43 years ago tomorrow my mother pushed me out into this world. I don't know much about March 1st, 1965. Legend has it that on the evening of February 28th "Ma" was eating beans and hot dogs, while watching a documentary about JFK with the same title as his book, "Profiles in Courage". She had some rumblings in her tummy which she thought at first was the beans and dogs, doing what beans and dogs usually do, but soon enough realized that it was me.
I had my mid-life crisis a few years back. One could argue that due to my precarious genetic makeup (both sides of my family are chock full o' unhealthy folks) that mid-life for me was at about 27 years. I held off on my mid-life crisis until I was about 35, after the death of my mother. I went through a period of introspection and self centeredness that is necessary to make sense of this thing that we know as "life". Purpose, meaning and all of that shit. A mid-life crisis is like a economic recession, you don't realize that you had one until its over. Mine is over and done with. I feel good about the path I've chosen and am looking forward to what life has to bring.
Birthdays have never been a milestone or benchmark for me. I've never set deadlines for my personal achievements or goals, so to me birthdays are more for the parents than they are for the person with the birthday. For some reason this year I have been perserverating about March 1st. Whether it be the long, snowy winter or a reaction to my mid-life crisis I have had a newly developed maudlin sentimentality for my birth date. I have thought about how my life and birth has/had affected those that were there. I have pondered my existence.
Appropriately, in celebration of my birthday I present you with my Top 5 songs about life. Whether it be how to live life, the meaning of life or just plain bitching about the human condition these songs were the first that jumped out. As in previous Top 5 posts (here and here) these are my personal opinions and feel free to share others you may think relevant. In no particular order, here they are, my Top 5 Songs About Life:
Click on the song titles for links to the full lyrics.
Secret O’ Life - James Taylor
I have to admit this is my favorite because its message is so simple and so true. We have no control over things like the "planets spinning through space" so concentrate on the things you can, love and happiness.
"The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time
Any fool can do it
There aint nothing to it
Nobody knows how we got to
The top of the hill
But since were on our way down
We might as well enjoy the ride"
Two Step - Dave Matthews Band
"Celebrate we will
Because life is short but sweet for certain
Were climbing two by two
To be sure these days continue,
These things we cannot change"
Find someone to love and hold on for the ride.
Drive - Incubus
Whether it be a teenager unable to find direction or a man in mid-life crisis feeling like he's lost all control, this song about self-determination is an appropriate anthem.
"Sometimes, I feel the fear of,
uncertainty stinging clear.
And I can't help but ask
myself how much I'll let the fear
take the wheel and steer.
It's driven me before, and it seems to a faint,
haunting mass appeal.
But lately I, am beginning to find that I,
should be the one behind the wheel."
Times Like These - Jack Johnson
I just like that this song nonchalantly laughs in the face of inevitability.
"In times like these
in times like those
what will be will be
and so it goes
and it always goes on and on
and on and on it goes"
No Such Thing - John Mayer
"They love to tell you stay inside the lines
But somethings better on the other side"
If you can get past the fact that John Mayer was banging Jessica Simpson amongst many other beautiful women and with his pop sensibilities should be the last person to preach about non conformity, his message in this song rings sincere. Don't run with the crowd or do what your parents expect. Learn how to play guitar and bang hot chicks.
Immediately upon contemplating a Top 5 about LIFE I thought of "In My Life" by the Fab Four or "Life's Been Good" by Joe Walsh, but felt that they were too obvious ("Dust In The Wind", Kansas, can you say hackneyed). I tried to come up with things relevant to ME.
Because its all about ME.
Happy Birthday to ME!!!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Weekly Weigh In (Week 10)
In my grief and despair I forgot to do a weight update last week. Last week I had zero weight loss and this week I only lost a pound. I could have a million excuses from work deadlines to the Patriots reverting to the Patsies, but the only excuse is laziness. I averaged three days per week in the gym the last two weeks and my eating has been under control, but the intensity of my workouts and food choices have leaned more toward weight maintenance than weight loss. I anticipate with the world getting back to homeostasis, illnesses gone, Super Bowl a painful memory. Then I can get back into my routine and drop 20 more pounds in the next 5 weeks. Even if I get to within a few pounds of two bills by the Ides of March then I'll be close to "Speedo" shape (delete that thought from your memory banks immediately or you may face irreparable damage). I haven't seen or heard from Billy in a while. Maybe I'll just get a check in the mail.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Red Sox To The Rescue
Spring training is just days away and before you know it we will be watching the ring ceremony Opening Day at Fenway. Those thoughts alone buoyed my psyche a tad on Monday morning, the day after the Patriots debacle. Then that evening a call from the Red Sox talked me off the ledge and back to safety. Let me explain.
Two Saturdays ago I spent most of the day milling about my house doing housework, playing with the kids etc... My wife spent the month of January working OT, so she was gone each Saturday until 2 PM. The Red Sox internet sale started at 10 AM, so I logged in and checked my computer screen every few minutes between skating on my backyard rink, doing dishes and feeding the kids lunch, to see if I made it out of the "virtual waiting room" and on to the area were I could buy tickets. Around 3:30 PM I checked the computer and I was in the ticket buying area. I started browsing games and when I came across the first tickets I wanted to purchase I started the ticket buying process. I entered all the pertinent information and when the form was completed I hit enter. The screen went blank except for the Red Sox logo at the top of the screen and a few icons. I started to sweat, but didn't yell or scream. I clicked a few of the icons, but nothing changed. I manually went back to the last page, but instead of the last page it sent me back to the virtual waiting room.
I screamed.
My wife came running over and I excitedly attempted to explain what had just happened, but all that came out of my mouth was something akin to "pig Latin". I stormed around the room. I tried calling the Sox. Busy signal. I was losing my mind. Now granted, I was not sitting at the table watching the screen refresh for five hours, but I knew if it took me five hours to get a chance at tickets, it would probably be another five before I got another chance and there would be jack shit left. In my rage I fired off an angry email to the general contact email for my beloved Red Sox. I figured that it wouldn't accomplish squat except to make me feel temporarily better. The next time I had a chance to buy tickets was after 10 PM and there were no tickets left together; just singles or obstructed view. I went to bed hating the Sox.
Monday morning I received this email:
David,
Thank you for your email and feedback regarding the sale the weekend of January 26. The loyalty and devotion we receive from Red Sox fans is astounding. We hope to provide you with the appreciation you deserve.
It is first important to understand that all systems were functioning properly allowing us to set another record for tickets sold over the weekend. When we think it cannot go any higher, demand for Red Sox tickets continues to climb. We have sold more tickets as of this date in 2008 than to date any previous season.
When purchasing tickets online, the system is designed to assure that once you have reached the buying process, you are able to complete your order without difficulty. The waiting room provides that buffer. By limiting the number of fans attempting to purchase tickets at any one time, fewer have trouble completing their order. For the most part, those efforts have been extremely successful.
All of that said, we understand that you were not as fortunate in your attempts to purchase tickets. For the past week, we have analyzed all purchases from the sale. In our efforts to thwart scalping, we have confiscated orders from those who exceeded the posted limits of 8 tickets per person. Additionally, we have been scouring the online secondary market and confiscated tickets from illegitimate resellers.
As a result of the difficulty you encountered and your having made us aware of it so quickly, we would like to provide you with the opportunity to purchase up to 8 tickets from those that have been confiscated. Please understand that availability is still limited, however the number of fans who experienced problems was also minimal.
To check availability and to purchase tickets please contact me directly, either via email or at the number below. Also, I look forward to more detailed information on what occurred during your attempts to purchase. Understanding exactly what you encountered will help us to resolve the problems in the future.
Thank you again for your feedback and continued support of Boston Red Sox baseball.
Andrew Dennen
Boston Red Sox
2007 World Series Champions
adennen@redsox.com
(617) 226-6368
I immediately called his number and left a message saying of course I would be interested and gave him some possible dates. Just to be safe I emailed him with the same info. I checked my computer every fifteen minutes for new email and stared at the phone as if it would help the process along. Monday evening at 4:30 the Red Sox called just as I was in the midst of reliving the Super Bowl nightmare by reading suicidal blog entries. I was able to get 8 tickets to three different games. I thanked him a dozen times and told him that the Red Sox just might have saved a life that night. I'm sure he thought I was a mental case and in my state of mind Monday he wasn't far off base.
When I hung up I felt differently then when I got on the phone. I felt like there was hope and light at the end of the tunnel. I could smell the sausage and peppers cooking out on Landsdowne Street. I could feel the peanut shells crunching under my feet as I was making my way to the beer line. I could hear Elton John singing softly "Someone Saved My Life Tonight". Thank you Red Sox, Thank you!!!
