Merry Xmas!

Merry Christmas to all, and Happy Holidays to all you politically correct weenies. Let's get right to the good stuff (which usually happens the minute you hit the little red "x" and exit my blog)
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AFC North Champions: Cincinnati Bengals. What the...huh? That doesn't just roll right off the tongue now does it? 15 years of futility and now this! Pretty happy. I've said all along that they don't have to be the best and win it all but just be competitive. 4 or 5 years ago, I would sit in front of the television with my head buried in my hands mumbling things like "what the *$&# was he thinking?" "just tackle, dipshit" "oh, for god's sake, that's pathetic" All I wanted was some feeling that by the fourth quarter that the Bengals would be close. Back then, this was never the case.
I wonder if their success has anything to do with me NOT boasting about how good they'll be "this year". See, every pre-season I go on and on about how awesome they will be. "15-1, Conservatively!", I'd proclaim. I even went so far as to last year say that I would "remove a digit for each Bengals loss". I figured I could do without a pinky or two. I quickly denied ever making that claim after about the 5th loss and the thought of how I'd ever get by with a stump at the end of my arm. So this year I made no such claims. I might have said they'd be decent, but I always made a point to not make any predictions.
A buddy of mine got some season tickets this year and I managed to purchase a few games here and there. Is it any coincidence that this is the first season that I have attended a game at Paul Brown Stadium...and they go to the playoffs? I think not. I made my pilgrimage to my Mecca to visit the hallowed ground of the future of pro football in Cincinnati. But I was not merely satisfied to see my beloved Bengies play at PBS. Nay, I noticed on the schedule that they would be traveling up the road a piece to play the Lions. It was then that I emailed my wife's cousin, a Detroit native and Lions fan. We spent many a Thanksgiving out by the campfire hashing out all of the problems of these perpetually woeful franchises only to come to the bitter conclusion that Led Zeppelin in fact was right in saying the "Song remains the same". So who better than my friends from Up North to share my recent glory with?
I packed up the wife and kids in the family truckster and journeyed northward braving the bitter cold of late December for the remote chance that the Bengals could meet their goal by winning one game against a team a little down on their luck and secure themselves a playoff berth.
This game wasn't going to be just another ordinary game. As I mentioned before, the Bengals needed only this win to make the playoffs...but interestingly enough, this was the final home game for the Lions and for their fans to make their feelings known about the direction of this team. Fans were told to wear orange (the Bengals colors). And Ford Field was a sea of orange that day. Prior to the game there was a "Millen-man March", a protest against Lions general manager Matt Millen. There were billboards on the streets saying "The New Millen-ium: 57 years of Rebuilding"
So I, along with cousins Pauly, Tony, John, Rich, and Uncle Johnny loaded up the minivan and headed to the stadium. Our plans of drinking a few beers in the parking lot faded quickly as the single-digit temperatures forced us to search for warmer climes. So we trekked to a place called the "State Bar and Grill" *pictured*
Upon entering, I found several positive things. Primarily: Heat. Also, 3/4 of the clientele were wearing the orange and black of Bengaldom while letting out an occasional "Who Dey!". Finally (and most importantly) $7 pitchers and good food. It was truly a great environment. I only took a little heat for wearing a Bengals hat and that was while I was taking a leak. A couple of guys behind me said "You're probably a Buckeyes fan, too" to which I answered "Yes I am". After they made a few comments, I shook a few times, zipped up and asked them how they thought the Wolverines would do in the Motor City Bowl this year (a "lower" less prestigious bowl game). Ha ha, Buckeyes: 1, U of M: 0. I was pretty proud of myself for being so quick witted instead of thinking of something clever a half an hour later which I always do.
Ford Field is a magnificent place. Truly a great place to watch a game, and even better as Pauly and I headed to our seats. We sat 8 rows from the field behind the end zone. In fact, after a T.J. Houshmandzadeh touchdown, he walked right toward us and tossed the ball into the stands. Awesome.
Late in the second quarter I felt the excitement of the day's activities starting to take their toll on my body. I was tired, my eyes were heavy and I was about to take a nap. I look to my left and see that Paul is in the same state. I'm pretty sure the countless $7 pitchers and a gross of chicken wings had nothing to do with it. It was at that point we headed up the stairs to visit the Nacho folks. We both had an epiphany! Nachos draped in melted cheese with a little chili sauce and a giant tub of coca-cola instantly breathes new life into a person. From that point on, we were ready for the second half. I also learned a valuable lesson. Don't conserve the cheese at the top. Even though it looks like there isn't enough, you will find that as you reach the bottom, there is plenty left over. No need to scrimp, cheese it up, big fella.
The Bengals won easily as we sat and enjoyed the chants of "Fire Millen" echoing through the stadium. I sat for the entire fourth quarter listening to Paul explain the genius of putting Joey Harrington in for Jeff Garcia. See, at this point, whatever Paul said I agreed with. No, not blind faith by any stretch. It was his previous comments in the day that had me listening. He claimed, as we first sat in our seats that after Detroit won the coin toss that the Lions should defer and take the ball in the second half because "They will already be down at that point and you don't want the Bengals to come out after halftime and score again". Lions win the toss...take the ball. He then said, "The Lions will fumble the opening kickoff and the Bengals will score" Guess what? Lions fumble kickoff, Bengals score. Finally, he said that it would be 17-0 at the end of the first quarter. The gun sounded at the end of the first quarter and I slowly looked over at Pauly. He just smiled...Bengals 17...Lions 0.
He expounded on the efficiency of Joey (while neighboring Lions fans scoffed) as Harrington led the Lions down the field and scored as he completed 6 of 7 passes for 77 yards and touchdown.
New General Manager for the Lions? I think we found him.
I really had an excellent day, spending it with my relatives who really know how to have a good time. I was honored to be their guest. Tons of laughs, great conversations and memories that will last a long time. And as I walked through the throngs of fans, many wearing the orange and black stripes of the Bengals, hearing the chants of "Who Dey, Who Dey", I couldn't help but get a little goosebump knowing that they finally accomplished a little something.
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Went to my wife's Christmas Party Friday night in Columbus. What a nice time. I keep waiting for this company to "half-ass" something. They never do. Whether it's the thirty-seven rum and cokes they allow me to gulp down for free or the fantastic dinners they serve me, it's never a disappointment. I admire the way they give back to those who get the job done for them throughout the year. It's something that a lot of other places should think about investing in for the long term, instead of merely fattening their own wallets in the short term.
It's sorta funny now though because we are seasoned veterans. This is a young company and we are kind of the elder statesmen of the scene. What's funny is that when co-workers aren't coming up to me telling me how much of an inspiration my wife is to them, they are asking me how I feel about a variety of subjects. What's more is that I've always been a notoriously quiet guy at these events. I stick out like a sore thumb amongst the twenty-something, mostly-single set, decked out in their hip clothing and dashing good looks. All the while, I stand at the bar wearing my only pair of dress pants, holding court over a hotly-contested debate about such things as : Big Ten football versus Southern football (I win, stating Big Ten plays more quality opponents and better football)...Ben Rothlicksburgers vs. Tom Brady (I win again saying that Big Ben is a dork whose main job is to hand off and NOT lose the game. Brady is just a winner and doesn't whine about his injuries), Boxers versus Briefs (I state that neither are that good. A hybrid, the boxer-brief, gives the support boxers lack while giving the freedom a brief is unable to afford. I win).
Wifey just laughs when she looks over at me working the room.
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If you are over thirty years old and find it kinda cool to peel out in your car more than once every 3 months...you're a loser.
Now, sure...there's the occassional wet pavement or overly-gravely conditions we all encounter. And you'll likely spin the tires here and there. But when you're driving your Dodge Neon with the "No Fear" sticker on the windshield and you light up the tires as you pull out of Walgreen's parking lot, I've gotta think that you are a tremendous dipshit. Just my opinion.
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Recently we got a big snowfall. Since we live on the windiest place on earth (actually, the windiest place on earth is Antarctica which has wind speeds from 80-145 kph...whatever the hell a kilometer per hour is...I think it's like 5 mph or something), we get huge snowdrifts across the driveway. So, I confidently stroll out to the barn to retrieve that one item that you kick, move, and stumble around all year...the snowblower. So I get it out....no gas. Ok, run into town and get gas. Now we're ready. 2 hours later, a bottle of starting fluid and propane torch empty...I give up. My favorite rite of Winter always happens after a big snowstorm. I'll be out trying to start the snowblower...or shoveling my ass off...when our neighbors (and Katy's relatives) drive by with their big Kubota tractor with bucket and plow. I stand motionless with shovel in hand, sweat freezing on my forehead and anger steadily creeping to the boiling point as I mutter through clenched teeth to myself "Sure, just drive on by, got her under control over here..." as we exchange friendly waves. I gotta get a tractor this year.
To prove to you that when it rains, it pours...the day previous to our snow and subsequent wind, one of my garage doors jammed. I spent a few hours trying to fix it only to find out that there's a lot of tension on those springs (proof? busted knuckles) and that the more I work on things, the more I F*** 'em up. So now I have a garage door that is only halfway up (or halfway down depending on whether you are a pessimist or optimist). The snow comes and then the winds come and then the winds blow the snow into my garage. I now have three feet of snow piled up against one wall of my garage as I can make out slight protrusions of my property that lie buried beneath. Look, there's all my fishing rods! Hey, I think I can see some hand tools!
My next idea was going to fix my snow in the garage problem. Since I don't have a snowblower to blow the snow out (and the fact that I didn't want to suck up a few 50 dollar rods and shoot them through the thrower) I thought I would just find my kerosene "torpedo" heater. These are those long cigar shaped heaters that sound like a jet engine but can literally melt the jeans off of your leg. So I trudge to the barn to retrieve the heater. Bring it to the garage and plug it in.....nothing. Ah-ha! No kerosene. So I head back into town returning later with fuel. I fill it up....nothing. I worked for about 3 hours trying to fix it without blowing up the entire garage. I finally retired to my house that evening with a mound of snow in my garage with a half-open garage door letting more snow in...a broken heater sitting there quite cold...and a snowblower left in the driveway surrounded by a few feet of unblown snow. Typical.
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It's Christmas time and with that, we get a whole season of great Christmas songs. Although, like many things...for all good things come a few bad. Example, I have a Ray Charles Xmas album that has some great music on it (He does Little Drummer Boy...and for the last 1 1/2 minutes of the song it's just him just groovin' and playing that classic organ sound...freakin' awesome. You gotta be a good singer when the record company says, "Sure, you wanna just play around and do 'whatever' for a third of this song..go ahead!")
But for every great song you must tolerate a few that I will now list: Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer (I want to pour acid in my ears). Feliz Navidad (Fleas Nob-e-bob? What the hell is he saying. No comprende, Pedro) All I Want for Xmas is my Two Front Teeth ( All I want is to be able to stick my heel into your voicebox so you can't sing this again)...and there are countless others.
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This is a touchy subject here but I want to...no, I need to address it. Christmas cards. First and foremost....I love Christmas Cards. I really do. It's great to hear from everyone and receive their well wishes. During the season, the girls and I can't wait to see who sent us what.
But here's the problem: We don't send them out. Now it's not because we are fundamentally against it or anything, but I think we've narrowed it down to the fact that Katy and I are lazy. We have all intentions of buying cards, getting pictures ready, etc... We just end up waiting until like December 21 and then say "Screw it".
But there's a fine line here because I want all of you that sent us a card to know that we appreciate it and hope you continue to send us one...but please, don't for a minute think that since you didn't get one from us that you are A) Not liked or B) Didn't make the list. Hell, we've never gotten to the point of making a list!
I guess deep down it goes back to my deep seeded hate for the US Postal Service. I just can't support them (read previous entries for details why). If it was acceptable to send an email (which I think might be our only shot) with Holiday wishes, we'd be on it.
**pictured: Photo we'd probably include if we ever remembered to send a Christmas card**
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I don't know what it is, but I always feel "dirty" when I walk in/out of the liquor store. I feel like I just walked out of the 18 and over room in the back of the video rental place (or what I've been told it feels like to do so...I wouldn't know).
It seems that everyone is giving you the stinkeye. I always turn my eyes to the floor, turn up the collar on my London Fog overcoat (that I don't own) and quickly scamper out. In reality, what I should do is walk out of there happy and say "I'm going to a party, y'all! Like Parliament I'm Gonna Tear the Roof of This Sucka" Then walk out with waving my hands in the air like I just don't care while saying "Whoop! Whoop!"
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I'm still amazed by the fact that I can order a bagel or something at McDonalds at 5:30 in the morning and still receive a receipt for my purchase. What, am I gonna return it or something?
Reminds me of what comedian Mitch Hedberg once said about receipts:
I bought a doughnut and they gave me a receipt for the doughtnut... I don't need a receipt for the doughnut. I give you money and you give me the doughnut, end of transaction. We don't need to bring ink and paper into this. I can't imagine a scenario that I would have to prove that I bought a doughnut. To some skeptical friend, Don't even act like I didn't buy a doughnut, I've got the documentation right here... It's in my file at home. ...Under "D".
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I like getting my oil changed. Not because of the fact that I am renewing the lifeblood of my truck who works so hard without complaint to get me to and fro and over hill and dale. What is so enjoyable is when they are just about finished and the guy reaches under the hood and pulls the dipstick out for the final time. He gently cups it in his hand as he walks to your window. He presents the dipstick to you saying nothing but giving you that look that says "Is it to your liking, sir?". And I, like some wine tasting aficionado, look over the dipstick, lightly bathed in a shimmering layer of oil and say "that will be fine, garcon" as I impatiently look away.
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All right, I must go now as I embark on the Xmas Tour 2005. A whirlwind of events that takes me across the entire county logging thousands of miles as I am clothed in my little Christmas sweaters and one nice pair of pants. It begins soon. (Speaking of sweaters...I don't make the wife laugh much. I typically get a roll of the eyes and a sigh that cries "where did it all go wrong". But I actually got her to laugh the other day. I was looking for something to wear to her xmas party. I break into the Tub O' Sweaters that is packed away in the basement for occassions just like this. She pulls out this nice tan sweater but it has all kinds of colorful stripes on it. Yellow, Red, Blue, White...everything. I merely put it on, as her back was turned, and said "I feel like Cliff Huxtable (Bill Cosby's character on the Cosby Show)". She turned around and I'm doing the Cosby "dance", which is a series of painfully slow movements (you must watch the beginning of Cosby show to appreciate...I was dead on) I then followed it up with some comments about "Jell-o pudding pops" as she walked out of the room with me standing there alone, enjoying the fact that I actually made her laugh out loud.

