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Showing posts from 2007

Hold On, Brother, There's a Light Up Ahead

A few general observations... --- Jessica Alba is pregnant and engaged. Tell me why that bothers me. I wasn't going to get her on even my best day. She wouldn't pick up her foot to step over me, and yet, when beautiful women celebrities find love, I am disappointed - as though there was a chance that perhaps we would be the only two people left on Earth and she might have needed me for companionship. As my wife said - it'll probably only last a year or so and she'll be back on the market - good, then I can breathe again. --- Saw Bin Laden on tape yesterday. Can someone please explain to me why he is still around to taunt us? Ask someone in the Bush camp and they'll explain that Clinton should have got him in '97 - yeah, maybe, but it's hard to get him in the years since 9/11 when we stopped looking. Did you ever see someone confess in a game of hide and seek? Even my kids know that when they find a great hiding spot they need to stay there. They also know th

Higher Ground

Love the Springsteen song "Leah" from the Devils & Dust CD - In it - he speaks of a man who builds with one hand and destroys with the other. "A hammer and a fiery lantern." The protagonist is searching to live his life on a higher ground - and in the end- he climbs the stairs - and feels as if he is almost there. I've always admired people who can live in such a world. I have an old buddy who always seems to know when to reach out to those around them who are feeling pain. I particularly enjoy watching people who have an unshakeable faith - even if it is sometimes based on a shaky premise. Whatever, I think that we all aspire to be the protagonist in the Springsteen song - much as Tony Soprano, we don't want to live in a world where we are damaging those around us - yet we do. A lot of these thoughts came to light after I read about the horrific murders in Seattle of just about an entire family. CNN showed the terrible scene where the murders happened,

Begin Again

I was reading a story about, David Chase, the great writer of the Soprano's Series. He explained that a lot of the reason why the series worked was because Tony Soprano was a conflicted human being who people liked to root for, even though he was evil personified. He said that people wanted to root for Tony because he spent a lot of time trying to be a better person. Chase explained that we all do that, but sooner or later we slip back into what is comfortable. Which got me thinking about my New Year's resolutions - 1). Get healthy 2). Exercise more 3). Eat like a human being instead of a dog 4). Try and be more patient 5). Stay calm 6). Finish writing a book and sign a contract for the book finished last year. 7). Drink less 8). Love more. The sad part is - they are the same resolutions that I always have - and each December, I sit back and say - this year I'm going to do it. I'm usually throwing my hands up in defeat by the middle of January. Sadly, the only one I do

OVERWHELMING

I love to see the pride in my father's eyes. He is a good man from day one and it is heartwarming to see him enjoy even one simple thing. He's made me laugh, cry and everything in between. God, I wish you could know my mother - a woman whom I've never had even a simple argument with - a woman who taught me faith, hope, and love all in equal doses and a woman who can cry for a dog who died more than 40 years ago. She is the reason why I love to read and write - I have one Mom and lucky for me - she was the best. Heaven help me, but I wish you could know my sister Corinne - a happy, soul who makes me proud at every turn - she taught me how to handle life's absolute bitch-slap, and she spit-up and sloshed her way through - Corinne - Who loves you baby? My brother John - the thought of him makes me cry - when the chips were down - John stood up as strong and true as the day is long - a brother, a friend and the strongest bastard who ever beat the holy hell out of me. He fou

God Gave Me Everything I Want

I suppose that I am difficult to buy for - if I can't read it or eat it, I don't really need much. My wife is in the difficult position of buying me clothes, but that doesn't matter, either - I pretty much wear everything the same. My sister says I look like Oscar Madison when I wear a suit. Half of my clothes have mustard stains on them, and I dress as though I am straddling the poverty line. Whatever - God Gave Me Everything I Want. He gave me a good wife, three great kids, a boatload of brothers, sisters and sister and brother in laws that I count as my dearest friends. He provided me with a mother and father who have guided me each step of the journey, and a mother and father-in law who bought into my act. He handed me unbelievable friends who've made me laugh for years, and two dogs who are loyal and comforting. He Gave Me a heart that won't quit searching, and a desire to find some of the answers that are good for my soul. He handed me health, happiness beyond

Christmas Spirit?

