Thoughts of a Common Man

Speaking of poor mothers. My poor mother must've really taken a beating when all of us were young and loud and fighting and arguing and throwing things and breaking windows and swearing and driving fast and then drinking and fighting and laughing and swearing. She had her hands full. And if there was a real battle between us as siblings she'd go to my Dad for help and he'd enter the room and yell: "Fight Nice!" So... ...we were allowed to fight, but we had to keep it nice. I thought of that when I saw that the GOP is thinking about suing Obama. Just crazy crap, really. And perhaps a true slippery slope where we finally, once and for all, try to diminish the office of the presidency. Don't worry... ...it's not a political discussion. It's more about fighting nice. A few years ago I had to go to a job site where a specific member of the operating engineer's union was fighting, non-stop with a specific member of the iron work

It's a weird dynamic when the kid who has been out and running about returns for a couple of days. My poor, beautiful wife... ...is taking a non-stop beating from the two younger dopey bastards. "Mom loves Matt the most," is one of the kinder ribbings they give her. "I think she's really in love with him," the other one will say and then it's off to the races. It drives her crazy. It makes it worse when I laugh along with them. Matt came through the door on Friday evening. He's not a big fan of steak (because he's a dope and also because he once tried to swallow a 14 ounce piece of it without biting it and it got stuck in his wind-pipe) ...but... Anywhoha. Kathy had prepared chicken for him and the poor, lovely girlfriend of his who is being lambasted by said dopey bastards mentioned above. "Mom made her boyfriend chicken," one of them said. And they laughed and laughed. Of course, I'm happy to see the k

So, now we are saying sorry to the people who are offended by the Redskins nickname. We are all saying we are sorry to Chief Wahoo. We are sorry to the blacks. We are sorry to the Jewish folks. We are sorry to Italian-Americans for the Sopranos. (RIP Gandolfini). We are sorry to the lesbians and the gay men. What the hell is going on? Men and women are being interviewed and as soon as the interview hits the streets they are standing there saying they are sorry to everyone. Movie stars are yelling at TMZ and then having to say that they are morally wounded by their own stupidity. Everyone is sorry for saying something to someone. I've watched Tracy Morgan and Kramer and Mel Gibson and Jonah Hill apologize. Donald Sterling was punished and handed two billion and told to hit the road even after he said he was sorry. Joan Rivers said she won't apologize. Gilbert Gottfried, a freaking comedian, was fired for telling jokes that were insensitive. I ask agai

I've never taken a bite of someone. In fact, it has never even crossed my mind to do such a thing. It's weird but a lot of people were talking about a soccer player from a faraway land who has been in trouble before for biting an opponent. This is actually the 3rd time he has done such a thing! What would make you bite someone? Mike Tyson chewed on Holyfield's ear and he said that he did it because he was losing and knew he needed to gain an advantage. Biting off someone's ear would give you said advantage, I suppose, but it's sort of against the rules. Or is it? Is there a direct rule that says: "Thou shalt not bite your opponent." I doubt that there is. Yet if your dog laid down a bite on three separate people you'd have to put him down... ...right? Suarez received a suspension of some length...9 games and four months... What will be the penalty when he does it again? Because I don't think we have heard the last of t

Damn. I must have been tired on Monday night because I woke up at a little after three on Tuesday morning and my light was on, my television was on, I was sleeping on two pillows and my telephone wasn't on the charger. To top it off, I was still holding the book I was reading and it was open to the page that I had been reading when I dozed. I traced back my steps and realized that the Yankee game had just ended (they freaking lost), so it had to be around 10:15 when I literally passed the hell out. So I fell asleep with everything on and I was still holding the book up in reading position when I woke up nearly five hours later? What's up with that? I was able to get to sleep after I shut everything down and I woke again at 5:30 to head off to work. I swung by the convenience store, with the dogs waiting in the car, to get the Buffalo News . "How are you?" my friendly neighborhood cashier asked. "I'm partly cloudy," I said. She laughed.

