What to Pack?

There are lots of bad things about travel.  Security lines, delays, unfamiliar roads, and sleeping in a strange bed are a few of them.  But, the worst thing about taking a trip is packing for it.

I have a hard enough time picking out what to wear each morning on a regular day.  Having to pick clothes for several days in a row all in one fell swoop is almost too much to handle.  So, it was no suprise that, at 4AM this morning, I found myself wide awake in bed.  I was wondering what to pack for our trip tomorrow to Los Angeles.  Over and over, I went through each day in my head, thinking about what we're going to be doing while we're there.  The questions kept coming:

• Should I bring shorts or zipper pants?  I know everyone in the family hates my zipper pants but, come on, they're shorts and pants all in one.  Will they let me hang out with them in public if I decide to wear them as shorts?
• Will anyone really notice if I wear the same t-shirt 3 days in a row?  I've done it before and gotten away with it (I think).
• What if we find somewhere "nice" we want to eat?  Should I bring something other than jeans just in case?  If I do, doesn't that mean I also need to bring a button down shirt?  And nice shoes?  And a belt?  This is ridiculous.
• What running clothes should I bring?  It's supposed to get down to the mid-40's at night.  Will I need a sweatshirt?  I'm not going to need a hat, am I?
• The weather forecast is good for Monday but what if it rains?  Should I bring rain gear for the Rose Bowl?  Should I at least throw in a poncho?
• How am I going to fit everything into my carry-on?  I've already laid down the law with everyone else in the family about no checked bags and no unnecessary items in their carry-ons.  The fearless leader of the family can't be a hypocrite, can he?

I've got 12 hours til it's time to actually pack my bag.  Right now, I'm no closer to any decisions.  Maybe Kim will help me figure all this out tonight.  If past experience is any indication, I know she'll be thrilled when I ask for her help.

A Christmas Present From Wally

Last Christmas, we were in the throes of Wally's medical mystery tour.  In the two weeks leading up to Christmas, Wally had been back and forth to the vet a half-dozen times and had spent several nights at the emergency vet.  No one could tell us what was wrong with him.  All we knew was that he was listless, wasn't eating, and had dangerously low protein levels.  During one visit to the emergency vet, we'd even been told to prepare to put him down.  Just before Christmas, however, Wally seemed to bounce back.  By Christmas day, he was almost back to normal.

That normalcy lasted until about 1PM Christmas day.  All of a sudden, Wally was on the ground, crying and unable to move.  Not knowing what else to do, Kim bundled him into the car and took him off to the 24-hour urgent care center in Gaithersburg.  We were certain that was it for him.

While Kim was off with Wally, the kids and I struggled to make it through the rest of Christmas day, pretending like everything was fine.  I ended up doing battle with Christmas dinner, preparing a fancy salad, twice-baked potatoes, and a beef brisket while wondering if Kim would make it home in time to sit down with us -- and if she'd do so with Wally in tow.

As it turned out, Wally was fine.  After spending the vast majority of our 2011 vacation budget on his care, it turned out that he had doggy IBD!  All he needed was a change of diet.  An earlier diagnosis would have been nice.  But, we're glad to have him healthy and back to normal.

That brings us to this Christmas.  I never go for a run on Christmas morning so I was still in bed shortly after 7AM.  Normally, Wally waits patiently for Kim to get out of bed before getting up for his breakfast.  Not today.  He hopped up off his bed and trotted over to the door to the hall.  There, he stopped and turned around as if to say "Are you going to get up and feed me, or what?"  Since I was already awake, I climbed out of bed, let Ginger out of her crate, and set off downstairs to feed them.

After feeding the dogs and letting them outside, I sat down in the kitchen to wait for them to do their business and come back to the back door.  I silently prayed that Wally would take the morning off from barking so that our neighbors could have some peace and quiet on Christmas morning.  It was not to be.  Wally was out there acting like the "King of the Yard," barking noisily to ward off all who might challenge his authority.  "This is ridiculous," I thought.  "I'm going to have to go out there and shut him up."

Since Wally was now in the front yard, I headed to the front door.  I unlocked it and stepped out onto the porch.  "Wally," I hissed.  "Stop barking."  Wally paid me no mind but Ginger, of course, trotted right up to me.  I opened the door to let her inside.  That's when I saw my Christmas present from Wally.

Just inside the front door, on the corner of the hall rug, was a pile of Wally's poop.  From the look of it, I guessed it was about 2 or 3 hours old.  How do I know it was Wally's?  Well, Ginger sleeps in a crate.  I'd say that pretty much rules her out.  Wally must have taken an early morning stroll through the house.  I'd left all the Christmas lights on when I went to bed on Christmas Eve so he probably thought someone was waiting for him downstairs.  After checking out the gifts under the tree and finding no one else awake, I guess he decided to leave his own gift for me before heading back to bed.

So, that was how Christmas morning started for me this year.  As I picked up Wally's mess and deposited it outside, I thought about being upset with him.  But, after our adventures last Christmas, and in the spirit of the season, I decided to give him a pass.  Merry Christmas, Wally.  And, thanks for my present. 

Christmas Cookies: A Love Story

Growing up, Christmas cookies were a very big part of the holidays.  In the midst of the general chaos that accompanied Christmas preparation in a house with seven children, my mother and sisters spent countless hours making cookies.  There were sugar cookies, gingerbread cookies, peanut butter balls, fudge bars, snickerdoodles, pumpkin cookies, peanut butter kiss cookies, and peppermint twists.  And that's only some of the types of cookies that they'd make.  It seemed like the baking never stopped: make the dough; assemble the cookies; place them on a cookie sheet; pop them in the oven; let them cool; stick them in a box; repeat.  It seemed to go on and on without stop.

In the midst of all this, a package would arrive from my dad's mom.  It was a box of her cookies.  She made all the traditional Italian cookies (pizzelles, biscotti, and others whose names I don't even know).  I remember how different they seemed from the cookies my mom and sisters would make.  I also remember how good they were.

Anyway, we had a lot of cookies.  The way my mom stored them was interesting.  Cookies went into gift boxes, the type that would hold a new shirt or sweater.  Then, the boxes went out to the entry room that led from the garage to our house.  That room wasn't insulated so it stayed pretty cold.  My mom must have learned that trick from her mom.  It kept the cookies fresh and tasting like they'd just come out of the oven.

For me, it's just not Christmas without a cookie tray loaded up with all different kinds of cookies.  The cookie tray needs to sit out all day during the holiday season.  When it starts to empty, you're supposed to quickly reload it and start nibbling again.  That's Christmas, right?

When Kim and I got married, I realized that the importance we Bucci's had placed on Christmas cookies wasn't shared equally by all.  Kim's been a good sport, though.  Each year, we take out the Bucci Family Christmas Cookie Recipe Book (yes, there really is one) and make a couple batches of our favorites.

Today was the day we did the bulk of the work.  While Kim was busy making sugar cookies, chocolate and peanut butter cookies, and chocolate crinkles, I chipped in by making Spritz cookies (another old favorite of mine).

As usually happens when I try to cook, it was an adventure.  I failed to follow the recipe correctly and neglected to cream the butter and sugar together before dumping all the other ingredients in the bowl.  That caused the dough to be too thick to push through the Spritz machine.  What do do?  Kim suggested that I roll the dough into small logs and slice it into cookies.  That worked out just fine.  While slicing the cookie dough, I practiced my impressions of Martha Stewart, Rachael Ray, Ina Garten, and Paula Deen.  In case you're wondering, I'm pretty sure I'm the best at Ina Garten.

After getting a compliment from Kim on my impressions, I turned to decorating.  After a false start when I put cinnamon sugar (yuck) onto a cookie or two, I got through that part pretty easily.  Then, it was time to put the cookies into the oven.  The first two trays came out fine.  But, I'm impatient. Rather than waiting for one of the trays to cool, I grabbed another one out of the cupboard.  Who knew that a dark cookie tray would cook faster than a light cookie tray?  Sure enough, the third tray burned.  So, I made a quick snack out of the worst of the lot.

All in all, it was a good day.  We've got a full tray of cookies sitting in front of me on the kitchen island.  We've got gift boxes full of reinforcements sitting out in our garage.  Now we just need someone to come over and help us eat our way through them.

