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Showing posts from July, 2010

Trade Deadline

The height of my geekdom begins and ends with baseball. You all know that I'm a fan of the 27-Time Defending World Champion New York Yankees and each year the deadline hits with a feeling that it is Christmas. Teams that are in baseball to see of they can lead the league in saving money do the usual salary dump this time of year, and my boys in the front office are ready to pounce. This year, so far, it has netted Lance Berkman and Austin Kearns. Half hour to go and still waiting to unwrap packages. When I was a kid I'd spend hours and hours on the floor working with my baseball cards. We had cards from 1960 on, and I would read the backs, shuffle the cards, make trades in my head, and read the backs some more. I could tell you stats that would make your head spin. Ron Guidry was 25 and 3 in 1978. He threw 9 shutouts and 15 complete games. His ERA was 1.74. Of course, he won the Cy Young. I lost my partner in it all 16 months ago. At the deadline two years ago he left a message

What It Is

I never liked the song Sitting on the Dock of the Bay because the singer sounded like he was whining about the fact that he couldn't get it done and was just whiling the time away. I've always also hated the saying that It is what it is . I know a couple of people who say it all the time and it seems like a cop-out. I go to Syracuse twice a month and spend time with a particular client. I've known most of their personnel for the past 13 years...which is quite some time. One of my favorite people in their organization is an ironworker who is always upbeat. He always seems genuinely enthused to see me, and we share a laugh or two. During my last visit, he opened up a little to tell me that he was sorry about the loss of my bro. "I lost two brothers in six months time," he said. "Car accident and then a heart attack." Like I've said, this is a guy who is always upbeat. I imagined his down moments. We were awkward about the subject but he said the words

Chelsea & Gag

Feeling a little older today. My college roommate from my freshman year is 46 freaking years old and he let me know he needed a blog for his present from me. So, Happy Birthday pal - a bottle of Jamesons will soon be in my possession courtesy of a nitwit betting against the 27-Time Defending World Champion Yankees in last year's World Series. Next time I see you, I'll give you some. But what really made me feel old was to catch up on the wedding planned for Chelsea Clinton this weekend. She's thirty years old! I remember her when she was about ten, right? She's grown before our very eyes, and through the years has sort of acted the right way. No drunken photos of her hanging around a bunch of Texas clubs. Of course, the wedding will be a stately affair. I'm sure that none among us has ever attended such a shindig. Heads of States, entertainers, world leaders...they will all be there. Hell, I even hear that Queen Oprah will be slopping down food at the buffet. Yet th

Intelligence? Really?

They need to come up with another word for what they call "intelligence". I know it's a sore subject when you start talking politics, but consider these news items: 1). 8.7 Billion dollars is missing from the Iraq War deal. This money was lost sometime between 2004 and 2007. There really is no explanation for it. The Pentagon doesn't know. The former president doesn't know. The current president doesn't know. Also consider that $8.7 billion doesn't just fall out of your pocket and into the couch cushion when you sit down. That is a missing warehouse of money. It is money that was begged for by the previous administration as essential to fighting 'them over there so we didn't have to fight them over here'. And we lost the money?????? Doesn't that frost your ass? 2). Speaking of which about 90,000 classified documents became de-classified in regard to the Afghanistan war. Now everyone knows what was supposed to be top-secret. Who's runnin

Send Me A Dollar

Apparently there is a nun who roams the New York City streets in full nun-get-up, begging passersbys for money so that she can save her church. She's been successfully doing this for the past ten years or so. Bless You, my child. Turns out she's not a nun. Turns out there is no church. The state is onto her. They want the money back so they can piss it away on a non-existent budget that can't be passed. There is so much to this story. So many bad memories for me. I can recall being driven into a doorknob by Sister Henriella back in the 5th grade. That little woman could hit like Ray Lewis. When I crumpled to the ground in pain, she screamed at me to get up. She was an angry old bat. I was surprised she didn't spit on my writhing little body. So, I have little sympathy for the would-be nun. Although her walking around the streets dressed like a penguin deserves a dollar in change, doesn't it? Fake story or not, I might have floated a buck her way. And I used to doll

I Want to Ride My Bicycle...