Sam is flat-out the heartbeat of our house. He talks a lot, he smiles a lot, he's always in a great mood, he works all around the house and let me tell you, he doesn't miss a single thing. Sam is on top of everything that has to do with everything around the Fuzzy house here in Blasdell. And he's 14 years old already! That is so hard for me to believe, but then again, it isn't. Sam has always acted much older than he really is. He keeps the peace. He takes care of the dogs. He starts the laundry, makes sure the water bowls are filled, gets good grades, talks great smack, loves his mother and grandparents and brothers and aunts and uncles and cousins and dogs and friends and the Chicago Bulls, Villanova Wildcats, Buffalo Sabres, Buffalo Bills and the 27-Time World Champion Greatest Franchise in the history of organized American sports: The New York Yankees. The only kid of mine who has enough sense to follow the Yankees. And here's a secret,

My kids are starting to catch on. There are plenty of chores around the house, as you all know. I'm certain that my children would help out a bit more if I just let them. I have a tendency to do things just as the timer clicks. The dryer stops and I'm folding the laundry before it even finishes it's last spin. The dog takes a drink of water and I'm re-filling the bowl quickly, saying, as I'm doing so: "I'll get it. You guys just relax." So, now that the boys have gotten a little older, they try and help a bit. They actually try and beat me to the punch just so they can say: "Rest. I'll empty the dishwasher while you take is easy." (As an aside - my beautiful wife doesn't get involved in this little game. She just sort of laughs at how stupid we are). Yet on Saturday morning I gazed out at the grass in the back yard. "Don't even think it," Jake said. "I told you I'd mow the lawn and I will."

Going to see John Mellencamp on July 3rd in Niagara Falls. I know it'll be a great show - I've seen him perform twice before and he was tremendous. When they did Minutes to Memories it was one of my favorite moments at any concert ever. I listened to this song the other day and it brought me back to the day in the 80's when I bought the Lonesome Jubilee record. I was drinking beer with my brothers and a couple of buddies - John and Scott - I remember telling John: "Damn, the song Empty Hands sort of blows my mind." It still does. Empty Hands - Mellencamp In the shadows of the smokestacks Through the black snow that lay on the land Walked home one winter morning With my life's savings in my hand Maryanne, she's fixin' up some breakfast Got the lights on, on the Christmas tree Sittin' there lookin' up at an angel With something dyin' inside of me Grew up with great expectations Heard the promise and I knew the pl

Ahh, the wheelbarrow race. Jim tipped me over as John and Jeff raced to the finish line. The laughter was tremendous. Mom and Dad standing there cheering us on. Also, the photo of Jeff as a tribesman. He skipped through that party, slapping his own ass to Y-M-C-A over the loudspeaker as a couple of hundred stunned party-goers laughed. I had tears rolling down my face. It was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen. The askew glasses on his face at his own wedding. More from that Halloween party. Our trip to Florida. Day after day of laughter. Twenty years ago OJ was in his Bronco. We were together at my college roommates home. Me, Jeff and Pops. Yankees over O's. A clean sweep. The entire week went great. Except for the fact that we were nearly asked to leave my roommates home because our aim hadn't been true when using their bathroom. "You're the one who pissed on the floor," Jeff had scolded me. Do you know why he

Spent Friday in the car - Syracuse and back - it was a perfect time for the I-pod. One of the things that occurred to me is that I very rarely listen to full records anymore, as the artist intended, so I took the I-pod off shuffle and listened to the full records, in order. Some of the great records of the 70's and 80's...bad songs and all. One of the records I played was Bob Dylan's Slow Train Coming and on that record is a song called Change Your Way of Thinking. A Bob song in the nasally whine mode talking about the times and how messed up they were. Healthcare, back-stabbing political parties, gunning each other down in the streets, not incorporating God into our lives, cheating our neighbors, the dirty wind blowing. In other words, Zimmy could've written the song yesterday. Which got me thinking: It is what it is. People will always cry about the role of government as they shovel free hot food down, or take advantage of tremendous tax loopholes.

