The Cliff

The last week of the year is always a good time for me to catch up on the things that I've let slide over the past few weeks as we've headed towards the Christmas holiday.  My e-mail in-box is down to just twenty messages, I've got my team's year-end reviews all done, and I've had a chance to catch up on all the latest gossip about Chan Gailey's future as head football coach of the Buffalo Bills (it looks like we're in for yet another change in leadership after a 13th consecutive year of missing the playoffs).

I've also had plenty of time to watch the morning news programs and read the headlines at CNN, Google News, and the Wall Street Journal.  That means I am fully up-to-speed on the great political train wreck known as the fiscal cliff.  If only I could make myself look away.

No matter what I read or hear about the fiscal cliff, I always come back to the same thing -- we don't seem to have any leaders in Washington.

As I mentioned earlier, I've had more time than usual on my hands these past few days.  So much time, in fact, that I've even gone back and read a little of John Kotter and Peter Drucker, two of the management gurus who were big names when I was in business school.  I wanted to see what they had to say about leadership.  Here are some highlights:

• Kotter talks quite a bit about the difference between management and leadership.  For him, management is about coping with complexity in your environment while leadership is about coping with change.  Leaders take a group forward towards a common or shared goal.
• Drucker emphasizes the importance of setting goals, accepting responsibility, and earning trust.  He basically calls these three things nothing more than good, old-fashioned hard work.

I decided to keep reading about leadership and came across these nuggets from Shelley Kirkpatrick and Edwin Locke in a book they wrote in 1991 about leadership traits -- leaders admit their mistakes, are quite willing to listen to another's position on an issue, and are willing to change.  When I read that, I felt like I'd struck gold.  Kirkpatrick and Locke had pretty much defined exactly what isn't happening in Washington.

So, here we sit, waiting to see what grand solution our friends in Washington will deliver to us.  The whole thing reminds me of another great cliff "dilemma."  That would be the one that faced Thelma & Louise at the end of that very enjoyable movie back in the early 1990's.  If you remember, after their series of (mis)adventures, they joined hands and drove off the cliff into the Grand Canyon.  For some viewers, driving off the cliff signified that the two women had given up and taking the easy way out.  For others, Thelma & Louise's choice to drive over the cliff was one that signified liberation and freedom.  I just remember feeling sad.

FInally Dreaming of a White Christmas

It's Christmas Eve (well, it's 1:30PM) and I'm happy to report that it's snowing outside.  It's actually coming down hard enough that it's beginning to cover the mulch.  I know that it's supposed to switch over to rain pretty quickly but it sure is nice for right now.

When it first started to snow twenty minutes ago, Kim was the first to notice.  "It's snowing," she called out.  Of course, the kids are all up in their bedrooms doing who knows what so I don't think anyone heard.  Five minutes later, though, Jay popped out of his room and yelled "Hey, it's snowing."  I just smiled.  Now, here I sit, turning my head around to look out the window every two minutes to see if it's still coming down.

While I know it wasn't the case, my memory tells me that we always had a white Christmas when I was growing up in upstate New York.  I just took it for granted then.  In fact, when I'd hear Bing Crosby singing that he was dreaming of a white Christmas, I never really understood why.  "Doesn't everyone already have a white Christmas," I'd ask myself?  It took a long while for me to realize that wasn't the case.

Now that I'm an "old man" living south of the Mason-Dixon line, I don't even like snow.  I've forgotten how to drive in it.  I hate to shovel it.  My back is too old to sled on it.  But, I think I finally understand why Bing was singing that tune.  He wanted to be taken back to a simpler, quieter, more carefree time.  Me, too.

Notes From the "X Factor" Finale

When the new season of "X Factor" started, I made it a priority to watch.  The primary reason for that was I wanted to see how Britney Spears would do.  I only made it through the first 2 episodes.  It was too boring.  I'd expected Britney to be a train wreck.  Instead, she seemed almost too controlled.  She had very little to say and, aside from a few amusing facial expressions, she didn't hold my attention.  So, I tuned out and stopped watching.

As the season progressed, there were a couple times when I stumbled across the show while channel surfing.  Each time, I'd stick with it for a few minutes to see if I was missing anything.  I wasn't (other than the sheer hilarity of watching Khloe Kardashian read from a teleprompter like a sixth-grader).

Then, all of a sudden, I found myself watching the entire show last week.  It was final four week.  By the end of the show, I'd made a complete 180-degree turn.  I'd gone from not even thinking about "X Factor" to having incredibly strong opinions about who should win.

• I hated the guys in Emblem 3.  They were much too full of themselves and really needed to just go back to the skate park.
• Carly Rose Sonenclar drove me crazy.  I think it was her bug-eyed stage mother that did it for me.  The last thing this world needed was for Carly Rose to win.  Her mom would just be way too happy.
• Tate Stevens could actually sing.  On top of that, he seemed like a pretty nice guy who really just couldn't believe that he was geting this chance.
• Finally, there were the girls from 5th Harmony.  How incredibly annoying, with all their posing and hair flipping!  But, I have to confess that they had me singing right along with "Anything Can Happen."

I missed the elimination show last week (so sorry to hear the news, Emblem 3) but, this past Wednesday, there I was, glued to the TV for the finale.  I was completely into it, critiquing each performance, making predictions, applauding 5th Harmony for bringing out "Anything Can Happen" one more time, cringing at Carly Rose's duet with LeAnn Rimes, laughing at the sight of Simon Cowell with his shirt unbuttoned all the way down to his navel, and praying to God that Carly Rose wouldn't win.  Why did I all of a sudden care about this ridiculous show?  Who knows?  And, who cares?

Last night, it was time to reveal the winner.  I dutifully tuned in at 8PM, all ready for a 2-hour extravaganza.  By 8:15PM, I was gone.  It was another complete 180-degree turn.  The show was ridiculous.  In fifteen minutes, we got fake paparazzi lining a fake red carpet, an embarassing technical difficulty that really threw cute little Mario Lopez for a loop, lip syncing finalists, and just one too many "amazings" from poor Ms. Kardashian.  I couldn't take it.  I gave up control of the remote, leafed through the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly, and was in bed by 8:45PM.  What a night.

Of course, the first thing I did this morning was hop on-line to see who won.  That's right -- they got me.  I know I'll be back next year to give it another try.

Priorities

It's been a busy week, capped off by a long 10-hour work day on Saturday.  I'm hoping I can stay motivated enough today to send out my Christmas cards.  We'll see about that.  In any event, I haven't had any time to create a post.

That doesn't mean I haven't been coming up with ideas.  In fact, earlier in the week, I was having a difficult time deciding what to write about in my next post.  I couldn't decide between my ear wax "incident" (trust me, the thing I pulled out of my right ear was so amazing you need to hear about it) or those completely awful WBAL-TV editorials that run several times each week (how they come up with so many completely non-controversial topics is beyond me).

Then the shooting in Connecticut happened.  I was at home on Friday morning, getting ready for a meeting in DC that afternoon.  It was an exceptionally busy morning, one where I wasn't able to make my periodic stops at www.cnn.com to see what was going on in the world.  So, when I came upstairs to head out the door, I was shocked to hear Kim tell me what had happened.  Now that two days have gone by, I've had some time to try and process things. The question I keep coming back to is why any private citizen needs to own an assault rifle?

First things first.  I'm a waterfowl hunter.  I got introduced to hunting when I met Kim's family.  I really enjoy it.  In fact, if I could, I'd do it every day during the season.  I've tried to get my kids interested but have had no luck.  That's been a disappointment for me since I think that there's a lot to learn about nature, yourself, and others when you spend time in a blind.

Because I hunt, I own a shotgun.  I appreciate the fact that I live in a country where I'm allowed to own a shotgun.  But, it's always amazed me that, when I first got one, I just walked into a store, paid my money, and walked out with it.  There were no questions asked and no requirement that I take any sort of safety course.  It's kind of odd -- to get a hunting license, you do need to take a safety course.  But, to own the gun, none is required.

