Saturday, March 12, 2011
We...have...THE POWER!
We love football. We love Pittsburgh sports. And we needed something to do in summer because the Pirates suck so bad. Enter Lynn Swann and his Pittsburgh Power. We saw the commercial, when the lights in Pittsburgh go out, and you see the team…and your heart skips a beat…How could you not immediately become a season ticket holder? Originally, we saw the price of $100 and assumed it was per game. Well worth it. When we realized it was for nine games and a free t shirt, we thought it was stealing. Is Lynn Swann part Native American? Our $100 was a shiny trinket, and season tickets were the island of Manhattan. Add in the 10% off until Christmas, and we couldn’t get them fast enough. Turns out that “until Christmas” means “indefinitely,” but same difference. We found five of us to take up the challenge. It was like assembling the fellowship of the ring. Five, because of the five letters in POWER, one for each of us to tattoo on our chest for game days. We would save a fortune on chest paint in the long run.
Every day, we rushed to the mailbox like Billy Madison on nudy magazine day. Like Billy Madison, we fought off alcohol induced hallucinations of a giant penguins each day, but unlike Billy Madison, the nudy magazines that were our season tickets eluded us. Until one day, after numerous unsuccessful calls to the Power demanding to speak to Lynn Swann personally, a bulging rain soaked non descript envelope arrived with 45 pieces of heaven inside, 5 tickets to each of nine games. They were all there, including tickets to games against traditional Pittsburgh rivals, like Tulsa and Spokane (states not named because the states in which these cities are located remain unknown.)
After what felt like years in a Vietnamese POW camp, the inaugural game of the Pittsburgh Power arrived. It was the most historic day in the history of Pittsburgh, sporting or otherwise. We showed up a little late because we were busy getting our drink on, but we were able to bypass the long line of people with the foresight of a small child who didn’t have tickets yet.
As we quickly read the game day program to figure out what the rules of this godforsaken game even were, the ball was kicked off, and nothing would ever be the same.
What we surmised from the game:
No one plays defense, and Philadelphia sucks. The field is very small, and Bon Jovi sucks. Banking balls off the walls is still in play, and Ron Jaworski looks like a lesbian. It ain’t over til its over with the Power, and the residents of Philadelphia can eat shit. We were playing Philadelphia. Their team name is the “Soul,” which is gay and not true, because no one from that city has one, similar to gingers. Us and 13,000 fans saw the opening kick off. Us and 200 fans saw the abrupt end to our comeback and ensuing crushing defeat.
The game was back and forth, and at the end of regulation, it didn’t look good. But we recovered an onside kick with seconds to go and tied the game on a field goal. Tied 52-52. Welcome overtime. Pick six for the Philly win. Good bye overtime. Philadelphia was a movie about gays with AIDS.
Power Stars of the game:
RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUE!
The Bus may have retired from the Steelers, but have no have fear Pittsburgh, your new power back is Duquesne’s own Joshua Rue, the second greatest running back ever. Two short touchdown runs, and a name that’s awesome to yell while drunk. I look forward to this kid being a glorified blocker until the Power reach the red zone all year.
Mike “Wallace Nate” Washington
All of the good of Mike Wallace and none of the bad of Nate Washington. All of five foot nothing with a heart as big as all outdoors. Probably had several touchdowns like most players tend to in this league. He plays wide receiver.
Terrance “Sackman” Carter
The James Harrison of the AFL. He had a sack. That’s amazing. Trust us, no one plays defense in this league.
Power Goats of the game:
Jason “What You Talking About” Willis
I coined this nickname first, and our seats are so close to the press box that I swear the announcer overheard me and stole it. Anyhow, while he had several touchdowns, like everyone else, he DROPPED the winning TD in the end zone right before we kicked the tying field goal. That is NOT what I am talking about.
