Tailgating

Tomorrow marks Week 4 of my 16th season as a New England Patriots season ticket holder. By my very rough calculations - using a bean bag, silly putty and an abacus - I have attended approximately 130 or so games.

Being a season ticket holder to an NFL team is a pretty neat experience. Unlike folks who watch the games on TV, season ticket holders have a unique and close relationship with their team. After all, we don't just invest money for tickets, we invest time to attend the games and energy to cheer. For those who tailgate, the time and monetary commitment are even higher. Although I root for all of the Boston teams, the Patriots will always remain my priority because I am not just a fan, I am a participant in the experience. Boston will always be considered a Red Sox town, but I would suspect that many of the 68,000 fans who attend the Pats' games share my perspective.

My dad, who procured the tickets back in 1994 and went to the games until 2000, was not exactly the tailgate type. However, since he retired to The Place Where People Go to Die, Florida (zip code: 25, which is also the average driving speed on the highways), I take every opportunity to tailgate.

Why? Because going to a football game without tailgating is like being a vegetarian. Sure, you could do it, but why on earth would you want to? And if you are a vegetarian who tailgates, then please stop reading this and just go away. And take your tofu burgers. You disgust me.

While there are some obvious benefits to tailgating - such as bonding with pals while drinking beer and eating grilled meat - I have come to appreciate the hidden benefits. For instance, being outside in December for approximately 7.5 hours builds character, stamina and endurance. For the record, I am talking to you, Sox fans, who bitch and moan that it is "only" 55 degrees at the game in late September. Wimps. Try sitting - not moving around or exercising - but just sitting, in temps of 10-20 degrees all day. It does a body good. And keeps the outdoor sports stores in business.

Tailgating makes going to the game an all-day experience. For a 1 p.m. kickoff, I am usually out the door at 8 a.m. and pulling into the lot by 9. Eating and drinking quickly commences - usually about 5,000 calories worth - and lasts until around noon, when we pack up and head to the seats. On an average day, we are back in the car by 4:45 and I pull into my driveway by 6 p.m.

If you think tailgating is expensive, you would be mistaken. A decent beer inside the stadium is $10 (this is not a typo), hot dogs are $6 and popcorn is $5. So, if I had 3 beers, a dog and bag of popcorn, I'd spend $41. Most of my pre-game activities average about $50 or so, which buys a 12-pack of beer, a bunch of snacks, an "entree"," sides and a dessert...for two people.

So there you have it. As a Jew, I can't afford not to tailgate. Think of all the money I'd be wasting.

As much fun as tailgating is, the highlight of the day is always the actual game. To me, the worse the weather gets, the more I enjoy the game. I come across lots of folks who would much rather watch football on TV then in person. That is too bad. Watching at home or in a bar is warmer and more convenient (food, bathroom, etc.), but nothing beats being at the stadium.

Not only do I see many components of the game that don't show up on TV, but the energy of 68,000 lunatics, which can simultaneously boost the Pats and stress their opponent, is contagious. On opening night, when the Pats came back to beat the Bills, I can say with absolute certainty that my experience was twice as intense and emotionally fulfilling as someone who was watching from their couch.

Come 9 a.m. tomorrow, the ritual continues. I'll be sitting in my camping chair with a beer in hand, getting ready to fire up the grill. There will be meat in the cooler, snacks on the table and the smell of smoke wafting throughout the lot. And there will be no place I would rather be.

Except Vegas.

Shaved

I just discovered the most wonderful thing. It is a real computer, but it's small enough to be moved around. And, it doesn't always need to be plugged in or connected to a cable modem. In fact, right now, this computer is actually positioned on my lap. Wow. This is going to revolutionize the way that I waste my time. Now, I can surf the net, play poker, screw up my fantasy football team and hell, even blog, from the comfort of my couch. I'm just glad I am among the first of the early adopters to splurge for this new technology.

In other news, here is the actual transcript from an actual conversation between Jenn and myself a couple of weeks ago:

ME: (poking my head out of the bathroom) Honey, I shaved off my goatee...

HER: (loud stomping of feet running down the hall) WHAT!?!?!??!

ME: How does it look?

HER: Um...shouldn't we have discussed this first?

I wonder what her reaction would have been if she wasn't a caring, compassionate minister?

So, this is me, courtesy of the built-in web cam on my shiny new laptop:










Sexy, isn't it? Jesus....what's with the roll below my chin?

(Honest to God, it's a good thing I am married. The average corpse is better looking than I am.)

When I went into the bathroom that night, I didn't intend to come out of it clean shaven. It's not like I thought to myself, "Self? How can I make myself even uglier? Oh, I know. I'll shave off the goatee."

Nope, it was a spur-of-the-moment type of thing. I've had my goatee since college because even back then, I had a round, chubby face and thought the facial hair would create a thinning look. The only thing it created was a round, chubby face with a goatee. That's OK. I liked it. And when I finally went bald the following year, I thought the shaved head, goatee'd look fit me pretty well.

Also, I had never seen myself with absolutely no facial hair - that is, bald and clean shaven - and I was curious as to what it looked like.

Oops. I haven't done anything that stupid since my best man convinced me to grow a beard, despite being bald. Thankfully, there are no pictures of that turbulent period.

The consensus is that the clean shaven look makes me appear younger. Probably. But most of all, I just look weird. When I went into work the next day, about 75% of the folks I interacted with didn't even make a comment, which tells me one of two things: either they were following their mom's advice in not saying anything if they didn't have anything nice to say; or (and more likely), my face is so utterly unremarkable, that anything short of a pierced forehead wouldn't be worth reacting to.

As for me, I promised that I would give my new look one month before I judge. Today marks the halfway point and although I will continue to shave for the next couple of weeks, let's just say that I am looking forward to having my dog come near me again.

Prime Time

God bless the recession.

Ok, so maybe that is not the politically correct thing to say, especially when I have friends that are out of work. But thanks to the Democrats, they will be collecting unemployment benefits until 2819, so I have peace of mind knowing that they are going to be fine. And if it turns out that they aren't going to be fine, then I will be accepting applications for the 2010 Patriots season. Hey, neither life nor football (aren't they one in the same?) stops just because you are broke.

Because I am a glass half-full type of person, I'm always looking to turn a frown upside down. So while the rest of the world bitches and moans about inconsequential things, such as not having any money, I'm taking note of all the great things about the world's economic clusterf&ck:

• Unbelievable deals on cars. Forget cash for clunkers. You want a car? Wait until November, when the dealers are struggling again and have to get rid of the 2009 inventory. In fact, only if you were at a NAMBLA convention the day after Jack-o died would you have seen as many sad faces as you'll see at a dealership come November.
  

• Unbelievable deals on houses. Let's face it, if you don't currently own but are looking to, the market will never get any better. And I know of what I speak, having incurred a loss of more than $30K when I sold my condo. And to the woman who bought my old place: I just want you to know that I jury-rigged the sink in the 2nd bathroom to temporarily stop leaking just long enough so that it would pass inspection. Take that.
  

• Unbelievable deals on Prime steak. In fact, this bullet it so important, I am going to devote the rest of the blog entry to it.

If you know me just a little bit, then you know I am a steak snob. Several times per year, I will visit an incredibly expensive restaurant for the right to drop obscene amounts of money on steak. And why do I do this? Mostly because I have numerous and deep psychological issues. But beyond that, because these restaurants serve the very best quality of steak there is. It is called "Prime" and it is at the top of the USDA's grading scale.

This scale has 8 different grades - which are based on the amount of marbling (speckles of fat) throughout the cut and the age of the animal when it was sent to heaven. But for the purposes of this entry (and to keep you from falling asleep), we'll consider only the top 3.

USDA Prime - the best of the best. Only 2% of all beef in the country is Prime, which is the ultimate in tenderness, juiciness, and flavor. These cuts are quite pricey - usually $40 and above - and found at places such as Ruths' Chris, Smith & Wollensky, The Palm and my personal favorite: Del Friscos.