So, it was pretty darn easy for me to purchase a shotgun.  Perhaps that makes sense since a shotgun can't be concealed (unlike a handgun) and only holds three shells (unlike an assault rifle, with their high-capacity magazines).  Perhaps.

I've thought for the past 48 hours about why anyone really needs an assault rifle and I can't think of a single good reason.  If you can, I'd be happy to hear it.  And, please don't say "To defend myself against someone else who's armed with one."  That won't work for me.

I saw this morning that Diane Feinstein plans to introduce legislation on the first day of the next Congressional session that would limit the "sale, transfer, and possession" of assault weapons.  I can't wait to see who tries to suppress the bill or, if it comes to a vote, votes against it.  In a common sense world, that bill would pass in a heartbeat.  Unfortunately, I don't think we live in a common sense world.

Flashback

When we lived in our first two houses, I spent a ton of time at the hardware store.  There were two reasons for this.

• First, both of those houses always seemed to have something that needed to be repaired.  Invariably, we didn't have the parts or tools that were needed to do the job.  That meant it was pretty much impossible to get a job done without a trip to the  hardware store.
• Second, I was born without the handyman gene.  That meant that I usually misdiagnosed the problem at least once and had to make multiple trips to the hardware store to complete the job.

When we moved to a new house twelve years ago, my trips to the hardware store started to dwindle.  There were fewer new projects to complete and fewer repair jobs to tackle.  Plus, I'd acquired a (very) modest level of competence around the house and, when a job needed to be done, the need for multiple trips to the hardware store to get a single job done almost disappeared. 

So, when I started my little paint repair job yesterday afternoon, I had hardly given it any thought.  During Hurricane Sandy, we'd had a little water damage on our kitchen ceiling.  Considering the damage that the storm did to others on the East Coast, the impact on us was pretty darn small.  The water stain was about two feet long and varied in width from about one-half inch to about two inches.  I stared at it each day for the past few weeks and, finally, with college football season over, I had a free Saturday afternoon.  I figured the job would take all of 10 minutes.  That was a bit of an underestimation.

I found an old can of paint in the basement labeled "master bathroom ceiling."  I took a look at the master bathroom ceiling, glanced at the kitchen ceiling, and said "Those look the same to me."  I opened the can, mixed the paint, poured a little into the rolling pan, and took out my smallest roller.  I coated the roller with the paint, climbed up my step ladder, and began to roll.  What a mistake!  I now had a six-inch long stripe of bright white paint in the middle of my kitchen ceiling and the rest of that ceiling was definitely not bright white.  This was a flashback to my home repair adventures from the 1990's.

Now, I had a real problem on my hands.  As bad as the water stain looked, the water stain combined with six-inch white stripe looked even worse.  It was at this point, of course, that Kim found some of our old paperwork from the builder that identified the ceiling paint by name.  It was Duron Ceiling White.  I put on my shoes and headed off to the Duron store to pick up a quart.  Of course, when I got there, the crack staff at the counter promptly informed me that Duron doesn't make that color any more and the only way to get a match would be for me to bring them in a sample.  "Does that mean I need to cut a little square out of the ceiling dryall," I asked?  "That's right," I was told.

So, it was back in the car for the drive back home.  Once I got there, I pulled out a razor, climbed up the step ladder again, and prepared to cut a hole in the ceiling.  "Umm, don't you think it might be smarter to take a piece out of the ceiling somewhere a little less obvious than the middle of the room," Kim asked?  Of course, she was right.  So, I headed over to the coat closet and scratched away for a few minutes until I finally had a thumbnail-sized piece of the ceiling.

From there, it was back to the paint store to get my suggested match (it was "Antique White"), another drive home, and -- finally -- success.  Now, when you look at the kitchen ceiling, instead of a water stain, you see some slightly mismatched paint.  It's a classic repair job by Mike.  That means it took longer than it should have and it's not perfect.  I love it.

It's (Not) Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas

In case you're keeping track at home, pet peeve #1,206 on my list is people leaving their Halloween pumpkins out on their stoop after Thanksgiving.  That just drives me crazy.  Halloween is on October 31st.  I guess it's OK for you to leave your pumpkins out on display through Thanksgiving but anything beyond that is just asking for trouble.  Come December, it takes an amazing amount of self-restraint for me to not smash every one I see.

Thankfully, most of the pumpkins are now gone.  That doesn't mean I have no more home decorating concerns.  You see, now I'm focused on pet peeve #1,207.  That would be my problem with people who don't decorate their front yards for Christmas.

When you were young, didn't it seem like every house was decorated for Christmas?   That's the way I remember it.  OK, I admit that my memory may be faulty and I could be looking back through rose-tinted glasses at a past that didn't really exist.  But, there had to have been more homes decorated for Christmas back when I was young.  That was the case even though we had to use those crazy Christmas bulbs that you had to screw into place.  And, in upstate New York, we had to put lights up when there was already snow on the ground and it was 20 degrees outside.

I know some of my neighbors will read this and I'm probably going to get in trouble but, by my count this evening, less than one-third of the houses on the street are decorated.  What's up with that?  I'm not looking for a Clark Griswold display (although that would be nice).  Candles in the windows will do just fine. Come on, people.  You can do better.

Decking the Halls With Boughs of Holly

I spent a good bit of time earlier this week "spending" my PowerBall winnings.  I had serious internal debates about exactly how many houses I'd buy and where they'd be.  I finally settled on an apartment in New York City (with a rooftop terrace, of course), a house on the Eastern Shore, a ski home out west, and a villa in southern Italy.  I thought about how many cars we'd buy.  I even decided to get a private plane to get us back and forth to all those homes.

Somehow, in all that daydreaming about the purchases I'd make to show off my new-found riches, I never stopped to consider the true indicator of personal wealth.   It's not homes.  It's not cars.  It's not even planes.  It's how many Christmas decorations you have.

We just finished a full afternoon of decorating the inside of the house.  I think I made 20 trips up and down the basement stairs, lugging box after box of decorations to their rightful place in the house.  We have one artificial tree for the upstairs landing and two for the front porch.  We have yard after yard of greens to drape the front stairs and the back railing.  There's a cranberry tree for the mantel, a pine cone tree for the study, and an apple tree for the living room.  We have holly for the entertainment center, wreaths for the dining room and kitchen windows, and carolers for the piano.  The list goes on and on.  In fact, I think it would be simpler to list the Christmas decorations that we don't have.

We have so much stuff that we couldn't find the manger set amongst all the clutter.  We searched high and low, wondering where it could have gone.  For a moment, I thought that a certain someone who, several years ago, had kidnapped our baby Jesus and held him for ransom had decided to go all out this year and take Joseph, Mary, the shepherds, wise men, and cattle, too.  Thankfully, after a brief period of panic, we found the entire set in with a box of Christmas knick-knacks.  Crisis averted.

Tomorrow, it's out to the tree farm and then one last burst of decorating.  I really can't wait -- it all looks great.
  

The Best Season Ever

Yesterday, I took another trip up to State College to see the last Penn State game of the season.  That meant I had to set my alarm for 5:30AM on a Saturday, spend nearly 7 hours in the car going up there and back, and stand outside in the bitter cold for almost 8 hours.  Needless to say, it was a wonderful day.  Let me give you three reasons why.

