I'm 5' 7" tall and weigh 140 pounds -- after a big meal. I'm in reasonably good shape and talk a good game. I've been in one fight in my life. It was back in Ontario so it must have been third or fourth grade. The biggest kid in my class (I'll just refer to him by his initials -- T.H.) just kept on annoying me. T.H. was the giant of my class. In those days, he seemed to tower at least one foot over all the rest of us. Plus, he was a ginger. Of course, we didn't call them "gingers" back then. I just know that he was a really big, goofy-looking, red-headed kid. And, he just rubbed me the wrong way.
Out on the playground one day, I finally had enough of T.H. I can't even remember what he was doing that pushed me over the edge. I think he just wouldn't shut up. Thinking back, he was probably making fun of my teeth. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I decided to take a swing at him.
The whole fight lasted all of one punch. Luckily, I was the one who threw it. I actually had to jump just a little to make sure I got high enough to hit T.H. in the face. The jump worked and I connected pretty well. T.H. gave me a shocked look, put a hand up to his nose, and then pulled it away to look at his fingers. When he saw the blood, he just turned and walked away. Smart boy.
I never heard anything from anyone about my little playground encounter with T.H. He never tried to get back at me, no teacher said anything, and there was no phone call from an angry parent. T.H. just let it go. I think I know why -- a bunch of other kids had seen our fight. They knew that little Mike had taken a swing at the big kid and the big kid had walked away,beaten. Even though he was only 9 or 10 years old, T.H. knew that there was no sense making a stink over his ill-fated fight with the little guy. He'd lost, after all.
That brings me to Justin Bieber. According to the Google search I just conducted, little Justin is 5'7" and weighs 125 pounds. That's even smaller than me! This past weekend, while out and about without his bodyguards, Justin had a little dust-up with a photographer. Apparently, Justin got the better of the other guy. Wonders never cease, right?
Unfortunately for Justin, the photographer decided to take this episode to the police. Now, if you got in a dust-up with Justin Bieber and he got the best of you, would you even admit it? Or, would you just try to forget it ever happened? I know what I would do. I understand that Justin Bieber has money and that there may be some possibility of a settlement. But, come on -- it's Justin Bieber. Enough said.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Welcome to Hell
Jay had a soccer tournament today. He had games at 8:30AM and 2:30PM and, with the fields over an hour from home, we spent the entire day there. "There" was the Polo Grounds in Poolesville, MD. The "entire day" meant arriving at 7:45AM and departing at 4:30PM.
The Polo Grounds complex is basically a huge expanse that's been mowed and lined to create 8 soccer fields and a couple of parking lots. There's not a single tree on the complex. There's also no running water and no indoor plumbing. That makes the Polo Grounds a not so fun place to be when it's 90 degrees under a blazing sun and you're there for over 8 hours.
While at the Polo Grounds, I had to make two trips to the Port-A-Potty. I tried to keep it to just one but I couldn't do it. The first time it was still mid-morning so things weren't so bad. The second trip, though, came at half-time of the second game. I thought I had entered the gates of hell.
You never know what you're walking into when you open a Port-A-Potty door. I always take a big gulp of fresh air before I open the door. I know it's not going to be enough to allow me to hold my breath the entire time I'm in there, but I still do it. After taking that breath and opening that door, I remind myself that there's no need to look at anything when I'm in there. Just do your business and get out, I say to myself. Easier said than done, right?
Here's a question for you. Why is it always a good 20 degrees warmer inside the Port-A-Potty than it is outside? Can't they do something about that? And, I know they're trying to be helpful with that hand cleansing stuff that comes out of the dispenser. But, what is that stuff? I always use it and immediately end up regretting that I did. It smells wierd, it's sticky, and it leaves a crusty skin on my hands after it dries. Ick.
I am telling you -- there is absolutely nothing worse than a trip to the Port-A-Potty on a 90 degree day. Well, actually there is - being a woman and having to make a trip to the Port-A-Potty. I don't even want to think about it.
As if the two trips to the Port-A-Potty weren't bad enough, I'm sitting here typing this with a ridiculous sunburn that will be turning into a stellar farmer's tan in a couple of days. Nothing screams "idiot" more than a suburbanite with a farmer's tan. Oh, well. That's me.
The Polo Grounds complex is basically a huge expanse that's been mowed and lined to create 8 soccer fields and a couple of parking lots. There's not a single tree on the complex. There's also no running water and no indoor plumbing. That makes the Polo Grounds a not so fun place to be when it's 90 degrees under a blazing sun and you're there for over 8 hours.
While at the Polo Grounds, I had to make two trips to the Port-A-Potty. I tried to keep it to just one but I couldn't do it. The first time it was still mid-morning so things weren't so bad. The second trip, though, came at half-time of the second game. I thought I had entered the gates of hell.
You never know what you're walking into when you open a Port-A-Potty door. I always take a big gulp of fresh air before I open the door. I know it's not going to be enough to allow me to hold my breath the entire time I'm in there, but I still do it. After taking that breath and opening that door, I remind myself that there's no need to look at anything when I'm in there. Just do your business and get out, I say to myself. Easier said than done, right?
Here's a question for you. Why is it always a good 20 degrees warmer inside the Port-A-Potty than it is outside? Can't they do something about that? And, I know they're trying to be helpful with that hand cleansing stuff that comes out of the dispenser. But, what is that stuff? I always use it and immediately end up regretting that I did. It smells wierd, it's sticky, and it leaves a crusty skin on my hands after it dries. Ick.
