2013 D-Bag Awards Round One: Thanksgiving Sale vs. Black Friday

Second heat in the race to ultimate douchebaggery!

Thanksgiving Sales vs. Black Friday

Retail nuttiness is afoot.  On the one hand we have the constant threat of encroachment on the family.  Thanksgiving shopping is almost as bad a word as Holiday when it comes to the fundamental nutters who think the decay of civilization begins and ends with the destruction of the family unit.   Stores that choose to open on Thanksgiving are blasphemous in their capitalist quest to get all your monies.  How dare they!  “We should be home with our family, not pumping money into the coffers of their evilness.”   Meanwhile, they shop online, play games and bitch about it all on social media.  What they don’t realize is that some people have no families and don’t mind working on Thanksgiving.  Not to mention, all of those other things they do mean that support staff probably need to be on hand to keep technology running smoothly, instead of being at home arguing with their dysfunctional families over why they haven’t settled down with the right member of the opposite sex. 

On the other hand is the continued myth that the best shopping deals are on Black Friday.   In the past, I’ve found that the prices vary on certain items.  In fact, I used to get emails about Black Friday deals and would compare the prices set for that day vs. the current price.  What I found was that in a lot of instances, the prices were better before and it was for newer models of the equipment being touted as a deal.   Black Friday is way for stores to clear out all of their old inventory from the past year or two.  Do you really think a store would make a crap ton of money on the latest and greatest items at a reduced amount?  No.  That LCD HD set that’s on sale… usually it’s last year’s model.   The manufacturer’s website doesn’t even show it anymore, I bet.  That Blu-Ray player?  You can find a better quality model at the same price three weeks before Black Friday.   Let’s also not forget how stupid people get when they have the stores ramping up the stakes.  “The economy is bad, the sales are good.  You need to save money because the government keeps taking it!  Come down to our showroom, punch another human being out and SAVE! SAVE!  SAVE!” 

Winner – Black Friday!

Shopping on Thanksgiving is bad.  I’ll concede to that, but who cares?   If a retail outlet chooses to be open, so be it.  Plenty of services have to be open.   Nobody bitched when I had to work a family buffet at a hotel on Thanksgiving three years in a row.  Where was the outrage?  Stay at home and cook you lazy bastards!  This is a stupid tactic by people that have nothing better to do than bitch about everything.   Thanksgiving is not a religious holiday, nor is it even a proud holiday at that.  You want to talk about illegal immigrants taking everything from those that belong in the country?  

“Families should be home on Thanksgiving, not in a store making money for the man" is not a good excuse.  Meanwhile, you’ve been watching football all day long while the NFL rakes in money.  Hypocrite much?   

As for the winner, it’s a tad ridiculous and even though there have been less than five deaths each year due to Black Friday, the idiocy that goes on is not worth the savings.  You’re being mind raped by the retail world.  Open your eyes.

Dress To Suppress

At the age of 38, I have come to the conclusion that I have no one to impress on a daily basis.  Unless I am looking to advance in my career or I am mandated by certain mores such as company dress code or acceptable for the event, I will dress mostly for comfort.  Now, granted, being a t-shirt designer, after work and on the weekends I’m liable to be wearing a tee I love or designed, which has a message or is used for marketing purposes.  In any case, the my morning goes like this.

I get up, shower, and then put on clothes that satisfy the following criteria: did I wear that shirt last week, and is it comfortable for the weather  Beyond that, I don’t put a lot of thought into the manner or style of dress.   However, if you were to ask the me that was 25 years  my junior, you’d get a vastly different answer.    There was no comfort involved.  It was dress to suppress.

Now, what does that mean?

Well, in the case of eight to ten year old me, I wore a good deal of hand me downs.    Being the youngest of three, by seven years, I was subjected to wearing the clothes my brother had from a previous decade.   Factor in that my parents didn’t have a huge bank account, I wore the same clothes for multiple years while they fit.

But at some point, I wised up.  I went to my mother and thanked her for my impeccable fashion sense but asked if my older brother could take me clothes shopping before the first day of 7^th grade.   In my town, you had K-6 (Grade School) in one building, 7-9 (Junior High) in another, and then 10-12 (High School) in yet another.   You see, the division in schools also determine the threat level to one’s psyche from their classmates.  In grade school, you could get away with wearing sweat pants, a ¾ sleeve baseball tee, and Sears’ brand Velcro running shoes without drawing attention.  However, in sixth grade the natives begin to take notice and you prepare yourself for the inevitable catty comments about how you dress and how you look to your peers.   So, I decided to keep that from happening and turned in my running shoes for Nike high tops, just so I could keep up with the pack.   Then, in the summer before Junior High, I went on that all important clothes shopping trip to the mall with my older and infinitely cooler brother.  I came back with Ocean Pacific and Shah Safari shirts, Bugle Boys and Dockers pants, a pair of Chuck Taylors and assorted shirts from 80s mega trendy stores like Chess King and Just Pants (I’m kidding).

That first day of school was all about blending in and not sticking out.  It wasn’t about the clothes drawing attention.   It was about disguising myself to look like the enemy.  That way I could infiltrate their ranks and they could see me, not what I wore.   In those days, if your parents got your clothes at stores like Gabriel Bros. or Montgomery Ward, you were an easy target.  The cool people could zone in on you like a geek seeking missile, claws bared, ready to attack your fashion.  It was survival of the fittest.

By when you reach High School, the claws retract somewhat.   The rules are more relaxed.  In Junior High, the bodies and minds of teenagers go completely nuts.  All the instability of hormones and growing fight your ability to be comfortable in your own skin, so you lash out at others as a way to justify your own metamorphoses from ugly caterpillar to butterfly.   In High School, you stop focusing on how to take others out of the race and work to getting to the finish line first with flare.  It’s called preparation for college.  Soon, you start to compare acceptance letters to schools like you did with shoes or earrings, years before.  It’s not about how you dress, it’s about how you will succeed in your post High School career.  Still, I did do my best to keep up and went the route of the Boyz II Men, Olive Garden waiter route with jeans, white button down shirts, and ties.  Some days loafers, some days sneakers.     But I never got called out by the worst offenders from Junior High when it came to my clothes.   I mean I caught a glimpse of it in sixth grade with my clothing.  In Junior High, there was that one disastrous pair of blood Red Pro Keds high tops that nearly destroyed me.  Luckily, the poorest of the poor kids had on Moon Boots and the geek seeking missiles locked onto him instead.

Funny how, when you get to college, all of that goes out the window and you end up wearing pajamas to class or sweats with a ball cap, and you’re just fine.  Sometimes you wonder if uniforms in the education system help to tone down bullying or other harassment of not so cool kids in those years.    My argument for that is to a kid going through all the agony of adolescence, their clothes should be a coat of arms for their individuality.  I wouldn’t bow to inappropriate or obscene clothing, but as a form of expression and a way to help that transition, clothes do make the man they will become.  Why suppress that?

One Does Not Simply Barf Into Mordor

People always ask, “How was your Christmas?” This year was a down year. There are more reasons than I care to relate, but the biggest was having a kid with the stomach flu on Christmas morning. Now, I don’t believe it was the stomach flu, because neither my wife nor I came down with it. That may seem trivial but the kid had three separate bouts of stomach issues across a week, where the stomach flu usually lasts around 12-24 hours. We both thought it was strep as the kid has had the same symptoms without being contagious in the past. But, her pediatrician, Ted Nugent (He looked and sounded like a cross between Ted Nugent and Joey Slotnick with a goatee that stuck out like four feet from his chin), said it was the stomach flu. Anyway, I want to explain to you, in Mongo terms, what Christmas was like for us.

