all that is pure and holy get me back on the right road because you know how bad I am with directions…

For three hours I sat behind a table for WYEP at a career/internship fair at nearby Duquesne University. Oh how cute – an intern at a fair; a perfect example of what you can be like. Yes, you! Or actually, not you, and not you either old woman in the fur coat.

Here is how she approached me:

“Are you interested in older women?” – Quite honestly I’m not sure if I’m being hit on or if she’s asking if we openly discriminate against the elderly.

Me: “If you’d like to drop off a resume that’s perfectly fine.”  - She starts pulling a bunch of papers from this black zippered binder. She proceeds to go over various points with me and I fain interest.

Me: “Why, you should be writing your life story.”

“Oh I am!” – Silly me, it’s point number fifty-seven! Yep, I’m serious and it had a title (something with Gemini).

She finally goes away only to come back later. 

“You going to a party tonight?”

Me: “Um, no just home to dinner.” Moreover, trying to make light of the situation I said, “Got to be up in the morning for work you know.”

“So where do you work?”

Me, as I look at out table: “…WYEP…”

“Oh. Well you deserve to go to a party!” – AAAAHHHHHHHH!

As if that wasn’t bad enough, an old man—we’ll call him God’s gift to radio—continued to tell us why we should start broadcasting some local sporting events. He was convinced he knew more about FCC guidelines then we did and we would end up losing our license.

Why aren’t there more such gifts to radio around? Oh right – where they live, they have to sit very still in their tin foil hats for reception to hear the “voices of radio.”

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to hang out with a famous band?

Have I?

I don’t need to wonder; I work at Pittsburgh’s public radio station, WYEP…

“Rock the Block” is a big, annual fundraising event because remember, we’re listener-supported. We invited Pittsburgh’s own Denora, Ben Taylor (son of James Taylor), and to headline was Cracker (apparently white guys aren’t very creative; next time, check your pocket for change and we’ll call you “a dollar fifty-two”). I was supposed to relay messages/items to and fro areas at the event with another intern, Alicia, which we decided to interpret as mingling with the VIPs to make sure they were taken care. Hey, somebody has to keep the bass guitarist and back-up vocalist/guitarist of Ben Taylor’s band happy, especially the one who looks like a long-haired Hugh Grant.

*paraphrased dialogue with a British accent*

“ ‘ello ladies. Do you work at this station?”

            affirmed statement

“What are your names?”

Alisha – Alicia ….now oogling at us like twin girls who will cling to each of his arms with enraptured affection

“Where are you ladies partying at?”

            hmmm…are you inviting us to a “pants party” J

“Come to London with us. You could do our laundry and cook for us.”

            clearly, I got my degree so I could go to London and fold your tighty-whities 

“I ‘ope it doesn’t rain tonight…but wait…they’ll be wet t-shirts every where!”

            my goodness, I do like a silver-lining kind of guy   *gag*

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a stranger ask for your phone #?

Have I?

I don’t need to wonder; I ride Pittsburgh’s Port Authority bus system…

As I wait for my bus a young, white male approaches me by telling me I’m pretty. I’m flattered of course, but don’t jump to initiate conversation. I needn’t have worried…his mouth never stopped. He wants to know if I have a boyfriend, am I looking for one, what do I think about him (“I said you were pretty”…and I’m going to tell you that you’re a dirty sleeze and should pimp it elsewhere). He wants to know what’s wrong with his approach (nothing if you’re trying to get a lady of the night to reduce her price). Then as if I’ve been encouraging, he wants my phone #. 

Oh shucks, here comes my bus. I leave you with the parting words of the gentleman who got on the bus behind me:

“Man, he wanted you!”

“Ich liebe Pittsburgh”

Cheese House Blooper Reel…

 - “I’d like a pound of smoked turdy, er, smoked turkey.”

No ma’am; you’re mistaken. We do have that and it’s called dutch loaf. Right Andreas?

 - “I’d like a pound and a half of off-the-ham honey bone please.”

            Either she has no clue what she just said or has the ability to will it out of existence. Nope…I’m still laughing at you.