• First, is there any kind of party better than a tailgate party?  I don't think so.  At a tailgate party, you can wear thermal underwear, show it to everyone else, and have them look at you with envy.  You can eat fried chicken with gloves on your hands.  Best of all, as long as you bring your own trash bag, someone else hauls your party trash away.  That's my kind of party.
• Second, Nick hosted me in the student section again.  We were in Row 3, in the southeast corner of the end zone.  When I turned around to look at the crowd of people surrounding me, there wasn't anyone in sight who was within 20-25 years of my age.  The fact that Nick thinks it's fun to have me there with him in that crowd is the coolest thing ever for a father.  Getting on TV -- and the in-stadium big screen -- with him was the capper.
• Third, it was so much fun to root for this Penn State team this year.  Seeing them win in overtime last night was just incredible.  I'm not going to climb back up on my soap box and give you a speech about my feelings about Penn State, Joe Paterno, and the NCAA (check the blog archives if you want to re-hash all that; I'm sure you'll find a couple entries).  Instead, I'm just going to focus on how this team of young men accomplished so much and did it with such character.  They found themselves in a situation that they did not create.  I've often taken the easy path in life.  The reason why is simple -- it's not called the easy path for nothing.  These young men could have done the same.  But, they didn't.  When they gathered in our corner of the end zone to sing the alma mater at the end of the game and ring the Victory Bell (thiry-one of them for the last time in their Penn State careers), the joy on their faces was so awesome to see.  They'd stuck with it, staying true to themselves and to their teammates.  I am so happy for them.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Yesterday, I drove up to State College to see the Penn State - Indiana game.  Hannah had come home earlier in the week but Nick was still up there, waiting for my arrival.  I didn't want to pay for tailgate parking so I decided to drive the Corolla so I could take advantage of Hannah's parking spot outside her building.

I left the house at 6AM.  The Corolla doesn't have Sirius XM and I had decided not to take my iPod.  That meant I was all alone with nothing but FM radio.  Normally, that would be a bad thing as I've grown to hate commercial interruptions.  But, yesterday, I decided to make lemonade out of lemons.  With all that time in the car by myself, I figured it was my chance to find out once and for all if I can actually sing.

I think that most people -- including me -- think they have good singing voices.  But, why do we think that?  Have we taken lessons with a voice coach and received positive feedback?  Did we try out for the school musical in high school and get the lead role?  Have we ever been stopped at a red light with the windows down, belting out the tune on the radio, and had the person in the car next to us yell over "That sounds great!"

I think the answer to all three questions for the vast majority of us is "No."  But, that hasn't stopped us from thinking that we really can sing.  Take me for example.  Give me a couple drinks in a bar with a willing band, and I'll grab the microphone, convinced that everyone else there has been dying to hear my voice.  Put me in front of "American Idol" and I'll sing along with the contestants, ending each performance with "This time I mean it -- I really am better than that."

That was what I was thinking yesterday morning when I decided to put things to the test.  "Let's see if I really can sing," I said to myself.  I tuned to DC-101 and started the experiment.  The first song up was "Creep" by Stone Temple Pilots.  That seemed like a pretty fair test.  Scott Weiland is no Karen Carpenter.  He sings in a key that's reasonably close to my comfort zone.  There are no vocal gymnastics involved.  I felt pretty confident I'd end up confirming that I really can sing.

Now, most of the time when I sing along to a song, I don't really commit to it.  I sing softly, switch between alto and tenor, and rely on my falsetto for any high notes.  Not this time.  I sang loudly, with passion, from start to finish.  I picked a key and I stuck with it.  And, you know what?  I sounded pretty darn bad.  It sounded like shouting, with periodic cracks along the way.

It's now been over 24 hours since I realized that I really can't sing.  I thought it would feel bad.  But, it's actually liberating.  The whole rest of the way up to State College, I sang as loudly as I wanted.  I didn't care who could see me from the other cars or what I sounded like.  I used my falsetto on "Madness" by Muse and didn't feel the least bit guilty.  I spoke-sang with Ke$ha on "Die Young" and laughed at myself when the song ended.  I growled through "Sweet Child o' Mine" by Guns N' Roses.  I sounded terrible.  And I loved it.

Something New

So, Hannah's friend started a blog.  She and Kim tried to read it today only to find it had so much traffic that the site shut down.

When she told me that, you know how I felt?  Awful, of course.  Awful and also competitive.  A blog with so much activity that it crashes?  Shouldn't I be able to do that?

I know what you're thinking.  Does everything in life have to be a competition?  I'm going to answer "yes."  And, even I have to admit that this place was starting to get pretty stale.

We'll see how things go.

Bureaucracy

Jay is taking a government class this year in school.  Every once in a while, he brings up something that they're studying.  About a week ago, he asked "What's a bureaucracy?"  How I wish I didn't know the answer.

According to Webster's, the word bureaucracy has a couple of different definitions.  My favorite is "a system of administration marked by red tape, officialism, and proliferation."  But, when Jay asked the question, I tried to give him a simpler answer.  I told him that a bureaucracy is an organization that has lots of rules and plenty of people who seem to be there only to remind you of those rules. 

Ever since Jay asked me what a bureaucracy is, I feel like I've been stuck in the bowels of one.  Perhaps it's because it's getting close to year-end, with performance reviews, budgets, and financial close-out's high on everyone's radar.  In any event, I am not a happy camper.  It seems like every other e-mail I get at work is asking me to fill out this form or that form, complete this grid or that grid, or remember to check this box or that box.  I've had it.

Just now, I got two e-mails from an otherwise perfectly nice lady at work.  She was asking me to do something that someone else had just asked me to do, only she wanted me to do it slightly differently.  I'm sorry -- that's not happening.

After a couple of seconds of consideration, I decided to delete her two e-mails.  In fact, I hit the delete key pretty darn hard when I deleted them.  Now, I'm going to pretend that I never got them.  Yes, I know from the examples of David Petraeus, Paula Broadwell, and Jill Kelley that deleting e-mails doesn't really make them go away.  But, as long as the FBI doesn't come after me, maybe I can get away with it.

The Real Reasons Selena Gomez and Justin Beiber Broke Up

I spent all day yesterday trying come to grips with the devastating news that Selena Gomez had broken up with Justin Beiber.  What a shocking turn of events.  It seems like just yesterday that Selena was declaring how she loved Justin like a love song (baby) while Justin was renting out the Staples Center so that he and Selena could have a private viewing of Titanic.  Now, it's all over.

I wonder what happened.  My guess is that it was a combination of things that finally pushed Selena over the edge:

• First, she realized that it's not a good thing when your boyfriend has better hair -- and skin -- than you do.  It's also not good when you can bench more than him.
• Next, Scooter Braun is annoying.
• Finally, when your boyfriend is tweeting pictures of himself with Victoria's Secret models (after asking them for their numbers), he may just not be that into you.

It's going to take me a little while to get over this news.  Thank God Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 2 is coming out soon to help take my mind off all this.

What Did Mitt Romney Do Today?

As I headed in to work this morning, I started to think about Mitt Romney.  The poor guy's been running for President since 2006.  For the better part of six years, he's been campaigning, raising money, and planning for that day when he would finally take over the White House.  And, it's not like he was doing that 8 hours a day and 5 days a week.  It's been non-stop for him, with every single waking moment completely devoted to becoming President.  Now, it's all over.  He's done. 

So, that got me thinking.  What in the world would Mitt do today?  I tried to imagine it.  It couldn't have been a good day.

• He had to know that everytime his phone rang or he got a new text, it was going to be someone saying how badly they felt that things didn't work out for him.  But, no one was going to follow that up with a "You'll get it right next time" because everyone knows that there's not going to be a next time.  It's not like 2008, when he conceded in the primaries but had to know he'd get another shot.
• Did he turn on the television?  I wouldn't have.  I mean, that would be like watching "The Final Drive" on BTN after the Penn State - Ohio State game.  Who wants to be reminded of such misery?
• Did he go outside and face the world?  Think about it -- losing the electoin is kind of like getting the stadium folks to put your marriage proposal on the big screen at half-time only to have the girl say "No, thanks."  Hearing the answer is bad.  Having the rest of the stadium hear it, too, is even worse.  That's what Mitt just went through.
• What did he and Ann talk about over coffee this morning?  OK, I know, they don't drink coffee.  But, you know what I mean.  Did she sit there and ask him "Now what?"  Or, did they just sit there in silence, each of them asking themselves that question?

You know, maybe none of this happened.  Maybe he woke up and said "Well, I tried my best."  Maybe he said "I'm glad I gave it another shot."  Or, maybe he just said "Thank God.  What was I thinking anyway?"  I'm going with that last one.