I hope everyone has a great Christmas and please, leave me some "comments". I enjoy them.

Buncha What-not

Good evening folks.
I'm trying to make this the longest entry into my blog so far. I'm sure you will be as equally unimpressed at the end of this marathon as you were at the beginning. Having said that, let's get right to it.
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We had teacher/parent conferences for Sophia's pre-school. I was mostly excited to go to prove to the other mothers that I wasn't some crackpot whack-job that hung out at local schoolyards waiting for the kids to get out.
Anyway, it's kinda' funny. I mean there isn't a ton of stuff you can talk about, is there? She paints swirly gobs very well. She enjoys her animal crackers at break. No, actually they do a nice job of showing some of drawings and how her writing has progressed in the short time she's been there. They keep meticulous notes of classroom activities down to the actual quotes of each individual kid during the day. With Anna, I was concerned with her being too shy and not participating. With Sophia, it was the opposite. I was afraid that she had taken over the class in a bloodless coup and was rallying the troops to invade the "north siders" at the other end of the building as they fashioned weaponry out of some scrap lincoln logs. What we did find out was that the teachers enjoy her as much as we do. They couldn't say enough good things about her personality and her involvement.
I really like the school but even more so, I love her teachers. I spent a day with Anna last year and during the short time I was there, I was about ready to throttle about 5 or 6 of the little shits. It shows that those teachers have so much patience and a definite love for their jobs.
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Speaking of her school, I mostly get along with everyone there as we stand outside waiting for the troops to let out. A friendly nod here, a quick "hi there" followed by brief smile there. But there is one dude that just drives me crazy. I will attempt to point out two reasons why. First, he drives a blinged out Escalade or something (which doesn't bother me) but as he sits 25 feet from the classrooms in this serene backdrop as 3-5 year olds embark on this wonderful journey of life...he's sitting in his car playing some spanish/salsa rap music that shakes the ground like an aftershock. I can hear/feel it from 100 yards away as I am pulling up! What kinda jackass thinks that is cool?
Secondly (and this ranks very high on the Jbird list of pet peeves), he talks on his cell phone. Cell phones are not bad. But talking very loudly about nothing while a quiet group of mother-hens and me wait patiently for our children to come out the door is quite annoying. I have the urge to look at him and say "Wow...is that a cell phone? Amazing. This technology instantly makes you so cool".
I've learned that I hate cell phones but that there are multiple conditions and circumstances to factor in to determine the severity of my hate. For example, if the dude in the above story were on the phone saying "yes, just picking up my kid and I'll be right back" or even "Yes Doris, I will speak with you tomorrow about the Penske File" You know, something mildly important and/or brief.
If I see one more stay at home mom in her 4 mile long Tahoe (that has never been off road, by the way) talking to her girlfriend as she whizzes through the stop sign on the way to her nail appointment, I'm gonna chase her down and shove that phone up her ass. Ahhh, but see this is the conundrum. Perhaps that same lady is a nurse who just got called to come in prep for an emergency surgery. See what I mean about different perspectives.
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When I become Governor, I will propose a few laws. One would be to make all phone numbers include the area code regardless of who/where you are calling. See, where I live, I can dial a dude down the road and use a "1" then area code and then his 7 digit number. But the guy that lives 30 miles away, I just have to dial the 7 digit. It's so confusing. I never know what the hell to do.
My other laws involve not allowing a Wal-Mart to be built with 100 miles of another Wal-Mart. Also, I will outlaw Harley motorcycles unless they quiet them down. Maybe this makes me an old fart, but I got past the "loud cycle" thing years ago when the baseball cards fell out of my spokes on my bicycle. Sure, you live in a tent by the river. Sure, you haven't bathed in days. It's great that you haven't worked in years. I'm glad you're a Browns fan, but please explain to me how you were able to afford this motorcycle.
My wife said she would make it a law that you may NOT turn on your Christmas lights before Thanksgiving. And they must be down by February 1. If they are ON after Feb. 1, then you will be fined. Me? I went with a more direct approach. If your Christmas lights are on before Thanksgiving, I will set fire to your house. Simple. Direct.
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Not a big Reality T.V. guy. I'm not going to bash it because I don't care for it. I just can't get into it I suppose. I've come to realize that Sports are my reality t.v. Each week I can tune in and catch up with the previous week's storyline. I ride a roller-coaster of emotion from the kickoff until the final gun. For example, last week's Bengals vs. Ravens game. I was in the car on the way home from Michigan. I listened eagerly as my Bengies started throwing points up on the scoreboard. Emotionally I was high and excited. Patting myself on the back and saying "damn this team is good". But then moments later the Ravens score two touchdowns within, like, a minute. Suddenly I am down. I'm mad. I'm puzzled. I start questioning why the good lord does this to me. Maybe if I turn my hat around or lean to the left instead of the right...maybe something will change the luck. So during those couple of hours I run a whole range of emotions.
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You may have noticed that if you post a comment to my blog now that it doesn't immediately appear. I have changed the settings in an attempt to gain control of some of the "spam" comments I was receiving. For some unknown reason I was getting comments from multiple guitar websites. Why? I have no freakin' clue. Oh sure, I was once a guitar god for an 80's hair band, but those days are over. I grew tired of the all night orgies. The countless groupies showing their large boobages to me. Sleeping until noon and waking up in tiger print silk sheets with a harem of buxom female fans around me as they cook me mouth-watering biscuits and gravy followed by a bowl of lucky charms chased by an ice cold coke...it just wasn't for me.
But I digress, I have an option now that when you leave a comment, it goes to my email where I can then "accept/reject" it. So when Guitar world writes something to me, it's brrrrzzzzzzz. Outta here! When Matt Ryan writes me.....Gone! Anyone else...accepted. (just kidding matt.)
So keep the comments coming!!!
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Ava gets baptized this Sunday. I have tickets to the Bengals vs. Browns game. I will not be going to the game. Oh, sure...I asked. Even before my sentence/question was finished, I was getting the "you gotta be F***in' kidding me" look from my wife.
You have to think that our god is a "funny" god and this is a good example why. He knew I had tickets. But he also knew that I would at least watch the 1 o'clock game from the warm confines of my house. Ahh! But he was probably laughing when the only available time for the baptism was at, you guessed it, 1 o'clock this sunday.
I'm gonna walk up to the priest and say "Hey Padre, 20 bucks in it for ya' if you cut this down to 15 minutes" Is that wrong?
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. Just wallowing in the irony of it all. Plus, I don't care to have a lightning bolt zipped down and crack me in the melon.
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Christmas time is obviously near. How can I tell? The sudden and constant barrage of advertisements for the following two products: Diamonds and electric shavers. Other hot sellers that apparently have no market until Christmas time are: foot baths and Lexus' with a red bows on them.
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I bought a bunch of those faggy little short socks for the summer. They may look fruitier than a queer with a mouthful of nuts, but they're damned comfortable while giving me the moisture wicking properties of a sock that I require, but also allowing my sheltered ankles who are shrouded by a crew length cloud of darkness 9 months of the year, finally get the summer sun that they deserve.
Anyway, I could never find a pair during the summer. Now that the days have grown cold, I can't find a full length sock to save my ass. What's going on? Is there some parallel universe where my socks are forever out of synch and in the wrong season for the rest of my life? Is there a hole in the back of my sock drawer where I will one day discover a mass grave of socks piled upon each other while layered in a thick blanket of dust bunnies?
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Had a wonderful thanksgiving this year. I think Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. No pressure, just relaxing. I also enjoy 4th of July because of the hot weather, the activities and the patriotism.
This year's thanksgiving festivities were a little different. We usually head up to Michigan right after work on wednesday (along with every other sap in the country). But this year we were able to go to my family's place and enjoy a nice meal and great company...then head out on the highway at our leisure. And let me say, traffic is wonderful on thanksgiving day. Really...everyone is pretty much already where they are going to be. Very smooth.
We go up to the Clare/Midland Michigan area to stay in a cabin with some of Katy's relatives. There are so many reasons why this trip is so great for me. First, I truly enjoy being with her relatives. They are incredibly welcoming and hospitable and we do things that I truly like to do. For example, I may wake up that morning and head out to a tree stand and do some hunting. Later, we may fire up the old tractor and cut some wood or take care of some chores. I spend a lot of time out by the firepit enjoying a few "saucers" (what we call mixed-drinks). Then it's ususally off to play poker into the late night.