A lady in the car behind me laid on the horn the second after the light turned green - I didn't give her the finger - that's my Christmas spirit. I just went through holy hell at the supermarket and a lady graciously allowed me to squeeze in front of her as we negotiated our way down a tight aisle - because an old man parked his cart off to one side - and perused the gravy choices from the other side. As I made my way through the tight space, the lady who allowed me to pass bashed me in the heels with her cart. I didn't beat either her or the old man with a gravy bottle - that's Christmas Spirit. My wife is busy cleaning the house and wrapping gifts which leads me to prepare a pot of sauce, a turkey and a ham for the in-laws coming to dinner. As I'm doing this, I'm also starting the dishwasher, making lunch for the boys, and letting the dogs outside for a moment - my wife yells out - "Can you give me a hand for a second?" I don't commit a murder-su

You've Pissed Enough

There's a scene in an old movie that I once watched with my father. An elderly man goes to the doctor and explains that he's having trouble urinating. The doctor asks, "How old are you?" The man replies, "83" and the doctor answers, "You've pissed enough." My father and I still share that joke whenever we hear of a death. He'll tell me about the passing of someone and the usual question comes up - "How old was he?" - My father will answer - "94 - he pissed enough." We aren't looking to be insensitive - it's simply a way to handle the passing from this life to the next. Now, I don't look to be morbid this close to Christmas, but reading through something tonight, I came across the quote: "Death is more universal than life; everyone dies, but not everyone lives." In my warped mind, I find that to be something of an inspirational quotation - just reading the very words implores you to take a moment to

Why Are We Here?

The Simpsons runs a couch scene for all of their new episodes - my kids will run from the back room yelling 'Dad, you'll miss the couch!' (Yes - I let them watch the Simpsons - I joke with friends that I'm going to expose them to everything so that nothing shocks them when they reach the real world - Seriously, it's a good show - the risky stuff soars clear over their heads). Anyhow, a recent episode showed the family sitting on the couch and it took them back, through evolution to an atom where eventually there was a creator who put the finishing touches in place - the entire trip through time took just a couple of moments and it was hard not to wonder about all of this. What the hell are we doing here? How the hell did we get here? As George Bush once said, "The jury is still out on evolution" - which is of course, more laughable than a Simpsons episode - but there are days when we are certainly filled with wonder. I love to watch the summer night sky fi

Heartbreak Hotel

Everyone gets a room at this hotel from time to time. Some people move in and never move out. Others just stop by for a short visit, but come by time and time again. There are still others who stop by, stay a couple of hours, and move on their merry way. My brother and I share a laugh from the Seinfeld show whenever there is too much whining going on one way or another - it goes like this - one of us will whine, and the other will say, "Aw, that's a shame." When he does it to me after a missed putt or a shot that banks off the rim and falls harmlessly away in a game of pig - we'll laugh. Yet, what is really a shame is when the heartbreak is life altering. A good buddy of mine lost thirty pounds in a month, and after stubbornly refusing to visit a doctor, found out that he has colon cancer. I can't tell him "Aw, what a shame." I know a couple of father's who lost their children to accident and disease. Their grief will never subside. That's a real

Christmas Memories

As a parent it is tough to do my job with one eye on the fact that the memories we create as a family will stand the test of time, but that is essentially what happens. I'm reminded of this because as Christmas Eve approaches I can't help but think of my grandparents, and parents and the role they all played to shape the images in my mind. Grandma Fuzzy's pizza is always right there - I was one of the only one's who'd eat the anchovy pizza and I think of it each and every time I have a slice. Christmas Eve was about seeing cousins, unwrapping gifts, and later on in life, having a few beers. Christmas Eve was also about midnight mass and I was about eight years old when my older brother John threw up on the priest's shoes as we re-visited the manger scene. I got yelled at for laughing, but whom among us wouldn't. Old Father Weiss was sloshing as he walked away, shaking his head in disgust. I think of sneaking down early one year with my sister Corinne and ope