...I want to ride my bike. The above is proof that Freddie Mercury could have sung anything and we would have listened to it. I've been thinking about riding my bike lately because one of my true nemesis Lance Armstrong kept falling off of his during the Tour De France, and I couldn't have been happier. Quick recap. He gets cancer. He beats cancer and immediately leaves his wife. Sheryl Crow gets cancer. He leaves her. He's accused of doping. Denies it. He dates the freaking Olsen Twins. Sells a few million bracelets. Denies doping again. Acts like a douche. FBI closing in. Falls off his bike seven times. Finishes twenty-third. Denies doping again. When I was about 15 I had a bike. It belonged to my older sister, Corinne. I didn't care if it looked like a girl's bike, it got me to where I needed to be, and I was secure in my masculinity. The real problem with it is that it had no brakes. None at all. And we lived on the top of a big hill. So, if I wanted to go somew

The Last Letter

You have to figure its coming in the next few years. Perhaps it will be my ultimate claim to fame. I went to the post office towards the end of the week just to get a few stamps. There is certainly a deflating feeling when you open the post office door and see four people standing in line in front of you. That's because you just know the line is going to move nice and s-l-o-w. Real freaking slow. And it seems like no one really knows how to act in that line. There's no joking. Everyone stares straight ahead with their packages, wondering why there are so many people moving around and just one guy, who's moving really, really, really, really freaking slow, at the front. And he's asking one dumb question after another. "Is there anything liquid, fragile, or explosive in your padded envelope, Ma'am?" "Would you like any additional stamps, packaging, envelopes, or to open a PO Box?" I used to love getting letters through the mail. In college my fathe

Thanks For Asking

The leg is better, thanks for asking. A hundred and one things to think about while forcing myself back into a routine for the week. Woke up this morning to a broken washing machine. I wanted to help, I really did. One of the spoiled rotten dog that lives here - there are two of them - wouldn't eat her breakfast until I took her for a ride. I poured a cup of coffee, opened the paper, and she laid at my feet, crying, until I put her in the car and having nowhere to go, drove her around the block. Five minutes of looking out the window and she was in a much better place. I was able to return to the paper and she ate her breakfast. And there's a lesson there if I think hard enough. We are all programmed to do certain things and we do them as a course of routine. I had to disobey my doctors orders and go to work on three of the five days he told me to be off - and I'm also cutting the rehab short this week - and going about my business because that's what I'm programmed

Everything I Really Do Know

Okay, in the light of day the Everything I Know post was a downer: Everything I truly do know; take these to the bank. 1). Life is better with a breaded pork chop in your hands. Better yet with another one on the plate waiting for you to finish the first one. 2). In most cases the person who loves you most in your life will be your mother. A few of the dogs you own throughout your life will love you just as much, but it's a little different sort of love. Or is it? 3). During his lifetime, Herman Melville's Moby Dick sold only 50 copies. 4). God will not provide for you. He will give you the means to provide for yourself, but you have to make it happen. 5). The longer you live the more you'll regret the things you haven't done as opposed to regretting the things you have. 6). The best path to happiness is doing something for somebody else. 7). Ain't no one going to give you what you really need in life. This journey is a solo act, no matter how you cu

Everything I Know

The idea of ever writing another book again starts and ends with the most ambitious idea ever - just writing down, Everything I Know . And in the end, it probably won't mean that much to anyone anyway, but it's an idea that keeps kicking around, and comes painfully clear when I have a couple of beers, or a glass of wine and then a couple more beers after watching the Yankees beat the Royals. Tonight. And therein lies the problem. As a writer there is this huge ego driven ideal that whatever you write, somebody, somewhere is going to have a connection and will read along. That is a tremendous leap of faith. It is also a wonderful concept and something that always pushed me forward. I've been well read and I appreciate it. Yet as a young man, I couldn't figure out why everyone wouldn't read my pearls of wisdom. As a young adult, I figured I'd find a niche. As an adult, I looked to find my voice, and then the world caved in for me, and I figured that no one could p

