Hey jags and jagettes. I know yinz come to me for the best sports coverage and analysis in the metro and Greater Pittsburgh area, but sometimes I like to take a little time for other parts of life.
As you may have already read, Chuck's Corner, for instance, is reserved for my pejorative and critical remarks towards any non-sports topic I choose. Today, though, let us take but a brief jaunt into bliss for "Chuck's Moment."
Have you ever been in the middle of doing something, only to find that life is creating its own rhythm, its own beat, its own Pittsburgh Polka? Have you ever been trapped in that seemingly endless frame of existence, from which you hope never to escape? Life, it would seem, creates harmonic symphonies that we too often overlook, pass by, and disregard.
Am I talking about a family of birds chirping in unison while the tall deciduous trees wave majestically in the summer breeze? Fuck no -- this ain't a power ballad, ya friggin pansy.
Today's whimsical moment is the chorus of angry shouts, painful cries, and off-color jokes emanating from the contractors working on my house.
Despite their surly, hard-nosed disposition, I can't help but find delight in the constant chants of "shit," "fuck," "son of a bitch," and "god-fuckin-dammit" that echo from outside my home, harmonized by the insults aimed at the guy who can't read a tape measure, the tales of some hideous wench taken home from the bar, and the shrieks of a man accidentally running his hand through a miter saw.
So, next time you question life and what it has to offer, take a break from your hardships and find a spot with a handful of laborers completing a housing project. Then, just lie back, as your soul is warmed by life's mysterious musical number and you hear the house siding bow as it strikes an irritated 43-year-old ex-con in the shin.