The Boss

In 1977, I heard Born To Run for the first time. Perhaps I had listened to the song prior to that, but I really heard it in 1977. I was struck by the line "Wendy, I want to let you in, I want to be your friend, I want to guard your dreams and visions." I found it to be one of the most amazingly powerful testaments to love. For some reason, those lines stuck to me, as I grew, knowing that I needed to feel such passion. And that was what Bruce came to mean to me - passion. Every song was sung in full voice, every sentence jumped off the lyrics page as being expertly crafted. He meant more to me as a writer than a singer, but I was hooked. And then, I saw him perform. My first Bruce concert was in 1983 in Buffalo. For just about four hours, he played, sang, made me happy, made me sad, and then made me happy again. He told jokes, he danced, jumped, rolled across the stage, and sold me passion in an unbelievably heavy dose. Just over a month ago, I saw Bruce perform in concert for

Buy Me Some Peanuts and HGH

I absolutely love baseball. I was never horribly proficient at it. I wanted to play centerfield for the Yankees, but that dreamed died when I realized I can't judge flyballs, and my back foot was always in the bucket when the pitcher threw too hard. That's why I laughed so hard at the movie with Napolean Dynamite when he asked the ump if he could get the pitcher to slow it down. Anyone who knows me realizes that I've been a Yankee nut since birth. I have enough Yankee attire to be a workable ballboy. Many of my favorite childhood memories are of sitting with my Dad, watching the Yankees win the '77 and '78 World Series. My Yankee love has been shared by each of my brothers, and now my sons (well, 2 of 3 - Matt hates the Yanks). Anyhow, baseball is certainly trying my patience - they struck for more money in '94 - it took me awhile, but I got over it. And now, the steroids - Barry Bonds certainly isn't the personality that you want standing in front of your s

Merry Freaking Christmas

Every year about this time I begin receiving e-mails from "religious" people who are angry about how we greet each other during the holiday season. Some people are offended that the season is referred to as Christmas because invoking Christ's name is seemingly offensive to a portion of the population. Still other e-mails scream about the vast conspiracy to remove Christ from Christmas - and there is pure hatred in the e-mails that beg me to make sure that Christ has a place. Let me tell you, Jesus Christ does have a place in my holiday celebrations. Yet, if He doesn't have one in yours, I won't be offended. People believe in all sorts of things to make it through the day. Years ago, people paid homage to the sun, a big rock, and the clouds that appeared in the sky. Today, there are more religions popping up than you can shake a stick at. I don't care if Tom Cruise is a scientologist. I could give two shakes that others follow Joe Smith and the Mormon religion.

My Balancing Act

"I know there's a balance - I see it when I swing past," John Mellencamp. Isn't life a riot? We are equal parts sinner and saint. We have good days and bad days. There are days when I can burn the whole world down, and days when I'm left charred and broiled at the bottom of a pit. Not to mention faith and doubt. Some days I feel like I'm a great writer destined for unbelievable success and fame, and most of the others, I understand that to write the alphabet is a chore. There are days when my faith in God carries me through, and days when I doubt both heaven and hell. I think of this today because my son had his homework ruined by a quick, inadvertant trip to the garbage, that left him in shambles. He threw a bit of a Fazzzolari tantrum, and when he finally calmed down, he told me that he had to just forget it because "today was a bad day." I tried to explain that Christmas was coming, that he was going to live wrestling on Monday night, and that Ali

BAM!

Chris Rock does a rather famous routine about a drunken man who is screaming about how "I take care of my kids!" Rock goes on to say that basically a man should take care of his children and not have to rant about it - by the way, for my money Rock's stand-up is the best right now. Anyhow, I often think of those words and the man in the act who needs to be acknowledged for doing what he's supposed to do. I thought about it on my wedding day when I walked up to my father and my father-in-law sitting side-by-side having a beer or two. My Dad threw a punch at me and said just three words - "Be a Man." My father-in-law nodded and echoed my father's words. "Be a Man." As you can tell by the title I've shortened it to BAM!. I use it when I need reminding of my responsibilities. Which, of course, leads me to my definition of being a man - face up to your responsibilities. Growing up, I had a number of fine examples of what it is to be a man. I rem

