Los Lobos, and how I'm becoming Betty Fu**ing Crocker

A few months ago, Amy went online and found that a couple of her favorite musicians/groups are coming to one of the local small colleges to perform. She got season tickets to the Goshen College concert series. The first one we went to had Doc Sevrensen playing with a trio of Mexican musicians. Last Saturday, it was Los Lobos. For those of you who aren't familiar with who they are, they've been together for about 30 years, and the biggest mainstream success was that they performed the soundtrack to the movie La Bamba back in the late 80's. Amy's been a big fan for longer than that, so she was very excited to see them. Before the show started, they announced that they would be signing autographs afterward. I got very excited--it's been a good year for getting autographs, so I thought that this would be a good way to continue. Amy wasn't so sure. The music was excellent. They did some of Amy's favorites--not ones that I knew very well. They did to a version of La Bamba/Good Lovin' that was very good. So they wrapped up their set, and I grabbed the program that had their picture on it. I ran down stairs to be the first in line. It worked! But of course, they came out for an encore, so I watched that on a digital TV they had set up in the lobby. They busted out a Mexican folk song, and to totally wrap things up, sang Cinnamon Girl. As I was standing in the lobby, and they played the first few notes, I thought it sounded awfully familiar. Wow it was great! So after they wrapped up Neil Young, I stood in line, the first one there. As I was waiting, Amy came down and realized that she could actually talk to them. She's better at these things then I am. I try to say something intelligent, but I usually make an idiot of myself. She held a few minutes conversation with them, and she wanted to take a picture. Of course, when I took the camera out to get it ready, the batteries were dead. After scrambling for a few minutes to try to find more power, an actual camera guy snapped a photo of Amy with the guys. Amy gave him her card, but didn't expect to get a e-mail copy. Imagine her surprise when they showed up in her e-mail the next day. I've attached a copy of it. Sometimes a little persistence pays off. . .

Amy left to go to do her first funeral at Arlington Cemetery on Monday, so it's been me and the boys living the bachelor life again. Between school and swim team, we've been pretty busy. Henry had his first swim meet on Saturday, and he had some mixed results. His first heat, he finished second, but got disqualified because he started off using the wrong stroke. The other two he did okay. His next meet is next weekend, and it's a home meet, so no travel this time. His first meet was in Ft. Wayne, so we stayed in a hotel on Friday night. Charlie came with us too, and what makes me happy was that he was able to hold it together in the down time between Henry's races. I think the main reason he wanted to go was to stay in a hotel room. After that was done and the concert was over, Amy and I had told the boys that we would make them goodies to take to school on Wednesday, the last day before Thanksgiving break. Amy even found a recipe to make turkey shaped cookies. Well, she left, and I didn't have the time/talent to do the stuff that she wanted to do, so I made cupcakes instead. Henry's class has 22 kids in it, and Charlie's class has almost 30. So I started making them while I was making dinner. I got a taste of what a 1950's housewife must have dealt with. I'm making grilled cheese and noodles on the stove, mixing the next batch of cupcake batter, and waiting for the next round to come out of the oven all at the same time. I've always held women and mothers in high esteem, but my respect for them went up for them even more as I was doing all of this and trying to get Henry to finish his homework. What was even more shocking was that I didn't burn anything! So I fed them and got them off to bed, and started frosting 60 or so cupcakes. I started channeling my inner Joni again and got them all ready for today. The first class that I brought them into was Henry's class. I know that as a teacher, anyone coming into a classroom is going to disrupt the class. I almost felt bad when I tried to sneak in without any of the kids seeing me. I'm guessing you can figure out how well that went. I almost made it to the back of the room before Henry saw me. It's funny--he looked up, saw me, and almost jumped out of his chair. His teacher put Henry in charge of handing them out, and a good time was had by all. Later in the day it was Charlie's turn. Once his teacher got the kids to settle down, I handed them out to everyone. Then they all watched the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special. It's an interesting experience sitting with a room full of 5 and 6 year olds. I of course sat next to Charlie, and one of his friends decided that she'd like to lay on me too. So I had two little kids kind of laying in my lap. It was a nice, warm feeling. Anyway, as it got to the part in the show where Snoopy does battle with the lawn chair, listening to them laugh and squeal with delight was almost as much fun as handing out the cupcakes. It reminded me of the old footage of the kiddie shows, like Howdy Doody, where you hear the kids screaming and laughing through the whole show. By the time the show was over, many of them randomly came up to me and gave me hugs. I even sat in the circle with them as the teacher asked each one of them what they were thankful for. So spending a few hours making cupcakes and hanging out in my children's classrooms has made me realize how lucky I am. Lucky enough to be able to be present with my boys as they go through school, and lucky that I am getting to know their teachers and who they hang out with. I guess that's one of the things I'm thankful for.