One of my favorite all-time scenes ever, in a movie, series or books comes courtesy of The Sopranos when Tony (RIP Gandolfini)is talking to Uncle June in the nursing home. Uncle Junior has lost his mind by then and doesn't remember a single thing about the pain he caused the family, or the success he once had. Tony tells him: You were the leader once. Uncle Junior says: Oh, that's nice. The scene is powerful to me because in the end, all the "important" things we chase around mean very little. As busy as we get, as crazed as we feel, none of it really matters. I'm fond of telling guys who are caught in a tough moment: Next year you won't even remember the angst you feel now. What were you even doing a year ago? The guy can't even remember. I walked into a job on Thursday in an old office building in Buffalo. The building is being cleaned out. Look at those huge columns...we don't build them like that anymore. Yet the people who occu

1). So, had to talk with a whole bunch of lawyers in the room. I was being questioned by one and he read me a report I wrote, line-by-line. After each sentence he'd ask two questions: "Do you see that?" (I was reading the report along with him). Then he would say: "Did you write that?" He did this with three straight sentences. It was a 8-paragraph report. I interrupted him with: "Yo, we going to do this all the way through?" He was silent. 2). Twenty years since Orenthal took his fateful ride, huh? It's still hard to believe that rotten bastard got off on the murders. I bet there's little solace for the Brown-Goldman families that he's finally in the can. But hey...he's still on the Buffalo Bills ring of honor. You gotta' love the NFL. (They don't pay taxes or cheerleaders). 3). Speaking of the NFL...the Redskins are gonna' have to change their name, huh? Seems like it. Some people think it's j

We were riding somewhere this past weekend when this song came through on my I-pod. Now, the song is a bit mellow for the under 49 crowd, but I immediately said, 'Good song.' Kathy topped it with 'Great song.' And it is a great song. It's beautifully written. It makes your heart ache for the narrator. So, Janis Ian takes one for the team. You'll probably sing the lyrics if you read them. "AT SEVENTEEN" By Janis Ian I learned the truth at seventeen That love was meant for beauty queens And high school girls with clear skinned smiles Who married young and then retired The valentines I never knew The Friday night charades of youth Were spent on one more beautiful At seventeen I learned the truth... And those of us with ravaged faces Lacking in the social graces Desperately remained at home Inventing lovers on the phone Who called to say "come dance with me" And murmured vague obscenities It isn't all it seems at sevent

It was a little quiet on Monday morning. Guys who are usually busting (chops) and making fun of one another seemed to be a bit lethargic. "You're quiet today," I said to one guy. "I'm freaking tired," he said. "Too much weekend." And I kind of felt the same way. Summer, in fact, lends itself to doing more things out and about. Parties, runs for charity, yard work...someday, golf, hopefully... ...all of it leads to quieter people on Monday morning. And I'm not bitching about it at all. On Sunday I was waiting for a single person to complain about how hot it was. No one did. After what we went through for the previous seven months or so, you'd really have to be a true whiner to worry about that bright, sunny day. It felt good to sweat a little. Yet I also knew what the working folks were feeling. The weekend legs certainly aren't under me yet. Hopefully it doesn't take long because winter will be here soon.

Started Father's Day morning by rolling the meatballs and gathering the roast beef for the birthday celebration that we have for all three boys - their days are fairly close so we do them all at once, and while we always consider having the thing catered...I want to cook...because I think of my Dad saying: "We ain't serving sh*t to these people." So, I do it for my Dad, and as a Dad and I'm making sauce usually anyway, so it's just a bigger pot. Yet as I moved around...and I'm moving around better...(we may be on to something with fixing my legs)...I thought about a lot of things as they pertain to being a Dad. First: You're always last. In the scheme of things around the house the interests go like this: Kid 1 Kid 2 Kid 3 Mom Dog 1 Dog 2 Dad It's funny but we were having a normal conversation about something the other day as we drove around and my beautiful wife said this: "You aren't the main focus of anything.&qu