Now, I am going to give you a visual marker and I want you to remember it. It will help as this is how I can only describe what happened.

Do you remember somewhere around the last third of the film, The Return of the King… which had about 14 different endings… the part where Sam and Frodo are stuck on a rock in a river of lava? If not, I’ll sum up.

Gollum attacks Frodo who has given himself over to the One Ring. Gollum bites off Frodo’s finger, which I heard is no harder to do than to bite through a carrot stick. That’s a little tip for you playing at home or in a bar. Anyway, Gollum and Frodo fight for the Ring and he falls over the edge and pulls a Terminator 2 with the Ring in the lava. Frodo and Sam hightail it out of the Crack of Doom as everything goes to shit and Mount Doom erupts.

After high fiving each other for completing the journey… they have an “Oh FUQ!” moment when they realize they are now stuck in the middle of the flowing lava. Soon, the eagles come to their rescue, which was the one thing that made no sense, because they could have just flown on the eagles from The Shire and it would have been a half hour long movie…. But I digress. So, keep that image of Sam and Frodo adrift in your mind. If you are still having trouble… here…

Now, on the 23rd of December, I took my kid out for a bit of last minute shopping, while my wife wrapped presents and cleaned for company to come over on Christmas Eve. The last thing I really wanted to do was take my kid out into the madness that was the shopping mall on the day before Christmas Eve, but she helped pick out some great Yankee Candle stuff for my wife and she had a ball playing some floor projected video game which uses your shadow like a controller as you step on an area of the floor.

As a reward for her good behavior, I took her to Cold Stone Creamery for some ice cream. Ok… I wanted to get some and used her as an excuse to get some. She had a standard kids cup with chocolate and we went home.

After a bit, she started complaining of a stomach ache and ran around the house clutching her tummy and I yelled… get to the bathroom. So, she sat there a good 20 minutes and finally let it all out. Then, before I could assist her, I heard it. I heard the familiar sound of the child spewing used ice cream all over the tile floor in the bathroom. I ran into the bathroom to the back porch to grab the garbage can she and my wife both used two weeks before when they both had the stomach flu… the real deal. It was empty, but we just hadn’t disinfected the can, yet. As I turned the corner into the bathroom, it was too late, again. Mount Doom had erupted… everywhere.

I managed to reach the can over to her as she finished vomiting into it. Now, she was trapped. Not only was she sitting, with dangled feet, on the toilet, but she was stuck in the middle of a used ice cream flow, with no escape. She was Sam and Frodo, awaiting death on the side of Mount Doom. Here, I was, Gandalf, riding in on the backs of giant eagles.

I used a good portion of a roll of paper towels just to clean up a path as I told her to sit tight. Once I got that cleaned up, I could get her cleaned up. She was then told to just stand out in the living room, naked and not sitting on anything, while I exorcised the rest of Captain Howdy’s Pea Soup out of the bathroom.

As she shivered in her nakedness in our living room, I scrubbed and Lysol wiped everything I could. The Christmas shower curtain was now speckled, as were the towels and floor rug we had just put into the bathroom. After finishing my crime scene clean up, I gave the kid a hot bath and called it a day.

This is how I know it was not the Stomach Flu. As I cleaned out the garbage can, I simply rinsed it down in the tub before scrubbing it with Clorox Cleanup and Lysol Wipes. I turned on the bathtub to rinse down the remaining liquid and it splashed up and hit me in the face as if it was that liquid from the cylinder in The Prince of Darkness. I never got sick.

Perhaps it was luck… or a trick…

Do not take me for a conjurer of cheap tricks.

Somebody Touched My Stuff Again

A while back I talked about what happened the last time I went shopping at Giant Eagle in Harrison City.  Well, it happened again.  Same scenario.  I go in and grab things I need to buy.  I go to the self-checkout lane and purchase said item.s  I go to the end of the lane to bag up my items.  Somebody comes over, crumbles up the coupons sitting next to the scanning plate and throws them away.  I get pissed.

This time it was an employee because they were wearing a uniform.  This time I hadn't paid for my purchases yet, so my receipt didn't end up in the trash.   This time I...  said nothing.  OK, but if a third time occurs, I'm flipping tables over and going wild bunch on these guys. [pew pew]

I can hear it now.  "Oh, Mongo, stop being so passive aggressive and just go through a regular check out lane.  You are doing this to bait them, now."   Well, yeah, you're right.  I am baiting them.  I want them to do it because a third time will not be tolerated.  And as for the regular lanes, I don't want to hear anybody complain that it takes away from the need to hire cashiers.  That's a load of crap.  There were three cashiers before they put in self-checkout lanes and there are three cashiers, now.    What does happen is that when you go through a regular check out, you run into these issues.

• Waiting for the person in front of you when you can just zip through the empty self-checkout lanes.
• The cashiers do not give you the coupons printed out from scanning your Advantage Card in the self-checkout lane.
• Nine times out of ten, the regular checkout cashiers have not asked me if I wanted to apply my discounts from pumping gas to my total.  That's a screen you have to navigate through in self-checkout lanes.

It may seem that I am impatient but I am usually heading to the store after I leave work.  I want to get home because, I'm tired from being at work and I really don't want to spend anymore time than necessary at the store.  I am also usually relieving my father-in-law from babysitting duties since my wife is working at the time and he's been at work, too and just filling in for a couple of hours to bridge the gap.   That's my main reasons.

Now, the last time I went to the store was yesterday to grab one item for dinner because the ones I had were out of date.   No one bothered me but the next time... ooooh, grrrr.

Don’t Touch Other People’s Stuff

It’s something you try and teach your children at an early age. It’s something I am continually trying to teach my child. She’s in preschool, now, and there is a germ factor to deal with along with an ownership issue. First of all, kids aren’t the cleanest of beings as they touch everything without regard to what they can’t see on surfaces and objects. They will proceed to touch themselves or you and transfer who knows what in the process. In addition, if it doesn’t belong to them and they have not received explicit permission to handle it, they shouldn’t be touching it. This is what I’m trying to tech and it includes all remote and game controllers, purses, keys, knick knacks, and anything else not built out of an industrial strength alloy or space age polymer in my house.

But when an adult exercises such a lack in judgment you can’t help but become shocked by their inability to remember those childhood lessons. What the hell goes through some people’s heads? This post spawned after a quick shopping trip to my local Giant Eagle grocery store in Harrison City, PA. I needed to pick up a few things and relied on the Self-Checkout lanes for quicker service. Usually, my wife is with me and she bags while I scan, but being on my way home from work, at the time, I needed to multi-task.

I grabbed what I needed and headed to the front of the store. Swiped all my items and sent them down the belt. Paid for purchases and went to the other end of the belt to bag and place in my cart and that’s when it happened. Some dick touched my stuff.

As a rule, especially in this economy, every little bit helps. My wife will clip some coupons here or there and on occasion, we will get coupons at the checkout lane from using our Advantage Card. The Advantage Card is like other grocery store cards, I’m sure. You swipe it and receive discounts on certain items. Also, for every $50 we spend, we get $0.10 a gallon for gas. In turn, for every 10 gallons of gas you pump, you can earn 1% off of your grocery bill up to 20%. It also prints out coupons at the register which can be used for future purchases as well as the occasional advertisement which is thrown away at the register nine times out of ten. Regardless of how we acquire coupons, we appreciate them when we get them. Now, I don’t know if there is some unwritten rule out there about grocery stores but if we have a coupon for something we don’t use or will not purchase before the expiration date, we usually leave it on the shelf with the product. I see them left by other people a lot and sometimes they come in handy. Also, when we get printout coupons at the register, I tend to leave the ones I don’t use on top of the Self-Checkout register for others to use.