Salt

Believe it or not I don't have a particular problem with Angelina Jolie. Sure, she had a blood vial around her neck when she was with Billy Bob Thornton, and she made out with her brother once on the red carpet, but she seems to be a decent soul. I know that I may have never seen one of her movies all the way through, started that Wanted one, but quit about seven minutes in, and I also know that she has about thirty kids with that mediocre looking actor, Brad Pitt - 'He's no Cliff Fazzolari' - as my wife says. I also know Angelina is beautiful, but 'She's no Kathy Fazzolari' - if you can see the game the wife and I play to feed each other's egos. But, I sort of have a particular problem with this Salt movie. Doesn't she play a character who fights her way through all sorts of bad guys to save the freaking world? How big is this woman? Isn't she like five-four? Now I know that movies are about suspending belief for a little while and going with

Best Laid Plans

Started yesterday as I've started most of my adult life - shot from a cannon. I decided to do the 'suck it up' thing and headed for a couple of work sites, pretending that I was walking just fine. And I did make it through okay. A couple of twinges here and there, but no climbing, so I was not much worse for the wear. I planned a trip to the docs, and a little ice, and back at it on Thursday morning. Except the doc put me in an air cast for a week. My stilted walking was doing damage to other areas of the foot. The plan being that he'd immobilize it for a week, and see how it responds. Those were his plans.... ...and they became mine. And it occurred to me that therein lies the frustration in my life. Not doing things the way I wanted to do them. Not having things work out the way that I had it planned. Which leads me to believe that it is best not to plan ahead. We can't control the major things in life, right? Now some may argue that not stretching before activity

X-Ray Vision

When I was a kid I remember asking my brothers if they'd rather be invisible or have X-ray vision. I wished to be invisible because you could go anywhere you pleased, mess with people, take a bit of cash from the bank when you were short, eat things off other people's plates - ah, you can see the advantages. I remember my brother saying that he'd rather have X-ray vision because he could look through women's clothes and see what's doing. Well, my sources tell me that all you need for that particular super power is to become a working member of the TSA. Yes, there will be X-ray machines installed at Kennedy and LaGuardia, and that the images they show are of the nude variety. The TSA member will glance at it on his computer screen, and finding no threat, will immediately delete the image. Uh, yeah,right! Now its not the images that they will certainly save in a secret folder - images of models and beauty queens - that concerns me. (Honestly, you're a TSA agent an

Just Watched Rhoda

Being laid up has sort of done wonders for me in the watching old television shows department. As you can see by the title of the blog, I caught an episode of Rhoda today. Man, that show sucked. Carlton the doorman was all the rage back in the day, and Rhoda spent most of her time bitching about her ex,Joe, who always looked like something of a pimp to me. Yet my television viewing wasn't confined to just the ex- Mary Tyler Moore star. I also got a chance to see three episodes of Three's Company , a couple of Married with Children , and a Bonanza . A few questions: 1). Why did anyone ever watch Three's Company ? The plot of all three shows was about a misunderstanding that got everyone in hot water. Jack acted like he had no clue about women. His friend Larry popped in during all three episodes and excuse me for saying it, but I know why Furley thought those two were gay. Jack and Larry spoke of women as if they were new to the planet. 2). Suzanne Somers had a terrific bod

Temper Temper

Yankee pitcher AJ Burnett cut his hand up when he smashed a clubhouse door after pitching poorly (again) in one of his last starts. After the game he apologized to his teammates and vowed never to do it again. I bet Mel Gibson would like to say the same thing about now. Through the years I've been accused of having something of a temper. When I was a kid I'd go off all the time about everything from the Sabres losing to the death penalty. Now who gives a crap? I rarely lose my temper these days and actually shout at the kids even less than my wife, and she doesn't shout much either. Yet you listen to the tapes of Mad Mel and its a little scary that a human being can reach such levels of rage. And if you listen to the tapes it certainly doesn't seem that Gibson is all that upset with his girlfriend - its the rest of the world around him that has him acting so irrationally. Poor guy is down to his last billion dollars. I once worked with a boss who would go completely aro

Instant Karma

I'm writing this blog from the emergency room bed. I woke a little after 1 AM with pain so severe in my ankle that it was all I could do to tough it out long enough for Kathy to get a decent night of rest before driving me to the hospital. Our last conversation before bed was that I shouldn't rush back to work. I, of course, disagreed. Guess that Kathy won another difference of opinion. "God's telling you to slow down." Ok, that might happen. And perhaps God is also sticking needles into a bobblehead doll made in my image. Perhaps I'm paying for the sins of Adam and Eve. Maybe God is asleep and dreaming all of this crap up. I don't know much about good and bad karma. I refuse to believe that I have an inflamed or torn tendon because I swore when I four-putted a hole. Or because I had seventeen too many beers one night during college. God isn't sitting up there with a ledger that he uses to balance things out, right? If that were the case only really ba