I am telling you -- there is absolutely nothing worse than a trip to the Port-A-Potty on a 90 degree day. Well, actually there is - being a woman and having to make a trip to the Port-A-Potty. I don't even want to think about it.
As if the two trips to the Port-A-Potty weren't bad enough, I'm sitting here typing this with a ridiculous sunburn that will be turning into a stellar farmer's tan in a couple of days. Nothing screams "idiot" more than a suburbanite with a farmer's tan. Oh, well. That's me.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Another All-Nighter
It's Thursday night, otherwise known as my date night with Michele Kleier. I just finished dinner, cleaned up after myself, and should be all set for an HGTV meeting. Unfortunately, that's not happening tonight. You see, I have a big day tomorrow and I'm not at all prepared. As soon as I'm finished with this, I'm going to be putting in some solid meeting preparation time.
I generally don't stress out over work-related meetings. I actually like them. Today, for example, was a great day. We had a client meeting in the morning and then a sales call with a prospect in the afternoon. Both appointments went very well. I'd spent a modest amount of time getting ready and knew exactly what points I wanted to make and how to make them. That's the way it typically goes. While there's always a bit of the unknown in each of these meetings, I've done so many of them that they're second nature.
Tomorrow's meeting is going to be altogether different. Why? Because, it's a brand new audience for me. I'm spending the morning at an elementary school. In a weak moment, I volunteered to speak at career day at one of our customer's elementary schools. When I said "Yes," I didn't realize that it was going to be a full morning's event, with 25 minutes in front of each grade -- including the kindergarten!
Do you know how hard it's going to be explaining the concept of insurance to kindergartners? I'm freaking out and have no idea where to start. Kim tells me I should come up with an activity of some sort to fill time. I'm thinking that maybe I could have them call the customer service line and count the number of voice response options we're given. Or, better yet, maybe we could place bets on how long it will take before we get to a live person when we say "speak to a representative." That might keep them busy for a while.
Actually, it's probably a good thing that I've got to figure out how to boil down insurance concepts to a level understandable by elementary school students. It will be a good reminder of how complicated we often make things and how greater simplicity in our industry would be a very good thing. Maybe this will be productive, after all.
I generally don't stress out over work-related meetings. I actually like them. Today, for example, was a great day. We had a client meeting in the morning and then a sales call with a prospect in the afternoon. Both appointments went very well. I'd spent a modest amount of time getting ready and knew exactly what points I wanted to make and how to make them. That's the way it typically goes. While there's always a bit of the unknown in each of these meetings, I've done so many of them that they're second nature.
Tomorrow's meeting is going to be altogether different. Why? Because, it's a brand new audience for me. I'm spending the morning at an elementary school. In a weak moment, I volunteered to speak at career day at one of our customer's elementary schools. When I said "Yes," I didn't realize that it was going to be a full morning's event, with 25 minutes in front of each grade -- including the kindergarten!
Do you know how hard it's going to be explaining the concept of insurance to kindergartners? I'm freaking out and have no idea where to start. Kim tells me I should come up with an activity of some sort to fill time. I'm thinking that maybe I could have them call the customer service line and count the number of voice response options we're given. Or, better yet, maybe we could place bets on how long it will take before we get to a live person when we say "speak to a representative." That might keep them busy for a while.
Actually, it's probably a good thing that I've got to figure out how to boil down insurance concepts to a level understandable by elementary school students. It will be a good reminder of how complicated we often make things and how greater simplicity in our industry would be a very good thing. Maybe this will be productive, after all.
Monday, May 21, 2012
That Time of Year
There are a couple of interesting news stories on the top of my Google news feed tonight.
Several times this weekend, I traipsed through the yard, looking with a mixture of anticipation and dread at the lilies. Anticipation, because I love the simple elegance of lilies. Dread, because I know that the deer are going to eat them.
It's inevitable. No matter how many times I spray my lilies with foul-smelling deer repellent (getting just enough on me to make sure Kim can smell it when I get near her) or how many rocks I throw at the deer (admittedly, I throw them half-heartedly), I know that the deer are going to win.
Maybe that's why this isn't really a news story -- everyone already knows the outcome. Who wants to cover that?
- First, there's the drop in Facebook stock on its second day of trading. I don't really understand why this is news. Look out over the next five years and please explain to me how Facebook generates value anywhere near a price-earnings multiple of 75. You don't have an aswer? I'm not surprised.
- Second, there's the news that PSA tests for prostate cancer cause more harm than good. Quite frankly, I'd be more interested in this story if it said that prostate exams cause more harm than good. Maybe that good news will come in the next 12 months.
- Finally, there's the news that the John Edwards jury broke for the day without reaching a verdict. This makes sense to me. I once served on a jury that delayed notifying the judge of its verdict by one hour. Why? Not because we wanted to review the facts one last time and be certain we'd reached the proper verdict. No, that would have been the right thing to do. Instead, we delayed delivering the verdict because we'd been told that, if our deliberations continued past 5PM, the county would bring in dinner for us. After having sat through a 3-day attempted murder trial, we all felt that we'd earned that dinner.
Several times this weekend, I traipsed through the yard, looking with a mixture of anticipation and dread at the lilies. Anticipation, because I love the simple elegance of lilies. Dread, because I know that the deer are going to eat them.
It's inevitable. No matter how many times I spray my lilies with foul-smelling deer repellent (getting just enough on me to make sure Kim can smell it when I get near her) or how many rocks I throw at the deer (admittedly, I throw them half-heartedly), I know that the deer are going to win.
