The Shuffler

The Smoking Gun

Earth Below Us

Banned in the USA

Three Times Seven Is 21

Would It Be There Forever?

There's Still Time For You

Sometimes it Snows in April or "Oh, Fuck"

It's only a matter of time before The Angry Drunk Bureaucrat wakes up now.

MS. MON HAS A MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE: SHE IS GOING TO START BLOGGING

On the advent of the fourth anniversary of her blog, Ms. Adventures on the Mon, and much consideration, Ms. Mon has decided that she is going to start blogging.

In order to do that, we are all going to need to summon our suspension of disbelief.

So let's just pretend all of these previous posts (all four years' worth) never happened, and start over, OK?

WE ARE STILL WAVERING BETWEEN QUITTING QUITTING BLOGGING AND JUST QUITTING BLOGGING; QUITTING QUITTING QUITTING BLOGGING ALSO OPTION

WE NOW INTERRUPT MS. MON QUITTING QUITTING BLOGGING FOR THIS URGENT WEATHER BULLETIN

It is snowing.

MS. MON ANNOUNCES SHE IS QUITTING QUITTING BLOGGING

Dear fans,

I've been thinking. Again. After the overwhelming response from my Aunts and Uncles yesterday -- and Sherry -- I have been in emotional turmoil for oh, at least 15 hours, and I think I need to take a step back from this whole "quitting blogging" gig and take a much-needed reprieve.

I never expected that quitting blogging would be so exhausting. But alas, I found myself unable to sleep last night, in the throes of epistolary angst, as I formed this letter in my head to you, which I am now typing.

So, I have decided to quit quitting. In other words, I'm still quitting, but I'm quitting quitting. For now.

Are you following? I know, I had trouble with it, too.

Let me explain it to you more clearly. Because I ran out of things to say, I quit blogging. Well, sort of. But now that I am running out of things to say about quitting, I need to quit quitting, and since two negatives make a positive, it means I'm not quitting. Just yet.

Because even though I don't have anything left to say, and I'm done. With this. (And don't forget about the big void in the universe part!) OK. Just kidding. I mean, while one might not have anything to left to say and find themselves in the position of quitting blogging, there is much to say about NOT blogging anymore.

And, if we were to take that a step further, we could posit, if there is so much to say about NOT blogging, how much out there hasn't been said yet about NOT NOT blogging? The possibilities are exponential.

It does indeed, boggle -- or bloggle, if you will (tee hee) -- the mind.

So, for now, I must go think. Nap. Maybe catch a movie.

Love Always,
Ms. Mon

A FINAL FAREWELL: MS. MON IS CLOSING UP SHOP

How many ways can one say goodbye?

Many, actually. And until I've exhausted every single one of them, I'm not going to be satisfied.

Forget what I said yesterday. I'm not quitting blogging because of a broken heart.

And forget what I said the day before. What did I say the day before?

The point is, I am quitting blogging.

Forever.

But it's Wednesday, and I have like, a gazillion things to do, so I'm going to have to finish quitting tomorrow.

Hope you have a great Wednesday! See you tomorrow! I'm quitting blogging!

MS. MON'S AUNTS AND UNCLES TURN OUT EN MASSE TO IMPLORE HER TO CONTINUE BLOGGING

PITTSBURGH, Pa. -- This morning, as Ms. Mon was retrieving her Pittsburgh Post-Gazette print edition from the sullied snow pile in her dormant flower bed next to her driveway, she looked up to see members of her extended family -- peculiarly, only aunts and uncles, no grandparents or cousins -- gathered in front of her home, engaged in thunderous applause.

At first, she thought it was because they were glad to see her finally emerge from her home, stately Grayson Manor. (She did not see her shadow, by the way.)

But then, Uncle Harry, never one to hold back his emotions (and made infamous in her holiday tune, "Harry, The Red-Nosed Mickey," in which she sang of his predilection for eggnog and ensuing uncomfortable family moments) shouted, "You can't quit us now. You must go on. You must blog."