The Job Offer from Hell

Have you ever shopped at Hollister?  I tried once.  Here's how it went:

• I walked into the store.  I'm no prude but I had to avert my eyes as I walked past the oversized posters at the entrance showing half-dressed young men and women.  I moved as fast as I could to get past those pictures and, once I was past them, let out a sigh of relief.
• The relief didn't last long.  Within seconds, my eyes started to water.  I don't know what fragrance they were pumping through the ventilation system but, if it had a name, it was probably "Too Much."  That's sure what it smelled like.  I blinked several times, shook my head, and kept moving forward.
• That's when I noticed the overly non-chalant beautiful people who were masquerading as Hollister employees.  They didn't appear to be working.  I watched them for a bit.  They kind of walked around aimlessly, stopping at times to talk to each other.  I felt like I'd stumbled into a Tier One social at Penn State (at least, the way I imagine them to be after listening to Hannah's stories about the social scene at State College).  I missed my old Kappa Sig basement.
• Have I mentioned the loud music yet?  It was pumping from speakers hidden throughout the store.  I hate clubs with loud music.  I hate shopping.  I hate beautiful people parties.  That's when I realized the truth.  Hollister was hell.

It's been a while since that trip to Hollister.  To remind me of what it's like, I just visited the Hollister web site.  On the front page of the site, I was greeted by the following message: "Tonight!  Party with hot lifeguards at every store!"  I'm not making this stuff up.

So, why the Hollister story tonight?  Because, when I got home from work, Hannah told me that, while shopping there today, two Hollister employees came up to her and told her they'd like her to work there.  Oh, my God.  My little girl was recruited by Satan's little helpers.

Sounds of the Season

I love Christmas carols.  I'm talking about songs that reference the true meaning of Christmas -- songs like "We Three Kings," "Hark, The Herald Angels Sing," "O Little Town of Bethlehem," and "Away in a Manger."  There's lots of Christmas music played on the radio this time of year but it's still pretty unusual to hear non-secular Christmas songs.

That's why I was so happy tonight when, over dinner at Bistro Blanc, I realized that they were playing non-stop religious Christmas carols.  At first, I thought I must be mistaken when I heard "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear."  But, when that was quickly followed by "Silent Night" and then "What Child Is This?," I started to smile.  They were really playing old-time Christmas carols.  It was awesome.

My guess is that no one else in the restaurant even noticed what was being played.  I know that no one with whom I was sitting said anything.  But, it was so nice to hear all the songs that I grew up loving to hear at Christmas time.  I'm going to bed happy tonight.

The Art of Wrapping Presents

I just finished up wrapping this year's Christmas presents.  My sister, Lisa, would be very proud to see how nice they look.

When we were growing up, each of us kids used to get a Christmas gift for each of our siblings and something for our Mom and Dad.  With five sisters and one brother, that was a lot of presents and a lot of wrapping.  All the years I lived at home, I managed to convince Lisa to wrap my presents for me (except my gift to her, of course).  I think she did this for me both because she was nice and because it meant she got to see what I was giving to everyone else.  Each year, I'd sit and watch her and marvel at how quickly she could get the job done.  All that measuring, cutting, and taping just seemed like too much work to me.

Once I left home, I was on my own.  I quickly found out that wrapping presents really isn't that hard.  After all these years, I've got it down to a system.  First, I spread everything out on the floor: the paper, the scissors, the tape, the labels, and the pen.  Then, I put my purchased gifts in a pile and size them up before getting started.  My primary goal is to use the least amount of wrapping paper possible.  I hate to end up with those little sections that are too small to wrap anything and have to be thrown away.  I just don't like throwing away wrapping paper.  I think that stems from all those Christmas mornings where my father would scavenge through the flotsam and jetsam on the floor, finding paper that could be used again the next year.  I don't think my parents bought wrapping paper any more frequently than once every five years.

This year, the gift wrapping didn't go too badly:

• Twice, I ripped the paper while cutting it.  I blame the paper quality.
• One gift required about 20 pieces of tape.  The gift is an odd shape, so I think I did OK.  And, Kim, if you're reading this, it's not a tennis racquet no matter what it looks like.
• In my quest to use the least amount of paper possible, I managed to cut out one square that was too small to completely cover the package.  To make things right, I cut a couple random strips of paper and used them to fill in the gaps.  I don't think anyone will notice.
• And, yes, I had to throw away a couple small pieces of paper.  I made sure to tell each of them I was sorry while dumping them in the trash.

Choices

Throughout life, we are faced with choices.  Some are simple.  Some are more difficult.  Our choices have consequences.  Today, I had to make a choice.  I'm pretty sure I made the wrong one.

After my meeting, I headed back to Trenton to take the train home.  I'd never been to Trenton before and, based on what I saw as I drove through town and during my brief time at the train station, I'm not sure I want to go back.  But, enough about Trenton.  When I boarded the train, I mistakenly got on the Quiet Car.  I didn't realize I was on the Quiet Car until I was settled into my seat with my laptop open, busily catching up on e-mails.  I didn't think much of it as I didn't have any calls planned.  I rode peacefully down to Philadelphia and through Wilmington without incident.

At about 2:10PM, I got an e-mail asking if I could join a call at 2:30PM.  Hmmm, I thought.  I'm not going to get into BWI Rail Station until about 2:45PM.  I needed to be on the call.  But, I was sitting on the Quiet Car.  No cell phone use is allowed.  No problem, I thought.  I can move to another car.  So, I shot a note back saying "Yes, I'll be on the call."

As soon as I hit the 'send' button, the questions started.  Do I really need to move?  I'm a quiet talker.  I'll only be on the phone for 15 minutes before getting off the train.  It's not like the train is really all that quiet anyway, what with the constant clammering of the rail car over the tracks.  Is anyone really going to notice?  The Quiet Car was only about one-half full.  I'm sure they'd all be fine.  What would Alec Baldwin do?  That did it for me.  I knew exactly what Alec Baldwin would do.  He'd stay put, I'm sure of it.

So, I choose to stay on the Quiet Car and rebelliously take my 2:30PM call.  When the call started, I quietly (yes, quietly) told the others on the call that I was on the Quiet Car and was going to stay on mute most of the time.  But, soon, I had to ask a question.  I bit my tongue.  I silently hoped that someone else would ask the question for me.  Eventually, I lost my patience and asked away.  As soon as I was done, I looked around to see if anyone had noticed.  It didn't seem that they had so I soon asked another question.  After another minute or two, I volunteered an opinion.  Damn the Quiet Car!  I was on a roll.  I went straight ahead with another comment.

That's when it happened.  The nice lady in front of me turned around and said "This is the Quiet Car."  I smiled meekly and gave her a thumbs up.  I have no idea why I gave her a thumbs up.  I don't think she did, either.  She just shook her head in disgust and turned back around.  At that moment, the conductor saved me.  He announced that we were pulling into BWI Rail Station. Thank God!

I stood up (still on the phone, of course, but back on mute), gathered my things, and slithered off the train.  I'd made a choice.  Unfortunately, it was the wrong one.  I'm sorry, nice lady on the train.  Please forgive me.

Monitoring The In-Box

I've done most of my Christmas shopping this year on www.Amazon.com.  Up until this year, I thought Amazon just sold books.  How wrong I was.  They sell everything.  While that should have made things easy for me, it's actually complicated things.  In fact, I think Amazon may actually be ruining my Christmas.

Kim's had an Amazon account for years.  So, when I started making purchases last week, I simply entered her login and password.  That pre-populated our mailing address and billing information.  All I had to do was check on the items I wanted, send them to the "shopping cart," and press the check-out button.  How simple.  In went item #1, quickly followed by items #2, #3, #4, and #5.  This was awesome.   In no time at all, I was pretty much done with shopping.  Or, so I thought.

You see, what I failed to realize was that Amazon also has Kim's e-mail address.  And, Amazon loves to send you e-mails.

• First, there's the e-mail confirming your order.
• Then there's the e-mail telling you that your credit card's been charged.
• Next, you get the e-mail telling you that your order has shipped.

Amazon sends you one of these e-mails for each item you purchased.  Even better, they reference the actual item in the subject line of the e-mail.

What a mess this has become.  I spent all day yesterday running to Kim's computer, checking her e-mail, and hurriedly moving items out of her in-box.  Even that wasn't enough.  Once or twice, while she was sitting at her desk doing e-mails, she yelled out "You got another one."  I'm sure she knows everything she's getting.