Maybe that's why this isn't really a news story -- everyone already knows the outcome. Who wants to cover that?
Saturday, May 19, 2012
The Royal Family
Last night, we all went to sleep as simple commoners. This morning, we woke up as members of the royal family! What a wonderful little turn of events. Thanks, Nick.
While the King was at work tonight, the rest of us couldn't help but try out his new crown. Don't we look great?
While the King was at work tonight, the rest of us couldn't help but try out his new crown. Don't we look great?
The King Mother
The Proud Papa
Princess Buttercup
The Chip Off the Old Block
The King's Best Friend
Friday, May 18, 2012
Yard Sale
There's a cemetery on Route 108 in Clarksville, just east of River Hill High School. I don't usually notice it when I drive by. The entrance is modest and set back from the road a bit. When you're driving by, you really have to almost be looking for the graveyard to even realize it's there. Up until today, that is.
You see, when I drove by the cemetery late this afternon, there was a big sign in front of it. It looked to be about 5 feet by 7 feet, with a bright red background, and large white block letters. The message on it was simple and to the point. Staring out at the passing traffic were three short words -- "Memorial Day Sale."
When I first saw the sign, it took me a moment to realize what they were selling. At first, I thought that some slightly twisted community group may have rented out the space to hold a yard sale. But, I didn't see any stalls set up. There was nothing other than the sign. That's when I realized that they were just selling grave plots -- at bargain basement prices, no less.
I understand that planning for the end is a necessary part of life. We're all going to die. I get that. Just a few days ago, in fact, I announced to the family that I plan to die exactly at age 74. That just seems like a good age. It's old enough that I'm guessing I'll have accomplished the vast majority of my life goals (yes, I do have some) but young enough that my body should still be in reasonably good shape and won't yet require any artifical ingredients or parts.
So, I get that I'll need to make my final arrangements at some point. But, knowing that there's a sale taking place isn't going to get me to make those arrangements any sooner.
What I'm really curious about is knowing who will see that sign and think "This is exactly what I've been waiting for -- a sale." I'm very tempted to hang out over at the cemetery tomorrow just to see who stops by. Aren't you?
You see, when I drove by the cemetery late this afternon, there was a big sign in front of it. It looked to be about 5 feet by 7 feet, with a bright red background, and large white block letters. The message on it was simple and to the point. Staring out at the passing traffic were three short words -- "Memorial Day Sale."
When I first saw the sign, it took me a moment to realize what they were selling. At first, I thought that some slightly twisted community group may have rented out the space to hold a yard sale. But, I didn't see any stalls set up. There was nothing other than the sign. That's when I realized that they were just selling grave plots -- at bargain basement prices, no less.
I understand that planning for the end is a necessary part of life. We're all going to die. I get that. Just a few days ago, in fact, I announced to the family that I plan to die exactly at age 74. That just seems like a good age. It's old enough that I'm guessing I'll have accomplished the vast majority of my life goals (yes, I do have some) but young enough that my body should still be in reasonably good shape and won't yet require any artifical ingredients or parts.
So, I get that I'll need to make my final arrangements at some point. But, knowing that there's a sale taking place isn't going to get me to make those arrangements any sooner.
What I'm really curious about is knowing who will see that sign and think "This is exactly what I've been waiting for -- a sale." I'm very tempted to hang out over at the cemetery tomorrow just to see who stops by. Aren't you?
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Gut Check
Last night, I had a nice dinner of pasta with meatballs, garlic bread, and green beans. After doing the dishes, I topped off my dinner with a reasonbly-sized slice of apple pie. It was 7:15PM and I was pretty full. All should have been good in my world.
For years and years, after finishing dinner, I would head straight upstairs to brush and floss. Lately, though, it's been harder to do that. It's not because I'm turning my back on proper dental care. No, it's because I'm having a harder time heading to bed without first having my potato chip fix.
I love potato chips. I don't usually eat them for lunch, though. I prefer to eat them standing up, in the kitchen, between 8PM and 9PM, straight out of the bag. That's where I found myself again last night. I turned on the little TV next to the sink, tuned into the Rangers - Devils game, and opened up a bag of sour cream and cheddar chips -- my absolute favorite. This wasn't a snack size bag; those are a waste of time. Instead, I grabbed the 10 ounce family size. That's my go-to bag. I like it because it's big enough to be satisfying while being too big to get through in a single effort. That makes me feel good because it convinces me that I've exercised restraint.
So, there I stood, taking out one chip after another and plopping them in my mouth. After about 2 minutes, I was full. But, I couldn't stop. Oh, no. After all, once you have all that orange stuff on your fingers, you might as well keep on going, right? After another 2 minutes, I took a brief rest, looking inside the bag to see how much progress I'd made. Based on what I saw left inside, I figured I had another minute or two to go to reach my goal of finishing half the bag. So, I kept on plugging along. Finally, I was done. Well, sort of done. You see, I have this OCD thing with my chips in that, before I put the bag away for good, I need to wash my hands. Then, after my hands are clean, I reach into the bag one last time and pull out a single chip between my thumb and my pointer finger. I eat that last chip, inspect the guilty fingers to make sure that they don't need to be washed again (they never do), and then seal up the bag. Then, I put the bag back in the pantry and vow not to repeat the exercise the next night. I completed my ritual and put the bag back on the shelf.
This nighttime potato chip eating is a horrible habit, one that I need to change. I know I'm blessed with high metabolism so no one can tell just by looking at me that I'm a potato chip addict. But, I know my secret and it doesn't feel good.