Dee Thompson from WPXI, despite his retirement, was the only reporter present because he is the only reporter awake at 5 a.m., and asked Ms. Mon, now consumed in an utterly fake shower of tears, to describe her reaction.

"Well, Dee. Seriously man, I was only toying with the idea of quitting. The whole quitting thing was pretty noncommittal, if you read between the lines. In fact, I still haven't made up my mind. I'm leaning towards just renaming it," said the beslippered Ms. Mon.

It was estimated that approximately 500 aunts and uncles were present, from parts of the world as far away as Steubenville, Ohio.

"I'm very touched by your show of support," Ms. Mon told the crowd, and she coincidentally adjusted her girdle.

"But I really need a cup of coffee before I can deal with this. And Aunt Miriam, when did you become Aunt Mark?"

Ms. Mon then politely excused herself and went to make coffee and get dressed, it is presumed.

Bram Reichbaum, another Pittsburgh blogger who recently went into "unexplained" retirement, was believed to have been heard, in a somewhat muffled and angst-filled cry that seemed to be coming from Ms. Mon's car: "Please let me out of the trunk now!"

GOODBYE. AGAIN.

Left: Even a hero couldn't save Ms. Mon

I was thinking.

You really only get one chance to retire from blogging.

So why not make sure you've purged every possible emotion from your being before you move on? I mean, what's the hurry?

What if I wrote this up like it were an obituary? Just for fun and all? I know. I was thinking the same thing. Abso-friggin'-lutely! The real reason Ms. Mon is quitting is because she has a broken heart. So forget everything I said yesterday.

Ms. Mon
March 6, 2006 - February 12, 2010

If only she could have lived those last few weeks to make it to her four-year-anniversary. But that's how things went for her. Always a day early (if she could even remember when she was supposed to be there, and where ought she to be?) and a two cents too much (with all due respect to Lawrence Welk).

Ms. Mon, prominent blogger for Ms. Adventures on the Mon, died last night from complications of losing her soul mate. She was 35 years old. Soft-spoken and obsessive, Ms. Mon never looked the part of a hopeless romantic. But, in the final days of her life, she revealed an unknown side of her psyche. This hidden quasi-Jungian persona surfaced during the Agatha Christie-like pursuit of her long reputed soul mate, a man whom she only spent a few precious hours with. Sadly, the protracted search ended early Thursday morning in complete and utter failure. Yet even in certain defeat, the courageous Ms. Mon secretly clung to the belief that life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. Uh-uh. But rather, it's a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan. Asked about the loss of his dear friend, Chris Potter, award-winning writer, office lothario and editor of Pittsburgh City Paper, described Ms. Mon as a changed woman in the last days of her life. "Things were clearer for her," Potter noted. Ultimately Ms. Mon concluded that if we are to live life in harmony with the universe, we must all possess a powerful faith in what the ancients used to call "fatum", what we currently refer to as destiny.

MS. MON IS REALLY FINISHED TODAY. FOR WAY REAL.

OK. I'm back. There were a few more things I needed to get off my chest.

I know that recently I suggested/hinted/tossed about the idea of quitting blogging forever. But today, I mean it. I am quitting blogging. Exiting stage left. Turning in the Terrible Towel. Giving up the ghost. Boo! Did I scare you? Good.

I was thinking that before I exit stage left, more time needs to be devoted to the rumination of my self-annihilation, and it would be cathartic for us all to pull up a Pittsburgh Parking Chair, sit back, relax (maybe get a massage?) and engage in some gentle discourse.

Please Discuss.

Now that we've all introduced ourselves, I want to share with you the reason I must quit blogging. (Did I mention forever, by the way? I just want to be 100% certain my point is coming across. I'm quitting blogging. For good people. For. Good.)