USDA Choice - Choice beef has less marbling than Prime, but it is still high quality. This is the most popular grade of beef because it contains sufficient marbling for taste and tenderness, while costing less than Prime. Just over half of the beef graded each year earns a grade of Choice. If you order a steak at most decent restaurants (i.e., not Applebees), you're likely getting a Choice cut. Generally, these steaks are $35 and below. However, there are a growing number of "nice" restaurants that are selling Choice cuts at Prime prices. Easy enough to tell, though. Look at the menu - the restaurant will almost always boast that their steaks are USDA Prime on the menu. If you don't see it, you're getting Choice. If this is the case, be sure to complain to the waiter and then kick him in the nuts. Just because.

USDA Select - This is generally a lower-priced grade of beef with less marbling than Choice. Select has the least amount of marbling, making it leaner than, but often not as tender, juicy and flavorful as the other two top grades. About a third of beef graded falls into this category. Until recently, most of the beef carried at the supermarket was Select grade. And if you order a steak at places such as Friendly's, TGIFriday's or your local coffee shop, you'll almost certainly get Select. You're better off eating a Big Mac.

So what is my point? Well, I don't have one. Except for this. Apparently, all of the doom and gloom about the economy has had quite a negative impact on the top-end restaurants that serve Prime steak. These types of places depend on businesspeople with large expense accounts and schmucks like me who indulge for a special occasion. Today, expense accounts are just enough to pay for Pizza Hut and anyone with even an iota of common sense isn't dropping $200 on dinner, so the Smith & Wollenskys of the world are really struggling.

And because these restaurants are struggling, they aren't buying nearly as many steaks as they used to. So where is all of this excess inventory going?

Costco. For $9.99 per pound.

I haven't been this excited since I was told that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Before the recession, the only place to find Prime steaks was at the aforementioned restaurants or online through the wholesaler (which included a very high markup). That's it. There simply wasn't enough to be sold through traditional retail channels.

But today? I can go over to Costco (a very convenient 3 minute drive from my office) and pick up 4 Prime ribeyes for less money than what I would spend on one steak at Ruths Chris. Crazy. And freaking awesome.

In the interest of full disclosure, you won't get the exact same taste at home with a Costco Prime steak as you would at a high-end restaurant. That is because the restaurant will let the steak age for a few weeks, season it with a few secret ingredients and cook it at a much higher temperature than you can at home. Still, the Costco Prime steak is more tender, more juicy and more flavorful than anything you can buy anywhere else. And did I mention that it's only $9.99 per pound?

So while most of the world is caught up in their "woe is me" attitude, I prefer to look on the bright side. Hopefully, the nation's economic recovery will be slow, affording me the opportunity to tailgate with Prime steaks at every Pats game this fall.

And although my birthday isn't for another 7 months, feel free to head to Costco and send me an early gift. This deal isn't going to be around forever, you know...

Vacation

For only the second time in 7 years, I took a summer vacation (the other trip was for my honeymoon, which is somewhat mandatory). Usually, I am philosophically opposed to summer vacations, which I rationalize thusly: why take time off from my warm weather home so that I can visit another warm weather city? Makes no sense. I'd rather go away when it's cooler in Boston and I can visit friends, family or poker tables in warmer climates.

However, having to clear snow off the windows of a rental car in Vegas last December effectively shot a hole in my carefully crafted theory. Global warming my tuchus. It snowed in the freaking desert. Somebody alert the Sci Fi Channel and David Arquette - sounds like the plot for the next cheesy Saturday night movie.

Anyway, for part one of the trip, Jenn and I climbed into the family truckster - which bore an eerie resemblance to a Boeing 757 - and flew to Colorado to visit my cousin Susan, her husband Evan and their kids, Ben and Ellie.

The first sign of trouble was when we left Boston and arrived in Denver on time. When does that ever happen? If that wasn't bad enough, our luggage came out in a timely fashion. Stop messing with my head, United Airlines.

Susan and family live in Fort Collins, which is about an hour north of Denver. Fort Collins is a very cool town - it is home to Colorado State University, so downtown has a ton of cool bars, restaurants and stores - while the rest of the neighborhood is clean, friendly and chock full of nice houses.

Plus, Fort Collins has a Sonic Drive-In, which alone makes it a city worth visiting. Of course, I would say the same thing about the slums of Detroit if that part of town also had a Sonic ("buy 2 burgers, get a free handgun!") , so my perspective may be a tad jaded.

Perhaps more impressively, Fort Collins is home to the New Belgium brewery, which makes a very popular beer called Fat Tire. Naturally, it isn't available in New England, but if you're ever in a place that has it on the menu, order one and tell them I sent you. Granted, your waitress won't have any idea who I am, but still.

(Side note: the first Sonic in Massachusetts is scheduled to open shortly in Peabody, which according to MapQuest is 21 miles from my office. And if you don't think I will be making at least weekly lunchtime visits, then you don't know me (or Tim) at all.)

Anyway, the time in Colorado was a chance to relive some childhood memories. When I was a kid, my grandparents moved to the Denver area (Susan and her family were already there) and I made annual summertime visits for 8 years. While I'm not much of an outdoorsman, the mountains are amazing and we kept busy visiting some very cool and oftentimes historic places.

One day last week, the six of us climbed into the family truckster - which bore an eerie resemblance to a white minivan - and headed up. While I knew where we were headed, this was Jenn's first trip to the Rockies. I assumed she would like it because she would be that much closer to God. We drove into Rocky Mountain National Park and eventually parked the car at the visitors center, which was about 12,000 feet high. To put that into perspective, if you've ever taken the Boston-to-LaGuardia shuttle, cruising altitude is about 14,000 feet.

The last time I was at the top, the entire place was covered with snow (in the summer). This time, there was a little snow on the mountainside, but none in the parking lot or along the road. Maybe there is something to this global warming thing after all.

From there, we made our way down to Estes Park, a popular tourist town about 7,500 feet up. If you've ever watched The Shining, the hotel featured in the movie is located in Estes Park.

After 3 too-short days in Colorado, we bid my cousin adieu and climbed into the family truckster - which bore an eerie resemblance to a Boeing 757 - and headed to Sunnyvale, Calif. to visit The Stewarts - my college pal A.J., his wife Darienne and their sons Calvin and Finn. Although Jenn and I make this visit at least annually, it never gets old. The Stewarts are some of our favorite people and I absolutely adore the kids.

Again, United Airlines showed their true colors be delivering another flawless travel day between Denver and San Jose. Those bastards.

The trip included our typical California adventures: hanging at beaches, tourist towns and boardwalks along the coast, a day in some neat San Francisco museums (one of which had the impressive King Tut exhibit) and wine tasting in Sonoma.

Wine tasting was particular memorable for me, as I ended the day with a pretty healthy buzz, then proceeded to somehow not embarrass myself at mini-golf (a gift to the kids for behaving themselves while the adults imbibed) and finally, experienced a decent hangover...all before dinner.

As is the case with vacations, before we knew it, it was time to come home. When I booked the trip, I picked a flight that would ensure we would get back to Boston at a reasonable time, as Jenn would have to be at church the next morning. However, the homeless, drunk, strung-out-on-drugs guy at LaGuardia who checked in for a flight with a fake bomb in his luggage first thing that morning clearly had other ideas.

Needless to say, massive delays ensued - which was unfortunate, as the family truckster that was taking us back home started the day at LaGuardia before heading to Chicago and onto San Francisco. Thankfully, Darienne had the foresight to check our flight status before we left the house, so we weren't stuck at the airport all day. As it turns out, our flight which was due to arrive in Boston at 8:30 p.m. did not land until 12:30 a.m. By the time we got home, unpacked the necessities and turned out the lights, it was 2 a.m.

Thanks a lot United. I hate you. Or at least I did, until you sent both Jenn and myself $250 vouchers for the inconvenience. All hail homeless, drunk, strung-out-on-drugs guys with fake bombs in their luggage!

Pics of the trip are on my Facebook page.

I Saw the Sign...

Do you believe in omens? I never used to, until.....

(cue mystical music and dissolve picture)

It was January 2008 and my friend AJ called. We were just days away from the AFC and NFC championship games and both of our teams were playing for the right to go to the Super Bowl (AJ, who lives in Silicon Valley, is a huge Packers fan). The first 5 seconds of the conversation were going well, until he said four words that would forever come back to haunt us:

"I have an idea."

