Thoughts of a Common Man

I may have already won about 600 million dollars. I don't think I want it. Can you imagine the people that would want to talk to me? I don't want to talk to them. Can you imagine the people who'd be asking me to lend a hand? I'd be harrassed from morning through noon to night. No freaking thank-you. And since I've been handed a lot of crap that I don't want recently perhaps the lottery gods, who are more likely to hit me with falling airplane parts than bless me with the winning ticket will bless me with the chance to be eternally bothered until I go completely off the rails. I'm 30 seconds off that pace anyway. Yet I listened to the news in the middle of Thursday night... The first anchorman (and did you hear Ron Burgundy is back) told me that her coworker was off tonight before starting in on her newscast. "I'm Melinda, Robert is off tonight." Why the hell do I care if Robert is off? Rubbing it in? "Mega-Million-Man

At the beginning of March I was lucky enough to secure a doctor's appointment with a neurosurgeon to discuss my back, leg and groin pain. I battled through, circling the date on the calendar, and going to therapy twice a week, dealing with traction, sleeping fitfully, but working through it. The doctor would see me and fix me, right? It was a bit of a letdown. I showed up 15 minutes early for my noon appointment. A pretty girl asked me to fill out forms. She seemed concerned with how I'd been feeling. "How do you feel?" she asked. "With my hands," I said, raising my eyes to Grandpa. I didn't see her again until 1:35 when I asked her if it was going to be much longer. "They're running behind." That really isn't an answer, but I sat quietly. After all, this was the day I'd been waiting for! At two o'clock, two hours after my scheduled appointment, I was stirred from my resting spot and brought to another room.

That's some story out of Sanford, Florida, huh? If you've been living under a rock a skittles-carrying, iced-tea drinking, hoodie-wearing black child was walking around in a neighborhood, talking on the cell phone and staying out of the rain. A neighborhood watch guy was watching him closely and decided that Trayvon looked like trouble. Zimmerman called 911, was told to stay put, called the kid a fu%&*ng coon, got out of the car and chased the kid down. A scuffle ensued and Trayvon was shot and killed. If you haven't heard the 911 call, don't listen to it. Hearing that kid scream, "Help me! Help Me!" is bone-chilling. The watch guy hasn't been arrested yet because there seems to be a backwards ass law on the books in Florida. There are 16,000 murders in this country every year. This one struck a cord. Trayvon is black. Geraldo came out and said that the hoodie was as much to blame for the murder as the guy who pulled the trigger. I read a F

This back injury is so freaking weird...and frustrating. I laid low on Sunday. (As low as a Fazzolari can lay), and I felt better. I did my bends and stretches and really congratulated myself on being ready for the work week. I had a lunch meeting. Just five hours after getting back to work. "You have a real hitch in your getty-up," my lunch partner said. I wanted to explain to him that it was because an hour into the freaking work week my back and groin were aching so freaking bad that I wanted to rip the whole shabang off...which would have been a hell of a trick...and throw it in the dumpster. Do they amputate backs? Whatever. On with the day. We all have problems, right? Suck it up and tough it out. Shut your whiny mouth. Got dinner ready. A pretty good steak. Grab the ice pack. And there was just one other thing I really needed. "What can I do to help?" My beautiful wife asked. There was one thing...no more One Tree Hill! No more Desperate Hou

There's something really cool about being in a room filled with people who share your blood. It's just comfortable, you know? On Saturday those of us with Fuzzy blood gathered together and while there were a couple there that were not blood-related they are so loved, and so ingrained into the goings-on that there are no illusions, no apologies, no awkward moments. Weiser-Fuzzy, Fuzzy-Weiser...what's the difference, really? Everything just fits. The occasion was my brother Jim's 44th birthday. Brand new sausage served as the focal point. It had been Grandpa's recipe, then Dad's, now ours. Jim is the man who gets the job done for us. But Saturday we helped out. Corinne made a batch of sauce that could have been served in the finest of Italian restaurants anywhere in the country. Old country or new country, besides. I chipped in with about 40 stuffed peppers. It was another handed-down recipe. John, Mom and Dana brought the salads and desserts. A perfect se