I've now added another item to my Christmas wish list for this year -- my very own Amazon account.  I think that would make two people very happy.

Notes From the Road

Monday, I worked from home.  Tuesday, I drove to Charlottesville for a meeting and then headed back north to spend the night at a hotel near Dulles so I could get an early flight on Wednesday morning to Atlanta.  After two nights in Atlanta, I'm back home to sleep in my own bed.  Thank God.

Here are highlights from the trip.

• Arrive at meeting location in Charlottesville.  Get out of car.  Walk across parking lot.  Step in puddle.  Sit through 90-minute meeting with one soaking wet foot.  Try to concentrate on meeting.  Succeed only intermittently.
• Park at hotel in Ashburn, VA.  Go up to room.  Read and respond to e-mails.  Start to get hungry.  Decide against ordering room service in a continued one-man protest against the ridiculous tax and service charge that is applied to any room service order.  Keep doing e-mails.  Finally must eat.  Refuse to get back in car to find take-out food.  Remember that there was an APlus mini-mart attached to the Shell station across from the hotel.  Walk to APlus mini-mart.  Realize that APlus mini-marts have a pretty disgusting food selection.  Accept defeat.  Dejectedly walk back to hotel.  Order room service.
• Get up early and drive to Dulles.  Cruise through security and straight to gate.  Begin to contentedly mind own business.  Notice the young mother who shows up with the toddler at the gate.  Listen to the mom loudly tell her child over and over that he needs to be quiet and that he's disturbing everyone else.  Exercise great self-restraint by not telling the mom that it's her, not the kid, who's making all the noise.  Wonder why she isn't smart enough to realize that.
• Board plane.  Arrive at seat.  Notice that seat is located directly in front of loud talking mom.  Notice that loud talking mom is still talking.  Take seat.  Put on seatbelt.  Begin to weep.
• Go to meeting.  At end of long day, go to hotel to check in.  Get room key.  Take elevator.  Get off elevator.  Find that room is located as far from the elevator as humanly possible.  Curse.  Walk.  Walk.  Curse.  Walk.  Finally find room.  Pause for breath.  Put key in door.  Open door.  Walk into foyer with powder room.  See separate living room with wet bar.  Walk into spacious bedroom with sitting area.  Tour spacious full bath that is bigger than living room at home.  Resolve to never leave room.
• Wake up the next day.  Must leave room and go to more meetings.  At end of day, board bus to go to group function.  Realize that, once on bus, there is no chance of return until end of function.  Too late.  Bus is leaving.  Trapped.  Spend time at function daydreaming of return to spacious room.
• Arrive back at spacious room.  Realize that you've done nothing but sleep and shower in it.  Vow to return again some other time.
• Wake up.  Shower.  Pack suitcase.  Go to airport.  Get on plane.  Arrive safely back at Dulles.  Walk to parking garage.  Load suitcase in car.  Get in.  Turn car on.  Back up.  Begin to pull away.  Warning bells begin.  Message flashes on dashboard -- "Low Tire Pressure."  Roll eyes.  Think how good it is to be home.

Cutting Down the Christmas Tree, Elmira Style

Yesterday, we went to the tree farm and cut down the tree.  Thank God I've got two teenage boys to help me because each year it seems like our tree gets bigger -- or I get weaker.  It's one or the other.  In any event, it was very nice to have two more sets of capable hands help me carry the tree back to the car.

As usual, while I tied the tree to the car, I had to field questions from the peanut gallery.  They're all variations on a theme:

• "Are you sure the tree is going to stay on the car?"
• "Is it tied tightly enough?"
• "Shouldn't it be centered on the roof?"

I patiently (for me, at least) assured them that everything was going to be fine.  Then, as we drove home, more questions came:

• "Are you sure it's still there?" 
• "Is it moving?"
• "What would you do if it fell off?"

The last question is my favorite.  I like how it's what would you do, not what would we do.

Every time I go through this, I think back to growing up in Elmira and the tree cutting adventures we had when I was young.  We used to cut down our tree at Mt. Saviour Monastery out in Pine City.  All the kids would pile into the car with my dad.  My mother was either too smart to make the trip or my father was too smart to let her.  It was about a 20 minute drive from our house.  We headed over the Chemung River, out through Golden Glow, and then up the big hill on Monastery Drive.

Mt. Saviour Monastery was a 250 acre tract of land on which some Benedictine monks raised sheep and got closer to God.  My parents had a knack for making friends with monks and nuns (don't ask).  Somehow, they got permission to have us go up each year and cut down a tree.  Mt. Savior was not a tree farm.  When you went up there to cut down a tree, you were simply parking the car, heading off into the woods and looking for a pine tree.

The first year or two we went up there, there might have been a decent looking tree.  But, after we took those down, we were pretty much out of luck.  You have to remember -- these were the woods.  You'd hike around looking for pines.  There were quite a few 2 - 4 foot trees.  There were plenty of 20 foot trees.  The trick was to find a good 10-12 footer that didn't mind having the top cut off.  That's what we'd usually end up doing.

After we got the tree down, the real fun started.  First, we had to get the tree back to the car, which was usually a station wagon.  We never had a roof rack.  But, we had to tie the tree down.  My dad would get the tree on top of the car, stick some of the kids back inside the car, have them roll the windows down, and then tie the tree down, running twine right through the car.  After the tree was suitably tied down, the kids in the middle row would roll up the window, the rest of the kids would pile into the way back of the car, and home we would go, anxiously hoping that the tree wouldn't slide off the car (or that the car, itself, wouldn't break down which always seemed to be a distinct possibility in those days).

As I've gotten older, I've often wondered what was going through my father's head on these trips.  None of it could have been pleasant.  Most of it probably couldn't have been printed.  But, somehow he got through it.  My guess is he'll never forget those trips.  I know I haven't.

Taking A Stand

It's been an interesting week at the new job, one filled with a healthy mix of chaos, confusion, and excitement.  I've quickly realized just how uneventful the past 19 months really were.  That was the problem, ultimately.  Things were just too boring.  It's good to be back in an environment where's there's uncertainty, risk, and opportunity.

I've come to realize that, as much as I can complain about it, I like work.  I like making a contribution.  I like belonging to a group that's focused on a common objective.  I have a hard time imagining a life without work.  It's where I get a lot of my personal fulfillment.  That's why I was so struck today by the news story I saw while eating my breakfast this morning.  The story was about Occupy Wall Street.  The reporter was at one of the camps (I'm not even sure which city it was) interviewing a scruffy young guy who appeared to be about 20-25 years old.  The young guy defiantly looked into the camera and announced that he refused to get a job until the government institutes a livable minimum wage.  I almost choked on my Cheerios.

Can someone out there explain this guy's rationale to me?  I've spent all day trying to figure it out and I just can't do it.  I get that the minimum wage is not sufficient to achieve a reasonable standard of living.  I get that this guy is upset about that.  But, deciding to refuse to work -- at any job -- until it's raised?  Really?  That's the answer?  What about obtaining a skill that allows you to get a job that pays more than the minimum wage and then spending your "protest" time teaching that skill to others?  How about aspiring to start a business in an industry that typically hires employees at the minimum wage but committing to pay your employees at above-market wages?  What's the matter?  Do you think it would be too hard to develop a consumer market for that?

Anyway, I've got to go.  I'm organizing Nick and Jay to join me on a hunger strike.  We're refusing to eat until we start getting served filet mignon every night.  I wonder how long that will last?

Do You Really Want to Know How I Feel About It?

I spent 5 hours in the car today, traveling back-and-forth to Philadelphia for a meeting.  It wasn't all bad as there wasn't that much traffic and I got to listen to a lot of Howard Stern.  Unfortunately, the show replay that I was listening to on the way back this afternoon overlapped with much of what I'd already heard this morning.  I was perfectly happy to listen to Howard's interview of Jason Ellis twice.  Jason Ellis, while very screwed up, is always entertaining.  Of course, maybe it's because he's so screwed up that I find him so entertaining.

Anyway, while listening to Jason Ellis twice was fine, I didn't want to listen a second time to Howard berate Richard and Sal for their latest lame phony phone calls.  So, I switched over to ESPN Radio and caught a little bit of The Doug Gottlieb Show.

