Friday, September 30, 2011

Ashton to Michael & Willie, Mickey and the Duke

I'm wiped out from baseball. As stated, I watched every game last night and then couldn't get to sleep.

The Red Sox are out! No Youk, or Pedroia, or Ellsbury, or Beckett.

The season is halfway to being a complete success.

And so, I was tired all day on Thursday and I kept thinking about Michael Jackson because his doctor's case is in the news and I wondered if he had any leftover profpofol.

Can you imagine having to get yourself knocked out each night to get some decent rest?

I'm of the belief that I will sleep well eventually. Can't imagine having to get something administered to get rest, but man, you know those precious seconds before you go under, don't you?

Aren't those fun?

When I had my knee done a few months back the nurse and doc were talking to me as they wheeled me down. Life got so calm and serene. They asked me to start at 100 and count back. I made it to about 96.

Those were the four best seconds of the last three years.

Of course, I was a little concerned about waking up, but I did, and it was cool coming out of it too because it seemed like no time at all had passed.

Michael didn't come out.

And yeah, the doc should be blamed.

Because of baseball, I missed the whole Ashton Kutcher deal.

He cheated on Demi Moore????

What's up with that? He caught lightning in a bottle and he threw the bottle overboard?

Now, I know, she's no Kathy Fazzolari, but she does look pretty good most of the time, and although she's getting a bit long in the tooth (one of my favorite all-time sayings), there's a bit of sadness there.

Why do we, as peasants, care about who can't stop themselves from cheating in a world that is far different from ours? Why do we lament the breakup of a Hollywood couple?

Why does everyone who works on the Two and a Half Men Show as the lead character, act like an a-hole?

I have so many questions.

They are all going to have to wait to be answered.

Baseball starts again tomorrow.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

More Than He Knows

Excuse me while I wax poetic, but baseball has been my one constant in life. I can't even begin to guess about the number of games I've watched, but I can certainly tell you exactly where I was as some of the greatest games ever played out.

Carlton Fisk's homer in the '75 series?

I was at the Town Park in North Collins. A friend told me what had happened. I was just about to turn 11.

The Bucky Dent homer?

On a soccer field. My coach, Mike Loretto, had stolen my radio. He told me what happened.

The Aaron Boone homer?

In a Syracuse hotel room. My cell phone rang at 1:45 a.m.

Ten times.

The last being my brother Jeff. We were so happy.

So happy.

So last night was to be an epic night. If the Yankees won, they'd most likely keep the Red Sox in it. If they lost all hell would break loose.

I started watching the games with my baseball mini-me, Sam. We had three different games on and were checking the 4th important game on our computers and phones.

Nothing was settled by the time Sam had to go to bed.

And the void swept over me. Kathy was still working. I couldn't call Jeff. I was reeling. I wanted so badly to share what was going on.

And someone stepped into the void.

My buddy Gag sent a text.

For the next two hours we texted back and forth. The sadness I was feeling started to melt away.

We watched Papelbum blow it for the Suck Sox. We watched the Yanks lose it moments later to ensure that Boston was going home.

We simply talked baseball.

Gag's beautiful wife Suzanne said hello at one point, but it was mostly Yanks, Phils, Bosox and Rays.

Right into the void. More than he knows.

So thank you, buddy.

She's no Suzanne Gaglianone.

Can You Get that Off the Top Shelf?

This woman stands all of two feet and three inches. She's 22 years old.

Where to begin.

I don't know why but as a teenager I wanted to make it to 6' tall. In fact, my hero during the grade school years was Wilt Chamberlin so I really, really wanted to be 7'2".

I did make it to 6', but now that Matt claims to be taller than me it sort of pisses me off. Why should I care?

Can you imagine Wilt standing next to this woman?

At 2' 3" there are a lot of things that just aren't going to happen. You won't ever ride a roller coaster at a 6-Flags park. In fact, you may not even make it to the bumper cars. I have never been as mad as I was at Disney when we waited in line for the bumper cars and one of my boys couldn't get on because he was less than an inch short of making the ride.

And we are coming off a week when bullying is a real topic in this land. Kids are killing themselves because others are making fun of them. I sincerely hope this woman has a sense of humor because there are going to be snide comments coming her way.

Through the years, of course, I've met and worked with people of all shapes and sizes. I know some who bring it up first to defuse the situation. I laughed my ass off when a 400-pound guy started a conversation with the old Chris Farley line: "I have what some may call something of a weight problem."

When I started losing my hair it really bothered me. Until it didn't anymore. Now I lead with the bald jokes. I love telling someone else they're bald. They look at me and point and laugh.

So life is most likely different for this woman. I'm sure she is most likely used to it all, and the best part of it all?

She's in the Guinness Book of World Records, and you're not.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

There's No Room for This Type of Blame-Game

Isn't this awful?

I am shocked and dismayed that someone might post such a photo on Facebook.

What is the purpose?

Does anyone not know that Bush did a lousy job? Are there very many people out there who are thoroughly enamored with Obama, or the black guy, as he is referred to here?

The problem being, of course, that the political system in this country is really, really broken. People vote as if they are picking a horse in a race, and if their guy wins they think that they can just sit back and make fun of the other guy.

I wasn't a Bush fan. I may have made that clear in this space before. I certainly am not a fan of Sarah Palin. But I can certainly tell you the one thing that I stopped doing after the last election...and that's fighting about it.

I'm done.

I'm not going to bash the next president unless he or she does something worthy of being bashed. I certainly won't do it based on whether they are a Republican or a Democrat because you know what?

Both groups suck.

They suck bad. They've taken the hard-working, God-fearing, loving people of this proud country and turned them all into a bunch of sniffling, crying, whining, 'you're guy did it, mine didn't,' finger-pointing idiots.

I'm not kidding here. I really don't like that photo. I would never pass it on or post it for a laugh.

The Bush is an idiot thing has been done to death. Blaming the black guy as a comment is insulting.

Not sure a lot of people are looking around, but it seems to me that we don't have time for this...the country seems to be in a bit of a mess.

When I'm in charge all of this nonsense will stop.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

I Hate the Facebook Changes

If I see that written one more time as someones Facebook status, I might puke.

And the whole concept of Facebook and Twitter and yes, even blogs is funny. The "look at me" society that we live in. Of course, it is a society that I thrive in.

And I thrive in it because I love busting balls.

It's the best.

Facebook makes it easy because people post their most passionate words on there and they also post new photos of themselves.

"Do you like my haircut?"

Now how am I supposed to handle that?

"What kind of soup was it?" I'll ask.

"Soup, what're you talking about?"