We tapped off our final bachelor night (hopefully, the last one for a while!) by going down into the basement and watching the most recent Star Trek movie. I fast forwarded all of the sex/scary parts, and Charlie really got into it. I had taken Henry to see it over the summer and he had really liked it. For Charlie, it's not so much the story as how much stuff 'splodes. I had to stop it a few times to explain to Charlie some of the finer plot points. The highlight of the evening was at the end the movie, Charlie stands on the end of the futon, beats his chest with his fists, and yells, "Yipeekiyayyyyy!" For a split second, I had the fear that somehow he'd seen Die Hard, where Bruce Willis says to the bad guy, "Yipeekiyay motherfu**er." When all that came out of Charlie's mouth was just the beginning of the phrase and not the end, I breathed a sigh of relief. And yes, I had one of those proud father moments where I realized that I'm passing a valuable tradition on to my sons--the love of Star Trek. Brings a tear to my eye.

I'm looking forward to watching the Macy's parade tomorrow, and putting up the Christmas tree, and, of course, Amy's return. Hope all is well where you are.

The Power to Crush Other Kids, and Bi-Focals

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Today was the day that Henry would finally get to do his oral report on the book "From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler." He's in an accelerated reading group, and they all had to do an oral report either in groups or as individuals. Henry decided that he could do it by himself. He also needed to have a visual to go along with his report. He decided that he wanted to do a slide show, which touched my techno geek heart. Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, we searched through four different sources, three being of the online sort, pulled pictures from the internet, and the two of us sat and wrote out what he was going to say and match pictures to it. I had Henry stand in front of me and practice making eye contact while he was reading from his sheet. His report was due on Tuesday. Henry didn't get to do it until today due to the fact that his teacher was sick for three days. So today was the big day. I asked his teacher to get a digital projector. I haven't been in a classroom on a full time basis for a year and a half, so I had forgotten what happens when someone or something different comes into the classroom. I got there as they were working on math, and they were supposed to be quiet. As I set up the projector and computer, Henry's teacher tried to keep the class quiet, but to no avail. So I got everything set up, the lights got turned off, and Henry stood in front of the class. His voice was clear, he made eye contact, and as the pictures matched what he was talking about, pointed to it with his hand, just like you see the weather guy do during the 6 o'clock news cast. I, of course, was feeling very full of myself, even licking my finger and saying "Ssssssss" as I touched my butt. A couple of the other kids did their report, but of course they didn't match the majesty of what Henry had pulled off. As the class was leaving for lunch, I had the urge to start a touchdown dance in the classroom, singing, "Ooh yeah! Ooh yeah! Your project sucked! Henry's rocked! Ooh yeah!" It reminded me of an old SNL parody commercial where two kids are sitting together and one pulls out his nicely written report, and the other pulls out his report filled with computer generated charts and graphs. It ends with the slogan, "McIntosh Jr. The Power to crush the other kids." Yep, I was feeling it today.I think Henry was feeling it a little too. As the teacher was giving advice on what each kid did well, Henry piped up with, "I did that so well because I did a presentation in the second grade where I had to dress up like Albert Einstein." I whispered in his ear that it might not have been the nicest thing to say. Amy was helping out in Charlie's class and came down to see the festivities. As we were leaving, we both mentioned that Henry was gaining a healthy ego. She talked to Henry's teacher before we left to let him know that we teach our kids humility too. But NOT TODAY BABY!!! WOHOOO! I gotta be careful--I might turn into one of those annoying stage Dads.
