When I write my first science-fiction novel, that will be dedicated to my dad. If he taught me the true love of and devotion to anything it was sci-fi. Nonetheless, he was the one who taught me football too.
We watched most Sunday afternoons together. As we lived relatively close to Chicago, that was the team we followed, but we were by no means fans of the caliber of the Starks. I suppose I should confess that the primary purpose of having the games on Sunday afternoon was to create white-noise by which to snooze. Sunday afternoons were for NFL naps.
Once we turned the TV on its side so that we could watch the game more easily from a prone position. Did you know if you do that to one of the old three-dimensional TVs that the color runs to the corners? Really. It does. We got scared that we'd ruined it and Mom was going to be mad... but it was ok (eventually) once we righted it.
Props to Dad for teaching me the game.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Shout Out: Mum and Dad
My first in the series of "shout-outs" is to my mum and dad, Anna Mae and Jim Stark. They taught me from the ripe old age of birth the importance of being blindly loyal to your sports' teams and all the good that can come of it. (The ying to that yang is, of course, the heartache and bitter disappointment, which they taught me, by example, to handle...kind of poorly. See "Cutting Off the Steps" below.)
My dad has had a Steelers season ticket for over 40 years. (He has often remarked that his tombstone will read: Here lies Jim Stark. Worked 30+ years. Had a Steelers ticket.) He sat through endless games at Three Rivers Stadium when the Steelers were the laughingstock of the NFL. I remember an early lesson about the draft and the dismal state of affairs resulting in "Bonus Pick Gary Glick." When I was born in 1974, my mom urged my dad that he had better go watch the Steelers play in their first Super Bowl because "they may never be back." No matter that I was a few months old - off he went to New Orleans to watch the first victory of what he could probably never guess would be four Lombardis won in six years.
As a small child, I remember Steelers polkas sung along with the radio, Franco's Italian Army, a small picture I cut from an old media guide of toothless Jack Lambert taped on my closet door, black and gold ribbons in my hair, and lots of screaming about "Defense." It was, after all, the 1970's, and the Steelers were a dynasty in the making. When we went to parties with my parents' friends, they would prop me up to recite the "Front 4" of the Steel Curtain (i.e. Mean Joe, LC, Fats, and Mad Dog) to a captive audience, which I happily did because I had been taught well. While the specifics of the game itself were mysterious to my child brain, I never wavered in my pride in being a Steeler fan from Western PA.
As the 1970's wound into the 1980's, the mood soured somewhat. Instead of fun songs, I remember my party trick was to sourly spit out "Steelers Stink" whenever prompted. Because they did. My dad and I went to a game together once when Bubby Brister started at quarterback, and the fans chanted "Bradshaw" and threw beer. I thought that was hysterical. My dad was totally disgusted. I recall my dad yelling "dummkopf!" at the television a lot on Sunday afternoons. Still, we hung in there, 'cause that's what you do.
When the Steelers would lose a bad game, a big game, a game they should have won, my dad would head to the cellar with a hand saw to cut off a step in a ritual known as "Cutting Off the Steps." I didn't really understand things like "coping skills" as a kid, but I did understand this form of dealing with disappointment. Lots of times, people would approach us in public and say "Did your dad cut off a step Sunday night?" Today, one lonely overhang remains. I don't know when it will be removed.
As I grew up and my sister was born and I learned more about the game, it became clear to me that football is life...and life is football. At least in our house. Happy Christmases hung in the balance of whether the Steelers would make the playoffs or not. When games are won, there is much rejoicing. When games are lost, there is depression, silence, and overindulgence.
The space between victories in Super Bowl XIV and Super Bowl XL took me from kindergarten to my 3rd year as a practicing attorney. That Super Bowl XL victory is probably the second greatest moment in my whole life up to that point, after my wedding day. It felt like vindication, justice, relief, and pure joy all wrapped in a bear hug of happiness. But it sure was a long time to wait! Luckily I had my family for support.
So, thanks Mum and Dad, for teaching me what's what in this world. And for all those jerseys, trinkets, and trips to live games that fostered my fandom. And for being great parents all around, especially when it comes to the black and gold.
We now can pass all this hoopla on to the next generation, to the aptly named Franco. He has no idea what he is in for! But he sure does look happy about it all!
My dad has had a Steelers season ticket for over 40 years. (He has often remarked that his tombstone will read: Here lies Jim Stark. Worked 30+ years. Had a Steelers ticket.) He sat through endless games at Three Rivers Stadium when the Steelers were the laughingstock of the NFL. I remember an early lesson about the draft and the dismal state of affairs resulting in "Bonus Pick Gary Glick." When I was born in 1974, my mom urged my dad that he had better go watch the Steelers play in their first Super Bowl because "they may never be back." No matter that I was a few months old - off he went to New Orleans to watch the first victory of what he could probably never guess would be four Lombardis won in six years.
As a small child, I remember Steelers polkas sung along with the radio, Franco's Italian Army, a small picture I cut from an old media guide of toothless Jack Lambert taped on my closet door, black and gold ribbons in my hair, and lots of screaming about "Defense." It was, after all, the 1970's, and the Steelers were a dynasty in the making. When we went to parties with my parents' friends, they would prop me up to recite the "Front 4" of the Steel Curtain (i.e. Mean Joe, LC, Fats, and Mad Dog) to a captive audience, which I happily did because I had been taught well. While the specifics of the game itself were mysterious to my child brain, I never wavered in my pride in being a Steeler fan from Western PA.
As the 1970's wound into the 1980's, the mood soured somewhat. Instead of fun songs, I remember my party trick was to sourly spit out "Steelers Stink" whenever prompted. Because they did. My dad and I went to a game together once when Bubby Brister started at quarterback, and the fans chanted "Bradshaw" and threw beer. I thought that was hysterical. My dad was totally disgusted. I recall my dad yelling "dummkopf!" at the television a lot on Sunday afternoons. Still, we hung in there, 'cause that's what you do.