On more than one occasion and in multiple stores, I’ve seen employees walk by the Self-Checkout registers and throw away coupons left by shoppers for other shoppers. I understand why they do it. After all, a coupon is a loss to revenue. If it’s there, it’s considered trash and should be thrown away to help maintain the appearance of the store. However, there is a similar perk in convenience stores and gas stations called the penny tray. Have a penny, leave a penny. Need a penny, take a penny. So, I don’t see this as anything different. Have a coupon, leave a coupon and so forth. It’s a bit petty and “corporate” like to just walk by and throw away these coupons when the intention was for helping out your fellow consumer. I have a point here, bear with me.

So, as I’m bagging up my groceries last Friday, this guy comes by, grabs the coupons I had received from the register, crumbles them up and throws them away. I’m still in the line, mind you, watching all this happen. I was so shocked at the balls this guy had that I was just stunned speechless. Now, he wasn’t dressed in typical store uniform so I cannot guarantee that he was an employee. He was pushing a cart that had empty cardboard boxes in it so he may have been a vendor who was stocking specialty items from the manufacturer. Still, it was rather brazen that he just walked up and did what he did. Of course, two can play at that game. I have already proven that I can be a dick with the best of them.

So, it should shock no one that I took the time to go back to the front of the checkout lane to retrieve the coupons that dickhole threw away and placed them back on top of the register. Dickery turned to outright rage when I realized that he not only threw away any coupons that were laying there, but my receipt as well. MY EFFING RECEIPT. He yanked it from the printer, crumbled it up and tossed it in the garbage can underneath the counter. I use a credit card for grocery shopping and while not all of my numbers are on the receipt, still, who would throw a receipt away in plain sight inviting the possibility that someone could use it against you.

I wanted to find the guy. I wanted to wander all over the store, bags in tow, looking for the guy to just give him a “Don’t touch other people’s stuff, Eff-tard!” prepared statement. He even looked like one. Think of the bad guy from Lethal Weapon 3. He looked like him, complete with the gray brushtache. Yes, I said brushtache because it looked like a brush hanging off his face.

Well, I didn’t find Brustache the Eff-tard which is my World of Warcraft name… kidding. But I did get the satisfaction of going back and wasting energy by digging through the garbage for two advertisements and a coupon for Activia. I don’t care. You don’t touch other people’s stuff. Obviously, I wasn’t finished yet because my receipt was still there. And two. YOU DON’T TOUCH OTHER PEOPLE’S STUFF! Oh, to be a fly on the inside of the windshield on the way home from the store. You know those moments you have where you talk out loud to nobody about what you would say or do to the person who pissed you off at that moment. You even start to verbally take it out on other drivers who aren’t even involved. “What, you wanted to turn at that stop sign, but I went first, causing you to lurch forward and slam on your brakes? Too bad, dick, you didn’t have your turn signal on at the time and you probably touch other people’s stuff, too. Eff off!”

I know there were other ways to handle the situation, the least of all, blogging about it. But, hey, if someone has a problem with that, come talk to me about it. I’m up for debate about the finer points of being a dick. Just ask my wife.

Receipt After Me, "I Am Not a Crook."

Imagine, if you will, you are shopping in your favorite vanilla flavored big box store for some goods that were made overseas. You check out at the cashier, paying for every item and upon being handed your receipt, you shove it into the bottom of your pocket or purse beneath three pounds of crap. Then, you walk three feet to the exit where some poor bastard is standing by the door. As you make your way towards the exit, the greeter or whoever it is stops you by, asking to see your receipt.


Now, you have two options. You can drop your bags and dig around in your pockets for that receipt or you can say, “No thank you, and keep walking.” In either case, you may find yourself spending more time in the store than you planned.


So, what is it about a receipt checker that has all the net heads and geeks online so much in a tizzy? This is a hotly debated topic, well…at least over at the Consumerist where every other story is about someone being “detained” at a big box store like Walmart or Best Buy. After all, the ramifications are pretty low in comparison to what people think is one step away from having to carry papers like some Eastern Europe Cold War era country.


The idea behind checking of receipts is about theft and loss prevention. Although, a lot of places will tell you that it is a movement to ensure, you the consumer, are not ripped off on your purchases. Frankly, I don’t see how that works because I was already ripped off when I paid the prices I did for the items in my bags. But that it is another story about whether I should really keep shopping at stores that I feel are expensive. Yet, is there really any correlation between some Joe Schmoe who is being paid minimum wage to check my receipt and the total disintegration of the Constitution of the United States? No. This is about defiance of authority, rallying against corporate greed and just being a dick. But hey, I love doing all three when it suits me.


Frankly, I shop at Best Buy, pay for my items and then instinctively have my receipt at the ready when I leave. It’s almost Pavlovian conditioning when I see a yellow shirt at the door. Yellow shirt, receipt out and ready. Never did I imagine I could just say “No, Thank you” and be on my way. I never realized I was within my rights to refuse showing my receipt at a regular store. Now, I know full well when I go to Sam’s Club that I have to show my receipt when I leave. I signed up for that when I bought a membership there. But there is nothing that says I have to show my receipt to the yellow shirt at the door of a Best Buy. And even though affiliated with Sam’s Club, I am not obligated to show my receipt to the sleeveless smocked ones at the doors to Walmart. Actually, I’ve never had them check my receipt going out.


The short answer is the motto of the Greek Goddess Nike who says, “Just do it.” Who really cares? I don’t believe I’m surrendering any rights by doing so. But there are these fanatical constitutionalists who believe that receipt checking is one step away from putting up the Berlin Wall.


The long answer is that, sometimes, I just don’t feel like being a team player and hate these intrusive disruptions to my flow…sounds like a urologist needs to be called. People who have the sole job of keeping me from leaving some place are that much more the enemy. When I shop in the mall and that greasy guy at the kiosk tries to sell me crushed oyster pearl cream or a nail file made of diamonds or that stupid octopus thing that massages your head, I leap into action.  This just happened over the Christmas holiday.  He saw me moving quickly and actually ran, RAN, around the little cart and attempted to get between me and a store and said, “Sir, can I show you this…blah blah blah.” To which I said, “No, thank you” He then continued to press by saying, “Well, then can I ask you a question.?” To which I said, “Actually, no you cannot,” and went about my way.


These guys are ten times worse than any receipt checker, but it’s that running of interference when you are in motion that grinds my gears. I know the guy at the door of the big box store is just doing his job and nine times out of ten they really don’t even check the receipt so I could hold up one from another store. But every so often you get that one person drunk on authority, or as Cartman calls it, a-thor-it-tye. This is the a-hole that causes me to dig deep in my pocket and pull out a middle finger. This is the guy I am willing to go rounds with just because he shot first with a snotty attitude or look of entitlement. He is the one I will say, “No, Thank you,” to and hope he tries to get all super cop on me. Perhaps I will try it, once, just to see what happens. You will probably read all about it on the Consumerist….or the police blotter.

So, what are your thoughts on receipt checking? 

Merry Christmas To Me?