Later in the day I got my taste of humble pie. I've noticed that my vision has been getting a little blurry, and I've been getting these pounding headaches when I read something close up. Last week as I was scraping wall paper downstairs, objects far away from me would look blurry for a long time after staring at a wall for a few hours. Today I visited the eye doctor. A few years ago when this started to happen, I got a pair of glasses that were pretty mild, but helped clear my vision as I was teaching. Those glasses broke about a year ago, and it's the first time I've had an eye exam in about 4 years. So after going through all of the lenses and covering my eyes, I learned two things:
1. My left eye is my weakest eye, and
2. I'm going to need bi-focals.
Yup. Bi-focals. Years ago when my Dad would lift his glasses to read something up close, I used to laugh at him. Looks like the joke's on me now. I asked the optometrist a few questions to make sure that I wasn't suffering from some crazy disease or something. Nope--she just reassured me that it was just a natural byproduct of getting older. But the fun wasn't over yet! She then gave me a glaucoma exam. I've never had my pupils dilated before. Now I know, without the smell and high and munchies, what it's like to be high. First of all, I got a clean bill of health. Afterward, however, my vision reminded me of the old style movies where you see the damsel in distress in kind of a fuzzy light with a ring around the outside of the picture. I tried looking at my phone to see what time it was and I couldn't even read it. I went to a store to do some early Christmas shopping and I couldn't even read labels on anything. I did manage to drive myself home, but when the boys looked into my eyes, I think it freaked them out a little. My eyes are focused enough now so that I can type this, but it was really weird not being able to make things out. Well, now that I'm getting bi-focals, I can sit on my front porch and yell at the kids to get off my lawn.

Other random thoughts:

I hope you all have caught and/or watched the mini-series World War II in HD on the History Channel. What they did was search the world for 2 years to find as much color footage to WWII and make a documentary about it. I've seen the first 5 installments, and the first thought that comes to my mind when I hear men who have fought in a war and about their experiences is that it's a miracle that anyone survived. And it makes me think of my Grandfathers--one was in the Merchant Marines, and another was in the Navy. Both have passed, and it made me wish I could go back in time and ask them about their own experiences. And it's also made me realize how much I miss teaching. I wouldn't show them the whole thing--it's 10 hours long--but the stories are compelling, and the clarity of the footage is remarkable. It made me think of the 7th graders I used to see on a regular basis. I wonder what they would think of it.

The boys are starting to get excited about Christmas already. I am too--Amy and I plotted out where the Christmas tree is going in our living room. And much to Amy's delight, a Christmas Tree Shop opened about 30 minutes from where we live. We walked around in it the other day. I think I was about one of 5 men in the store that day. Yes, I counted. I'm envisioning me pulling a Clark Griswold and lighting up the house so bright that airplanes try to land on our street. It's funny--I never used to be this way about Christmas. But now that I've got a house, I want to find the brightest lights and find the tackiest displays anywhere. Maybe I have been spending too much time in the basement. So if you all see a massive, bright light to the west, don't worry--it's just my house.

Well, I'm waiting for Amy to come home from the store to make turkey shaped cookies for the boys to hand out in school next week. And Amy and I are going to see Los Lobos Saturday night, and Saturday morning, Henry has his first swim meet in Ft. Wayne. Another busy weekend for the DeBecks! I hope all is well where you are. Pray for snow!

Neither rain, nor snow, nor dark of night. . .

Well, my brother's paper is up and running again. And it's cool to see him quoted and interviewed in the Bangor Daily. I kind of wish they'd taken a better picture. . .

http://www.bangordailynews.com/detail/129302.html

Congrat to the Lincoln News!

