Remember that movie? Pay It Forward.
Kevin Spacey. Helen Hunt. Haley Joel Osment. I think.
The premise: do something good. It's the right thing to do.
Well, I've got to do it now.
Why?
Because of the keys.
I lost mine in December. Had them on top of the car. Wife took off for the store. Keys fell off. Search after search after search on the street turned up nothing.
Well, the other night, I'm kicked back in the recliner watching TV. It's 9:30. Now, we don't have an official 9 and 9 rule regarding the phone, but whenever it rings late, you always wonder. At least I do.
I couldn't understand why the Stop & Shop manager was calling me. Until he asked the question:
"Did you lose a set of keys?"
Sure did. Two months ago now.
"Well, they are here."
Couldn't believe it. Someone clearly found them and saw my Stop & Shop card on them. They brought them to the store because of that, and the store was able to track me down. The manager thought they were found in the store. But, not in the condition they were, having been run over a few times.
Still, I had two car keys, two house keys, an office key and my speedpass on there.
Nonetheless, someone, whom I'll never know, found them and did the right thing by bringing them back.
Now it's my turn.
To Pay It Forward.
What else? I got nothin'.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Friday, February 02, 2007
Emptying a Cluttered Mind
Ok, loyal lurkers, it's OK to post comments. I know you've got them, because you've mentioned them to me when we talk. Feel free to say it here. I won't bite.
Super Bowl is Sunday. I couldn't care less. I almost feel less American for writing that. But, without my team in it (when they should be), it's really all about commercials for me. And snacks.
New musical favorites: Mat (yup, only one 't') Kearney, Death Cab for Cutie and Augustana. They have finally taken over Dora the Explorer songs as 'most played' on my iPod.
Word pet peeve: you can't have a first annual anything. It can't be annual if it hasn't happened yet!
Word pet peeve #2: there is no pre-heating the oven. Once you turn it on, guess what? It's heating! The only time your oven, then, is pre-heating is when it's not on.
Word pet peeve #3: the same goes for pre-boarding an airplane. "Children traveling alone, those with special needs, you can now pre-board." No you can't. Once you start toward the plane, guess what? You're boarding!
Sorry. That stuff just drives me crazy.
I'm watching the American Idol auditions for the first time. And liking it. There, I said it. I like to watch people be made fun of. You do, too.
Fun kid comment of the week. The boy was playing with his Thomas engines, specifically Gordon and Henry. "Gordon and Henry friends, daddy."
"That's right, buddy, they are. Who, though, is your best buddy?"
"Mommy and Daddy."
Aw, man.
No real weekend plans. And that's OK.
Not one funny thing in this blog. That's not OK.
What else? I got nothin'.
Super Bowl is Sunday. I couldn't care less. I almost feel less American for writing that. But, without my team in it (when they should be), it's really all about commercials for me. And snacks.
New musical favorites: Mat (yup, only one 't') Kearney, Death Cab for Cutie and Augustana. They have finally taken over Dora the Explorer songs as 'most played' on my iPod.
Word pet peeve: you can't have a first annual anything. It can't be annual if it hasn't happened yet!
Word pet peeve #2: there is no pre-heating the oven. Once you turn it on, guess what? It's heating! The only time your oven, then, is pre-heating is when it's not on.
Word pet peeve #3: the same goes for pre-boarding an airplane. "Children traveling alone, those with special needs, you can now pre-board." No you can't. Once you start toward the plane, guess what? You're boarding!
Sorry. That stuff just drives me crazy.
I'm watching the American Idol auditions for the first time. And liking it. There, I said it. I like to watch people be made fun of. You do, too.
Fun kid comment of the week. The boy was playing with his Thomas engines, specifically Gordon and Henry. "Gordon and Henry friends, daddy."
"That's right, buddy, they are. Who, though, is your best buddy?"
"Mommy and Daddy."
Aw, man.
No real weekend plans. And that's OK.
Not one funny thing in this blog. That's not OK.
What else? I got nothin'.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Anything But a Super Sunday
Note: My Dad died seven years ago today. This is for him. And for me.
The Rams were playing the Titans in the NFL championship game. But for me, Sunday, January 30, 2000, was anything but super.
That's the day my Dad died.
(It was hard to type that -- even now.)
I'll never forget the last time I saw him. It was Sunday, January 23. My wife and I were living in Vermont at the time -- nearly five hours away.
