Category: Buffa’s Bullets

The salt, pepper, and oregano of my mind. The Emilio lunch bag from Breakfast Club version of a blog.

Here’s What I Know, Volume #9: RIP Michael Nyqvist, Trump, black coffee, baseball PPV

All the thoughts that are fit to publish.

Live from the hot sauna that is St. Louis in the month of July, a stream of consciousness.

  • A few words about good coffee and friends. Whenever my friend P.J. Nolan comes into town, a coffee shop is our one stop shop. Black coffee-usually strong as an ox-and conversation that ranges from baseball to boxing to living. Easy and simple. As I pass the tender days of 35 years in 2017, my need for excitement can be measured. I don’t need to live the high life or get into a serious amount of trouble. My advice for living long and prospering: find something that engages your mind while putting it at ease, and stick with it.
  • Side note: Sump Coffee is delicious. At the advisement of Jeff Jones-a professional in the hockey world but a fine voice in other lifestyle fronts-I visited the South City coffee joint for a tasty concoction with P.J., and we had a couple pots of coffee. Whether it was an Ethiopian blend or a Columbia kick in the head, the flavor was undeniable. Sump and I had a conversation before, but it had been too long. I will be returning. Sump coffee is so good, I don’t even need a stevia packet. Black and bold like Oprah.
  • Baseball is a real bastard. 162 games. Seven months. There isn’t another sport that pounds you into the ground, demanding all of your patience and nerve endings to endure a contending team’s trek towards the ultimate goal of a championship. One of the hardest things to do is coming up with commentary that doesn’t echo other writers, but also enduring the constant change in a team’s play. The Cardinals are a Frank Sinatra song; flying high one month, shot down the next. What I try to do is not pay attention to what everybody else is writing, and simply reward my readers with a voice they can trust. Control what you can, because anything else would be uncivilized, and quite simply a headache.
  • A few words about radio. It’s a sad but true declaration, but talent alone won’t get you far in this business. Unless you are a name like Frank Cusumano or have the savvy sales skills of a Don Draper, you won’t make it. The easiest part of my job as a radio host the past year is sitting down in front of the microphone and talking. Going door to door, asking business owners to hand over money without a reliable ROI promise, is the hardest part. I’ll never conquer it, and that’s not being down on myself. That’s merely being honest about a tough trade. Before I got into radio, I thought the host put out a good show while others sold the goods. I was very wrong. A great radio show-Game Time A.M.-bit the dust this week, and it had little to do with skill. Organizational structure and a matter of revenue is often the executioner.

  • Speaking of radio and the changing gears of the sportswriting game, Clay Travis wrote a column that struck a chord. He wanted to know what was causing this rapid downtown in the world of sportswriters, and it came down to two things: businesses and corporations value videos over words and won’t pay the writers using their products to promote them. Travis just happens to be replacing Game Time AM at 590 The Fan, but it’s hard to dislike Travis. With a few kids in tow and a need to escape a law degree, Travis tackled the business all alone, and now is one of the most successful stand alone entities out there.

  • Have you seen the Snyder’s Pretzel commercial? If that bitch took my car keys and threw them into the bushes, I’d knock her the fuck out on general principle.

  • I find the best friend women in movies to be hotter than the leading ladies? I’m looking at you Judy Greer and Kathryn Hahn. I treasure the imperfections in women over the ones who attempt to strangle perfection.
  • Carlos Martinez and Max Scherzer is a pitching matchup Don King could sell on a Pay Per View card. Two young men with the need to impose their will on hitters. One a local kid who made it big in The Motor City and bet on himself to receive a 200 million dollar contract. The other a Dominican Republic pitching sensation who is only getting started in the making hitters look silly department. Both are emotional wrecking balls on a pitching mound. And they say baseball is boring. Pay more attention. (Update: Scherzer outdueled Martinez, striking out 12….fuck.)
  • The Blues had a great draft and I don’t understand the need to shit on fans who are excited about it. Doug Armstrong could fuck up a wet dream, but he actually pulled a pair of moves that set his team up for success in the near and far. Let’s feel good about it instead of playing the classic Blues cynic. That’s so tiring. Some people just need to get laid more often.
  • What’s a good beer? Try Logboart Company’s Flybye Ale, a farmhouse ale with a smooth finish and sweet taste that will push you over slowly into the land of buzzing. Farmhouse Ales can be so good if they are produced correctly. Show me a beer with some substance and I’ll pay the extra money.
  • Hey, did you see what happened in the NFL and what the Rams are doing? I have no clue, because I don’t give a shit. Fuck Roger Goodell. Now that I don’t have to talk about it on the radio to play nice and get along, I couldn’t care less.
  • What if this Cardinals team had a healthy Alex Reyes? Bullpen would be a whole lot better and the rotation would have more protection. See you in a year kid.