The night God got mad at the DeBeck boys.

Last Thursday I was taking Henry to his swim team practice when IT happened again. I was sitting at a stop light, talking to the boys when all of a sudden, I heard a loud BANG! At first, I thought maybe a tire had blown out but when I looked in the rear view mirror and saw the grill of a truck, I realized what happened. And I wanted to start banging my head on the steering wheel. I got rear ended. Again. Almost in the same spot where I got hit last winter, the only difference between now and then was on that day the road was a skating rink. So after I checked to make sure that the boys were okay, I got out to see how bad the car was banged up. I half expected to see the whole tailgate smashed up, but there were a couple of knocks in the rear bumper. This marks the third time in the last two years that I've been hit, and each time I was a sitting duck. What is it about my car that makes people want to hit me? Anyway, the people in the truck that hit me came out to make sure that we weren't hurt. It was a young guy and an older guy. I don't know if they were related, but they kind of acted like they were. At first, they wanted to exchange insurance and phone numbers. It was then that I remembered that when I got hit last winter, we didn't wait for the cops and when it came time to fix the damage, the other insurance company was no where to be found, and there was no police report, so nothing could be done to pay for the busted tail light that I got out of it. I was determined to stick it out. So I called the cops and waited. And waited. And waited. The other two were in a hurry, and after a while the old man started swearing at me. I went into my teacher brain and stayed calm and didn't say to him, "Listen asshole. YOU HIT ME!!!!!" At one point, he threatened to leave and I was about to tell him to go ahead because I had his plate number and he would be cited for leaving the scene of an accident. It was then that the cop finally showed up. Did I mention that I called three times? While I was waiting and biting my tongue, my back started to stiffen up. Now that I'm a veteran of getting rear ended (I know there's a joke there somewhere!) I've noticed that in the initial hit, you never feel anything because of the shock and the adrenaline hasn't worn off yet. After about 10-20 minutes, then the pain/stiffness sets in. So the officer arrived, took both my licence and registration, and went back to call stuff in. While I was sitting there contemplating another few hours in the emergency room, I noticed that the cop started walking back towards me. I looked down to check something, and by the time I looked back up, all I could see was his nose and the top of his head. The road where I got hit is under construction, and what none of us saw was that there was a big hole next to the manhole cover beside the road. The officer never saw it coming. What scared me was that a few moments before, Amy had come out to take the boys and head home, and I had walked them by where the hole was and didn't see it. I'm glad I didn't have them walk on what I thought was the grass! So finally everything got settled, and I drove myself to the emergency room, and managed to get out in a relatively speedy hour and a half. They gave me some good shit, I mean muscle relaxants, and sent me on my way.



When I got home and checked Facebook later that night, I found out that the newspaper that my brother works for had burned to the ground. Chris was one of the last people to leave the building of the Lincoln News, and about the same time that I was getting rammed, the paper that he's worked for since 1998 went up in smoke. I called him to see how he was doing, and even though it was late at night, he still had a shocked sound to his voice. I've read since then that the editor was determined to get the paper up and running again and they're trying to publish their regular edition this week. I was scared that for the first time in 11 years Chris would be out of a job and left to wonder what his next move would be. I was also happy that he was safe from harm. Yup. It was the night that God didn't like the DeBeck boys. It left me with a few questions, like:

Why does God hate my cars?

Isn't one DeBeck brother getting smashed enough?

Why did the Yankees have to win again?

Being a Unitarian, I don't really expect and answer. But I would really like to know why.



In other news, since Amy and I decided to keep a closer eye on Henry's homework, his grades on his tests have gone up. Since Amy outlined how to write his cursive letters better, his writing has improved too. Next Tuesday, he's got an oral project due, and since Amy's in The Great White North, it's up to me to help him pull it off. We'll be spending a lot of time in the library this weekend.