After just one 10-minute segment with Doug, I quickly remembered why it had been so long since I'd last listened to him.  Specifically, I'd forgotten how tiresome, repetitive, annoying, condescending, strident, disingenuous, repetitive, patronizing, sanctimonious, arrogant, arduous, bombastic, unimaginative, and, (yes, one more time) repetitive I find his commentary.

Wow.  I feel much better now. 

Day One

So, I started my new job today.  It was a great first day.  Highlights included:

• A meet and greet with my new team where everyone told me how excited they were to have me back -- and actually convinced me that they meant it!
• Back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back conference calls from Noon - 6:15PM.  Believe it or not, I didn't mind one bit.  It was good to feel wanted.  My bladder, though, is going to need to be retrained to accomodate an Aetna schedule.
• One customer defection.  I think everyone just wanted to see how I'd react to a minor catastrophe on day one.
• Notification of out of town trips in each of my first three weeks.  Unfortunately, I'm going to have to get used to sleeping alone in hotel rooms all over again.
• Absolutely no time to web surf (on Cyber Monday, of all days).
• Arrival at home to an empty house shortly after 7PM to find dinner waiting for me in the fridge.  That dinner was proof (as if I needed it) that Kim really loves me.  Inside the refrigerator, still in its container, was the carcass of the rotisserie chicken that she had served to the boys.  Since I was alone, I was free to just roll up my sleeves and start pulling it apart.  I picked it clean and disposed of all the remnants before she made it home.  Kim is the best.

All in all, it was a very good day.  I can't wait til tomorrow.

5 Things That Made My Day Today

I thought I'd end the day by summing up the things that made me happy today.  Then, I decided that wouldn't be any fun.  So, here's a list of 5 of the things that aren't making me happy today.

• OK, Wally.  I get it.  I'm not Kim.  I know she's your favorite.  I know that most people probably think that you look so cute when they see you sitting at the bottom of the driveway, patiently waiting for hours for Kim to return whenever she's out.  But, they don't have to see your disdainful "Oh, it's you" look when they turn into the driveway and you see that it's not Kim driving the car.  Could I just once get you to turn and chase my car up the driveway?  You don't even really have to chase the car.  Just trot at a slow pace.  Could that really be that hard for you?
• Hey, Brent Musburger!  Retire already, please.  I just did a Wikipedia search and there is no way you're only 72 years old.  You've got to be at least 96.  Brent, if you're not going to retire, then I've got 3 favors to ask of you: (a) stop calling Kirk Herbstreit "Herbie," (b) limit your references to players' "daddies" to no more than 2 per game, and (c) get a sports jacket that fits.  How hard can that be?
• Does the NBA strike really have to be over?  Is the NBA even a real sport?  I'm probably not in the best position to answer that question, given that I've never even seen a full NBA game.  But, if no one's playing defense, can it really be a sport?  In any event, I was so happy to not be seeing NBA "highlights" on SportsCenter.  Now I've got to deal with that nonsense again.
• Can we please stop with all the speculation during Penn State football broadcasts about what Tom Bradley "knew" about the Jerry Sandusky allegations?  During today's game, Matt Millen and Sean McDonough went on forever on this topic.  Seriously, do we really think that we all know what our family members and friends, let alone our co-workers, are up to all the time?  Trust me -- we don't.  To prove my point, I could make a list here of my own little "secrets" just covering the years 1980 - 1985.  Unfortunately for you, dear reader, my mother reads this blog so you'll just have to use your imagination.  If you're really desperate to know, call my sister Lisa.
• For all of you out there who still have pumpkins on your porches, Halloween was 26 days ago.  Thanksgiving is over, too, so don't try to use that as an excuse.  Get rid of your pumpkins!  Don't make me do it for you because it may not be pretty.

Christmas - The American Way

Usually, I try to keep the Christmas season from starting too soon at our house.  This year, though, I've been lenient.  Kim's been playing Christmas music in the car since last weekend.  Our outside Christmas lights have already been hung.  And, instead of watching the Ravens game last night, Jay and I watched "Elf."  (We let Kim and Hannah borrow our man cards while they watched the game.)

So, it's safe to say that I've been getting into the Christmas spirit early this year.  According to this morning's headlines, it seems like I'm not alone.  From all across America, there were heartwarming stories of peace, joy, and goodwill towards man taking place in the parking lots and store aisles of our shopping malls.  Of course, I'm talking about pepper spraying, shootings, and armed robberies.

Shopping should be a necessary evil, not a leisure activity.  With Black Friday, though, it seems like shopping has moved beyond being a simple leisure activity and has become a competition.  It's all about how early the stores open, how big the "deals" are, and how you can walk away with more than your fellow shopper.  But, getting into arguments and shooting the other people who are waiting in line with you while waiting for the store to open at midnight?  Pepper spraying your fellow shoppers to keep them away from "your" stuff?  Hanging out in parking lots at 2AM to rob people walking out of Wal-Mart?  Seriously?  This is what Christmas has become?

For the last few years, Hannah and I have gone to the mall each Christmas Eve.  We don't go to shop.  We go to watch other people shop.  It's fun.  Believe it or not, there's never any panic at the mall.  People are calm, smiling, and in good spirits.  It's pretty boring.  In fact, the Christmas Eve outing has become so uneventful that, this year, we actually talked about going out on Black Friday to see what that was like.  It never crossed my mind that, if we went, I might need to bring my shotgun.

P.S.  I need to thank Hannah.  While I've been writing this, she's been switching back-and-forth between the annual Pitt - WVU "Backyard Brawl" on ESPN and "Say Yes to the Dress - Bridesmaids" on TLC.  I may have just found a new favorite show.  Drama, cattiness, and sheer stupidity.  "Say Yes to the Dress" has it all.  Each time Hannah switched back to the football game, I had to fight the urge to tell her to please go back.  Somewhere deep inside I must have some testosterone left because the actual words never came out of my mouth.

Tonight's Horrifically Horrifying Episode of "The X Factor"

I was always a Simon Cowell fan when he was on "American Idol" so I've tried to give his new show a chance.  But, "The X Factor" is absolutely horrible.  Quite frankly, it's hard to describe how terrible it really is.  The singers can't sing.  Every third performance, a judge becomes overcome with emotion and starts crying while praising the performer as "genuine" or "courageous."  The host is a complete tool who makes Ryan Seacrest look like a Mensa member.  Did I tell you that the singers can't sing?

So, I'm giving up on "The X Factor."  Halfway through tonight's show, we switched to "Hoarders - Buried Alive."  On this episode, a retired ventriloquist has a house completely filled with puppets!  It's scarily awesome.  The hoarder's son just started crying because he was so overwhelmed with how "... the puppets have been accumulating."  Now that's entertainment.

Unemployment -- Day One

Friday was my last day at my old job.  Next Monday is my first day at my new job.  What does that mean?  I'm unemployed for the week!  Other than the fact that we've got no health insurance for the week, things couldn't be better.
Here's how I've spent my first day on the dole: 