As I approached the finish line...sweat pouring down my back, hunger gnawing at my insides, in desperate need of water and a trip to the porta-lav that was just beyond the line...I thought about collapsing. But I had to go on. For the cause. For the women who've suffered. For the tremendous people who were out there giving it their all. You see the line right there in front of me, right? Well, I crossed it. It was before the start of the actual 5-K, mind you, but I put in a good 50 feet, walking with my family and friends who were preparing to run. I made it to the lav and had two quick sandwiches before they returned from their jaunt. I am an inspiration. Yet... ...if I could've joined the run I would have because take a friggin' look who was the race honoree! Yep...my sister, Corinne. And she's worked so hard through the years to be an inspiration that I was just so happy that she received a little recognition...and she'd be the first

Who's Stanley anyway? Hockey is over. I guess it ended in the middle of the night after two teams skated in circles until one of them got tired enough to just let one in so they could go home. I watched roughly one period of their entire playoff season. Just doesn't interest me anymore. And you know what interests me less? Yeah, the World Cup. Cameroon? Where in the hell is that? Between Hamburg and East Aurora? Yet the thing that does interest me about the World Cup is the fact that others are SO interested in it. "What was the score of the Mexico game?" Someone will ask. "One to nil," will be the most common answer. "They won on a shoot-out." Now, I was a very ineffective soccer player the one year I played it. The highlights of my soccer career were my own goal (which was a beauty) and watching my buddy Jeff Renaldo kick one in from the center of the field. (I had a great look at that one...I was sitting in a lawn chai

The kid in the middle is 17 years old today. Crazy. And Jake is a good kid. We share a lot of things through the course of the day. We usually start the day by mentioning if the Yankees won or lost. If they won...I mention it. If they lost...he mentions it. Jake is an Oakland A's fan like his misguided older brother. Two dorks. But I regress... ...it's his birthday! And Jake never ceases to surprise me. He had a late start in sports and I always feared that he would grow weary of being a bit behind.... ...then I went to see him play hoops...and damn! He was good! Yet what boggles my mind lately is that he is on the baseball team. I quit playing hardball at the age of 14 because I was afraid to get hit by the ball...they threw too fast! And Jake doesn't play much baseball at all...until baseball season. He puts down the controller and heads to the field. He doesn't see live pitching. He doesn't go to the batting cages. He doesn't co

The driver in that photo is Gary. He's from St. Catherines. He's 77 years old. I met him on a job site where he was hauling a load of precast. He is making three trips a day to the job, and I had a moment to talk to him after he released the chains and binders on the previous truck. Gary is as strong as an ox. Yet his astounding ability to do his job at 77 years old wasn't what got us talking. I had just yelled at a young kid for something and Gary had heard me. "We're in a real bind with the younger generation," he said. "And I'm not just a complaining old man. I just don't see how we're going to get some of the work done in the near future." That was enough to get me drawn into the conversation. I really enjoy talking to older guys. I like to hear about the decades that I missed by not being here. "Is it all that bad?" I asked. "I wonder because I remember hearing Nixon resign and listening to my Mom and Dad

I'm sorry. Air travel really sucks in this country. There's a sense of surprise nowadays when the flight isn't delayed. Then you have to get there so early that you spend your time sitting in a hard plastic chair, just waiting. That's not even to mention security and being yelled at by those people. There's nary a smile as you make your way through the line - and I get it, but geez, most people aren't terrorists. Not even a 'Hi'? Which left me a bit tired and ornery as I checked into the hotel in Kansas City at 2 a.m. Here was my exchange. Clerk: How can I help you? Me: I have a room reservation. (What the hell else did he think was going on as I lugged suitcases to his desk?) Clerk: What's your address? Me: I called it all in. Here's my credit card. Here's my ID. Take what you need off that. Clerk: Oakie-Dokie (We all know I hate that). Clerk: There's a $250 fine if you smoke in your room. Me: I don't smoke.

