A big development in the land of Muldo this week. One of my earliest celebrity crushes, Dominique Moceanu, is now following me on twitter little more than a year after I wrote this heartfelt article about her.
I’m honored and flattered as much as, if not more than the other 2,648 people she follows. I proudly told my coworkers and friends about my newest fan and they reacted with varying degrees of interest. One quote from my friend Joel stood out.
“This is the most exciting thing to happen since David Hasselhoff started following me,” Joel said.
One of my high school senior pictures was posted on a list of Ridiculous Senior Photos on the Holy Taco Blog. While mine s one of the tamest of the bunch, it’s an honor to be nominated with a great group of horrendous pictures.
Since the picture to the right was such a hit with the internet community at large, I’ve posted more senior photos for your enjoyment.
These photos were taken in the Fall of 2000 by New England Photography in Elizabeth, Pennsylvania. They’re nice people and do good work, even if some of the poses and scenery are a bit over the top.
My friend Joe Boo of Eat with Joe asked me to guest blog on his website and describe what I ate for a day. In turn, he wrote an article for me. It’s a lot like the Nick Cage-John Travolta action film “Face/Off,” only with blogs instead of faces.
And with that, I invite you to read my entry at Eat with Joe.
It has a couple funny Muldo anecdotes related to my meals, like the time a nun caught me with my pants down in a men’s restroom.
A friend showed me this video of children coming down a blown up slide that looks like a penis while a fine kazoo rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” plays. It reminds me of the time my mom rented a vagina moon bounce for my 7th birthday party. Take a look:
It’s gross, but the kids look like they’re having fun. They don’t realize the object of their amusement is a large fuck stick. Things like that tend to go right over kids’ heads and that’s the beauty of childhood innocence. Like the one time I was watching “Herman’s Head” as a young boy and their numerous “sex sandwich” jokes were lost on me.
This video and the above link are two examples why it’s wrong to hide adult topics and innuendos from children. We’re OK with showing kids extreme examples of violence and spewing foul language around them, but a few jokes about butt plugs are unacceptable. It should be the opposite.
Many of the movies I loved growing up had a high amount of sexual references. Do you know how many I comprehended? Zero. It’s easier to understand a guy getting shot in the face than a sex joke. So let’s cool it with the puritanical outlook toward exposing kids to sex.
With all the talk of the recent olympics, my mind’s eye wandered to my favorite olympian of all time. A young woman whom my 12-year-old self lusted after with the heat of 1,000 suns. It also led to some of the worst news I’ve ever heard.
The woman is Olympic gold medalist Dominique Moceanu. The news: She’s married to a doctor and has two children. While I’m happy for her, this information has led to a part of me dying.
The time was August of 1996. Bob Dole was accepting the Republican nomination for president, Prince Charles and Princess Diana were divorcing, and the Summer Olympics was in full swing in Atlanta. The nation fixated its glare on the “Magnificent Seven,” as they were called, but I was focused on my Wonderous One.
The 14-year-old Moceanu was strikingly beautiful to me, and I found myself watching more gymnastics in those two weeks than I had in the rest of my young life combined. Suddenly, my life was all Dominique, all the time.
Things came to a head the night of the individual balance beam competition. I watched the contest from beginning to end, then turned in for the night. I fell asleep and she, to paraphrase Billy Ocean, got into my dreams and out of my television set.
The scenario is as vivid to me now as it was then. I was standing in an elevator, going up when it came to a stop. The doors opened and Dominique Moceanu entered. We locked eyes and said hi. Pleasantries were exchanged, then fate intervened. The elevator got stuck. After trying half-heartedly to get it working again, we succumbed to our young teenaged lust and began making out. Things were as hot and heavy as they could get between 12 and 14 year old children. Then it all came to a stop as I awoke.
Suddenly, the dream was over, but a new chapter in my life was beginning. For, on this night, I became a man.
I tried to recapture our moment together by purchasing the Wheaties box featuring the gymnastics team, and asking my mom to buy tickets to the team’s nationwide tour (she said no), but it wasn’t to be.
If you’re out there, Dominique, thanks for the memories. Your husband is a lucky man.
“Savran on Sportsbeat,” a Pittsburgh sports institution and one of the main influences on my career, has been cancelled. It’s a sad day for Pittsburgh and for me personally.
Hosted by Stan Savran and Guy Junker in its golden era, “Sportsbeat” was a call-in talk show where viewers would speak about Pittsburgh sports with the two most knowledgable people in town.