Monday, February 04, 2008
A Nation Of Patriots Haters
Congratulations New York Giants.
You don't need my "atta boy" to validate your victory; you deserve every kudo that comes your way. Not since the "pre-Brady Pats" have we seen a team so thoroughly manhandle the Patriots and smack them in the mouth as the Giants did in the desert last night. That said, I am disappointed and angry. I am disappointed that the Patriots couldn't finish the job. It’s like having a perfectly fine pregnancy for nine months and giving birth to a still born. All that work, all those hopes and dreams, for nothing. I am angry for reasons that have nothing to do with the game last night and the result of the game just makes my anger all the more bitter.
I started watching the pre-game shows around 10 AM yesterday. Of course the usual cast of characters on ESPN were weighing in on the game and doing their fair share of Patriots hating. Assumptions of guilt were being discussed, as fact, concerning "Spygate", taping by the Patriots of the Rams walk through before Super Bowl IIIVI and congressional inquiries by Senator Arlen Spector concerning the NFL's destruction of the spygate tapes. It appeared that no one was concerned about the game at hand and that many just wanted to put as much doubt in the public's mind about the legitimacy of the Patriots run, as to diminish their accomplishment when they ultimately won that evening. This Patriot hating went on into the Fox pre-game with a little less venom, as not to alienate viewers, but enough veiled references to the nation's distain for the Patriots, that I had to stop watching.
I was feeling good about the media coverage of the Patriots until Friday's press conference with Roger Goodell, the NFL commissioner. He got barraged with spygate questions and did a poor job of deflecting them. Then disgruntled Eagles fan, Arlen Spector, senator from Pennsylvania, came out saying he wanted to meet with Goodell, Brady or anyone who could clarify just what was on those "spygate" tapes. As Saturday rolled on the media frenzy over the Patriots intensified. A former employee supposedly told someone at the Herald that the Pats taped the Rams walkthrough before Super Bowl 36 and the Patriots haters started trying to equate that alleged act with the rationale for the Pats beating the Rams. Hate, Hate, Hate right up until kick off.
The Patriots are in shock, but they will be back. When the shock wears off they are going to be pissed off. Family and friends will be giving them bits and pieces of what was being said and what the media's response was from Friday until kick off, while they were in their "bubble" of protection preparing for the game. The respect that was deserved and the deference usually given to a team in their position was non-existent.
The country hates the Patriots. Their coach appears conceited, their quarterback appears flawless, their organization appears monolithic. Fans will always hate on the team that has dominated for a long period of time because they want their team to be there, on top. Fans can hate and that’s OK because that’s the nature of the beast. The media is not supposed to hate. Never before has the media vilified a team that has accomplished so much with as much class and dignity. The other dynasty's have all received their coronation and kudos. The Patriots have received nothing but scrutiny and disrespect.
Randy will be back. So won't Brushci, Seau, Samuel. Maybe not Stallworth. Coaching staff will be intact. Remember in the movie "Stripes" the dude called "Psycho" (Don't call me Francis!) and his list. Guaranteed that when the smoke clears and the confetti is swept up the Patriots will start compiling their list and start knocking them off one by one.
Nobody circles the wagons like the New England Patriots. If you thought they were arrogant, aloof and unlikable this year, what until next year. 18-1, with a bigger chip on their shoulder and the seventh pick in the draft adds up to a lot of pain for the rest of the NFL.
Arlen Spector, Merril Hodge, Don Shula, Steve Young, Peyton Manning, Mercury Morris, Tom Jackson, Kurt Warner, Ladainian Tomlinson, Eric Mangini, Roger Goodell and all of the rest of the haters watch out, you're on the list. Who is number one on the list? We'll see next September.
You don't need my "atta boy" to validate your victory; you deserve every kudo that comes your way. Not since the "pre-Brady Pats" have we seen a team so thoroughly manhandle the Patriots and smack them in the mouth as the Giants did in the desert last night. That said, I am disappointed and angry. I am disappointed that the Patriots couldn't finish the job. It’s like having a perfectly fine pregnancy for nine months and giving birth to a still born. All that work, all those hopes and dreams, for nothing. I am angry for reasons that have nothing to do with the game last night and the result of the game just makes my anger all the more bitter.
I started watching the pre-game shows around 10 AM yesterday. Of course the usual cast of characters on ESPN were weighing in on the game and doing their fair share of Patriots hating. Assumptions of guilt were being discussed, as fact, concerning "Spygate", taping by the Patriots of the Rams walk through before Super Bowl IIIVI and congressional inquiries by Senator Arlen Spector concerning the NFL's destruction of the spygate tapes. It appeared that no one was concerned about the game at hand and that many just wanted to put as much doubt in the public's mind about the legitimacy of the Patriots run, as to diminish their accomplishment when they ultimately won that evening. This Patriot hating went on into the Fox pre-game with a little less venom, as not to alienate viewers, but enough veiled references to the nation's distain for the Patriots, that I had to stop watching.
I was feeling good about the media coverage of the Patriots until Friday's press conference with Roger Goodell, the NFL commissioner. He got barraged with spygate questions and did a poor job of deflecting them. Then disgruntled Eagles fan, Arlen Spector, senator from Pennsylvania, came out saying he wanted to meet with Goodell, Brady or anyone who could clarify just what was on those "spygate" tapes. As Saturday rolled on the media frenzy over the Patriots intensified. A former employee supposedly told someone at the Herald that the Pats taped the Rams walkthrough before Super Bowl 36 and the Patriots haters started trying to equate that alleged act with the rationale for the Pats beating the Rams. Hate, Hate, Hate right up until kick off.
The Patriots are in shock, but they will be back. When the shock wears off they are going to be pissed off. Family and friends will be giving them bits and pieces of what was being said and what the media's response was from Friday until kick off, while they were in their "bubble" of protection preparing for the game. The respect that was deserved and the deference usually given to a team in their position was non-existent.
The country hates the Patriots. Their coach appears conceited, their quarterback appears flawless, their organization appears monolithic. Fans will always hate on the team that has dominated for a long period of time because they want their team to be there, on top. Fans can hate and that’s OK because that’s the nature of the beast. The media is not supposed to hate. Never before has the media vilified a team that has accomplished so much with as much class and dignity. The other dynasty's have all received their coronation and kudos. The Patriots have received nothing but scrutiny and disrespect.
Randy will be back. So won't Brushci, Seau, Samuel. Maybe not Stallworth. Coaching staff will be intact. Remember in the movie "Stripes" the dude called "Psycho" (Don't call me Francis!) and his list. Guaranteed that when the smoke clears and the confetti is swept up the Patriots will start compiling their list and start knocking them off one by one.
Nobody circles the wagons like the New England Patriots. If you thought they were arrogant, aloof and unlikable this year, what until next year. 18-1, with a bigger chip on their shoulder and the seventh pick in the draft adds up to a lot of pain for the rest of the NFL.
Arlen Spector, Merril Hodge, Don Shula, Steve Young, Peyton Manning, Mercury Morris, Tom Jackson, Kurt Warner, Ladainian Tomlinson, Eric Mangini, Roger Goodell and all of the rest of the haters watch out, you're on the list. Who is number one on the list? We'll see next September.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
New England History and Hubris
Patriots fans should be prepared for an upset of major proportions on Sunday. Unfortunately most fans in "Patriot Nation" can not fathom the vaunted Patriots offense being shut down or the timely Patriots defense showing up too late. My head tells me the Pats will roll to a fourth Super Bowl title in seven years. My heart says "Watch Out!". Winning here in New England has been taken for granted, not by the players. The New England Patriots organization is the best all time in the ability to play one game at a time and not take any opponent too lightly. But the fans of the Patriots have developed a case of hubris not seen ever before this side of the Bronx.
Most Patriots fans are also Red Sox fans, so you would think that after watching a team be one strike from a World Series title (1986) and completely collapse they would think twice about ordering their "Perfect Season 19-0" T-shirts before the final game is over and the Patriots have more points on the board than the Giants. All New Englander's have to do is look at recent and distant local sports history, aside from the Red Sox, to realize that a fourth Super Bowl banner being unfurled at Gillette this September is NOT a fore gone conclusion.