When it was clear things weren't going to turnaround, I started coming home every weekend to see my Dad. We had a routine of sorts. We'd sit in the TV room and watch whatever college basketball game was on.
At the end of the game, I'd get up to leave. He'd get up, too, although it wasn't easy for him. And it definitely wasn't easy for me to see him this way. That didn't matter when he shook my hand, though. As firm and as strong as ever, regardless of what was happening to the rest of his body.
I told him I would see him next week.
"Stay home," he told me. "I know you have plans for the game. I'll see you the following week."
Oh how I wish that were true.
Instead, I suffered from the cruelest of ironies. The one weekend I didn't come home (at least initially), is the weekend, well, you know.
We did have plans to watch the game with friends. And then the phone rang Sunday morning. It was my brother, Tom. In short, Tom told me things had gotten worse for my Dad. Everyone was at the house. I should come home.
This was about noon. The call itself wasn't a surprise. The timing was. That's why it took a few hours for my wife and I to get all we needed together before heading home. I had to make work arrangements, as did she. We had to pack for a prolonged visit. Finally, we were on the road. I think it was about 3 p.m.
Looking back, that's what I most wish I could change about that day. Either that my family would have called me earlier. Or that we could have gotten out of the house and on the road quicker.
Why?
Because I wasn't there when he died.
My wife and I would stop every hour or so and give updates on how close we were and get updates from my family.
I'll never forget the phone call I made from a phone booth outside a Mobile Station in Greenfield, MA.
"Making good time," I told my brother, Tim, who answered the phone. "Probably another hour and a half."
"Michael," he said. "Dad died a little while ago."
I just stood there. I don't remember what I said. But I remember what Tim said:
"The nurse said it was getting close. We were all there. We all took turns saying goodbye."
I must have shown some sign of emotion, because the next thing I remember was my wife giving me a big hug outside the phone booth.
She drove the rest of the way, and I cried for about the next 15 to 20 minutes. While i know what Tim meant, he was wrong. We weren't all there. We didn't all take turns saying goodbye.
I wasn't there. I didn't get to say goodbye until two days later when I finally saw him at the funeral home.
I'll probably never get over that part. That I wasn't there. That I didn't come home that weekend. I think about that. A lot.
I also think about what my Dad has missed. My son will never know his Papa O. He includes him in his prayers, and we light a candle every week at church for him, because he knows "Papa O is in heaven."
But, he'll never see the Papa O look my Dad used to give one of my nieces and my three nephews. He'll never see my dad umpire a baseball game, or perform a card trick for him. And he'll never have the chance to hear my dad tell him a story or help him learn a new word.
The two biggest things that my Dad missed? Seeing my sister and me as parents. I think about him holding my sister's daughter and telling her how lucky she is to have Lynn as a Mom. And I think about him talking to my son, trying to be serious as he listens to him, but seeing him barely able to hold back a smile.
One of the more selfish things I think about is something that didn't happen -- but that I wish did. As I said, my Dad died on Sunday. His hospice nurse later told us that my Dad's plan for Monday was to write letters to each of us kids. He never got the chance. And there are times when I wonder if he did, what mine would say.
Would he tell me that he was sorry he called me out on three straight strikes when he umpired one of my first Little League games, or would he tell me that he knew one day I would make a good Dad?
Either one would be more than OK.
I can't help it. These are the things I think about. My Dad died seven years ago. And I wasn't there.
Miss you, Dad.
The Rams were playing the Titans in the NFL championship game. But for me, Sunday, January 30, 2000, was anything but super.
That's the day my Dad died.
(It was hard to type that -- even now.)
I'll never forget the last time I saw him. It was Sunday, January 23. My wife and I were living in Vermont at the time -- nearly five hours away.
When it was clear things weren't going to turnaround, I started coming home every weekend to see my Dad. We had a routine of sorts. We'd sit in the TV room and watch whatever college basketball game was on.
At the end of the game, I'd get up to leave. He'd get up, too, although it wasn't easy for him. And it definitely wasn't easy for me to see him this way. That didn't matter when he shook my hand, though. As firm and as strong as ever, regardless of what was happening to the rest of his body.
I told him I would see him next week.
"Stay home," he told me. "I know you have plans for the game. I'll see you the following week."
Oh how I wish that were true.
Instead, I suffered from the cruelest of ironies. The one weekend I didn't come home (at least initially), is the weekend, well, you know.
