To my wife (Part III)...

Hi honey - Remember that time you got really sick with that ridiculously rare neurological disorder and I flew home from to Vegas to be with you?

I flew home. From Vegas. You know, that place about 2,500 miles southwest of here with lots of lights that I happen to like? To be with you.

If that doesn't demonstrate my love for you, nothing will.

Happy anniversary. I love you.

All Hail The Spork!

If you've ever had the good fortune of walking into a KFC, three things probably come to mind. First, there is a 50/50 chance that by the time you finish your meal, you will have dropped dead of a coronary (at least you'll die happy). Second, the odds are less than 50/50 that you will make it home before the Colonel's 11 secret herbs and spices give your intestines the cleansing of a lifetime. And C, you'll get to use a spork, perhaps mankind's most wondrous invention (just ahead of the Awesome Auger).

Ah, the spork. You think about it and you laugh. You say the word out loud and you laugh. But the joke is on you, my friend. I don't believe in much, but I have recently - as in today - come to the realization that the spork will one day save our planet.

First, a history lesson: The spork was patented by Mr. Samuel W. Francis of Newport, R.I. in 1874, although the word "spork" was not widely used until the early 1900's. Also of historical note is that for more than 100 years, nobody has taken the spork seriously (that is according to me).

And until 2003, I was a non-believer as well. And then I met my wife. Now sure, some of you might think I married Jenn because she is pretty, intelligent, can cook and is the only woman in the eastern time zone not to dump me. But you'd be wrong. When I met Jenn in 2003, she was living in a lovely slum in Cambridge with a couple of nice fellas. The kitchen was small, dirty and had ancient appliances. But the utensil drawer was stocked with sporks. Not only was it love at first bite (yeah, I went there), but it marked the beginning of my own personal greenification.

Which brings me to my point. Or something resembling a point. Have you noticed that it's all about conservation these days? Green this, green that. Something about carbon footprints. Not to mention our attempt to put those nice Arab folks out of business by trying to wean ourselves off their oil. But, if society is really about saving the planet, then why the hell are we manufacturing both forks and spoons? How many billions of dollars must be wasted on this redundancy? How many stainless steel and/or silver trees must die in order to feed the world's greed?

Make no mistake, the future is sporks. Consider KFC. Do you think coming up with new ways to kill their customers is cheap? Hardly. Research and development requires a multimillion dollar investment every year and because Colonel Sanders had the foresight and vision to stock his restaurants with sporks, more money could be allocated to the truly important things - like getting their gullible and increasingly obese customer base to shell out big bucks for this:

I know, genius. Now forget for a moment that the sporks at KFC aren't even sturdy enough to scoop mashed potatoes. They thought outside the box and are a better company for it. Beyond that, why haven't airlines embraced the spork? Back in the 1990s, American Airlines decided to eliminate one olive from their in-flight salads and by doing so, they saved a few hundred thousand dollars per year. Today, the airline industry collectively loses about a bajillion dollars a month. If they went the way of the spork, maybe they wouldn't have to charge passengers for the right to yawn.

How about schools? Thanks to an impressive run of sustained incompetence, every town in America is broke. Why are the schools wasting good money on silverware, especially with the slop that the cafeteria usually produces? Buy sporks and save a teacher's job.

I could go on, but I bet you wish I wouldn't. So spread the word far and wide. After nearly 140 years, the spork has arrived.

I suggest you enjoy them now before the government decides to tackle spork reform.

In Defense of Hockey

There are a lot of things that mystify me in this world. For example:

1) Highway drivers who maintain a speed of 40 mph in the left lane
2) Religious extremists who believe that committing mass murder will pave the way to heaven
3) Democrats who spend money that they don't have...and then keep spending
4) Just what exactly my wife sees in me

And then there's this: why is hockey so relatively unpopular in the United States?

Hockey is by far the most exciting sport to watch from start to finish; it is faster paced than any other game; features as much hitting (probably more) than football; has more suspenseful, edge-of-your-seat moments than any other game; and is the the epitome of a team sport.

And yet it is a distant fourth among the four major sports.

Compare hockey to:

• Football: Who doesn't love football? It has taken it's rightful place as our new national pastime (I hear Detroit may even get a team one day) but of the 60 minutes of game time, there is maybe 10 minutes of actual action. Each play lasts only a handful of seconds and after it is completed, the teams take a 30-45 second break.
  