The 2001 NFL season was only six years ago. The Patriots had an unbelievable run from Thanksgiving to the Super Bowl to enter the big game as 17 point underdogs. Similarly to the Giants the had a good mix of players and a great coaching staff who knew how to scheme just enough to win. Not win pretty, but win. We all know how that ended up. We have gotten to where we are now in the ranks of the NFL starting out like the Giants, a moderately talented team who's guts and smarts have put them in a position to change their teams destiny.
A more poignant and historical example of the underdog pulling off the impossible one has to look no further than Brookline, Massachusetts where in 1913 a 20 year old ex caddy named Francis Ouimet shocked the entire sporting world and won the US Open in a playoff over Harry Vardon and Ted Ray at "The Country Club". By 1913 Vardon had already won 5 British Opens (known as The Open Championship) and One US Open which made him the most prolific golfer of his time. Ouimet was a 20 year old, with local amateur experience, who was so green that he had a ten year old (Eddie Lowery) caddying for him during the Open. The Brits, Vardon and Ray, were heavily favored to sail back to Briton with the US Open trophy as even seasoned US professionals like Walter Hagen and John Mc Dermott had no chance to beat Vardon. Vardon was the Tiger Woods of the early 20th century. He had endorsements, a line of golf balls (the Vardon Flyer) and more trophy's than anyone else. He even had a golf grip named after him that is used to this day. It took a fluke, local knowledge, naivete and dumb luck for Ouimet to defeat Vardon.
Are the Patriots the best team ever? They are the best I've ever seen in my 42 years.
Will they destroy the Giants? My prediction is Patriots: 41 Giants: 21.
Can the Giants win? Absolutely. Whether it be hunger, a scheme, naivete or dumb luck they have a fighting chance.
You know that hackneyed, but all so true saying "Any given Sunday"...
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Weekly Weigh In (Week 8) and Whining
I am as sick as a dog. I've got a fever, post nasal drip and a nasty cough. I started feeling run down on Sunday, but still went to open skate with my son for an hour before his skating lesson. Yesterday I hit the gym, but could only muster up enough energy to do a half an hour of cardio. This morning I could barely get out of bed. I haven't been this sick in years, but maybe I'll start puking and lose a few more pounds. I am down to 216. That translates into a 19 pound weight loss. When I get over this bug I will be hitting the weights harder and extending my workouts. I need to go back to sleep and rest before my sister-in-law (who had mercy on me after hearing my pitifully hoarse voice this morning and took the boys off my hands for a while) brings my kids back home. Oh yeah, no sign of Billy. Rumor has it he and Veruca Salt have holed up in Willy Wonka's place schmereing chocolate all over each other and licking it off (Don't call the cops Veruca is like 45 now).
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Weekly Weigh In (Week 7)
16 Lbs lost, 24 to go. My kids got sick last Thursday night and were sick until yesterday, so I didn't see the gym until this morning. I went to the Pats AFC Championship game Sunday, so I ate like a pig and drank like a fish. With all that going on, I still lost three pounds. I finally heard from Billy. He has been on a big roofing job about 60 miles away and hasn't had time for the gym. He says he's down about 8 pounds, but is going to have to play serious catch up to get down to my level. Seven weeks to go and there is a clear front runner. Tune in next week for another episode of "As The Fat Burns" or in Billy's case "As The Gut Churns".
Friday, January 18, 2008
Why I Am Going To Hell: Reason # 56
Being a director in a non-profit human service agency people often assume that I am a good person, bordering on sainthood. "That's sooo great you work with those people" and "You are doing God's work" are things I hear quite often when telling folks what I do for a living. Little do they know that I am a self serving bastard who capitalizes on any opportunity for self-gratification. Let me explain.
Wednesday morning I was logged on to Ticketmaster trying to get Patriots AFC Championship tickets. After hitting the refresh button for an hour and a half it became apparent I was not going to the game. I rationalized that it would be better watching at home in the warmth of my living room instead of freezing my ass off sitting in single digit temperatures and bone chilling wind. Then I had a revelation.
Handicapped seating.
Being that I work with folks who have physical handicaps I am fully aware of that a certain amount of seating at any public event needs to be put aside for the handicapped per the ADA, Americans with Disabilities Act. I have brought clients to games in the past and never had a problem getting tickets. I called the ADA number at Gillette Stadium and was put on hold. As I listened to some old play by play with Gino and Gill I thought "are there people out there so desperate for a ticket that they would feign a handicap to get them?". The box office attendant answered " Patriots Ticket Office" and startled me in mid-thought. I ordered two tickets, the maximum and since I have ordered tickets from them in the past it took less than a minute. I hung up the phone and floated around the room on cloud nine. The elation was short lived.
My conscience kicked in, full bore.
I wasn't like someone faking to be handicapped in order to get tickets, I have my choice of real, live, handicapped dudes to choose from who love the Pats and would love to go to the game. But I came to the realization that I ordered the tickets because I wanted to go to the game, not because I knew one of my men would want to go or out of the kindness of my heart.
My guilt lasted less than my initial elation and I started calling everyone who would listen, to brag about my latest coup de grace.
I may be going to hell in a bucket, but at least I'm enjoyin' the ride.
Section 120, me and my newest, bestest, client.
Go Pats!!!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Watching Paint Dry
I have a guilty pleasure that I rarely admit to doing.
It involves a four letter word.
G O L F.
In the winter from January to March I love to watch golf on television. I know, I know, you would rather watch paint dry, but to me seeing those green fairways and ocean vistas give me a much needed mid-winter lift. After March I will watch golf in tiny snippets just long enough to see who is winning a tournament, except for the Majors (The Masters, US Open, British Open, PGA Championship) and Ryder Cup where I may watch the entire final round.
I didn't start playing golf until I was 29, but once I started, like most things I like, I became addicted. My USGA handicap index is 8.8, which means if the normal par round of golf is 72 then I average 81. Since my oldest son was born in 2003 I have not played consistently. My actual handicap is higher than 8.8 since it takes a certain amount of rounds played to make a significant change in handicap; I've only posted a few round per year since 2003. That said I can still make my way around a course. The first winter following my first year playing I could not get enough golf so I watched anything on TV concerning golf. Thus the genesis of my winter golf TV obsession.
In January the PGA Tour starts with two tournaments in Hawaii. The TV coverage for these events doesn't start until 7:00 PM East coast time, so I usually fall asleep to the sound of wooshing drivers and tepid applause. The tour then moves to California and Arizona for the next seven weeks where golf is played on quite a few desert courses and the famed Pebble Beach. By the time the tour heads to Florida in March I have had my fill of TV golf and am ready to play here in New England, even if it means driving two hours to Cape Cod to play 36 holes in windy, 40 degree weather.
The Bob Hope Chrysler Classic Pro-AM is on at 3 PM Eastern Time with a full field of pros and celebrities such as Carson Daly, Sterling Sharpe, Alice Cooper and hosted by comedian George Lopez. Pro-Am tournaments are fun because you get to see the pro game juxtaposed with the amateur game. On one hand its makes you feel good that you are better at something than Jerry Rice, but you also see the glaring difference between the celebrities and the pros and it reminds you that as good as you think your golf game is, you suck compared to a tour pro.
Spring Training is a month away. My first round of golf for the year is two months away. Opening Day at Fenway is three months away. Beer at the Beachcomber is five months away, but warm breezes, palm trees swaying and drives splitting fairways are hours away with the click of my remote.
65 days 'till Spring!
It involves a four letter word.
G O L F.
In the winter from January to March I love to watch golf on television. I know, I know, you would rather watch paint dry, but to me seeing those green fairways and ocean vistas give me a much needed mid-winter lift. After March I will watch golf in tiny snippets just long enough to see who is winning a tournament, except for the Majors (The Masters, US Open, British Open, PGA Championship) and Ryder Cup where I may watch the entire final round.
I didn't start playing golf until I was 29, but once I started, like most things I like, I became addicted. My USGA handicap index is 8.8, which means if the normal par round of golf is 72 then I average 81. Since my oldest son was born in 2003 I have not played consistently. My actual handicap is higher than 8.8 since it takes a certain amount of rounds played to make a significant change in handicap; I've only posted a few round per year since 2003. That said I can still make my way around a course. The first winter following my first year playing I could not get enough golf so I watched anything on TV concerning golf. Thus the genesis of my winter golf TV obsession.
In January the PGA Tour starts with two tournaments in Hawaii. The TV coverage for these events doesn't start until 7:00 PM East coast time, so I usually fall asleep to the sound of wooshing drivers and tepid applause. The tour then moves to California and Arizona for the next seven weeks where golf is played on quite a few desert courses and the famed Pebble Beach. By the time the tour heads to Florida in March I have had my fill of TV golf and am ready to play here in New England, even if it means driving two hours to Cape Cod to play 36 holes in windy, 40 degree weather.