In hindsight, I should have just hung up on him.

'If our teams win on Sunday, we should watch the game together. In Vegas."

Within 3 seconds of hanging up the phone, I was online, looking at airfares and hotels. We were absolutely confident that both the Pats and Pack would be victorious - the Pats hadn't lost a game all season and were playing the Chargers, whose QB and running back were very much banged up. As for the Packers, they were playing the NY Giants. The Giants had a pretty good year, but the Packers had an excellent year and the game was in Green Bay, where the temperature was hovering around zero. And nobody is better in those conditions than Brett Favre.

Of course, the Packers lost, primarily because of Favre.

That should have been the end of it. Had both teams won, it would have been a blast to meet up in Vegas, each of us rooting for our teams amongst the chaos of a sportsbook on Super Sunday. But, it was not meant to be. Oh well, it was probably for the best.

Until we spoke later that week and he said, "I'm thinking we should go anyways."

We should have known better. The Packers lost - wasn't that an omen? And if there is one place in the world where fate should not be tempted, isn't it Vegas?

The Packers losing was omen #1.

Omen #2? Our hotel catching fire 3 days before the trip.

If we had any smarts whatsoever, we would have recognized these signs and called the whole thing off. Instead, we yukked it up and rebooked ourselves at the Luxor, which is the Motel 6 of the Strip...you don't exactly brag about staying there. Neither would Tom Bodett.

Ironically, the days in Vegas leading up to the game were fun and profitable. We made good money at the poker tables, treated ourselves to some pricey meals and took in a Jerry Seinfeld show. On the day of the game, we ended up with front row seats in the Mirage sportsbook, thanks to a favor called in by a friend.

I brought an extra shirt for AJ, so that day, we were both Pats fans...and because we were utterly convinced that they would win handily, we bet on them, in a number of different ways. The tourist money being bet on the game favored the Giants, but that also reflected the fact that Giants fans in Vegas outnumbered Pats fans by about 3-2. The professional gamblers were taking the Pats, so we had that going for us.

Until the game ended.

Actually, by the time the 4th quarter started, AJ & I knew that we were going to lose our bets. The Pats would have had to blow the Giants out in the last 15 minutes and that clearly wasn't going to happen. As the game wound down, I didn't give the money a second thought...I was too nervous about the outcome.

After the game, I was seriously shellshocked. Perhaps having an emotional attachment to a sports team is a bit irrational, but in my incredibly simple (and slightly pathetic) life, the New England Patriots rank pretty high on the list of things that are important to me.

I was crushed. Not because of the money. And not because the Pats simply lost the game.

For most of their existence, the Patriots were the laughingstock of the NFL. Whatever could go wrong usually did. Watching them ascend from the outhouse to the penthouse over the last decade has been a tremendously enjoyable experience for me, even more so as a season ticket holder since 1994.

Had the Pats won, they would have done something no other team had ever done: gone 19-0. Sure, the 1972 Dolphins went undefeated, but their record was 17-0, thanks to a shorter regular season. A victory would have taken the Pats to another level. They wouldn't have just been a dynasty. They wouldn't have just been 1 of only 2 undefeated teams. They would have been immortal. In all likelihood, they would have been known as the best team in the history of the NFL, and who knows, maybe in all of sports.

And it would have been MY team people were talking about.

But they couldn't do it. And that is why it hurt so badly for me. Perhaps they choked. Perhaps it was just karma. Maybe if they play 10 times, the Pats win 8, but it didn't matter. They just couldn't do it.

After the game, which ended around 7 p.m. Vegas time, AJ and I went to dinner.

And then we went to bed. (Um, not together)

Yup, by 9:30, we were in the hotel room and lying in bed (not together). Sure, we could have gone out on what was our last night in town, but had we done so, we probably would have done something stupid, like drink way too much, gamble way too much and in all likelihood, both.

The next day, I flew home in a funk. And I didn't come out of that funk for about a month. That is how much it hurt.

Do I hold Vegas responsible? Of course not. The game would have ended the exact same way if I was home watching it on my couch. But there is an energy and aura in Vegas that makes any game seem infinitely more meaningful...even the Super Bowl. While I can only imagine what it must be like to be on the winning side, I know what it's like to be on the losing side, and it pretty much sucked.

I've always said that even the losing trips to Vegas are fun. And while I don't regret going, maybe we should have paid a little more attention to those omens.

Where the Hell Have I Been?

Wow. It's been 19 days since I last graced the online world (and intruded on yours) with a blog post. And while I could offer up my busy life as an excuse, it's not much of one. I don't really have a life, much less a busy one. I do have a dog, however. As well as a pimple that keeps reappearing on my forehead. However, I digress.

Since my last post:

• The in-laws visited. And, the weekend didn't suck. I seem to recall a nice dinner out that Friday evening (even nicer because they paid), the discovery of a terrific breakfast place on Saturday morning and grilling and dining outside on Saturday night.
  

• I got promoted at work. And while this was generally a good thing, a bit of chaos involving office assignments ensued. Although I "took one for the team," I do have a window again, which helps ease the sting.
  

• I went to Vegas. Yes, again. This time for my buddy Tim's bachelor party. And as I expertly predicted months ago, it did not snow. In fact, it was cloudless and in the 90s for just about the entire trip. All-in-all, a very successful trip: all of Tim's friends got along very well, we engaged in a lot of fun, mostly legal activities, Del Friscos was as good as it's ever been, I won money at the tables...AND took a bump that gave me a voucher for the next flight to Vegas in December. Good times.
  

• Jenn left me. Albeit for a God conference in Grand Rapids. Why God, or anyone else, would want to meet up in Grand Rapids is beyond me - although I suspect it's better than Detroit - but who am I to question the Almighty?
  

• I went to Tim and Lauren's wedding. While it was definitely a good time, I was most impressed by the food. It wasn't just good, it was extremely good. Beef Wellington appetizers? You had me at Beef Wellington. The filet for dinner was tender and actually cooked medium rare and the accompanying risoto was damn fine. Oh, and the open bar was nice.

• Jenn returned home. And subsequently refused to cook dinner. Something about traveling all day and getting in at 7:30 p.m. Whatever.
  

Anyway, I plan to resume a more normal blogging schedule - at least once a week - with the next update coming up in a few days. I am going to use that time to appropriately mourn the passing of Billy Mays and appropriately mock anyone who seriously mourns the passing of Michael Jackson.

And I am going to buy an iPhone.

Cars

There's an old saying, although I have no idea what it came from: "give 'em what they want."

For most of this decade, Americans wanted oversized SUVs, trucks and minivans that on good days got 15 miles per gallon on the highway. Why did we want them? Because our neighbors had them, because they looked nice, and because fiscal irresponsibility was a far more virulent problem than swine flu.

So, the Big 3 American car companies gave the public what they wanted. And they made a lot of money doing it.

GM's financial results from 2001-2007:
2001: $601 million profit
2002: $1.7 billion profit
2003: $3.8 billion profit
2004: $3.6 billion profit
2005: $3.4 billion loss (mostly related to non-operational items)
2006: $2.2 billion profit
2007: $2.3 billion loss (mostly related to non-operational items. The company generated record revenue of $178 billion that year)

Ford's financial results from 2001-2007:
2001: $1,5 billion profit
2002: $3 billion profit
2003: $1.2 billion profit
2004: $2.4 billion profit
2005: $1.9 billion loss (mostly related to non-operational items)
2006: $2.8 billion loss
2007: $2.7 billion loss

As for Chrysler, they have been a private company for quite some time and their results are not available. That said, they were not nearly as financially strong as the other two.

So despite all of the publicity surrounding the bankruptcies of GM and Chrysler, the Big 3's profits were in the BILLIONS as recently as 2006. Not bad. And then, of course, the bottom fell out. Why?

Lots of reasons, but I don't believe the common misconception about inferior quality is one of them. I recently had a conversation with someone I consider to be very knowledgeable about the industry, as he previously worked for one of the Big 3. This person adamantly believes that the quality of American cars is at minimum, equal to that of their Japanese rivals. I tend to agree, if only because logically, his position make sense.