My issues with cars, good and bad, has nearly reached legendary status here on the blog. I’ve told you how I can pack nearly anything into a car, how much I loathe snow tires, how goofy electrical issues keep me up at night and how bad I have it with brakes, wheels and transmissions. I’ve also told you how Christmas can be very expensive to a car owner and that beings us up to date. Although, I expect each and every one of you to go back and read all those posts as a homework assignment. I’m kidding. You have far better things to read about, I’m sure. *sniff*

So, to summarily bring you up to speed, I used to drive a 97’ Chevy Cavalier, which I loved and then the head gasket blew in 2005. As my wife and I searched for a new car, I zeroed in on a 2005 Malibu Maxx. I drove it for two years until our daughter was born. I then handed over the keys [read: pried out of my hands] to her to have it as the Mom Mobile and began driving her 99’ Pontiac Sunfire. I drove that for two years in which time the transmission, gas gauge, air conditioning, brakes, rotors, exhaust and little volume knob on the radio broke or needed replaced. Each year instead of a car payment I put almost $500 into keeping it road worthy. Knowing full well that this car would not pass inspection at the end of the year I made the decision to start looking for a replacement.

Both my wife and I tend to differ on what is acceptable in price and features on most things including cars, vacation rentals and other things. Still, we work together well when it comes down to the important things like picking a color. I say that, lovingly, as my wife will be the enforcer and I can rely on her to help beat the sales person into submission, but she sometimes reveals too much when she walks in off the street. She’d make a great poker player, if the object was to show everyone your cards as soon as you get them. However, we did agree on one thing in our list of features we wanted in a new car, four cylinders.

That seems rather trivial but we have a V6 on the Maxx and it does eat a lot of gas, at least when she drives it. I can stretch a tank of gas on that thing to 300 miles and still have a quarter of a tank. She’s refilling at 220. But transmission speed aside, she kept telling me, “This is your car. You have to make the payment. It’s your decision.” Yet, every decision I made was met with criticism.

Let’s break down what I wanted on the new car.

Four Doors:
It’s nice to be able to get into the back seat of your own car without having to contort yourself into some weird position. There’s been a few times where I’ve had to grab the car seat from another car and put it into the back of the Pontiac and that is a pain in the ass. I’ve gone to pick my daughter up from being babysat with the Pontiac and she does most of the work getting into and out of the car seat because of how far it sits back from the door.

Four Cylinders:
I do a lot of back road driving on hills to get to work. A V6 is nice to have on those hills, but I only need 4 cylinders everywhere else. That being said, I shunned a lot of cheaper cars because of the size of the engine. 2.0 or better was what I wanted. This pissed me wife off as much as my insistence on 1080p vs. 720p when we shopped for an LCD HDTV. She doesn’t understand those things, she looks at the price.

Hatchback:
I love having the Maxx because it’s a wagon/hatchback. Even though, I’ve managed to fit a 32” television set into the back seat of the a coupe, it’s nice to have that hatch and fold down seats. When we were shopping for the Maxx, I looked at Cobalts and besides being over priced I did not like that the back seat did not fold down flat. I was able to fit a 7’ Christmas tree, still in the box, into the trunk and back seat of my Cavalier. The opening between the trunk and back seat and the angle of which the back seat pitched up when laid down would make it impossible. Now, my wife says this is unnecessary since we have the hatch on the Maxx. I told her, “No, you have the Maxx. I may need it when you are out.”

When we began looking for the car, the auto industry was floundering. I figured it was a good time to buy. I knew I had a good six months to really make a final decision but getting the sales team to sweat it out with me and bring down the bottom line was intriguing. Unfortunately, I just couldn’t pull the trigger on buying a new car. My wife wanted me to get used but at the time, I told her that used car prices were bloated because of the profit margins on them. The brand new vehicles eat into the overhead the longer they sit on the lot. I’d be willing to get a previous year model, brand new, over used vehicle because of the inflated prices. They only way I’d consider a pre-owned vehicle is if it had less than 15,000 miles per year since its production and was less than $15,000. My wife went with $10,000 but I told her that was too much to hope for.

With all those variables in mind I narrowed my choice down to a Top Four List of cars.

I started with the Kia Soul. Regardless of what others thought, I believed it to be a good car.
It had exactly what I wanted in features and I was really ready to loosen my grip on owning a GM vehicle. The Maxx and Sunfire has been hard on brakes, rotors, and other maintenance items that I never had to worry about before on the Cavalier. Being a new model for 2010, there was no way I was going to be able to negotiate pricing.

I then checked out the Scion XD. Scion seemed like a reliable manufacture because of them being part of Toyota. The pure pricing thing irks me because there is no haggle room. I’m sorry, but when they promote that as being beneficial to the customer, it’s really not. They say that because they can’t budge on pricing, you don’t have to worry about the dealer raking you over the coals on pricing and you can go to any dealer and get the same price. I say that it’s crap because then you get screwed on all the additional charges that dealers pad the bottom line with not to mention, I don’t believe that pure pricing addresses the true cost of the vehicle. The bar was set too high from the beginning. Even the used models are maybe a hundred dollars cheaper. Sorry, but where’s that standard 20% depreciation on a car after being driven off the lot? The XD get left for the XB once I sat in one. I nearly clunked my head on the XD but the price on the XB made it impossible to consider.

Chevy HHR was my silver bullet to all this. It had all the features and it was still a GM car which meant I could haggle over brand loyalty, use my GM card rewards, and take advantage of the GM financial issues to bring a new car down into my price range. I could never find one at a dealer. They are either that popular or nobody wants one on their lot. I did find a few used ones that I would have considered but never made it out to a dealer to talk before it was already bought.

Toyota Matrix was a pie in the sky dream that I could never have afforded, even used as most were only in my price range if they had close to 100,000 miles on them. People told me, “Well if you like the Matrix, buy a Pontiac Vibe. No chance. I don’t care how much crap you sling about the Vibe being built on a Matrix chassis. It’s still got Pontiac wiring and that transmission is suspect. In any case, the Vibe was way out of my price range as well. It was a fall back if all else failed.

I thought I’d never get a car at this rate and soon I began noticing that the Sunfire was leaking something. At first I thought the gas line had a hole in it because it always smelled like gas. Then, I noticed black puddles on the ground. I checked the oil and it was full. Someone suggested transmission fluid. Nope. Another suggested something from the head was leaking. The problems were mounting. Now, I couldn’t even start the car unless I turned the key, then stopped, pumped the gas pedal a couple of times and then tried the key again. And on top of all that, the muffler rusted out and the thing sounded awful.

My in-laws had just purchased a PT Cruiser and loved it. They got it used and relatively cheap with low mileage. I had not read anything good on the PT and it was just a little small in the front for my taste. That was another red x on the XD and Soul, the front ends were short and living in deer central, I didn’t want one to come through the dashboard by way of the grille. With only two weeks before the inspection was to run out I made a last ditch effort on searching for cars. It appeared as if the auto industry crisis was over since all the prices on cars were back up again and I missed out on the cash for clunkers deal because the Sunfire wasn’t eligible due to gas mileage. If I had tried to push back a decision and get the Pontiac inspected I would have ended up sinking a good $500 or more into it before the sticker could even go on the plate.

There was a used PT Cruiser at the same dealership my in-laws bought theirs. 2006 touring model with 37,000 miles on it for less than $11,000. I looked up the blue book value and it came back at $9700. I was ready to settle. I walked into the lot and started to make the deal. As we were walking back to the office my wife and I noticed a sharp white vehicle staring at us.