The Bob Hope Chrysler Classic Pro-AM is on at 3 PM Eastern Time with a full field of pros and celebrities such as Carson Daly, Sterling Sharpe, Alice Cooper and hosted by comedian George Lopez. Pro-Am tournaments are fun because you get to see the pro game juxtaposed with the amateur game. On one hand its makes you feel good that you are better at something than Jerry Rice, but you also see the glaring difference between the celebrities and the pros and it reminds you that as good as you think your golf game is, you suck compared to a tour pro.
Spring Training is a month away. My first round of golf for the year is two months away. Opening Day at Fenway is three months away. Beer at the Beachcomber is five months away, but warm breezes, palm trees swaying and drives splitting fairways are hours away with the click of my remote.
65 days 'till Spring!
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Weekly Weigh In (Week 6)
13 lbs total weight loss since 12/2/07. I have had no problems with dieting or exercise as evidenced by the results. I did have pizza and chicken Saturday night right before the Pats game in anticipation of a trip to the AFC Championship Game. I will continue to eat whatever I want one meal per week until I get down to 200 lbs. You might ask, "where is your friends chart?". Billy hasn't been heard from in almost two weeks. I hope he hasn't gone off the wagon and started gorging himself. As I see it, weigh in is on the Ides of March (March 15) and I should come in at about 200-205 lbs. Billy will be lucky not to gain weight. If your reading this Billy, put down that fork and get into the gym, before you're 10 lbs. heavier and $200 lighter.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Snow Game
This is the sixth anniversary of the game that changed the fortunes of New England football forever. Here is a re-post of my account of that wonderfully, snow-filled evening. It was one of the most watched playoff games of all time, so I know most of you were watching, somewhere. Enjoy, reminisce and drop me a comment about where you were on...
January 19, 2002.
The Snow Game.
The greatest football game in New England football history.
I was there.
The New England Patriots have played bigger games (as of the date of this writing they have played in 5 Super Bowls), they have played in closer games, had games with more controversy (1976 playoffs vs Raiders, sno-blower-gate) and they have played games in worse weather conditions. There has never been a single game in their history that could compare with this games combination of magnitude, atmosphere, suspense and exhilaration.
The Pats had a season that was typical of those since Bob Kraft had bought the team in the early 90's, competitive, hopeful, but missing some unknown key ingredient. The one difference between this team and the others in recent history was that they were peaking. They had earned a home playoff game and in every possible scenario it would be their only home playoff game thus making this game the last game played in the drab, dismal Schaefer... Sullivan...Foxboro Stadium. As horrible as it was a venue, it held a vault of beer soaked memories that could never be replaced by a state of the art stadium. Going to Foxboro Stadium was like going to a football game in the town of Bedrock circa 2500 BC. Touch football in the rock strewn, gravel parking lot. The smell of meat cooking on ridiculously huge grill fires. Drunken fights at 11:00 AM, two hours before kick off. Blood and beer.
The week leading up to the game my buddy Billy and I had been scouring the net for tickets to the game. Billy is a hard drinking , hard living guy who bought his father's roofing business back in the 90's and was my golf partner. He had bought season tickets back when Kraft bought the team, but had sold them recently to a vendor of his. We had gone to lots of games together, but were on a mission from God to go to this game. We wanted to experience one last game like cavemen, drunk, eating meat and watching fights. On Friday afternoon I found some tickets for $200 a piece and immediately called Billy, excitedly. He had already gotten us tickets from a vendor, for free.
Yoo-hoo!!!!
Saturday we got on the road at 11 AM. packed with beer and a crock pot full of meatballs and sausage. The game was an 8PM start, but we had a plan. Drink. Check into our hotel we booked knowing it was going to be a late, drunken evening. Spend the afternoon in Providence drinking. Get on our cold weather gear and head to the game. Things pretty much held to plan.
During our ride down the Mass Pike the snow had already started falling as predicted, but was not yet sticking to the frozen pavement. It wisped back and forth across the road blown around by the speeding cars. We checked into our hotel in Attleboro on Route 1 about 5 miles from the stadium at 1PM. We plugged in the crock pot and hopped back in the car for the 15 minute ride to Providence and its warm, inviting stripper bars. The snow was still light as we made our way into "Club Fantasies". We opted for this joint on the recommendation of the front desk clerk at the hotel over the infamous "Foxy Lady". There is nothing like sitting in a warm, cozy stripper bar with 50+ naked women prancing about while drinking beer and shots of Jaegarmeister as the snow piles up outside. Its like Apres Ski without the Apres or the ski. Billy and I sat at the bar for the most part occasionally heading into "The Pit" (a squared off section next to the main stage) for a $5 sample table dance(an R-rated version of the $25, X-rated, private table dances done upstairs. We had lost time while in the joint and when we walked out sometime after 5 PM it was into "white out" conditions.
It took us 45 minutes to make the 15 minute ride back to the hotel. We put on our "long johns" and waterproof gear, gathered up the meatballs and french bread and headed toward the stadium. My Bonneville handled surprisingly well in the snow and the trip to the stadium went smoothly. We stopped at a liquor store 2 miles from the stadium and Bill went in. He came out with 12 nips of Grand Mariner. We pulled in to the stadium parking lot and there were no discernible parking spaces. The snow was at least 8 inches deep. I had plugged the crock pot into my a/c converter which plugged into my lighter on the way to the stadium from the hotel, so we expected some steamy, hot meatballs to go with our beer. No go. The converter not only shorted the lighter, thus making our meatballs cold, it shorted out half the electrical system including the defroster, heater and inside lights. We sat in the car eating luke warm meatball grinders washed down with ice cold beer. 45 minutes before game time we filled our pockets with beer and nips of Grand Mariner and headed for the gates of the stadium. At the gates there were ticket takers and droves of security. I thought for sure we would have all of our booze confiscated. I handed the ticket taker my ticket and got a token pat down by a disinterested security person. I know he must have felt one of the five beers I carried in in my jacket pocket or one of the six nips I tucked in my socks. I turned to Billy as we headed to our seats in Section 216 and said "I guess Kraft is trying to save money on demo and is hoping someone brings in a bomb". "I'll drink to that" he said as he hoisted a Grand Mariner in a mock toast.
The scene at our seats were something that could not be duplicated by the best of Hollywood's special effects artists. Snow was falling sideways under the dim lights. The grounds crew was walking back and forth over their respective yard line snow blowing the line so you could see the yardage. Players were warming up mainly by running in place or doing jumping jacks as to not get injured before the game even started. A fog was enveloping the stadium caused by the breath of 60,000 strong anticipating the kickoff.
The game developed slowly. The only scoring in the first half was a Raiders touchdown, Gannon to Jett. In the third quarter the Russian born Sebastian Janikowski and the South Dakota born Vinateiri, both seemingly oblivious to the weather, accounted for dueling field goals with Janikowski winning 2 to 1. With the Pats down 13-3 the crowd got restless. Our half of the stadium, on the Pats sideline, spontaneously started chanting "We want Drew" in response to Brady's inefficiency. Drew was warming up on the sideline and seemed to zip the ball a bit stronger as the pleas for his entry became louder.
Then there was the forth quarter.
Brady appeased the masses by driving the ball down field early in the quarter and ran one in cutting the Raiders lead to 3. Miss cues on both sides ensued. With under two minutes to go Brady dropped back to pass and was being tackled when the ball popped loose. The crowed groaned collectively as a Raider pounced on the ball. I started yelling hoarsely, drunkenly "His arm was going forward, they are going to reverse it." I repeated it a number of times while people stood in dead silence or headed sullenly for the exits. Some guy a few rows in front turned around and told me to shut up. Just as I was about to dive over a couple of rows to fulfil the trifecta of booze, meat and blood the ref said the play was being reviewed. I suddenly went from drunk "belligerent" guy to drunk "knows what hes talking about" guy. The call was reversed and everyone was hugging, high 5-ing and kissing like it was New Years Eve. The guy that told me to shut up even gave me a high 5 which I reciprocated as hard as I could.
Brady took advantage of the second chance, but couldn't get us within "chip shot" range which on a night like that would've been inside the ten, if that. He got us to the 30 with just under 30 seconds to go. The snow seemed to pick up in intensity when Vinitieri was lining up the field goal attempt. As the ball lifted off the ground into the falling snow I immediately sunk my head. The trajectory of the kick was way too low to travel 47 yards and I didn't want to see it miss. As I stared at the pile of beer cans and bottles of Grand Mariner, covered with snow, piled at my feet the roaring erupted. The kick carried just enough over the cross bar to tie the game at 13 - 13. Every hair on my body was standing on end. People were falling over their seats. For two straight minutes everyone in the stadium was bouncing in unison, screaming and laughing.