When the Steelers would lose a bad game, a big game, a game they should have won, my dad would head to the cellar with a hand saw to cut off a step in a ritual known as "Cutting Off the Steps." I didn't really understand things like "coping skills" as a kid, but I did understand this form of dealing with disappointment. Lots of times, people would approach us in public and say "Did your dad cut off a step Sunday night?" Today, one lonely overhang remains. I don't know when it will be removed.
As I grew up and my sister was born and I learned more about the game, it became clear to me that football is life...and life is football. At least in our house. Happy Christmases hung in the balance of whether the Steelers would make the playoffs or not. When games are won, there is much rejoicing. When games are lost, there is depression, silence, and overindulgence.
The space between victories in Super Bowl XIV and Super Bowl XL took me from kindergarten to my 3rd year as a practicing attorney. That Super Bowl XL victory is probably the second greatest moment in my whole life up to that point, after my wedding day. It felt like vindication, justice, relief, and pure joy all wrapped in a bear hug of happiness. But it sure was a long time to wait! Luckily I had my family for support.
So, thanks Mum and Dad, for teaching me what's what in this world. And for all those jerseys, trinkets, and trips to live games that fostered my fandom. And for being great parents all around, especially when it comes to the black and gold.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Shout Out: My Husband
You've all seen it: the cameraman on the sideline gets in close beside the players during the game. The sound may not even be on, but you know he's saying. "Hi, Mom!" Players always give a shout out to their moms. So, these series of "Shout Outs" are to the people who helped us and inspired us in the writing of this script.
First up is my husband. Yes, I sat right beside him on the couch last season with a yellow legal pad furiously scribbling down the random things he yelled at the screen, the announcers, the coaches, the players, the commercials... well, maybe he didn't yell at the commercials. (And this was during games I was allowed to sit next to him... Often, last season, the Steelers played better when Chad and I watched in different rooms, so I was kicked out on more than one occasion.) Even more than providing actual lines in the play (which he has not read, for the record, since he wants to be surprised -- or so he tells me) his long-lasting friendships with other sports-watching guys were great fodder. Write what you know, people say. And what he's shown me is how the love of the team, the game, and friends is an important part of a good many men's happiness. In fact, it was his fanaticism about the Steelers that brought Steph and I together. (I'll let her tell you in her own words.)
Quick Story: A few years ago he and I were fortunate enough to attend the AFC Championship Game in Pittsburgh. High up in our nose-bleed seats, the snow whirling around us, cold air battling against the toe and hand warmers we'd stuffed under thick layers, I attended my first game in Heinz Stadium. At one point, when my husband made a quick departure to use the facilities, the young twenty-something guy sitting next to me leaned in and asked, "So, when you married him, did you know he was a face-painter?"
No. I did not. But I love it about him.
First up is my husband. Yes, I sat right beside him on the couch last season with a yellow legal pad furiously scribbling down the random things he yelled at the screen, the announcers, the coaches, the players, the commercials... well, maybe he didn't yell at the commercials. (And this was during games I was allowed to sit next to him... Often, last season, the Steelers played better when Chad and I watched in different rooms, so I was kicked out on more than one occasion.) Even more than providing actual lines in the play (which he has not read, for the record, since he wants to be surprised -- or so he tells me) his long-lasting friendships with other sports-watching guys were great fodder. Write what you know, people say. And what he's shown me is how the love of the team, the game, and friends is an important part of a good many men's happiness. In fact, it was his fanaticism about the Steelers that brought Steph and I together. (I'll let her tell you in her own words.)
Quick Story: A few years ago he and I were fortunate enough to attend the AFC Championship Game in Pittsburgh. High up in our nose-bleed seats, the snow whirling around us, cold air battling against the toe and hand warmers we'd stuffed under thick layers, I attended my first game in Heinz Stadium. At one point, when my husband made a quick departure to use the facilities, the young twenty-something guy sitting next to me leaned in and asked, "So, when you married him, did you know he was a face-painter?"
Monday, September 10, 2012
Radio
Steph, Franco and I got to go into WKYK this morning to record a Community Spotlight bit. (Not Franco Harris. The other Franco. The eight-month-old. The cute one to whom I am Auntie Britt.)
I caught Steph leaning over to explain what was happening to her son, as all good parents do. "It's like Mike and Mike in the Morning," she whispered in his ear, knowing full well that since this is a habitual part of their day, he would understand immediately.
Give it a listen tomorrow at 6:45 am. Or noon or 5 pm. 1470 am or 940 am.
I caught Steph leaning over to explain what was happening to her son, as all good parents do. "It's like Mike and Mike in the Morning," she whispered in his ear, knowing full well that since this is a habitual part of their day, he would understand immediately.
Give it a listen tomorrow at 6:45 am. Or noon or 5 pm. 1470 am or 940 am.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Set Design
Anyone have beaded curtains we (Bruce) could borrow for a month or so?
Leave me info in the comments...
Leave me info in the comments...
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Revisions Approved
OK. Got the newly revised 12 pages to the director... and he liked the changes. Whew!
By the way, the page count is now up around 125. Without a doubt the longest thing I've ever written.
And check out the new animated GIF to the right. Made that today to fulfill some of my RAP Grant requirements -- and I'll be running it on the Mountain X website soon.
By the way, the page count is now up around 125. Without a doubt the longest thing I've ever written.
And check out the new animated GIF to the right. Made that today to fulfill some of my RAP Grant requirements -- and I'll be running it on the Mountain X website soon.
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