You see, people have been cyberstalking me. Trying to figure out who I am, and the thing is, I don't want you to know that I'm Frances Sansig Monahan. It would ruin me. It would ruin the integrity of my blog. It would ruin the mystique. The fun. The je ne sais quois.

We don't want that to happen. So I can't let you know I'm Frances Sansig Monahan. Or Frances Monahan if you don't feel like typing out three names. (And who could blame you? Damn feminists. I wonder if anybody's ever studied their contribution to carpal tunnel syndrome.)

So yeah. Some real idiots have had the audacity (because-I'm-so-special-and-my-identity-is-so-sacred-that-I'm-willing-to-have-lunch-with-every-editor-in-town -- OK, that part's real -- as long as you're payin') to threaten to reveal who I am. And I can't let that happen. If you find out I'm Frances Monahan, then you know, things will be different.

Kind of like when Ellen came out of the closet? Remember -- it stalled her career a bit. But man, did she return big time. Funny lady, that Ellen.

So anyway, I want you to know that others spoiled the fun. I'd tell you about them, but I don't want you to hate them or draw more attention to myself. For example, there was this guy, see, and he was real close to telling you that I'm Frances Monahan, and I just couldn't let that happen. (That's Frances with an e, by the way -- not an i. People always misspell it and it drives me bonkers. So remember, e = feminine spelling, i = masculine. Got that? Good. So that's F-R-A-N-C-E-S. Also, there are two common spellings of my last name. Mine is sans the "g." So that's M-O-N-A-H-A-N. Not Monaghan.)

What a turd, huh? I mean, how dare someone try to figure out who I am. I mean, I'm only telling them EVERYTHING ABOUT ME EVERY DAY AND MY FAMILY AND TAKING PICTURES OF MY SURROUNDINGS.

(Wow. Do you know how tough this is for me to find all these words, considering I have nothing left to say? I'm diggin' deep man. For you, my faithful readers. And the ones who haven't been so faithful. See you Saturday, by the way. Your wife's out of town this weekend, right?)

Yeah. It takes a lot of freaking balls to put two and two together, when they're being handed to you on a silver platter. The last thing I ever wanted to happen was for you to find out I'm Frances Monahan. But I do want you to know that I'm never blogging again.

I'm really, really, really never posting another thing on this blog.

Tear-stained letters have already started to trickle in, and I know how sad you are. On the verge of depression, I imagine. I mean, let's think about it. Here I am, running this fantastic blog that maybe 100 people a day read, and then poof! like that, it's gone. You will be angry first, then sad, then the acceptance will begin to take hold. I am asking you, as my solid fans, to just start accepting now. Skip the anger, the sadness and the gamut of emotions you may be inclined to experience and just accept.

Accept.

Because Frances Monahan is never blogging again.

Sniff.

I mean it. Ms. Mon aka Frances Monahan is through.

Please, your pleas are worthless. I'm done.

With this.

UP-TO-THE-MINUTE COVERAGE OF BLIZZARDBURGH: UNCONFIRMED REPORTS OF THE FIRST CASUALTY HAVE BEEN DISCLOSED TO THIS NEWS SOURCE

ONLY ON MS. ADVENTURES ON THE MON! WE HAVE EARLY REPORTS THAT THE FIRST CASUALTY OF WHAT WILL SURELY COME TO BE KNOWN AS THE "GREAT BLIZZARD OF TWENTY-TEN" MAY HAVE BEEN A MEMBER OF THE MEDIA ... THEY HAVE NOT BEEN CONFIRMED ... AGAIN, THIS IS ONLY SPECULATION ... BUT IT APPEARS THAT BLOGGER MS. MON WAS ENSNARED IN A RUNAWAY ROLL OF CHARMIN AS SHE WAS EXITING THE BRENTWOOD GIANT EAGLE, AND SUBSEQUENTLY TRIPPED AND FELL INTO THE PATH OF AN ONCOMING TASTYKAKE TRUCK ... A WITNESS TOLD US THAT ALL THAT REMAINED INTACT WAS MS. MON'S SHOCK OF BLOND HAIR -- "IT WAS IRONIC," SAID THE SHOPPER, "SINCE I KNEW HER AND THAT WAS THE ONE THING ABOUT HER THAT WAS NEVER INTACT" ... SHE IS IN CRITICAL CONDITION ... WE THINK ... BUT WE REALLY DON'T KNOW, AS WE ARE JUST MAKING THIS UP AS WE GO ALONG ... BUT WE DO HAVE THIS PHOTO TO SHOW YOU FROM HER BED ... WHILE THIS IS YET AS UNCONFIRMED, IT HAS BEEN PASSED ALONG TO US THAT THE LAST WORD SHE WAS HEARD TO UTTER WAS, "FUELPERKS" ...