Technology has advanced to the point now where most cars will go 5 years before any problems develop and easily last 10 years with proper maintenance. Besides, with so much competition from foreign car companies, if the Big 3 produced lousy cars, they would have gone out of business long ago.

So where did GM, Ford and Chrysler go wrong? As a completely uninformed, naive and generally clueless schmuck, I offer up the following:

• Out of control labor costs. And while you might jump to blame the unions, I don't. It is up to the manufacturers to draw the line, not the unions. What person wouldn't want more money and stronger benefits?
  

• Uninspiring cars. Let's be honest - if you want a good-looking car, you don't typically buy a Ford, Chevy or Chrysler. That would prove to be a big problem after gas prices went through the roof.

• Repetition. What is the difference between a Ford Explorer and Mercury Mariner? Nothing. What is the difference between the Chrysler Town and Country Minivan and the Dodge Grand Caravan? Nothing. And why exactly does GM have 293 different brands?

• An incomplete product portfolio. I think this is what really did in the Big 3. Earlier this decade, American car companies devoted their resources to producing oversized vehicles, while the Japanese continued to focus on normal-size cars (although they also made SUVs, trucks, minivans, etc). When the price of oil skyrocketed, the American public quickly adapted, abandoning their behemoths and downsizing to well, normal-size cars - such as the Accord, Civic, Corolla, Camry, Altima, etc. Unfortunately for the Big 3, they couldn't adapt nearly as quickly, and instantly fell behind the foreign competition. American car companies could no longer "give em what they want."
  

Worse, I believe the Big 3 had 2 gigantic holes in their product lines:

• Cheap, economical and fuel efficient cars (i.e., Toyota Prius, Honda Insight, etc).
  
• The entry-level luxury car (i.e., Lexus, Acura, Infiniti, etc)

For the most part, American car companies had little to offer in these categories. I can say that with some frame of reference, as I purchased a new car last October: an Infiniti G35.

The car is, well, it's freaking awesome: sleek, sporty, powerful, luxurious and it has lots of buttons and knobs. I like buttons and knobs.

I had the better part of all last year to research cars and make my purchasing decision. And when I decided that I wanted to take the plunge and spurge on a "luxury car," I spent months researching all of the options. My criteria was simple: I wanted something sleek, sporty, powerful, luxurious with lots of buttons and knobs - a car that critics universally approved of....and I wanted it at a certain price range.

Not surprisingly, all 3 major Japanese car companies have exclusive luxury divisions that made models meeting all of my criteria, including price:

• Toyota makes Lexus
• Honda makes Acura
• Nissan makes Infiniti

As for the Big 3, here were my options:

• Lincoln MKZ (from Ford) - not especially sporty, not reviewed all that highly and outside of my price
  
• Cadillac CTS (from GM) - Wayyyy outside my price, and to be honest, I think they are kind of ugly. Not sleek at all.
  

For me, the decision between Japanese and American was easy - in fact, it was not even close. I chose the Infiniti because I felt that was the best car for my money. Well, that and the fact that I paid close to 25% less than the sticker price, as I was one of about 4 people to buy a car in the month of October.

Next time you are out, look around: you will be astounded as to how many "entry-level" luxury cars you will see on the road: Lexus, Infiniti and Acura. They will be all over the place. Keep your eye out for an MKZ or CTS. You will be lucky to spot 1 or 2.

The same can be said for the economy cars - Hondas, Toyotas and Nissans rule the road.

As for the Big 3, they have received a new life, which is a good thing. Despite being a conservative, I think the bailout was necessary - the American auto industry is too big to fail in this tough economic environment. I have high hopes that all 3 companies will get their collective heads screwed on straight and catch up to their Japanese counterparts. And let's be honest: it's now or never.

Pissing off the NBA

I've always wanted to be a professional basketball player.

OK, that is not entirely true. I hate the sport and have never had any inspirations of playing basketball, professionally, recreationally or as part of a drug-induced hallucination. In fact, I am a truly atrocious basketball player. There is little question that Jon, Kate and any of those 8 could school me on the court. However, this did not stop me from sending a letter to the NBA in 1993, making myself eligible for the upcoming draft.

For the record, April 26, 1993 was a Monday, meaning I was not drunk, stoned or otherwise impaired (even at UMass, we rested on Mondays). Although, in the interest of fair disclosure, the idea might have been hatched the previous weekend, while my friends and I were enjoying the crisp refreshing taste of Olympia Beer, a truly disgusting, yet extremely affordable lager.

Besides, as a certifiable whack job, I tend to enjoy riling people up (see wife, my and Gorman, Lou). Plus, I was curious as to what response, if any, would come from the NBA.

After a couple of weeks passed with no reply from the league, I figured that my letter was sent directly to the circular file. Until I found a FedEx waiting for me at my dorm one Friday afternoon:

I was excited. Clearly, the league was conducting a background check so that they could invite me to sit in the Green Room at Madison Square Garden on draft night. Despite the long odds and uphill struggles, my 3-week old dream of becoming a pro was one step closer to reality. Hardly able to contain myself, I immediately called Mr. Richardson. The conversation went pretty much like this:

HIM: I want to confirm that you are still enrolled as a student at UMass.

ME: Yes, sir.

HIM: I don't see your name on the basketball team's roster. Or for that matter, any roster on any NCAA team. What is your basketball experience?

ME: Intramurals.

The phone call ended a few minutes later and sufficed to say, Mr. Richardson was not pleased. Something about me wasting his time. I don't know what it is about security people, but they don't seem to have much of a sense of humor.

Crushed, I told my friends the sad news. They sympathized - we laughed, we cried, we hugged. I was just thankful they were there for me during that difficult time. Finishing up the semester, I went home and tried to put the pieces of my shattered life back together. A couple of days later, I received this:

So you're saying there's a chance? Clearly, the powers-that-be had a change of heart and decided that I should be permitted to meet my destiny. Either that, or this was a standard legal disclaimer that the league sends to all of the morons like me who pull this stunt. Either way, imagine my excitement when I tuned into the draft a month later. Hey, stranger things have happened, right?

Nope. Not only did I not watch the draft, I completely forgot about it. Stunningly, I was not selected. At least, I don't think I was. Although to this day, I wonder if maybe I was picked and it was my responsibility to have called my new team and report for training camp?

Wow, now that is a depressing thought. I missed out on what would have been a 2.5 minute career as a pro hoops player because I was at the movies watching Cliffhanger. This seems like a "Where Are They Now" story waiting to happen.

To My Wife...Again.

People are starting to get concerned.

As a minister, it is understood that you have to exhibit some compassion from time to time, but today marks two years and you still seem to um....what is the word I am looking for? Oh yeah...care.

Your dad's visit in a couple of weeks? It isn't just to hang out. I am fairly certain that he is going to try and talk some sense into you. After all, he only gave us 3 years, so he's probably getting a little antsy.

My dad's visit next week? It's not just to have dinner with us. I am fairly certain that he is going to tell you in person that the monthly checks are being cut off, that you have done your time and are now free to go.

Year 2 was a good year. You went to Israel and lived to tell about it; we saved a lot of money and subsequently blew most of it on the down payment for the Infiniti; you finally spent a few days in my Holy Land; and, most importantly, we welcomed the new love of our life to the family: Vegas, the world's dumbest dog.

Who, by the way, is infinitely more easier to live with than I am.

And yet you continue to put up with me, for reasons that only you and your God know. Maybe it's because I stayed true to my vow from one year ago - to let you pick the pizza toppings. Sure, we now get separate pizzas, but you always get exactly what you want. Even when you insist on ordering from the 3rd best pizza place in town.

So while I remain confused as to your true motives, I could not be more appreciative of all that you do. To say I married up is a gigantic understatement. Here's hoping that the day never comes when you figure that out.

Happy 2nd anniversary, honey. I love you.

Pissing off Lou Gorman

So the consensus is that I am a wuss. Most excellent. I've always needed an identity and while I would have preferred tall, charming and handsome, that would have been an outright lie. However, on the scale of identities, wuss definitely ranks above overly talkative, boring, smelly and bad poker player...so I'll take it. Thanks again to all who chimed in.