Lessons from the 2012 Election

I'm trying to watch election results as they come in this evening.  It's a struggle.  So far, the main thing I've learned is that Wolf Blitzer has a new pair of designer eyeglasses.  Oh, and it's possible to project a winner in a state like South Carolina even though only 1% of the votes have been reported.

Quite frankly, I'd like to see Lee Corso sitting at the desk with Wolf.  In true College Game Day fashion, Lee could make his prediction by pulling out a giant stuffed Romney or Obama head and putting it on to declare the winner.  That, I would watch til the end.

So, what did I learn during this election cycle?  For me, there were three key things:

• First, the primaries are the best part of the election.  Frankly, they don't last nearly long enough.  Why?  Because the primaries are when all the crazies come out to play.  Don't you miss Michele Bachmann and Herman Cain?  I know I do.  To be honest, I even miss Newt Gingrich a little bit.
• For local races like the school board election, if your name is first on the ballot, you're much more likely to get my vote.  I'm not proud to admit it.  But, it's the truth.  Sorry Janet Siddiqui.
• I may actually have to give up network television by 2016.  The political commercials are going to do it for me.  Thankfully, ESPN, Investigation: Discovery, the Big Ten Network, Bravo, and HGTV don't show any.  If they did, I'd definitely be up the creek.

Discount Double Check, Meet Mayhem

Will someone please explain to me America's fascination with Aaron Rogers and the discount double check?  Those State Farm commercials aren't funny -- they're just plain annoying.  In fact, I've even started to talk back to the television whenever I see one.  Yes, I know that's pathetic.  But, I now find myself yelling for them to just go away.  Clearly, I'm in the minority, though, since they seem to be on television constantly and State Farm keeps rolling out new ones. 

Perhaps I should introduce the discount double check to Mayhem.  Mayhem is the completely awesome star of Allstate's commercials.  Whether he's masquerading as a raccoon, a hot babe out jogging, a satellite dish, or (in his most recent incarnation) a multi-tasking teen-age boy who's supposed to be mowing the lawn, Mayhem is always funny.  Better yet, he's destructive, leaving a trail of carnage behind him wherever he goes.  I've got to get him onto one of those State Farm sets.

Purgatory

When I last posted on Monday night, I was hunkered down, waiting for Hurricane Sandy's imminent arrival.  When we went to bed that evening, it had already been raining forever and the winds were starting to pick up speed.  We decided to sleep in the basement, thinking we'd be safer there when the big huge pine tree in the front yard (the one that I've refused to have cut down) got uprooted and fell into the house.

So, downstairs we went.  I hopped into one of the two twin beds in our spare bedroom and tried to will myself to sleep.  It took a little while since, not only was I unable to spoon, I also didn't have my flannel sheets.  I shivered pathetically on my own, hugged myself, and finally fell asleep.

At some point, I woke up.  It was pitch dark.  I lifted my head to see what time it was and saw that the clock was dead.  The power was out.  I cursed audibly and put my head back down on the pillow (which, quite honestly, was way too big and fluffy for my liking).  There I lay for the rest of the night, waiting for the crack of dawn.

What do you do while you're lying in bed in the dark while the power is out?  You want to know what I thought about?  I spent the entire time reliving the Penn State - Ohio State game from two nights earlier.  "What if Matt McGloin had completed that first long pass to Allen Robinson?"  Certain victory.  "What if Stephen Obeng-Agyapong had made that pick six in the first quarter?"  Even more certain victory.  "What if the official hadn't called that phantom holding call on Brad Bars in the second quarter?"  Complete domination, of course.  On and on it went.

After spending what seemed like an interminable amount of time revisiting my Penn State disappointment, I finally got out of bed.  I walked upstairs, found my cell phone, and saw that it was 5AM.  I peeked out the dining room window and saw that the pine tree hadn't fallen.  I should have been happy, right?  Not me.  I just cursed again, thinking of how I could have slept in my flannel sheets after all.

For two more hours, I paced.  Literally.  First floor.  Upstairs.  Repeat.  It all started to remind me of Hannah's infancy, when we thought that she had to fall asleep in our arms before we could put her to sleep in her crib.  Round and round I'd walk around our small house, covering every square foot and praying to God that she'd soon fall asleep.  Invariably, she'd trick me by slowing her breathing and convincing me that I could put her down.  I'd get excited, creep to her crib, lean over and start to place her on the blanket.  "Waahh," she'd cry and back to pacing I'd go.

Finally, it started to get light.  It was still rainy and windy outside.  And, there was still no power.  But, with the light, the Penn State demons and the pacing stopped.  For a little while, at least. 

P.S.  This was a very hard post to write.  Why?  Because I don't know if I was lying in bed thinking or laying in bed thinking?  I think I was lying in bed thinking but I can't be absolutely sure.  Hopefully, I got it right.  I know some of you out there will comment if I got it wrong.

Things To Do While Waiting For The Power To Go Out

For the first 10 years we were in this house, losing power during a storm never really seemed to be a threat.  It happened every once in a while but never for more than a couple hours.  Lately, though, we've had a run of bad luck, losing power for days at a time twice in the past 15 months.

With Hurricane Sandy reaching her apex right now in central Maryland, I'm expecting the power to go out at any moment.  In advance of that happening, there are a couple things I need to do.  They're simple things that I don't really appreciate until I can't do them anymore.  Things like:

• Brushing my teeth.  Yes, I could brush my teeth without power, using some of the water we've got sitting in bath tubs.  But, everybody knows that the only way to really clean off your toothbrush is to run it under the tap.  Do you really think you can get all that old spit off the toothbrush just by pouring a little water on it out of a cup?  I don't.
• Turning on all the lights in the kitchen.  Normally, I'm fighting an urge to turn off all the lights as soon as a room is empty.  Isn't that what they taught us all to do back in the 1970's?  Tonight, though, I'm leaving them all on even when I leave the room. 
• Using the automatic garage door opener.  No, I don't need to take the car out.  But, I'm still going to raise and lower the door in my garage bay one more time tonight.
• Charging my antique cell phone.  I still have my old number tied to that phone and I don't even check it for messages anymore.  But, since I've got electricity right now, I might as well charge it up just in case.
• Flushing the toilet. That's right -- flushing the toilet.  In fact, I just forced myself to go to the bathroom even though it wasn't really necessary.  Why?  Because I wanted to flush.  Trust me. You'd do the same thing. 

The Question 7 Dilemma

Maryland is a heavily Democratic state.  In an election year, that's both good and bad.  It's good because the Republicans realize that spending money on political advertising on any state-wide race would be a waste of money.  That means that the Democrats don't have to spend any money, either.  So, unlike battleground states like Ohio and Virginia, we see almost no political ads for either Romney or Obama.  Seems like a good thing, right?  Unfortunately, not.  You see, with all that ad space available, there's unlimited TV time available for ballot issues specific to the state.

This year, the big issue in Maryland is Question 7.  Right now, commercial gambling in Maryland is limited to slot machines.  Question 7 asks Maryland voters to decide if they want commercial gambling in the state to expand to include table games.

I'm not going to give you my opinion on Question 7.  That's not really important.  Plus, you probably don't really care what I think.  I'm sure that you're much more interested in the opinion of former Baltimore Ravens tackle Jonathan Ogden.  Apparently, that's what the proponents of Question 7 think since that's who they're using in the latest ad campaign in support of the measure.  That's right, the same Jonathan Ogden who's previous television commercial campaign can be seen below:

Aren't local politics great?

I Want My (Old) HGTV!

I don't ask for much.  Well, maybe that's not exactly true.  But, when it comes to television viewing, my tastes run pretty simple.  Sports, re-runs of true crime shows on ID, and HGTV.  That's all I need.  Lately, though, things haven't been going so well.