• I let Kim beat me out of bed this morning.  But, I made a special point of coming downstairs before the boys left for school so that I could mock them for having to leave so early.
• After going for my run, taking a shower, and eating a bowl of cereal, it was 8AM.  My plan for the day was to finish my fall yard clean-up. Unfortunately, it was raining (which it's done off-and-on all day).  So, I headed to the computer to check out my favorite websites.  After getting my fill of Penn State football news at www.blackshoediaries.com, checking out the morning headlines on www.CNN.com, and getting my weekend entertainment highlights from www.thr.com, it was all of 8:45AM.  I still had a full 12 hours left before I could go back to bed.
• From 8:45AM to 9AM, I sat in the kitchen and watched deer come and go through our backyard.  I thought of heading out to chase them off with some ammunition from the "bucket o' rocks" that Nick gave me for Father's Day (he's so thoughtful).  Instead, I roused Wallly and Ginger and sent them out in full attack mode.
• Following all that hub-bub, I walked aimlessly around the house til 9:30AM when Kim came home from her walk.  When she asked me if I wanted to go to the food store with her, I could barely contain my excitement.  I patiently waited while she got ready and made her shopping list and then off we went.
• The food store trip was everything I expected and more.  When we got to the parking lot, we split up so I could go to Bagel Bin while Kim headed into Giant.  All on my own, I ordered one dozen bagels!  Once I made it back to the food store, Kim kept me occupied (and out of her hair) by sending me off on searches for lunch meat, hamburger, juice boxes, and chips.  She really knows how to utilize my talent.  While shopping, I looked at all the other guys in the food store (there were quite a few) and wondered what they were doing there.
• After stopping by the high school to pick up Jay (the boys had a half-day and Jay stayed after for a while), we headed home.  I had a tasty lunch of a leftover roast beef sub from Pudgie's.
• By now it was 12:45PM.  Once again, I had absolutely nothing to do.  I complained about that for a bit but, at the same time, told Kim she wasn't allowed to give me a list of chores.  I headed into the family room and switched on the TV.  I watched the Barefoot Contessa prepare a back-to-basics Thanksgiving dinner (roast turkey roulade, herb and apple stuffing, parmesan smashed potatos, cognac gravy, and cranberry fruit conserve) and said a silent prayer that she'd invite me over for Thanksgiving next year.
• Then it was time for some bill paying.  No need to dwell on that.
• Now it was 3PM and Nick was getting ready for work.  Inspired by the Barefoot Contessa, I whipped him up a tasty meal of re-heated flank steak and broccoli along with a banana. Slaving over that meal made me hungry so I popped myself a bag of extra movie theater butter-flavored popcorn and set a good example by eating 3/4 of the entire bag.
• After that, I went back to the TV but nothing held my interest.  So, I decided to do some Christmas shopping.  I went up to my dresser, got the catalogs that Kim's been saving for me, opened them up to the pages she'd marked, and went online to "shop" for the things she'd picked out for herself.  Thank God she doesn't mind not being surprised on Christmas morning.
• That took me up to 4PM.  I put on some Shania Twain ("Up") and sat down to write this.  Shania Twain is the best.  Jay walked by, heard her, and said "Anyone who says they don't like Shania Twain is just lying to themselves."  He is so right.

I have no idea what I'm going to do the rest of the week.  I think you should all pray for my family that they get through this.

That's My Story and I'm Sticking To It

Hannah is home for Thanksgiving break.  Yay!  Finally, the whole gang is back together -- at least for 7 days.

Luckily for me, I didn't have to drive to State College to get her.  Instead, she got a ride home with a friend.  I met them down in College Park at about 9PM on Friday night.  I didn't notice until we got home and were sitting in the kitchen that Hannah has the remnants of a black eye.  When we asked how it happened, she said that she got hit by a door.  Hmmm.

I didn't press her on it but I guess that's a plausible story.  In fact, I remember the same thing happened to Bob Pankuck back in college.  Bob was standing in the foyer at Kappa Sig, in the middle of a conversation late one night.  While he was standing there, someone plowed through the front door.  Bob caught the impact of the front door full on in the face.  Luckily for him, he'd had quite a few Old Milwaukee "sleeping pills" that evening and didn't even remember it happening.  But, he had two black eyes to show for it for quite some time.

So, I'll take Hannah at her word.  However, let's imagine how she might have gotten her black eye:

• Perhaps she got it when she was rolling that TV van in the middle of the "Joe Pa got fired" riot down on College Avenue.  Hasn't every Penn State student claimed responsibility for that?
• It could happened while she was throwing the Occupy Penn State faction out of the Hub.  I mean, you've got to think that she's on the side of the 1%, right?
• Or, maybe it happened when she tried to cut in line among all those who were camped out earlier this week to see "The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 1."  Actually, I hope she's got better taste than that.

In any event, she's home and I'm happy about that -- black eye and all.

The Problem With Pizza

Here's what we had for dinner tonight: salad, leftover french fries, and Ledo's pizza (sorry, Pudgie's).  Sounds good, right?  It was.  There was only one problem -- I'm not satisfied.

Whenever I eat pizza,  it's the same old story.  First, I eat til I'm full.  Then, while my belly tells me "no more," I start to wonder what else there is to eat.  You see, one of three things needs to be on my plate at dinner time for me to walk away truly happy:

• Pasta (any kind will do)
• Meat that I can pick up and eat with my hands (it's even better when my dinner companions let me gnaw on their bones, too)
• Gristle (come on, give it a try before you call me gross).

Unfortunately, pizza doesn't offer any of those three things.  Sure, it tastes good.  It comes with toppings.  You can eat it with your hands.  But, whenever I eat pizza, it just seems like something's missing.

I know that, within an hour, I'm going to be rummaging through the pantry, still unsatisfied.  I'll grab a bag of chips -- one of the big, family-sized bags.  And, I'll proceed to eat every last chip out of the bag.  It's going to happen.  I won't be able to stop.  Thank god for high metabolism.

Katniss, and Peeta, and Gale -- Oh, My!

Yesterday, the first trailer for "The Hunger Games" was released.  That meant I got to pretend to be 12 years old -- which is pretty much a daily occurrence for me.

I saw the news online while I was at the office.  I had to wait in agony for several hours til I got home and could watch the trailer in peace.  Sure, I could have viewed it at work.  But, I wanted to be able to put the volume up loud and really study it.  I got home a little after 6PM and we immediately sat down for dinner.  I was a good boy during the meal, joining in the conversation, clearing my plate, and even offering Wally a spot underneath my chair.  Finally, I couldn't contain myself any longer.  Before we even cleared the dishes, I hopped up from my seat.  Kim and Jay asked me what I was doing.  I said "I'm watching 'The Hunger Games' trailer."  I grabbed Nick's laptop (it's got the biggest screen), pushed a couple plates aside, and fired up the trailer right there on the kitched table.  We all hunched together in silence to watch it.

So, what did I think?  Here goes:

• Jennifer Lawrence looks perfect as Katniss.  In my mind, Katniss can't be too pretty.  She needs to seem a little rough around the edges.  That's Jennifer Lawrence in a nutshell.
• Effie Trinket seems like she'll be a hoot.  But, they'll have to be careful about how much on-screen time she gets.
• I loved the glimpse of Rue, even if it was just a brief one.
• I'd wondered about Lenny Kravitz as Cinna but, in the short moment he appears and speaks in the trailer, he seems to have the vibe nailed perfectly.
• They raised the tension nicely without ever showing us any of the actual Hunger Games competition.  I like that they didn't reveal too much.

All in all, I liked it quite a bit.  If you want to watch it, here it is:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4S9a5V9ODuY.  I can't wait for March.

P.S. In case you're wondering, Liam Hemsworth is not quite dreamy enough as Gale.  But, I never liked Gale as much as Peeta, anyway.  So, that's fine.

Getting to Know the Amazingly Awesome Danielle Pignastic

It was a rough football weekend.  Penn State's comeback effort against Nebraska fell short.  The Bills got pounded by the Cowboys.  The Eagles lost, eliminating me from my elimination pool.  And to top it all off, the Ravens just finished getting embarassed by the Seahawks.

But, there was one bright spot.  Last night, Nick, Jay, and I went to the Notre Dame - Maryland game with my brother, Andrew, a proud Notre Dame grad.  The game, itself, was a laugher with Notre Dame completely dominating Maryland right from the opening kick-off.  Notre Dame's dominance was so complete that the action on the field had a hard time holding my interest.  Luckily, we had the good fortune to be seated right in front of the amazingly awesome Danielle Pignastic.

I can hear you asking yourself -- "Who is Danielle Pignastic?"  Let me tell you, after listening to her talk non-stop for three straight hours, I feel that I know her quite well.  Let me tell you just some of what I learned:

• Danielle is the type of girl who needs 9 hours of sleep a night.  That's why she wasn't going to be able to meet her friends for breakfast this morning.  She proposed a late brunch, instead.
• Her neighbors just got a new dog.  He's a 17-month old Lab and he's neutered.  She has lots of pictures of him on her cell phone and would be very happy to show them to you.
• She's getting her MBA part-time at the University of Maryland.  She's annoyed at all the students who are trying too hard to get "A's" since she thinks everyone should just be satisfied with "B's."
• Danielle's friend Chris lives in New York City and says it's a real tough dating scene.  Danielle says this is because Chris gets immediately turned off by any guy who's actually nice to her.  In fact, Chris had been seeing a guy that Danielle thought was really nice.  Chris had been on 3 dates with this guy!  Then, he made the mistake of texting Chris.  Chris never contacted him again.  Poor guy.
• Danielle came to the game with a group of about one dozen friends.  One of them was this guy, Dan, who was sitting about 6 seats away from her.  Danielle yelled "Daaaannn!!!" loudly every 10 minutes or so during the game.  Once, it was "Daaaannn!!!  Why are you wearing mittens?"  A couple times, it was "Daaaannn!!!  Are you going to cheer for Maryland?"  Unfortunately, most of the time it was just "Daaaannn!!!"    I'm pretty sure that Danielle loves Dan.  I'm also pretty sure that Dan can't stand her.  By the way, all this yelling for Dan is how I decided to give her the first name Danielle.  The last name of Pignastic just kind of fit.
• Danielle had an interesting name for cheerleaders, dance squad members, and marching band baton twirlers.  She called them "slutty bitches" as in "Why are our slutty bitches talking to the Notre Dame trombone players?" or "Why doesn't your band have any slutty bitches?"  As I'm sure you can tell, Danielle is a real classy lady.