Each year we designate saturday night as the "99" tournament. Basically, it's a simple game like Uno where each person playing (upwards of 10 folks) has three "lives" to lose. I'm proud to say that I am the only two time winner and it seems that I am always in the Finals. It's a big deal because we play for a trophy. This "trophy" was purchased at an auction we went to many years ago up there. The auctioned items consisted mostly of outdated cans of soup, with no labels (Auctioneer says, "Don't know what the hell these are but I had a can last night and it was really great. Who'll give me a buck for a whole flat of these?". But we were able to bid on, and subsequently win, a small statue made of wood. "Genuine Teakwood"! The statue is of a man who appears to be a combination of chinese/spanish decent (not sure) with a wide brimmed hat and for some reason holding a removable stick-like fishing pole (complete with fish dangling from the end of the line). Due to his apparent spanish ancestry, we named him Dirty Sanchez (for reasons that I'd rather not disclose in this forum) The winner of the 99 tournament is lucky enough to posses this treasure for a whole year until the next competition and, in fact, we've added a base to it where the winner gets his name engraved on the placard. As silly as it sounds, it really is a big deal and is something that I especially take very seriously. There are rules, one being that the winner MUST display Dirty Sanchez prominently in his/her home. To play, you must be a homeowner or at least rent a dwelling that has a mantle to display him. If at anytime Dirty is found to be not prominently displayed, he will immediately be removed from the home and transported to that year's runner up (one year we had a surprise visit during the summer from a Michigan resident for only one reason...to check on the status of Dirty.) I once took Mr Sanchez to Michigan so he could attend the wedding of one of the participants and have pictures of him at the head table to prove it.
Well, I was again in the Finals for about the 5th year in a row and lost to my mother-in-law. This lady has a beautiful house with wonderful items throughout. Everything is meticulously placed in a spot and compliments everything else in the house. While it tore at my heart to be so close to winning and then, ultimately losing. I was able to take satisfaction in the fact that she now has to display this hunk of crap..er, I mean...lovely keepsake in a place of prominence in her home. And believe me, every time I am over there, I will be on the lookout for it. Dirty belongs with me.
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Ohio State will play Notre Dame in the Fiesta Bowl. My two favorite college teams. My prediction? 6-3 Buckeyes over Irish on a A.J. Hawk fumble recovery that he scoops up and runs into the endzone as he literally rips a receiver's head off. I mean the head will actually be looking at AJ score while the rest of the body will be heading to the sideline. This should be a dandy
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Should I be overly concerned that two of my daughters' favorite movie of all time is not Cinderella, Monster's Inc, Beauty and the Beast...but....Grease!?!? Sophia literally knows every word of it. During our conferences that I spoke about earlier, the teacher noted that one day while they were sitting around singing songs or whatever, Sophia was over there doing the "hand-jive" (which she is dead-on with, by the way) and she once told her teacher that Danny (Travolta) was "hot and cute". Luckily, the teachers thought it was great and had a few good laughs about it. The other night, I was snuggling with her and she was looking into my eyes as she rubbed her hand on my cheek...then she started softly singing "Hopelessly Devoted to You". If she hears one of the songs in the car, she'll say something like, "Oh! This is when Rizzo was at Frenchies house!". I don't know whether to laugh or to cry. Hopefully one day when E! television is interviewing me after she becomes a big star, I can say "I remember when she knew the entire Grease movie from front to back".
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Went to the grocery and in between all of the 57 headlines covering the tragic Nick and Jessica break-up on the tabloids, I saw one with Kelly Ripa. Now, I could take or leave Ms Ripa. She doesn't do much for me either way. (although she was one of the funniest guest hosts on Saturday Night Live once, surprisingly) Under her picture it said, "How Kelly Ripa copes with the stress of the holidays". I was torn...should I purchase the formula that affords my baby the life giving sustenance she so desperately needs, or instead purchase this magazine? I was so intrigued. Really, how do these billionaire actors/actresses get through it all. The terrible weather of Beverly Hills. Keeping the staff of 20 servants happy as the keep your mansion spotless. The grueling 3 hour work-days of taping a show! It has to be incredibly difficult and I couldn't wait to read how Kelly manages to wring one more day out of her terrible life.
It's like Oprah. I like her, I really do. But I get turned off when she gives me the "I'm just like you" schtick. "I'm just like you...except I'm worth 55 billion that the government knows about" I heard a comedian say that he read a headline about how some actress, who makes 10 million dollars a movie, stays so fit. He said that for that kinda' money, that actress could hire a person to knock the cookie out of her hand everytime she reached for one.
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Went to Anna's Christmas program (oops, can I say Christmas?). Started at 6. Over at 6:30. Tears were pouring down my cheek. Because my beautiful daughter looked so innocent and tender up on stage singing? No! Because it was over in a half an hour! There is no doubt in my mind that this entire event was planned and organized by a guy. Hey, I love kids. I love my friends' kids. But I'd rather have someone poke a scale model of the Eiffel tower into my mucous membranes than to sit for hours upon hours in a crowded auditorium listening to Christmas songs. That's just me though.
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Speaking of kids. Is it now a law that requires the parent of a child who is involved in any activity to display a sticker on the back window of their car proclaiming that little "Taylor" plays soccer as his name is emblazoned across a picture of a soccer ball? Should I drive up to the guy and give him a thumbs'-up because little Britney apparently Cheers because her name is underneath a giant megaphone? Should my heart fill with pride knowing that little Devan is #23 and plays for the Wee Indians in the Southwest pee wee football league?
I think I'll have some made that say "Sophia" with the picture of John Travolta/Olivia Newton-John underneath. I'll have an outline of a completely untouched and full lunchbox, with the name "Anna" in script to the side (anna never eats her lunch at school) Perhaps a diaper with steaming turd matter dripping out with Ava's name over the top.
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We have the ability to shoot people up to the moon and communicate with them once they are there. We can own a device smaller than the size of a wallet that can hold your entire collection of Cds and more. We can get live images from someone on the other side of the world... But we are unable to get decent radio reception in a building that has flourescent lights...or receive an AM station as we pass under an underpass. It boggles my mind.
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The Bengals just beat the Steelers. I spent the entire day in my garage watching the game with the sound off and the radio on. But I have to say that I'm a little concerned about something. I notice a lot of people lately walking around with Bengals garb on. Only two years ago, I was one of the only people in the nation (other than the coaches) to sport a Bengies hat or shirt. Now they are everywhere. I find myself torn...should I be mad at the "bandwagoners" or should I embrace my fellow brethren as we all bask in the glow of Bengaldom? I was playing golf this summer against a guy. He was wearing a Browns hat (I just assumed he was a caddy). I jokingly said I couldn't play with him as he was a Browns fan. But I have to say that he made a great point. He said anytime you see someone with Bengals stuff on it is "either really old...or brand new". It made total sense. People weren't buying this crap for the last fifteen years as the beloved Bengies wallowed in the depths of hideous football. However, it did make me rethink my stance on bandwagoners. While it is noble to stick with your team no matter how putrid they are (like I did) and hope for the future to bring you a decent team, it is no less noble to say "piss on 'em" while they were stinking up the joint. I suppose it's human nature. Steve Rushin, from Sports Illustrated, wrote a piece on this very subject in this week's issue. He wrote that Mark Buehrle from the World Series winning White Sox said "We won for the fans we had...we don't need bandwagon fans". Rushin followed by saying, "Set aside for the moment the rich irony of professional athletes complaining about bandwagon jumping. It's what they do, abandoning the hermit-crab shell of one useless uniform for the more promising prospect of another. By Buehrle's logic, the Beatles would have preferred to sell records only to those fans who came to see them in Hamburg in 1961. In every form of entertainment besides sports, we wait until someone is good before paying to see him. It's why Itzhak Perlman sells out Carnegie Hall while third grade recital halls are mostly empty".
Something for me to think about, I suppose.
**i wanted to throw in the above picture. I don't care if you like the beloved Bengies or not, that is a cool picture**
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Finally, I'm growing to hate the Steelers more and more. See, I really like their style, their team, their history. Love their coach. So why do I hate them? One reason, Ben Roethlisberger. Why? Because if I hear an announcer refer to him as "Big Ben" one more time, I'm gonna fill my ears with caulk. Did they always refer to Montana, Elway, Marino, Palmer as just "Joe, John, Dan, Carson"? No! Secondly, he is a more recent version of Emmitt Smith, the former running back of the Cowboys (who took his helmet off after each touchdown so everybody could see what HE did...not that his team helped him or anything) Emmitt used to get hurt every other play. He'd limp off like he just took a blowdart tipped with feces in his leg. Or he'd stumble off as if his shoulder had literally seperated from his torso. This is now what Big Ben does. He's hurt all of the time, but he manages to hold a press conference to allow himself to vow that "I'll be back". A sigh of relief fails to escape me. What's more, he uses his "injury" when it's convenient. For example, when he was throwing for a million yards against the Bengals this week, he was fine...slapping high fives. Fist pumping. But when he threw an interception, he would grasp his hand and look at it as if he were calling on the gods to explain "Why!!!". And finally, he talks about his injury of the week. "It really hurts." "I don't know if I can play, but I'll try". Imagine, if you will, Jack Lambert, Ray Nitschke, Mike Singletary, Chuck Bednarik, or Sammy Baugh sitting in press conference talking about their "sore knee" or "stoved thumb".
I know I'm supposed to like him because he's from close by and he went to Miami of Ohio. But everytime I see him on the sidelines with his hat on backwards I have no trouble picturing him hanging out at the Brewery on a Thursday night putting out the mojo with his gold chain sticking out.
Listen Steelers fans, I respect you. I respect your team. I actually kinda like you. But Big Ben is a mediocre quarterback whose main job is more to not lose the game than to win it.
I'll bet Ben, Troy Smith, Akili, and Ryan Leaf are best buddies.