"Didn't they give you soup with your haircut?"

That will make someone think for the entire day. And then the stuff about the Bills.

"Whoo-hoo!!!! We're number one!"

I may answer that by bringing up the 12 years without playoffs or the four straight Super losses. That works because the person is so hyped up and when you tear them down, they lash out.

Once they start lashing out, they're cooked!

And I couldn't possibly make a patch on my brother Jeff's ass. Or even Jim, Carrie or Corinne's for that matter. They thrive on Facebook for the same reason as me.

To drive others crazy!

Jeff would have been dismissed as a member.

No doubt.

But it's all fun and games, really. I know I have friends in Pittsburgh. If the Steelers lose, I'm all over it.

Same with Baltimore, but kicking them when they're down about the Orioles is like beating up someone who lives in a wheelchair.

My absolute favorite part of it is when I get under someones skin so much that they tell me off.

That's when I tell them I love them.

"I love you too," they write back.

Hey Steeler fans!!!!!

The Bills still have a better record and their quarterback never once stood accused of rape.

Just saying.

Please respond!

Monday, September 26, 2011

The Bills Make Me Want to Shout?????

The funny thing about being a fan of the 27-time World Champion Yankees is that they are expected to win. When they do, it is more about relief than anything else. I've enjoyed the titles that they've won...but none more than 1996 when they weren't supposed to win.

The Bills, this year, weren't supposed to win anything. I picked them for 5 and 11.

I might be way the hell off. Now, I have been wrong before, and listening to the kids go nuts Sunday afternoon, I'm sort of glad that I am wrong. I still don't like the idol worship of people that can catch a ball, hit a ball, or slap a puck, but man, I had a lot of fun as a kid watching the Bills, Sabres and Yankees.

"19 and 0!!!!!!!" Sam was screaming. "Eat that Brady! Go Team Stevie! We love Fitz!"

All the while I was trying to watch the Yankees.

But I gave it up as the 2nd half started. Life's too short. I watched the rest of the game with the boys. I am surprised. Shocked, actually!

Good for them. My boys are 18, 14 and 11...they have seen the Bills play one playoff game between them...and that was just Matt.

And that's the game when Tennessee scored on a kick return with a second left or something like that.

We all identify with sports teams.

No one wants to have their town labeled as a town full of losers.

I, of course, have only been associated with winning given my love for the Yanks.

Now it's my boys' turn?????

The Buffalo Bills????

Are they really good????

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Adrift on This Ocean

I was behind an elderly woman who was driving at a 28 mph pace in a 45 mph zone. She put her turn signal on about eight miles before she actually turned, and then her turn was in slow motion.

We've all been there, right?

And I thought of something that happened to someone who I knew in college. Someone in his family had been killed when he was passing under an overpass where a car had come flying down. I remember thinking, 'Man, if he'd just stopped for gas, it wouldn't have happened to him.'

And some times we want to rush through things.

Coincidentally The Stones were playing in my car as the old woman worked her way through the turn.

"You aren't the only ship adrift on this ocean," Mick scolded.


It's easy to force our own agenda down other people's throats. I do it all the time. I need things done in my time frame and in my expectation of how long it should take.

All of the anxiety of life seems to be in chasing that time frame.

It's funny, but I have the dogs on my schedule. We all get confused when things don't go as they had the day before. Melky hits the head as soon as she gets out of bed. That's where she has her breakfast. If she isn't in the car ten minutes later, she throws a bit of a fit.

I gather my cereal bowl and my cup of coffee and like Sheldon in the Big Bang Show, I have to sit on the same spot on the couch as I catch SportsCenter. If someone is in my spot.

I throw a bit of a fit.

The old woman worked her way up the steps to the salon. I got to watch her approach because her eternal turn made me sit at the red light. Had she been seconds quicker, I would have made the light.

And perhaps something would have fallen off the overpass and crushed me.

If I could just remember, day after day, and minute after minute, that it's not just my shift adrift on this wide ocean, I might just be all right.

But that's not how the world works, is it?

Hopefully I got this blog post out in time for all of you that are used to reading it at the usual time.

If not...just hang on a minute.

It'll come around eventually.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Stoked a Fire

Had a long drive home last night in the cold, dark rain...listened to a few tunes on the way, and when I checked Facebook when I'd finally settled there was a message from my sister Carrie about a Jackson Browne took me a minute, but I got it, and we were off and running on a discussion of his talents.

And it struck me that we had a lot going on in that house on the hill. There was so much culture, so many discussions about talent. We would huddle together, in time before the net, and decipher the lyrics, and revel in the words.

And we were all reading a lot...okay, not John and Jim, but the rest of us. All books for fun. I'd read book after book, never caring about when book reports were due. In fact, when that was announced in class, every head in the room turned my way. I was the Internet for stealing a paper way before the Net.

I have vivid recollections of Dad's records being played as he sang the words for us and Mom was always in trouble for having so many damn books laying around. We, as kids, never had to go to the bookstore...Mom always had good reading for us.

And now Sam comes into my room and looks at my bookshelves.

"Did you read all of these?" he'll ask.

"Some more than once."

And I know how my Mom felt about getting rid of her books. I never want to send one packing. They are all important to me in one way or another.

Carrie, of course, was always special to the process of starting to write. I clearly recall brainstorming the plot of Desperation with her. We were in my parents garage.

"What if Jackie does this?" she'd ask.

All great stuff.

Think I'm going to put on a little Jackson Browne and think 'old school'.

They've made research and being creative easy these days, but exercising your brain is flat-out awesome!

Friday, September 23, 2011

An Uninteresting Life

So what the hell was Brad Pitt going for when he commented that he was not living an interesting life during the time he was married to Jennifer Aniston?

Seriously, did he think that we poor slobs were going to feel sorry for him?

Poor best-looking guy in the world with more money than God, married to the girl all other guys wants, is bored?

Now I don't know what to make of Jennifer Aniston other than as we are all aware, say it together now:

She's no Kathy Fazzolari.

She isn't either. I mean why the hell does she keep getting dumped? Perhaps there is a deformity of sorts, or bad breath or other bad smells coming from other areas. Who the hell knows?

How many different guys have I seen her with? They all seem to break her heart after she tells Ellen or Oprah or Tyra that this time she's head over heels.

Ten minutes later her perfect ass is out the door.

Now we know, of course, she's uninteresting. I read a whole lot of things into such a statement and its probably unfair to her. What a mean thing for Pitt to say, right?

Probably wrong.

Who is really interested anyway? What makes life interesting?

Lets take those questions seperately.