Graduation Day

My beautiful niece, Andrea, had a party to celebrate her graduation from high school. The weather was good, the food was great, the beer was cold, and the old stories were flying. I kept going back in my mind to my own graduation and the feeling that I'd finally arrived. And it's a funny thing about time because it was just a blink of an eye, right? And there I was sitting with a chair to prop up my foot, grey whiskers on my face, a lot of my hair having left for somewhere. I saw my brother running around the party too, and he looked just as old. But there were still a few laughs hiding inside. We all sat in a circle, sipping the beer, and telling story after story. My father was reaching way back in time to tell a story about a couple of friends of his who stayed in a ring for three minutes with a gorilla to win a bottle of wine. Three-fourths of our altar boy group was in attendance at the party and John, Joe and I remembered a day when Joe was lambasted by the priest for sti

Mother's Little Helper

Too often we go to the doctor only to return home with a score of drugs. There seems to be a pill for every sort of ailment, and despite what are some nasty side effects, we chase them with a cup of coffee and forget about it. I'm not a big pill taker. An aspirin here, a gout pill there, I'm a little apprehensive about taking my medicine. I know people who have up to 15 prescriptions. These are people in their 40's, mind you, and they wonder why they feel out of balance. Go running to the shelter of the mother's little helper. I hear Jagger singing it just perfectly. Yet the pain in my right ankle was pretty sharp all day yesterday. It only truly hurts when I walk so its a good thing the Yanks were on last night. I was able to sit and ice it, but the hydrocodene was calling. I took one and relaxed. And man, do I mean relaxed. A soft,comfortable haze overtook me as the kids played beside me. They were laughing, joking and making fun of the Yankees who spent most of the e

I've Got Good News and Bad News

Don't you love the good news, bad news jokes? I also love one particular joke: Woman goes to the funeral parlor director: "I'm here to bury my husband." The director says: "But I buried your husband two years ago." The woman answers: "I got remarried." The director says: "Oh Congratulations!" My father came home with that joke about twenty years ago and I remember my mother saying: "I don't get it." We told it to her a few times, and then she announced that it wasn't funny at all. Mom was never much of a joke-teller, but if you ever get the chance ask her to do the impressions of a cat that was hit by the car. She'll laugh all the way through it. My good news and bad news? Good News: I am pretty sure that I escaped the knife with the Achillies. Ice, rest and a wonderful pain killer has helped immensely. Bad News: I still am not real proficient at walking. And man, what a gift it is to be able to walk. Yesterday, I st

Useless Information

If a lobster loses an eye it will grow another one. When you walk down a steep hill, the pressure on your knees is equal to three times your body weight. Why am I telling you this? Because I've been doing little more than reading useless fact information on my phone. That's because I may have torn my Achilles tendon in my right leg. I should know for sure by the end of the day tomorrow. How'd that happen? You ask. Not real sure. Played that basketball game on Tuesday. Worked all right yesterday, and slowly but surely arrived at a position, after walking a number of job sites, where I could not put any weight - let alone three times my weight - on my ankle. I walked into a convenience store - more like hopped - and the girl behind the counter asked me if I wanted her to call an ambulance. Coconuts kill more people in the world than sharks do. Approximately 150 people are killed each year by coconuts. There is an average of 50,000 spiders per acre in green areas. So, here I s

Definitely the Last Year

Not sure what made me do it, but I headed to the basketball court for a few shots with Sam after dinner last night. Sam wanted to play me in a one-on-one so we went for awhile and I finished him off with a shot from about 15 back. You see, I won't let the kids beat me. Even a nine-year-old with a nice little bank shot. I could throw the game, of course, but will they ever learn to lose? They need to have a challenge. Which brings me to Matt. He is now over six-feet tall. He scored 45 a couple of weeks ago in a basketball camp game. He will be a starter on the varsity team this year. He has also been banging on me about playing the annual game against him. I certainly wasn't up for it after a day of work. It was Kathy who made sure it happened. She pulled up a picnic table bench, got Sam to root, root, root for Matt beside her, and announced that I was certain to lose this year. Now for all that have ever seen me play hoops, you are certain of four things: 1). I can't handle