All right, I'm done spewing hate towards someone I watched all day on t.v.
As Donnie Baker says, " I gotta go man. I swear to god I do"

Hail to the Victors!

Welcome, amigos.
I'd like to first tell everyone that I think Troy Smith is the greatest quarterback since Unitas. I've always been on his side. I can't believe he had so many detractors. He is a cross between Vick/Marino/Elway/Palmer and Ken Anderson.
As for the Buckeyes...what a win! What a great week it is leading up to michigan week. So much anticipation, funny emails, and jabs at those jackwads up north. However, I would have bet a large sum of money that the Bucks would have lost. They were favored..they had a lot more to lose than michigan...and they were playing up there. It always spells disaster for my teams.
Anyhow, it was once again another stellar showing by Geno's Bar and Grill. Gene is a great family friend and a friend of all of us for a long, long time. He lives in a great old house out in the country with a big old barn. One year Gene fixed up a quarter of this barn and made it a bar. It's all original (of course) and has a lot of antique items (the bar itself, old slate pool table, slot machine, and antique pinball games to name a few). Gene always opens up for big games and it has now just become a given that we would all meet up there for the OSU/michigan game. The food is outstanding and the atmosphere is great. In fact, my dad changed his flight plans to arrive in time for the game, leaving from florida at 2:30 am that morning. That's dedication ladies and gentlemen.
Of course, once again the Buckeyes prevail. The truly better team won this time. A.J. Hawk is the greatest football player in the nation, hands down. I'm not sure who is better but if he and Chris Spielman were to fight each other, the earth would probably explode as these two titans battle it out.
Also, to see some of the pregame emails and some great in-depth coverage of the Buckeyes, go visit my buddy Dave's place (son of legenday bar owner mentioned above, Geno) at :http://buckiflyer.blogspot.com/ He has a lot of good info and really keeps his finger on the pulse of Buckeye Nation.

Finally, Penn State also won which means that the Buckeyes have to share the Big Ten Championship. But that doesn't really bother me. In fact, I'm kinda' happy for Penn State and especially Joe Paterno. Just a year ago they were calling for his head...they wanted him fired. That really bothered me at the time because this was a guy who practically built that university. In an era when schools are grilled because of their lack of educational achievements and their lack of class and sportsmanship, Paterno's teams always seemed to be a model of what a good clean program should be. So some in the media who at times complain about the lack of ethics of some schools turn and claim that Paterno should be fired just because he wasn't winning as much. I'd say this...if he didn't win a game for the next ten years I still wouldn't care. He could leave anytime he saw fit. After all, who the hell would know what a Nittany Lion was without Jo Pa?
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Election day was a couple of weeks ago. In my opinion, not a lot of issues/candidates that stirred me either way. Nevertheless, I voted. I like voting for several reasons. One, my opinions and thoughts are always right. I owe the country that. Second, I love where I vote. It's at a little tiny church in the middle of nowhere. When I walk in the volunteers (who look like the cast of Golden Girls) all say, "Hi Mike!" That's the beauty of small-town life. Well, they now have the new touchscreen computer things. I love them but the whole time I was voting, I kept thinking "what idiot is not following this?" Who is going to march on Washington to protest these? Anyway, it truly is a rewarding feeling when you walk out after casting your one vote. I'm a very patriotic person and in a corny way, I guess, I look at voting as stepping up to the altar of Democracy...and freedom...and to appreciate the sacrifices made for me to offer my input.
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Speaking of election season, I was driving down the road in Bethel Township recently when I saw a campaign sign for someone running for some council seat. I couldn't believe my eyes...that couldn't be right...so I kept my eyes peeled for that sign again. I saw it! The person running was named Kama L Dick. But when you're zooming by it looks like Kamal Dick is running for some government seat. I thought it was a porn star or something. "Passionate Arabian Nights, starring Kamal Dick"..."One Hump or Two, featuring Kamal Dick". I don't know...maybe I have an eyesight problem.
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I have a beef with Wendy's. What is their big deal with Ketchup (or is it catsup)? They don't give you any ketchup unless you ask for it. When has a few packets of ketchup become such a precious commodity that they don't even give it to you when you order fast food? Was there a huge tomato shortage that I didn't hear about? I'll tell you one thing. When Dave Thomas was around, he would have made sure I had plenty of ketchup. Heck, even when you ask for it, they give you like...two. Two! Come on, I'd like to dip more than two fries in this tasty mixture of tomato mash before I run out. Maybe if they cut back on their ice production (which the entire cup is filled with ice and you actually get like an ounce of liquid) they could afford to throw in a few more packs without screwing up their quarterly profits.
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I was sitting at a stop light in Troy..at the corner of Main Street and Elm. Two relatively busy roads in town. I look over and there is a guy riding one of those big tricycle bikes right in the middle of the road. No sidewalk for this guy! Pretty nice, new bike too. Big basket on the back and a huge orange flag fluttering in the breeze. Problem was, if he wasn't in his mid-90s I'd be shocked. The fella had to be 96. What's more, he was wearing slacks and a suit coat (like older folks like to do). If you have ever seen Office Space (which is in the top ten movies of all-time in my book) where at the beginning the guy is stuck in rush hour traffic and looks over to see the guy on the sidewalk using a walker moving faster than he is in his traffic-jammed car. It's just one of those things you see in your day that makes you laugh out loud. I looked over and saw this big burly guy driving a dump truck staring in amazement at the scene in front of us. We both looked at each other and just smiled. I'll never forget that. This was last week and I'm willing to bet the ol' gentleman still hasn't made it home. Creeeeeaaak...creeeeaaakk. I will say this, he'll probably live a hell of a lot longer than my fat butt and I admire him for not just sitting around. He seemed like a real go-getter...one slow revolution of the pedal at a time as traffice zoomed by him.
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Stupid quote of the week: A very popular feature from last posting...This one happened many weeks ago, but is worth repeating. I was at work and a guy who delivers there often stopped by. This was a week or so before we were preparing to go to London. We're talking about going over there and he says, "So, you flyin over there?". Again, I just sat there, letting it soak in thinking "Nah, think we're gonna try to drive it. Might stop at a motel halfway or so." Now, to this guy's credit, he knew how stupid a thing he said almost instantly...and I kinda like the dude so I didn't give him too much guff.
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If your radio station is still playing ZZTop at least once an hour, it's time to turn the channel.
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Two of the best shows on television are My Name is Earl and The Office. Do yourself a favor and check them out. Incredible writing, acting, storylines. Check them out. Also, if you haven't seen Still Standing, please do so. Another great show. It features the most attractive lady in television, Jami Gertz (pictured) What is so great about her is that she has, what I call, the "Elaine" factor, named after Elaine from Seinfeld. It's just that "it" factor that you can't explain. But nothing compared to my darling wife (as I say really loud so she can hear me say it)
While these are good shows, they fail to match up with legendary episodes of Jerry Springer. But I will say this, Springer doesn't have much of a longevity factor built into it. You pretty much know what you're getting. Someone's on stage...they've been "done wrong" by someone else...that someone else enters the stage and usually yells to the crowd, "you don't know me! you don't know me!". Approximately 3.5 seconds later the punches fly. Is it funny and entertaining? Hell yes! But it does get a bit predictable.
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Gwen Stefani is a no talent hack. How she gets all of this press is a real head scratcher. Sure, she's mildly attractive (on a scale of 1-10, I'd give her a 4) but her singing sounds like you tied two cat's tails to each other and threw them over a clothesline. I classify her as an "awards show" star. You know, the so called star that fits the bill to represent their respective genre/race on the show so they can please every demographic that may be watching. For example, if there should be a latin theme, you know their calling up Santana or Gloria Estefan. Black folks? You're gonna get Mary J. Blige or Usher. White folks? Stefani or a "boy band". Older folks? Look out for Patti Labelle (who sings like someone is jabbing a fondue fork into a baby seal's eyeball....eeeeeeeeeoooooooowwwaaaaaaaa!!!!)