Hung by the Chimney with Care

Perhaps I'm not a traditionalist. I often hear from friends who thoroughly enjoy the experience of trimming the tree, hanging lights, singing songs, and placing the stockings by the chimney with care. It's just another time-consuming job with me, and if Springsteen isn't singing the Christmas song, I don't want to hear it. Although the John Mellencamp - "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus", and Elvis' "Blue Christmas" are awesome. Now, don't get me wrong, I do enjoy the Christmas season. I love cooking dinner, watching the kids open their gifts, and drinking a couple dozen cocktails with family members. It's the added work this month that I can live without. My wife's brain is captured by the shopping season - from Thanksgiving on, her conversation is limited to how many dimes she saved by returning presents because she found a better deal. I just nod along, pretending that I'm not bored out of my skull. I do appreciate the fact that

If at First

I believe that it was Homer (Simpson) who first said, "Trying is the first step towards failure." it's funny. When I heard the quote, I thought of a few things - first and foremost, of course, I thought of my boys. As life progresses, they are going to try different things, and some of their endeavors are going to result in complete and utter failure. Which for a parent, is hard to take. I think back to the most humiliating moment of my childhood. I was a reluctant member of my high school soccer team (I hated the sport), and I eagerly attended the School Pep Rally, knowing that a certain young girl, who I had a massive crush on was going to be there. I was to be introduced with the rest of the team, the coach would toss me the soccer ball, and I would make a lap around the fire as the students, my mother, and the pretty girl clapped. I was so excited going to the event that I'm sure my mother thought I was a little crazy. Whatever, it was my time to shine. Sure enou

The Woman Has Soul

Over the course of 10+ years of being married, my wife has become very adept at identifying my faults. She also is very good at communicating them to me. One such fault is that I never seem to write anything about her. I'm not sure if she envisioned me writing poems or short stories that detailed her beauties, but here you go, scratch this one from the list. The woman has soul. As I think about another year of preparing for Christmas, I am tempted to point out all of the little things that have worked so well for us through the years, but it is the subtle things that matter most. I absolutely admire and adore the fierce loyalty and maternal instincts that kick in whenever there is a real or imagined threat to one of the children. My wife likes to lock the doors to make sure that we're all safe. (It was infuriating when I went out to check the mail and turned to find the door locked, but that's another story). She can't possibly close her eyes until she knows that we are

Whatsoever You Do

I was letting the dogs out last night and when the cold hit them in the face, they came running back to the front room, looking for warmth. I mentioned something about the fact that they were lucky to have a home, and a lifelong problem struck me straight between the eyes. Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers. I remember those words from my Catholic school upbringing, and I think of them each time Christmas comes around - I hate myself for thinking of it only once or twice a year. There are people living on the streets. They can't come in from the cold. Perhaps, they did it to themselves, but when I think of it, I'm sure that it is because circumstances bit them in the butt. Do you know that tonight, when the temperatures are hovering around twenty degrees, there are people sleeping under a bridge somewhere, within ten minutes of your home? Do you understand that you have clothes that you forgot about in your closet that would mean the world to a freezing man? Do you k

Choices

Life is about choices - speaking of which - I hate when people say, "You have two choices - you can stay or you can go." Isn't that by definition just one choice? I really want input here - A choice is choosing between two things, right? I always hear that and it bugs the shit out of me. (Instant poll - is that one choice or two?) Anyway, that wasn't what this post was about - I heard a beer commercial of all things that uses as its catchphrase that life is all about choices. I suppose that it is. When I was young and single, I lived in California, Maryland, and Connecticut. I enjoyed my time in all three places and it crossed my mind when I was there that perhaps I would stay - I didn't - I always returned to Buffalo, where I eventually met my wife, had my children, found my dogs, and wait each night to write my blog. What would have happened had I made the other choice? What if I would have stayed when I wanted to go? What led me to the spot where I am right now