  • It doesn’t matter if it’s 95 degrees or 10 degrees, I’ll run my 3-4 miles. As long as you are hydrated and conditioned correctly, the workout can take place no matter the weather. Running is the ultimate exercise, because it pushes your whole body to the brink. I’ll take cold weather over hot though.

  • I miss George Carlin. Without him, comedy took a hard hit. He challenged people to think and made them laugh their asses off.
  • Rest in peace Michael Nyqvist. The 56 year old actor lost a fight with cancer, but not before he created signature villains in Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol and more importantly, John Wick. He practically sold the Wick film in one key scene. “I once saw him kill three men with a pencil; a FUCKING pencil.” Rest easy. Fuck you cancer.

  • I’ve applied to become an Uber driver. I want to make more money and do it at my leisure. Here’s to no violent offenders or vomit masters. So I’m trying out the hipster cab vessel company for a spin.

  • Let’s make something clear: it’s okay for two people to write about the same topic on the internet. In the push-shove era of basement bloggers and online scribes, the need to play the shame game on an opposing writer for dishing his take on a topic that someone already touched on is quite weak. Let’s act like adults and open up the litter box. I remember reading Bernie Miklasz a teen before taking a minute to see what I thought about that particular subject. Being inspired is not the same as copying. People are way too fragile these days. There’s enough room at the table.
  • Life has a way of keeping you honest. A few weeks ago, I lost my grandmother, Stella. She was fighting a myriad of health problems, most notably the inability to take a deep breath. She had been fighting this for a long time, and she didn’t throw in the towel, yet finally felt content letting life go. Like my other grandmother, Meme, I didn’t spend enough time with Nana, and regretted that after she passed. You never get enough time. With anybody. Well, maybe Donald Trump, because after five months, we are done with him as POTUS. My point is, stay in touch. Nana was a fighter, and I am glad I picked her up on my son’s fifth birthday, so she could see him hit that number.
  • What’s fucking weird? Saying goodbye to your house of eight years. This is the final week in my Mardel home, aka the Buffa Estate. The closing date is Thursday, and so many memories will finally reach their bookend. It’s like writing that abrupt chapter to the book. Three months ago, we weren’t thinking about moving, and then, suddenly, it happened. Now, it’s nearly at the conclusion, and it’s incredibly hard to not get sentimental. It’s the house where my wife and I found our dream jobs, went through several cars, watched a World Series game in our backyard, and raised our son. Now, a new house and empty slate of memories await. Cue the Beatles.

  • Can I complain about something? Construction crews in front of my street busted a water main TWICE last week. How bad do you have to be at your job to do it twice? In case you missed it in “who gives a shit news, St. Louis variety”, they are installing a greenway on my main street, Wabash/McCausland. A path for bikers and runners to find their way down to the shittiest park in South City, which is also called Francis Slay Park. Otherwise known as WTF would I go there Park. Construction delays remind of Will McAvoy from The Newsroom preaching: “this will be a wonderful city, when they are done building it.”

  • I am t-shirt snob. Whenever I look at shirts these days, I want to know the fabric and how they fit. Since I designed a few for the now defunct Film-Addict, I have gotten picky with what I wear, since this is my daily wardrobe. My go to is 50/25/25 blend. Who cares?
  • Cheers to the @ToastDispatch twitter account, ran by Nick Jr. and Sr., for coming into studio this morning. I haven’t had that much fun on the radio in quite some time. We joked about “Joe Maddon excuses”, “Managing your life like Mike Matheny manages a bullpen”, and engaged in an epic rock-paper-scissor contest.  These are the days where hosting a radio show can be too much fun. Easy going. No egos.

  • Fuck Trump. Every time he attacks the free press, he shits on the history of the mantle he is holding. Journalists have a right to their territory and questions just as much as Captain Dickweed has with putting on a red tie. This may be the low point of Washington D.C.-and it’s not even close. Keeping this guy off Twitter and playing a violin for all the sulking he does is a smart maneuver.

  • According to Joe Maddon, the cause for the Cubs bad play is the announcement from Will Ferrell last week that there’d be no Old School sequel, thus burying the comeback of Vince Vaughn, one of Chicago’s prodigal sons.