All right, I gotta get to bed. Had a long day mentally preparing for this Ohio State game. I'm sore and tired, much like I would be if I had played...although I believe my head is going to hurt much more tomorrow.

Go Bucks! Muck Fichigan

On with the Show

Hello again.
We have a lot to talk about, so let's get right to it.
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True story..from the Associated Press:
OKLAHOMA CITY -- A man got a prison term longer than prosecutors and defense attorneys had agreed to because of Larry Bird.
The lawyers reached a plea agreement Tuesday for a 30-year term for a man accused of shooting with an intent to kill and robbery. But Eric James Torpy wanted his prison term to match Bird's jersey number 33.
"He said if he was going to go down, he was going to go down in Larry Bird's jersey," Oklahoma County District Judge Ray Elliott said Wednesday. "We accommodated his request and he was just as happy as he could be.
O.K. I don't know this guy...but I love him! That is freakin awesome. Listen, I've knelt at the altar in the church of Bird. He is THE greatest player in the history of basketball. He is one person who I really want to meet someday. I even went to a pre-season NBA game at the UD arena because he was coaching the Pacers. My wife and I were stuck in traffic and I was getting nervous. I was trapped. All the wife said was, "you could get out and...". Before she finished, I was running down Edwin Moses Blvd much like ol' Edwin himself, dodging cars, hurdling curbs. I got to my seat 50 rows up huffing and puffing but just in time to hear them announce his name...and then he appeared. I don't mind telling you that I got goosebumps and tears in my eyes. He's the greatest ever! (don't even bring up Jordan) It's the closest I've been to him.
You may not know, but I did send him an invitation to my wedding. No kidding. I had a "connection" or so I thought. I sent it along with a handwritten letter asking him to stop by and that I would be willing to cut whatever activity we were in the middle of short so he and I could possibly shoot hoops or go fishing. I'm dead serious about this. He must have been too busy. He never showed...as much as I know he wanted to. You know you are about to marry a good woman when she totally is "with me" and would stop our vows in order for me to rebound for Bird as he sinks 50 three pointers in a row.
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I have a real problem with Speedway stores. One in particular in my town. The people there are way too chatty and happy. Now, who would complain about that, you ask? Well, if you have ever been there you would. They are the cashiers who feel that ever little quip and comment should be loud enough for everyone to hear..and that it is extremely funny. Suzy says in full voice, "Well Raymond forgot to shut off pump #2 last night and I told Joe about it" To which Ned who is stocking smokes off to the side laughs way too and inappropriately loud and says "Joe came in late last night so he can't complain about Raymond..." And it just goes on and on. I just want a coffee folks, not your daily chronicles in the life of a gas station attendant.
Another thing that bothers me is they won't let you buy lottery tickets and/or alcohol with your credit/debit card. I'm pretty sure I don't need the convenient stores of Speedway to be my moral voice and decide how I should pay for goods I want to purchase at their store. If they sold crack cocaine and I wanted to pay for it with my credit card...then so be it! I just spent $70 to fill up my truck and I'm feeling lucky today. Give me a $2 scratch-off on top of the gas. "Oh, we can't do that" they say to you with a disappointed look...like you were trying to sell porn at a schoolyard.
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Dumbest thing said to me this week: Volume I
A truck driver walks into my place of work very early. I kindly say "hello". He quickly retorts "Hell is low!" Then jubilantly says, "If you would have said 'Hi', I would have said 'Not yet'!"
I kid you not, I stood there completely motionless for a solid 10 seconds just staring at him...not believing what I just heard. If there were crickets in the building, it would have been a perfect time for them to start chirping. Perhaps a lone tumbleweed should have come bouncing through. Or that one distant uncomfortable "cough" from the balcony.
It was the dumbest thing of the week. (possibly a recurring feature on this site)
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Worst announcers on television.
Brett Musburger is so terrible. If Joe Shmoe runs for three yards, Brett pisses himself as he pours accolades on top of kudos about how great a player, how great a human, how great a private pilot this guy is!
Can anyone understand how Michael Irvin and/or Sterling Sharpe are allowed to speak (or attempt to) on television? Television executive in board meeting says "I've got this guy who can hardly speak, doesn't enunciate, and has the intelligence of a housefly. Let's get his opinion on the Jets/Chargers game and have him broadcast it to 60 million households!"
Also, Bill Maas and Randy Cross. Do yourself a favor and just stick a sharp object into your eardrum, fish it past the semi-circular canal and shove it straight into your cochlea whenever they are doing a game you're watching. It's painful. Almost as painful as watching soccer and/or figure skating.
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Why does my damned truck have to "ding, ding, ding, ding" the entire time from the moment I open the door until I close it? It's maddening! Now, if it wants to ding because I left my lights on or something, then great. I'm all for that. But to tell me "Hey, Mr Driver Sir. Your door is open"...well, that just bothers me. Considering the fact that I have two children to round up and buckle into car seats and yet another in baby seat, the door is open for a relatively long time.
I liken it to chinese water torture (which, surprisingly I have not endured) where it just continues to grate on you until you SNAP! I'll find the damned fuse for that somfabitch if it's the last thing I do!
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After I leave work I pick up my middle daughter from pre-school (which is truly a wonderful treat. If you want to experience the sheer and utter joy of life, spend a few minutes with Sophia) then head home to get my oldest daughter off of the bus from kindergarten. Then we head to Piqua to pick up the baby and head back home. Once there, I try to clean up the kitchen and start some dinner. But I can honestly say this, if I didn't have a television in my kitchen, I would probably do nothing in that room. I used to watch Judge Joe Brown, but he's been moved. So now all I get is Jerry Springer. (insert grumble of dis-satisfaction here). I was a little upset, but I needed something on the tube. But I have been enlightened. The Springer show is absolutely hilarious. The beauty of it is this: They do not pretend at all that any of this is "real" and never once take themselves seriously. Which is refreshing, considering our world is made up of reality shows (which I despise) where people "act natural" as 50 stagehands, a director, producer, and others hover over them. How can that be natural.
The glory of Springer lies not within their endless supply of cheating, obese, white trash miscreants who, immediately after walking on stage, start throwing punches. Nay, the truly great part of the show is the studio crowd. They just start chanting stuff and it makes me laugh. When some scruffy derelict spews his nutty wisdom the crowd may typically chant "have another beer, have another beer". Or when any audience member with a halfway decent body gets up to ask a question, they chant "take off your top, take off your top". I'm sorry, but there is something simple and quite pleasing about this. So as I'm heaping another spoonful of formula into the baby's bottle, I have to curb my laughter. The ultimate is when the crowd rode this guy so hard that he didn't know what to do...except drop his pants and moon the audience. I'm giggling right now thinking about it. That's funny no matter where you're from or what you're doing at the moment. **my mom shakes her head in sadness knowing I watch this**
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While I'm bitching (doing a lot of that today...sorry). I have a real issue with my ATM machine greeting me with these two sentences: English? or Spanish? For crap's sake people. It's freakin Ohio! Better still, it's freakin' America! It's English. If your american money is good enough to keep in american banks, then you damned sure better speak the language there Pablo
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I spoke of the movie Garden State recently. Bought the soundtrack. I must say that the movie was pretty decent. But the soundtrack is outstanding. A great compilation of songs. Some good funk, some good groove...and if you throw in a little obscure Simon and Garfunkel...well, now you gots yer'self a good ol CD
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Saw a show on t.v. about the "technology" used during the D-Day invasion. It was awesome and impressive. It's as if guys were just thinking up crazy ideas, building them, and just rolling with them. What's most impressive about it was that there were so many different, varied approaches and that they were ultimately for a common goal...to be successful and try anything to gain any little foothold on that beach. What a fascinating time in history and what incredible ingenuity, desire, and guts from a generation of great Americans.
Wonder how they would feel knowing their ATM would be asking them "what language"...and I wonder if they would ask, "what the hell is an ATM?"
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I just had a birthday. It was great and my family treated me to a special day. But a certain uneasiness crept in as the day drew longer. My concerns? What in the name of Pete am I gonna get my wife for her birthday? I admit I suck at it, but what do you get a woman who has it all...Specifically a wonderful guy like me (kidding). Her mom sells jewelry, so the logic of me buying her her 15th bracelet of the week is lost. I could get her an iPod with all of my favorite songs on it. Or maybe a 20 ga. over/under shotgun with my name engraved on the stock. Perhaps she'd like a new tractor...or an attachment for my mower! How about a new 16 foot tandem axle trailer. I think I'll get her one of those. She'll love it!
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I recently removed the window air conditioner from our bedroom. To do so, I had to move a very heavy dresser out of the way. So I hoist this massive machine out of the window and head toward the basement, afraid that I would drop this sucker at any minute. While leaving the window, however, I unknowingly stepped on one of those Glue mousetraps. They are supposedly a more humane way to catch mice. Instead of bringing them to a quick death, it's nicer to have them step their four paws on this incredibly sticky surface where they will remain trapped as they squeal their last squeaks as he looks at his buddies and says "Tell the world my story, Louie!". But I digress. So, my svelte 490 lbs of giggling goo that makes up my rotund body along with 100 lbs of air conditioning unit are pressing this glue trap deeper into my sole and, quite possibly, my soul.
I successfully manage to deliver the a.c. unit to it's final resting place for the long winter's slumber when I try to dislodge this glue trap. I pulled to find a mucous-like substance that can stretch outwards of 20 feet away...without letting go. I felt like I stepped on some gelatinous sea creature from a bad B-Movie. I had to cut the stuff away to be able to get rid of the sticky goo holder.
But this left a huge amount of this mucilaginous material still heaped on the bottom of my shoe. I thought if I went outside to the concrete, I could scrape it off. So I am out there skidding my foot, walking backwards, spinning, sliding. At that point I realize that I must look like I'm working on my Michael Jackson moves (not the perverted pedophilic moves...wanna ride my llama, little boy?) to every car that passes by. Embarrased, I quickly skitter back inside where I stop to think. Another idea hits me as I head toward the door again. Although, this time I have a small "Welcome" mat attached to my foot. I care not, for I head for the gravel. My thinking is that I must defeat the gluey substance by overwhelming it with debris and send it into submission to which it will no longer have the will to stick to everything in my house. At the end of the day, my grand hypothesis only mildly worked while I am still left with a clodded up shoe that now has a bulbous, and now, dirty growth on the bottom.
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That's about it for now. If at any time in your day you think to yourself, "Gee, I'd like to wipe away a few minutes from my life that I'll never get back by doing something completely unfulfilling and unproductive". Then head back to this site (which, consequently, embodies the "unfulfilling and unproductive" aspect of amateur writing) and check out the archived stories by scrolling to the bottom or by clicking some of the heading on the right-hand side (although not all of my wonderfully penned gems are listed on the side bar)