Staying Positive

I was going to buy a book on positive-thinking and then I thought, 'What the hell good would that do?' I believe that was Woody Allen's line, but it is one of my favorites. Years ago, I worked with a laborer named Cy. Each and every day we dug ditches, poured concrete, and cleared materials out of a building. We were both construction laborers. I was about twenty years old and Cy was in his mid-fifties. I actually enjoyed the job, and Cy hated every minute of it. Every morning, he would bitch and moan about his assignment and his rant lasted all morning, well into the afternoon, and as he walked out the front gate. One day, I bounced through the gate and said hello to Cy. I asked him how it was going and he proceeded to tell me that our boss had it in for him. "I have to dig a ditch from here to there." He was pointing well off into the distance. Very calmly, I answered Cy with a statement - "Cy, you're a laborer. What did you think they were going to ask

Desensitized

Just reading about the horrific murder of Sean Taylor, the pro football player for the Washington Redskins. It's just a crying shame. It's a horrible crime about men chasing his money, and not caring who gets in the way. Certainly, Taylor's death shines some light on a subject that we have become desensitized to. I defy you to open the paper tomorrow - and I don't care what city you live in - and not find at least three stories about murder. You can't do it - there may be at least five, but I also guarantee that you won't register the names or the details of the crime. There will be funeral, after funeral, and yet, we will not really know the names. Taylor's death will deservedly receive a lot of play, and every person who reads the details will shake their head in pity. Yet, there will be more murders tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. I read an article written by a black ESPN columnist, Jason Whitlock. He called the acceptance of dea

Oh Britney!

Seven or eight years ago I was flipping through the stations when I came upon a Britney Spears concert on HBO. I hit the mute button and watched. What I saw was an amazingly attractive woman, singing? and dancing. Being a hot-blooded American male, I felt a little guilty at sneaking such a lustful peek at such a young girl. Yet, I couldn't not watch! I'll never forget it, either. Britney was in a small green outfit, and with all the sass and hoopla, she was defiantly daring me not to look. In the back of my mind though, I was rooting for failure. Not sure why we do that to stars, but when someone has too much fame, or too much money, of too much looks we need to tear them down a peg. I swear, Britney, I didn't want to see you fail so much. Back then, everyone man wanted to be with Britney and every woman wanted to be like her. Women envied her body and her beauty. A funny thing happened, however, after Britney shaved her head in that famous act of defiance... she started lo

Are you Fat, Bald, or just plain Stupid?

What the hell happened to TV? I grew up watching Happy Days, Laverne & Shirley, The Jeffersons and Alice. The comedy writing was elevated by shows like Cheers, M*A*S*H, and eventually Seinfeld and Friends. I knew the characters, rooted for them in their fictional lives, and laughed and cried with them to the bitter end. Last night, my wife convinced me to watch "Are you Smarter than a fifth-grader" with two of my boys - we divided the boys up and played along with some of the dumbest son-of-a-bitches that were ever granted a few minutes of TV time. I must say - I didn't miss even a single question - and neither did my wife or sons (okay, I'm lying, my wife missed a couple, but I'm trying to be gracious). Anyway, I didn't really enjoy the hour - there were just seven questions asked in a full hour. The rest of the time was spent in mindless chatter - back and forth silliness about how stupid the contestants were compared to the 5th graders - and a lot of li

Winter Blahs

I absolutely hate the days when it seems as though you never see the sun. I leave the house when its dark and return in the dark, and never quite feel as though I've escaped it all day long. And yet, there is something just right about the changing seasons. I lived in California for awhile and I literally sepnt eight months in sunshine, and grew bored with it. I could have been a weather man out there - I knew where each cloud was going to be, and there never was much of a threat of rain. On December 15th of that year, I played basketball outside in a t-shirt and shorts. I distinctly recall thinking, this ain't Christmas. Four days later, the pilot announced, "We're arriving in Buffalo where the current temperature is 22 degrees." The wind was whistling, it was dark, and the half of my brain that thinks was saying, "What the hell did you do this time, moron?" I'm not sure what it is that I enjoy about winter - but it's here and I'm ready for