MS. MON HAS A MAJOR, IMPORTANT, LIFE-ALTERING AND URGENT ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE!

She is pontificating retiring from blogging. Because she has really run out of things to say. She has nothing left to say, it seems. In fact, it is amazing that she continues to type, considering she is so done with blogging it's not even funny. She just can't think of anything. She's a blank. A zip. A zilch. A null. A nada. A zero. She's done. That's it. She is just going to stop blogging, she thinks, forever and ever and all eternity and ad infinitum. So she wants you all to know that SHE MAY NEVER BLOG AGAIN. SHE HAS NOTHING TO SAY. SHE IS DONE. Well, maybe. But no, seriously, she is going to quit blogging. And nothing is going to change her mind, and she's glad she could keep this so short. Because brevity makes impact, people. It gives one pause. Time to smell the roses. Relish life. Relish hot dogs.

I can't go on anymore. I'm done. In fact, I'm so sure I'm finished, I'm going to repeat that. I'm done. Done, done, done. OK. I'm just thinking about it at this point. But I am thinking about it VERY SERIOUSLY. GRAVELY. EARNESTLY. HONESTLY.

WITH MUCH SOLEMNITY. (And a thesaurus at my side.)

There is no way anybody's talking me out of this, so don't even try. Your pleas for me to continue blogging will be met with great resistance. I will not cave. Give in. Concede. Acquiesce. (That's what I can do without a thesaurus. I just spilled my coffee all over it.)

So, as I said, there's no use if you want to try to keep me from quitting. It's not really quitting, though. I am just moving on. Because I have absolutely nothing to say. And I'll say it again. To emphasize.

I'm finished.

Through.

Fried.

Toast.

Gone for good.

Forever.

OK. Not yet. But close.

And that's why I'm keeping this so short. Because when I say I'm done, I mean it, and I want you to experience the full drama of this quitting, with me. Now let's breathe together and repeat: Ms. Mon is going to stop blogging, and my life may never be the same.

Did I tell you I may never blog again?

I know this comes as a great shock to you, but I have been mulling over this for a while. Ruminating. Excogitating, in fact. No. Really. Have you ever met me? Total excogitater. Is there an excogitater in the house? Yo! That's me! Present! And guilty as charged, sir.

Hi. My name is Ms. Mon. And I'm an excogitater.

Who has nothing left to say.

And is going to be done blogging. Soon.

Maybe.

I know that you are deeply concerned, and I appreciate this. I know you are asking yourself questions like, "How can I go on?" and "Whatever will I do?"

And that's because you know that when I'm finished here (which is going to be really, soon, because I am making an official announcement, perhaps) that life will never be the same.

Things will be different.

Daily, you will wake up and ask yourself, "Why? Why? Why? Why did she stop? And why can't I stop thinking about her?"

And you will have these thoughts everyday until the day you die. And I just know it, which is why I want to announce that I may never blog again and your vain attempts to intercede will be met with much implacableness. Much. Did I say much?

Kingdoms will fall. Empires will collapse. The economy? Eh, not my field of expertise.

So anyway, I am quitting the business. Forever. Probably.

Did I tell you I am retiring from blogging, and I just don't have anything left to say on the matter?