Savran and Junker piqued my interest in broadcasting at a young age. I discovered the show in January 1996 while eating lunch at Woodson’s All-Star Grill at Station Square the day after the Steelers won the AFC championship. I walked through the lobby and noticed a camera crew setting up. Intrigued, I asked one of the crew what they were doing, and they told me “Sportsbeat” was airing from Woodson’s that day.
Later that day, I watched the show over dinner, and proceeded to watch nearly every night for the next 10 years. The show got me interested in television to the point where I wanted to make it my career.
“Sportsbeat” afforded me the opportunity to attend my first Penguins game thanks to a promotional contest held in 1997 called “Front Row February.” I was the lucky 3rd caller, and had all the code words from the week of shows. My prize? Two front row tickets for the Penguins vs. Red Wings, a night at the William Penn Hotel, a copy of Jaromir Jagr’s autobiography (which I had signed), and a “Sportsbeat” hat.
Even more exciting was talking to the producer, who called my house and asked questions about me. The following night, Stan and Guy spoke about me for a couple minutes. It was one of the top 10 moments of my childhood.
My mom took me to the game, I witnessed Mario Lemieux’s 601st and 602nd goals and Scotty Bowman’s 1000th career victory in a Penguins overtime loss. There have been other games since, but that was a milestone for me.
Later on in my life, during my run at Slippery Rock University, both Stan andGuy were nice enough to appear on my talk show “Gettin’ Later.” They were both generous and down to earth. I was able to take a photo at the “Sportsbeat” desk with Stan, something that fulfilled a childhood dream of mine. I was also lucky enough to shoot a promo for my show where I harassed Stan. He was a good sport.
Once, I had a random encounter with Guy Junker at the Atlanta airport. I went up to him and introduced myself. He remembered me and we talked for a few minutes. He introduced me to the crew he was traveling with and didn’t act like he couldn’t be bothered.
After college, I asked Stan and Guy for advice on how to break into television, and they both were kind enough to give their knowledge and words of encouragement.
Though Guy Junker left the show in 2003, it continued without him until now. Stan and Guy recently reunited on the radio, and no one was happier than me. I still listen to their daily podcasts every chance I get.
I thank Stan and Guy, the producers (especially Gina Drzal, who interacted with me after I won the contest) and everyone associated with the show over its run for all their work and for helping a kid from Jefferson Hills figure out what to do with his life.
For some mothers, it’s hard to let go of their children as they grow older. They’re always remembered as babies, but most parents eventually adjust. Some, however, cling to the notion that their babies will always be young by letting them suck the milk from their supple bosom well after it’s socially acceptable to do so.
When Bethany, Mrs. Robinson’s older daughter, asked for breast milk for her ninth birthday she said, “I was delighted, if a little taken aback.” I stopped breastfeeding Bethany when she was five. I continued to feed her younger sister, Elizah. Bethany clearly remembered what a wonderful feeling it had been. “It was the best thing she could imagine and, presented like that, it seemed like a great idea.”
Mrs. Robinson and her family are very big on organic foods. Elizah at almost 8 years old is not happy at the prospect of giving up breastfeeding. Elizah said, “I don’t want to be weaned. I want to breastfeed for ever.”
There’s nothing more organic than sucking on mom’s teat until your preteen years. Why wean a child from the milk? The negatives of weaning outweigh the positives.
It likely means upgrading your weekly milk purchase at the grocery store from a quart to a gallon. Certainly a risk with the high prices of dairy products. Besides, breast milk adds a sweet new dimension to the frosted flakes they eat before school.
While it might be easy at first to get away with feeding, as a child grows older, it would get considerably more difficult. The thought of a kid discretely ducking away from a junior high dance in the middle of a song to get a quick suckle would be hard to pull off for even a young James Bond. Hard, yet justifiable. There’s always the chance some street wise kid spiked the punch. On the other hand, unless mom is knocking back cups of Irish Coffee in the morning, her milk will remain pure and alcohol free.
At the child’s high school graduation, I’d imagine he/she’d wear an extra large gown so mom can hide under it and squirt it into their mouth at the appropriate times. Those ceremonies last a long time and a human being is liable to get thirsty.
As time passes, mother and child would figure out ways to beat the anti-breast milk system. One situation, however, could spoil the whole operation:
Winning the Indy 500.
After the victory, it’s tradition for the winning driver to knock back a glass of milk. They’d have to do their whole tit sucking song and dance in front of thousands of race car fans, and, well, that would just be awkward.