So Dick Cheney has a brand new heart to poison. But man, it's a tough crowd. The Twitter land was alive with tweets about the fact that this life-saving procedure involved replacing a heart that attacked the man five times beginning at the age of 37. Now that he's 71 some people are questioning the sensibilities of giving a man his age a transplant. Now that Cheney has his heart maybe they can get W his brain. One article that I read questioned whether or not Cheney was bumped ahead of others on the list who had: A). Been waiting longer or B). Had less available cash to donate. Either way...he's still a relatively young man. The new heart may allow him to live anywhere from 5 to 12 more years. Even knowing that is the best of all case scenarios is a little scary. Don't you want more than 12 years, no matter what age you are? As quickly as time seems to pass... I hope they threw his old heart into a volcano. I don't know if there was ever a man so polariz

It occurs to me that we are forced to eat a lot of shit in life. My advice? Just shovel it in. Do you ever run across people who tell you all of their problems when you see them? "I couldn't get to sleep last night! I went to bed early enough, but I kept thinking about how busy I am and every time I drifted off, I'd wake up. Man, I'm tired!!!" What do you say to that? And the complaints don't stop there. "I've been working so hard. It seems like all I do is work. I get up, go to work, work, then come home, and work some more at home, and then I go to bed and I can't sleep because I'm anxious about work!" Yeah, we get it...it's called life! And there are piles to shit to eat on a daily basis. "My boss is an asshole! Nobody likes him. All he thinks about is himself and he doesn't do anything all day and I do all the work and he gets paid the big money and then I work some more and then I go to bed and I can&

On Thursday evening I sat in my hotel room trying to watch the NCAA games. There were three young girls sitting outside, in the sunshine, and they were talking and talking and talking. I swear the one girl must have sprained her tongue. Just one word after another...blah, blah, blah, blah blah. "When you say hello to her it's like turning on the radio," my father once said about a girl who never shut up when we worked together. And I don't get it. Maybe because I write down my thoughts a lot of the time, but I'm not one for small talk. "This weather is great!" A stranger said to me today. I agreed but silently I considered not even answering. Why do I care if she thinks the weather is great? "Do you like the Escape?" another stranger asked me as I was getting into my vehicle. What would it matter if I answered? Would he run right out and buy his own. "It's comfortable; okay on gas," I said. At dinner the guy at the

So, let me get this straight: about six months ago we were witnesses to the virtual second coming. "Tim Tebow isn't going anywhere," his boss said. His boss being the legendary quarterback, John Elway. Around that time Tebow was on the sidelines praying that he could bring a Super Bowl to Denver. Turns out he just might. By leaving. Yep, he got fired. And it's sort of fun to watch the backlash. Some people in Denver are up in arms. Tebow was going to be the guy to lead them to the promised land! Now they only get Manning. There are plenty of heathens who are thrilled with the idea of Peyton Manning coming to town. They certainly should be if he's healthy. Not many better than him. And once again, it is all about a couple of guys and a ball. You see, one of the guys can throw the ball and people really like him, and the other guy doesn't throw the ball very well and people LOVE him. What can you do? It's like being the captain of a pic

I suppose there isn't anything that can be considered a good murder, is there? Just thinking of the black kid in Florida who was killed by a neighborhood watch group just because he was a "bleeping coon," as his murderer put it. The 17-year-old had Skittles in his pocket and was talking to his girlfriend when his life was snuffed out by a guy who said that he was fearing for his own life. Just horrible. Makes me wanna' puke. And then there's the soldier who killed 16 Afghanistan civilians because he went a little around the bend because he had been deployed four times and suffered a brain injury. He busted in and just started slaughtering people. Just awful. Makes me wanna' throw up. You know what's worse? I actually heard guys talking about how both of the killings were justified. Don't shake your head, there are people who truly feel that way. And not just a few people. "All's fair in love and war," the lame brai