The Voices in My Head

I have been writing stories for most of my adult life - I had my first book published by the age of 24 and have been writing something new - ever since. If I ever nail it, I might quit. Yet, the thing about writing is that you never have the perfect story, or the perfect character, or the perfect ending. I suppose that is because you're always chasing what you can't catch. Which isn't to say that writing is without its rewards. I've spoken to auditoriums full of people. I've taught writing classes. I've read my stories to college classes, and I've had my books on display in New York, Washington and Chicago - and you know, none of it truly matters. What is important is the journey - quieting the voices that scream inside my head for time. I was writing my book In Real Life when my wife was pregnant. It's a coming-of-age story that was written about a man who imagined that the life he was living was close to the life that he wanted to live. I was about 3/

The New Worker

Caught a piece on 60 Minutes that said that Human Resources people all over the land are confused as to how to treat the "new worker" who demands CEO pay and benefits while doing entry level jobs. The 60 Minutes piece said that the new worker is always complaining, is always worried about "ME" and will up and quit if their every need is not attended to. I've had a lot of bosses in my day - one who dictated that my first task of every day when I was a construction laborer - was to buy him a case of beer and deliver to the job trailer no later than 7 AM. I figured it was part of the job - and every day, when he was blind drunk by noon, I listened to him rant and rave. Another boss demanded that I do most of his work. While he was a certified executive, I was just his piss boy. For 7 years I carried his sorry ass because he couldn't even write a simple letter - he's enjoying his pension now, bragging that he was a big-shot. I interviewed a guy for a positio

The Other Shoe

I don't know if it is the responsibility of being a parent, or the challenge of being a son, or just the fact that I'm getting older, but it seems that a lot of time is spent worrying about when the other shoe is going to drop. Take for instance this weekend - I was looking forward to the long weekend so that we could spend some quality time, but happiness turned to sadness - see Jack O'Neill post - and additionally a co-worker and good friend broke the news that he has cancer. I spent the last three days of the weekend, just hoping that the bad news didn't come in three's. As luck might have it, I shared a couple of beers with some other father's - and I mentioned that a lot of my adult life is spent wondering when the other shoe is going to drop - one of my good friend's explained that it was just life happening around me. Perhaps John Lennon's famous quote sums it all up - life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. Yes, the other sh

Jack O'Neill

One of the true advantages in living in Western New York is that we have the opportunity to see the changing seasons. The bright colors of summer give way to truly colorful images as the leaves change go red and brown and drift to the ground. Yet, the bright colors leave us quickly, giving way to a heavy cloud of gray, as winter approaches. The clouds were hanging low yesterday, and again this morning. My heart was heavy too, as a true Irish-American passed away after spending Thanskgiving Day with the family that he loved. Something changed about the entire landscape, as Jack O'Neill's physical time on the earth ended. I'm always struck by the daily obits in the morning newspaper. As is my habit, I read through the section, amazed by the fact that the beat writers can encapsulate a full life in a three sentence paragraph. This morning, as I gazed on Jack O'Neill's story, my mind threatened to explode. 19 grandchildren, sixty-three years of marriage, and five great-

We The People

There certainly has been a strange element to the politics of the United States over the past few years. It is almost as if we are all picking sides for an ultimate dodge ball match. To say that the country is fractured in a Bush-Clinton type meltdown is actually understating the case. I have a number of really good friends who sit on the opposite side of the political fence - and we are awfully careful not to hammer away at each other when there are a couple of Michelob Lights introduced to the scene. Still, it got me to wondering... why is there such a rift and why are we compelled to fight for whatever side we fight for? I thought about the first three words of the Constitution and how much they should mean to all of us - We the People - I think back to The Stand by Stephen King and the re-organization of civilization after a horrible threat to humanity. Soon after the new government was formed - there were fractures and fissures that drove people to one side or another. I don't

Thanksgiving

Saw a news flash yesterday that politicized Thanksgiving, saying it was disrespectful to someone that we gather together, say thanks, and eat and drink until we reach the stage of throwing up. What's the problem? Yes, perhaps we have too many freedoms, maybe we take it all for granted. Maybe we all misunderstand the basic principles behind the Holiday, and use it for ourselves. I'm sure that most families don't recreate the Pilgrim-Indian scene, but does that mean we are offending someone? I don't know about you, but I certainly don't mean any disrespect when I'm reaching for the stuffing bowl again - my mother makes the best stuffing in the world, by the way- yes, I eat too much. I have too much fun. I look around just before dinner starts and say thank-you for my family, and the opportunity to live free. I watch my children move in for the turkey leg, and appreciate the fact that they are healthy. I look at the Lions game, toss back a beer, and understand that