This never happens to us, we never get the breaks.
The ghosts of Ben Dreith, Buckner, Piersall, "The Fridge", Desmond Howard and Bucky Dent who had been lingering over the moment retreated hastily from the joy and ectasy rarley experienced on a January night in New England.
Over time was anti-climactic. We won the coin toss, drove the field and AV made a chip shot right in front of us to win the game. As Lonnie Paxton was making snow angels below the stands were a sea of euphoria. People were screaming, jumping, cackling, hooting, hollering and even crying. I stood there like a lifeless spector not making a noise, but soaking in the sights and sounds of the moment until Billy bear hugged me bringing me back from my daze. No one left their seats for an hour. Every fan stayed there listening to the post game interviews being broadcast over the loudspeakers, drinking smuggled booze and telling tales of this game and games prior. It was like an Irish wake, drunken and raucous, but touching.
We made it back to the Bonneville about 2:30 AM, but didn't get out onto Route 1 until after 3AM. We passed out at our hotel immediately. I woke up at 7 AM to take a piss. As I stood over the bowl, still drunk, I noticed that my right hand was killing me. I inspected it figuring I must have slept on it the wrong way, but the palm was black and blue. I sat on the end of my bed flummoxed, then it hit me. As I walked out of the stadium I high fived at least 1000 people on my journey out of the stadium.
We got on the road by 10 AM. At home I alternated between worlds on my couch while watching the Steelers and Rams win. Every time I closed my eyes I could see the breath rising and the snow falling. It was a mid-winter nights dream.
January 19, 2002.
The Snow Game.
The greatest football game in New England football history.
I was there.
The New England Patriots have played bigger games (as of the date of this writing they have played in 5 Super Bowls), they have played in closer games, had games with more controversy (1976 playoffs vs Raiders, sno-blower-gate) and they have played games in worse weather conditions. There has never been a single game in their history that could compare with this games combination of magnitude, atmosphere, suspense and exhilaration.
The Pats had a season that was typical of those since Bob Kraft had bought the team in the early 90's, competitive, hopeful, but missing some unknown key ingredient. The one difference between this team and the others in recent history was that they were peaking. They had earned a home playoff game and in every possible scenario it would be their only home playoff game thus making this game the last game played in the drab, dismal Schaefer... Sullivan...Foxboro Stadium. As horrible as it was a venue, it held a vault of beer soaked memories that could never be replaced by a state of the art stadium. Going to Foxboro Stadium was like going to a football game in the town of Bedrock circa 2500 BC. Touch football in the rock strewn, gravel parking lot. The smell of meat cooking on ridiculously huge grill fires. Drunken fights at 11:00 AM, two hours before kick off. Blood and beer.
The week leading up to the game my buddy Billy and I had been scouring the net for tickets to the game. Billy is a hard drinking , hard living guy who bought his father's roofing business back in the 90's and was my golf partner. He had bought season tickets back when Kraft bought the team, but had sold them recently to a vendor of his. We had gone to lots of games together, but were on a mission from God to go to this game. We wanted to experience one last game like cavemen, drunk, eating meat and watching fights. On Friday afternoon I found some tickets for $200 a piece and immediately called Billy, excitedly. He had already gotten us tickets from a vendor, for free.
Yoo-hoo!!!!
Saturday we got on the road at 11 AM. packed with beer and a crock pot full of meatballs and sausage. The game was an 8PM start, but we had a plan. Drink. Check into our hotel we booked knowing it was going to be a late, drunken evening. Spend the afternoon in Providence drinking. Get on our cold weather gear and head to the game. Things pretty much held to plan.
During our ride down the Mass Pike the snow had already started falling as predicted, but was not yet sticking to the frozen pavement. It wisped back and forth across the road blown around by the speeding cars. We checked into our hotel in Attleboro on Route 1 about 5 miles from the stadium at 1PM. We plugged in the crock pot and hopped back in the car for the 15 minute ride to Providence and its warm, inviting stripper bars. The snow was still light as we made our way into "Club Fantasies". We opted for this joint on the recommendation of the front desk clerk at the hotel over the infamous "Foxy Lady". There is nothing like sitting in a warm, cozy stripper bar with 50+ naked women prancing about while drinking beer and shots of Jaegarmeister as the snow piles up outside. Its like Apres Ski without the Apres or the ski. Billy and I sat at the bar for the most part occasionally heading into "The Pit" (a squared off section next to the main stage) for a $5 sample table dance(an R-rated version of the $25, X-rated, private table dances done upstairs. We had lost time while in the joint and when we walked out sometime after 5 PM it was into "white out" conditions.
It took us 45 minutes to make the 15 minute ride back to the hotel. We put on our "long johns" and waterproof gear, gathered up the meatballs and french bread and headed toward the stadium. My Bonneville handled surprisingly well in the snow and the trip to the stadium went smoothly. We stopped at a liquor store 2 miles from the stadium and Bill went in. He came out with 12 nips of Grand Mariner. We pulled in to the stadium parking lot and there were no discernible parking spaces. The snow was at least 8 inches deep. I had plugged the crock pot into my a/c converter which plugged into my lighter on the way to the stadium from the hotel, so we expected some steamy, hot meatballs to go with our beer. No go. The converter not only shorted the lighter, thus making our meatballs cold, it shorted out half the electrical system including the defroster, heater and inside lights. We sat in the car eating luke warm meatball grinders washed down with ice cold beer. 45 minutes before game time we filled our pockets with beer and nips of Grand Mariner and headed for the gates of the stadium. At the gates there were ticket takers and droves of security. I thought for sure we would have all of our booze confiscated. I handed the ticket taker my ticket and got a token pat down by a disinterested security person. I know he must have felt one of the five beers I carried in in my jacket pocket or one of the six nips I tucked in my socks. I turned to Billy as we headed to our seats in Section 216 and said "I guess Kraft is trying to save money on demo and is hoping someone brings in a bomb". "I'll drink to that" he said as he hoisted a Grand Mariner in a mock toast.
The scene at our seats were something that could not be duplicated by the best of Hollywood's special effects artists. Snow was falling sideways under the dim lights. The grounds crew was walking back and forth over their respective yard line snow blowing the line so you could see the yardage. Players were warming up mainly by running in place or doing jumping jacks as to not get injured before the game even started. A fog was enveloping the stadium caused by the breath of 60,000 strong anticipating the kickoff.
The game developed slowly. The only scoring in the first half was a Raiders touchdown, Gannon to Jett. In the third quarter the Russian born Sebastian Janikowski and the South Dakota born Vinateiri, both seemingly oblivious to the weather, accounted for dueling field goals with Janikowski winning 2 to 1. With the Pats down 13-3 the crowd got restless. Our half of the stadium, on the Pats sideline, spontaneously started chanting "We want Drew" in response to Brady's inefficiency. Drew was warming up on the sideline and seemed to zip the ball a bit stronger as the pleas for his entry became louder.
Then there was the forth quarter.
Brady appeased the masses by driving the ball down field early in the quarter and ran one in cutting the Raiders lead to 3. Miss cues on both sides ensued. With under two minutes to go Brady dropped back to pass and was being tackled when the ball popped loose. The crowed groaned collectively as a Raider pounced on the ball. I started yelling hoarsely, drunkenly "His arm was going forward, they are going to reverse it." I repeated it a number of times while people stood in dead silence or headed sullenly for the exits. Some guy a few rows in front turned around and told me to shut up. Just as I was about to dive over a couple of rows to fulfil the trifecta of booze, meat and blood the ref said the play was being reviewed. I suddenly went from drunk "belligerent" guy to drunk "knows what hes talking about" guy. The call was reversed and everyone was hugging, high 5-ing and kissing like it was New Years Eve. The guy that told me to shut up even gave me a high 5 which I reciprocated as hard as I could.
Brady took advantage of the second chance, but couldn't get us within "chip shot" range which on a night like that would've been inside the ten, if that. He got us to the 30 with just under 30 seconds to go. The snow seemed to pick up in intensity when Vinitieri was lining up the field goal attempt. As the ball lifted off the ground into the falling snow I immediately sunk my head. The trajectory of the kick was way too low to travel 47 yards and I didn't want to see it miss. As I stared at the pile of beer cans and bottles of Grand Mariner, covered with snow, piled at my feet the roaring erupted. The kick carried just enough over the cross bar to tie the game at 13 - 13. Every hair on my body was standing on end. People were falling over their seats. For two straight minutes everyone in the stadium was bouncing in unison, screaming and laughing.