I waited all year for that one blinding snow storm that kept us all in the house and made us worry about whether or not the world was ending. Breaking news from Buffalo: It never happened. And I'm thinking it's safe to say that we may be free from such a threat until November. It seems like there is so much on the horizon. March is always a busy month...making it through. A quick update. 1). The NCAA's have been picked, money has been paid. Nothing to do now but keep circling in red and blue and making fun of the guy who was dumb enough to take Duke over Lehigh. It may seem insignificant in the grand scheme of things and playing with a ball always is, but the boys and I have had a lot of fun. They were watching the games, and running out to the yard to shoot hoops in between. They don't have the ready-made two-on-two that we had as boys but they definitely have the trash-talking down. I wanted so badly to go out and shoot with them, but it's their time now

Wow, saw the Sarah Palin movie on HBO and while I know that it is not a documentary there are plenty of people who were there who are coming out now and saying that it was pretty accurate. I feel bad for the people who really thought she might do a good job someday as one of the leaders of the country. I was never fooled. I recall telling my wife as I watched her debate Biden that I wanted to tap her head off the podium a few hundred times to see if there was anyway to knock sense into her. Of course I don't condone violence in such matters...they would have been love taps...but she drove me crazy with her incompetence and I couldn't see how she could help the ticket garner even a single vote. Anyway...we've been over that before. The movie was good. It was good on a few different levels. 1). Woody Harrelson is a great actor. I'm not talking good, I'm talking great. It's a long way from Woody Boyd, but he is really believable in every single role. I

I had to eventually get around to the story of Seamus, didn't I? Mitt Romney is running for president, of course, and by all accounts he appears to be one helluva' nice rich guy. They are, as per usual, trying to dig up dirt on him. As is the method of operation in politics there is no stone left unturned. Romney once told a story about strapping his dog's cage to the top of the roof for a family vacation because the car was too full. Evidently the dog got sick somewhere along the way and the evidence of his stomach problems rolled down the back window of the family station wagon. People are up in arms with Romney for being so cruel to his dog. I just think that's funny. Actually the whole story has a funny Aunt Edna quality to it. I am a dog lover. I take the 'Melkman' and 'Par-Par' for a ride every morning. It's getting to the point that they would also like a ride after dinner. With the price of gas at four bucks a gallon I must be the o

Okay, so the guy who was partially responsible for the Koney 2012 video was found naked, masturbating and incoherent as he ran down a city street. Reminded me of college. Anyway, his wife had his back. She said that Jason Russell's masturbatory jaunt was caused by dehydration and exhaustion from being excited about his video going viral. If he would have taped his crash he might very well had another viral video. He was also despondent about the fact that he was being criticized in his work, and was being ridiculed by those around him. How would we do there if that were the sole cause of masturbation, huh, Pops? And that's a funny way to respond to it all, isn't it? I can remember chatting with my beautiful wife about it as watched a movie one-time and the young kid was locked in the bathroom. The actor playing the mother asked the father what the kid was doing in there. My wife asked the same question. "Pulling his pud," I said. (very classy guy

Billy Joel has a song, All About Soul . I think of my wife whenever I hear that song. That's a good thing. Shall we check the lyrics? All About Soul She waits for me at night. She waits for me in silence. She gives me all her tenderness and takes away my pain. And so far she hasn't run, though I swear she's had her moments She still believes in miracles while others cry in vain It's all about soul It's all about faith and a deeper devotion It's all about soul Cause under the love is a stronger emotion She's got to be strong Cause so many things getting out of control should drive her away So why does she stay? It's all about soul. She turns to me sometimes and she asks me what I'm dreaming and I realize that I've gone a million miles away And I ask her how she knew to reach out to me at that moment And she smiles because it's understood there are no words to say It's all about soul It's all about knowing wha