What else? Eat healthier, but don’t reach miserable temps to extend your life by a few years. Hydrating is almost as important as sunscreen. Animated films will always make money. Sequels are shit half the time. If you’re going to waste money, do it on a six pack of light beer instead of bad food. 

    That’s all, folks. For the three people who made it to the end, you receive nothing but a warm digital embrace. 

    PS: Can we please stop killing each other? Cool, thanks. In the words of Lumbergh, “that’d be greaaaaatttt.”

    The Weekly Dose: In case you missed it

    Wake up god damn it! Here is what you missed from the past week.

    KSDK

    Gilmore Girls is back and here’s why I am in the mood for some Graham

    David Freese lifted up my family in 2011. Here’s why. 

    Fernandez/Taveras: Harsh lessons learned

    Inside STL

    Tom Hanks five best performances

    Buffa’s Bits #3

    What’s with the Joe Buck hate?

    Interview with Quarry/Banshee Greg Yaitanes

    St Louis Game Time

    Tarasenko has a personality

    Elliott’s return

    There it is! All the doses fit to ship. Come back next week for another weekly dose.

    MLB: Atlanta Braves at Miami Marlins
    Apr 8, 2013; Miami, FL, USA; Miami Marlins starting pitcher Jose Fernandez (16) looks on in the eighth inning against the Atlanta Braves during on opening night at Marlins Park. Mandatory Credit: Steve Mitchell-USA TODAY Sports

     

     

     

     

    Here’s what I know: Volume 2

    Groups of people that suck and a few wise words in no coherent order or fashion.

    Hello. As you attempt to disrobe from the sticky ugly smelly disgusting outfit you wore outside in the Sahara of the Midwest today, I’ll open things up with a few groups of people who shouldn’t be eliminated from life but need an ass kicking.

    Let’s run down a list of things that boggle the fucking mind. The things no one wants to mention or uncoil over because feelings will be hurt or apologies will be in order. In other words, things movie stars can’t say on social media without getting a phone call from their publicist.

    In no coherent listing or order….

    People on Twitter who complain about sub-tweets. Let me catch you up cavemen types who don’t use the social networking platform that I’ve built a career on top of. Sub-tweeting happens when someone gets into an argument with someone directly on Twitter and afterwards they complain to the rest of their following without mentioning said person. Guess what? We all fucking do this. Every day. We do it in real life. Away from computers. Rarely do people tell someone how they really feel. They will wait and complain to others. Stop complaining about, you hypocritical asswipe.

    A word about people at the gym who wear spandex. Rethink it. I know it’s the place where you can be yourself and let your peacock fly but stop it. No one needs to see that. Until you carve the body you need to wear those clothes, leave the spandex at home. In fact, burn that shit with the 1980’s concert t-shirts you still have. Def Leppard will understand. I don’t wear skin tight clothing and I’m in good shape. It doesn’t look good. When you try to dance, your stomach contorts in a way that produces groans. Do that shit at home. Just advice.

    The parental advice crowd. This is always humorous coming from people who don’t have kids. Do the world a favor and never give other parents advice about their kids. Their world is a different place than your own so stop it. 99 % of people who give advice need a lot of it themselves. They want to come back at them and help them so it’s their indirect way of starting the conversation. When someone you don’t know, trust or like attempts to give you advice, stop them. Give them the good fortune of thinking about their own life than others. Or politely request for them to fuck off. Either way. The latter is less characters if it is a text.

    The people who want you to donate 65 hours of time to their TV show of choice but won’t watch the one you recommend. First, watch whatever TV shows you like but understand one thing. When I tell you to watch a TV show, I’ve watched it twice and know you’ll like it. I don’t just recommend anything. I don’t recommend bullshit. I want you to watch something that is different. However, please watch whatever you want. There’s nothing worse than someone telling me to watch The Walking Dead over and over. I tell them, “Watch Kingdom on Audience” and it’s a deal. They are then puzzled and leave the conversation. I asked them to watch less than 30 episodes of something but they want me to watch over 65 episodes of a zombie show. Forget it. Two way street.

    Hey LA Rams owners, associates, and share holders trashing St. Louis five months after taking a football team from my city. Understand this. You won’t win a Super Bowl for years. I am talking 5-10 at least. You won’t catch lightning in a bottle like St. Louis did in 1999-2004. Forget it. There’s dipshits that still smack St. Louis even though they will play football games in 2-3 years in front of a half full stadium. What a crock of shit. STL didn’t shit on LA in 1995 when they got the Rams. It goes to show you how some people on this earth deserve to have a nasty shit filled diaper rubbed across their dry face.