I've told myself that I'm going to be strong tonight. But, I can't really trust myself to make the right decision. Since Jay has soccer practice from 6:30PM - 8PM, I've decided to drive him there, hang out, and hold off on dinner until I get home. That may be the only way I'll be able to skip the tempation of the chip bag this evening. Yes, I'll be hungry and irritable while I'm waiting to drive Jay home. Oh, well. What else is new?
For years and years, after finishing dinner, I would head straight upstairs to brush and floss. Lately, though, it's been harder to do that. It's not because I'm turning my back on proper dental care. No, it's because I'm having a harder time heading to bed without first having my potato chip fix.
I love potato chips. I don't usually eat them for lunch, though. I prefer to eat them standing up, in the kitchen, between 8PM and 9PM, straight out of the bag. That's where I found myself again last night. I turned on the little TV next to the sink, tuned into the Rangers - Devils game, and opened up a bag of sour cream and cheddar chips -- my absolute favorite. This wasn't a snack size bag; those are a waste of time. Instead, I grabbed the 10 ounce family size. That's my go-to bag. I like it because it's big enough to be satisfying while being too big to get through in a single effort. That makes me feel good because it convinces me that I've exercised restraint.
So, there I stood, taking out one chip after another and plopping them in my mouth. After about 2 minutes, I was full. But, I couldn't stop. Oh, no. After all, once you have all that orange stuff on your fingers, you might as well keep on going, right? After another 2 minutes, I took a brief rest, looking inside the bag to see how much progress I'd made. Based on what I saw left inside, I figured I had another minute or two to go to reach my goal of finishing half the bag. So, I kept on plugging along. Finally, I was done. Well, sort of done. You see, I have this OCD thing with my chips in that, before I put the bag away for good, I need to wash my hands. Then, after my hands are clean, I reach into the bag one last time and pull out a single chip between my thumb and my pointer finger. I eat that last chip, inspect the guilty fingers to make sure that they don't need to be washed again (they never do), and then seal up the bag. Then, I put the bag back in the pantry and vow not to repeat the exercise the next night. I completed my ritual and put the bag back on the shelf.
This nighttime potato chip eating is a horrible habit, one that I need to change. I know I'm blessed with high metabolism so no one can tell just by looking at me that I'm a potato chip addict. But, I know my secret and it doesn't feel good.
I've told myself that I'm going to be strong tonight. But, I can't really trust myself to make the right decision. Since Jay has soccer practice from 6:30PM - 8PM, I've decided to drive him there, hang out, and hold off on dinner until I get home. That may be the only way I'll be able to skip the tempation of the chip bag this evening. Yes, I'll be hungry and irritable while I'm waiting to drive Jay home. Oh, well. What else is new?
Sunday, May 13, 2012
The Rites of Spring
Nick is passionate about his sports teams. His love of the Ravens, Penn State football, and Syracuse basketball is over-the-top. With those three teams, his schedule is pretty full from September through March.
The problem for Nick is that he has little to do from April through August. That's prime time for the NBA playoffs, the Stanley Cup playoffs, and major league baseball. Everyone knows that the NBA is off-limits in our house. That leaves the Orioles and the Capitals.
Nick has tried hard his entire life to be a fan of the Capitals and Orioles. Each spring, he dutifully tunes in to MASN and the Comcast Sports Network, hoping against hope that this will be the year that the Orioles actually become competitive and that the Capitals make it to the Stanley Cup championship.
Both teams are notorious for teasing their fans in April. The Orioles, in particular, seem to get off to a good start each year, even if it's just for the first 8-10 games. During that time, Nick has a good time taunting me, asking me if I've checked the American League East standings lately to see how the Yankees are doing. I ignore him til the end of April. Then, when the Orioles are in the midst of a typical late-April swoon, I start to ask Nick why he's no longer watching the O's games on MASN. He does his best to ignore me. But, I don't think Nick's watched an Orioles game in the month of May or later in the last 10 years. That's how bad they've been.
Something's different this year. Here we are, in the middle of May. We're 34 games into the season and the Orioles have a two game lead in the standings. In fact, they're tied for the best record in the American League. They may just be for real this year. It's got me a bit nervous.
Luckily, we've still got the Capitals. Like me, Nick only watches hockey during the playoffs. This year, he (along with Hannah, quite surprisingly) has watched each Capitals game religiously. This past series, as the Capitals battled the Rangers, I did my best not to watch the games with Nick. He was having so much fun watching the Capitals fight to advance to the conference finals. I couldn't bring myself to sit down and do battle with him.
Last night, after watching the first period of Game 7 and seeing the Rangers take an early lead, I went outside, lit a fire, and watched the stars come out. I could tell what was happening in the game by listening to the shouts from inside. At one point, I heard a big "Ooohhh" of anticipation quickly followed by an "Ughhh." Knowing that meant that the Capitals must have failed on another scoring opportunity, I settled back into my chair and continued relaxing.
Finally, after an hour outside, I headed in to watch the end of the game (upstairs, away from Nick and Hannah). Thankfully, the Rangers held on to win. Once again, the Capitals had managed to tease their fans only to fail.
This morning, Nick doesn't seem too upset at all. Like most Capitals fans, deep down, he probably expected them to lose. That's just what they do, right? I actually think that he's not down because he really does believe that this is the Orioles' year. You know what? I hope that he's right. He deserves it.
The problem for Nick is that he has little to do from April through August. That's prime time for the NBA playoffs, the Stanley Cup playoffs, and major league baseball. Everyone knows that the NBA is off-limits in our house. That leaves the Orioles and the Capitals.