I know. It's devastating.

That. I. Don't. Have. Anything. Left. To. Say.

I am through. Through, I tell you!

Finished.

This is my last blog post.

Of all time.

I mean it.

Yep.

GOODBYE, PITTSBURGH COMET: REQUIEM FOR A BLOG

Watching your blog wind down, Bram, fondly reminded me of this:



But you and I both know, old bloggers never die -- they just hold out for pay. :-)

I Know Arlen Specter is One

But refresh me ... who is our other state senator?

Oh, Heavens. Another Pittsburgh Blogger is Throwing in the Towel!

I wasn't ready to do this just yet, but I guess I'm going to have to fake quit blogging again, too.

I will sleep on it, and render my thoughts in the morning.

Godspeed, Bram. We'll go down together.

THE WOMAN WITH THE WISPY BANGS WINS OUR HEARTS, RICKY MARTIN DANCES!

We at Ms. Adventures on the Mon promise that this will be the most succinct analysis on the Pittsburgh City Council presidency election. Really -- what more is there to say? Sing it, Ricky!

The Office: Pittsburgh

Starring

Luke Ravenstahl as Michael Scott

Bill Peduto as Jim Halpert

Patrick Dowd as Dwight Schrute

Doug Shields as Andy Bernard

Darlene Harris as Phyllis Lapin-Flance

Bruce Kraus as Oscar Martinez

Ricky Burgess as Stanley Hudson

Jim Motznik as Holly Flax

Tonya Payne as Darryl Philbin

Theresa Smith as Pam Halpert

Assorted Ambassadors as Occasional Characters

Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Cheap

Don't say we didn't warn you.

On the Eve Eve of Destruction

After I "tweeted" a comment made by Pittsburgh police officer Eugene Hlavic last night that he made to newspeople (I watched it as it was aired on the WTAE 11:00 p.m. news) -- and remarked that his attitude was certainly not going to win him the compassion of the people, I see that a Post-Gazette reporter also thought his tone was defiant.

I'm still trying to figure out how blogger/activist/etc. guy Matt Hogue placed 1,236 requests to the city's 311 line since October 2006. This averages out to 412 complaints per year. (Please note there are only 365 days per year.) I'm going to assume that 311 doesn't operate like your PCP and will address more than one problem per visit. But still, that's a lot of calls. That's what I call commitment. I think Mayor Ravenstahl should give him a job. I wonder if there are any openings for 311 operators.

Over at Pittsburgh Lesbian Correspondents, they are celebrating their FOUR YEAR BLOGIVERSARY! I am not giving you their link, as it seems that with the reaching of this anniversary, their rights to the domain name have expired. I'm sure Sue Kerr is busy working on that as I type this. I am writing a guest post for them (as are as some others, including Maria Lupinacci) in honor of their achievement, and as soon as Sue has somewhere for me to post it, I expect it will be up this week sometime.

I have few thoughts on politics this week, so I'm going with the Chris Potter assertion that politics are often not genuinely interesting and will keep comments short. On twitter, City Councilor-elect Natalia Rudiak (go, Carrick!) challenges Potter's cynical view (or is that redundant?) and says she intends to make politics interesting. I say, let's give her a chance. If she can do that, maybe she can show me a way to make doing taxes interesting. If she can show me how to make paying taxes interesting, I'm voting for her for president. If she can do something about the fact that I am taxed both on the money I earn AND the money I spend (has anyone else caught on to this, or is it just me?), I will give her my first-born child. Especially now that it's time to pay for college.

And finally, somewhat out-of-place here, a final goodbye to a man who influenced me, Dennis Brutus. As a reporter at The Pitt News, I was deeply interested in what he had to say and so I covered the battle over the University of Pittsburgh's divestment from South Africa and the anti-apartheid movement. That experience will never leave me, for it is because of my experiences with Brutus, Pitt's Board of Trustees and the students who built shanty towns that I discovered who runs the world. I see history repeats itself.