    A word about people who disrespect single parents. What the fuck do you know? Single parents are the true heroes of this world. Sometimes life dishes you a bad hand and things must be dealt with. Life keeps going on while bad things occur. The good people who just want to raise their kids are fucking warriors. The people who slight them or deny them respect can eat a good old toasted six inch sub full of excrement. Yeah, it happens so don’t ask who unless you have 45 fingers.

    Well, that’s enough of that.

    Here’s what I know this week. Sometimes, you just need to go to sleep. Nothing worth happening will go down that can’t be recapped when you wake up. Sleep is underrated.

    Call your fucking parents. If you have one left, call him or her. If you have two and hold a grudge, call them. If you they don’t care about you, then call the one friend who resembles family.

    Speaking of friends, don’t hold it against them if they don’t text or call for a few weeks or month. Life happens. A lot. There are times where 24 hour sets sprint by someone and they don’t think about their friends. It’s not always personal. It’s just part of the hustle. I have good friends I don’t speak with for weeks and then we do and it’s like no time has passed. Good friends aren’t people who constantly stay in contact; They are the ones who will be there when you need them.

    Life is a challenging, damaging, and ultimately rewarding test of endurance. A true experience. As the Big Austrian once said, stick around. Next week, my family is once again making a bold choice for the greater good and it’s not going to be easy. You’ll find that few things in life are worth chasing down that don’t involve a little hardship.

    The dark and funny thing about life is that when you least expect it, something you love dearly will be gone. Whether it’s a friend you know that loses someone or an old friend of yours who passes, it’s a gut punch.

    One good pint of beer is better than three okay pints.

    One good shot of whiskey is better than three fingers of watered down whiskey.

    copywriting-immobiliare

    A good cup of coffee can not be beat. 

    I love what I do and I’m only getting started.

    Thanks for reading and so long for just a little bit.

    Here’s what I know 

    There’s nothing better in life than the things that you know and believe in. It’s your own brand of authenticity and it’s a necessity. A way of saying this is me and that’s all there is to it.

    The best birthday cards I get are the ones from my parents because they are the shortest and contain the most to the point sentences inside.

    The last one read. “My three favorite words. That’s my son.”

    Here’s what I know. Random and without an editor, so file your complaints with my vacant assistants desk.

    • The Shawshank Redemption’s ending can play on a loop all day and I’ll watch. Stephen King’s most underrated book and Frank Darabont’s best film. Red and Andy. Add Thomas Newman’s score and it’s mint.

    • You can hate Trump and Clinton all you want. Guess what? One of them is going to be taking office in Jamuary. I think Clinton sucks a little less. Trump in office is like Bill Pullman in Independence Day but a lot less cool and a lot dumber.
    • Baseball is an exhausting game to love. Unlike most sports, you don’t get much of a break and even the off days seem like long commercials. It’s relentless and unless your team is impeccable, it’s going to whip you in several directions, and frustrate the shit out of you. Every year. For seven to eight months. The Cards do this every year and they can win 86 or 100 games. It’s a long year. So it’s important to stay seated as long as you can. Get mad and throw things but don’t give up inside three months. There’s so many games left that when I notice Twitter followers wanting to sell, I laugh. They never learn. It’s a long year.

    Continue reading “Here’s what I know “

    Unfiltered Arkansas thoughts

    Unfiltered thoughts about everything from David Backes to Tom Brady to Whiskey to what makes a good friend.

    Greetings from a beautiful Sunday morning down in North Little Rock, Arkansas. Care for a stroll towards wherever my mind takes us?

    Over the past few weeks, I’ve tried to push some fresh prose into this corner of cyber space as a way of keeping the site from becoming a door mat. It all started here over 750 posts ago, and these days a lot of movie reviews, interviews, and assorted archive footage fill the space and it’s fine. I’ve become a paid writer even if that makes mere drinking and gas money. It’s more than I used to make and hopefully it grows.

    The Dose still serves as my outlet to say whatever the fuck I please. I call it my Teddy KGB zone. I can drop F-bombs at will and also write controversial opinions(like Johnny Manziel is secretly a Russian covert agent spying on us). I like it here because they know me. So let’s drop a few words. An unfiltered rant. Bullet round style.  Continue reading “Unfiltered Arkansas thoughts”

    Unspoken Truths: If you say it, you mean it

    There is no taking it back, folks. This and more unfiltered rants.

    Another batch of old unfiltered rants uncoils now. Taken from July, 2011.