Buy Me

Now, I have no experience with brands outside of GM so I don’t know what is good and what is bad, but I’ve always thought that Mazda had a good reputation. Sitting here was a 2006, Mazda 5 Sport with 37,000 miles on it for a couple thousand more. We wanted to talk numbers before driving it. I managed to work the dealer down $1800 dollars with a trade on the Pontiac. Go figure. Who would have thought I could have gotten anything for that POS? Granted, I know I really got zero for the Pontiac and the dealer was being resistant about bringing down the price since my wife was willing to take the PT Cruiser one way or the other. Also, we came in looking for a small car and ended up being interested in a minivan. Actually, it made a lot of sense. With the Maxx only being a five door sedan we are limited in expanding the family anytime soon. Also, whenever we go anywhere with her parents, we have to take two vehicles to fit everyone. A minivan would solve the problem for awhile and then we could eventually replace the Malibu with a sedan.

After all was said and done we worked out the particulars and took the Mazda for a test drive. I liked it. It had plenty of room, being a six passenger vehicle. It was a four cylinder, hatch back, and both rear doors were sliding. The visibility in front was great. I didn’t like how low to ground it was as going over speed bumps was tense and I didn’t like how there was more wheel than tire on it. Still, it was acceptable and it only took my wife driving it to want it, too. We walked back in and made the deal. I was psyched. The weight of this decision had been bearing down on me for months. Having to drive that leaky, noisy, death trap around was almost unbearable. Finally, I was going to be able to tool around in a car less than ten years old that has a hatch back and four doors. Finally, my wife was on board with a car purchase and we agreed on everything. Finally, I was getting to drive what I want.

I am now the proud driver of a Malibu Maxx...again.

Yeah, I got played. Merry Christmas, honey. Enjoy it.

$9.99 For the Toilet Parts $150 For the ER Stay and X-Ray

My issues with home ownership are strewn all over the blog. Just look up the label and you’ll see them. Recently, we had issues with a toilet in our upstairs bathroom. I am by no means a plumber and have very little desire to be on my hands and knees in a cramped space with no room to work. However, the water just stopped flowing one night. The tank will eventually fill up over time but you have to schedule time in the bathroom over the period of the day or grab a jug and fill up the tank. Needless to say, I needed to get to work on it.

We thought the problem was originally because of my daughter, who is becoming more and more obstinate and independent. She is in potty training boot camp which usually consists of her wanting to use the bathroom usually before bath and bedtime. It used to be that she would walk into the bathroom, drop her drawers, and rip off her diaper like it was a parachute ripcord. I imagine the puffed out diaper deploying like the chute of a Looney Tunes character after the hapless cartoon animal hits the ground. Once de-pants she would saddle up to her potty, finish up, ask for paper and then wait for my wife or I to empty the contents into the toilet and then she would flush and close the lid. That was the case for about the first week. Come week two, we are using the potty as a step stool to sit on the insert that goes on the toilet seat. She is now in the minor leagues. Same protocol as before for cleaning up. Now, she wants to do it all by herself, without the insert, and content to just sit over the edge of the seat, teetering like Humpty Dumpty. If you try to get the insert or move the stool, she gets very upset to the point that she will toss the insert aside and move the stool back to its spot across the floor and move it back, all by herself. It’s safe to say the terrible twos are in full swing.

So, this week, after much debate and raised voices, she sat there and waved off my wife from trying to steady her and kerplunk she went into the bowl. That’s not why the toilet won’t flush but it occurred the same night. Turns out the fill valve in the tank is probably shot and needs replaced. Off to the evil blue store I go. I have no problem in admitting that I hate that big blue beacon of corporate retail. I lost some very good stores in my area thanks to it. It’s also creeping into my neighborhood in its attempt at global domination which will most likely increase traffic in an already burgeoning area, which is already congested and beyond road load capacity. Still, I was in need of parts and we were already near one.

My daughter, being little miss independent, doesn’t want to ride in a cart or hold your hand. We insist on it because, quite frankly, if my kid was going to get snatched up by some sicko, it would be here. However, she loves to go shopping and gets very haughty if we don’t all go in, if only for one item. My wife, on the other hand, can’t help but look at everything in the store, even though I have a specific item in mind and only plan on spending five minutes in the store. Can you tell I really did not want to be here? But, it was early in the evening and the thought of finishing up dinner, nightly chores and bath time before 9 PM was enticing enough to me to make the trip out. That’s usually when you find out that your night is going to turn out completely different.

Everything was pretty good up until checkout time. Yes, there was the embarrassing moment when walking through the bra isle, my daughter looked up and yelled “Booby Traps” loud enough that the couple in front of me turned to look and laugh at the comment and my blushing face. Still, for the most part she was being a pretty good girl. After switching guard detail a few times, it was my turn to hold her hand and my wife’s turn to push the cart. I informed my daughter that she had to hold my hand and could not let go. “Someone could take you,” I said. In my mind I remembered why they called the code for missing child Code*Adam. I remember growing up and watching the movie Adam on television. Mostly, I wanted to see it because at the age of seven, I watched Hill Street Blues and knew that Captain Furillo was playing John Walsh. Not knowing that this movie was based on a real story and after the fact, I kept waiting for them to find little Adam Walsh alive. It was the first time in my life I realized that kids were not indestructible and could be hurt and even killed. I suddenly realized that I am mortal and have an expiration date. As my thoughts from little Adam Walsh turned back to the little girl holding my hand, it happened.

It was all so fast. Her independence got the better of her and she tried to pull her hand away from mine. When she couldn’t succeed and started to spin around I knew that I was going to have to pick her up and carry her, cries for freedom be damned. Before I could bend down to pick her up she decided that her best course of action was to drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes. That’s when I felt the pop. She started to cry. Usually, when she doesn’t get her way, she cries. But it’s the cry without tears, the one for effect. The drama queen takes center stage and wants her way, announcing, “I do it myself.” But that didn’t happen here. After the pop, she immediately cried with real tears and grabbed her arm. At first, I didn’t think anything of it and picked her up. But the fact that she didn’t calm down made me wonder. Was she really putting on the act or was there something else. I set her down and she continued to cry, clutching her arm. Soon, my heart sank. She was wearing a coat and sweatshirt so I couldn’t a good look at her arm. It didn’t feel like anything was wrong and I kept squeezing little bits up and down to see if I could notice anything. Then I thought I was making it worse.

I tried to soothe her and get her arm out of the coat and sweatshirt to make sure my fears were unfounded. There was no sign of anything wrong, yet she continued to cry and clutch at it. That’s when it became worse. I asked her what happened and she looked at me, with those big puffy, teary and reddened eyes and said, “Daddy hurt me.” I wanted to throw up right there. I’m standing in the middle of the store with my kid, clutching her arm, declaring that her father hurt her. Immediately I felt my ears burn and the daggers of a hundred eyes piercing my body. I was that guy. I was the guy that beat his kid. It didn’t matter that I didn’t do it. I was merely holding her hand and she dropped to the ground. Perception is reality and in this day and age, when it comes to kids I am guilty until proven culpable.