And speaking of being sensitive, former Red Sox general manager Lou Gorman, who ran the team from 1984-1993, has had one or two Jon Siegal moments in his career. How do I know? Well, it just so happens that Lou sent me and my friends a very inappropriate letter while I was in college. Sure, his inappropriate letter was a response to an extremely vulgar and ridiculously inappropriate letter that we sent him, but that is besides the point. He was a grown up and should have known better.

What did we say to poor Lou? Well, glad you asked. To set the stage, it was November 1992. The Sox lost a very promising prospect and their starting 2nd baseman in the expansion draft that was held to stock the incoming Florida Marlins and Colorado Rockies. At that point, the Sox were spiraling down from a contending team in the late 1980s to the dregs of the league in the early 1990s.

Here we go. Warning: the following letter contains very strong language, numerous grammatical errors and may or may not be funny after all of these years:

Lou,


We just want to tell you that you really suck balls and we are demanding your immediate resignation. You've been gradually screwing up the organization for years now but the Eric Wedge fiasco is the latest, and hopefully the last, of your asinine moves concerning personnel.


Would you like us to refresh your memory?


The following dickhead moves are just a minute sampling of many fuck-ups you have been responsible for:


1. The signing of Matt Young for a multi-year, multi-million dollar contract. In some countries you would be executed for such displays of ignorance. You couldn't manage a Dairy Mart, let alone a Major League Baseball team. You signed a pitcher that can't throw to first base without shitting his pants. He belongs in the Ronald Reagan Hospital for the Mentally Insane, and you should be his roommate.


2. The signing of Jack Clark. Another winner on the Boston sports scene. Next time you see him could you tell him to forget about the five bucks he owes me, I'll let it slide. Jack needs it more than I do anyway. The guy must love you, Lou. Without you he wouldn't have been able to make an extra few million to sit on his ass and cry about how much his life sucks. Lou, I heard Dave Kingman wants to make a comeback, how about 4 years and 10 million, does that sound fair? We need someone to hit it over the monster, you know?


3. Lee Smith and Jeff Reardon. You gave up a reliever who is in his prime and replaced him with a shitbum who blew more saves that Margo Adams has {bad word for penises}. Yeah, he does hold the all-time save record, until Lee Smith passes him early next year.


4. Dennis Eckersley for Bill Buckner. "Little roller along first..."


5. Releasing Dwight Evans. This is the equivalent of the Bruins releasing Ray Bourque or the Celtics releasing Larry, Kevin and Robert. You don't treat a man that has done so much for the team the way you did. That was classless and personifies the differences between a top-flight organization and the Red Sox.


6. Releasing Dave Henderson. You suck, bad.


7. How about all the careers you've ruined? Kevin Morton, Mo Vaughn, Phil Plantier, Tim Naehring, Mike Gardiner...


8. Finally, the expansion draft. We're you drunk, baked, on acid? What the fuck were you thinking? Was your mother on crack while she was pregnant with you? Are your parents also brother and sister? I can't explain this. Jody Reed? Eric Wedge? That's all we can take, we hate you.


After the draft, we held a trial in room 329 Patterson Hall at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. We found you guilty of 43 counts of general stupidity, 10 counts of attempted stupidity, 18 counts of career murder and one count of not having a penis. As punishment we ask that you resign as general manager of the Boston Red Sox. We hope that this will end the needless suffering that millions of Red Sox fans experience this year.


Needless to say, a good portion of our arguments in this letter - namely points 5, 6, 7 and 8...so about half - turned out to be wrong. This is mainly due to the fact that we were young, stupid and immature. Plus, I was involved and I am usually never right about anything. That said, we didn't know at the time how good Curt Schilling and Jeff Bagwell would become, two players he traded away for precious little.


Here is Lou's response:

Gentleman (and I use the term loosely):

To take the time to respond to a bunch of illiterate, ill-mannered vulgar jerks like yourselves would be a total affront to my intelligence.

I would hope that you morons don't represent the true educational level of students at the University of Massachusetts since you do nothing but "disgrace" the University with the ignorance and vulgarity of your letter.

Some day when you all grow up, if ever, I might take the time to reply with an intelligent response.

Sincerely,

James "Lou" Gorman
Senior Vice President/General Manager

It is worth noting that less than a year later, Lou resigned, replaced by the infamous Dan Duquette. Clearly, our letter took a heavy personal toll on the man. It is also worth noting that his letter made no sense: he claims that he won't respond to us, but isn't the letter itself a response? I am confused. Maybe this is just Lou being Lou.

So is Lou Gorman also a wuss? Maybe. But he was also a decent general manager and from what I hear, a very kind soul. Still, he should thank his lucky stars that the internet, Facebook, Twitter and countless other social mediums weren't around during his tenure. Seeing that I am big on apologies these days, perhaps I should track him down and send him another letter....

Next blog post: The NBA also showed its sensitive side. Like, for instance, when I declared for the NBA draft in 1993.

Am I a wuss?

As I enter the "golden years," I've noticed several distinct signs of aging:

• The graying of facial and chest hair.
• A shrinking bladder that results in trips to the bathroom every 45 minutes.
• Falling asleep on the couch by 8:30. On Fridays.
  
• And, oh yeah, potentially turning into an oversensitive, thin-skinned pus*y.

For the majority of my life, it has been virtually impossible to offend me. I embrace my self-deprecating sense of humor and I not only encourage, but I demand that my friends get in on the action.

And they have not disappointed. Through the years, I've been subjected to jokes about my religion, my upbringing, my ex-girlfriends, a startling inability to count (most often seen while gambling) and bouts with abdominal overhang, among others. I'd like to think that nobody laughs harder at these jokes than I do. After all, if you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?

By and large, I am not an emotional person. I tend to roll with the punches. In fact, my wife would be thrilled if one day I climbed a couple of notches on the emotional response scale to the level of "your soul is an empty void of all humanity."

An example: a year ago, I was driving on the highway when an SUV in front of me lost control, flipped over a couple of times and came to rest upside down in a shallow ditch off the road. I pulled over, ran down to the vehicle, helped a very shaken (but uninjured) driver out of the SUV, called police, waited with her and once the cops arrived and took my statement, I left. Not unusual, right?

Here's the rub: Not once during the entire episode did I ever think about the fact that the woman could have died, the truck could have erupted in flames or exploded while I helped her out, or that the out-of-control SUV came within a couple of feet of hitting my car. And by the time I did think about these things, I was already on the way home and realized that none of these things happened, everyone was OK and that was that. I didn't lose sleep over it. I didn't dwell on it for days. I was over it.

Strange? Probably. Do I require intensive psychological evaluation? Almost certainly. But that is just how I function. I am about as sensitive as a pet rock.

And now that I've spent 421 words setting the stage, it should surprise absolutely no one that my reaction (over-reaction?) to a Facebook comment recently started in motion a string of events that culminated in the end of a friendship.

Yep, that's right. I was, for some reason, put off by a handful of words that somebody typed online. Somebody shoot me. Now.

It isn't necessary to divulge the identity of the other person. He is not a regular reader or contributor to this blog and does not live anywhere near me.

It also isn't necessary to go into a great deal of detail about what happened. I will say that I expressed my feelings to this person and tried to resolve the issue a few different times. However, he did not believe the comment was offensive, refused to apologize for it, and by not doing so, ultimately decided that it would be best to part ways.

As someone who says whatever is on my mind, I have inadvertently offended people on numerous occasions. I often find myself apologizing, even if I don't understand why the other person was ticked off, because to not apologize would send a message that their feelings are irrelevant. "Hey, don't be so sensitive. If you don't like it, too bad." Sure, it would be nice to take that approach, but I am reasonably certain that if I did, the only person I'd have left to speak with is my dog.

Although she is not much of a talker. I wonder if it was something I said.

Now that this falling out has concluded, I found myself in a very strange position - trying to deal with um, I believe they are called...feelings:

• Bewilderment
• Sadness
• Frustration
• Anger
• Amusement (at the absurdity of the situation. After all, if you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?)
  

So this is what it's like to feel emotion? Odd....