People aren't meant to share every second of every minute of every hour of their day. There are moments when, in the middle of one of my beautiful wife's stories when I catch myself thinking:

"You know what might be more interesting than this? Hanging out with Angelina Jolie and her billion dollars as we travel the world and try to rid all nations of poverty."

I don't mention that to Kathy when she stops to take a breath.

Because life isn't all that interesting for all that many of us. We don't get to hang on movie sets, smoke weed until our eyes pop out and switch Jen for Angelina. We don't walk down the street with women swooning and telling us they want to do all sorts of crazy things to us.

(Okay, so it does happen to me every once in awhile).

But most people don't have that interesting of an existance.

Of course, I don't feel bad for any of them. They all seem to be a tad uninteresting to me.

What makes life interesting?

Love, of course. A close family and a relationship that makes you smile in appreciation as the long-winded stories come to an end. A few kids that remind you of one another. A long talk with Mom. A shared joke with siblings that are always just a phone call away.

My life has never been uninteresting.

I always knew I was more desirable than Brad Pitt.

(P.S. - Happy Birthday Springsteen).

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Tied to a Tree or at the Bottom of the Shit House

My heart ached today as I read the recap of the suicide of the 14-year old boy in the Buffalo area. The news accounts explained that he was bullied and that he had tried to rail against it.

Being 14 years old is as confusing as being 46 years old is.

Maybe even more so.

Yet the bullying shit is really confusing as well. I was afraid of a couple of guys in junior high. One little mean bastard followed me around, sensing my fear, and intimidating me at every turn. He was thrown off the track by my older brother and my buddy Jeff who explained that if one hair on my head was hurt...he'd have to deal with them.

Later on, me and the bully became fast friends and shared a lot of laughs.

Yet my brother and my buddy also play a big part in this blog because they were both there in my worst moments.

Scenario one: We had just returned from camping for a weekend in the woods. We were all great friends. We were about 16 or 17 at the time. My mother was coming to pick us up after our weekend of fun and she would have to drive down the road in front of the large telephone pole in front of Jeff's house.

This was MY IDEA!

I told them to tie me to the pole and go hide so that my mother would see me bound as she pulled up.

So, my best friends in the world did it. They tied my hands and legs so tight that I couldn't move. We were all laughing.

And then they pulled my pants down!

I was pissed. I may even have been on the verge of tears. (Shut-up Jeffy, I didn't cry! Stop bullying me!).

Scenario Two: About a year later, I was with the same friends at a town park gathering. I went into the port-a-lav to take a leak.

They tipped it over.

It was full.

I remember how I felt both of those times.

I can't imagine how that poor kid felt being tortured, not by his friends, but by people who genuinely were mean.

It's easy to say, stand up to the bully or don't let them get to you. It's a whole 'nother thing when you can't find the way out.

Teachers and parents must be aware. Life is confusing enough as it is.

Being bullied isn't any fun.

Even when your blood and your buddies are doing it to you.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Perry Mason Needs to Figure it Out

I couldn't go to sleep last night. Usually it's the other way around...I go to sleep okay, but wake up real, real early.

But last night it was different. So, I put on ME Television. That channel has changed my life. Dick Van Dyke, Bob Newhart, CHEERS, Taxi, Mary Tyler Moore.

All better than the nightly singing and dancing shows and the reality stars of today.

Anyhow. Last night it was late. So I got the Twilight Zone and then Perry Mason. On the Twilight Zone it all took place in a diner. I was entertained by the signs posted that offered coffee for ten cents and pancakes for thirty-five cents. Coffee is about $4.50 at Starbucks now a days.

I'm sounding old, aren't I?

Yet Perry Mason was even weirder because Raymond Burr, in my mind's eye was a fat, ornery guy who was stuck in a wheelchair. Not when he was a lawyer.

In the dark, after midnight, I Googled him to see what I remembered.

Did you know they are pretty sure he was gay? They also are quite sure that to cover his homosexuality he made up a story about having a son. He told everyone who'd listen back in the old days that his son died of cancer when he was ten.

No one ever met the boy.

He claimed to be in love with Natalie Wood, who if I remember right, washed up onshore after being married to Robert Wagner.

Evidently, Burr wasn't really in love with her because she didn't have the body parts he desired.

Thinking about all of it finally put me to sleep.

What a different day and age.

People were ashamed of living a certain way. Burr went to great lengths to stay private. He even may have made up the whopper of all lies to cover his tracks.

These days, the women who do nothing to be famous get out of limos trying to show you their...

(uh, what's the word I'm looking for?)

You know the word. The first 50 descriptive words that popped into my mind shouldn't be listed...

But you get the point.

Where's Perry Mason when you need him?

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

What Are We Doing?

For the past few months I have been going down to the hockey arena in town as the Sabres redo their locker rooms. Today, I made the mistake of heading down there as the men who are paid like kings for shooting rubber at a net were about to practice.

Of course the lot was filled with hundred thousand dollar vehicles. The security guard, who knew me by face, reminded me to stick to the job site and not bother the players. I headed thru the door and ran smack into Ryan Miller, the highly paid guy who blocks pucks with his body for millions, and the owner of the team, Terry Pegula who made his billions in the fracking business.

I shrugged by. I met up with a worker.

"They blocked off our access," the bricklayer said. "Pisses me off. Their lockers are nicer then my house and after placing block here for two months I'm not allowed to lock eyes with them."

What are we doing?

"Son-of-a-bitches are ashamed of us. They don't want the players to see the workers. God help them if they had to say hello. I passed one of them in the hall and said hello and he looked away. Assholes."

And about four blocks away I saw a bunch of houses all barricaded. A trip around the city will show you hundreds of such places. The City Mission, about nine blocks away, is begging for donations. We can't look in the eyes of the hockey players, but we can step over the men laying in the street?

The owner of the Bills is back in the news saying that he will extend the lease if the county ponies up. Try and say something negative about the Bills, a team that has done nothing for 12 years, and people think you're the anti-Christ.

The television crews, from all three local stations were in front of the arena. They were interviewing some of the thousands of fans, dressed in Sabres gear. I'm sure it will top the news.

Earlier this year I attended a breast cancer walk. Volunteers raised thousands of dollars, working hard, spending their own money to make it work...the news stations were there.

They never aired the footage.


What in the hell are we doing?

Monday, September 19, 2011

Monday, Monday

About 25 years ago I worked every day with a guy named Zane Conway. I think I've written about him plenty. He's a man who's made it his life mission to spend time in every country in the world.

The last time I spoke with him he was in China. The time before that...South America.

When I met him we worked side-by-side pouring concrete in San Jose. The Fairmount Hotel, if you're ever in town...we poured every floor.