Thursday and Friday are two of the good days of the year - NCAA hoops. As luck might have it, my back has really been acting up. I probably shouldn't have been trying to visit too many sites for work, but I'm a little crazy that way. Yet, on Thursday, I spent some time in the office. I got there at tip-off time. Go figure. My family is involved. We have all filled out our pools. We also continue to pay homage to my brother's idea as we took a night to draw names out of the hat. I can't tell you how much all of the betting cost me. I need to win just to cover my costs. I do love this time of year. The college teams are really enthusiastic. The geek in me loves circling the winners and crossing out the losers. Sam is beside me doing the exact same thing. I think of all the great games through all the years. Valvano in 1983. Duke winning with Grant Hill, Patrick Ewing on Georgetown, Michigan and the Fab Five. Year after year. The only problem is that my b

We are having a ball, aren't we? Most college sports programs are such a huge business that their coaches can molest ball boys and people will still defend the molesters. The Bills sent a private plane for a free agent to come to town. They wined and dined the guy. Money was no object. The taxpayers however are paying for the changes to the stadium, and if it don't sell out, the hell with all of you, YOU DON'T GET TO WATCH. Shelly Miller of Michigan City punched his daughter's basketball coach until the coach was unconscious. Miller was upset that his daughter had to run extra laps. Most of the colleges are postponing classes if their school is big dancing. They can take the loss there, but my kid has to pay $600 for a text book. Timothy Forbes of Springfield Massachusetts bit off part of the coach's ear as he argued for his son during a 6th grade basketball game. He's being held on assault charges. The president is picking his brackets and people ar

When I heard that there was going to be a rapper on the new Bruce album I cringed. As you may have guessed, I am not much of a fan of the hip-hop. In fact, if the young-ins are playing it during one of my construction audits I will give my best imitation of my father: "That isn't music, it's noise!" So I was scared. I knew the song was Rocky Ground . It may be my favorite song on the album. The rapper can really sing. The words that she sings were placed in her mouth by the Boss. Here they are: You use your muscle and your mind and you pray your best that your best is good enough, the Lord will do the rest. You raise your children and you teach them to walk straight and true You pray that hard times, hard times come no more. You try to sleep, you toss and turn, the bottom's dropping out Where you once had faith now there's only doubt You pray for guidance, only silence now meets your prayers. The morning breaks, you awake, but there

Surprise, Surprise! There is a story of violence making its way around the NFL. That just kills me. The NFL is looking into the fact that the New Orleans Saints players were being paid extra cash for knocking their opponents out of the game with violent hits. Shocking, isn't it? They were trying to hurt the other teams best players! Color me amazed!!!! Yet in a day when we've figured out that damaging hits to the brain may have a long-term effect on those who get their craniums scrambled, it's a troubling matter. Have you ever seen a NFL-released tape about violent hits? It's a billion-dollar enterprise.What do they show on Sports Center ever morning? Besides ten straight shots of big guys slamming the ball through the hoop...if I never see another dunk I'll be a happy man - we get it...they can slam the ball straight down through the orange rim and scream in triumph, completed by the two-handed beating of the chest. Watch a hockey game here in Buffa

My boy Sam is in geek heaven right now. We had the first of the fantasy baseball drafts the other night, the Sabres are making every effort for the playoffs, and God help us the NCAA brackets are ready to be filled out. He is running all over the house, on high alert for every single score change. Like me, it isn't so much about the games for Sam. It's more about shouting out his opinions, getting ink on his arms from circling who won what game when and letting us all know that he forgot more about sports than any of us will ever know. (He stole that line from somebody). On Saturday night I was watching another expertly Kathy-chosen movie. It was the first movie I've seen in about three months that didn't have Ryan Gosling in it. It took me awhile but I figured out that little mystery. If my wife was looking for a Ryan Gosling type she missed the boat by a couple of oceans and a large continent. Regardless, Sam was in the other room, screaming at the television

Saw that Pat Robertson has made news by saying that they should legalize marijuana. Who keeps going to this guy for quotes? Not that his statement is crazy, but really, why the hell are we interviewing him? He rarely makes sense, but we see him on all the shows, spouting useless crap about all sorts of topics. How does one get to be one of the go-to-guys in the world? You think it has anything to do with money? And of course, he has swindled money from all sorts of desperate people who are trying to buy their eternal salvation. Safe to say that I'm not a big Robertson fan. Yet back to his point. Should pot be legalized? Isn't it already sort of there anyway? People in California can get a pot prescription for stubbing their toe, and when the cops make an arrest involving pot it's sort of treated like a quick roll through a stop sign. Pay a fine, go on your way. It don't matter to me either way, I guess. There are enough people getting pissed up on the week