Nick has tried hard his entire life to be a fan of the Capitals and Orioles. Each spring, he dutifully tunes in to MASN and the Comcast Sports Network, hoping against hope that this will be the year that the Orioles actually become competitive and that the Capitals make it to the Stanley Cup championship.
Both teams are notorious for teasing their fans in April. The Orioles, in particular, seem to get off to a good start each year, even if it's just for the first 8-10 games. During that time, Nick has a good time taunting me, asking me if I've checked the American League East standings lately to see how the Yankees are doing. I ignore him til the end of April. Then, when the Orioles are in the midst of a typical late-April swoon, I start to ask Nick why he's no longer watching the O's games on MASN. He does his best to ignore me. But, I don't think Nick's watched an Orioles game in the month of May or later in the last 10 years. That's how bad they've been.
Something's different this year. Here we are, in the middle of May. We're 34 games into the season and the Orioles have a two game lead in the standings. In fact, they're tied for the best record in the American League. They may just be for real this year. It's got me a bit nervous.
Luckily, we've still got the Capitals. Like me, Nick only watches hockey during the playoffs. This year, he (along with Hannah, quite surprisingly) has watched each Capitals game religiously. This past series, as the Capitals battled the Rangers, I did my best not to watch the games with Nick. He was having so much fun watching the Capitals fight to advance to the conference finals. I couldn't bring myself to sit down and do battle with him.
Last night, after watching the first period of Game 7 and seeing the Rangers take an early lead, I went outside, lit a fire, and watched the stars come out. I could tell what was happening in the game by listening to the shouts from inside. At one point, I heard a big "Ooohhh" of anticipation quickly followed by an "Ughhh." Knowing that meant that the Capitals must have failed on another scoring opportunity, I settled back into my chair and continued relaxing.
Finally, after an hour outside, I headed in to watch the end of the game (upstairs, away from Nick and Hannah). Thankfully, the Rangers held on to win. Once again, the Capitals had managed to tease their fans only to fail.
This morning, Nick doesn't seem too upset at all. Like most Capitals fans, deep down, he probably expected them to lose. That's just what they do, right? I actually think that he's not down because he really does believe that this is the Orioles' year. You know what? I hope that he's right. He deserves it.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Poor Mitt
When I first saw the headline in the Washington Post this morning about Mitt Romney's days as a high school bully, I actually thought it was a joke. After all, the story was entitled "Mitt Romney's classmates recall pranks, but also troubling incidents." I'm not one to believe there's a liberal media bias but I saw that headline and thought that the Post was really scrambling to come up with some mud on the Republican nominee-to-be. The Post is a reputable paper. Would they really stoop so low? Then I read the story.
I have to say that I'm surprised that Mitt was a high school bully. To be honest, I didn't think he had it in him. He just seems so bland, always taking such great pains to not offend anyone. Could Mitt Romney really have been the leader of a gang of kids who tackled a fellow classmate and held him down so that Mitt could cut off that classmate's "offensive" bleached hair with a pair of scissors? That just seems so extreme for plain vanilla Mitt.
If you've sat at the dinner table with me over the past few years, as we've talked about the seemingly constant campaigns to "eradicate" bullying in the local public school system, you know what my position on the issue is. It may be unpleasant but I think it's also human nature for young people to pick on one another. When you're an adolescent, one of the most important things to you is your place on the social pecking order. No matter where you are on that pecking order, it's always very important to have at least one other person below you. Sometimes, the only way you can think of to make sure that happens is to take steps to actively put that other person below you. I did it. I'm not proud of it, but I did it. I never used scissors, though.
What's even worse than the fact that Mitt carried (or "allegedly" carried) out his attack with scissors is his attempt at an apology. Here's what he said in response to the story:
I have to say that I'm surprised that Mitt was a high school bully. To be honest, I didn't think he had it in him. He just seems so bland, always taking such great pains to not offend anyone. Could Mitt Romney really have been the leader of a gang of kids who tackled a fellow classmate and held him down so that Mitt could cut off that classmate's "offensive" bleached hair with a pair of scissors? That just seems so extreme for plain vanilla Mitt.
If you've sat at the dinner table with me over the past few years, as we've talked about the seemingly constant campaigns to "eradicate" bullying in the local public school system, you know what my position on the issue is. It may be unpleasant but I think it's also human nature for young people to pick on one another. When you're an adolescent, one of the most important things to you is your place on the social pecking order. No matter where you are on that pecking order, it's always very important to have at least one other person below you. Sometimes, the only way you can think of to make sure that happens is to take steps to actively put that other person below you. I did it. I'm not proud of it, but I did it. I never used scissors, though.
What's even worse than the fact that Mitt carried (or "allegedly" carried) out his attack with scissors is his attempt at an apology. Here's what he said in response to the story:
"Back in high school, you know, I did some dumb things, and if anybody was hurt by that or offended, obviously, I apologize for that."
Mitt, let me give you a free lesson from my own bully pulpit. That's not an apology. An apology is saying that you're sorry for an action that you took (or didn't take). It's not saying that you're sorry only "... if someone was offended ..." by what you said or did.
Mitt, let me give you a free lesson from my own bully pulpit. That's not an apology. An apology is saying that you're sorry for an action that you took (or didn't take). It's not saying that you're sorry only "... if someone was offended ..." by what you said or did.