    One of the things I hate most in life is when people try to take shit back that they previously said. Bullshit is my response. If it came out of your mouth, you meant it in some way. It was formulated in your cerebellum and registered with the mind and cleared by the conscious before passing through your fucking teeth so save me the propaganda.

    Cecil

    *A picture of a lion because why the fuck not? Photo credit to the person who took this before being eaten.

    A family member or friend will say something to you and days or months later will forget that it ever happened.   They will say that they didn’t mean it.   It was a fluke of built up proportions inside their throat that got put on the vocal chord speed belt without editing.   What they forget is that the target never forgot the intention of the words.   Hopefully, by now, you understand what I am talking about.   Joking doesn’t exist.  Sarcasm is a tool used to shadow real intent.  When words come of someone’s mouth, the makers had a clear intention for them.  It’s almost unfair how sickeningly good my memory is.  I remember everything that comes out of a person’s mouth, or pretty close to everything.   This isn’t taking everything personally, trust me.  Continue reading “Unspoken Truths: If you say it, you mean it”

    Blues, Jon Snow, Paajarvi, and more

    Good morning people,

    Welcome to the early morning hours of Whatever the hell I want to talk about. No politics or religion. Just random surges of consciousness followed by ridiculous stretches of ineptitude. I like to think of these whatever blogs as my chance to unwind and not play by the rules. Here’s what I mean.

    When I do radio hits on 96.7 River Country in Arkansas or CBS 920 in St. Louis, I can’t say FUCK or really truly unleash. I have to calm it down. Sponsors don’t like the four letter word that says it all. I also can’t whip that out for most of the websites I write for and contribute to. Enter the dose.

    After a last minute podcast with Carly Schaber Sunday night on the ever slowly growing DOB pod hub at Blogtalk Radio, I wanted to come here and address the flurry of questions sent in by another fine Dan. That is Dan Reilly, STL resident Blues addict and drummer extraordinaire. We met and correspond via Twitter. He asked me a few things and we couldn’t get to them on the pod(30 minutes goes by quick when you are making threats to managers with long hair), so I wanted to come here for a DOB Overtime Session. Let’s get right to it before you click out of this to check your email or text.

    Easy question. It’s because we write so much BS that we have an answer for everything. I married my wife 11 years ago and still think it’s the best move ever. Removing the maple syrup from that comment, let’s just say a wise writer doesn’t let a good lady go. As far as picking up multiple hot chicks, I have no clue. My game was retired years ago.

    Yes, but that doesn’t mean shit in make believe land. In a land of sorcerers who like to get naked(the red haired chick to be precise), Snow can come right back and go back to being the imperfect yet well meaning heroic son we all know him to be. Kit was on set and is in the trailers. For the story, it would be best if he stayed dead because it’s better for the story and other characters, but once Agent Caulson came back anything was possible.

    Montpelier(I looked it up).

    Sports are painful brother. Bad. They exist to raise our blood pressures and anxiety levels. It’s not easy being a real fan. I grew up next to my dad being a halfway passionate sports fan. He’d watch, get fed up, and easily cut off from it. I watched, got sucked in, and was shattered. That’s the buy in at this table of sports. You sit down, push your heart into the middle of the table and dare to see it crushed. EVERY YEAR! The Blues will prevail over the Hawks. In seven games. Book it.

    It has to be good evidence. I am not sure if it is Pete Kozma 2013 on Mike Matheny and John Mozeliak good but it’s good. Magnus Paajarvi didn’t just get ice time in too many games in 2015-16. He got premium ice time next to Vladimir Tarasenko. That’s like letting a shitty cover band step on stage with the Stones in the 60’s. Bullshit. #56 sucks hairy monkey balls.

    Easiest question yet. We are a large army of balded or bearded or simple minded romantic bastards with a need to impose our will. You can’t deny us or resist us. We may not do a lot of drugs, drive fast cars or look like James Dean but we can fight and are passionate about things.

    Sometime soon. It’s been over a year and every time I come into town I am so fucking busy. I’ve visited around 5-6 times and it’s always go here, then there, and back to here. Eventually, I can just come back to the Lou and stay. Next time I come in, Reilly, we are drinking. Hopefully toasting a Stanley Cup or a Blues team that had a pulse in mid April after Game 2.

    That’s all. Check out the latest DOB podcast for some extended answers and in order to hear the voice of the talented young lady, Carly ScHABer.

    Dose of Buffa 2

    Thank you for the questions Dan Reilly. Keep drumming pal.