I have no regrets. Did I overreact to a mostly harmless Facebook comment? In hindsight, perhaps I did. But in my view, this quickly transitioned from bitching about a Facebook comment to an issue of principle. Sure, I don't have many principles - besides always hitting on a soft 18 and never ordering a drink with an umbrella - but as cheesy as it sounds, I've always tried to treat others the way I would like to be treated (with the notable exception of my sister). If that includes apologizing for something I said, even if it is mostly as a goodwill gesture, then so be it. In this case, this person choose not to offer a similar level of reciprocation.

Still...a Facebook comment? Really? What in the world of Hallmark is wrong with me? Is this the beginning of the end? Will I soon be crying over those cheesy inspirational features that will be televised at the next Olympics?

"21 year old bobsledder Mike Jones may not be the favorite to win a medal, but just getting to Vancouver is a lifetime accomplishment. His story starts with a bizarre skee-ball accident involving his pet hamster that happened when he was 6..."

Jesus. I feel the need to apologize to anyone reading this. Just for the hell of it.

Sin City

It all started innocently enough.

It was February 1996. My friend Mark - he of the 3,000 word comments - was thinking of visiting his brother in Vegas for a week and asked if I wanted to come along. Having finished school the previous December and not yet having started my career, Mark's question was akin to asking the Pope if he would like to pray.

None of the 8 people who read this blog - OK, maybe 7 these days - need to be given a primer on my love of cards and gambling. So, a few weeks later, on a cold snowy Sunday night, we flew to Vegas. Little did I suspect that it would be the first of almost two dozen trips in a 13-year period.

We landed around 11 p.m. and drove straight to Binion's (the birthplace of this somewhat popular event) where I proceeded to pop my Vegas cherry. I sat down at a $5 blackjack table (good luck finding one of those anymore), ordered a Corona and won my very first hand.

And over the next week, proceeded to lose my shirt. It was glorious.

Fun fact: To this day, if I drink a beer while at a table in Vegas, it is always a Corona. Who says I am not a romantic? Um, besides my wife and just about everyone else?

Anyway, back then, "losing my shirt" was somewhat subjective. First of all, the thought of me without a shirt was not nearly as nauseating as it is today. Secondly, I lost about $700, which while significant, didn't exactly drive me into bankruptcy.

Some highlights from that first trip:

• 12 hours after we arrived, it snowed. In the desert. What are the odds? I mean, that must be a once in a lifetime event, right? (hint: this is called foreshadowing) Anyway, it was only for an hour or so and produced barely a dusting, but in the desert any type of precipitation causes the roads to become extremely slippery.
  

• We took a day trip to Six Flags Magic Mountain, just outside of L.A., to spend a day riding some truly kick-ass roller coasters. We woke up at 4 a.m., piled into the family truckster, drove 5-6 hours and when we arrived at the park, it was closed. No, the moose at the gate didn't tell us. The sign saying "Winter hours, weekends only" did. We were there on a Friday and it was 70 degrees. Only in California. And if "traveling across country to visit an amusement park, only to discover upon arrival that it was closed" sounds somewhat familiar, then you should not be surprised to learn that yes, this park doubled as Wally World. Don't believe me? Look here. As a parting gift, we spent the day at Universal Studios, which while nice, was no Wally World.

• Mark and I met up with my uncle Eliot, who was in town on business and armed with a sizable expense account. Where did we go? Ruths' Chris, of course. Not only was this my first time in such a steakhouse, we hadn't walked 10 feet before we saw this 80-something year old geezer hanging in the bar with a 20-something year old blond bombshell on his arm. Vegas, baby. The steak was good too.
  

Over the years, my Vegas visits have been devoted to bachelor parties, mancations, work, last-minute diversions (I was in San Diego and Logan was snowed in, so why not?) and as a tour guide for Jenn.

Why do I love it so much? Beyond the obvious - gambling, great food, endless entertainment options, the over-the-top stimulation of the senses - Vegas is a place where I can truly get away and lose myself for the better part of a week. Nothing really matters except gambling, eating copious amounts of food (as well as a few drinks) and having fun. I have very little contact with, and consideration for, the outside world. It's going to sound cheesy, but Vegas is my oasis.

Financially, my trips have been all over the spectrum: lose a little, win a little, break even (mostly), lose a lot, win a lot. Thankfully, I've never come home with an empty wallet. And yes, I know I've just doomed myself.

And so, with 20 trips in the rear view mirror, I would be remiss if I did not offer up a few thoughts for any Vegas Virgins who may be reading:

• If you are making your first trip, stay on the Strip, ideally in the middle. Your objective will likely be to take in as much as you can and because there is no way you can see all of Vegas on your first trip (unless your first trip is for a month), the best thing you can do is spend a day or so walking up each end of the Strip.

• If you make a return trip, rent a car and and see the sights. There are plenty of neat casinos, attractions and restaurants away from the Strip and you'll save money by renting a car, as opposed to taking a cab everywhere you go.

• If you are planning to gamble, do something that most people don't - learn how to play the games. It is amazing to see people sit down at a table and have no idea what they are doing. Yes, you are there to have fun, but geez, you are playing with real money, shouldn't you at least try and understand what you are doing?
  

• Unless you really like the heat, you should probably avoid going in the summer. One year, I flew to Vegas in late June for work and when I landed at midnight, it was 98 degrees. Weatherwise, the best times to go are late March-to early May or mid September- mid October.

• Be sure to hit "downtown," which is a few miles from the Strip. This is where Vegas really got started and features hotels/casinos that date back to the 50s and 60s.
  

• For those who think gambling is the sure sign of the devil - then why did you elect Obama? Bada bing! Thank you! I'll be here all week! - it is still worth the trip. There is plenty to do: entertainment, dining, shopping, tourist attractions, prostitution. Everyone should see Vegas once.
  

In less than two months, I will be making trip #21 for another bachelor party. While I am reasonably certain that I won't witness my 3rd Vegas snowfall - last December it snowed several inches (remember that foreshadowing thing?) - I am quite certain that win or lose, I am going to have a blast. And a big steak.

Ex GOP?

What is wrong with the Republicans? The played a fairly significant role in the world's economic mess, stood behind a President who left office with the worst approval ratings of all time, and think that global warming is just a result of God sweating (apparently the Lord just needs a good shower).

Today, their actions and messages are almost as ridiculous as the decision to greenlight Joanie Loves Chachi. Worse, their designated big mouth is officially on the record as hoping Obama is a failure. Groovy. Good thing he hasn't been tasked with pulling the world out of the worst financial crisis in 70 years...a crisis that was sparked largely by the actions of a Republican administration and Congress. Given that Republicans are as well liked as an STD, you would think that someone of stature within the party would step up and either distance themselves from Rush's comments or publicly reprimand the big lug. However, you would be wrong.

Which leads me to one inescapable conclusion: the GOP is off its rocker.

And I am a Republican. Sort of.

I've never formally affiliated myself with a political party - I am registered as "unenrolled" - although I've almost always voted with the right because I shared many of their positions on important issues. Clearly not all of them, but enough. However, I am becoming increasingly disenfranchised with the party. Why?

Fox News.

These guys could have taught the Nazis a thing or two about propaganda. It's unreal. To watch some of their programming, you would think that Obama is a Muslim terrorist whose only mission in life is to destroy the American way of life. While I realize that the pundits are simply catering to their audience, and while there is "some" truth to some of their points, the tone and tenor coming from Fox has long since passed absurd and is rapidly approaching "I think this is the Cubs' year" territory.

If for no other reason, check out the Daily Show every night for a collage of sound bytes from Fox News that is equally funny, sad and pathetic, and which can produce no reaction other than a swift shaking of the head.

Granted, disgust at one news channel is not the reason I am considering mutiny. However, it just might be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

So does this mean I am ready to become a Democrat? Um, no. There is a better chance that my wife converts to Judaism - well, beyond the fact that she already worships a Jew - or that I will ever again attend a Passover dinner with my family. ("So you're saying there's a chance?")

While I do agree with the donkeys on certain issues (such as the need to save the auto industry), we don't have a ton of viewpoints in common, especially the whole "any time we need money, we'll just raise taxes" thing.