Blah, Blah

Hello all,
Been quite a while since I last posted to this blog. Let's see, where are we....hmm...ah, yes! The Buckeyes continue to underwhelm me, especially after they lost to Penn State. My wife was having a little party that evening, so I ventured out to Z's (a local bar) to watch the game. I had a nice spot at the bar with a great view until about the middle of the second quarter when Joe Footballguy saunters up next to me and makes brilliant comments to me like "Man, that quarterback has to start making better throws" and then some girl a few seats down insists on telling me how she's a much better pro football fan than a college fan and all of the thirty reasons why. So halftime comes and what should I do? Well, I pay my tab and leave. I drive around the block for about 10 minutes, park, then head back inside to see with much delight that my chatty pals have all left and my seat still open. But the good fortune ended shortly as the Buckeyes offense got back onto the field.
Say what you want, but Troy Smith is killing that team. I don't feel like going on much longer, but I'd love to debate this with anyone (Tressell included)
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There is a gas station nearby that I sometimes stop at to get a coffee. More specifically, a French Vanilla cappucino. Does this make me queer? Anyway, I find it funny that this particular gas station employees a person to stand by the machines and wipe them down, refill with grounds/filters, and for the ultimate show in how gourmet their coffee is they grind their own beans. I like to think of him as my own coffee steward. My morning barister who dishes out fresh french vanilla powder into a hot cup of water. Ahhh. Reminds me of Paris..and Jean-Luc. For a few minutes I think I'm in a freakin' Starbucks but those thoughts quickly disappear as Sandy the 500 lb chain-smoking night manager tells Thirdshift Joe in her raspy voice that his 40 ouncer for "the way home" will be $1.80.
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If at anytime you ever find yourself wearing a leather baseball hat, immediately yank the steering wheel of the car you are driving into a bridge abutment. Similarly, if you have ever even thought of wearing one of those silly koifa African hats (ala Jim Brown. pictured..), put a bullet in the chamber then pull the trigger.
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I went to my first Bengals game in Paul Brown Stadium a couple of weeks ago. I really enjoyed myself. The Bengals won and at the time were 4-0, which if you are a Bengal fan you are used to see the number "4" and "0" but usually in reverse order. The stadium is wonderful and the crowd was intense. What an electric atmosphere. I have to say that 90% of the time I enjoy just listening or watching the game at home. But I do feel that everyone should experience a major sport like this live.
From the earliest days when my brother took me every year to the Indy 500 (where nothing will ever prepare you for the moments leading up to the race, the fly-overs, the Anthem, and the first few laps...I had goose bumps and tears in my eye every year) to recently at, say, a Dayton Dragons minor league game (where the summer sun shines, the sounds of the game and smell of the grass and a cold beer with friends make it all great)...it is always something special to be "there".
Many times when I went to games I always thought that it would be cool to tell my kids about. I'm constantly blurting out "I was there" as the blank, confused eyes of my daughter stare back at me. Just as it is neat to hear my mom and dad talk about seeing someone like Stan Musial play at Crosley Field. I imagine telling someone that I was at the last Celtics/Lakers game in the old Boston Garden. I was at a Red Sox/Yankees game at Fenway when Mo Vaughn cracked three dingers. I can go on and on about being at Wrigley for an afternoon game with my wife and the incredible time we had as we sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame with Harry Caray up above us in the booth. I've been to a ton of neat places and there is always that "feeling" you get when you are actually there...where it all has happened. And maybe you'll be lucky enough when this game you're at will be the one they always talk about. And you can tell your kids "I was there"
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Recently my dad and I borrowed a tractor and big mower to cut down a lot of the weeds that had been growing in my back couple of acres. I have visions of making this a lovely little area with grass, trees and random islands of flowers and such. So I come home this friday to see dad already working on mowing down the thick underbrush. It really looked great but I was super excited about doing it too. I just really enjoyed being out there with the warm fall sun shining down and the big tractor working as it was meant to do. I even managed to scare up a pheasant and marveled at its beauty as it flew up and out ahead of me. This prompted me to leave quite a bit of land un-mowed to possibly provide a bit of sanctuary to my lil' animal friends (except you, Mr and Mrs Skunk. I don't like you. You smell. Go away!)
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My birthday is coming up and I've come to realize that I could really care less about it. Some people may get excited. Others may dread the fact that another year has been ticked off the ledger. Not me. I'll be 33 and I really couldn't be much happier than I am. If I could change my job, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But while I drudge through my work day and clock out completely unfulfilled and unchallenged, the thought of what I have at home is enough to erase the melancholy of the past 8 hours and forget about everything except for my house full of wonderful women.
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Speaking of the male species in my house, my only ally on this daily war I wage on Estrogen is my dog Zeke. Zeke just had his 10th birthday! We treated him to his own cake and sang Happy Birthday to him. His favorite part of the day probably came when we went for a little walk around the soybean field and he found an old tennis ball that had been there since spring. He had that ball all night and even fell asleep with it.
That boy has been through it all with us. We got him a few months before we got married and he's been with us ever since. He was once the king of the house until the arrival of these kids. But we've never forgotten him and realize that not only is he a great friend but he's a great part of this family...even though the needs of our kids are a little more important than his (that's our opinion, not his).
I heard this said a while back and traced it to a quote by George Graham Vest, who wrote:
The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its' clouds upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, when the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master, as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its' journey through the heavens.If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger to fight his enemies; and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its' embrace, and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in watchfulness, faithful and true even in his death.
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I have realized that I've gotta start writing ideas down. I have these grand plans to add some insightful, riveting paragraphs to this blog only to find myself saying "now what the hell do I ramble on about?"
I'll try harder.
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Finally, I've been having some trouble with the "comments" section on this blog. I've become inundated with spam-like comments that typically go "Hey, Great column Mike. I really enjoyed reading it. By the way, visit my sight to learn more about how to get a long, hard sustained boner" or something like that. So I try to block them and delete them and often screw up the whole works. Please please please, try to leave comments. They are like my little easter eggs that I get to find at the end of each column. Keep 'em up and I can assure you that my staff are hard at work trying to rectify the problem.

Wish

I don't care if you don't like Notre Dame, Charlie Weis, or football at all. This is a such a wonderful story that I felt compelled to post it.