When Charlie learned that it was just the three of us until Monday, he started asking me if we were going to do "manly" things. I told him that I didn't know what we would be up to. So when I told him that we'd be having pancakes and sausage for dinner tonight, he said, "That sounds like a manly dinner." With a straight face. Today being Veteran's Day, the boys had a program at their school today, and apparently this video they watched talked about Arlington Cemetery in Virginia. So we talked about the Tomb of the Unknowns and who and why people are buried there, and I mentioned that we have a couple of distant relatives buried there. Charlie seemed most interested, so I dug out the photo albums and showed them my great uncle, Vern, who is buried there. That led to showing them more pictures of me when I was a kid and young adult. Damn, I was skinny back then. Anyway, after we were done and it was time for bed, Charlie said, "That was a manly thing to do." Since Amy isn't here, I guess anything we do is going to be the manly thing to do. I showed them that I had taken out an old shower downstairs and Charlie said, "I bet you felt manly after you got it out of here." So it will be interesting to see how long this lasts.



Well, I hope that wherever you are, your car doesn't get hit, your place of work doesn't burn down, and that you do manly things, even if you're not one. Like the man said, let's be careful out there. Hope to hear from you soon.

Mainers in Recovery

I read this on Daily Kos this morning, and I'm hoping that in spite of the bad news coming from Maine today, maybe this will temper your anguish and frustration.
Me

Cheers and Jeers: Wednesday
by Bill in Portland Maine
Wed Nov 04, 2009 at 06:38:34 AM PST
From the GREAT STATE OF MAINE...

Postscript

"Please, sir, may I have another?"

The lesson we learned last night in Maine is pretty simple: if you want to deny the right of gay people to get married, just put it to a popular vote. Iowa, New Hampshire, Vermont, Connecticut---I believe they'd all vote it down, too, if given the opportunity. Let's not kid ourselves...this is gay marriage. And to well over half the people in this country in late 2009, you might as well call it pig vomit.

No minds were changed here over the course of the last five months. If the 'No' campaign had been tougher and the 'Yes' campaign had been softer, the result would've been the same. And that is to say: dead wrong. But we are a country that is dead wrong about a lot of things, especially on social issues. We love our comfort zones. We love the status quo. We love saying that all people are created equal, but not actually treating them equal. Things is good enough the way they is. That's a tough nut to crack.

To many in this state, we have just insulated ourselves against having to see two dudes in wedding dresses charge down the aisle of their local church singing, "Here Comes the Bride" and then racing to the local kindergarten to continue the gay recruiting process. (Gotta indoctrinate 'em while they're young, y'know---we learned that by watching organized religion.) They have just voted to avoid something icky. You can pick apart the campaign strategies and tactics seven ways to Sunday, but you'll always come back to that fact: fifty three percent of voters didn’t vote 'Yes.' They voted 'Ick.' And it is the 'Ick factor' (call it the gay version of the so-called "Bradley Effect") that confounded the number crunchers. It's easy to overlook---but it's very real and can be counted on to add a minimum of 3-5 points to the other team's scoreboard.

People are asking---wisely, from a safe distance---how Michael and I are feeling today. We're bummed, of course. When half a million people barge into your home, raid your fridge, drain your liquor cabinet (not happy about that), jump up and down on your sofa, and then announce they've decided you can't become a dues-paying member of their club because you're a little too weird for their taste, it stings a bit. But this isn’t the first time our civil rights have been yanked from us by our neighbors, and it may not be the last.

And yet---here comes the golden ray of sunshine---I'm HOPEFUL! In fact, it is impossible for me to get too down about this. First, what's done is done. Second, Bacardi---it’s what's for breakfast. And third, 47 percent of Mainers are cool with gay marriage---that's as high as it's ever been, and it ain't goin' down. Which leads me to my next paragraph.

This morning the words of America's first openly-gay Episcopal Bishop, V. Gene Robinson---who has endured bigotry of the worst kind, including an assassination attempt---are soothing my savage manboobs. Robinson visited Portland several weeks ago to talk about Question 1. He raised the all-too-real possibility that things wouldn’t go our way this time. And now that the results are in and the vote didn’t go our way, his words are helping me this morning. A lot.