Nope, I think my future political calling is the Libertarian Party (the "party of principle!"). I like these guys. Their mission statement : "We hold that all individuals have the right to exercise sole dominion over their own lives, and have the right to live in whatever manner they choose, so long as they do not forcibly interfere with the equal right of others to live in whatever manner they choose."

So basically, "everyone for himself" in a non-anarchy type of way. They don't care what your sexual orientation is. They don't care if you support or oppose abortion. They don't care what color you are or where your ancestors came from. Imagine that.

Of course, they also don't care for the income tax, a regulated healthcare system or our country's position of policing the world...so they aren't exactly perfect. However, much of what they stand for is common sense. At least to me. But then again, I am a bit of a whackjob.

So what is stopping me from declaring my undying love and allegiance to the Libertarians? Easy. They don't hold any real power. Sure, they might be one of the largest alternative political parties and sure, hundreds of Libertarian candidates have been elected or appointed to public office. But nothing of real stature - unless you believe that the position of Vice President of Lettuce at Shaws represents stature. If I decide to strictly vote Libertarian, am I wasting my vote?

Of course not, in the sense that I am exercising my right to choose. However, knowing that a Libertarian is unlikely to win office in a major election, does it make more sense to vote for Republicans, who are closer to my position than Democrats, and are significantly more likely to hold office? Good question. And one that I am going to have to figure out.

Until then, I'll stay as informed as ever, by tuning into Stewart and Colbert.

All you can eat

Stacey recently blogged about how the unofficial arrival of spring - baseball's opening day - sparks her annual craving for hot dogs. She is definitely on to something, although in my case, the official arrival of spring sparks my annual craving for birthday cake and the subsequent whining that I am one step closer to death.

Hot dogs are one of my favorite foods. In fact, if I am at a cookout and had to choose between a hot dog and a burger, I'd go with the hot dog. And you'd be hard pressed to find someone who enjoys beef as much as I do. Maybe it's because hot dogs are more of a seasonal food and something not typically ordered when eating out. Burgers, on the other hand, are one of the most popular foods served at restaurants and are enjoyed year round (speaking of which, if you live near a Red Robin, go and go often. Them's burgers are mighty tasty).

Fun Fact - During hot dog season (Memorial Day to Labor Day) Americans typically consume 7 billion hot dogs, which is the equivalent of 818 hot dogs consumed per second during that period. Impressed? Then be sure to check out the National Hot Dog & Sausage Council's web site for more stats that will blow your wiener.

For hot dog lovers, there is one day each year where the frankfurter is king. This year, the day is May 31. The place is Suffolk Downs in East Boston. The event? The 20th Annual Hot Dog Safari (I kid you not). This is the knockwurst of all hot dog gatherings - $10 provides all-you-can-eat access to about a dozen different brands of hot dogs, snacks, soda, etc. All proceeds go to charity, which means that you have the comfort of knowing that while you throw up the 17 hot dogs you consumed earlier that day, somebody somewhere is going to benefit from your gluttony. God bless America.

The Hot Dog Safari is the brainchild of a famous Boston sports radio host, who is perhaps a wee bit too obsessed with hot dogs. The first Safari was a bus trip for 200 people to Foxwoods, where a handful of hot dog companies set up in a function room. This year, 30,000 will attend, and why not? In these difficult economic times, $10 for all-you-can-eat dogs is a terrific deal. Sure, you might need to follow your meal with a handful of Lipitor and Pepto-Bismol, but as my good friend Red likes to say, you either get busy living, or get busy dying.

If you attend the Hot Dog Safari, the bad news is that it will probably take you close to a month to fully digest all that you've consumed. The good news is that by then, you should be hungry enough to attend the Phantom Gourmet BBQ Beach Party at the end of June. It isn't one-price, all-you-can-eat, but if you like BBQ, then you'll definitely want to check this out. 10 pit masters from around the country set up shop and for about the cost of a slab of ribs at a restaurant, you can sample ribs from each of the BBQ teams.

I attend this event every year with my pals Rob & Tim. It's a fun time - we eat like slobs, get BBQ sauce all over ourselves and after we're done, we talk incessantly about how quickly we'll have to hit the bathroom when we get home. Good times.

This year, the fun takes place on the weekend of Tim's wedding. I believe the plan will be to arrive at the ribfest mid day, eat until we get sick and then head straight to the nuptials. Tim is trying to convince his fiance to have her bridesmaids wear brown dresses, which would enable him to pig out in his tux so the BBQ sauce stains on the shirt won't look out of place. OK, I made that up. But he should.

If you love pork - and who doesn't? - (um, although perhaps in different ways), then this is your time. If you are a vegetarian, please go to church, beg for forgiveness and don't leave until you've seen the light.

What the hell do I do all day?

"What is PR?"

I've been working in public relations for nearly 13 years and I still get asked that question on a semi-regular basis by friends, family, countrymen, and every so often...myself. So, I figured now was as good a time as any to attempt to explain my occupation. Plus, I was struggling to come up with a good blog topic this week. So, today's blog becomes a giant plug for me and my clients.

I was going to post the definition of PR as adopted by the Public Relations Society of America, which is the world's largest organization of spin doctors. The PRSA is the grand poobah of our profession, comprised of the "best of the best" collection of "professional communicators" who can easily take a ridiculously complicated story and boil it down into a format that everyone can understand. And their definition is 378 words.

Here it is in a nutshell: I get paid to persuade all types of journalists (newspaper, magazines, online, TV, radio, etc) to write or report on my client or their product/service.

At least that is what we do at Schwartz Communications. My actual job is split between speaking with reporters, managing the five teams that I am a part of, and communicating with my clients.

A lot of people wonder if PR is similar to advertising. Not at all, but both functions have the same purpose: to communicate some type of message - "Our software is the best!" "This book will change your life!" "Eli Manning is the Antichrist!" - to the public.

With advertising, that message is completely controlled and paid for: through either an ad in the paper, a commercial on TV or radio, or a banner ad on the internet. It is a direct attempt to sell you something and you know it.

With PR, that message is delivered to the public through a journalist in the form of a story in the paper or on TV. Because reporters are supposed to be impartial folks who are interested only in news that benefits their particular audience, these stories are perceived as significantly more credible than advertising. Although a company's message cannot be completely controlled this way, the way in which it is delivered more than makes up for the loss of total control.

Simply put, ask yourself this: What is going to resonate more?

• A full page ad in the paper from Store X that says, "Our prices are the best around!"
  

• A half page article in the same paper by a reporter who analyzed all the stores in the area and concluded that Store X's prices are the best around.

Like most jobs (such as elevator operators), PR can have its ups and downs. The feeling I get when I open the paper and see a story that I convinced a reporter to do is pretty cool. On the flip side, for every reporter I work with on a story, 10 more weren't interested. In baseball, being a .300 hitter (succeeding 30% of the time) will probably land you in the Hall of Fame. In PR, you are a superstar if you bat .100.

And yes, it is frustrating being repeatedly turned down, although my dating life prepared me for a steady onslaught of rejections.

On the flip side, it is not easy being a reporter, as they are deluged with e-mail and phone calls from PR folks all day, and most of what they get is pure crap. However, from my perspective, it is incredibly annoying when I provide a reporter with a legitimate story idea that is not responded to or taken seriously. What do I mean? Glad you asked. Here are the 5 things I am currently working on:

Prostate cancer #1
WHAT IS IT? One of my clients makes a test that can help figure out if a person's prostate cancer is one of the majority that will grow slowly and likely never pose a serious threat or whether it is one of the few that will grow quickly and could result in death.

WHY SHOULD YOU CARE? Because this information, which until now had not been possible to come by, helps doctors figure out if patients need to undergo treatment, which almost always results in really nasty and sometimes permanent side-effects (like impotence and incontinence). Then again, if you're a guy and don't care about having sex and being able to pee without a catheter, you probably don't care.

REPORTER RESPONSE: Reporters who cover prostate cancer consistently talk about the need to tell the difference between benign and aggressive disease, which is exactly what this test does. However, because this test has not yet been the topic of a paper in a leading medical journal, reporters pay it no attention. Despite the fact that we have papers from the same journals proving the science behind the tests works AND there are docs around the country who are currently using it.