Weis grants little boy's dying wish
Associated Press
SOUTH BEND, Ind. -- Charlie Weis doesn't usually let anyone else call plays on offense. He made an exception for 10-year-old Montana Mazurkiewicz.
The Notre Dame coach met last week with Montana, who had been told by doctors weeks earlier that there was nothing more they could do to stop the spread of his inoperable brain tumor.
"He was a big Notre Dame fan in general, but football especially," said his mother, Cathy Mazurkiewicz.
Weis showed up at the Mazurkiewicz home in Mishawaka, just east of South Bend, and talked with Montana about his tumor and about Weis' 10-year-old daughter, Hannah, who has global development delay, a rare disorder similar to autism.
He told Montana about some pranks he played on Joe Montana -- whom Montana was named after -- while they were roommates at Notre Dame.
"I gave him a chance to hammer me on the Michigan State loss, which he did very well. He reminded me of my son," said Weis, whose son, Charlie Jr., is 12 years old.
Weis said the meeting was touching.
"He told me about his love for Notre Dame football and how he just wanted to make it through this game this week," Weis said. "He just wanted to be able to live through this game because he knew he wasn't going to live very much longer."
As Weis talked to the boy, Cathy Mazurkiewicz rubbed her son's shoulder trying to ease his pain. Weis said he could tell the boy was trying not to show he was in pain.
His mother told Montana, who had just become paralyzed from the waist down a day earlier because of the tumor, to toss her a football Weis had given him. Montana tried to throw the football, put could barely lift it. So Weis climbed into the reclining chair with him and helped him complete the pass to his mother.
Before leaving, Weis signed the football.
"He wrote, 'Live for today for tomorrow is always another day,"' Mazurkiewicz said.
"He told him: 'You can't worry about tomorrow. Just live today for everything it has and everything you can appreciate,'" she said. "He said: 'If you're (in pain) today you might not necessarily be in pain tomorrow, or it might be worse. But there's always another day.'"
Weis asked Montana if there was something he could do for him. He agreed to let Montana call the first play against Washington on Saturday. He called "pass right."
Montana never got to see the play. He died Friday at his home.
Weis heard about the death and called Mazurkiewicz on Friday night to assure her he would still call Montana's play.
"He said, 'This game is for Montana, and the play still stands,'" she said.
Weis said he told the team about the visit. He said it wasn't a "Win one for the Gipper" speech, because he doesn't believe in using individuals as inspiration. He just wanted the team to know people like Montana are out there.
"That they represent a lot of people that they don't even realize they're representing," Weis said.
When the Irish started on their own 1-yard-line following a fumble recovery, Mazurkiewicz wasn't sure Notre Dame would be able to throw a pass. Weis was concerned about that, too. So was quarterback Brady Quinn.
"He said 'What are we going to do?'" Weis said. "I said 'We have no choice. We're throwing it to the right.'"
Weis called a play where most of the Irish went left, Quinn ran right and looked for tight end Anthony Fasano on the right.
Mazurkiewicz watched with her family.
"I just closed my eyes. I thought, 'There's no way he's going to be able to make that pass. Not from where they're at. He's going to get sacked and Washington's going to get two points,'" she said.
Fasano caught the pass and leapt over a defender for a 13-yard gain.
"It's almost like Montana was willing him to beat that defender and take it to the house," Weis said.
Mazurkiewicz was happy.
"It was an amazing play. Montana would have been very pleased. I was very pleased," she said. "I was just so overwhelmed. I couldn't watch much more."
Weis called her again after the game, a 36-17 victory by the 13th-ranked Fighting Irish, and said he had a game ball signed by the team that he wanted to bring to the family on Sunday.
"He's a very neat man. Very compassionate," she said. "I just thanked him for using that play, no matter the circumstances."

Just some stuff

I've given the recent Ohio State loss some time to sink in and I think I have my thoughts straight now. No longer am I fueled by the emotion of the moment or the pork chops or keg of beer. Three things bother me about the game and I will try to be brief:
One...A platoon system at quarterback rarely, if ever, is successful. I know there had to be a few quarterbacks in history that shared duties and did just fine, but I can't think of them.
Two... It's first and goal. You are OSU. You line up three times from the shotgun?!? This is the Big Ten, baby! This is where true football is played. You line your horses up and say, "Try to stop this" You don't dodge the fight.
Three...I read today where the OSU tight end Ryan Hamby (no relation to Erik or Heather) is getting "hate mail" from fans after he dropped a wide open touchdown pass as the Buckeyes went on to lose at home and essentially squelch all hopes of playing for the National Title. When he did it, I and another person at the same time said "And Jackie Smith has to be the sickest man in America", in reference to the famous broadcast of the '79 Super Bowl where Smith, from Dallas dropped a sure touchdown from Roger Staugbach and go on to lose the game to the Steelers by 3 points.
Listen, it's just a game folks...right? If I had Ryan's address here is what I would write
"Dear Mr. Hamby,
Your dropped ball in the biggest game of the college football season was only overshadowed, ultimately, by your team's inability to win. You are getting paid a fine salary while we should also not forget to mention your lucrative scholarship deal and your "loaner car" program provided by your greater Columbus auto dealers (wink, wink). Your dropped ball sent a shooting pain into my gut as I felt like I got kicked by a rabid venomous mule. I don't believe you should be getting hate mail. That is unfair. However, I do feel that you should have your tires slashed once a week and every time your name is mentioned it should be followed by a shower of "boooo"
Sincerely,
My team never wins"

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Scam alert! Body wash is nothing more than liquid hand soap in a fancy bottle that says "body wash" Don't let 'em fool ya'! It would be no different than if I poured some Palmolive dish soap in a bottle labeled Herbal Essence or something. It's all the same stuff, man! I think Procter and Gamble makes it all in one giant brass vat...takes a little out and throws some coloring in it and, bingo...you've got hand soap/shampoo/body wash/etc...

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Listen, I sincerely like Oprah. I really do. She is a self-made success and carries herself well and is somewhat attractive. She's helped thousands of less fortunate and does a lot of "good". But let me give you a rundown of nearly every Oprah Show:
Person with some problem sits on high backed chair. Tells the crowd his/her problem as the producer in the booth sprinkles in a few crowd shots (consisting primarily of some red-eyed housewife wiping her nose and slowly nodding that "you poor soul/we're with you" nod)
Person with problem then says something to the effect of "but I'm gonna beat it....or....but I just keep trying....or....I'm gonna make it. You'll see" Producer pans back into tight shot of another woman with tears streaming down her face as she gives the "everything's gonna be all right" look. Oprah looks into the camera and explains she's just like all of us, except for the fact that she's worth 50 katrillion bajillion dollars.
But I'll bet Oprah is a fun time. I'd like to go out with her if she ever asks me.
Note to self: Must eliminate Stedman
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Sophia has recently started pre-school and my post work ritual of picking her up when school lets out has begun. I always enjoy this time of year because this is when I get to scope out all of the mothers. It is also a time where I make wagers with myself about the following "how many of these dames will actually talk to me this year?". I do an over/under game. It's still early, but I'll say out of 20 ladies, I am looking at an "under 4". Now let me say this, 90% of them are really nice people. Really. Let me set the scene for you: Thirty seven mini-vans parked near the door. I pull up in the truck and park 30 miles away. They should be running some sort of shuttle service for me. I stroll up fresh from another day at my horrific, life-sucking job. I couldn't stick out more than if I had been dropped off by a squad car shackled up in an orange prison suit. As I get closer I hear "what did you do today?" and one of them will usually say "oh, not much. Kinda hung around. Was just tired...lazy day", as I think about my wife who drives 200 miles a day and schedules her appointments to be there to take her kids to school.
But these few moments of uneasiness are immediately erased when that door opens up and Sophia (now...Anna before) dashes out with arms wide open. It might as well be a tunnel she's running through because I see or hear nothing else but her. It's such a great moment that I've gotten to re-appreciate after the summer off.
*and for the record, the ladies are actually very nice and don't treat me half as bad as I put on*
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Gotta go. Please be sure to check out my Previous Posts. You think you hate this site now, wait til' you read more!