Uncle George

I was a Yankee fan before George Steinbrenner bought them for ten million bucks. Go back to those times and consider that they couldn't get five thousand fans into the building. The Yankee Pride was gone. They were the freaking Pirates for crying out loud. And yes, Steinbrenner went the free agent route to bring the team back to prominence, and for this he is vilified. But he did not pioneer free agency. Curt Flood and Andy Messersmith did that as players. Steinbrenner was just the first owner to take advantage. And man, did he take advantage. He hit the gold bars with Catfish and Reggie. He struck out with a whole bunch of others - Tartabull, Jack Clark, even Giambi. But he kept trying. He kept putting money into the product, and didn't really care who had a problem with it. He knew that he owned the team in New York City. The team that had Mantle, Ruth and Gehrig. He wanted the Yankees to be relevant again, and he pulled out all stops. He once said that he could double his pa

Passion of the Dipshit

Has anyone's star fallen faster than Mel Gibson's? Cheetah Woods looks at Mel in pity. That idiot that screwed around on Sandra Bullock thinks Gibson has gone around the bend. Seems like every day I'm sitting here commenting on poor behavior by someone who was considered a star. We set 'em up just to knock-a-knock-a-knock em down. But Gibson really knows how to anger the masses. Just a few years ago he was the darling of Hollywood. Who didn't love him in the Lethal Weapon movies? He was the best. Then Braveheart . My God what a movie that was - one of the best ever, right? He threw all of his money into the Passion of the Christ , and while everyone seemed to love it...it started the beginning of his descent, right? He'd been married forever with a ton of kids. Done with the marriage. Okay, stuff happens. Then the drunken anti-Semitic crap with the cops, and the great drunken mugshot. (One thing I've avoided. How in the world did I avoid the drunken mugshot?

If Bubbles Could Talk

There isn't anything that can make you feel older than going to a place where young kids are gathered and listening to their music. Believe it or not, at the wedding this weekend, there wasn't a single Springsteen song played. My wedding was virtually all Bruce, of course, but he doesn't play well I suppose, to twenty-something dancers. What does play well to the dance crowd is the "music" with the techno beat. I didn't know even half the songs. Danced once to the slow Clapton tune - with my beautiful wife - but other than that - stood and watched and wondered. But there was also plenty of Michael Jackson. My nieces loved the man and don't take very kindly to my reminders of the accusations against him. When Billie Jean came on, I mentioned something about pedophilia, and got looks that could have frozen water. Lo and behold, he was in the news this morning because his sister, LaToya, who will never be confused with Plato, explained that the gloved one was

Sacrifice

This is supposed to be a LeBron free zone, but I just can't help it. I read another story today. "This is all about sacrifice now," LeBullshit said. "We sacrificed dollars to make us a winning team." Poor guys. Wade, Bosch and LeBullshit left three million dollars from their $111 million on the table so that the team could go out and sign other free agents. It was implied that the sacrifice made by the chosen one's puts a hardship on their families as they move forward, but they are willing to do so. Great guys. All for the greater good. "Don't forget LeBron sold ads for his announcement to benefit the Boys and Girls Club of America," someone said to me when I made it clear that his special was a disgusting display of Me, My Mine. (A great Beatles song, by the way). And maybe I've had enough of sports in general. Maybe it took the sacrifice comment to make me see straight beyond the games that I used to really love. Sacrifice? How about a s

Wedding Day

Going to a party today to celebrate the wedding of my niece, Katie to a fine,young man, Matt. It's sort of strange too because when Kathy and I first had the kids and needed a moment away from them it was Katie who stepped up to the plate and offered to babysit. She always did a fine job, and usually balked at an offer to be paid, although she eventually took the money that I crumpled up and threw at her. It's also strange because every single time I go to a wedding I think of two things: 1). My character Waldorf, in my widely acclaimed book Waldorf & Juli (I learned self-promotion from King LeBron), was standing at the front of the church waiting for his bride when his best man said: This is either the greatest moment in your life, or the single standing in time that you'll look back on and rue with all of the hatred in your heart. 2). Or as Springsteen said in his widely acclaimed CD, Tunnel of Love , Would they ever look so happy again? The handsome groom and his bri

The King Is Banned!