Dental impressions
WHAT IS IT? A very cool technology that produces a 3-D digital dental impression by allowing dentists to scan the inside of a person's mouth with a small camera.

WHY SHOULD YOU CARE? Ever have a traditional dental impression taken? It's disgusting: a liquid goop is squirted into your mouth (hey, get your mind out of the gutter) and over the course of 5 minutes, hardens into a putty that is yanked out. Impressions are taken for anyone who needs a crown or bridge, but because the impression is made of putty, it is usually flawed and the resulting crown or bridge almost never fits right, meaning patients have to go back to the dentist all the time for adjustments and/or replacements.

But a digital impression is done in half the time, without the goop and the crown or bridge fits perfectly.

REPORTER RESPONSE: Many TV reporters like this story, because it is extremely visual and easy to tell on television. As for everyone else? Forget it. Know why? Because health reporters typically don't care about dental stories, which are not a matter of "life or death."
Instead of a story on advances in dentistry, which affects just about everyone, reporters write story after story about the rising number of obese people in the world. OK. We get it. Obesity is a problem. Thank you.

Prostate cancer #2
WHAT IS IT? A system that uses technology similar to the GPS in your car to deliver a more accurate burst of radiation treatment in men with prostate cancer.

WHY SHOULD YOU CARE? It is normal for the prostate to move a few millimeters in different directions due to normal physiological functions (coughing, breathing, etc.). When this happens, the radiation beam can end up hitting some healthy tissue or organs right next next to the prostate, leading to some unpleasant side-effects. With this new technology, the exact location of the prostate is known at all times, so if it moves, the radiation beam can be adjusted. A more accurate dose of radiation is delivered and the irradiation of healthy tissue can be avoided.

REPORTER RESPONSE: A slightly diminished argument here. Most of our efforts are focused on working with reporters in cities where this technology is located. For the most part, reporters are eating this story up. However, national reporters tend to avoid stories on specific products because they feel like it basically serves as a commercial for said product. Never mind that it actually, you know, helps people...

Airplane airbags
WHAT IS IT? It's an airbag, rolled up into the seatbelt you wear around your lap. In the event of an impact, it deploys and fills the space between you and whatever is in front of you (seatback, bulkhead, etc).

WHY SHOULD YOU CARE? Because contrary to public perception, most (about 80%) airplane accidents are survivable, as they happen during takeoff or landing, when the plane is closest to the ground and flying at relatively low speeds. In many of these cases, people who die aren't killed by the impact, but by an inability to get out of the plane before they are overcome by smoke and fire, which generally happens after about 90 seconds. Why are they unable to get out of the plane in time? Because they are often knocked unconscious by the impact. The airbag is designed to prevent that from happening.

REPORTER RESPONSE: The airbag has been on the market for 8 years. Because it is not new, most reporters are not in a rush to cover it. This despite the fact that there is just about zero level of awareness in the general public. Does this make any sense to you? However more and more airlines are starting to put these on planes, so to their credit, reporters are at least paying attention.

OSA
WHAT IS IT? OSA stands for obstructive sleep apnea, a disorder that officially affects 18 million Americans (unofficial estimates peg that number between 20-40 million). OSA is a silent killer - most people don't know they have it and up to 90% of those who have it aren't diagnosed or treated.

WHY SHOULD YOU CARE? Because if you have it and don't treat it, you will probably develop other conditions that can shorten your life: heart attacks, strokes, heart disease, high blood pressure, diabetes, kidney disease, etc. In addition, those with OSA may suffer from sexual dysfunction, depression, migraines and are significantly more likely to cause a car accident, due to driving while barely being able to keep their eyes open.

REPORTER RESPONSE: Generally pretty good. Our campaign has facilitated more than 2,000 stories in just about 5 years. However, once a reporter writes about OSA, they generally don't want to cover it again for a long, long time. This despite the fact that new discoveries are made about the seriousness of the condition all the time - links to other diseases, etc. One of the most common things we hear from reporters is, "I already wrote about it, so I'll need at least a year before I cover it again." Of course, the same reporter writes about breast cancer or obesity every other week. In fact, the USA Today has a reporter who only covers obesity and weight loss regimens. It makes no sense: as a nation, we are bigger than ever. But because "weight loss" is a hot topic with health reporters, it will be written about ad nauseum.

Of course, I admit that the examples above are written with bias, as it is my job to promote them. Still, ask yourself: are any of these 5 things so trivial or useless that you wouldn't want to know about them?

Oh, while you are at it, ask yourself one more question: are you still awake?

Bad Parenting 101

Last night, I dined at The Melting Pot with several friends. It was an enjoyable evening, with an emphasis on "evening," as the meal lasted 3.5 hours. With that said, the person who invented the fondue business model ought to receive the Nobel Prize for economics, a heartfelt handshake for his or her brilliance, and a punch to the face.

What a racket. Diners pay through the nose so that they can eat melted cheese, dinner that they cook themselves and melted chocolate. There are no chefs at these restaurants, as there is nothing to actually cook. Instead, the kitchen is almost certainly populated by recent college grads who believe the first step on the arduous journey to becoming the next Iron Chef is to assemble salads and put shredded cheese in containers, which the waiters then throw into the burner at the table.

Needless to say, the next time you decide to get together for a fun-filled evening with your friends and are OK with not having enough money to pay this month's mortgage, I wholeheartedly endorse The Melting Pot.

Anyway, somewhere between the 2nd round of drinks and the salads that arrived after the entrees, came the always-soothing sounds of a young infant screaming his/her/its head off. Now, if you're like me - and be thankful you're not - you wouldn't think a fondue restaurant is an ideal place to bring a baby. Not only is there a higher risk for injury with sharp utensils, hot oil, scalding burners built into the table, etc... meals at a place such as this tend to be on the longer side. Say, 3.5 hours long.

However, if this was your thought process, you would be wrong. At least one enterprising parent decided last night that the proper place to dine with a baby at 9 p.m. on a Saturday evening was, in fact, The Melting Pot. Now, to be fair, the screaming did not last long. I'm not sure if this is because the person realized what a poor judgment they exhibited and quickly left, or because they dunked junior in the pot of bubbling oil. Either way, the crying quickly subsided and all was well.

Almost immediately, the conversation at the table turned to other inappropriate places that parents bring their babies to. As for me, I can recall at least the following firsthand:

- A 10 p.m. rated R movie
- On that note, any movie
- A Cirque du Soleil show in Vegas
- On that note, Vegas
- A high-end restaurant
- Wrestling matches

I'd like to say that whenever I see or hear a crying baby at places such as this, I shake my head in disbelief, but I'd be lying. At this point, I am more surprised when I go to an inappropriate baby venue and don't hear any wailing.

However, the question must be asked: What the hell are these people thinking? Seriously, what could possibly lead a person to believe that it is OK to bring a 6 month old to a movie, where it needs to remain quiet for 2 hours. Are they being selfish? Do they simply not care? Can they not afford a babysitter? Are they mourning their crushing defeat on "Are you Smarter than a Fifth Grader?"

At the same time, why don't inappropriate baby venues have policies - and people to enforce them - that would prevent this type of situation in the first place? For instance, with the exception of 10 a.m. "mommy" movies and encore performances of Saw IV ("this is what's going to happen to you if you don't stop crying!"), children under the age of 4 should not be allowed inside.

To that end, here are three rules that should be adopted worldwide, effective yesterday: restaurants that do not have a children's menu should not allow admittance to kids under 10. Anyone who brings a stroller to Vegas should be immediately driven out to the middle of the desert and left for dead (the baby can be FedEx'd back home). Flights longer than 1 hour should be equipped with NyQuil or marijuana to ensure a quiet cabin. Etc.

(Editor's note: the aforementioned suggestions apply to all children, everywhere in the world, unless your last name is Stewart and you live in an Eichler in Sunnyvale, Calif. If that is the case, I love you dearly and you can do no wrong.)

Sure, you might think I am going a little over the top. But you'd be wrong. That won't officially happen until I publish the official rules for eliminating children from maternity wards.