I ended up getting Danielle and all her friends thrown out of FedEx Field with about 5 minutes to go in the game  Seriously, that's a true story.  It involves a security guard, Danielle calling me a "tattle tale," and me shouting out Willow Smith song lyrics.  I think it's a pretty good story.  Maybe I'll tell it some other time.

Since You Asked ...

Today, we've received calls and e-mails from neighbors, friends, and family.  Everyone has the same question for us -- "What do you think about Penn State?"

That's a very hard question to answer.  I could say it's made me feel disgusted.  I could say that it's made me feel angry (don't even get me started on the completely clueless, unprepared, and seemingly gutless Board of Trustees).  Or, I could tell them that it's reduced more than one member of the family to tears.  Penn State is a special place.  I know that sounds hokey, but it's true.  To see it vilified -- and to understand that the actions and inactions of members of the Penn State family are the causes of that vilification -- is extremely saddening.

All day, I thought about what I would write this evening.  When I got home, Kim told me that her dad recommended that I read today's editorial from The Wall Street Journal.  I'm glad that he did.  Amongst all the hyberbole that the media has been spewing, it was refreshing to see a rational, reasoned, insightful piece that stays away from emotion while commenting on some of what's so very wrong with our society. Since it sums up my feelings perfectly, I've lifted it entirely and reprinted it here.

The end of Joe Paterno's run as head football coach at Penn State University was all but inevitable the minute Pennsylvania's Attorney General released the horrifying details of alleged sex abuse by a former assistant coach.  Yet the iconic coach's dismissal after 46 otherwise spotless years is more an occasion for sadness than righteous satisfaction.

"This is a tragedy.  It is one of the great sorrows of my life.  With the benefit of hindsight, I wish I had done more," Mr. Paternoo said in a statement Wednesday announcing that he'd step down at the end of the season, at age 84.  The university trustees fired him instead Wednesday night, effective immediately.

Mr. Paterno's statement refers to his decision to inform a university official, and not the police, that a graduate assistant had told him in 2002 about witnessing former assistant coach Jerry Sandusky with a young boy in the showers.  It isn't clear from conflicting reports whether that graduate assistant told Mr. Paterno the ugly details of the sexual assualt that is described in the grand jury report.
 
But, this is at best ameliorating, not exculpatory.  As everyone has noted and Mr. Paterno himself now seems to accept, the coach fulfilled his legal obligation, but not his moral duty, to look after the well-being of that child and others who may have been victimized later.  He is now paying for that lapse in judgment with a tarnished end to a long and distinguished career.

This is not to endorse all the media moralizing, which revels in schadenfreude that another man of great reputation has been revealed to be flawed.  We live in a culture that worships celebrity but seems not to want heroes, or even figures of respect.  The icons of our age are the Kardashians.

Mr. Paterno has done enormous good across six decades at Penn State, especially for young people, and that legacy should not be forgotten amid the denunciations.  Given the relentlessness of modern public scrutiny, and the thousands of young men who have traveled through the Penn State football program, it's something of a miracle that Mr. Paterno could coach for 46 years without a previous notable blemish.  We doubt it will happen again.  It's also something of a relief that, in a culture as libertine as ours, at least some behavior -- sexual exploitation of children -- is still considered deviant.

The events at Penn State are indeed a tragedy, and doubly so because they give new license to cynics who want Americans to believe that no one who achieves prominence in public life can be honorable.

The End of The Innocence

For the past 48 hours, I've thought quite a bit about the Penn State situation.  It's horrible, distressing, and disappointing on so many levels.  I don't think I can say much about it that others haven't already said.  

Kim and I have tried to use the situation as an opportunity to talk to the boys about the importance of doing what's right, even when doing so is unpleasant.  Tonight, Nick and I were alone for dinner and I gave it another shot.

Nick just loves Penn State.  He and I have had some great times together going up there for football weekends.  We have fantastic shared memories that include the car rides, hotel stays, and tailgates even more than the actual games we've seen.  It's been wonderful to have those times together with him.  I won't ever forget them and I hope that he won't, either.

At dinner, we talked about the disappointment and disillusionment that we both feel.  We talked about how that comes nowhere near the the unimaginable pain that the boys who were abused have felt for years.  We talked about the criminal justice system.  We talked about the court of public opinion and our tendency to rush to judgment before all the facts are known.  And, we talked about heroes and the wisdom (or foolishness) of trying to keep them on a pedestal.

The conversation was a tough one, with a great deal of emotion expressed.  During the course of it, I literally felt like I was seeing Nick's youth and innocence fade away.  I would have liked for him to have kept it a while longer.

That's More Like It

So, now that the Bills are good again (supposedly), I had the great pleasure of spending my afternoon with them.  Yes, for the 3rd time this year, I was able to watch them play.  Things were great earlier this year when I got to watch them beat the Eagles and Redskins.  Today, though, was like a flashback to all the disappointing losses of days gone by.

In case you had other things to do today, here's what you missed:

• Unbridled optimism all morning as kick-off draws near: Check.
• A sense of togetherness as the CBS coverage began and they show all the other faithful lemmings at Ralph T. Wilson Stadium who are just as excited as me: Check.
• Poor execution by the offense right out of the gate: Check.
• Untimely turnovers: Check.
• A defense that couldn't get off the field in the first half: Check.
• A deceptively close half-time score that, despite how bad things look, gave the Bills faithful hope: Check.
• An opponent that pulled away in the third quarter: Check.
• A brief early fourth quarter run that made you think that a remarkable comeback may be in store: Check.
• A meaningless garbage time Bills touchdown after the game was well out of hand: Check.
• A virtually empty stadium with two minutes left: Check.
• Misery and disappointment at the final whistle: Check.
• A full week of "what could have been" wondering to look forward to: Check.

So, Bills fans -- does that all sound familiar?  In any event, I know I'll be right back here next week provided I'm (un)lucky enough to get the game on TV again.

Fear of Commitment

It's 7:37PM on Friday night.  Nick's upstairs getting ready for an evening with his friends.  Jay just wrapped up his own little get-together and is settling in for a fun-filled night on Facebook.  The big dilemma facing me is whether or not to suck it up and finally watch "X-Men: First Class."

We've had the "X-Men: First Class" DVD for almost 3 weeks.  Jay's already watched it.  Nick isn't interested.  I've heard it's good so I've not let Kim send it back yet.  But, I just can't bring myself to sit down and watch it.  There are so many reasons why that I don't think I can list them all.  Let me just give you a couple of them.

• We have three different DVD players.  Each one is tempermental.  The basement works through Jay's PS3.  I have no idea how to work it so that one's out.  In our bedroom, we've got a portable DVD player that's hooked up to the TV.  Unfortunately, the DVD's remote is broken so you have to actually stand next to the player and hit buttons by hand.  That's a bit too old-fashioned for me.  That leaves the player in the family room.  After you turn it on, it takes a good 30 seconds to actually become operational.  I know that, of course.  But, it doesn't stop me from hitting the "power" button and then repeatedly pressing the "open / close" button on the remote until the darn thing finally opens up for me.  Invariably, I get frustrated while doing this and start cursing under my breath.  By the time the player finally opens up, I'm wondering why I even started to try and watch the movie in the first place.
• There are no movies made anymore where the dialogue takes place at a consistent level throughout the entire movie.  I feel like I spend the entire movie doing nothing but adjusting the volume.  The sound is either so loud that it gives me a headache or so soft that I can't understand what's being said.  Each scene becomes a game -- I guess if it's going to be a loud scene or a soft scene and adjust the volume in advance.  Sometimes I'm right.  Sometimes I'm wrong.
• I hate making a commitment to spending two hours watching a movie that may not be any good.  I have no trouble turning off a regular TV show or flipping to something else when whatever I'm watching on the current channel starts to bore me.  But, I still feel guilty turning off a DVD before it's over.  In fact, I think I've only done it once.  The movie was "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"  Trust me, it was horrible. 