This never happens to us, we never get the breaks.
The ghosts of Ben Dreith, Buckner, Piersall, "The Fridge", Desmond Howard and Bucky Dent who had been lingering over the moment retreated hastily from the joy and ectasy rarley experienced on a January night in New England.
Over time was anti-climactic. We won the coin toss, drove the field and AV made a chip shot right in front of us to win the game. As Lonnie Paxton was making snow angels below the stands were a sea of euphoria. People were screaming, jumping, cackling, hooting, hollering and even crying. I stood there like a lifeless spector not making a noise, but soaking in the sights and sounds of the moment until Billy bear hugged me bringing me back from my daze. No one left their seats for an hour. Every fan stayed there listening to the post game interviews being broadcast over the loudspeakers, drinking smuggled booze and telling tales of this game and games prior. It was like an Irish wake, drunken and raucous, but touching.
We made it back to the Bonneville about 2:30 AM, but didn't get out onto Route 1 until after 3AM. We passed out at our hotel immediately. I woke up at 7 AM to take a piss. As I stood over the bowl, still drunk, I noticed that my right hand was killing me. I inspected it figuring I must have slept on it the wrong way, but the palm was black and blue. I sat on the end of my bed flummoxed, then it hit me. As I walked out of the stadium I high fived at least 1000 people on my journey out of the stadium.
We got on the road by 10 AM. At home I alternated between worlds on my couch while watching the Steelers and Rams win. Every time I closed my eyes I could see the breath rising and the snow falling. It was a mid-winter nights dream.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Weekly Weigh In (Week 5)
Weekly weigh in was Monday. Down eight pounds to 227.
Last Tuesday I cut out all sugar and high carbohydrate foods in a modified version of the "South Beach Diet". When I've done this in the past, combined with cardio and weights, the pounds start dropping, rapidly. During the two weeks of the holiday I stayed at about 231 lbs, which was amazing considering the amount food and drink I consumed. An 8 lb. weight loss during the first month is more than expected considering Christmas fell smack dab in the middle of the first month. Now that starch and sugar have been gone for a week I estimate by February 1st to be down around 215 lbs.. In a week I'll start adding low glycemic fruits back into my diet as well as low glycemic grains. Last week and the upcoming week is nothing but low fat protein and low glycemic veggies.
My buddy Bill, with whom I have a substantial wager over who will lose more weight by the Ides of March, wants me to post a progress meter for him, next to mine, for comparison. I am thinking a flower motif. Pansies possibly? Tune in next week.
Monday, January 07, 2008
The Rink
I've done some cool things in my life. Played baseball for the Red Sox. Won thousands in Vegas. Had menage a trios with Charlize and Fergie. OK, so I've dreamt about some cool things, but one cool thing I've always dreamt of was having a backyard hockey rink.
My dream is now a reality.
Two winters ago I was sitting in my living room in the dead of winter with my then 2 1/2 year old and 8 month old boys, bored out of my mind. It was too cold to go out to play and we had already exhausted our library of DVD's. To avoid this kind of boredom in winters to come I came up with the perfect solution, a backyard hockey rink. The following winter I started looking into how I would get one started. The problem. It was 70 degrees on January 26th and the chances of making a usable rink and getting enough use for the effort was negligible. I scrapped plans until this year.
Starting in October this year I fired up my search engines and started researching backyard rinks. My first inclination was to buy a kit. There are a variety of kits out there, but most of the online feedback I read was negative. It wasn't cold enough, the ground was uneven, the liner ripped, nothing but problems.
The next option was to build my own rink by going to Home Depot, buying plastic sheets, wood, lights, etc...and building a rink from scratch. Most people's experiences doing it this way were much better, but you still have to deal with mother nature, uneven terrain and equipment failure.
The last option was to wait until the ground was frozen,rock hard and start sprinkling water in an area of the yard until you have a skatable area. This option was the cheapest, but could only work in sub freezing temperatures and lots of man hours.
I did a combination.
After a big snow in mid December I sno-blowed an area 65 feet by 25 feet right down to the grass. I then flooded the area, so all the low spots were filled with ice. After a few days and nights of filling in the low spots I put down plastic, molded it to the snow banks surrounding the snow-blowed area and filled the rink with water. Within three days we were skating.
Temperatures are expected to be above normal during the next week here in New England, but we just got a straight week of skating. We were out on the ice an hour at a time two times per day. On Wednesday my father-in-law (who happens to live next door) brought up a couple of hockey nets he hasn't used in over thirty years. I put one on each end of the rink and we now have our own hockey arena. To my suprise they could still take a slapshot without the net breaking. I put out a flood light so we could skate at night.My four year old son Matt and I were out playing hockey under the stars this past Thursday night at 7 PM. The temperature, -2 degrees fahrenheit. Its easy to play in such cold when the warmth of your house is only steps away.
This rink has been a dream come true and has surpassed any and all expectations. Now if I could only figure out that menage...
Friday, January 04, 2008
"O"
Iowans are ready for a Black president.
Is the rest of the country ready?
Obama now has a bulls eye on his back. Figuratively. Literally.
I am one of a long line of democrats. I live in, as Mitt Romney said on NBC this morning, the "Bluest State" in the country, Massachusetts. I work with the underprivileged at a non-profit human service agency. I benefited from Public Welfare being the child of a single mother. Out of all the candidates running for our presidency I like Obama better than the rest. I am ready for a black president. Most of America is ready for a black president. The small percentage that aren't, are extremely dangerous.
Lincoln
JFK
RFK
MLK
Besides being gunned down in cold blood each of these men were ardent proponents of civil rights and played huge roles in the struggle for racial equality. It is in my liberal, democratic, blue state living, opinion that if the majority of this country's white citizens did not believe that all men were created equal that white people would still own slaves. Black people would not be able to vote, own property, shop, eat and live among us "privileged" whites. The majority of Americans are ready for a Black man to be president. The lunatic fringe isn't.
The presidency holds a certain amount of danger as evidenced by the mountains of security which follows the man. There are always disenfranchised individuals and groups who will make a half-assed attempt at taking out the president due to subliminal messages from a movie (Hinckly) or an attempt at gaining infamy. Obama is in grave danger.
Obama will be President, if he lives that long. He is young, idealistic and fresh, not unlike JFK was in 1960. JFK had to overcome his Irish-Catholic background. Obama has to overcome his skin color. America was ready for change then. America is ready for change now.
If 250 million people are ready for a Black president and one person isn't and that one person has the will and means to be sure that a Black man's only entry into the White House is through the housekeeping entrance, then there won't be a black president.
I am not naive by any stretch of the imagination. There are plenty of people that won't vote for Barack due to his skin color. Racism, sexism and classism is alive and well in this country of ours, but just because someone won't vote for a black candidate doesn't mean that they want that candidate assassinated. There are more than a few of the lunatic fringe that would like to see all black men dead, especially one running for the most hallowed office in the land, President of the United States of America.
Barack has to worry less about Hillary, John, Mitt and Rudy than some racist with a gun bought at WalMart and the will of an Islamic Jihadist. "O" looks too much like a bulls eye. A "B" might be a harder target.
Is the rest of the country ready?
Obama now has a bulls eye on his back. Figuratively. Literally.
I am one of a long line of democrats. I live in, as Mitt Romney said on NBC this morning, the "Bluest State" in the country, Massachusetts. I work with the underprivileged at a non-profit human service agency. I benefited from Public Welfare being the child of a single mother. Out of all the candidates running for our presidency I like Obama better than the rest. I am ready for a black president. Most of America is ready for a black president. The small percentage that aren't, are extremely dangerous.
Lincoln
JFK
RFK
MLK
Besides being gunned down in cold blood each of these men were ardent proponents of civil rights and played huge roles in the struggle for racial equality. It is in my liberal, democratic, blue state living, opinion that if the majority of this country's white citizens did not believe that all men were created equal that white people would still own slaves. Black people would not be able to vote, own property, shop, eat and live among us "privileged" whites. The majority of Americans are ready for a Black man to be president. The lunatic fringe isn't.
The presidency holds a certain amount of danger as evidenced by the mountains of security which follows the man. There are always disenfranchised individuals and groups who will make a half-assed attempt at taking out the president due to subliminal messages from a movie (Hinckly) or an attempt at gaining infamy. Obama is in grave danger.