We did have plans to watch the game with friends. And then the phone rang Sunday morning. It was my brother, Tom. In short, Tom told me things had gotten worse for my Dad. Everyone was at the house. I should come home.
This was about noon. The call itself wasn't a surprise. The timing was. That's why it took a few hours for my wife and I to get all we needed together before heading home. I had to make work arrangements, as did she. We had to pack for a prolonged visit. Finally, we were on the road. I think it was about 3 p.m.
Looking back, that's what I most wish I could change about that day. Either that my family would have called me earlier. Or that we could have gotten out of the house and on the road quicker.
Why?
Because I wasn't there when he died.
My wife and I would stop every hour or so and give updates on how close we were and get updates from my family.
I'll never forget the phone call I made from a phone booth outside a Mobile Station in Greenfield, MA.
"Making good time," I told my brother, Tim, who answered the phone. "Probably another hour and a half."
"Michael," he said. "Dad died a little while ago."
I just stood there. I don't remember what I said. But I remember what Tim said:
"The nurse said it was getting close. We were all there. We all took turns saying goodbye."
I must have shown some sign of emotion, because the next thing I remember was my wife giving me a big hug outside the phone booth.
She drove the rest of the way, and I cried for about the next 15 to 20 minutes. While i know what Tim meant, he was wrong. We weren't all there. We didn't all take turns saying goodbye.
I wasn't there. I didn't get to say goodbye until two days later when I finally saw him at the funeral home.
I'll probably never get over that part. That I wasn't there. That I didn't come home that weekend. I think about that. A lot.
I also think about what my Dad has missed. My son will never know his Papa O. He includes him in his prayers, and we light a candle every week at church for him, because he knows "Papa O is in heaven."
But, he'll never see the Papa O look my Dad used to give one of my nieces and my three nephews. He'll never see my dad umpire a baseball game, or perform a card trick for him. And he'll never have the chance to hear my dad tell him a story or help him learn a new word.
The two biggest things that my Dad missed? Seeing my sister and me as parents. I think about him holding my sister's daughter and telling her how lucky she is to have Lynn as a Mom. And I think about him talking to my son, trying to be serious as he listens to him, but seeing him barely able to hold back a smile.
One of the more selfish things I think about is something that didn't happen -- but that I wish did. As I said, my Dad died on Sunday. His hospice nurse later told us that my Dad's plan for Monday was to write letters to each of us kids. He never got the chance. And there are times when I wonder if he did, what mine would say.
Would he tell me that he was sorry he called me out on three straight strikes when he umpired one of my first Little League games, or would he tell me that he knew one day I would make a good Dad?
Either one would be more than OK.
I can't help it. These are the things I think about. My Dad died seven years ago. And I wasn't there.
Miss you, Dad.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Concert Critique
Wife and I went to see Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band last night.
He was fabulous. Much better than expected. His voice was incredibly strong. And, while he might not have the best stage presence, it wasn't half bad for someone who is 61.
But, I'm not here to review the performance of Seger and friends, other than what I've already written.
No. I'm here to write about some of the 9,000 people that were at the show with us.
See, concerts, if anything, are an amazing place to people watch -- particularly at a show like this when the average age of the audience is, well, on the older side of things.
I'm a music guy. I've been to, oh, I don't know, a lot of live shows. Easily more than 50. At this point, it's probably closer to 100.
Many of the things you see at concerts are universal. Some have been happening for a long time. Some, well, are newer, dare I say it, 'traditions.'
For instance, I'm sure you've noticed the guy (because, for some reason, it is a guy who does this 9 times out of 10) who has his cellphone to his ear. He's not calling home to check in on the babysitter. He's calling the guy he knows half way around the arena so they can wave to each other.
I mean, are you kidding? What's the point here? And, I've gotta think it's always the guy in the better seats that initiates the call. You know. To rub it in that he has better seats. This, and many other things, are even funnier when it's a 45-year-old guy doing it.
My other new favorite thing to mock is the high fivers. You know, the group of buddies who are coming to the show together. They get so excited about a song, that when it's over, they have to give each other high fives. You're kidding me, right? No, apparently they aren't. Get. A. Life.
The waver is another favorite. Most times, artists will move from side of the stage to other to give everyone a chance to get an up close look at the star. I love this. Because it's then that you always see people wave their hands like crazy and scream at the top of their lungs. Now, keep in mind, the guy on stage can't see a damned thing with the lights, but the fans are certain they saw them wave or whatnot.