All right, so I lied. I watched The King proclaim who his next team would be. I had to. The 27-Time Defending World Champions are playing on the West Coast, so there was absolutely nothing on television. And man, was I put off by the whole deal. First off, they called it The Decision. As if creation itself depended on it. Secondly, they called those three ball-bouncing millionaires The Chosen Ones: a bit much. Thirdly, they sat The King in a chair and said he's about to make a decision that will affect the world. Turned my stomach. Fourthly, while I knew the ads for the program were going to charity - The Boys and Girls Clubs of America - I honestly believed that The King would have a message for young people. In my heart I believed that he might start with a decree that children should stay in school, or stay out of gangs, or stay off of drugs, or stop freaking shooting each other every friggen day. But no. It was all about Lebron. And at the end of the day, his momma told him th

Redirecting The Anger

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Don't you hate guys like this guy? He parks the car in two spots in a convenience store where there are just four parking spaces. I can see doing so if you don't want someone to park next to a luxury automobile (all right, I lied, that's selfish too) but this guy can't possibly be doing it this way to protect a hunk of crap, can he? I had to park on the street. I went into the store and he was spitting out a thousand numbers for the lottery. I wanted to smack him with my newspaper. So I buy the newspaper and I see LeBron freaking James on the cover. He's got an hour special tonight to tell us where his next hundred million is coming from. I received my social security statement the other day. I have made 1.2 million over the last 24 years. I have .77 cents in my checking account, sore feet, a bum shoulder, and a lot of anger that needs to be redirected. Tune in and see LeBron make an announcement that is going to get more play then the Cuban Missile Crisis. I won

What're You Afraid Of?

I had a long conversation the other night with someone who is deathly afraid of overhead wires. I'm not kidding. This person has crying fits whenever she is forced to pass under, near or around overhead lines. Power lines, cable lines, anything hanging. The only way she can walk under them is to throw up an umbrella. As she told the story, I sort of laughed uncomfortably. What I wanted to do was telling her that she's nucking futs. Yet there are people afraid of heights, snakes, bugs, serial killers, being forced to leave their homes, dogs, cats, rats, and bats. I can't say that I'm afraid of much. I remember a college buddy who was scared of thunderstorms. He got drunk one night and went out and stood in one, and he conquered the fear. He got wet as well. When I was a kid I wasn't fond of heights, and there is every now and then when I'm driving across a bridge when I feel a shudder, but my job has cured me of most of the fears of falling. The things that scare

Catching Up

See that Lindsay Lohan is going to jail for 90 days. Who could have predicted that? Isn't she a fine actress with a stable, healthy upbringing. Hey boys, maybe we have a chance now. She'd be happy to see any man after spending time in the clink. Then again, doesn't she swing from both sides of the plate? Ah well, still out of luck. Another Manson parolee shot down. Geez, aren't they rehabilitated by now? I hear the latest to be denied has been a model citizen in jail. Awful hard to plead your case for time off for good behavior with all of your victim's blood all over the wall. Here's an idea - donate the money for the parole hearings to the family of the victims. Announce that they are receiving special treatment - no more parole chances. Good behavior! The oil has showed up along the coast of five states now. Haven't been listening to Rush much. Is he still of the opinion that the media is overstating the case? Or that the sea is strong? Maybe I'll lis

Consequences

I'm not a big fan of fireworks. Sure, if there's a good show going on and I have a beer in my hand, I'll look up and do the ahhhh thing. I also understand that its a reason for us to get together and drink that beer. Yet what soured me on fireworks and fire crackers and sparklers and all of that are my two dogs. They are scared out of their minds at this time of year. Last night Melky cowered in the corner, shaking because of the constant pop outside, coming from where, I don't know. I pictured some guy, running around, setting them off and cheering by himself. A little strange, you know? I also always think of July 4, 1988 when I attended a private party in Brooklyn with the guys I was working with in Connecticut and the free fireworks they got from a friend of a friend of a friend who knew John Gotti. These guys set off fireworks for ten hours straight in the middle of the city block. Weird night. I could have lit a few that night, but I didn't. A few guys called