One final thing. Mitt, you're 65 years old. You're running for President of the United States. I'm going to assume that you've still got your full mental capacities. If you were involved in an incident like the scissors incident cited in the news story, you'd either clearly remember it or be absolutely certain that it never happened. There's no middle ground.
OK, I'm getting off my high horse to go listen to One Direction.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Advance Planning
Mother's Day is this Sunday. Earlier this week, I got the bright idea that I should plan ahead and ask Kim what she would like to do to celebrate. Thinking ahead about this sort of thing is actually quite an accomplishment for me. I must admit that I was quite proud of myself.
When I asked the question, I was secretly hoping that Kim would say that what she really would like to do is sit and watch final round coverage of The Player's Championship with me. No such luck. Instead, she wanted to go out to eat. She asked for a late brunch on Sunday, preferably somewhere with outside seating and mussels on the menu. Unfortunately, that eliminated Pudgie's.
In addition to meeting Kim's criteria, I wanted to find a place that would be relatively comfortable for the kids. This is supposed to be a celebration, after all. I don't need any grumpy children spoiling the mood.
You may think that it wouldn't be that hard to find the right place. If so, you must not live in Howard County. We have lousy dining options out here. For most of the time we've lived here, "fine dining" in Howard County consisted of TGI Friday's, Bertucci's, The Olive Garden, and Bob Evans. In the past few years, we've had a couple of new entrants to the fray. They're real restaurants, with creative chefs and food that's actually pretty darn good. But, they're located in small strip malls and their outdoor dining areas provide unencumbered views of parking lots. That's not really what I had in mind.
After an hour of searching the web, reviewing my favorite local foodie blog (www.howchow.blogspot.com), making phone calls, and attempting to make reservations through Open Table, I had gotten nowhere. So, I gave up on the brunch idea and switched to dinner. After another hour, I had to give up on that, too. It was time for bed and I was tired. So much for advance planning. There was going to be no going out for Mother's Day.
Don't despair entirely, though. We're going out for dinner on Friday night to celebrate. I found a new place for us to try in Frederick. It has outside dining and mussels on the menu (although only as an appetizer). Hopefully, Kim will enjoy it. If not, I'll make it up to her with take-out pizza on Sunday.
When I asked the question, I was secretly hoping that Kim would say that what she really would like to do is sit and watch final round coverage of The Player's Championship with me. No such luck. Instead, she wanted to go out to eat. She asked for a late brunch on Sunday, preferably somewhere with outside seating and mussels on the menu. Unfortunately, that eliminated Pudgie's.
In addition to meeting Kim's criteria, I wanted to find a place that would be relatively comfortable for the kids. This is supposed to be a celebration, after all. I don't need any grumpy children spoiling the mood.
You may think that it wouldn't be that hard to find the right place. If so, you must not live in Howard County. We have lousy dining options out here. For most of the time we've lived here, "fine dining" in Howard County consisted of TGI Friday's, Bertucci's, The Olive Garden, and Bob Evans. In the past few years, we've had a couple of new entrants to the fray. They're real restaurants, with creative chefs and food that's actually pretty darn good. But, they're located in small strip malls and their outdoor dining areas provide unencumbered views of parking lots. That's not really what I had in mind.
After an hour of searching the web, reviewing my favorite local foodie blog (www.howchow.blogspot.com), making phone calls, and attempting to make reservations through Open Table, I had gotten nowhere. So, I gave up on the brunch idea and switched to dinner. After another hour, I had to give up on that, too. It was time for bed and I was tired. So much for advance planning. There was going to be no going out for Mother's Day.
Don't despair entirely, though. We're going out for dinner on Friday night to celebrate. I found a new place for us to try in Frederick. It has outside dining and mussels on the menu (although only as an appetizer). Hopefully, Kim will enjoy it. If not, I'll make it up to her with take-out pizza on Sunday.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Thank God for Boy Bands
Sometimes, I sit down in front of the computer with no idea what I'm going to post about that day. Today, wasn't one of those days. I've had a ton of ideas kicking around all day. Here are some of them:
It started with Hanson's "MMMbop" back in 1997. Classic. Then, it continued the very next year with The Backstreet Boys "I Want it That Way" (which is on my iPod and gets its fair share of plays, thank you very much). It's been a long 14 years since then. Now, I've finally got another sugary sweet nugget stuck in my head. Thank you, One Direction.
"What Makes You Beautiful" has been on repeat in my head all day. There's no stopping it. It's almost perfect. Let's see. First, there's the familiar riff from the Grease classic "Summer Lovin" that kicks off the song. Then, there's the oh, so clever way they turn the word "door" into "doh-oh-or" (which is topped only by the way they then turn "enough" into "enu-u-uf" just two lines later). Finally, there's that chorus. Yes, it's derivative of any upbeat Backstreet Boys chorus. But, does that make it bad? Of course not. By the way, I haven't even mentioned the awesome "Nah-na-na-nah-na-na-nah-na-na-na" part yet.
Anyway, I'm in love. There's only one thing that can save me from myself: "Call Me Maybe."
- Is it ever really OK to use the powder room in your own house or is it just there for show? In case you're wondering, the answer is a clear and resounding "No." Unless, that is, you're me. I get a pass.
- Did they build the Intercounty Connector to relieve traffic on the Beltway or is its real purpose to serve as a speed trap for the State Police? Almost every time I've been on that road since it opened, I've seen a cop with someone pulled over. That includes today. So, I've determined that the answer to this question is "Yes."