The problem is that HGTV has decided to shake things up for its viewers.  For a long time, I knew that, no matter what time I tuned in, I had a 90% chance of seeing "House Hunters," "House Hunters: International," or "Selling New York."  I was a happy camper.  Then, somebody in the programming department of HGTV decided to get cute.

About two years ago, they introduced us to "Holmes on Homes."  Mike Holmes is a big burly guy.  His specialty is to find a homeowner who hired a contractor who did an exceptionally shoddy job.  Mike points this out to the homeowner (who, quite clearly, already knows tit.  Then, he fixes the problem.  Have I mentioned that he does all this while wearing bib overalls with no shirt.  I'm a fan of bib overalls.  In fact, I've asked for a pair for Christmas for the past few years.  But, no shirt?  Come on.  Who needs to see that?

When "Holmes on Homes" was introduced, I sucked it up as best as I could.  It was tough, but I did it.  Eventually, I learned when it was on so that I could avoid it.  Things almost returned to normal.  But, this summer, the roof seemed to cave in at HGTV.  My old stand-by's disappeared from my prime viewing times of 8PM - 10PM.  In their place, joining good old Mike Holmes were "The Property Brothers" and "Love It Or List It."

I don't understand what HGTV was thinking with these two shows.  They're just no good.  They each have two big problems:

• First, both of them are one hour long.  Trust me -- that's entirely too long for an HGTV show.  HGTV shows should never last more than 30 minutes.  I want to get in quick, live vicariously through someone else for a while, and then get out.  I don't want to make a real investment of my time.  In fact, if I've only got 15 free minutes, that should be more than enough for me to get the basic gist of the show.
• Second, other than my beloved Kleier's on "Selling New York," no HGTV show needs a personality.  Take "House Hunters" and "House Hunters International."  They don't even have an on-camera host.  Why?  Because it's just not necessary.  Tell that to the producers of "The Property Brothers" and "Love It Or List It."  Jonathan and Drew Scott are the property brothers.  Between them, they have exactly zero personality.  Don't believe me?  Watch them and then decide.  On "Love It Or List It," we get David and Hilary (plus Hillary's trusty assistant Desta).  I give the three of them a bit more credit -- between them, they have a little personality.

I miss Michelle Kleier.  If you see her, please say "hello" for me. 

I Am Officially In Love With Bill O'Brien

When Penn State hired Bill O'Brien, I had a one word response: "Who?"  Now, after watching Coach O'Brien at the helm through his first seven games, I've moved from one word to three: "Thank you, Jesus." 

The truth is, I've been developing a crush on Bill O'Brien all fall.  Even after the early losses to Ohio and Virginia, I think I might have kissed him if I'd seen him.  It wasn't just that dimple on his chin.  It was the way he completely "gets" Penn State.  Though he'd only been affiliated with the school since January, he seemed to immediately understand what made it so special -- the sense of community, the tradition, and the "can do" attitude that you see whenever you're up in State College.  Every time he spoke, you could tell that he understood all that.

Most importantly, with each public statement that he made, Coach O'Brien stressed the importance of team unity and reminded us of the remarkable commitment that the players who'd stayed had made to the school.  Additionally, he made it clear that no one associated with the football program was spending any time feeling sorry for themselves.  Instead, they were going to outwork and outthink their competition.  Hmmm.  Good advice.

Watching Penn State thrash Iowa last night, my little crush became full-blown love.

It happened at the very beginning of the second half.  Just before the second-half kick-off, the sideline reporter was doing a quick interview with Coach O'Brien.  With Penn State already up 24-0, he was asked what his locker-room message to his team had been.  Bill's response: "I told them it's 0-0."

OK.  I get it.  A lot of coaches would say something like that.  After all, it's the easy thing to say.  But, how many of them really mean it?

Bill meant it.  He called a long bomb on the very first play of the half.  It worked and, just one play later, Penn State was up 31-0.  Game, set, match. 

After the game, the same reporter caught up to Coach O'Brien on the sideline.  His team had just won at Kinnick Stadium for the first time since 1999.  They were 3-0 in the conference and winners of five straight games.  Did he smile?  Hell, no.  He simply praised the toughness of his players, reminded us watching at home that there's another game next week, and then turned around and left the field.

Bill O'Brien is playing the hand he's been dealt and he's not complaining about it.  He's getting the most out his players.  It's truly remarkable to watch.  Better yet, it's fun.

So, when I go to bed this evening and silently recite the reasons I'm thankful, Bill's going to be up there on my list.  Just how high is my little secret.

MicroDry? I Don't Think So.

I generally find that anything that has to do with personal grooming is highly annoying.  When I'm clipping my nails, getting my hair cut, shaving, or cleaning the wax out of my ears, I often find myself asking God questions.  "Hey, God," I call out.  "Couldn't you have created a hearing system that didn't involve wax build-up?  And was it really necessary to make our hair and nails grow?  You can't tell me it's that important to have hair.  If it were, why are you letting me go bald?"

The one exception to my dislike of personal grooming is that I really do enjoy taking a nice hot shower.  Unfortunately, even that's not been all that great as of late.  It's all because we got new bath towels.

I hadn't realized how much time had gone by since the last time we bought bath towels.   Apparently, advancing technology has even made its way to bath towels.  Kim bought a set of "Performance Towels" with MicroDry fibers.  Sounds impressive, right?  Here's how these towels are described on their web site: 
 

These are the towels you've always dreamed of. The CoreTex™ microfiber
is so luxuriously soft and ultra-absorbent that you'll be almost completely
dry the instant you wrap yourself in one. This means no more harsh rubbing
that can deplete your skin's natural moisture. Quite simply, these bath linens
are so gentle, they'll become an essential part of your skin care regimen.

I should have known as soon as I saw the dangling preposition at the end of the first sentence that these towels were going to be a problem.  I used to be able to step out of the shower and towel dry in less than a minute.  For example, I'd take my old trusty towel, rub it up and down on my left arm once, and be done with that arm.  Not any longer.  Now, it's rub once, rub twice, rub a third time, and then sigh heavily as you realize that there's still a fine mist on your arm and you're going to have to start all over again.

Basically, these MicroDry towels don't work.  A towel is supposed to dry you off quickly.  This whole claim of being "... almost completely dry the instant you wrap yourself in one" is nothing but crap.

Kim says that this MicroDry thing is pretty much all you can find.  Whatever.  My new MicroDry towel is now folded and sitting in the linen closet.  I've gone back to my trusty old faded and stained antique.  I don't care what it looks like.  It works perfectly fine for me.

And Another Thing ...

Kim has always told me that she likes it when I tell her what's going on at work.  Despite that, I hardly ever tell her anything.  The main reason for that is that I don't believe she really cares about all the craziness I observe on a daily basis.  And, I usually don't want to re-live all the nonsense once I'm home.

Tonight, though, the flood gates opened.  It probably was because I had a beer before dinner and then two glasses of wine during dinner.  I started with one (little) observation about a stupid little spreadsheet that I get asked to fill out weekly.  Before I knew it, I'd just spent 15 minutes ranting and raving about everything that's been driving me crazy and all the changes that need to be made.  I think I only paused for breath once during the whole episode.

The great thing about carrying on like that with Kim is that she's an outsider.  Because she's not in the trenches with me at work, she has to take my word as the gospel truth.  If I say I'm the smartest person at the office, how is she going to know any better?  If I say I've got all the answers, can she really doubt me? If I say that everything that's going wrong is someone else's fault, can she dispute that?  Best of all, if I want to take credit for all of our good results, does she have any evidence to show that isn't the case?

Re-reading that last paragraph, I'm now wondering why I don't unload all my drama on Kim more often.  Perhaps it's because I know that, deep down, she's just humoring me.  She's had way too much experience with me to really think that I've always got things figured out.  She's seen me make a few too many mistakes here on the home front.  Even so, it sure did feel nice to get all that stuff off my chest.

Thanks for listening, Kim.  I'm going to go have another glass of wine.

Who Wore It Best?

Yes, it's the feature you've all been waiting to see.  Stolen right out of the pages of my favorite rag mag, US Weekly, it's my very own version of "Who Wore It Best?"