God I hate interviews with sports participants. Lately ESPN has been the LeBron show. (You don't really want my opinion on Floppy the Crybaby). But I can do the interview after a loss for him. Reporter: What happened out there? Random Dumb-Dumb: We didn't play as well as we're capable of playing. We have to step it up to the next level. We'll be back on Sunday and we'll give it a hundred and ten percent. Reporter: Thank you for the insight. Those are powerful words indeed. I say that this is how the exchange should go: Reporter: What happened out there? Random Dumb-Dumb: We didn't play as well as we're capable of playing. We have to step it up to the next level. We'll be back on Sunday and we'll give it a hundred and ten percent. Reporter: Are you f&*King kidding me? That's your answer? How do you 'step up'? Where the hell is the 'next level'? There's only one hundred percent, you freaking moron. Th

Billy Joel has his own radio station on Sirius. I've always enjoyed his music. He's an exceptional talent, actually. Recently I've heard him speak a bit and I think he's a decent guy...there had been a lit of stuff out there about him. I especially love when he talks about writing. He can do that...as these lyrics display. This Is The Time We walked on the beach beside that old hotel They're tearing it down now But it's just as well I haven't shown you everything a man can do So stay with me baby I've got plans for you This is the time to remember Cause it will not last forever These are the days To hold on to Cause we won't Although we'll want to This is the time But time is gonna change You've given me the best of you And now I need the rest of you Did you know that before you came into my life It was some kind of miracle that I survived Some day we will both look back And have to laugh We lived through a lifetime

We've probably all seen the video of the mother in the Cheektowaga, New York parking lot yelling the N-word over and over again at a black man who was sitting behind the wheel with a video camera. I agree with the guy, of course. He stayed calm in the face of an absolutely lunatic rage, but there was one thing that bugged me a little: He kept saying, "Racism is alive and well." Maybe it is in the heart of that woman, and I'm sure it is in a lot of other hearts as well, but she was painting an entire race of people and he sort of was as well. She doesn't speak for me. I hope she doesn't speak for you. The fact that she speaks, at all, in front of her children, in such a raving mad way is also really disconcerting. But man, it's unsettling, isn't it? Over 7.5 million people viewed the tape. The woman went on a press tour of sorts. The radio shows put her on. She was the first story in Saturday's Buffalo News. They even called her a

My wife and kids have a good time calling me a geek for my reading habits, especially when they discuss the fact that I read so much as a kid. They call me 'Brick' from the show 'The Middle'. I can't really debunk the idea. As a kid the Penny Saver came to the house and I would read it from cover-to-cover. On the back page there was an ad from a funeral home, I believe, or a church...anywhoha...it was always something inspirational. It went by the title "A Thought to Remember." I always read that first. This week, at my parents house, I opened a cupboard and saw one of the columns, worn and weathered, hung on the door where Mom spent hundreds of thousands of hours doing laundry. I read it. I remembered reading it as a kid. Here it is: The Will to Win Figure it out for yourself my lad You've all that the greatest of men have had; Two arms, two legs, two hands, two eyes And a brain to use if you would be wise With this equipment they

The most draining thing of all is when, in the middle of a normal day, something happens that brings about a depression because: Someone is missing. And, of course, I know that the list of people who have suffered through loss is too lengthy to even think about, it's not any less crushing when the feeling hits your heart. Just crushing. I passed by a car the other day that had a dedication posted on the back window: To Janey - 1984-2013. We Miss You Every Day. There was a crucifix in the center of the words, and as I took the moment to glance an elderly couple made their way towards the vehicle. Missing their daughter. I knew that couple suffered through the wild card, random hits of pain, that are brought about simply by running through their daily rituals. It could be a song. Or a meal. Or a car passing by that looks like their car. Or a voice like his nephew shouting out while playing a video game. Or a random, 'Bah!' And suddenly you're off and r