Think of this. Twenty years ago, if you were to get on a plane and sit next to a passenger wearing a head wrap, what would you think? Nothing. But sit next to that same person after 9/11 and what do you think? I don’t care if you are the most objective and unbiased person in the world. You will ultimately profile that person as a terrorist, if only for a second. This is what we have become as a society and sometimes we need to be that observant. Other times we jump to conclusions and assume the worst of a person. Remember Henry Louis Gates, Jr.? Exactly. Here I was, a grown man, standing in the store holding his crying kid who just declared that her Daddy hurt her. I felt guilty. I informed my wife and headed to the car as she finished up in the checkout. She was livid. The first thing she said was, “What did you do?” I felt ashamed, sickened, and responsible. I explained what happened as we drove to the ER.

We checked her in and those stares, albeit in my mind, persisted. We headed back to a cubicle and the doctor came in to look at her. My daughter, crying more than I had ever heard her cry was being poked and prodded. My looked at me and this same grown man was reduced to a quivering ball of goo. My eyes, beet red and swelled up, dripped profusely. The sight of my little girl being in pain is hard enough, but to think that I broke her arm made me lose it, completely. I was waiting for a police officer to come in and separate me from my family. I was thinking that I was going to be in so much trouble. I felt guilty.

I stayed towards the back of the cubicle, trying to compose myself. I realize that my daughter’s fears and pain were exacerbated by my appearance and I needed to pull myself together. My wife was in charge of her at this point. I could hear the various voices through the ones in my head. “All better now. It’s fixed.” If it was, why is she still crying and not using her arm. The staff asked me repeatedly what had happened and in every instance I was told the following things, “It’s common”, “It’s nothing serious” and “It’s easy to fix” Ok, then why is she still crying. Why am I?

Soon, the crying stopped and she was clutching a Popsicle, the purple juice flowing down her tear streaked chin and onto her shirt. She still didn’t move her arm and touching it set her off on another cry. The doctor brought stickers and asked her to grab them. She was holding the Popsicle with her good arm and wouldn’t relinquish it. “It’s like a big ice cube,” she said. When asked to use her other arm to take the stickers she said, “No, thank you.” Another member of the staff asked her how old she was, hoping she would use her affected arm to indicate the peace sign that also meant two. “I’m a big girl,” she said. My kid is way too smart for you people, I thought. My wife even stuck the stickers on her unaffected shoulder, thinking she would use the other hand to grab them. She loves stickers, but would not budge, instead using her same hand to reach up onto that shoulder to grab the sticker, letting her hurt one dangle. In a last ditch effort we put the stickers on the bed and expected her to use both hands to peel them off the sheet. Nope, after she did not get any help from us, she used her teeth to hold the sheet and peeled away.

The doctor said he heard the pop and said it should be OK. He said that she would forget that it was hurt and use it again, but after an hour of being touchy about it, he suggested an X-Ray. The X-Ray technician was a friendly face. She was the parents of two of my wife’s piano students and knew us enough to know that we would never do anything to hurt our kid. Finally, I could relax a little because she looked at me and knew how I felt and reassured me that I did nothing wrong. Coming from her, I believed it.

The pictures came back fine, but they wouldn’t release her until she used that arm, much to her resistance. The doctor took one last look, bending and turning the arm, causing my daughter to write in pain and tears. Then, almost instantly, she rolled over on the bed, pulling the hurt arm away from him and supported her weight on it. He looked at me, smiling in a sarcastic way, “It’s a miracle.” Usually, an attitude like that was uncalled for, but I knew he was referring to her being alright and only crying for effect. Once again, perception is reality. We were cleared to take her home.

The official word was a new one for my vocabulary. Radial head subluxation or nurse maid’s elbow. Basically, all those times your parents said they were going to pull your arm out of its socket for being bad was not just an urban legend. I still felt like such an asshat for letting it happen. By the time we got home, the little one was laughing and playing and using her arm like nothing happened. We got ready for bed and she sat on the edge of the toilet, teetering again, but letting me steady her. I told her I loved her and that I was sorry. She said, “It’s OK. Sometimes, I get a boo boo.” At last, my heart went back into my chest. I no longer felt like some monster. She wasn’t crying at me and saying I hurt her, anymore. I understand that I have a temper. I see it in my kid. On her good days, she is the best of what make up myself and my wife. On her bad days, she’s the worst of us. So, I see how I am when it comes to temper. My wife used to say I was the most patient person in the world. Parenthood wiped that out and it fluctuates. I need to learn to calm down and relax and this whole incident was proof. I am, what the name implies, Mongo. I have all the dexterity of an oven mitt and am clumsy to boot. I break shovels and rakes just but doing basic yard work. Ask my family, my brother had no good toys left because I broke them all.

So, to think that Mongo broke his kid’s arm, accidental or otherwise is a bit of a wakeup call. I need to relearn that bit of patience my wife used to think I had. Now, in this case, it was totally a fluke but my wife knows how I am. Even with all the medical professionals around telling us that this was a common thing and that I didn’t hurt her, she still had that look in her eye. “Mongo strikes again.” Of course, I didn’t help with my breakdown. But at least my kid is OK and she loves her Daddy again. After she said that , I told her, “That’s why you have to hold Mommy and Daddy’s hand and not let go. And even if you want to, you can’t just drop to the floor like that because you can get hurt.” She looked at me and said, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” She then finished brushing her teeth and we were off to bed. Then I went back into the bathroom and used a gallon jug to flush the toilet. Perhaps tomorrow, I can get that fixed, without another trip to the hospital.

I told her, “That’s why you have to hold Mommy and Daddy’s hand and not let go. And even if you want to, you can’t just drop to the floor like that because you can get hurt.” She looked at me and said, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” She then finished brushing her teeth and we were off to bed. Then I went back into the bathroom and used a gallon jug to flush the toilet. Perhaps tomorrow, I can get that fixed, without another trip to the hospital.

Prices Might Be Cheaper Now Than On Black Friday

This information is based on one example and current to 11/03/2009.

I get regular email alerts from Black Friday.Info on sale ads for the coming holiday season and with Halloween over, the frequency of alerts is starting to increase. Since I am always in the market for a cheap deal on anything from a good power tool to a man cave LCD HDTV I thought I would check out what was recently posted for Sears.

If you scroll down to teh television section you will see that BlackFriday.Info lists the Sony Bravia 46" LCD HDTV Model # KDL46V5100 at $1239.99 for Black Friday, which for any of you in a coma is the day after Thanksgiving. Just thought I’d clarify for those playing at home. Now, the description of the television is hyperlinked so if you click on it you get redirected to the product on Sears' website. Because of the sale, you have to click on Add to Cart to see the price. Once you do that you'll see that the television is listed at $1039.99, discounted down from $1599.99 through 11/07/09. If you think that's cool, go to MySimon and do a search on the model number and you can find it $40 cheaper on JR through 11/06/2009 with rebate.

So, what does this mean? For the frugal shopper, it can mean a great deal. If you always wanted to see what the hype was about when it comes to getting up at 4 AM for door buster prices and the random trampling of grandmas in order to snag that cheap DVD player you might want to consider staying in bed and working off that tryptophan kick.

Do some research on Black Friday sales and even subscribe to some alerts if your inbox can handle it. Make up your list, check the sale price for Black Friday against the current price of those big ticket items you think will be drastically discounted during the sale. Also check at different retailers and places that do the work for you like My Simon. You might just find that it’s on sale now for even less. The difference alone between the sale price now and the sale price on Black Friday is $200. Just think what you could spend that extra $200 on between now and Christmas. With the economy like it is, every little bit helps.