Repetition is bad, you say?

You Never Count Your Money When You're Sittin' at the Table

• 
  

While all you math geeks try to figure out what the odds are of the Steelers making the playoffs, I prefer to rely on blind faith, a quick gin and tonic (ask Gab Bonesso about that) and some kicky accessories.

But bring the prospect of personal wealth gain into the picture, and I'm all ears. Not that I'm a gambling woman. Which is why, of course, I have no idea how to beat the Pennsylvania scratch-off lottery ticket odds.

A (odds, marked on all cards) X 2.5 + 1 = B (how many consecutive cards one must purchase to have a guaranteed winner).

This formula valid in Pennsylvania only. If you want the secret to winning scratch-offs in other states, you'll have to ante up. But remember, a "winner" could be nothing more than a free ticket. (Gus, Pennsylvania's second-most famous groundhog, has a weakness. Have you ever asked yourself why he scratches so much?)

And I have never studied the Garcia-Pelayo family, who found out a way to work biased roulette wheels. Nope, never heard of them. I'm too busy trying to figure out what to wear.

Now, once the Steelers do make those playoffs, try not to bother me, because I'll be busy studying the over-under deciding what to wear for the party and whether of not I should parlay what dish to bring.

VIVIAN, THE ANGRY COPYREADER, REFLECTS ON PAST YEAR, CONCLUDES MS. MON IS WORST BLOGGER EVER

COALITION OF HEARING-IMPAIRED SECULARISTS INVADE PANAMA

LEADER OF VIGILANTE ORGANIZATION DECLARES, "WE MUST WIN THE WAR ON ISTHMUS ONCE AND FOR ALL"

City of Pittsburgh: 100, Coffee at Hoi Polloi: Courtesy of Friends, Ms. Mon: Priceless

There's something to be said for schadenfreude. But little when it's not mine.

In all fairness, the Steelers winning was a special event.

The ironic thing is, had my partners in crime and me not launched into a discussion over the Pittsburgh Parking Chair -- and this discovery -- I might have not gone over that extra 19 minutes. (That's my friend, who goes by the stage name of "Luara" giving the thumbs up in the photo.)

In other news, it seems the Luke Ravenstahl has been promised something, but we're really not sure what, by three nonprofits, and the students have emerged victorious over a 1% tuition tax. Thank GOD the local universities care about them so much.

I have also found the perfect Christmas gift for Pittsburgh City Council:

The game would also be a great gift for Chad Hermann of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette-hosted Radical Middle blog, but I suspect that, over the holidays, he may be too busy to play games because he is working on a 312-part series to prove that Holocaust statistics are faulty in order to better relations with Jewish-Americans.

Happy holidays. I'm taking some time off.

Pittsburgh to Pay Carpenter to Evaluate 'Parking Chairs'

South Side, Dormont to be Especially Targeted

by Mitch Gaylord, Ms. Adventures on the Mon

The Pittsburgh Parking Authority plans to pay a carpenter known only as "Joseph" to assess the financial ramifications of the local practice of using a "parking chair" -- and in some cases, two -- to reserve spaces for vehicles on city and adjacent borough streets for indefinite periods of time.

According to Authority Executive Dan Onorato, the money will come from the windfall it has received from The Rivers Casino.

The Authority Board voted to allow Mr. Onorato and Three Wise Men overseeing the use of parking chairs, cones, cement-filled buckets and the like to accept a bid from among several carpenters. Pittsburgh's own Mackenzie was in a close second, but could not match the offer of "free" from Joseph, whose address is registered as a post office box in Bethlehem, PA.

Mr. Onorato said the authority may not have that much cash ready, but plans to invoke the rob Peter to pay Paul rule.

Mayor Luke Ravenstahl wants to use the data gathered by Joseph to pay a private firm to regulate the use of parking chairs, in the hopes of replenishing the city's supply of gold, Frankincense and Myrrh.