Jay, in River Hill sweatshirt, LL Bean mocassins, and boxers.

 

Mike, in the same River Hill sweatshirt, different LL Bean mocassins, and (yes) the same boxers.

 

 

I know who has my vote.

Observations From the Streets of Baltimore

Yesterday was the Baltimore Running Festival.  Once again, I ran the half-marathon.  It was a beautiful day and, thankfully, things went well.

Every year, it seems like more and more people out on the course are wearing headphones and listening to music while they run.  I don't do that.  On a course like Baltimore's, there are always plenty of distractions.  Here's a sampling of a few of them from yesterday.

• Between miles 1 and 2, as you're running down Broadway, you pass an X-rated theater.  I've run the race for the past 4 years.  The first year, I was just stunned to see that X-rated theaters are still in existence.  I kind of thought they went out of business shortly after Pee-Wee Herman had his "incident" in one over twenty years ago.  I guess not.  Anyway, each year, I look forward to seeing if the theater is still open for business.  In case you're wondering, it is.
• Between miles 4 and 6, you run through some pretty rough neighborhoods.  I've spent plenty of time in Baltimore over the past two dozen years and the only times I've ever been in that part of the city is during the race.  There are lots of cops out on the course, primarily directing traffic and maintaining road closures.  Most of them are stone-faced and don't even acknowledge the runners.  This year, there was a noticeable exception as we ran down Madison Street.  As I approached the cop, I could hear him calling out a greeting to all the runners.  "Hey, runners.  You think you have it bad?" he shouted to us.  "I have to patrol these streets."  That actually made me laugh.
• One of the best ways to pass the time is to read the signs that spectators are holding.  Many of these are pretty standard, like little kids holding signs that say "Go, Mom."  But, there are always some clever ones.  This year, my favorites were "Run if you think I'm hot" and "Today: Baltimore Marathon.  Tomorrow: 'Law & Order' Marathon."
• Just before mile 8, an older woman was out on the side of the road with a megaphone.  She was singing the theme from "Rocky" in a very shaky soprano voice.  "Da-da da-da-da da-da-da da-da-da. Da-da da-da-da da-da-da da-da-da.  Da da-da da da-da-da-da, da-daaaaa.  Da-da daaaa.  Da-da daa."  That was it.  Over and over.  As Jay would say, she was horrifically horrifying.  I picked up my pace to put her behind me.
• During mile 9, I was running along, minding my own business.  All of a sudden, from just behind me, I heard a fellow runner start singing.  It was a man's voice.  "Risin' up, back on the street.  Did my time, took my chances."  I turned my head to see who it was.  It was a very regular looking guy, just about my age.  He had head phones on and he was very into his Survivor.  I started to laugh at him but then I realized that he was passing me.  He kept on going, distancing himself from me, singing "Eye of the Tiger" all the way.  I never caught back up to him.

Of all the things I saw, though, the absolute best is the furious motorists.  It's the same thing every year.  Streets are closed all over the city while the race is run.  That seems to really annoy a lot of people.  As you run, you get to pick up slices of the same "conversation" playing out throughout the city.  Indignant drivers are yelling at the cops about how they need to get across the street, how no one told them that the streets were going to be closed, and demanding that they be let across the street.  I've yet to see a driver win that argument. 

I Am A ... Republican?

Today's mailbag had three things in it for me:

• A postcard from Lexus telling me to come on in and pay $169 for a road map update for my navigation system.  Yes, my navigation system needs an update.  No, I do not want to pay Lexus $169 for it.
• The annual fund request from Bucknell.  That's fine.  Bucknell was good to me.
• A letter from Mitt Romney.

You read that third one correctly.  I got a note, personally addressed to me, from Mitt Romney.  I couldn't wait to open it.  Imagine my surprise when I read the opening line.  "Dear Michael," it read.  "I am running for President of the United States and because you are one of America's most notable Republicans, I want to personally let you know why."

What a revelation!  Not only am I apparently now a Republican, I'm a notable Republican.  Times must truly be tough for Republicans if I'm notable.  WaysPaul Ryan's performance in the debate last night really that bad?

In any event, the question I now have is why does Mitt think I'm a Republican?  Yes, I've voted for a couple of them (even if I can't remember all their names).  Yes, I supported the Intercounty Connector project all those years ago, over the loud cries of the environmentalists.  Yes, I complained when Howard County doubled my taxes for fire services, even though there's no fire station anywhere near our house.  And, yes, I live in Dayton.

Is that all it takes to be a Republican, though?  It must be.  I can't wait to learn the secret handshake.

The Finger of Dismissal

I'm sure that you've all either given or received the finger at some point in your life.  I know I have.  On Monday, Jay introduced me to something even better -- the finger of dismissal. 

Let me describe the finger of dismissal.

• First, you have to know when to use it.  For example, let's say that you're telling someone that they'd probably get their homework done much faster if they would just put their cell phone down, stop texting all their friends, and concentrate on the task at hand.   Halfway through your diatribe, the person simply cuts you off by giving you the finger of dismissal.  That would be a perfect time to use it.
• Next, you have to know how to give it.  It's a bit complicated.  Here's how I've seen it done by the master:
• Raise the arm that is closest to the person giving you the lecture and hold up the index finger on that hand.
• At the same time, turn your head in the opposite direction of your raised arm, tilt it downward, and stare down your nose.
• At no point do you say a word or even make a noise -- just hold your pose.

That, my friends, is the finger of dismissal.  It works like a charm.  Use it once and you'll soon be addicted.  I know I am.  In fact, less than 48 hours after being introduced to it, I'm already being accused of overuse.  I can never get too much of a good thing.

Considering the Future

Lately, Kim and I have been having an ongoing conversation about where we want to live when we "get old."  I think it's a normal discussion to be having when you're down to only one kid at home and you've got two empty bedrooms staring you in the face every day. 

We go round and round on where we should live.  I'm tired of spending time in my car and keep talking up the advantages of getting a condo or row house in the city.  Why?  Because I want to be able to walk out of my front door and have restaurant options.  It's that simple.  Kim, on the other hand, wants to live in a small town.  That town -- and her house -- needs to meet the following requirements:

• It has to be in a part of the country that has all four seasons.
• The house has to be on the water.
• She needs to be able to walk into town from the house.

I have to admit that her dream sounds nice, too.

The other complication to all this is that there are times that I can't imagine ever leaving this place.  Take yesterday afternoon.  I had just trimmed the crepe myrtles by the front walk.  I'd taken the limbs out into the woods behind the house, thrown them onto one of the piles of debris that's built up over the years, and was walking back towards the house.  I stepped out of the woods into the back yard and took a look around me.  The nandina that line the back patio were beginning to turn bronze.  The berries on the barberry bushes had begun to emerge.  The tulip poplar leaves were falling from the trees, leaving the lawn a mix of green, orange, and yellow.  I could hear a flock of geese honking in the distanance.

At that moment, everything was perfect.  "Why would I ever want to leave all this?" I asked myself.  I couldn't answer.  Eighteen hours later, I still can't.

Evolution?

As I write this, Swansea and Reading are tied 2-2 in the 84th minute at Liberty Stadium.  My Swans have gone into a tailspin since starting off the season so strongly and -- momentarily -- finding themselves on the top of the Premier League table.  In fact, they'd been shut out in three straight games before today's match.  I figured things had to change today against basement-dwelling and recently promoted Reading.

Since the game isn't on TV, I decided to do a little yard work before coming in to check the score.  I walked outside just before 10AM with no real idea about what to do.  Looking around, I decided that I might as well try to make a dent on some of the leaves that have fallen.