- Will the defeat of Sarkozy in France's election yesterday mean more turmoil for the global markets? Seriously, I had that discussion in my head today. One very certain outcome of the election is that I'm sure it made all of my "Huelga! Huelga! Huelga general!" friends in Madrid very happy.
- Will it be a good idea or a bad idea to complain that our new family room couch isn't nearly as comfortable as our old one when it comes to lying on the floor and propping my head up against it to watch TV? I'm pretty sure I know the answer to that one.
It started with Hanson's "MMMbop" back in 1997. Classic. Then, it continued the very next year with The Backstreet Boys "I Want it That Way" (which is on my iPod and gets its fair share of plays, thank you very much). It's been a long 14 years since then. Now, I've finally got another sugary sweet nugget stuck in my head. Thank you, One Direction.
"What Makes You Beautiful" has been on repeat in my head all day. There's no stopping it. It's almost perfect. Let's see. First, there's the familiar riff from the Grease classic "Summer Lovin" that kicks off the song. Then, there's the oh, so clever way they turn the word "door" into "doh-oh-or" (which is topped only by the way they then turn "enough" into "enu-u-uf" just two lines later). Finally, there's that chorus. Yes, it's derivative of any upbeat Backstreet Boys chorus. But, does that make it bad? Of course not. By the way, I haven't even mentioned the awesome "Nah-na-na-nah-na-na-nah-na-na-na" part yet.
Anyway, I'm in love. There's only one thing that can save me from myself: "Call Me Maybe."
Sunday, May 6, 2012
The Future
Friday, we picked Hannah up from school. She's now halfway through college. In August, we'll drive her back to start her junior year. When we do, we'll have Nick along for the ride as he'll be joining her. That will leave Kim and me home alone with Jay.
As the kids continue to get older, I find myself thinking more and more about what we're going to do once they're all gone. More specifically, I find myself asking what we're going to do with this big house once they're gone.
This house has been great over the past 11 years. It's bright, airy, and plenty big. In fact, it has entire rooms that I barely have time to visit. The yard is large and private. The only thing it's lacking is an outside shower. And, it's got great neighbors who like to have a good time and have plenty of patience with barking dogs.
The problem I see with this house once the kids are gone is precisely that -- the kids will be gone. I'm certain we're not going to need five bedrooms for just the two of us. I know we're not going to want to be out in the boondocks. The boondocks were fine for the schools and long weekend runs. But, as I get older, I realize that being in the boondocks means I'm too far away from the things that my nearly AARP-eligible self really wants:
As the kids continue to get older, I find myself thinking more and more about what we're going to do once they're all gone. More specifically, I find myself asking what we're going to do with this big house once they're gone.
This house has been great over the past 11 years. It's bright, airy, and plenty big. In fact, it has entire rooms that I barely have time to visit. The yard is large and private. The only thing it's lacking is an outside shower. And, it's got great neighbors who like to have a good time and have plenty of patience with barking dogs.
The problem I see with this house once the kids are gone is precisely that -- the kids will be gone. I'm certain we're not going to need five bedrooms for just the two of us. I know we're not going to want to be out in the boondocks. The boondocks were fine for the schools and long weekend runs. But, as I get older, I realize that being in the boondocks means I'm too far away from the things that my nearly AARP-eligible self really wants:
- Sidewalks. My knees are going to have to transition to walking pretty soon. That's not really a great option out here where there's no such thing as a road with shoulders. I need an old-fashioned neighborhood, with a grid layout, and plenty of options for my old-person exploring.
- Good restaurants. Over the past few years, we've seen a couple of options open up within 15 minutes. But, when I'm starting to include Ruby Tuesday in that group, I get worried.
- Cozy rooms. All these new houses out in the boondocks are plenty nice, with all the latest features. But, they're not cozy. When I'm old, I want a house with small rooms, plenty of built-in's, a couple of fireplaces, and floors that creak (I'm going to need something to complain about, right?).
Friday, May 4, 2012
Turnaround is Fair Play
Yesterday, while eating my lunch at my desk, I decided to take a quick break from the barrage of e-mails and IM's. I headed over to www.cnn.com to get the latest headlines.
The story that jumped out at me wasn't the latest on Chen Guangcheng (the blind Chinese dissident) or the continuing saga of Patricia Krentcil (the horrifically tanned New Jersey mother). Nope. What caught my eye was the news about Terrell Suggs tearing his ACL.
Right away, I knew I needed to share this news with Nick. Figuring that he'd have his cell phone on in school, I quickly shot him a text to let him know that the Ravens were officially done for the year. Sure enough, Nick's cell phone was on in journalism class and he immediately responded to me. Unfortunately, Nick wasn't nearly as upset by the news as I thought he'd be. Usually, any sort of bad news about the Ravens sends him into a tailspin. Not this time. He just said "Good thing we drafted Courtney Upshaw" and left it at that. I must admit -- Nick's failure to get all upset about Terrell's ACL tear was a bit of a bummer for me. I love to be the bearer of bad Ravens news.
God must have decided to teach me a lesson about taking joy from the misfortune of others. That's the only way I can explain Mariano Rivera tearing his ACL last night while trying to catch a fly ball during batting practice.
As a Yankees fan, I've always admired Rivera. He's been a rock for over 15 years. Despite being the best at his job, he's never had an ego. I never remember him being in the midst of a contentious contract negotiation or being at the center of any sort of controversy. He does his job, minds his own business, doesn't overreact to a poor performance, and handles the pressure of his job. He's been great.