Back to the 80's

Believe it or not, we watched Fast Times at Ridgemont High yesterday, and it was really sort of weird, you know? First off to see Sean Penn as Spicoly is real strange - no matter what you think of him - he's a great actor. Secondly, the movie was not nearly as funny as I thought it was. In fact, it was kind of beat. I remember seeing it when I was a little older than Jake and a little younger than Matt. There wasn't anything overly offensive in it I suppose, but the boys were in an out anyway. Mostly they wanted to laugh at the way the characters dressed in the 80's, or the way they talked, or the big hair, or the huge cell phones, or the lame looking cars. "Did you wear shorts that short?" Jake asked me as they showed a character jumping into the pool. "The shorter the better," I said. "My God, how those shorts would look on you now," he said. "Just watch the movie." And I remember the days and the turned up collars, and the music C

For Spacious Skies

The Fourth of July is the perfect holiday, isn't it? Barbecues, sunshine, and good feelings about our wonderful country. Despite all of the turmoil, and there is always turmoil, the US of A as Archie Bunker might say is still the greatest country in the world, and the pride you feel when celebrating the nation's birthday is always uplifting. Glad it happened in July though. Could you imagine celebrating it on, say November 5? That would suck. And I say that because of the ribs. My brother Jim made the call early in the week. "Ribs and swimming at my place," he said. "Get the ribs, I'll cook 'em. Three of four slabs should work." Later in the week, "Make it five or six slabs," he said. Now, I'm all for having too much food rather than fighting for the last rib. "You want that?" is usually all the inspiration I need to take the last rib. "I could eat these until I pass out," I told my sister. "Looks like you'r

Think About It

There are millions and millions of us...a whole deal run amok. We all lead lives that are supposed to mean something to someone, somewhere along the line. Do we even think about that? We watch Dancing with the Stars , or America's Got Talent , and by the time we go to bed we think that's all there is for the day. We spend our days chasing the almighty dollar, telling off the next door neighbor, and crying because we don't get a great reception on our cell phone. We eat too much, drink too much, swear too much, and wonder why we don't have enough love. We amuse ourselves, abuse ourselves, and use ourselves, and in the end never really know ourselves. We laugh too hard at things that aren't funny and cry too long for things we should get over quicker. We worry about the government, and education, and healthcare and child abuse...when we know that things we worry about that we can't change have no solution...and things that can be resolved will be solved anyway. So

The Horse Died in the End

Being that the 27-Time Defending World Champion Yankees,who have the best record in baseball, played and won their game in the afternoon, there were not a lot of choices for television last night. After dinner, Kathy decided to visit Redbox for a flick, and despite the fact that I've been burned before - by romantic comedies where someone who looks like Jennifer Aniston, or Catherine Heigl spends two hours bemoaning the fact that men don't find them attractive, only to miraculously find love in the end - I let my wife choose the flick. (Hey guys out there - wouldn't you be willing to take a lot of crap from Aniston or Heigl? Would it take you months or minutes to profess love? Just asking). Anyway, Kathy was very secretive about the movie. She didn't divulge actors in it or the plot line and I'm not even sure of the name - Remember Me - maybe? Yet the movie started out promisingly enough with a Ghandi quote about what we do in our lives will be insignificant, but we

Nice Work If You Can Get It

The details of Cheetah Woods divorce settlement hit the news today. It looks as if Elin will get a couple of homes, custody of the children and about $750 million for her troubles. I don't know about you, but I sort of smiled when I saw that. Good for her. She's going to have a good time spending his cash, huh? And what did she have to do for it? Cheetah's the one who had to practice every day. He chipped and putted and chipped some more. He's won the 2nd most major tourneys of all-time, and has had to travel the world playing golf on the greatest courses in the world. Poor guy. Elin spent a few years with him, popped out a couple of kids, and held down the fort as he slept with waitresses from Denny's, hotel receptionists, the next-door-neighbor, and the Russian lady with one leg. (Oh right, that was Tony Soprano). Cheetah might have got her too. I don't know. I smiled at the idea of her cashing that check because he was certainly a dirtbag who put her threw he