I've never really minded raking leaves since it's one of those jobs that allows you to track your progress pretty easily.  I spent 30 minutes with the blower in the back yard.  This early in the season, that was really all that was required.  After wrapping that up, I made the move to the front yard.  I don't know what happened from the back yard to the front but, as soon as I got started out front, I wanted to stop.  I had a whole slew of excuses:

• The front yard is too big and I really didn't want to make a full day of it.
• I was starting to sweat and I'd already taken a shower.
• I was thirsty but I'd forgotten to bring out a water bottle.
• Most of all, why bother when I was just going to have to do it all over again in a week or two?

I lasted for another 30 minutes and have been inside tracking the Swansea game on ESPN Gamecast ever since.  At first, that seemed to be as big a mistake as the leaf-raking exercise as Swansea was down 2-0 at halftime.  2-0!  To Reading!  But, the Swans have fought back to tie things up.

Anyway, the point of this is that I'm following a soccer game on Gamecast.  Yes, a soccer game.  Times have certainly changed.

The Long and Winding Road

Over the years, I've done more than my fair share of complaining about my commute to and from work.  Twenty years ago, it was delays on the MARC train as I headed in to Union Station.  Next, it became interminable back-ups on New York Avenue as I traipsed in to Dupont Circle.  Then, I had to deal with two hour trips on the Beltway home from McLean.  No matter where I've worked, I haven't been able to escape traffic.

Today, I actually missed being stuck in traffic.  Let me tell you why.

Shortly after 5:30PM, I was sitting in the basement, trying once more to log onto one of the company's numerous financial systems.  I needed to approve a payment to a vendor.  Of course, when I tried to log-on to the system, I got a prompt saying that it had been 90 days since I had last changed my password.  That meant I needed to create a new one.  I did that and then went back to the log-on screen.  No dice.  The stupid system wouldn't accept my new password.  After trying to enter it a second and then a third time, I got a message saying I'd exceeded the number of attempts and was being shut out permanently.  In order to get back in, I'd need to call my "system administrator."

Call my "system administrator."  Who the hell was that?  I had no idea.  Do you think they could give me a phone number?  Nope.  Just a message to make that call.

That was it.  While it was only 5:30PM, it had been a long day filled with one internal snafu after another.  I logged off, grabbed my empty water glass, and turned off the light.  I was fuming as I headed up the basement stairs to the kitchen.  I couldn't wait to start complaining to Kim about all the crap I'd had to put up with during the day.

When I got to the kitchen, I found that no one was there.  Kim was off picking Jay up from soccer practice.  When I realized that she wasn't around, I wasn't too happy.  I had some stuff I wanted to get off my chest and I needed an audience.  Where was Kim?  Didn't she want to listen to me rant and rave about my horrible day?

That's when it hit me.  God had created long commutes filled with slow-moving traffic so that stressed-out workers like me could unwind before they got home to their families.  All those long trips home had probably helped to save countless marriages.  I know that the time I spent in the car on the way home helped me calm down and forget the petty issues that had driven me crazy all day.

I'm thinking that the solution may just be to leave the basement, head straight to the garage, and hop in the car for a twenty-minute drive around Howard County.  As silly as that sounds, I think I may be in trouble if I don't do it.   

Recapping the Weekend

We got back home today just in time for me to turn on the TV and see Ryan Fitzpatrick complete a short pass over the middle to Donald Jones.  It seemed like a relatively insignificant play until Jones slipped a tackle, cut upfield, and turned it into a 68-yard touchdown.  Just like that, the Bills had a 21-7 third quarter lead over the hated Patriots.  Ralph Wilson Stadium was rocking, I was smiling, and life was good.  Then the wheels fell off.

Today's game may very well have been the most pathetic performance by the Buffalo Bills since the first of two Super Bowl losses to the Cowboys.  My weekend, which had been going so well, had hit a major speed bump.  Since 3PM, I've been sighing heavily, groaning loudly, frowning continuously, and cursing (mostly silently).  Kim and Jay are sick of me.  Who can blame them?

Anyway, I'm going to try real hard to start thinking positively.  I'll start by recapping my favorite three things about our trip up to Penn State to see Nick for Parent's Weekend.

• Visiting the Sigma Nu basement.  I'd forgotten how awesome the smell of cheap stale beer in a fraternity basement can be.  I'd also forgotten how great it is to have your sneakers stick to the floor with each step you take.  Now, If only they had a real pong table.
• Seeing the Corolla parked in the lot at Hannah's dorm, freshly adorned with a '409' sticker.  I just love her passion for JVP.
• Watching the Penn State - Illinois in the basement of Nick's dorm with him.  Nobody's as passionate about football as Nick.  Hearing him call for the return of the first-string defense as Illinois drove down the field, down 28 points, in the final minute of the game, sums it all up.  High-fiving him after the second-teamers made a touchdown-saving tackle on the goal line on the final play was the capper.

I lied about covering only three things.  I've got to add a fourth.  This morning, I went for a run in State College.  I left the Ramada on South Atherton Street and headed towards campus.  (As an aside, do yourself a favor and never stay at the Ramada in State College -- it's the grossest hotel I've ever seen.  Mind you, this is coming from someone who's also stayed at the Ramada in Altoona.  I didn't think anything could be worse than that.)  I ran into town, through the campus, and then decided to take a spin past the Paterno's.  Wouldn't you know that SuePa has one of those cheap plastic holiday screen door liners adorning her front door?  It's a Halloween one that shows a black cat peering out from behind a pumpkin.  You've gotta love it. 

It's True -- Great Minds Do Think Alike

I just sat down to write a farewell post to Andy Williams.  Before doing so, I quickly checked e-mail.  There waiting for me was a message from my mother.  She'd beaten me to it with her own message, titled entitled "RIP, Andy."

Andy Williams was the male equivalent of Karen Carpenter with a voice that was pitch perfect and completely pure.  But, before reading his obituary just now, the only song I was sure that Andy Williams sang was "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year."  Of course, that just happens to be one of the greatest songs of all time, all because of that voice.  In fact, whenever I want to demonstrate how completely awesome my own voice is, that's my go to song.  It beats out "My Heart Will Go On," "The Greatest Love of All," "Beautiful," and even Ariel's theme from The Little Mermaid.

I'd forgotten all the other Andy Williams songs I used to hear in my house when I was little, songs like "Moon River," "Where Do I Begin," "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You," and "The Impossible Dream."  Yes, they were my mother's favorites.  But, hey, I liked them, too.  It would be easy to say that I ony liked them because I was an impressionable 5-year old.  But, I just listened to a couple of them again on YouTube.  You know what?  They're still good.

Tonight, I'm going to break one of my golden rules.  I don't allow anyone in our house to listen to Christmas songs any earlier than the day after Thanksgiving.  But, tonight, I'm going to listen to "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year."  I might even listen to it twice.

Should I Keep My Head in the Sand?

Last Wednesday was "biometric screening" day at work.  Each year, Quest Diagnostics comes into the office, draws some of my blood, and measures my waist.  It's all part of the annual process that the company follows.  Each employee, and their spouse, has to get an annual screening to determine their cholesterol levels, waist circumference, and blood pressure.  You not ony have to get these things measured -- you have to actually pass three out of the five items. 

Last year, I passed with flying colors.  So, when the e-mail with my results showed up on Saturday morning, I didn't think much of it.  What could I possibly have to worry about, right?  In fact, I forgot all about the e-mail until Sunday night.  That was when I decided to catch up on a little work while waiting for the Ravens game to start.

As I started plowing through e-mails, I came upon the note from Quest Diagnostics.  "I wonder how well I did this year?" I asked myself.  As I opened the e-mail, I contentedly rubbed my belly, which was full after a nice meal of take-out Chinese (pork lo mein, pork egg foo yung, pork dumplings, and pork fried rice -- notice a theme there?).  I clicked the link to the Quest Diagnostics results site and looked at my results.  Big mistake.

Starting straight at me were two big red ALERT messages.  My total cholesterol was 239, up from 222 last year.  My LDL cholesterol was 148, up from 131 last year.  Immediately, the denial started.  "You've got to be kidding me," I yelled.  Kim asked what had happened and I told her.  "This is ridiculous," I explained.  "No one better tell me what to stop eating.  And, there's no way I'm taking any medications.  I hate medications.  They're the tools of the Devil."