Texas Tea

Just filled up at the pumps - $3.40 a gallon. Hard to say how we've all adjusted to such prices, but what can we do? Run the engine with urine? Take the horse to work? Our undistinguished leader once explained that we as Americans were addicted to oil. It was a bold statement that was issued without the usual stammering, or mis-pronunciation usually mustered during a stump speech. They were words meant to spur us on - to what exactly? Researching our own alternatives to this mess? Trying to run the mower with Ginger Ale? I don't drive a Hummer. I try my best to conserve energy, but I've noticed that when I allow the needle on the tank to get below E, the vehicle starts gasping and eventually quits. Yet, I also noticed that we attacked - as Chris Rock put it - an oil-producing nation - and still the prices go up. I've also noticed that I am uneducated in the ways of the wealthy and certainly don't understand the subtle nuances that are driving the costs skyward, but

One Last Chance to Make it Real

I first met Bernie about ten years ago at a bar after a hard day of working construction. While most of us slammed a couple of beers so that we could run home to our busy lives, Bernie drank straight whiskey. It was common knowledge that Bernie had his first heart attack while still in his thirties, but he did nothing to change his hard-living ways. The health problems continued, and so did the drinking, gambling, and as Bernie puts it, whore-mongering. His family was devastated by his lifestyle. Two of his children ended up spending time in prison. His wife was long gone. His financial future was also demolished and despite barely being able to stand for too long, he was forced to head back to work. I ran into Bernie a few weeks back. His face was gray, almost the color of ash. Most of his teeth were gone, and he was skinny as Olive Oil in the old Popeye cartoons. Yet, he was wearing a hardhat again. I asked him how he felt and Bernie let loose with a litany of complaints. He needed h

Faces of the Dead at Five

I was never big on war. I can remember back to the 2nd grade when I asked the nun at my catholic grammer school if it was a sin if you killed someone during a war. I remember it only because she stuttered her way to an answer that didn't seriously register. I still am not sure of the answer to that question - call it Catholic guilt, or whatever, but I couldn't imagine being on the right end, or the wrong end of a gun. I have nothing against guns- people seem to enjoy shooting them for relief. Hunting would probably appeal to me if I wasn't so busy reading and writing. I could help with the beer, at least. The problem I have is seeing the faces of the young kids who die in war. Their love of country is certainly admirable. I am all for the troops and the spread of democracy. Every person should have the right to live free. I'm still sickened by 9/11 and I clearly recall how it made me feel - I was mostly ashamed to be a part of the human race - and it doesn't get any

All the Heaven I Got

The dogs are asleep on the floor, just waiting for me to make the next move so that they can follow me from room to room. The sauce is on; a Sunday tradition from an Italian-American past that I refuse to let die with me. The football schedule is ready, we've already been to church. The work week is staring us straight in the eye, but the kids are running from room-to-room, doing their homework, playing video games, arguing with one another, and screaming until they give me a headache. I work my ways through the household bills and wait for the dryer to stop so I can fold a load of laundry. My wife cleans the spot underneath the fridge, has a cup of coffee, and folds the paper so she can have an angle at the crossword puzzle. Tomorrow, we'll trudge off to work, thinking about what we're going to do next weekend, and you know, it'll be much the same as this weekend. We'll talk to the kids about what they really, really, really want for Christmas. We'll debate wha

Words to Live by

All of my life I've tried to read everything I can get my hands on. I can remember doing all of the book reports for all of my classmates back in high school, wondering how they could live their lives without books. To this very night, I have read before heading off to sleep. I've read everything from Stephen King to Hemmingway, skipping back and forth, depending upon my mood. I currently have three half-read books near my bed, and will open one of them up and let the words comfort me. As a writer a lot of people tell me of the books they are reading.They ask me what is the greatest book I've ever read - I can honestly answer East of Eden by Steinbeck although A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving isn't that far behind. Yet, through the years there has been one simple phrase that has meant the world to me. It is a phrase written by a rock and roll star. They are simple words, that has become something of a crude prayer around my house. My children recognize the words a