Bernard “Neil O’Donnell” Morris
The Nard dog decided to wear #14 in the city of Pittsburgh as QB. Really? Really Nard Dog? Then you throw THREE interceptions, including a pick six in overtime to lose it? Who were quarterback role models growing up, Tommy Maddox and Neil O’Donnell? The other guy from Philly didn’t throw any picks. I don’t know if that’s normal or good or whatever yet in this league, but seriously, O’Donnell…er, Nard dog, keep your compsure!
Anthony Morelli
We heard that former Penn State QB Antohny Morelli was on the team. Then, he doesn’t even make our team. Sucked at PSU. Sucked in Arizona. And sucked so bad with the Power that he was cut. Now we'll have to tear up our homemade Morelli jersey's. Imagine that high school reunion.
Classmate: Weren't you the douche bag who was a dick to everyone and told us all you were gonna be a millionaire NFL quarterback because you had a scholarship to Penn State?
Morelli: Yeah.
Classmate: Didn't you suck at Penn State?
Morelli: Yeah.
Classmate: Didn't you get to the NFL, undrafted?
Morelli: Yeah.
Classmate: Didn't you suck at Arizona?
Morelli: Yeah.
Classmate: Didn't you sign with the AFL team and couldn't even be the backup quarterback?
Morelli: Yeah.
Classmate: Are you now tending bar at your own high school reunion with a tip jar out?
Morelli: Yeah.
Classmate: Couldn't you have called today off?
Morelli: (Looks sadly at the ground.) Mr. Larson wouldn't give it to me.
Classmate: You mean that freshman you used to pick on who is your boss now?
Morelli: Silence.
NEXT GAME:
IOWA BARNSTORMERS, AT HOME. BLACKOUT. (You would think that a team named after Power would not want a black out, but…eh).
We’d do a preview but we know nothing about anybody yet.
Friday, December 10, 2010
The Millhouse=The THRILL HOUSE
Sheets of paper stapled to street signs. "Millhouse Bar and Grill," or something along those lines. It's hard to read when you're trying to simultaneously operate a motor vehicle. With a buzz on. In the morning. These multi colored sheets of paper...they changed our lives.
Pretty sure it was a week night. Was it warm out? It had to be. It had to be. There's no way we've been here a whole year with out experiencing the Pittsburgh Millhouse Bar and Grill .
It's off the main drag. We were concerned. Walked down the street. Concern was rising. White shingled bar signs. White aluminum siding. Steel door on the side, on the corner of a residential street. Jesus Christ. Biggest dive in Blawnox, we're thinking. One drink bar...max. Just go there, to experience it, then try to get the hell out. We had to at least brave it for one night, to experience Blawnox in its entirety. We'd try not to get raped. Try. We thought we could catch whiffs of the cigarettes and sadness wafting through the door.
Little did we know, the pieces fit. (We've been drinking heavily and we're listening to Tool. It's Tool appreciation weekend. Posts upcoming, pending sobriety). Open the door, and...
Magic.
Like, newness. Like, flatscreens. Like karaoke on off nights. Like unnecessary cover bands that do not fit the venue whatsoever that somehow work. They had tile in the bathrooms, god dammit, and two types of soap. What is this, the four seasons? Yes. The four seasons of Blawnox. It's clean, it's fresh, and it's polished. It's where Jesus would drink if he lived in Blawnox. Someone put time and thought into this, like, "You know what, I don't JUST need a place where sad local drunks can hang out." The young, up and coming Blawnoxers can fit in as well. The sad local drunks are still welcome, cause it's not Blawnox with out the sad local drunks*. Is it too early to call it the cheers of Blawnox? Yes, probably cause no one knows our names.
Yet.
Now the nuts and bolts of it...
SPORTS VIEWING: 8/10
Large TVs, small crowds, good angles. Overall, a decent place to watch a game, as we've done on several occasions, whether it be football or hockey. You can get a seat, you see the game, and if you have to stand...you can still see the game. Three indoor tvs, one outdoor tv. When Pittsburgh plays, Pittsburgh is on. If you want to watch something that's not on here...go fuck yourself. If you want to watch the Heat play the 76ers...eat shit. Yes Slade, I'm talking to you.