Weird isn't it that our minds take us back in time whenever we hear a song that was popular or meant something? The I-pod gave me two straight today. Yeah, I took a ten song break from the new Bruce CD, but don't read anything into that - it's brilliant and wonderful. He's as good at 62 as he was at 26. Anyway...Rick Springfield was the singer who broke through with "Don't Talk to Strangers." What's funny about it is that I thought of high school and my friends and the girls we liked back then. And I knew every single word. Who's the Don Juan I've been hearing of? How do we remember it all? How does it come right back to us as if we heard the song yesterday? And the feelings. I thought of riding around in Renaldo's beat-up old car, heading to play golf, wondering what life would bring. It brought plenty, but them were the days, right? There are plenty of new songs, of course, but they don't write them like that anymore.

So I tried traction the other day. I felt an inch taller, but couldn't sleep through the night in the hours that followed. Instead, I went on Twitter and looked at shit I wouldn't normally look at in the light of day. Twitter is actually good company at 2:30 a.m. I came across the new sensation to stop Koney. They are doing a good job of marketing the video because I had no idea what it all meant, but everyone was talking about it. Turns out James Koney is a real bad guy in Uganda who preys on little children. The video is heartbreaking as it runs down a list of Koney's crimes. The emphasis seems to be that we have to stop this madman's reign. The video presentation is well done and the goal of the stop Koney movement seems sincere. I was thinking about putting the link up here but I'm kind of dopey when it comes to that stuff. Regardless, I am sorry to say that as I watched the video I was skeptical. Why is it that these days we are skeptical of anything th

It's hard to believe, but my baby sister is forty-freaking years old! I am dumbfounded today as I consider this because, of course, I can remember the day when she was born. There wasn't one day out of all those days when I thought she wasn't the coolest little girl on the planet. (All right, there was one drunken Memorial Day party when she pissed me off with sophomoric comments, but it was just for one night and we've laughed our asses off about it every day since). But 40! Crazy. And there will be a great party in Maryland this weekend and life itself is stopping me from going, but she knows, really knows that I'd be there if I could...we all would...because like me and Kathy, the rest of my family adores Aunt Carrie. We have Bruce in April in section 116 in April too! And it's funny, but there was a moment earlier in the week. I rose from bed on March 6th knowing that the new Bruce album had downloaded to my I-phone. As happy as that made me, i

Man, did you read any of the horrifying stories in regard to the tornadoes that battered some of the towns across the country? I've never seen a tornado up close and I hope that I never do. I remember being about ten years old, living in Florida, when they called for a major storm. The trees were bending, we were all crying. Thankfully the twister didn't take us out to sea. But it's one of those days you never forget. I bring it all up because of the story making rounds today about the Mom who lost both of her legs when she shielded her children from the storm. There's a little bit of heaven in every tragedy. Stephanie Decker was home with her son and daughter when the tornado bore down on their home. They headed for the basement and she covered the children with her body. The crumbling house cost her one leg below the knee and all of her other leg. She saved her kids lives. That's a tough road, but I bet she'd do it again. I think of what we wou

I never paid attention to that song when I was young. You know the one, right. The knee bone is connected to the foot bone, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, my therapist, Terry, is a fine woman. I almost looked forward to getting hurt so I could see her again. Just an ultra-smart professional with a great personality and a better laugh. Problem being, she's smarter than me, and my Dad used to tell me to stay away from the ones that are smarter than me. It's a wonder I married my beautiful wife, Kathy, given how much smarter she is, right darling? Anyway, Terry was trying to explain the back injury to me. I am perplexed by the fact that the numbness in my right leg and the really sore groin on the left side is all connected. Terry mentioned nerve tension and tried hard to work my legs a bit. And it is all so irritating. There were a bunch of kids playing hoops at the YMCA the other day. They were going hard, full court, popping shots from deep in the corners, fighting f