The Decay of America: The Shopping Mall Disappears

The Shopping Mall. It was once a Mecca for teenage loitering. The environment hosted a sensory smorgasbord ranging from the smell of pizza in the food court, to the sound of the games in the arcade, as well as the sight of people lugging store named bags all over the place, while precariously balancing an Orange Julius in one hand. It’s an environment steeped in Americana and has even been the subject of movies like Dawn of the Dead, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Mallrats, even the low rated 80s flick, Chopping Mall. However, today, the Great American Shopping Mall is in decline, slowly disappearing from the landscape due to a economic downturn. Additionally, the advent of online shopping, as a way to beat the masses and save on gas and stress, has also led to a reduced need to "Go to the mall". The Shopping Mall might very well become the steel mills of this generation, standing empty and useless.

From my perspective the mall had been a fixture in my childhood and young adulthood. Today, the thought of going to the mall causes my brow to sweat at the notion of looking for a place to park. Once you park out in BFE, then you have to fight with what crowd there is inside. I once dated a girl who had the idea that mall hallways should be treated like roads in America, walking on the right side of the hallway. Slower moving patrons should keep to the store side of the hall allowing faster patrons to pass by, without slowing down, on the left. And there was no stopping, ever, in the middle of the hallway. You pulled to the side, like on a road. Unfortunately, no one ever adopted her logic and she became frustrated quite easily.

Besides the dumbfounded patrons who tend to stop and adjust their purchases without signaling, there are the proprietors to cause you angst. Kiosks dot the hall way like bumpers in a pinball machine selling everything from jewelry to phones to weird creams and metal spider things that massage your head. Sales people, usually of foreign background, jump out of the flora to assault you with their wares, trying to draw you in to their world of crap products. These shops are like the spam of the mall, constantly invading the inbox of your personal space.

Nowadays, a trip through the mall is like going down the roads of a rust belt town. The large caged doors firmly in place of a defunct store, a victim of its own niche market. The specialty stores suffer as people aren’t willing to spend exorbitant amounts of money on luxury items that offer only one feature and take up space on your counter top or clog your cupboards alongside the donut , quesadilla, and popcorn maker. The National Record Marts are as dead as their namesake medium along with stores like Sam Goody and Camelot, replaced by a few larger CD retailers, Amazon.com and iTunes.

Whether the big name retailers like Best Buy and Wal Mart led to the Shopping Mall’s initial decline is up to the business experts, but having the ability to do all of your shopping in one store erases the need to navigate the crowded mall ways. Indeed, a single store eliminates the need to try and compete with that obtuse person who fails to recognize your presence, taking up all of the available sight lines at the mall directory. It’s hard enough to locate the one sliver of color coded store you need on the map without having to see around corners because of the opaque mass of flesh blocking the names of the stores that go along with the number you’ve just committed to memory.

Growing up though, was a different story. Perhaps the obsession with the mall is a generational one. As a young Mongo, we very rarely went to a large mall in our area, opting for the more quaint and backwards environment of the now defunct Laurel Mall in Dunbar Township, PA. Flanking the mall’s ends were Ames, formerly Murphy’s and Montgomery Ward. Clothes from either of these stores would get you browbeaten by the wealthier and more socially accepted kids at school. After all, we all used to call Montgomery Ward, Monkey Ward.

A distinct Laural Mall memory was the coin operated attractions. The rocket ship and cars were mainstays outside the stores, while inside, a small castle turret stood like a rook on a chess board offering tales to tykes for a quarter. Oddly enough, such a medieval setting and nature was all delivered via a fluorescent telephone handset that kids held with as much excitement as if they were being told they won a radio sweepstakes. A small game room and pizza shop offered the youth of Fayette County a place to hang along with a small theater in the back. A Burger King at the far end of the parking lot offered up a more franchised eating experience. Today, the Laurel Mall is home to Pechins, a local shopping center legend that used to exist as a village of shanty town style buildings in nearby Dunbar, PA

If we were lucky, we ventured out into the great wide open and headed to Uniontown Mall, off Route 40 in Uniontown. You could easily sit Laurel Mall within the confines of Uniontown Mall as it dwarfed the smaller mall in size and store offering. A larger, more sophisticated theater sit almost dead center of the structure while stores like GeeBees, Sears, Hess’s, Bon-Ton, and J.C. Penney all shared the landscape of department stores at one time or another. One thing I distinctly remember about GeeBees was having to pay a dime to use the restroom. Could you imagine that scenario now?

In the early 90s, there was a larger more sophisticated game room and an actual food court available, instead of just a small pizza shop tucked into one area or a pharmacy with a café that never looked open, ever. Many a quarter was sunk into games there as I tried to get to the next checkpoint in OutRun.

During the holidays we were often teased with the proposition of going to the Uniontown Mall but were content at shopping at nearby Hills Department Store, because after all, Hills is where the toys are…were. If we did get rewarded with a trip to the Uniontown Mall, you could see a giant animatronic reindeer towering over the hallway. It would spring to life and talk to passersby. Kids fled screaming in all directions as they just weren’t ready to make the transition from friendly, inanimate, castle turret spinning fairy tales to giant reindeer coming out of a gift box.

In the opposite direction from our home, even more Shopping Mall offerings were to be found. In the nearby city of Greensburg, Greengate Mall stood like a stained glass window, offering a picturesque look into an forgotten time called…the 60s and 70s. Anchor Stores like J.C. Penney featured a retro looking marquee that was originally used by the company until 1971. Additionally, one could either gamble at Ladbrokes or go to the detached set of ancillary buildings in the back. You could either dance the night away at a night club or see one of three movies at the cinema next door.

In the mid 90s, Ladbrokes was redone as another night club called Twilight Zone and it suffered through many problems, including fights and other violence. Eventually, the mall became vacant and stood that way until 2003 when it was bought and demolished making way for the new home of….Wal Mart and a host of other strip mall stores and eateries such as Smokey Bones, Red Robin, Chili’s, Stake and Shake, Starbucks, and Panera.

Westmoreland Mall was quite a different story as it continues to change and thrive on the opposite edge of Greensburg. As a small child, I once made the trip to the mall and saw the coolest thing, a glass elevator. I thought of myself as Charlie Bucket taking a trip in the Wonkavator. A small boat with a large spinnaker sail extended up the side of the elevator into the glass ceiling of the mall crossroads. At the time, Westmoreland Mall had three arms reaching out from the center courtyard into anchor stores Sears, Bon-Ton and Macy’s (Which used to be Kaufmann’s prior to being bought). In 1993, a major expansion began that extended the fourth arm towards the front adding a food court as well as J.C. Penney, which had relocated from Greengate Mall. I remember going to Westmoreland Mall more as a I grew up and would often make the rounds during the holidays for Christmas Shopping. Heading into my adolescent years, I felt the need to break ranks with my Mother, so that I could walk around and try to look cool. I’d hang out in Tilt, the arcade, gawking at the for sale signs on the coin operated games. I openly wished that I could add that to my Christmas list. After meeting back up with my Mom, we’d share a burger at the food court before going home.

Now, if we were really lucky, we’d head towards Pittsburgh, the Times Square of Shopping Mall mania. Monroeville Mall was a seldom seen destination, but a highly anticipated one. It boasted a slew of stores and even included an ice rink. The remnants of this rink can still be seen in George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead, Monroeville Mall’s biggest claim to fame. The ice rink was also featured in Flashdance as well. The rink was eventually replaced with a food court.