He said that we've already won this fight, it's just a question of timing. Here's what he means. Look at this result from last night, courtesy of Adam Bink at Open Left. It is the only thing I've shed tears over this morning, and they are happy ones:

-
Final numbers are in from [University of Maine]-Orono campus- 81% No, 19% Yes.
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A 'No' vote was a vote to keep the same-sex marriage law in place. Look at that: 81 percent No, 19 percent Yes. That's the future of gay rights in America. It's coming. It's on our doorstep. It's just a matter of time. All Schubert-Flint and NOM and the Catholic church did last night was kick the can down the road a bit. As Bishop Robinson said:

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"We're in this for the long haul. Keep your energy up and your focus clear. We can be in it for the long haul because we know how this is gonna end: full equality."
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Or, to quote Dan Savage:

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"It's like 'Gay Survivor,' we're going to outlive, outlast, and outsmart the bigots."
-

Don’t think for a second that they don’t know it. And don't think for a second that, despite their smiling faces this morning, it doesn't haunt their dreams.

So that's where I am this morning. Thank you so much for your support and kind comments. A full C&J returns tomorrow, but below the fold is a look back at our reaction when history of another kind was made one year ago today as---say it with me, teabaggers!---Barack Obama destroyed the hapless Palin/McCain ticket to become the first African-American president of the United States. That's worth re-celebrating. That's worth smiling about.

Cheers and Jeers enters the wayback machine in There's Moreville... [Swoosh!!] RIGHTNOW! [Gong!!]

37

Here are some random facts about the number 37, according to Wikipedia:

The atomic number of rubidium.
The normal human body temperature in degrees Celsius.
The number of as-of-yet unidentified radio signals that have been received from outer space
The number of plays William Shakespeare is thought to have written (counting Henry IV as three parts).
A television channel reserved for radioastronomy in the United States
The protagonist in the book This Number Speaks (Publish America 2008) by Jason Patrick Doherty, is named Thirty-Seven
Paul Newman's inmate number in the egg eating scene of Cool Hand Luke
A recurring number in films by filmmaker Kevin Smith

My entry--The second season opener of Star Trek Voyager, titled "The 37's", finds the crew coming upon a planet where they find humans in cryo freeze, two of them being Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan, all of whom have been kidnapped from Earth in 1937 to use as slaves on this planet, halfway across the galaxy. Captain Janeway of course gets to meet her hero, Earhart. There's more to the story, but you get the drift.

Anyway, perhaps you're asking yourself why the obsession with 37. Well, sometime tomorrow afternoon, it will become my official age. It's an odd feeling--I kind of like 36. It's a nice, round number. It sort of rolls off the tounge. But 37? It feels awkward. When my parents were my age, my brother and I were almost teenagers. (I was 11, for the record.) Tomorrow night, after Henry has his swim team practice, we'll be having a small family celebration at my house (still feels good to say!) with some cake and ice cream. As I approach 40, I don't have the urges that some men do, to by a sports car and run off with a bimbo with a big rack. I'm finally a home owner, fixing up the house one room at a time. Today I went outside with Charlie and dug up some of the dying shrubs aournd the house. Hanging out with Charlie makes the time pass better because he never stops talking. It's kind of cool--I don't have to think while I'm digging--I just hear the constant sound of Charlie. It's almost like listening to a MP3 player, only its about the latest gossip in Kindergarten and not Bruce Springsteen. In thinking about approaching a mile stone birthday in a few years, instead of dwelling on the maudlin (one year closer to death!!!!) I try to think about where I am in my life. I'm around for my children as the grow, which not every parent has the luxury of doing. I'm finally living in a house that I love. I've been married to the same woman for 11 years and it's still going strong. The church I belong to is full of nice people, and I've made many friends there. I guess it helps to count one's blessings. After you make sure that the grim reaper isn't standing at your door demanding cake and ice cream.