FOOD: 0/10
None. Zero. We try. We ask. They neglect. We know they had/have a kitchen. Deep fryers lay fallow. While we've never ordered nor received food made on the premises, we've observed and witnessed local pizza joints delivering to patrons. But is it their food? No, thus the rating. This also opens the door for limitless questions about what will and will not fly. Is it bring your own food? If we show up with a sack of hamburgers from McD's, will they give a fuck? No, they'd probably like it cause we'd drink more. We're going to start showing up with buckets of KFC. "SHIIIIiiiiiT...you got a drUUUUUUUmstIIIIIIIIck?" If it's the millhouse bar and grill, where the hell is the grill? That/s false advertising. Which is horseshit. They told us that it was due to lack of demand that they shut down the kitchen. So we implore you all...anytime, you EVER enter, that you ask to see a menu and order a dozen Cajun wings like we do. If they offer a pizza menu to deliver, sadly look at the ground and say, "oh...nevermind."
BEER OPTIONS: 5/10
The selection is slightly above average for your typical bar, however, the prices are moderately above average for your typical bar. Decent selections, not so decent prices. The greatest difference is in top of the line beers; Guinness, Sam Seasonal, whatever unique beer is on tap. They're running $6 a pint for top of the line, a full dollar above what you can get elsewhere.
SIGNATURE: 10/10
Fireball and touchscreen games. Let me spin you a yarn. A yarn that includes a snap, impulsive decision that has rejuvenated the idea of shots in an unabashed beer man's life. As we sit at the bar, we peruse the numerous bottles of liquor and wine, and my friend says, "Fireball? What's that?"
Without missing a beat, I say, "It's the shot we're taking next." We laugh like I'm kidding. Then I order the shots. History is made. Somewhere, an angel gets its wings.
Allow me to digress. Fireball, according to the label, is "The Cinnamon Whiskey." I love cinnamon. I formerly loved whiskey. But I fully expected this shot to be like swallowing flaming old man semen, cause god knows when you're in Blawnox, old men are an omnipresent part of the equation. The shots came in little plastic shot glasses, I assumed because it was so terrible it would melt glass and they didn't want to ruin their shot glasses. I put it up to my lips, made sure I knew the exact location of the bathroom to deal with the copious amounts of vomit I was sure were forthcoming, and closed my eyes.
I can look you in the eyes and tell you with a straight face that Fireball the greatest product designed for human ingestion in the history of the universe. We're going to start petitioning leading medical professionals to definitively answer the question, "Should babies drink milk or Fireball?" It was like Goldschlager, but not as thick and syrupy, and with no burn afterwards. It's a clean finish. As a non shot drinker, it's an extremely clean finish. Dare I say, a so fresh and so clean, clean finish . It's like chewing big red, but getting wasted from doing it. To quote a friend (and by friend I mean movie), "My sweet dick, it's magic!"
Touch games tend to be free on big drinking nights. Favorites include Polar Bear Fishing, but really, we just like the game where we get to make a drunk MILF get naked while walking home due to our inabilities to manifest this situation in real life. The must do for any Blawnoxer who plays these games is to be sure to insert the high score as "Slade is Gay." Just trust us.
ATMOSPHERE: 10/10
As we alluded to earlier, it's all things to all people. It's for young folks. It's for old local drunks. Shit, it's for black dudes whose sons play hockey. That's the beauty of this bar. Whether you're in your prime, or you are an old man who comes into the bar with your wife and daughter to give your chiuaua sips from your drink and the drinks of strangers, you're welcome. You're family. And families share.
Dan Onorato's county assessment tax would call it the Millhouse...But we've come to know it as different name...
We call it...the THRILL HOUSE.
The Thrillhouse. Where you can share your beer with a dog at a bar.
*sad local drunks is not an editorial comment as authors would hope to include themselves in this category one day. On a good night. On a bad night, we're a step away from jail.
Pretty sure it was a week night. Was it warm out? It had to be. It had to be. There's no way we've been here a whole year with out experiencing the Pittsburgh Millhouse Bar and Grill .