In fact, the mall itself has little resemblance to the mall in the 70s zombie flick. Vast renovations took place beginning in the late 90s. A movie theater situated on the far right end was made into a Best Buy, while the front of the mall now juts out into the parking lot adding additional satellite stores and restaurants in a section called The District. Inside, an complete overhaul of cosmetic changes tried to update the atmosphere which suffered from bad publicity in the 90s due to gang violence, sparking memories of a climactic scene in Dawn of the Dead where a biker gang attempts to take over the mall allowing zombies to flood in and dismantle their ranks. Zombie Walks still occur at the mall, occasionally.

At the other end of Pittsburgh in Pleasant Hills stands Century III Mall, considered the pinnacle of malls in the area with three, count them three levels to quell your shopping demons. To make it to Century III Mall was considered a real treat as it happened to be the furthest away from our home. We had to travel the back roads of Fayette County until we reached Route 51 North, which took us through Perryopolis, Glass Port and Elizabeth to this giant compound on the hill.

Century III was the third largest enclosed shopping mall in the world when it opened on the ruins of an industrial area owned by U.S. Steel in 1979. The mall was amazing, from the perspective a little Mongo, as huge vaulted ceiling areas shot straight up into the sky and ramps ran every which way from its anchor stores like Lazarus, Sears, and Macy’s. Former anchors consisted of Kaufmann’s which became Macy’s, Gimbel’s became the now defunct Wickes Furniture as well as TJ Maxx and Horne’s which became the also defunct Lazarus.

A set of steps off the main area of the mall ducked down into a cobblestone walkway with a Pittsburgh themed sportswear shop and specialized Cutlery Store. I often wondered who would actually buy the large saber that sat above the store of the Cutlery Shop. An additional treat in this little area was a Gloria Jean's coffee shop. Years before Starbucks proliferated the Southwestern Pennsylvania landscape, this shop gave you a taste of premium coffees and chocolates. Additionally, other niche stores like the San Francisco Music Box Company and Glamour Shots offered more specialized gifts and services.

At the turn of the century, the mall suffered a major decline as the nearby city of Homestead developed The Waterfront shopping plaza, also a former U.S. Steel location. The Waterfront offered a shopping environment like no other in the area, unless you travelled to the Grove City Outlets, a couple hours away. Also, the continued worsening of the economy has now placed Century III Mall on an endangered list of malls by U.S. News and World Report.

Beyond the ones I’ve recalled here, there exists other shopping malls in the area. Some I’ve been to only once or twice. Some I have never seen. Among the notable ones are Ross Park Mall, South Hills Mall, Waterworks Mall, The Pittsburgh Mills, The Mall at Robinson, and there is even a mall in Pittsburgh International Airport called The AirMall.

As America reshapes itself to handle the winds of change in the 21st Century, we unfortunately have to sacrifice some current landscape. As we see a trend towards the Dead Mall we must remember that not everything in life endures like our memories. For me, sitting at a café inside McCrory’s at Uniontown Mall and having ice cream will always be a fond memory. I will also remember the time, at Century III Mall, when I bought three winning PA Lottery Scratch Tickets in a row. The least was for a free ticket which led to the largest amount won, $20.

These images will be forever burned in my mind along with the faint smell of an Auntie Anne’s Glazin’ Raisin Pretzel and the familiar sound a GORF machine would make in the arcade. I can always look back in time at that awkward teen, waiting for the perfect moment of anonymity to go and gawk at the half naked women in the car posters at the back of the Spencer's Gifts, and laugh at how sly he thought he was. I can still remember the taste of samples I would get at the Hickory Farms kiosk and the gigantic chocolate chip cookies that made the trip worthwhile.

Yet, I still cringe every time I get the notion to venture out to the mall because, invariably, there will be a bunch of kids hanging out in the food court being…kids…and taking up walking space. It’s all a part of growing up I guess. It’s that part of America, with the metal cage door hanging just a foot below the ceiling, that tells you that it’s almost time to close down this part of history and move onto the next one. And it's all done to the soft sounds of Kenny G.

Piss On LEGO

Ok, perhaps you’ve been wondering what the hell this post is all about? Perhaps not. Some might have come here thinking they’ve stumbled onto a fan page for Mega Bloks intending to diss LEGO.

Nope, this is just me turning over the blogging reins to the man who begat Mongo in order to share a Christmas tale of woe from the perspective of a Father who shops on Christmas Eve, or as the holiday is officially known in my family as Piss On LEGO day. I could try to give you an explanation but it just wouldn’t be as good. I think I’ve mentioned on more than one occasion that I love a good story. In fact, I’ve used that same line in both The Coffin Story and The Baseball Story. What can I say, I come from a long line of storytellers. You see, my Father has the ability to spin and weave a beautiful tapestry of details and facts with enough gravitas to make Morgan Freeman wish he could narrate it. Then, he yanks the rug out from under you with a punch line that you never see coming. The man is that good. So, for me to try and recreate the story of Piss On LEGO would be like having Britney Spears recite Shakespeare. I wouldn’t let here read Dr. Seuss. Now, occasionally, I may bust in with a footnote or some exposition to highlight the details but in order to not detract from the flow, I will add a note and the bottom of the page will reference those. Now, without further ado, I give you the origin of Piss On LEGO.

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away¹, two brothers would go Christmas Shopping. Only one of the brothers had children at the time, and the other brother would go along for moral support, and to drink beer at Bud's² later.

It was a very difficult task for the older brother to purchase gifts of a quality suitable for the wonderful, highly intelligent, and generally superior children that he had begat.³ It came to pass that on a cold and snowy evening late in December the two Brothers odyssey came to a crucial impasse at the Ames store at the Uniontown Fayette Plaza⁴. Having not yet found the suitable gifts that his children deserved, the dejected Father walked up and down the aisles searching for his elusive quarry.⁵

In utter and abject futility, the hapless Father cried out, " I just don't know what to get those kids for Christmas" The younger brother, ever helpful said "Why not get them LEGO"? The older Brother, without thinking, and not realizing that he would be coining a phrase that would live through the ages, said "Aw, Piss on LEGO" and from that moment on, every Christmas shopping trip became a mission to Piss On LEGO.⁶

1. Ok, I realize that it didn’t take long for me to have ruined the flow, but I had to jump in here and point out that Dad is partially the reason I’m so warped. After all, when you can recite the Dead Parrot Sketch before you learn the pledge of allegiance you’re doomed for life. In any case, opening with Star Wars just goes to show where I get it.

2. Bud’s is a local pizza and beer joint in my hometown. If you are very familiar with the Pittsburgh area, you’ll know what a Vinnie Pie is. Bud’s is the equivalent, save for the cigarette ash. Either way, you could take the empty box home and lube up a Ferrari with it.

3. That’s a pretty bold statement. Between my brother, my sister, and myself, I’d say we were more enthralled with the boxes toys came in then the actual toy. In fact, pretty much every toy we got, that had internal parts, was disassembled by my brother and rebuilt with more power. Of course, I ended up breaking them soon afterwards.

4. Now, for the sake of authenticity, it is very possible that my Dad meant Hills. I could be wrong. I’m a little fuzzy on the geography of the Uniontown Fayette Plaza circa 1979-1984. I was only aware of Hills being the major store there at such a young age.

5. Well, it was Christmas Eve. What would one expect? We’re lucky we didn’t end up with the Alex P. Keaton Christmas Gift Extravaganza consisting of Beef Jerky and a TV Guide from 7-Eleven.

6. I can’t make this stuff up. This is really what he calls Christmas shopping. I don’t know if he still waits until Christmas Eve to do it, but for the longest time this was the running gag.