And on Mondays, hating life, at 21 years old, I'd walk thru the gate and I'd be greeted by Zane.

"What's up!?" He'd cheerfully ask as the concrete truck pulled up. "There's breakfast."

Zane took that line from my Dad who loved to chide us about how hard we were working.

"How can you be so fu*%$ng happy?" I'd ask.

"What's not to be happy about?" Zane would say. "I'm young, I'm white and I'm free. It's Monday and there are endless possibilities."

"Yeah, we could land face-up or face-down in the concrete," I said.

"Dude, you're a human doing. Be a human being. You see what I'm saying? You could write the greatest sentence of your life today, or find the love of your life, or a bag of money on the side of the road. It's a brand new week! Think of the possibilities!"

Now Zane wasn't all Pollyanna. He would simply gauge the moment and try to put a different spin on things. I remember so many stories that he'd tell me, jokes about co-workers, happy remarks. We were great friends.

I always remember how he taught me to tackle Monday.

Think of the possibilities!

Be a human being, not a human doing.

At least there's no chance I'll end up face down in the concrete today.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Choices, Choices, So Many Choices

The choices we make and the chances we take determine our destiny.

Caught an old movie the other night with Marissa Tormei (she's no Kathy Fazzolari) and Robert Downey Jr. where Marissa ignores the love that is budding between them so that she can chase down the man who's she supposed to marry. She only has his name. She thinks that he is her destiny.

And it got me thinking a lot about choices. Perhaps because I was in Erie the other day. I easily could have stayed there.

After school I went to California. I could have stayed there (although there are a lot of nutty people out there).

On to Maryland and I definitely wanted to stay there. Or in Connecticut. What would have happened had I stayed there?

Movies are cool because all of the choices are in front of the stars and easy for the audience to see and once the choice is made and the credits roll we are all supposed to assume that it is happily ever after.

Nobody ever does the sequel in which Marissa and Robert Downey fight like cats and dogs after they're married because he is really an asshole and she was nothing but a gold-digging nitwit.

And there are choices to make each and every day in the way we speak to our loved ones and how we go about handling the inevitable tragedies that will beset us.

I spend a lot of time talking to myself about the choices that need to be made and of course, I choose to do that only because mine is the only answer that I will ever truly accept.

But I don't think much about the choices that I made in the past...I am where I am. Dreaming of the person that you want to be allows you to shortchange the person that you already are.

And the bad choices?

Takes time, but we break them down, accept them, chalk them up as a learning experience and move on, right?

If you ask me, your answer to that last question is what truly matters because if you don't handle the bad choices as carefully as you contemplate and congratulate yourself on the good ones, you're kind of screwed.

Today I have a few choices:

I can watch the Bills second game of the year or the 27-time World Champion Yankees 152nd game out of 162.

I can go with the bite-size rigatoni or the linguini.

I can yell at my kids, or hang with them.

I can help out around the house or blame everyone else for not getting shit done.

I can drink beer and wake up tired tomorrow, or I can rest and wake up happy and healthy.

Want the answers?

Yankees, rigatoni, hang with 'em, and help out, no beer.

All solid choices.

I hope.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

I Hate Me

A couple of weeks ago I was passing by a guy who had a torch in his hand. He was welding a huge tank of metal and his hood was down. I didn't want to bother him so I headed on by. He had a bag of sunflower seeds on his bench, and I grabbed a handful as I wandered away.

"Help yourself," he said.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Keeping a close eye on the seeds?" I asked.

"Trying to quit smoking," he said. "I've been smoking for 35 of my 49 years. I've had enough."

We had a nice long discussion about the evils of tobacco, how hard it is to quit, but more importantly why he had to.

"I have a couple of kids who are more aware. I don't want them to see me doing things that sabotage me."

I wished him luck. I sort of felt bad about taking the handful of seeds that had become his lifeline in quitting to smoke.

A few days later, I was back on the job. Before arriving I bought a bag of seeds at the convenience store.

My buddy was in his usual spot. I raised the seeds high as I walked to him.

"I'm smoking again," he said.

"Bah!!!" was the only appropriate answer. I tossed the seeds at him and he caught them. "For next time. What about showing your kids?" I asked.

"We all want to kill ourselves," he said. "Depends on how fast you want to do it."

And I thought of that again yesterday when I saw a guy in a Harley jacket driving on a motorcycle, on the Thruway in Pennsylvania. He stood out to me because he wasn't wearing a helmet. Evidently, down there, you don't have to, and why would you, of course?

You aren't going to tip it over. Nobody ever drops a cycle at 65 mph. Even if you did, you'd fall right and get away without even a scratch.


Ah hell, what can you do? It's a cold, hard ride.

Friday, September 16, 2011

The Top of the Barn

Nice house, huh? I used to live there. I lived there with George, Fluffy, Guy, Rick, Palmer, and a lot of other guys. We roamed the halls of that house and spilled beer in every single room. We broke the front windows at least ten times.

It was the house I lived in during my senior year of college in Erie, Pa. and I walked right up to it and thought about looking in the windows this afternoon.

I didn't.

What a shithole, huh?

We got tossed out the weekend before we graduated. We spent the last two nights of our college career with our cars loaded with our stuff. We slept in the woods. We all tried to drink a case of beer.

I did it.

And man, it made me sad. Twenty-five years gone. I don't have regrets, mind you, but I thought about the people I loved back then. All of the guys in that house and more. My best friend back then, Lisa, who tried in vain to get us to see the big picture.

We didn't see much of it.

"Man, that's kind of sad," I said as I slipped back into the car driven by a nearly 70-year-old man who works for the client I was seeing in Erie.

"That's 'cause you can see the top of the barn," the guy said.


"When you're young, you don't see much of the world other than the path you're on as you're going up the huge hill. I think of the barn as the end of the journey. You can finally see the top of the barn."

"Geez, thanks for making me feel better," I said.

"What're you worried about?" he asked. "The barn is in full view for me and I got my keys in my hand."

On the way home, I put the I-pod on and drove, letting the memories flood my mind.

Standing at the deli as the space shuttle blew up...getting invited to dinner by my buddy Chris and having to bounce a check to pay for the meal...drinking beers with Rick as he told me about losing his mom...Lisa calling to yell at me...Fluff pissing in the box where I kept my high school ring...George breaking the front window as he pulled the pool cue back for a shot...all of them sitting on the edge of my bed and talking me out of going to an important class so we could drink after beer...the stereo, the kitchen table without legs, Palmer pulling up with everything he owned in the back of his truck, the keg in the bathtub, Fluff's Dad waking us up and yelling at us about the devil...