Rush Limbaugh called a young college coed a slut in regard to the dumbest issue I've ever heard debated. Should birth control be part of healthcare. Rush shouldn't call people names. That's mean. Besides, he's a big, fat, stupid, drug-addicted blowhard who knows less about sports than he does about politics. I don't really care for him. And it's not that I don't listen to him now and again. I honestly do try to see if there is something that I'm not saying as I appear to be jaded in my cry to help people out a little bit. I can never listen for more than a half an hour though because he usually says something so pompous and ignorant that I yell at the radio. I try hard not to call him names, but this is how I usually go as I flip the channel: "Rush, you're a fat, stupid blowhard with no concept of anything but getting married, getting divorced, popping pills and abusing others." And it kills me that somehow or another he i

Grab your ticket and your suitcase Thunder's rolling down the tracks You don't know where you're goin' But you know you won't be back Darlin' if you're weary Lay your head upon my chest We'll take what we can carry And we'll leave the rest Big Wheels rolling through fields Where sunlight streams Meet me in a land of hope and dreams I will provide for you And I'll stand by your side You'll need a good companion for This part of the ride Leave behind your sorrows Let this day be the last Tomorrow there'll be sunshine And all this darkness past Big wheels roll through fields Where sunlight streams Meet me in a land of hope and dreams This train Carries saints and sinners This train Carries losers and winners This Train Carries whores and gamblers This Train Carries lost souls This Train Dreams will not be thwarted This Train Faith will be rewarded This Train Hear the steel wheels singin' This Train

This is a lonely old weekend. Another anniversary of another shitty day...the shittiest actually. Three years since Jeff was here. Three years. Seems like ten minutes. The downhearted mood began on Friday morning...thoughts of my brother blasting through a tired brain and tired body. My heart ached for the kid who shot the other kids. Yeah, it ached for the shooter! When I saw him being huddled into the courtroom to be charged, and listened to the story of his life that led to the pain in that Ohio town, I ached for him because he committed the worst of all human acts. "They should shoot him in the public square," a guy on one of the jobs mentioned. "He's a little boy," I said. "A little boy who had no chance in life. He never knew how to live." "Crucify him for all the other troubled little boys to see," the man argued. And I drove away. Awash in the heartache. But a funny thing happened on the way to the carnival of self

Ryan Braun won the NL MVP last year. He's a good-looking guy with a deadly swing. He makes about twenty million dollars a year for hitting a ball with a bat. The guy who collected his urine last October is a health care professional who will remain anonymous...all his life. He has a family, a bunch of coworkers and his own professional integrity but they don't give regular guys awards so we don't know how valuable he is. Our regular guy had a job to do back in October. He collected urine from 3 Brewers players, put it away, placed seal-resistant tape on the samples, and since it was after 5 on Saturday, FOLLOWED MLB protocol by bringing the samples home and storing them in a cool place until he could FED EX them to the lab on Monday morning...which he did. One of the 3 samples came back high for levels of things that allow you to win MVP trophies. The story leaked. Ryan Fraud went nuts. There was an explanation! He would be declared innocent! Uh, hardly. You k

Growing up the goal of life was to believe in the promised land. The dogs on main street howl cause they understand and I believe in the promised land. Over the last couple of weeks I've heard every song off the Bruce album, "Wrecking Ball", that will be out next week. It's been a long ride. In We Take Care of Our Own he asks, 'Where's the promise from sea-to-shining sea?' He also starts the song by saying he's been knocking on the door that holds the throne. A question of his own mortality or his reluctant involvement in the last presidential election? Either way, he's pissed. And all those things he chased down Thunder Road and seemingly found are lost again. The music is varied and kind of wild. A Celtic song, a couple of good rockers, gospel, a lot of violins, blues, country, folk...one after another, all different. Even a freaking rapper in what might be my favorite song: Rocky Ground . A rapper who says something bright, mind