Football Is Upon Us

I'm sitting here at around midnight on a friday night and was thinking, "d'ya know why I'll never be a great writer?" The obvious answers include, but are not limited to, my complete lack of punctuation and the fact that I wouldn't know a run-on sentence from a past participle and a little thing called "formal training". But instead I realize that the main reason I'll never be placed in the pantheon of great writers is how I look. No, not physical body features or anything (exhibit A: Steven King...he looks like a rejected zoo monkey with a couple of coke bottles shoved in his eyes sockets...but that somfabitch can write some damned words now!) As I sit at my cluttered desk I realize that I am wearing nothing but a ripped-up sleeveles Nike shirt and some ratty shorts from '97. Occassionaly I will take a huge gulp of chocolate milk and often scratch south of the border. Great writers would be sitting upon an overstuffed, riveted leather chair at an old manual typewriter with a giant bowl of brandy by their side. Not me. I swear, if for some reason every writer in the world disappeared overnight and people turned their lonely eyes to me for literature, the first book I published would have a full picture on the back jacket cover of me in a cardigan sweater with elbow patches, smoking a meerschaum pipe as I gaze into the distance with a pensive look on my face
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Has anyone noticed that Nick Lachey has been doing a lot of sports shows lately? I've seen him on discussion panels and being asked for his picks of the week. Now many may say, "What the hell is he doing talking about sports?". If you know me, you might think I would say the same. But I gotta' say, I think it's kinda cool. Let's look at the facts: He's from Cincy, he seems like a pretty good guy, he knows what he's talking about...oh!...and he's currently shacking up with some incredibly steaming hot babe. (if there are any doubts about the said hotness of his wife, please refer to her video for the Dukes movie. I've spoken about the "POW" factor before...when you see someone like her and just say "Pow!"...much stronger than wow, closer to holy crap, but just below Geeeezusss Krrriiisstt!) So, good for him. You know, he and I are a lot alike. We both have beautiful wives, love Cincinnati sports teams...and....well, I never sang in a boy band or slept with Jessica Simpson and I wake up and go to a job each day that I simply deplore and have the life sucked out of me for 8 hours 5 days a week. Yeah, we're a lot alike. (a lone tear streams down my cheek)
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The approach of 9/11 is coming soon and, without bringing down the "show", it just amazes me how life-altering that day was for all of us. No words could ever describe. But on a completely different subject, and much lighter I might add, the 11th also marks the second day of what I consider to be Football season. See, Saturday night is the Ohio State vs. Texas matchup. Sunday is the Bengals opener against the cleveland team. This is the start of football for me because OSU openers don't really mean too much to me. Whoopdee doo...Miami of Ohio, or BG, or some other mid-major. But Saturday! Look out. I'm so excited that I have already applied the eye-black to my cheeks and taped my ankles. I'm giddy with anticipation. To make things better, our good friend Gene (proprieter/operator of Geno's Bar and Grill) has decided to open his establishment much earlier in the season than usual to mark this occassion. Thinking about it...I've never had a bad time there, so no wonder why I can't wait to get back. (Geno's among many other events, marked the place where I enjoyed one of the greatest sports moments in my life. It was the Ohio State National Championship vs. Miami (of Fla.). Without going on too much about the intensity in that room that night, I have to say that I'll never forget that feeling I had in the last minutes when the Buckeyes missed their final opportunity and how I just hurt because AGAIN, my team failed. But wait! A flag. Another chance. They convert! Final seconds, Miami fails and the clock is at zero and I remember the room erupting in sheer craziness of people hugging/jumping...I fell to the floor and people fell all around me as the noise was deafening in a tiny bar in a barn in the middle of the country on a cold, cold January night as a handful of good friends celebrated a common victory. There is so much more in that memory than just the win and it's something I will never forget.
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For fear of jinxing my team, I will not make my usual prediction this year as I have the last couple. No, I'm not saying the Bengals will go 15-1 or "14-2...conservative". It doesn't work and only accomplishes the goal of making me look more of the horse's ass than I already am.
In related news, I stepped down from my long tenure as Commissioner of the JFL (J-Bird Fantasy Football League). I started it on my own in 1999 and ran it up until a few weeks ago. I ruled with an Iron Fist from Suite 83 in the JFL Headquarters in downtown New York, but it was time to move on. I just don't have the time or the desire to go through with it this season. But if you have never done a fantasy football league, do yourself a favor and try it. It will make you concerned for the stats of the freakin' Arizona/Seattle game that you would otherwise give two shits less about.
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Donnie Baker and "Morgan Freeman" call in skits on Bob and Tom radio will invariably make me laugh...no matter what! "It was the longest night of Andy's life..."
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Here's a murphy's law moment for you. If you spend a lot of money on a big ass mower, it will never rain again thus eliminating the need for mowing and that new mower sitting in your garage.
It actually has rained a little bit lately and I gotta say my rig gets er done. I can cut a 40 yard long path in 4.2 seconds (I raced Darryl Green, formerly of the Redskins and smoked his butt). It sounds like a freakin' sikorsky when I engage the blades. Oh sure, I may be a pathetic fat loser, but my mower makes me feel really good about myself. *coming soon to a Dr. Phil episode near you*
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The theme is again football. If you haven't seen the Nike Football commercial "I Promise", please check it out here....http://www.nike.com/nikegridiron/index.jhtml?ref=www.nike.com#promise
Not to be a reminiscent sap, but football has so many memories to it that always stay with you. Mostly, for me, are the sounds. As in the commercial I just mentioned, there are a few there that just take you back to very specific moments. There are times when it is exceedingly hot out and excessively dry...and the humidity makes the air so thick...there is this smell I get and it always takes me back to the second session of a two-a-day practice (for those who don't know, you would practice for a few hours in the morning, take a short break, then put all of your wet, sweaty pads back on and go at it for another couple of hours) where the grass has turned to dirt and you wonder why you do it. But another memory comes back as I think about walking down from the locker room preparing to run onto the field. I felt sick to my stomach but incredibly hopped up. Like a gladiator about to do battle. But I'll never forget as we made that slow walk to the gate hearing the band march. No, not the marching band...but the music they made as they marched getting louder over the sound of our cleats on the gravel drive. It was just the drum guys and, I think, the xylophone (can that be right? did they carry a freakin' xylophone in a marching band? Anyway, it was the bell sounding thingy) Again, not to be like Uncle Rico (from Nap. Dynamite) but it is and always will be one of those things that always stick with you.
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I watched The Last Samurai the other night. Let me say this, for as much as a farged-up cooky crackpot that Tom Cruise is, he has made a few good movies (such as a few good men).
Three Cruise movies you gotta see if you could only see three:
**#1 Top Gun :no brainer, one of the greatest movies of all time.
**#2 Collateral: would be #1 if there were no Top Gun. He's a freakin' badass in this movie. Intense and Jamie Foxx is good in it. (the soundtrack includes a song called "Hands of Time" by the Groove Armada, find this song and listen to it. Incredible)
**#3 I'm not sure now that I've started my list...but you have to mention these as really good movies (at least that I liked) Few Good Men, The Firm, Minority Report, and Born on the 4th of July
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Shouldn't trees be free to anyone who wants them? On the same note, why the hell should a three foot baby tree cost over a hundred bucks? Something doesn't seem right about that. Probably why it cost 2 bucks for a bottle of freakin' water. **Which reminds me, if you want to see a great comedian, see Jim Gaffigan...he does a bit on water that is perfect**
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Allright, I'm done for the night. Remember, there is a plethora of dated, mindless ramblings located in the Archives section (below the previous posts area) on the right hand side of this site.

London

Hello again everyone. We recently returned home from our trip to London. Had a great time. What a neat city, with nice people and incredible scenery. I'm not much of a "city" person, but it was different there. It was like we were in a totally different country or something...oh yeah, we were. What's most notable is the age of things over there. Just a random statue in a park can be dated at, say, 1750. And that is relatively new! Heck, this was before America was America.
Our first day there, we walked around and tried to familiarize ourselves with the place. I mainly was looking for British chicks to talk to because, honestly, any girl with an accent is pretty cool. Southern, English, Australian, whatever...I think it's neat. That evening we went to the Natural History Museum for our Welcome Night. The entire place was just ours as ADP (the company that sent my wife and me there) rented the whole thing out. We could walk through any of the displays while grabbing anything we wanted to eat or drink. I opted for the plates of cold beer and the smoked salmon (i consumed large quantities of each...hey, they're free) This grand, royal looking band marched down the large stairways to the floor we were on and played music...but what really intrigued me is the amount of sweat that must have accumulated in every nook and cranny underneath those heavy, ornate costumes.
The next day we took a tour of the city aboard a large motorcoach that was reserved just for us. It was very interesting as we often parked and wandered around some great landmarks such as St Paul's Cathedral (where Di and Charles got married), Kensington Palace (where that Di chick lived), and The Royal Albert Hall (Now we know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall...a line from A Day in the Life by the Beatles). One of my favorite parts of the entire trip was our tour of Westminster Abbey. We weren't allowed to take pictures inside, but it was really amazing. There are hundreds of people buried in the floors of this place, mostly folks of great importance to Britain..and the very wealthy, as well as Kings/Queens and a memorial to FDR "“A faithful friend of freedom and of Britain…”. You'd walk along these corridors upon carvings of those beneath you from the year, say, 1580 or something. Incredible. We were told of a large bomb that fell directly through the large dome in the middle of the church. Dropped by the Germans during the Blitz, it ended in the lower regions of the place...but never exploded. It was removed and detonated in a field where it created a massive hole. Talk about Divine Intervention I guess.
We wanted to see a "show" in the famous and historic theater district. One night we saw The Lion King at the Lyceum Theater (originating in 1765). Another night, we went to Her Majesty's Theatre (opened in 1705) to see Phantom of the Opera...which I have now seen 5 times. Me likey. We often listen to the soundtrack at home...does this make me queer? Afterwards we went to an outside cafe near Piccadilly Circus and sat and enjoyed a few cold lagers, then walked home through Trafalgar Square on our way back to our hotel..which was the London Hilton, near Hyde Park and Mayfair. Also saw Big Ben and Parliament...where it is required that I must say each time, "Look kids! Big Ben, Parliament...I can't get left!!!" from European Vacation. Classic. Took a ride on the Eye of London, **pictured** which
is a massive ferris wheel that takes you on a great view of the city. It never stops moving and takes about 30 minutes to make a revolution. Each car holds about 25 people and is very clean and nice. Visited Buckingham Palace where they have the Changing of the Guard every other day. The day we were there to witness it, it was raining...so they cancelled. Wankers!
On Saturday, we took a train to Paris, France. The train reached speeds of 185 mph and we went under the English Channel through the "Chunnel". We were underground for about 20 minutes. What a smooth ride. Never been on a real train before and I liked it. You could stand, sleep, stretch out, walk around. Much better than flying.
We took a tour of Paris and, like London, saw many buildings marked from bullets and bombings. Amazing to think about what those countries went through during that time...and how America came in and kicked some ass. We went to the Louvre and were stunned at the absolute size of the place (said to be bigger than the Vatican). Saw the Mona Lisa. Very cool. Of course, being a Davinci Code fan, it was a real thrill to actually picture some of the book while walking through it. It would probably take a week just to get through the entire place.
Later that day, we felt obligated to find a sidewalk cafe and eat. The menu said they had some le poopie au de flambee avec goobledeegookie blah blah blah. It's like those people have a different word for everything over there. We managed to point and muddle through some words and ordered something halfway edible. Since we were there, again we felt obligated to have some wine and dessert. Not bad.
All in all, Paris was o.k. It's kinda' like Hoover Dam. Amazing, spectacular, historical, and awe-inspiring...but once you've seen it, you don't really feel the need to travel that distance to see it again. Plus, French people are smelly, pompous assclowns. *Foreigners really do smell bad...not the Brits, though*
On the last night, we went to the going away party held by ADP called Club ADP. It was in a neat place that looked like a cross between a castle/hotel conference room/and MTV set. They put on a great party. Of course, there were trays upon trays of cold beer. This time, it was good ol' Budweiser and once again, it was free. Which reminds me of a great quote by my wife one time when we were at an open bar at a ballgame. She said to me, "Just because it's free doesn't mean you have to drink it all". So wise, yet it's hard to pass by when, for example, you have to pay $5 bucks for a beer down with the Joe Punchclocks of the world. You feel like you're just trying to break even. It's just good financial sense, I say. Anyway, at the party they had a guy who looked like Austin Powers and sounded just like him too. That just makes me laugh thinking about it. He introduced a band that was pretty darned good and they played a lot of British rock stuff (Stones, Who, etc...). Very cool. Unfortunately, we went to bed our last night at 2:30, then had to have our luggage ready for pickup at 4 am, then leave for the airport at 6 am. Kinda' rough.
I have to say that we've now been to Hawaii, British Columbia, and London as well as short trips to Vegas, Miami Beach, and Chicago...all on ADP's dime. And these people take incredibly good care of you and shower you with gifts. You don't touch your luggage, transportation awaits you to and from everywhere (when we arrived at London, a dude with a silly hat and a sign with our names awaited us to whisk us to the hotel in a little Mercedes van). Money is given to you for the week, tips are already taken care of, the travel department's staff is extremely professional and very very nice. It's super sweet. I thank my wife for busting her ass at her job to earn these rewards so a sluggish turd like me can live the high life for a few days. Thanks dear, now get your butt out there and sell some crap! Trays of free beer await me!