On and on.

The barn is bright red. It's down there at the bottom of the hill, I suppose.

"You gotta' keep walking forward," my companion told me. "You look back too much, you sort of lose sight of where you're going."

Matt is coming home from college today for the weekend. The world seems huge to him and the possibilities are endless.

The walk goes really fast, though, and no regrets here, as I've said, but the barn seems to be right there at the end of the path.

I'm going to pace myself.

I hope.

How Low?

Bernie Madoff, multiple drunk driving convictions, cheating on your wife when she's giving birth, sleeping with your husband's best friend, driving drunk with the kids in the car, robbing graves.

I was thinking about all of these things yesterday simply because I picked up the newspaper and read two stories.

One was about a securities guy who bilked money out of his entire family and their friends. Like millions, actually, and of course, the shit eventually hit the fan. Now he gets prison.

"He's a great guy. Solid Family. Can't believe it."

The quotes from his friends are what gets to me. He robbed people of their retirement, their grocery money, their Bills season tickets money. Every dime. He hopes to make restitution.

But he was the good guy in the paper.

There was actually a woman who spent every nickel of money raised at a benefit that had been held for her son, who has cancer.

She gambled it all away.

She confessed to having a gambling problem.

Uh, ya' think?

I don't know about you, but I have a hard time which such action. I feel guilty about EVERYTHING!!!

Those nuns did a number on me.

I can't imagine feeling guilty about something like that. I've raised money in the name of others like Hunter's Hope, Women & Children's Hospital, City Mission, Jeff's children. I couldn't imagine being able to steal it without having to cut off my own head.

My beautiful wife and I were laughing the other day because of something Chris Rock said. I used it in reference to Manny Ramirez beating up his wife.

"It ain't right," Rock said, "But I understand it!"

I honestly don't.

We can all be tempted to lean that way, from time-to-time, but doesn't your own personal guilt get to you?

Maybe all children should be taught by nuns!

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Hail Ricky, Full of Grace

One of my aunts was named Grace. We had a Boxer dog named Ricky. I remember the dog going after my aunt and my father saying, "Hail Ricky, full of Grace."

Funny what your mind does for you.

I thought of Ricky and Grace and my Dad today as I drove down Main Street in the City of Buffalo. Stopped at the red light I watched a woman with an umbrella in her right hand, a poster board sign around her neck, as she said the words of the Hail Mary and counted it off on the rosary in her left hand. There were two other people standing out there with her, in front of the abortion clinic.

Their signs read: ABORTION IS MURDER!

And it kind of struck me. I read the prayer words from her lips. It was only 7:30 in the morning.

It all seemed like a colossal waste of time to me.

Now, I'm not dumb enough to get into the pro-choice, pro-life argument. I know what I believe. Not sure I'd stand on a corner and preach it to someone else.

Not sure I am confident enough to be able to speak with certainty on such subjects. I definitely know that I would be uncomfortable with a sign around my neck, I've never held an umbrella, and if I say the rosary it will be in my own bed where there's little chance that anyone will read my lips.

Here in Buffalo we had a man shoot an 'abortion' doctor in the name of life.

Stealing a thought from George Carlin here..."Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity."

Anyway...Hail Ricky full of Grace.

I will end this never-ending blog with another thought from Carlin because he was my father's favorite:

"Some people see things that are and ask why. Some people dream of things that never were and ask why not."

"Some people go to work and don't have time for all that shit."

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Today: The Economy is Great!

Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.

I was flipping through the stations when I saw Greta Van Sustern, the woman who mangled herself with plastic surgery after the OJ trial, exclaim:

"The economy is in shambles! We'll talk about how to fix it!"

I wasn't sticking around to see how it all worked out. I had the Dick Van Dyke Show starting on ME Television. You see, as the leg continues to bark, I've gotten in touch with a lot of old shows.

How I've been longing for yesterday.

Besides, what were four well-dressed talking heads, eating hundred dollar dinners and sleeping in thousand dollar hotel suites going to tell me about how to stretch a dollar?

I relied on the Petrie's for that. Coincidentally, Rob lost his job for a couple of months as the Alan Brady Show went on summer hiatus.

The laughs ensued as Rob and Laura talked about their roles. There was a moment when Laura offered to do dance lessons when Rob yelled:

"My wife isn't going to work! People will think I'm not a bread-winner!"

Think about that.

If my wife came to me with a plan to clean the house and cook dinner and just plain wait for me to get home so she can serve me...uh, uh, uh,

Ain't gonna' happen.

And it struck me that every day there are nine shows about the economy being bad, but people are still spending $80 to eat crap sauce at Italian Restaurants, or $500 to catch a football game where all the combatants are millionaires and their bosses are billionaires.

I'm here to announce:


Now, I'm not an economics major but isn't there such a thing as consumer confidence?

And why is 40% of the population out of work when farmers are on television saying they can't get anyone to pick their crops?

We want a job, but we want it with a company car, an expense account, retirement and full health. After all, we are all superstars, right?

I'm fortunate not to have been out of work for even a day since I left college in 1986. I do feel for those who've been struggling.

But I tell you, I'd be lowering myself into the field to pick beans if I had to. In fact, that's just what Rob Petrie did. He took a much lesser job where his dignity was threatened and comedy gold ensued.

And man, Mary Tyler Moore was smoking hot as a young woman, wasn't she?

Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.

Don't worry about it.

Life is good.

We are living in the land of milk and honey.

Now just get off your ass and go to work.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Just Manny Being An A-Hole

I just can't resist a mug shot. Especially when the guy arrested is a former Suck Sox Hero who through his cheating helped them break a perfectly good curse established by selling Babe Ruth to the 27-Time World Champions so the old Suck Sox owner could produce a Broadway play.

When Manny was on the Sux there were a lot of fans of the team who lived with the horrible behavior because he was unbelievable at hitting the ball over the wall. (Even though the wall is only 260 feet away from the plate).

The media and the announcers forgave the boorish behavior in a sport where acting like a self-congratulator used to be met with a fastball to the ribs. There are still guys that play that way.

They wear pinstripes.

But those teams for the Suck sox reveled in their dirty clothes, their idiotic behavior and throwing 75-year old coaches to the ground.

I hated them.

I thought they were cheating.

They were.

So was everybody else.

Manny cheated more than the rest. He got busted twice after everyone knew that they were being tested.

That's a moron.

Last night he fought his wife. That isn't in dispute. She hit her head on the headboard of their bed after he either slapped her (that's her account) or he shook her (that's his account).

Baseball won't let him back in the game. They suspended him twice.

His wife won't let him within a thousand feet of her. The restraining order says so.