It's off the main drag. We were concerned. Walked down the street. Concern was rising. White shingled bar signs. White aluminum siding. Steel door on the side, on the corner of a residential street. Jesus Christ. Biggest dive in Blawnox, we're thinking. One drink bar...max. Just go there, to experience it, then try to get the hell out. We had to at least brave it for one night, to experience Blawnox in its entirety. We'd try not to get raped. Try. We thought we could catch whiffs of the cigarettes and sadness wafting through the door.
Little did we know, the pieces fit. (We've been drinking heavily and we're listening to Tool. It's Tool appreciation weekend. Posts upcoming, pending sobriety). Open the door, and...
Magic.
Like, newness. Like, flatscreens. Like karaoke on off nights. Like unnecessary cover bands that do not fit the venue whatsoever that somehow work. They had tile in the bathrooms, god dammit, and two types of soap. What is this, the four seasons? Yes. The four seasons of Blawnox. It's clean, it's fresh, and it's polished. It's where Jesus would drink if he lived in Blawnox. Someone put time and thought into this, like, "You know what, I don't JUST need a place where sad local drunks can hang out." The young, up and coming Blawnoxers can fit in as well. The sad local drunks are still welcome, cause it's not Blawnox with out the sad local drunks*. Is it too early to call it the cheers of Blawnox? Yes, probably cause no one knows our names.
Yet.
Now the nuts and bolts of it...
SPORTS VIEWING: 8/10
Large TVs, small crowds, good angles. Overall, a decent place to watch a game, as we've done on several occasions, whether it be football or hockey. You can get a seat, you see the game, and if you have to stand...you can still see the game. Three indoor tvs, one outdoor tv. When Pittsburgh plays, Pittsburgh is on. If you want to watch something that's not on here...go fuck yourself. If you want to watch the Heat play the 76ers...eat shit. Yes Slade, I'm talking to you.
FOOD: 0/10
None. Zero. We try. We ask. They neglect. We know they had/have a kitchen. Deep fryers lay fallow. While we've never ordered nor received food made on the premises, we've observed and witnessed local pizza joints delivering to patrons. But is it their food? No, thus the rating. This also opens the door for limitless questions about what will and will not fly. Is it bring your own food? If we show up with a sack of hamburgers from McD's, will they give a fuck? No, they'd probably like it cause we'd drink more. We're going to start showing up with buckets of KFC. "SHIIIIiiiiiT...you got a drUUUUUUUmstIIIIIIIIck?" If it's the millhouse bar and grill, where the hell is the grill? That/s false advertising. Which is horseshit. They told us that it was due to lack of demand that they shut down the kitchen. So we implore you all...anytime, you EVER enter, that you ask to see a menu and order a dozen Cajun wings like we do. If they offer a pizza menu to deliver, sadly look at the ground and say, "oh...nevermind."
BEER OPTIONS: 5/10
The selection is slightly above average for your typical bar, however, the prices are moderately above average for your typical bar. Decent selections, not so decent prices. The greatest difference is in top of the line beers; Guinness, Sam Seasonal, whatever unique beer is on tap. They're running $6 a pint for top of the line, a full dollar above what you can get elsewhere.
SIGNATURE: 10/10
Fireball and touchscreen games. Let me spin you a yarn. A yarn that includes a snap, impulsive decision that has rejuvenated the idea of shots in an unabashed beer man's life. As we sit at the bar, we peruse the numerous bottles of liquor and wine, and my friend says, "Fireball? What's that?"
Without missing a beat, I say, "It's the shot we're taking next." We laugh like I'm kidding. Then I order the shots. History is made. Somewhere, an angel gets its wings.