Obama will be President, if he lives that long. He is young, idealistic and fresh, not unlike JFK was in 1960. JFK had to overcome his Irish-Catholic background. Obama has to overcome his skin color. America was ready for change then. America is ready for change now.
If 250 million people are ready for a Black president and one person isn't and that one person has the will and means to be sure that a Black man's only entry into the White House is through the housekeeping entrance, then there won't be a black president.
I am not naive by any stretch of the imagination. There are plenty of people that won't vote for Barack due to his skin color. Racism, sexism and classism is alive and well in this country of ours, but just because someone won't vote for a black candidate doesn't mean that they want that candidate assassinated. There are more than a few of the lunatic fringe that would like to see all black men dead, especially one running for the most hallowed office in the land, President of the United States of America.
Barack has to worry less about Hillary, John, Mitt and Rudy than some racist with a gun bought at WalMart and the will of an Islamic Jihadist. "O" looks too much like a bulls eye. A "B" might be a harder target.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Back To Normal
The decorations are off the tree and stored away. The mountains of toys which encompassed half of the living room now encompass half of the kids bedroom. The refrigerator actually has room for groceries and is now free of leftover turkey, ham and desserts. Time to get back to normal. We still have the creche lit up in our bay window and it will remain there until January 6th, the "Feast of the Magi", then its off to the basement until December 8th next year (December 8th is the "Feast of the Immaculate Conception").
I enjoy the solitude and slow pace of early winter. To me its a time to recharge the batteries and get things in order for the coming year. This is the time of year when I plan vacations, catch up on work projects and do some home organizing. I look forward to the small increases in light each afternoon. The Celtic, pagan in me responds viscerally to the rhythm of the seasons. Don't get me wrong. I follow the teachings of Christ and think he was a great man. He is the son of God just as we all are the sons and daughters of God. My Celtic, pagan ancestors appeased the Romans by adopting Christ and Roman Catholicism to avoid persecution, while still revelling in their pagan myths and beliefs. I've done the same (to avoid the persecution of my mother, grandmother and the Nuns at my school). I sat through hours of religious studies in Catholic School and hours of praying in church, but am affected more by the increase and decrease of the light as dictated by the tilt of the earth, than the light of God.
Getting back to normal means blogging on a regular basis. I've stepped out of the blogosphere for a bit while tending to the rigors of the holidays, doing some year- end projects up at work and building a skating rink in my backyard (the rink is 65 x 25 and as of this posting is ready to go).
Happy New Year to all and take some time during this quiet time of year to recharge, revitalize and get things back to normal. Embrace your inner pagan.
I enjoy the solitude and slow pace of early winter. To me its a time to recharge the batteries and get things in order for the coming year. This is the time of year when I plan vacations, catch up on work projects and do some home organizing. I look forward to the small increases in light each afternoon. The Celtic, pagan in me responds viscerally to the rhythm of the seasons. Don't get me wrong. I follow the teachings of Christ and think he was a great man. He is the son of God just as we all are the sons and daughters of God. My Celtic, pagan ancestors appeased the Romans by adopting Christ and Roman Catholicism to avoid persecution, while still revelling in their pagan myths and beliefs. I've done the same (to avoid the persecution of my mother, grandmother and the Nuns at my school). I sat through hours of religious studies in Catholic School and hours of praying in church, but am affected more by the increase and decrease of the light as dictated by the tilt of the earth, than the light of God.
Getting back to normal means blogging on a regular basis. I've stepped out of the blogosphere for a bit while tending to the rigors of the holidays, doing some year- end projects up at work and building a skating rink in my backyard (the rink is 65 x 25 and as of this posting is ready to go).
Happy New Year to all and take some time during this quiet time of year to recharge, revitalize and get things back to normal. Embrace your inner pagan.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Holiday Hangover
Here is a sampling of the fare I enjoyed in a three day span from Sunday to Christmas night:
A Turkey Dinner with ALL the Fixin's, A Candy Cane, Hershey Kiss Cookies, Homemade Waffles with Pure Maple Syrup and Bacon, Chocolate-Peanut Butter Cookies, Baked Stuffed Shells with Meatballs and French Bread, Lindt Lindor Truffles, Black Cherry Lambic Beer, Chocolate Coconut Pecan Pie, Lindt Lindor Truffles, Bacon, Ham, Homefries and English Muffins, Lindt Lindor Truffles, A Meatball Grinder on French Bread w/cheese, More Chocolate-Peanut Butter Cookies, A Nestle's Crunch Santa, A Milk Chocolate Santa, A Marshmallow Filled Chocolate Santa, , Baked Ham with Mashed Carrots, Peas and Biscuits, Lindt Lindor Truffles, Coffee with a triple shot of Bailey's Irish Cream, Lemon Lush (a decadent dessert that has a recipe so secret that if I told you it, I'd have to kill you, so don't ask), Lindt Lindor Truffles, More Lemon Lush....
This morning I feel like I just spent the week on a drinking binge in Vegas and my liquor intake was relatively low.
I won't step on a scale 'till after the New Year and a weeks worth of cardio and weights.
Does it seem bright in here or is it just me?
Thursday, December 20, 2007
The Littlest Angel
There are events in life which occur with such resounding force that the shock waves are felt for decades. The ripple effect of these events can be felt by those who where never present or even born when the event occurred. December 14, 1970 is the date of one of those events in my life and that of my family.
Its the day my brother died.
He was 1 month, 26 days old.
Derek was born in mid-October during the brilliance and splendor of Autumn in New England. I remember going to visit my mother and Derek in the hospital the day after he was born. My aunt and I drove over to Saint Margaret's hospital in Dorchester braving a chilly fall rain. As we made our way to the maternity ward we stopped at the gift shop. I begged her to buy a little doll dressed in baby-boy-blue, for my new brother. After what probably seemed like hours of groveling to her, she relented. I can't recall presenting him with my gift, but it became a fixture in his crib, at our home.
A new baby adds spice to a home, sometimes mild and sweet and at other times hot, unbearably hot. My mother was born high strung. If she were in school today she would be diagnosed with ADD, ADHD, PTSD or one of the myriad of other afflictions, abbreviated with letters. The month following Derek's birth was a mish-mash of highs and lows. The tenor of the household mirrored my mother's mood.
I can remember her crying uncontrollably, while smoking at the kitchen table while Derek was lying on the couch, surrounded by pillows.
I can remember sitting with my mother on the front steps of our apartment in Hyde Park. It was a warm Fall day and the trees were shedding their leaves. She allowed me to hold my brother while she watched, tentatively. I remember the smell of crisp fallen leaves while I cradled his tiny head.
I remember my mother and I laughing uncontrollably while I "helped" her change his diaper. He peed all over the two of us.
I remember my father (who was usually no where to be found) and mother fighting loudly, while I rubbed my brothers head while he lay in his crib.
The night of December 13, 1970 was a typical night in my childhood home. My mother downstairs smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. My sisters playing in their room. My brother Mark and I jumping on our beds in our room. Mark and I took Derek out of his crib and put him on my bed. We jumped around him while he lay in the middle. He didn't cry, he just seemed content watching us. We assumed he enjoyed the gentle jostling.
The next few days were a blur.
Who knows what traumas we block out of our minds. If we knew then they wouldn't be blocked, but open for examination. Some memories are best hidden from our consciousness.
I don't remember much about the day my brother died. I recall sadness, grief. I recall standing across the street from my house with the snow lightly falling, telling a schoolmate from my kindergarten class about my brother. I recall my mother promising me that they would bury my gift, the baby-boy-blue doll with him, so he wouldn't be alone. My mother brought me a flower from his funeral. We pressed it in plastic, and put it in an encyclopedia. From then, through my high school years, I would come across it when looking up something beginning with an "S" or a "T" and think of him.
My mother was never the same. From mid-October to December 14th every year until the day she died was torturous. She blamed herself for his death. The morning he died she got him from his crib for his morning feeding. She tried to get him to latch on, but he just wouldn't take her breast. She tried again and noticed that he was cold, motionless. He was gone.
"Crib Death" we were always told. When my mother passed in 1999 we found Derek's death certificate amongst her belongings. Cause of death: acute cardiac failure, emaciation.
Emaciation.
That explained the years of autumnal depression. The years of self loathing and self destruction. I, myself, thought I played a role in his passing. For decades I thought that maybe that night we were jumping on my bed that we hurt him, somehow. It was no ones fault. Our frolicking on the bed had nothing to do with it. My mother gave him everything she had, unfortunately she barely had enough to care for herself. The well had run dry.