The Hall of Fame won't even consider him. Cheating does that for you.

It's just Manny being Manny, someone will say in the next couple of days.

Just Manny being an asshole, if you ask me.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Ten Years Burning Down the Road

...Got nowhere to run...nowhere to go.

It's my favorite lyric from Born in the USA, a song that I usually skip on the I-pod because it was overplayed.

Yet I thought of that lyric a lot the last few days. First of all because I read a lot and watched a lot about the terror attacks of ten years ago.

Possibly because in 2001 we also had a life-threatening tumor growing inside of our son.

2001 was the year when it all changed. Everything.

Over the weekend I played my boys in Madden. I am in rough shape when it comes to games these days because I don't pick up a controller very often and they pick them up every three minutes. So I need an advantage.

I was the Patriots at home and they were the Bills. Sam played the first and third quarters and Jake had the second and fourth.

I beat them 28 to 24.

The big lugs that were just little boys when the towers came down were pissed.

Cut to this morning, I headed into a convenience store and there was a WWE Magazine on the stands. My mind played a trick and I glanced at it for a long while.

My kids don't watch wrestling anymore.

Those days are gone.

And I got to thinking about ten years from now. If all goes according to planned it will be just me, my beautiful wife, and Matt living here.

(Matt will have finished college and he'll be home again).

Just kidding.

It may be just me and Kathy. Just ten years.

And the bulk of what happens to you happens in just a couple of decades. All the pain, all the laughter, the wrestling matches the games of Madden...such a short span of time, really. All taken care of in about 7,500 days.

It's not a depressing thought, mind you, but I am guessing along with Bruce here.

Ten years burning down the road, nowehere to run, nowhere to go.

Don't waste a day, huh?

Sunday, September 11, 2011

USA Today: September 12, 2001

By request...the editorial for September 12, 2001. I must say that I received hate calls and letters for writing this. Not exactly sure why...

Don't Immediately Return Hatred

Before we think about retalliation and counting the bodies we need to think about life, love and those closest to us. In the numbing aftermath of the attacks on the World Trade Center towers and the Pentagon, we need to appreciate what's important:

Our love for one another.

We hate the people who did this and we want to torture them for what they've done. Hatred resulted in these very atatcks.

When does the circle of violence stop? We react. Terrorists respond to our attacks, and we react again.

Rather than hatred, Americans need to see this as an opportunity for change. We need a new direction.

Years from now we'll remember where we were when this occurred. How many people immediately thought of their loved ones? How many people turned to prayer for those who were hurt? Did we feel the pain of the person standing next to us, or did our hearts fill with hatred and thoughts of revenge?


We have to react.

We need to find the answer as to how this could happen, but the fact that it happened shouldn't surprise us.

We live in a time and place where violence is celebrated, anticipated and expected. We revel in a death penalty that is applied discriminatively, and we toss threats around as if they were a ball.

Before we draw the lines in the sand and internalize the horror, we need to find the love in our hearts.

For our own good.

As a nation, let's say a prayer.

Let's bond together.

Let's get through this with as little hatred as we can.

As I've said, we got a lot of calls to our home. One man contacted my beautiful wife and said, "Your husband is an asshole."

I was stunned by such a reaction. I wasn't saying that we need to hold hands from here to Afghanistan and back. I was simply saying we needed to at least consider who and what we love.


A retired Colonel contacted me late in the day on September 12, 2001. I was ready for him to yell at me about my "peace-loving" stance. I'd grown weary.

"You're right, son," he said. "You're one hundred percent right."

Do Something Nice

Early on in my writing career I often found myself flabbergasted by the way the world worked. I can remember sitting in my parents basement, next to the hot water tank, typing on my bright green screen about world peace.

That's the way it goes when you're 18 or 19 and no one can tell you anything. You can believe that peace is possible if we all swear to it happening.

I remember writing something about how the president should declare a day to be murder-free.

Wouldn't that be cool? One whole day without murdering someone. I am pretty sure that I could get through it.

I am also very certain that collectively we can't. Somewhere out there, today, someone is going to purposely kill somebody else.

A cheating wife. A business partner. An in-law, an outlaw, a drug dealer, a man who doesn't believe in the same God you do. A fight over land, or money, or drugs, or a parking spot, or a seat on the bus.

There will be more than one murder.

And I think back to what I wrote the day after the 9/11 attacks. It was a letter to the editor that was published in the USA Today, the Buffalo News, and the Atlanta Journal Constitution.

A letter that I wrote right here, in the same spot I am right now. A letter that didn't scream for mercy, but screamed for individual peace.

Peace within your own heart.

God help us if there are more attacks like that one ten years ago. Collectively, hopefully, we have put a stop to it. Individually, hopefully, you've found a little peace.

I'm not naive enough to believe that I can declare a day to be murder-free and that it might happen. It'd be nice, for sure, but it just isn't practical.

Not enough people willing to do something nice today.

I'm gonna' give it a helluva' shot. In memory of all those who are gone.

Maybe I'm still a little innocent and hopeful...

...but it sure the hell beats having hate in my heart.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

The Italian Side

It's been a trying week. The leg sort of crapped out on me again last Sunday. The dead feeling went from hip to toe and I ended up in the emergency room, worried about blood clots. All good there, but the swelling remains and there's a possibility that the nerve was nicked during the original surgery. I asked the doc if I did too much and he shrugged.

"I can't change you anyway," he said. "Obviously you're gonna' do whatever you want to do."

And while watching the Sopranos last night and seeing Tony go off on someone, I turned to my beautiful wife.

"What's wrong with Italians? Impatient and angry and so passionate."

"It's pretty accurate," my wife said.

And it is. I sat across from Jake at dinner last night. We went to Chef's Restaurant in Buffalo. It's supposed to be one of the best Italian Restaurants in the city. I don't really concur.

Anyway, Jake was fired up about school. He was funny, mean and irritating all in the same sentence. And he's watered down by generations.

I know the feeling.

My stuffed peppers were served. They would have come in tenth place in the recent pepper contest our family had.

The eggplant and veal dish I ordered was served. Hard to screw those two things up, but it was buried in a red sauce that would have brought forth apologies from my Dad had he served it. Too sweet, too bland, too much freaking cheese.

"It's really good," my beautiful wife said.

Ahh, the common folk, without Italian heritage are so easily fooled.

We went back to another episode of the Sopranos - season 1 - if it's up to me we will watch it season-to-season right to the fade to black.

There was a scene where Paulie went off because the local coffee house was serving espresso. He screamed about how it was all about the Italian-American, and that everyone wanted to be like them.