• Basketball: Lots to like about basketball, but the structure of the game makes it way too easy for players to mail it in (see Wallace, Rasheed; 2010). And lets be honest, the NBA has become playground ball. 4 players stand around while the "star" either drives the lane (1 on 4) or takes a ridiculous shot from 20 feet away. More importantly, any contact is deemed a foul which severely impedes the flow of the game. On top of that, NBA officiating...well, it's really bad. And everyone knows it. With the possible exception of the guy that runs the league.

• Baseball: The best thing baseball has going for it is that it's played in warm weather. Oh, and 130 years of history. But mostly the weather.

The media will have you believe that hockey suffers because it is an expensive, niche sport played in cold weather climates. But hold on for a second...does it really matter if you as a fan actually played when you were younger? How many people played football growing up? And conversely, didn't everyone play soccer when they were a kid? Hell, only rich people play golf and that sport pulls in huge ratings on TV.

And as much as I would like to blame the media, I can't. ESPN aired hockey several nights per week for nearly 20 years and the ratings were anemic. First FOX and now NBC airs weekend Games of the Week and yet few people watch. What people do watch are the Olympics, which is hockey played at its best. The ratings for Olympic hockey, especially when the U.S. makes a deep run, are off the charts. But when the Olympics are over, there is virtually no carryover to the NHL. Of course, every 4 years I think that Ski Jumping will become our new national pastime, but not to be.

Goes without saying that the average NHL regular season game can't hold a candle to the Olympics. But the same holds true for any sport. And of the four major sports, even the hockey-shy media will acknowledge that the NHL playoffs are the best in the land. Every year, a decent number of games go into 2, 3 and even 4 overtimes...all of which are sudden death. Hell, most of regulation time is played as if it were sudden death.

So to any non hockey fan reading this, I issue this challenge. Turn on a playoff hockey game over the next 7 days and watch just one period. Just one. If that does not rope you in, then fine. You are a lost cause and clearly have no hope to contribute to humanity.

You know, the same humanity that would much rather watch cars driving in circles.

The Arrogance of Massachusetts Democrats

Within the last couple of weeks, I've been told that through my status updates on Facebook, I've insulted the voters of Massachusetts and gloated in the aftermath of the Scott Brown Senate victory. I'm too negative - that if I really want to make my point, calling people "lemmings" is not the way to do it. I should focus on communicating my point of view, rather than kicking people while they are down.

Arighty then. Here goes:

I am registered as unenrolled, but characterize myself as fiscally conservative and socially moderate. Because fiscal issues are the most important to me, I tend to vote Republican. I find the Democrats' "tax and spend" philosophy to be absurd. Now, consider these facts:

• There has not been a Republican U.S. Senator from Massachusetts in 31 years.
• There has not been a Republican in the U.S. House of Representatives from Massachusetts in 14 years. There were two from 1993-1997. Before that, the most recent one was in 1983.
• The Massachusetts legislature has been controlled by the Democrats for more than 40 years (and probably longer...I can't find the exact date online)
  
• While there have been Republican governors in Massachusetts recently, they all faced a legislature where Democrats held a supermajority, meaning little to no chance of advancing their agenda.

Being anything other than Democrat in Massachusetts has meant that your voice has been irrelevant for decades. For myself, it has been this way for the duration of my voting life. For many more, it goes back much longer. When I vote in the Presidential election, I know that from an electoral standpoint, my vote is meaningless. However, I vote to exercise my constitutional right and to honor those that have died to provide democracy.

Pragmatically, I just don't get how/why Massachusetts is so blindly Democratic, especially on the state level. Whether you want to admit it or not, this state is a mess and a national political laughingstock (at least until last week).

One Speaker of the House after another resigns in shame; taxes continue to go up and numerous state agencies demonstrate their incompetence on a daily basis. And yet, Democrats continue to get elected.

Only Louisiana and Illinois rival Massachusetts for the level of corruption by our politicians. And yet, Democrats continue to get elected.

The will of the people through binding referendums (sales tax, tolls,death penalty, etc.) are ignored and dismissed by the state legislature. And yet, Democrats continue to get elected.

This state is broken. There is nobody out there - even Democrats - who will argue otherwise. And yet, Democrats continue to get elected.