I have to admit that the way he got hurt was a bit comical. It's never seemed to me that baseball requires those who play it to be great athletes. Seeing Mariano clumsily fall to the ground while pivoting to catch a lazy fly ball kind of proves that for me. It actually reminded me of the couple of tumbles some of the old guys on the street (including me) had last fall in the annual touch football game we have with the boys. Like Mariano, we forgot that we were 40+ years old. We still thought we had the ability to twist and turn like we used to when we were kids, making the "great" plays we used to make in our backyards. But, that's just not the case -- not for me and, unfortunately, not for Mariano.
The story that jumped out at me wasn't the latest on Chen Guangcheng (the blind Chinese dissident) or the continuing saga of Patricia Krentcil (the horrifically tanned New Jersey mother). Nope. What caught my eye was the news about Terrell Suggs tearing his ACL.
Right away, I knew I needed to share this news with Nick. Figuring that he'd have his cell phone on in school, I quickly shot him a text to let him know that the Ravens were officially done for the year. Sure enough, Nick's cell phone was on in journalism class and he immediately responded to me. Unfortunately, Nick wasn't nearly as upset by the news as I thought he'd be. Usually, any sort of bad news about the Ravens sends him into a tailspin. Not this time. He just said "Good thing we drafted Courtney Upshaw" and left it at that. I must admit -- Nick's failure to get all upset about Terrell's ACL tear was a bit of a bummer for me. I love to be the bearer of bad Ravens news.
God must have decided to teach me a lesson about taking joy from the misfortune of others. That's the only way I can explain Mariano Rivera tearing his ACL last night while trying to catch a fly ball during batting practice.
As a Yankees fan, I've always admired Rivera. He's been a rock for over 15 years. Despite being the best at his job, he's never had an ego. I never remember him being in the midst of a contentious contract negotiation or being at the center of any sort of controversy. He does his job, minds his own business, doesn't overreact to a poor performance, and handles the pressure of his job. He's been great.
I have to admit that the way he got hurt was a bit comical. It's never seemed to me that baseball requires those who play it to be great athletes. Seeing Mariano clumsily fall to the ground while pivoting to catch a lazy fly ball kind of proves that for me. It actually reminded me of the couple of tumbles some of the old guys on the street (including me) had last fall in the annual touch football game we have with the boys. Like Mariano, we forgot that we were 40+ years old. We still thought we had the ability to twist and turn like we used to when we were kids, making the "great" plays we used to make in our backyards. But, that's just not the case -- not for me and, unfortunately, not for Mariano.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
The Handyman's Tale
Last night, Nick and I were moving couches from the family room down to the basement. That's a pretty straightforward household chore that should have gone down pretty uneventfully, right? Tell that to my thumb, which is now on its eighth Band-Aid in the past 22 hours. Somehow, while carrying the second couch, I managed to strip off a one-half inch strip of skin at the base of my left thumb. It's been oozing blood and clear liquid ever since. Hence the need for so many replacement Band-Aids.
As if the cut wasn't bad enough, while moving the couches, I noticed a burned-out floodlight at the rear of our roof line, high above the patio. In over 11 years of living here, I've been waiting for one of those floodlights to burn itself out. Now, it had happened. I made a note to myself to change it this evening.
Tonight, after getting home and changing out of my work clothes, I went into the bathroom. I went to the window, raised it, and removed the screen. I noticed that the lightbulb wasn't just burned out; something had dislodged the glass bulb from the screw cap. It was hanging by a thin wire. This wasn't going to be a simple change.
Soon, I found myself hanging out the bathroom window, a good 20 feet above the patio. I was kind of perched with one knee on the windowsill and my upper body dangling in the air. I had a pair of needle-nose pliers in one hand and was hanging on for dear life with the other. "Good Lord," I thought. "How come every little chore becomes such a big deal for me?"
That's when my own little light bulb went off in my head. Instead of raising the bottom half of the window and hanging my butt out to dry in the danger zone, why not lower the top half of the window and stand securely inside the bathroom while fixing the bulb? Eureka! That was it. What a simple job it turned out to be.
I have to wonder why the easy approach didn't occur to me initially. My brain just doesn't seem to know how to handle basic household tasks. On further thought, I think that it's not that it doesn't know how to handle them -- it doesn't want to handle them. Imight need to work on that.
As if the cut wasn't bad enough, while moving the couches, I noticed a burned-out floodlight at the rear of our roof line, high above the patio. In over 11 years of living here, I've been waiting for one of those floodlights to burn itself out. Now, it had happened. I made a note to myself to change it this evening.
Tonight, after getting home and changing out of my work clothes, I went into the bathroom. I went to the window, raised it, and removed the screen. I noticed that the lightbulb wasn't just burned out; something had dislodged the glass bulb from the screw cap. It was hanging by a thin wire. This wasn't going to be a simple change.
Soon, I found myself hanging out the bathroom window, a good 20 feet above the patio. I was kind of perched with one knee on the windowsill and my upper body dangling in the air. I had a pair of needle-nose pliers in one hand and was hanging on for dear life with the other. "Good Lord," I thought. "How come every little chore becomes such a big deal for me?"
That's when my own little light bulb went off in my head. Instead of raising the bottom half of the window and hanging my butt out to dry in the danger zone, why not lower the top half of the window and stand securely inside the bathroom while fixing the bulb? Eureka! That was it. What a simple job it turned out to be.
I have to wonder why the easy approach didn't occur to me initially. My brain just doesn't seem to know how to handle basic household tasks. On further thought, I think that it's not that it doesn't know how to handle them -- it doesn't want to handle them. Imight need to work on that.