"If you mow the lawn tomorrow, I swear to God I'll kill you," Kathy said. "Just rest the leg and give it a chance to calm down."

Some people will never understand the Italian-American side.

At the end of the episode, Tony bashed in the forehead of the bartender that couldn't dial the phone.

I laughed.

I know the feeling.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Keep Your Eyes and Ears Open

In the last couple of weeks I've been really exposed to a lot of 9/11 horror stories. They are stories of pain, heartbreak and attempting to move forward in the face of unbelievable grief.

In the time since 9/11, I have learned that it isn't easy. It is the furthest thing from easy that we have in this world.

I just switched the channel from Breaking News of a new terror threat to a rerun of the Mary Tyler Moore Show.

I'd much rather deal with Ted Baxter. This is the one where they bet him he can't get through an entire newscast without screwing something up. He makes it to the sign-off and then says...this is Bed Taxter reporting...I saw this show about thirty years ago, and I was waiting for the line. Isn't it funny what the mind stores?

And it stored a lot from that day ten years ago.

It stored enough to know that I never want to feel such feelings again.

The threat mentioned this evening deals with New York and Washington.

Democrat, Republican or Tea Party...we all need to root for America here.

May the threats be thwarted. May the Americans be on watch. May the terrorists be stopped. We can't wish it away. They want to hurt us. We need to be vigilant.

One of the suspected terrorists is supposedly an American.

WTF happened here?

The country seems weary to me. From the hurricanes to the earthquakes to the weekly gun play that just cost a bunch of innocent people their lives in Nevada.

But this reformed bleeding heart liberal says that we need to fight for what is ours. Stop fighting each other. Stop gunning down other Americans. How about we become united in these here states?

We need to make sure that we are not holding memorials ten years from now.

Keep your eyes and ears open...wherever you live in this great land.

This is Bed Taxter reporting.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Can I Help You?

The fact that I'm writing this blog right now is a minor miracle.

I like technology, I really do. I enjoy making fun of all the people I love on Facebook.

By the way...if I see one more photo of a kid getting on a bus with a mother crying, "Oh, where did the time go, my little bastard is in the 3rd grade," I might throw up.

But anyway, tonight I was writing reports on my brand new, work-issued laptop. I was almost done. Last report...then sit back and look at the baseball scores!

But no!!!!!

Something flashed on my screen. There was an icon of my touch pad with a red arrow across the center of it.

Everything locked up.

"What the mudder@#$#%&^?"

I started tapping the keys. The mouse was locked. Different things started popping up on the screen including a telephone number that asked me if I needed help.

I dialed the number. The guy who answered the phone sounded like Apu from the Simpsons. I am not prejudiced. I gave it a try.

It took us ten minutes to get through my name. He couldn't understand me and I had no chance of understanding him.

"What's the problem?" he asked me, and I got that one.

"I can't understand you," I said.

The line went dead.

The mouse was still stuck.

I called back.

Apu's cousin answered the phone. He knew I had a call 'open' as he said. I tried to explain my problem as quickly as I could.

He hung up.

I can't even begin to tell you where I was mentally at this point. I nearly threw the laptop out the window. There were a lot of curse words flying. I shut the computer down and got a bottle of water.

I dialed the number for the third time.

An American answered the phone. He asked me why I had called three times without getting help.

"I can't understand the language they speak there," I said.

He laughed.

Four minutes later, the touch pad was unlocked.

I would've hugged that man had he been near me.

"Why the hell does it lock like that?" I asked.

"It's a safety feature," he explained.

"Why do they have people who can't speak English answering questions posed by English-speaking people?"

"No comment," my new friend said.

Did I say that I like technology?


Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Too Many Flags

I saw all of the flags this morning on Delaware Avenue in Buffalo. Each flag representing a life lost on September 11, 2001.

Ten years. Good God it's been ten years already.

And it still makes me sick.

Lately I've been reading a lot about people who've been directly impacted. We all were there in one way or another, but I'm talking about the husbands who lost wives or the women who lost their husbands.

They have all started over somehow. Most of the recounting of that day's events are enough to make your stomach turn. People speaking of how they never really found their loved ones.

Sickening for sure.

And the other day Jessie Ventura was on the radio telling me that it was all planned out. That the government knew about it. That they didn't bother to stop it. That all those lives lost were collateral damage so that we could further a sinister agenda.

That's so sick that it scares me more than anything else.

And I hope that it just can't be true. There won't be any messages from Bin Laden this year, unless he sends a water message from down in the Atlantic.

And some people don't believe he is really dead.

And all of it is enough to make your head spin, and none of it really matters.

What matters are those flags.

The lives cut short. The lives still impacted by such a horrible event that is now ten years in the rear view mirror.

Some people say that it can still happen...and that it may be even more catastrophic next time.

Never forget?

Of course's too sickening.

May there be peace.


Thanks...Now Get the Hell Out

When I was a kid my Dad used to call me Jerry Lewis. I suppose it may have been because I was funny and talented or because I wore big, goofy glasses when I was in the 4th grade.

But to hear him tell it, it was cause I was kind of goofy and senseless in a Nutty Professor sort of way.

I was kind of indifferent to Jerry Lewis all those years because I wanted to steer clear of such a comparison...but I feel bad for the guy.

He did that telethon for all those years and his kids were like his kids to him. Now I've heard a lot about him as a true father and there are grumblings that he isn't the nicest guy in the world, but he deserved better.

I didn't watch the telethon this weekend, but supposedly they said some nice things about him as he decided to "retire."

He didn't announce his retirement. He said no comment to any of the well-wishers.

Sounds like he was shown the door, right?

That's too bad. I guess that when you outlive your usefulness, you're tossed aside.

MD is a horrible disease that certainly deserves our attention and the money that is generated by the telethon. I bet that you spent a lot of years thinking of the telethon and then immediately thinking of Jerry Lewis.

Not anymore.

Sinatra is gone. Sammy Davis Jr. is gone, Dean Martin is gone...

...and now so is Jerry.

Just one man's opinion, but they should have let him leave on his own terms. Even if he wasn't funny they should have introduced him as a legend and let him have the microphone.

After all, they did it for Bob Hope, who never told a funny joke in his whole life.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Chucky Busted His Ass (NFL Preview)

Of course my brother-in-law Chuck was in on the sausage stuffing...we threw a few off-color comments back and forth and then had a long drawn-out conversation about the fact that his betting about football is set to begin as he tangles with my already fired-up son, Sam.

"I called Outback and made a reservation for February under your name," Sam said to Chuck the other night. I laughed out loud as they say and spit my drink.