Allow me to digress. Fireball, according to the label, is "The Cinnamon Whiskey." I love cinnamon. I formerly loved whiskey. But I fully expected this shot to be like swallowing flaming old man semen, cause god knows when you're in Blawnox, old men are an omnipresent part of the equation. The shots came in little plastic shot glasses, I assumed because it was so terrible it would melt glass and they didn't want to ruin their shot glasses. I put it up to my lips, made sure I knew the exact location of the bathroom to deal with the copious amounts of vomit I was sure were forthcoming, and closed my eyes.
I can look you in the eyes and tell you with a straight face that Fireball the greatest product designed for human ingestion in the history of the universe. We're going to start petitioning leading medical professionals to definitively answer the question, "Should babies drink milk or Fireball?" It was like Goldschlager, but not as thick and syrupy, and with no burn afterwards. It's a clean finish. As a non shot drinker, it's an extremely clean finish. Dare I say, a so fresh and so clean, clean finish . It's like chewing big red, but getting wasted from doing it. To quote a friend (and by friend I mean movie), "My sweet dick, it's magic!"
Touch games tend to be free on big drinking nights. Favorites include Polar Bear Fishing, but really, we just like the game where we get to make a drunk MILF get naked while walking home due to our inabilities to manifest this situation in real life. The must do for any Blawnoxer who plays these games is to be sure to insert the high score as "Slade is Gay." Just trust us.
ATMOSPHERE: 10/10
As we alluded to earlier, it's all things to all people. It's for young folks. It's for old local drunks. Shit, it's for black dudes whose sons play hockey. That's the beauty of this bar. Whether you're in your prime, or you are an old man who comes into the bar with your wife and daughter to give your chiuaua sips from your drink and the drinks of strangers, you're welcome. You're family. And families share.
Dan Onorato's county assessment tax would call it the Millhouse...But we've come to know it as different name...
We call it...the THRILL HOUSE.
The Thrillhouse. Where you can share your beer with a dog at a bar.
*sad local drunks is not an editorial comment as authors would hope to include themselves in this category one day. On a good night. On a bad night, we're a step away from jail.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Putting Blawnox on the map.
Statement of purpose:
We exist to put Blawnox on the map. When we tell people we live in Blawnox, the common response; "Do you know Eileen from Blawnox???!?!? Hahaha, lol, haha!!!!!!111" Fuck you. This hidden gem of a borough deserves to be known for more than Eileen who calls into 96.1. Though we would love to meet and party with this woman, Blawnox is Pittsburgh, and vice versa. Our interests and intentions are as diverse as Blawnox itself. To be clear, we are not native Blawnoxians. We are transplants. But we're thankful for the opportunity to experience the ecstasy that is Blawnox. It's as fun to say as it is to live here. One more bar and a fast food joint in Blawnox and no one would know the difference between the Southside and Blawnox. If you were blinfolded and dropped off, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
An introductory, yet incomplete (because we may get drunk and we refuse to be held responsible for tangents we may go off on) list of what to expect follows...
1. To talk about how awesome Blawnox is.
2. To talk about things we like.
3. To crush on things we hate.
4. To bitch about 28.
Blawgnox. Where you can share your beer with a dog at a bar.
We exist to put Blawnox on the map. When we tell people we live in Blawnox, the common response; "Do you know Eileen from Blawnox???!?!? Hahaha, lol, haha!!!!!!111" Fuck you. This hidden gem of a borough deserves to be known for more than Eileen who calls into 96.1. Though we would love to meet and party with this woman, Blawnox is Pittsburgh, and vice versa. Our interests and intentions are as diverse as Blawnox itself. To be clear, we are not native Blawnoxians. We are transplants. But we're thankful for the opportunity to experience the ecstasy that is Blawnox. It's as fun to say as it is to live here. One more bar and a fast food joint in Blawnox and no one would know the difference between the Southside and Blawnox. If you were blinfolded and dropped off, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
An introductory, yet incomplete (because we may get drunk and we refuse to be held responsible for tangents we may go off on) list of what to expect follows...
1. To talk about how awesome Blawnox is.
2. To talk about things we like.
3. To crush on things we hate.
4. To bitch about 28.
Blawgnox. Where you can share your beer with a dog at a bar.
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