The Juice

Can someone please explain to me why the hell I'm still looking at OJ Simpson's huge head on television? As a youngster growing up in the Buffalo area, it was impossible not to love the Juice. He was so graceful on the field, and so lively off of it. He was entertaining, engaging, and talented. He was the kind of guy that mother's dreamed that their kids would grow up to be. Of course, as his career ended, he became an actor who was quite funny in the Naked Gun movies. He was still the Buffalo Bills biggest fan and allowed us a sense of national pride. As I grew to an adult, I still loved OJ - and then of course, the murders. Not only did Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman lose their lives, but a lot of us growing up idolizing OJ lost our faith in our heroes. I have a good friend, Al DeCarlo, who was perhaps an even bigger OJ fan than me. When the murders hit, we talked of our disappearing youth and the fact that the nuns who taught us about life, never mentioned the fact that

What the Hell Happened?

One afternoon I went into one of the bigger office building in downtown Buffalo. I had an appointment on the 9th floor and I jumped into the elevator (because climbing the stairs was not an option) and much to my dismay, the elevator was a bank of mirrors. Halfway to my destination, I glanced in the mirror and said, quite loudly, 'What the hell happened to me?' The other three people on the elevator moved as far away as possible. It was a simple rhetorical question, but one that surprised me - when did my hair race into full retreat? Why did I have circles under my eyes? Let's not even discuss the extra weight, and the gray in my facial hair. Wasn't I just 18 years old? How in the hell had twenty-five years passed so quickly? Why do I get tired partway through the day? How come I can't eat like there's a gun to my head anymore? And drinking beer? Forget it - I need to schedule at least three days off and you'll never get me to try a draft beer. There are nig

Reality

I have a 14-year old son who dreams of playing in the NBA. Last night, my other two boys, who aspire to be pro wrestlers asked me if wrestling was fake. When I was young, I wanted to write a book or sentence that would change the world or the way people thought. Not sure if that is a dream that can ever come true. Now, the craze on television is reality shows, where real live people do real live things. Is a dream a lie if it doesn't come true? We tell ourselves all kinds of things to make it through the day. We are fooled by people, leaders, sports stars, and politicians. We want to believe the best about people, but we are dragged through the mud, when our illusions don't meet our true existence. I have never watched one scene from a reality show. I see the glut of game shows on television and I think of my grandfather watching The Price is Right and loudly rooting against the contestants - when one of them would lose - he would angrily shout - "good for you, you stupid

House of Miracles

I feel compelled to tell you about my new book... House of Miracles . I am not writing this post to sell books, rather, it is an attempt to let you get to know some of the people involved. It truly is a long story that pushed me into writing the book, but it is a story that developed out of love of my fellow man. You see, back in 2001, my son Jake was diagnosed with a life-threatening tumor. After a long ordeal, he was saved at The Women & Children's Hospital of Buffalo, NY . Up until that point in time, my life had moved along quite smoothly. I wasn't real aware of how a hospital works, what goes into the day of a surgeon, or a critical care nurse, or a hospital photographer, or chaplain. There was no reason for me to get to know any of these people, but through Jake's illness, I was allowed a glimpse into their world. We as Americans have a real desire to be entertained. We idolize movie stars, beautiful girls with no appreciable talents, sports stars, and musicians.

Welcome to thoughts of a Common Man

I imagine that this blog will just be an exercise in writing, but I have always toyed with the idea of what is important in life and I have written extensively about trying to find my place. I have been fairly successful in getting my books published and out there, but there is so much more to do, and so little time... I am looking at this blog as an opportunity to share some of my thoughts. I'm a typical American male with three kids, a great wife, a mortgage and a couple of dogs - just to keep my balance. I was thinking of a story to encapsulate such a life and I drift in time back to my 40th birthday. I was a little anxious about turning 40, and approached my birthday not really wanting to share much. I just kept saying, it's just another day. On that day, I returned home from work, thinking about a beer, the Yankees playoff series against the Red Sox, and a good night's rest. My wife and sons were waiting in the driveway with presents for me, and the first present I rec