That kid has taunting down to a science. He already has the lines for next Sunday's games. And he has already started to go over them with me...for hours.

"Dad, would you take the Bills with the points against the Chiefs?"

"I wouldn't take the Bills if they were playing me, you and your mother," I said.

"Come on, you picked the Super Bowl winner in September last me out here."

And so I did. Look it up. I took the Packers in last September 8th's blog. So let me see.

In the AFC East:

Patriots and the J-E-T-S will both qualify for the playoffs.
The Bills, you ask? 5 and 11. One more win then last year. Buffalo will erect a statue of Chan Gailey for the extra win.

AFC North:

Last year I was making fun of Rapistpervert. My Pittsburgh buddies told me to concentrate on Hines Ward because he's a great guy. He got arrested for alleged drunk driving. He's innocent, of course. We all make mistakes.

Regardless...the Stealers (not spelled wrong) and Ravens will both be in the playoffs. Two thug teams in a league filled with them.

Then I like the Texans and the Chargers in the South and West.

The AFC Champions will be...

...New England

(It will make up for the terrible disappointment of the Sucks Sox losing to the 27-time World Champion Yankees).

In the NFC...

Vick will bulldog his way to a title in the East but the Cowboys will also make the playoffs.

The Packers and get this...the Lions will make it from the North...thereby making the Bills the worst team since 1999...the Saints and who the hell knows in the west because they all stink...I will go with the Rams.

The NFC Champions will be...

The Saints.

So we will have a New England versus Saints Super Bowl.

Write it down...

Who will win it, you ask?

You know I'm right because I'm never wrong...

...about anything...

...just ask my wife and kids...

Sorry haters...

The Patriots are going to win it this year.

And they talk about a lack of parity in baseball.

And poor Chuck's ears are going to be bleeding from chatting with Sam...

...and Chuck is going to lose again too...

...and I'm going to the Outback!

Shrimp on the Barbie!

Sunday, September 4, 2011

The Sausage Factory

I'm supposed to be swinging a club with my Baltimore friends right now. Thunder, lightning and heavy rain spared them a huge embarrassment.

Or vice-versa.

But yesterday we had a bunch of hours of togetherness as we made Italian Sausage at my brother Jim's house.

I'm not talking a minor operation of filling a couple of skins here. We had hundreds of pounds of meat. Miles and miles of casings and Dad's recipe.

If we sold this stuff on the open market there would be a stampede for it. Not kidding, it's that perfect. We started doing it about twenty-five years ago as this generation...Dad probably did it for 50 years...Grandpa another 50.

So we kind of got the recipe down.

About ten years ago, my beautiful wife discovered the secret. Jake was in the hospital and Jeff prepared a meal of homemade Italian Sausage for us. Kathy wouldn't touch the stuff up until that point even though I told her that ours was better than anything else she ever had.

She tried a piece. Then another and another and another and ten years later...I'm splitting half my supply. It was funny, but I recall every second of that conversation.

"Jeff made us dinner," she said. "Italian sausage, and!"

"Shit," I responded. I knew my days of hogging it were over.

Jim was the leader yesterday although Uncle Jim was working tirelessly beside me. My cousins from Baltimore were watching in a sort of awe, snapping photos as we filled the bags.

The entire operation took five hours on Saturday...another five on Friday...we ate a few pounds as we worked. Scott, an honorary Fuzzy, was smiling as he watched me attack a sandwich with hot peppers.

"How is it?" he asked.

"Sucks," I said.

I'm still trying to pretend that it isn't very good.

It didn't work.

Too many people are in on the secret.

Thanks Jim...for carrying it on.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

The Evening News

So, this weekend is the unofficial end of summer, huh? The kids are going back to school on Tuesday, the pennant races are winding down and the 27-time World Champion Yankees are in 1st, the Bills are getting ready to kick-off another exciting season...

...and the kid we sent off to college in a tearful manner (my wife) is back in his bed just a few hundred feet away. He left 9 days ago. He's been back twice. He's bored. He misses home. On Monday, three days after leaving, he ate meatloaf that I wanted for cold sandwiches the next day. Last night...back again.

I'm going to make the evening news with my reaction if this continues for much longer.

A little back story here:

I was rooting for the University @ Buffalo and a car ride there and back on a daily basis. Hunky and Dorey were telling me about the beauty of the small campus and the need for Hunky to become a man on his own. He would learn about hard work, sacrifice and missing the things he loves at St. Bonaventure.

As I love to tell my family on a daily basis:

Uhhhh, wrong again!!!!

Now I'm quite sure that this is just a blip on the screen. Life's a lot easier with Mommy and the Mule standing by. He will adapt.

"Let him find his own way," Kathy said. "He'll adjust. Don't say anything to him about coming home this weekend."

Matt entered the room.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought I was done seeing your face for awhile."

"I just missed you," he said.

So, here we sit. The big savings on the groceries this week?


The senseless predictions about how the Bills are going 11 and 5?

Standing right in front of me.

The evening news, I tell you.

The evening news.

Friday, September 2, 2011

Dancing with the Transgenders

Remember when Sonny and Cher were singing I Got You Babe as Cher held the beautiful baby up high for all of America to see. Chastity was so cute, wasn't she?

Have you seen him lately?

A comedian yesterday said that he looked like Porky Pig with a moustache. That's downright mean, but I laughed.

Does that make me a bad guy?

Because you see, I don't care that Chastity is now Chaz and that he is now going to be a contestant on Dancing with the Stars.

I really won't watch it, and I won't pay a lot of attention to the people who think it's just awful that Chaz is trying to live her life in the most practical manner that he sees fit to live her life.

All right, reading that sentence back, I may be a little confused, but like I said, it's her life and he can live it anyway that she sees fit.

I feel sad for her actually. He has the absolute right to dance on National television. I'm not sure what she did to become a star, but his Mom and Dad were famous so that has to count for something, right?

And she seems like a perfectly nice guy. I saw her interviewed the other day with his partner, and she was thrilled to have that moustache that certainly distinguished him from Porky.

The one question that I do have is that his partner dated her when he was a lesbian. Now that she is a man does that make his partner not want her anymore?

If you can follow that sentence, you're better than me...may take a couple of reads, but I think I got it down.

And yes, I joke. I am certainly not making fun of Chaz. I always loved Sonny and Cher is still smoking hot and really made me think a lot of evil things as I was growing up.

I hope Chaz wins, actually.

I'll say it again:

He can live anyway that she wants!

It's her life and nobody should tell him what to do!

I Got You Babe!


I was ordering lunch on the road and one of the choices was a meatball sub. I wanted to eat something a little healthier than that, but I as...