So, there will be no "X-Men: First Class" for me tonight.  I'm pretty sure HGTV is still running back-to-back episodes of "House Hunters International" on Friday nights.  I think I'll give that a try for a while.

The Answer is "8,194"

So, Kim Kardashian is filing for divorce, citing irreconciliable differences with her husband, Kris Humphries.  I am shocked.

Here's the press release Kim issued: “After careful consideration, I have decided to end my marriage.  I hope everyone understands this was not an easy decision. I had hoped this marriage was forever, but sometimes things don’t work out as planned. We remain friends and wish each other the best.”

Let's take this one sentence at a time:

• "After careful consideration, I have decided to end my marriage."  As Chad Ochocinco would say, "Child, please."  Careful consideration?  Kim, you were married for 72 days!  I'm pretty sure I gave more careful consideration to whether or not I should break up with my 7th-grade girlfriend.  (For the record, I decided to stick it out.  That paid off in spades.  A few days later, she sent one of her friends over to tell me that she was breaking up with me.)
• "I hope everyone understands this was not an easy decision."  Yes, Kim, I understand.  You must be terribly exhausted from all that really hard thinking stuff that you had to do to come to this decision.  Why don't you go take a nap.
• "I had hoped this marriage was forever, but sometimes things don't work out as planned."  Kim, I know exactly what you mean.  It's kind of like in "Legally Blonde" when Elle Woods went to Harvard to follow Warner, only to find out that Warner already had a new girlfried.  Poor Elle.  Her dreams were dashed.  Wait -- what's that?  "Legally Blonde" wasn't a true story?  I'm sorry.
• "We remain friends and wish each other the best."  Let me help you out here, Kim.  Remember that girlfriend I had in 7th-grade?  Guess what?  We're not still friends.

In case you're wondering, the question is "How many more days than Kim Kardashian have I been married?"  May I please get some press coverage?

Occupying Penn State

I decided to multi-task (blogging while watching the Bills play the Redskins) and, literally, the Bills fumbled on the very first play after I powered on the laptop.  This doesn't appear to be a good move by me.  But, I've got a bunch to do this evening and I wanted to get this done.

We went up to Penn State this weekend to visit Hannah and see the Penn State - Illinois game.  Due to the freak late October snowstorm, our tailgate plans got scrapped.  So, while Kim and Hannah did some pre-game shopping downtown, Nick and I headed to the HUB to hang out and watch some of the early games on TV. 

When we walked into the HUB, the first thing we saw was Occupy Penn State.  A group of students had taken over a section of the main entrance and were camping out there.  Placards and hand-written signs surrounded them.  The signs brought attention to issues like rising tuition costs, student debt loads, and income disparity.

I'll stay away from commenting on the whole Occupy Wall Street movement and the specific issues that the Occupy Penn State students were raising.  But, I've got some advice for the students.  You'd probably get a lot more sympathy if you were occupying space outside at Penn State, particularly during a snowstorm.  Occupying a heated, enclosed area with comfortable chairs, multiple food options, and TV's showing that afternoon's football games doesn't really seem terribly inspiring.  Just a thought for you. 

By the way, on the Redskins drive following the fumble, the Bills notched two sacks and blocked a field goal attempt.  Maybe I should do my first live blog.

Still Smiling

The home page on our laptop is www.msn.com. Thank goodness because that meant that this was the first thing I saw when I went online tonight:  


Take a close look at the picture.  I see stitches, a black eye, and a cracked tooth.  I also see a smile.  That's Steven Tyler for you.

Steven says he got nauseous in the shower, passed out, and hit his head in his hotel room in Paraguay.  I don't really care what happened to him.  I'm just going to give him credit for smiling.

More Adventures in the Great Outdoors

We had a beautiful weekend in central Maryland.  It was sunny with high temperatures in the low 60's.  The leaves were at their peak colors.  All in all, it was a great weekend to be outdoors.

Kim and I took advantage of the weather yesterday by heading up to Catoctin Mountain Park to hike.  We did a 5-mile loop that took us to Maryland's biggest waterfall (which was more impressive than I thought it would be) and the two highest points in the park, which gave us great views of the surrounding countryside.  I didn't realize til we got to the park that it is the site of Camp David.  Unfortunately, they won't tell you exactly where Camp David is on the grounds so I wasn't able to stop by and say hello to Sasha and Malia.

As nice as yesterday was, it wasn't the highlight of my outdoor adventures over the weekend.  Nope, the highlight actually came on Saturday.

Two winters ago, the back-to-back huge snowstorms that we had knocked down a couple big cedars in the woods right behind our property.  At first, I tried to convince Kim that both cedars were still alive as they remained green for several months.  But, it soon became apparent that they were dead.  Each of them were about 25-30 feet high and, as they slowly died and their needles turned brown, they got pretty ugly.  To make matters worse, this summer they became covered with wild vines.  By the end of the summer, they were an eyesore.  If you sat out on either of our back patios, you couldn't help but notice the huge mass of limbs and brush.  Kim started to get after me to clear them out and, finally, I agreed.

So, this Saturday morning, I found myself out at the edge of the woods with my trusty chain saw (wearing my tick-repellent pants, in case you were growing concerned).  Whenever I get my chain saw out, there's always some sort of adventure.  Sometimes it's me falling off a ladder.  Other times, it's me setting the Bucci land speed record as I dash out of the way as the tree trunk comes crashing down exactly where I didn't plan for it.  As I fired up the chain saw, I asked myself what it would be this time.

Surprisingly, things went pretty well.  I worked slowly and carefully, pruning the vines and cutting away limbs and sections of both trunks at small intervals.  I cleared pieces as they fell to the ground so that I wouldn't trip over them.  Things were a little too uneventful.

As I finished up before lunch, I remembered that there was a stray dogwood in the woods about 20 feet to the left of the downed cedars.  That dogwood had a low-hanging limb about 7-8 feet up from the ground that was dead.  It was directly in view when I sat at our outdoor table.  Since I already had the chain saw out and things were going so well, I decided to cut that limb before heading in for lunch.  I should have known better.

I got to the tree, stood off to the side of the dead limb, and reached up to make my cut.  The limb was about 2 inches in diameter so the cut didn't take long.  The saw's blade finished its job and the limb started to fall to the ground.  In a split second, disaster struck.  The edge of the limb hit the ground, causing the top of the limb (where I had just made my cut) to kick back up in the air.  As it came down again, it shifted about 2 feet to the left and proceeded to come down right on my poor balding head.  "You've got to be kidding me," I thought, as I quickly blinked, saw a few stars, and then put my hand up to my head to check for blood.

The physical pain wasn't too bad.  But, another embarrassing episode with power tools?  It's getting kind of ridiculous.  I can't seem to do anything manly without some sort of sideshow.  What kind of example am I setting for my impressionable teen-age sons?  No wonder they stay far away whenever I try to be handy.

On the positive side, I've now got a couple nice scabs that are temporarily filling in some of the thinning spots at the front of my head.  I'll take that.

I'm So Glad I'm Not on Probation

I got my Lindsay Lohan fix this morning while eating my morning cereal.  Apparently, Lindsay failed to show up on time Thursday for her scheduled community service at the L.A. County morgue.  So, she got sent home.

Luckily for Lindsay, this doesn't count as a probation violation so she remains a free woman.  Unluckily for Lindsay, this triggered a whole new round of Lindsay-bashing:

• We got to see pictures of Lindsay being led from the courtroom in handcuffs earlier this week.  Poor thing.
• We got to hear criticisms of the make-up she was wearing in that very same courtroom.  I thought she looked fine.
• Best of all, we got a close-up still shot of her two front teeth.  That close-up accompanied the commentary about how she desperately needed dental work to "fix" the yellowing that was apparent.

Good Lord, I thought.  Can you imagine what would happen if Lindsay and I switched places?  My teeth (all 32 of them) would give the media fodder for a full week's worth of news.  They're not only yellow, they're also big and crooked.  That's a good enough reason to keep walking the straight and narrow.