No matter how much Kim tried to calm me down, all I could see was a life of misery:

• No more large orders of fries from McDonald's.
• No more evening snacks, standing at the kitchen counter, eating half a family-size bag of chips.
• No more roast chicken followed by a dessert of roast chicken carcass.

That was yesterday.  I've calmed down a little bit.  But, while the thought of my newly-diagnosed high cholesterol is still fresh in my mind, I've decided to have one last hurrah.  I got home from a meeting at 1:30PM and still hadn't had lunch.  I opened up the refrigerator to see what we had and found two small leftover steaks.  "Yummm -- red meat," I said to myself as I threw both of them on a plate.  For dinner, I had a big plate of leftover egg foo yung.  Still hungry, I decided to cap my meal with a big piece of apple pie smothered in ReddiWip.  Ahhhh!

Maybe I'll take my head out of the sand tomorrow.

Have You Ever Noticed That Everyone Else Is An Idiot?

Truth be told, I'm right 99.9% of the time.  You know it and I know it.  And, on the off chance that you don't know it, I'm bound to tell you.

Yesterday, at Jay's soccer game, the officiating was horrible.  He's only 6 games into his varsity soccer career but I've already come to realize that high school officiating just stinks.  Now that I think about it, it used to stink back when I played, too.  At least, that's what I used to tell the refs who were on the field with me.  You would have thought I'd know better, given that two of the guys who used to ref most of our home games at EFA were teachers at my high school.  But, I just couldn't stop myself.

Anyway, now that I'm no longer on the field playing the game, you would think I'd be more relaxed.  Not quite.  I do OK at Jay's club games but the high school scene is altogether different.  The refs don't run.  They have no clue how to gauge offsides, even on a field that's lined for football!  Best of all, there's absolutely no rhyme or reason to the fouls that they call.  Boys get stomped on while they're down -- no call.  Boys trip over their own feet -- direct kick.  It's maddening.

After one particularly egregious offsides call during the second half yesterday, a call that thwarted a sure scoring chance for Jay's team, I had had it.  I cupped my hands to my mouth and half-screamed, half-shouted "Booooooo!!!"  I held it out as long as I could.  Then, after taking a quick breath, I finished with a "You're horrible!" for good measure.

Kim was mortified.  Now that I think about it, so am I.  But, I have to admit -- it felt good.  As much as I don't want to ever do it again, I'm not going to make any promises.

By the way, just 6 games into his varsity career, Jay's already won more games than me.  We were 2-17 one year and 1-18 the next.  He's sitting pretty at 4-1-1.  I hope it doesn't go to his head.

My New Hand Me Up's

Last time I sat down to write a post, I had good intentions of writing about the transition I've recently made from hand-me-down's to hand-me-up's.  Instead, I took a bit of a U-turn and ended up telling a story about cat-heads.  Let's get back to hand-me-up's.

One of my mother's friends from nursing school was a nice lady named Mrs. May.  Every year or two, Mrs. May would pay a visit.  Mrs. May had a couple of kids who were a few years older than me.  One was a boy.  I used to look forward to Mrs. May's visits.  It wasn't because she was bringing her son along for the trip.  In fact, I don't think I ever met him.  No, I looked forward to those visits because it meant I might be getting some hand-me-down's.

Based on the clothes that showed up with Mrs. May, her son appeared to be quite a bit taller than me.  That didn't matter.  Remember, it was the late 1970's.  Rolling up your jeans was fashionable (I think).  I'd tear through the bag of hand-me-down's that Mrs. May left behind, grab the jeans, put them on, cinch my belt, roll the cuffs up a couple of times, and loudly announce "Yes, they fit perfectly."  Without those hand-me-down's, I don't think I would ever have had a pair of jeans, at least not until I started using my paper route money to buy my own clothes.

I know most people probably don't like to wear other people's used clothes.  When I was growing up, I never had that problem.  And, I still don't.

You see, a couple weeks back, Nick was cleaning out his closet.  Whenever that happens around here, we end up with a pile of clothes in our bedroom closet.  Kim then bags them up and off they go to AmVets.  This time, before she could get Nick's old clothes in their bags, I walked into our closet and saw a huge pile of clothes just sitting there on the floor.  "Hmmm," I thought to myself, "Some of those clothes don't look that bad.  Nick's bigger than me now.  If these clothes no longer fit him, I bet they might fit me."

The next thing I knew, I was standing there in my underwear, trying on Nick's old shorts, t-shirts, and sweatshirts.  It was like Christmas morning (if you spend Christmas morning in your underwear, that is).  After going through everything, I ended up with four pairs of shorts, a bunch of shirts, and a really nice Bucknell sweatshirt.  Yes, the shorts are a couple years out of style.  No, I don't care.  I'm wearing my hand-me-up's.

Just think.  In a couple more years, I can do it all over again with Jay's clothes.  I can't wait.

New Sneakers

When I was growing up, we didn't have a lot of money.  That meant that new clothes were a bit of a rarity.  And, when you did get something new, it was almost never the same brand that all the other kids were wearing.

Up until I was in high school, each August I used to go shopping with my mother for a back-to-school "outfit."  An outfit most likely meant a new shirt with color-coordinated corduroy pants.  I still remember one pair of new pants that my mother picked out in one of my last elementary school years.  They were Wranglers from Sears.  Better yet, they were rust-colored.  I think I wore them once and then stuffed them as far back in my closet as they would go.  They may still be there for all that I know.

I remember another time when I needed a new pair of sneakers.  This was 7th grade but I remember it vividly.  At the time, everyone's sneakers were Nike's, Adidas, or Converse.  I, of course, had a pair of cat-heads.

I have no idea why my sneakers were called cat-heads.  I just know that's what junior high kids in Elmira called any sneakers that weren't one of those name brands.  Nobody wanted to have cat-heads.  But, that was my fate at the time.

Soon enough, my latest pair of cat-heads had worn through.  So, my mom took me downtown one evening for a new pair of sneakers.  I was determined not to get another pair of cat-heads.  I couldn't imagine getting a brand new pair and sporting them in the halls of Ernie Davis Junior High School.  It would have been the ultimate humiliation.

Anyway, my mom took me straight to a shoe store that sold absolutely no name-brand sneakers.  I was in turmoil inside.  How was I going to convince her that none of these were right?  While I tried to figure that out, she had the salesperson pull a couple pairs of shiny new white cat-heads out for me to try.  I sullenly began to try them on.  Just as I got my first foot in, who should walk in the store but some girl from my school.  I remember to this day that her first name was Laurel but I've forgotten her last name.  I think it was Smith.  Even if I'm wrong, you have to admit that Laurel Smith is such an Elmira name.

So, there I was.  I had one foot squarely in a new cat-head.  The store was so small that there was no way Laurel couldn't see me.  She was with her mom.  That didn't stop her from looking at me, seeing the cat-head on my foot, and loudly pronouncing "Meow."

That was it.  There was no way in hell I could let my mother buy me those cat-heads.  I couldn't face an entire school day of meow's from my classmates.  I can't remember if I said anything or if my mom could just see the look on my face.  It was probably the latter.  In any event, before I knew it, we were in Harold's Army-Navy, the only cool store in downtown Elmira.  My mother walked right over to the sneaker section with me and we pulled down a pair of Nike low-top canvas shoes.  They were the cheapest Nike's in the store but, by God, I was going to get them.  Within minutes, we were out the door, new Nike's in hand.  It was at that moment that I decided that there actually was a God.

The next day, I saw Laurel in school.  "I saw you trying on those cat-heads," she said with a smirk as she looked down at my new Nike's.  That was it.  Nothing more.  She just wanted to be sure that I knew that she knew.  Isn't middle school awesome?

You know, I had an entirely different story in mind when I sat down to write this.  It had to do with clothes but, somehow, this came out.  I'm not sure how that happened.  I'll get to the other story eventually.