And you wonder why I refer to people as lemmings.

But I get it. People vote along party lines. Democrats blindly vote from Democrats. And to be fair, Republicans do the same. But when you are in Massachusetts, voting for Republican is not a mindless activity...it is a vote for change. It is a plea for something different. Another direction.

Because after a while, when one group of people just aren't getting the job done, you usually give the other guys a chance. Except in Massachusetts.

To be sure, this has happened on the national level. And I am completely OK with it. The Republicans deserved their ass-kicking in 2008. People wanted to give the other guys a chance. Hell, even I almost voted for Obama. I didn't, but I thought long and hard about it - not because I believed in his policies - I don't - but because a new voice was needed.

Which takes us back to last week. The prevailing theory is that Martha Coakley's loss wasn't necessarily about her, but about the dissatisfaction with Obama's agenda. I am sure part of that is true. If you ask me, Obama and the Democrats screwed up - they took on too much too soon. The focus in the first year or two should have been on the economy, not advocating for a trillion dollar health care package with no discernible benefits to the average consumer. They needed to prove to the public that they could fix problems, not create them. And so far, they failed.

But let's not forget that after the primaries, Coakley had a 30 point lead over Brown. That lead was still in the double digits by Christmas. And here is where I finally get to make my point. I believe that political arrogance played a large role in Coakley's defeat. Put simply, she and her campaign team took the voters for granted. "Hey, I am a Democrat, Teddy was a democrat, Massachusetts is a blue state...therefore, I have this one in the bag."

So while Brown was out there campaigning nonstop, doing all of the right things, Coakley was in the Caribbean catching some rays. She famously scoffed at the notion of shaking hands outside of Fenway Park on New Year's Day before the Bruins game because it was too cold. Less than two weeks before the election, instead of pressing the flesh, she was in DC meeting with lobbyists. And then, when it was apparent she was in real trouble, the negative ads started. And they kept going. And then Clinton came to town. And then Obama. Where were they in November and December?

I think this arrogance was the tipping point. Voter anger with Washington had been building, but I believe it was this sense of entitlement on behalf of the Democrats that finally moved the needle. After decades and decades of being taken for granted, the voters had enough. The same towns that carried Obama in a landslide were voting for Brown by a rate of 2-to-1.

And when it was over, I was pleased that the people of this state finally grew a pair. By the time I got home on election night, the race had been decided. I was in a good mood. Finally Massachusetts allowed a different voice to be heard. Who knows, maybe there is hope after all...

And then I checked Facebook. Here is a sampling of what I saw:

"Teddy must be rolling over in his grave."
"I am ashamed of my state."
"What is wrong with you people?"

I realized that this arrogance wasn't confined just to Coakley and her team. Nope, many diehard Dems also felt slighted by the outcome. They also believed that it was divine right that Coakley would win. That the Democrats would win.

Forget about change. Disregard the fact that, in just one year, the Dems have squandered 8 years worth of goodwill. Ignore the fact that there simply is no money to pay for what Obama wants to do.

And to these people, I ask: "What will it take?" Your arrogance and sense of entitlement is indeed appalling. I am man enough to admit that the GOP deserved their beating 15 months ago. I am man enough to admit that George Bush made mistake upon mistake. I am man enough to admit that the Republicans completely lost touch with the people.

When will you do the same? Especially in Massachusetts?

I am not calling out every single Democrat. Some sensible ones have acknowledged that Coakley lost because she ran a terrible campaign and Brown ran a very good one. To these folks, of course I agree.

Of course, Republicans are just as capable of screwing up a state as Democrats. Political scandals and corruption are not confined to one party. But, the fact remains that Massachusetts is controlled by the Dems and as such, they need to bear responsibility for the mess our state is in.

Someone marginally smarter than I made a good point when he told me that all politics are local. The Republicans have failed in this state because they haven't made the commitment. Make a name for yourself on the board of selectman or the school committee...and then try and move up. Don't come out of nowhere and expect people to vote for you. This person is right. Maybe last week's election result will give the state GOP party the kick in the pants it needs to start on a grassroots level and grow from there.

But either way, I'm hoping that the voters in this state will lose their sense of entitlement and look around. Instead of simply looking for the D on the ballot, take stock of what is happening on Beacon Hill...and think about giving the other guys a chance.

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.