Christmas time was always bittersweet. Ghosts of Christmas past were not friendly specters guiding my mother toward redemption, but haunting reminders of inadequacies and failure. Someway, somehow, my mother was able to emotionally detach immediately the day after the anniversary of Derek's death each year and get ready for Christmas. I don't know how she did it, but she was always able to pull off Christmas without her emotions getting in the way of our enjoyment of the holiday. As the years went by her grief became more and more transparent until it got to the point where she was paralyzed by her loss and unable to find any joy in the season
The year Derek died and for many years following, there was a Christmas special on TV titled "The Littlest Angel". It was the story about a boy (played by Johnny Whitaker, Jodie on "Family Affair") who dies and goes to Heaven, but is allowed to go back to earth to get his cherished treasure box, so he may give it as a gift to the Christ child on Christmas. Each Christmas I imagined that Derek was the "littlest angel" and gave his favorite toy, his doll dressed in baby-boy-blue, to baby Jesus.
In August of 1999, when I received the news of my mother's death my thoughts immediately turned to Derek.
I imagined him welcoming my mother into heaven.
I imagined her sense of relief when he forgave her for not having enough to give.
I was comforted by the thought of them being together again.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Weekly Weigh In (week 2)
4 Lbs lost. No big deal. It is due to increased cardio and weight lifting, resulting in water loss, not fat. I have upped all of my weights to 3/4 of the amount I used to lift when I was in great shape a few years back (I am doing 35 Lb one arm curls, sets of ten, I used to do 45 lbs). My cardio workouts have increased in intensity, but have stayed at 30 minutes. I went to the gym 5 days last week. Diet is another story.
I haven't cut out any foods as it would be useless. I went to a Christmas party Saturday night and the Pats game on Sunday. When the holidays are over I'll deal with the food issue, which is always my biggest obstacle to my staying in shape.
Its funny that when I used to go out drinking a few days per week I was in better shape, than now, when my drinking binges are few and far between. I think I used to eat less when I'd go out drinking. Now instead of going out to watch the Sox or Pats at a sports bar I pound down a couple of pounds of boneless chicken wings takeout from the "Hangar" in Amherst or treat myself to a few canolli's and "snickers" cheesecake from La Fiorentina.
I might have to start going out drinking a few nights per week to get back into shape.......NOT! (In my best "Borat" voice)
Next weigh in is Christmas Eve. It will be a moral victory if I can stay at 231.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Learning To Glide
Visions of Bobby Orr flying through the air, parallel to the ice, arms raised in victory, weightless.
This is an image that is ingrained in my mind, as well as every man over the age of 40 who grew up in Boston. Hockey was king in Boston during the early 70's. The Red Sox were mediocre, the Patriots were less than mediocre and the Celtics were rebuilding after dominating the NBA for a decade. The Boston Bruins, founded in 1924, became the first franchise in the NHL hailing from the USA , but hockey always took a backseat to the other major sports. That is until 1966. That was the year Bobby Orr put on the Black and Gold and showed the NHL a brand of hockey that had never been seen before. Mr. Orr's play combined with his teams new found success started a hockey craze in the New England area that lasted for twenty years. In the time of political upheaval and societal changes Orr was a clean cut, hard working kid who embodied many of the ideals that held tight through out the small towns and burbs of the Northeast. Every parent wanted their kid to play hockey. Every kid wanted to be Bobby Orr. Whether it be on the asphalt of the street, outside on the local pond or organized in a rink, every kid played hockey.
I could always skate. I don't remember how I learned or what age I started, but from December to March each year my friends and I would skate wherever there was ice. We would skate on iced over parking lots, backyards flooded by doting parents or at the local MDC rinks. Except when playing hockey in organized leagues, we never wore protective gear. If you fell it was certain you would get a bump, bruise or in the worst case, a concussion. Winter seemed to fly by. We reveled in the cold. We were sad when winter was over and looked forward to the next year when we could see our breath again. Fast forward 30 years.
Times have changed. Kids don't play outside in the winter anymore. The hills and ponds that used to be filled with the sounds of children playing are now eerily silent. Cautious parents and the Internet have made winter a time to embrace our inner mammal and hibernate. I have found myself spending less and less time outdoors as each winter passes. From the warmth of my living room I stare out at the white and cold and recall the sting of the cold air on my cheeks while gliding across the ice. I signed my boy up for skating lessons.
Four weeks ago he strapped on skates for the first time. The first day on the ice was like watching him learn how to walk, but accelerated, times 365. He spent the first five minutes of the hour long class holding on to the boards and the next ten minutes lying on the ice making snow angels, minus the snow. The instructors at the rink have a hands off approach, so until he was ready to learn how to get up he was going to have to be content with crawling and watching. Eventually he tried to get up on his skates. The instructor worked with him for a few minutes showing him how to balance on one knee and push himself up to standing. Once standing he shuffled his feet in order to move then, upon feeling the slightest bit unsteady, would make himself have a "controlled" fall down to the ice, where it was safe. Each time he got up to standing, he shuffled a bit further and a bit further. By the end of class he and the other beginners followed the instructor slowly around the rink like ducklings following their mom.
At one point he broke away from the pack of about twenty kids. He had seen me watching from across the rink and started toward me. He had a huge smile from ear to ear as he moved cautiously over the ice in my direction. When he got about twenty feet from me I had a serious case of deja-vu.
I then remembered a morning in my living room when Matt was just a year old and a new walker. He walked from the foot rest, where he was balancing, to me sitting on the couch, across the living room. As he approached the couch he had a huge smile on his face. He fell into my arms and we laughed and hugged.
When Matt reached the glass and the boards from where I was watching he mouthed something inaudible then started back toward the other end of the rink. As he skated away I was filled with more pride and joy than I 've experianced as a parent to this point. Not because he is going to be the next Bobby Orr, but because he is happy, growing, learning and still seeks me out. I hope he knows that whatever he's doing, where ever he is, I'll be there... watching.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Weekly Weigh In
This is my first weekly weigh in. 235, same as last week.
That's a good thing. This is the first time since August that I haven't seen a weight gain when stepping on the scale. In the comments section of my last post you may have caught the comments by a one Shot-N-Voyzen, who is none other that my buddy Billy Harlow. He has been featured in a few of my posts namely, The Snow Game and Where Were You When. We have been friends (off and on...he, he) since we went on a golf trip to Florida together back in 1996. Back in the winter of 2001 we had a weight loss wager wherein he cheated on the weight he started at, thus appearing to lose more weight than I. We started a new contest yesterday and weighed in at the Northampton Athletic Club where I have been a member since quitting my job at the YMCA 18 years ago. He joined the club recently. I weighed in at 235, he weighed in at 236.
Why are Billy and I friends? I have asked myself that question many a time. We love to golf, we love to drink and most of all we love competition. Minutes before the weigh-in we had a heated game of H O R S E in the basketball court (which I lost). We were partners in our golf league at Beaver Brook for a few years. In the three years we were partners we won the league once, but didn't care about our competitors. Each league night each was intent on beating the other. We would play for money, but mostly for bragging rights while sitting around the bar throwing down some cold and frosties. I'm sure the "weight loss challenge" will be as intense as our previous contests.
Tune in next week.
That's a good thing. This is the first time since August that I haven't seen a weight gain when stepping on the scale. In the comments section of my last post you may have caught the comments by a one Shot-N-Voyzen, who is none other that my buddy Billy Harlow. He has been featured in a few of my posts namely, The Snow Game and Where Were You When. We have been friends (off and on...he, he) since we went on a golf trip to Florida together back in 1996. Back in the winter of 2001 we had a weight loss wager wherein he cheated on the weight he started at, thus appearing to lose more weight than I. We started a new contest yesterday and weighed in at the Northampton Athletic Club where I have been a member since quitting my job at the YMCA 18 years ago. He joined the club recently. I weighed in at 235, he weighed in at 236.
Why are Billy and I friends? I have asked myself that question many a time. We love to golf, we love to drink and most of all we love competition. Minutes before the weigh-in we had a heated game of H O R S E in the basketball court (which I lost). We were partners in our golf league at Beaver Brook for a few years. In the three years we were partners we won the league once, but didn't care about our competitors. Each league night each was intent on beating the other. We would play for money, but mostly for bragging rights while sitting around the bar throwing down some cold and frosties. I'm sure the "weight loss challenge" will be as intense as our previous contests.
Tune in next week.
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