A recent poll showed that the most hated man in America is: Donald Sterling. That is absolutely ridiculous. Now don't get me wrong, what he said was deplorable, but he is an old, tired man who if he is mentally incompetent as they deemed him to be deserves our sympathy and not our scorn. Dementia seems to have clouded his visions when they want to rip his $2 billion team from him, but not when he says silly things? I'm kind of sympathetic to his plight at this point. His crime is that he is a racist, but a mentally incompetent one? If so then we sort of have to forgive him, not make him the most hated man in the country. And more hated than: Bernie Madoff? That guy ruined a lot of lives. He stripped people of the retirement funds they had coming to them. He did it while of sound mind and he did it without concern for any of his victims. Or Jerry Sandusky? He was convicted of raping kids. For years and years and years. Certainly that's more worthy of ou

That's the photo of a car driven by a football star. Marcell Dareus is a morbidly obese Pro Bowl player for the Buffalo Bills. I'm willing to bet that there are more than a thousand people who put on a shirt with his name on it and trudge down to the Ralph to cheer for this big idiot. He crashed his car less than a mile from my house. He was racing a teammate in the middle of the day on his way home from what was certainly a rigorous practice. Thankfully no one was coming the other way. Thankfully he didn't drive into the restaurant and kill people who were eating a meal. Thankfully he didn't plow into my wife or kids or your wife or kids. And you know what would've happened if he had? He would've walked away from the scene and bemoaned the fact that he made 'a mistake' and his bloated lawyer would've gotten him off and he would've returned to his fat paycheck, his locker filled with gifts because of his "talents". Mindless

Mom is in her first week out of the hospital following her hip surgery and she's doing her rehab work at home where she wants to be with her three dogs and familiar surroundings. Of course we've had to scramble a bit to get people there to help her during work hours, but Corinne and Kathy worked a plan that was so close to coming together... ...but our Wednesday during the day backed out. Truth be told here...I never use my days off. I don't miss days being sick. I hardly take time even after I have surgery. Vacation? That's funny. It just never really occurs to me to do such things. But when I thought about Wednesday being wide open I knew what needed to happen, but I had to make it work. I called the guy who works closely with me and asked him if he could handle the Buffalo area on Wednesday. "I can make it work," he said. "What's up?" "I'm thinking of taking the day to sit with my Mom," I said. "Things

On Sunday morning I was making breakfast for the Queen of Blasdell when Sam said: "Tomorrow is June the 2." I smiled, of course, knowing that the next generation of Fuzzy's have the date already cemented in their minds. I told them about Uncle Tony being the one who started it all by saying he'd pay his debts on 'June the 2', but I also knew it was so much more than that. It was a bond between fathers and sons and brother to brother. My Dad was always mentioning June the 2 as well...every year...and when I was a kid I thought it was silly. I don't think that anymore. Because Uncle Jim took it to a new level. Now we try and schedule a memorial mass for him around that date. (I missed it this year with all the commotion). I told Sam about Uncle Jim calling me at 6:30 on the morning of the last 'June the 2' of his life. "When I asked him why he was calling so soon," I said. "He answered, 'It's June the 2. I co

Happy Anniversary to my beautiful wife. Lord knows it's been a truly eventful ride and Thank God that the one really big choice I had to make was a right one. Yet there is a certain element of sadness as you look back and think about that wedding day. I'm only sad, of course, because there are some real important people missing and because I could really drink beer and move properly back then. It's weird that some of those essential things are gone and when you look back on it in a blink of the mind's eye...you feel some pain. But there is so much more to it. We were married in a baseball field...left field to be exact at Marion Fricano Town Park in North Collins. We all put Yankee hats on after the ceremony that was officiated by lifelong friend Ward Weiser. (Except Renaldo who put an Indians cap on at the last minute...dopey bastard). And after an unbelievable party we set off on the journey. It was just me, Kathy and young Matt...I was learning to ada