In honor of my impending birthday, Amy let me loose in Chicago again. The reason for my travel this time was to meet Bill Simmons. If you aren't aware of who he is, he is a writer for ESPN.com, and a Red Sox guy, among other things. He wrote one of my favorite post 2004 World Series victory books called Now I Can Die in Peace. When it came out in 2005, I was still bummed out by the fact that I had missed all of the celebration that took place in New England after the Sox won. We moved from Maine in May of 2004, so of course that's the year when the win it all. Go figure. Anway, after I read the book, I sent him an e-mail thanking him for a reminder of all the good times and feelings from the Red Sox from a fellow displaced New Englander. What shocked me was that he actually wrote me back! So I wanted to meet him, sign that book, (he's got a new one out now about NBA basketball. I can't wait to read it.) and thank him for writing back to me. So I took a train into Chicago, found my way to the ESPN Zone, ate a huge burger, and waited in line. If I hadn't needed to eat, I would have been third in line. As it was, when I was done eating, I was still pretty close to the front. I waited in line for 2 hours. When you stand in line that long, you get to know the people you're standing with. Some of the highlights:

One guy who was in front of me drove all the way from Minnesota to get his signature. He drove for 6 hours to get there. That's dedication.

The guy in front of him (it was a very male centric crowd) had his son with him. I'm guessing he was about 10 or 11 years old. The father drove from Springfield, IL and it took him about 2-3 hours to get there. Of the many things that we talked about as we waited, was, of course, the World Series. The father tried to steer the conversation away from baseball, but his son wouldn't have it. As it turns out, his mother in law had given his son a book about the history of the Yankees. As the baseball talk continued as to who might win the game that night, the kid kept spouting off that of course the Yankees would win because they always won. I kept saying, "That's what they said in 2004." over and over again. The kid wouldn't let up. I felt like grabbing him by the shirt tails and saying, "Look you little rat bastard. It's a damn shame you don't remember 2004 because if the Yankees lose tonight, you would be shitting in your shorts." The guy from Minnesota said that even though he was a "new" Yankee fan, he was already insufferable. The father, interestingly enough, agreed with him.

This is why I hate the Yankees.

As for meeting Bill Simmons, he was gracious and kind. I told him of how much I appreciated his e-mail (of course he didn't remember sending it. Didn't suprise me.) So he thanked me and I shook his hand and went on my way. Just what I hoped for.

Before the boys went to bed tonight, they gave me a card. On the top was a picture of the Enterprise with the number 37 on the side. On the inside, it said something like I'm now going where I've never gone before. It's the first birthday card I've gotten from Charlie that he's signed his name, all by himself. He was very proud. And they gave me one of my presents early--the Transporter Room playset that came out with the new Star Trek movie this summer. It's okay for a 37 year old man to get a cool toy, isn't it? ISN'T IT??????

A few other random thoughts:

V premired on ABC tonight. Of course, it's another show that is being redone from the 1980's about aliens that come in peace, but really their lizard people looking to harvest human beings for food. I'm wondering if they'll replay the famous, "Heeeere mousy mousy mousy," scene from the original miniseries.

Tomorrow, along with being my birthday, marks a couple of anniversaries:

The one year anniversary of the election of Brarack Obama.

The 20 year anniversary of the tearing down of the Berlin Wall.

The 30 year anniversary of the beginning of the Iran Hostage Crisis.


Looking at the last two facts, I'm feeling old again. Damn it.

It's finally starting to get cold around here. Most of the leaves are off the trees, so it's time to use the new rake I got and make a leaf pile to jump in. Hope all is well where you

The Boss

Bruce Springsteen performs his new song Wrecking Ball at Giants Stadium

I haven't been keeping up the the latest Springsteen concert--here's a reminder of why his shows are so damn good. It's hard to believe that he's in his early 60's. Someday, I need to take my boys to see him. Enjoy!