Anyway, Lindsay's a mess but I still feel bad for her.  For me, she'll always be Anna Coleman in "Freaky Friday."  What an awesome movie.  I can't not watch when I stumble across it on TV.  Mark Harmon is perfectly uptight.  Jamie Lee Curtis is perfectly wacky.  Chad Michael Murray is perfectly dreamy.  And Lindsay is just perfectly perfect.  Or, at least, she was.

Feelings. Woh-woh-woh, Feelings.

As tough as it's been to be a Bills fan for the past 10 years, one good thing about their playoff drought has been that I haven't had many tension-filled Sunday afternoons in the recent past.  That's a far cry from how things were back in the 1990's when the Bills were in the playoffs virtually every year and it seemed like every game mattered.  The outcome of each week's Bills game used to go a long way towards setting my mood for the week.  I don't know how Kim made it through some of those years with me.

The Bills have been so bad for so long that I've pretty much forgotten how it feels to really care about an NFL game.  I'm starting to get the feeling back, though.  Thay may not be such a good thing.

Last week, I was lucky in that the Ravens had a bye week and the Bills - Eagles game was shown live down here.  I watched the whole thing.  It was a nail-biter but the Bills pulled it out at the end.  I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen the Bills win a game on TV.  The "everything in the world is wonderful" feeling I had when the game ended was familiar.  I'd describe it as being almost like Christmas Eve.  You know, the early evening feeling when the clam chowder is heating up on the stove, you've got carols on in the background (preferably the Carpenters or John Denver), you're on your second glass of wine, and you're looking forward to that familiar, comfortable Christmas Eve church service.  Yes, life was good last Sunday.

Today, things were different.  The Bills - Giants game wasn't on TV so I had to follow it on the ticker as I watched the Eagles - Redskins game.  Even I got a bit tired of doing that and, just before halftime, I headed outside to rake leaves.  I couldn't take the suspense of not knowing what was happening, though, so I came back inside early in the 4th quarter.  By this time, the Giants had taken the lead.  For the rest of the game, I was zeroed in on the ticker.  I tracked the game as the Bills came back to tie the score, then started to get more excited as they got the ball back late in the game and started to move down the field.  I was getting that Christmas Even feeling all over again.  Sadly, it wasn't to be.  The Bills turned the ball over (in the red zone, of course) and let the Giants move right down the field to kick the winning field goal.

Just like I'd forgotten that winning feeling, I'd also forgotten how it feels when you really care about a game and your favorite NFL team loses.  Trust me, it's not like Christmas Eve.  Instead, it's more like waking up on the day of a scheduled dentist appointment.  You tell yourself that it's no big deal, you've been through it plenty of times before, and it doesn't really hurt that much to have that plaque scraped off your teeth.  You kid yourself and think that brushing and flossing a bit more thoroughly that morning will make the visit go by more smoothly.  But, it doesn't.  You've still got to sit in that chair for way too long.  You've still got to watch out of the corner of your eye as that bright shiny dental pick makes its way towards your mouth (again and again and again).  And, your gums are still going to bleed.

I hope not to have to visit the dentist on too many more Sundays this year.  Two cleanings a year is all that's recommended.  At 4-2 through week 6, I believe I've already met my quota.

Preparation and Trepidation

The Baltimore Half Marathon is this Saturday.  I'm signed up to run for the third straight year.  I have to admit that I'm not looking forward to it.

I think the reason that I've got some trepidation this year is that I've done less than my normal share of long runs this summer.  I've been topping out at 6 or 7 miles rather than pushing it to 9 or 10 as I've done in the past.  I think I've reached the point where the hills of western Howard County have beaten me.  It's pretty much impossible to go for a run of more than 7 miles around here without facing at least one mile that's straight uphill.  That thought is just too hard to face most weekend mornings.  I'm too old, my knees are too creaky, and my mental fortitude is not what it used to be.

While I've been cutting back on the long runs, I have come to realize that running for me has become almost an addiction.  If I don't run each morning, I get cranky.  To be honest, maybe I should say I get more cranky since I'm generally pretty cranky anyway.  This morning, I'm typing this instead of running because we're in the midst of a thunderstorm.  I realize that's a pretty good excuse but I know that, later today, I'll be grumpy and will look back and blame it on the fact that I didn't go out for a run.

I'll still be at the starting line on Saturday morning.  I'm sure miles 10-13 won't be too much fun and I'll be kicking myself saying that I should have gotten myself in better shape.  We'll see.

News flash.  Kim just let the dogs outside and it's stopped raining.  I'm off.  Lucky me.

It's Good To Be King

One of the primary goals of any parent is to have their child's life be better than their own.  For most, having a better life likely means having more fun, less stress, stronger relationships, and more significant personal accomplishments.  I think all three of my kids are on the right path.  But, while the verdict is still out on whether Hannah and Jay will make it, I can now say with certainty that Nick is home-free.  Why?  Because he's on the Homecoming Court.

Yes, Nick came home from school on Friday and announced that he's one of five senior boys elected to the Court for next week's Homecoming festivities.  He's happy about it and I'm proud of him.  Being on the Homecoming Court comes with all sorts of advantages.  Nick gets to preside over the pre-football game festivities for a full two hours.  He gets to march out to mid-field at halftime of the game with the other members of the Court and be formally introduced to everyone in attendance.  He gets to parade into the Homecoming Dance and be recognized by all the freshmen, sophomores, and juniors who are (I guess) his new minions.  And, he even gets his very own sash to wear, a sash that proclaims that he's a Homecoming King (or Prince, or whatever he is).

Of course, the best part of all this is that it creates all kinds of new opportunities for me to rag on Nick.  It's almost too easy.  I mean, come on, a sash?  My 17-year old son is going to wear a sash and I'm not supposed to say anything about it?

Anyway, now I'm focused on helping Nick get ready for his big weekend.  Since there's no Ravens game today, we'll have time to practice both his wave and his catwalk.  Thank goodness.

We've decided that Nick is going to take his fashion tips from this Homecoming King.

I wonder if Nick will get a cool crown like this guy's?  I hope so.  If he doesn't, they better at least give him a scepter.

I hope Nick doesn't get too choked up at his ceremony.  It's going to be bad enough that I'll be crying.

Comfortable Clothes

Summer’s officially over.  Usually, it hangs around for a while in the MidAtlantic but we’ve had a cold spell for the past week or so with high temperatures only in the mid-50’s.  That means sweat pants at night instead of shorts.  Normally, the transition from shorts to sweats would make me a bit sad.  Not this year.  This was the first summer in almost 20 years where I was without my trusty khaki J. Crew shorts.  I don’t know how I did it.

When I first got my new shorts from J. Crew, they were for “dress-up only.”  That era probably ended around 1995 after I’d been the recipient of a few too many sideways glances regarding my choice of clothes for a given event.  You see, I’d been cheating.  The shorts were just so darn comfortable that I’d been sneaking them in on weekends to do odd jobs around the house.  As much as I tried to keep this a secret, it became apparent to my fashion overseer and, soon enough, the shorts became off-limits for “dress-up.”

That was actually a blessing.  Now, the shorts were free to become my every day shorts.  When I say every day, I mean every day.  Those shorts and I were like a baby and its binky.  Together, we painted, cleared wooded areas of the yard, mowed lawns, planted landscaping beds, cut down trees, and spread hundreds of yards of mulch.  We cursed Mother Nature when she sent droughts that killed the dogwood and redbud trees we’d planted.  We cursed the deer when they ate our azaleas.  We cursed the bees when they stung me -- each and every time.  We had some good times, too, but I guess we cursed a lot.

By the end of last summer, even I had to admit that the shorts needed to go.  The seat was completely worn through on both sides.  I actually didn't see this as a problem but often heard otherwise from those who had to look at my underwear.  There were gaping holes in both front pockets.  The zipper had been up and down so many times that I’d worn through the fly.  So, I took a deep breath, choked back my tears, and tossed them.

This summer, I could never get completely comfortable with any of my shorts.  I bought two potential replacements from Eddie Bauer a few years back, knowing that I’d eventually need them.  I thought they’d help me through the transition but it just didn’t happen.  The new shorts are plenty nice but they’re years away from being where they need to be.  I’ve thought about running over them with my car or letting Wally and Ginger play a quick game of tug of war with them to try and accelerate the aging process but I can’t bring myself to do that.  They need to age naturally.

In any event, pulling on the sweats this year actually feels OK.  I’m hoping I’m over my loss by next year.  We’ll see.