 - What would go through your mind if you dropped a tin of frosted cinnamon rolls “facedown” on the floor without a lid? If you’re a fifteen-year-old boy, it might be to frisbee it underneath the lowest shelf and run out the door. Oh sure…nobody in our line for meat and cheese saw you. So it’s okay to come back in for a root beer float (guilt makes you thirsty).

 - And finally, after a long day, there’s nothing better than a good laugh provided by my fellow co-worker when she dislodged the hose from the pipe that fills the ice cream dipwell with water. She started screaming “How do you turn it off?!” as she waves around the rapidly spurting hose. I grabbed her a bucket because none of us out front know where to turn the water off unless it’s to control the dipwell. She was so embarrassed…hahahahahahahahaha. Mop up in aisle one please.

My own life as a blooper reel…

 - When I do my hair in the morning after a shower, I put my curl product in and then pull up the roots with various clips. This is a temporary measure for maximum curl. Usually, I use just two, but on Sunday, I also used three little clips. I wished I would have remembered there were three… but I didn’t until after Sunday School. I sat down in the sanctuary, ready for worship, and my hand ascended to do a status check. Red alert! Red alert in sector three! Brain to hand: remove blue, flower clip from the back of head, pronto! Will it out of existence… *it didn’t happen* *it didn’t happen* 

 - I’ve been cooking as of late; really tasty dishes like barbequed sauerkraut with chicken, sausage potato lasagna, stuffed carrots, bruschetta…oh yeah. As I understand group living, I’ll be donning an apron once in awhile in Pittsburgh. I really would like to make my mistakes now, like these:

            -never put birthday candles in the microwave, even if you want to prop up a paper towel cover. And speaking of microwaves, a spoon should never be in the bowl.

            -a little over a quarter cup of cinnamon will overpower pudding-based fruit salad. 

            -an egg sandwich shouldn’t have the yolk intact, unless you want dipping sauce.

            -baking cocoa doesn’t work like Nesquik in milk.

            -if you’re cooking noodles, don’t sweep the runaways into the pan unless you know your counter is free of screws.

            -soup is better if you don’t have clumps of corn starch.  

Why the blooper reel format? Well, I’ve watched three seasons of Prison Break and three seasons of Lost with a fair share of extras. What’s next? I’m thinking 24.

"Nehmen Sie einige Geburtstagekerzen. Ich kann keinen Gebrauch für sie finden."

      Last night was a lot of trombone playing for me. It was quite the shin-dig as our venue was a lovely church who had asked the jazz, brass, and flute ensembles to play. So…I had to keep myself focused…but gee golly the stuff the church put into the back of the pew was just too fun. Beside the “Chalice Hymnal” (complete with gilded goblet of course) was a card for prayer requests. These weren’t your run-of-the-mill “check a box if you’d like prayer” but almost like a medical examination. It took all my strength not to start filling these cards up by penciling in the “nature of my illness” – herpes for one card, mad cow on another, and who doesn’t like to be prayed for when they have an explosive case of diarrhea??  Extend your hands towards my southern cheeks and let your voices be heard for my loose stool. Amen. Oh what fun I could have had. Can you imagine the scene that could unfold in this church of elderly people?

            “Excuse me pastor, I found this card in my pew.”

            “Oh Harry. God cares for even the birds of the field and so he doth care for your diarrhea, especially since it seems to be explosive. Don’t be embarrassed.”

            “No, no. They were already filled out. My wife found a herpes card.”

            “Is that what your wife told you? That she got herpes from a card? We need to talk.”

            “Pastor you don’t understand…”

            “Just because I’m a man of the cloth doesn’t mean I don’t know my STDs. I’ll put both of your prayer requests on our in-touch phone line. The more the prayers the merrier as I like to say.”

      After the concert I tried my best to get some homework done. I knew I was tired and wasn’t reading too well, but apparently I was really out of it. This morning as I opened the Word document of my dialectical notes on the book, I saw a peculiar sentence: “some floors had ads that were stamped Mistakes.” I can’t for the life of me figure out why I typed this nor what it has to do with the book. A mystery indeed.

“Gott geht sich selbst über Größe, Farbe, und Frequenz an”…if you know what I mean.