My other least favorite thing is after a show. When 9,000 people leave one place, it can get a little crowded. That's fine. Just learn how to walk. Please.
Don't you just love the couple, for example, that decides to literally stop in the middle of an area to discuss something -- causing everyone behind them to change their walking plan (what, you don't have one?) on the fly. Move it to the side and then have your discussion. Don't you dare have it in the middle of my walking plan.
I mean, the nerve of people.
He was fabulous. Much better than expected. His voice was incredibly strong. And, while he might not have the best stage presence, it wasn't half bad for someone who is 61.
But, I'm not here to review the performance of Seger and friends, other than what I've already written.
No. I'm here to write about some of the 9,000 people that were at the show with us.
See, concerts, if anything, are an amazing place to people watch -- particularly at a show like this when the average age of the audience is, well, on the older side of things.
I'm a music guy. I've been to, oh, I don't know, a lot of live shows. Easily more than 50. At this point, it's probably closer to 100.
Many of the things you see at concerts are universal. Some have been happening for a long time. Some, well, are newer, dare I say it, 'traditions.'
For instance, I'm sure you've noticed the guy (because, for some reason, it is a guy who does this 9 times out of 10) who has his cellphone to his ear. He's not calling home to check in on the babysitter. He's calling the guy he knows half way around the arena so they can wave to each other.
I mean, are you kidding? What's the point here? And, I've gotta think it's always the guy in the better seats that initiates the call. You know. To rub it in that he has better seats. This, and many other things, are even funnier when it's a 45-year-old guy doing it.
My other new favorite thing to mock is the high fivers. You know, the group of buddies who are coming to the show together. They get so excited about a song, that when it's over, they have to give each other high fives. You're kidding me, right? No, apparently they aren't. Get. A. Life.
The waver is another favorite. Most times, artists will move from side of the stage to other to give everyone a chance to get an up close look at the star. I love this. Because it's then that you always see people wave their hands like crazy and scream at the top of their lungs. Now, keep in mind, the guy on stage can't see a damned thing with the lights, but the fans are certain they saw them wave or whatnot.
My other least favorite thing is after a show. When 9,000 people leave one place, it can get a little crowded. That's fine. Just learn how to walk. Please.
Don't you just love the couple, for example, that decides to literally stop in the middle of an area to discuss something -- causing everyone behind them to change their walking plan (what, you don't have one?) on the fly. Move it to the side and then have your discussion. Don't you dare have it in the middle of my walking plan.
I mean, the nerve of people.
So, what drives you crazy at a concert?
What else? I got nothin'.Thursday, January 18, 2007
What's In a Name?
I listen to just about anything. Always have. Probably always will. Heck, I even listen to (some) country now. Thanks to the amazing Jennifer Nettles.
I'll be the parent in 15 years bringing one of my kids to a concert. You know the parent. The one that's rocking out and singing all the songs -- making their kid(s) feel like a dope. Yup, that'll be me. Particularly if Bon Jovi is still touring in 15 years.
Anyway, the iPod is perhaps the greatest invention in, oh, I don't know -- ever.
And with it comes my addiction to iTunes.
I've listened to some strange music in my day. Being a college DJ will do that to you. I used to (well, OK, maybe I still do) love bands called Nikki Meets the Hibachi, Scruffy the Cat, The Beat Farmers, Webb Wilder and the Lightning Seeds.
Well, to me, good music is good music. And that's all I want to listen to -- good music.
The group name really doesn't matter. Afterall, consider the names of groups I've recently downloaded: Hinder, The Fray, Snow Patrol, Augustana and, perhaps my new favorite, Death Cab for Cutie.
I'm not even sure what that means. But I love the music. So I'm in.
He's got a pretty normal name, but Mat Kearney is also a new favorite. Of course, he's just got one t in Mat, so I guess he isn't all that normal.
So, what's hot on your iPod? Any strange band names that you love?
What else? I got nothin'.
I'll be the parent in 15 years bringing one of my kids to a concert. You know the parent. The one that's rocking out and singing all the songs -- making their kid(s) feel like a dope. Yup, that'll be me. Particularly if Bon Jovi is still touring in 15 years.
Anyway, the iPod is perhaps the greatest invention in, oh, I don't know -- ever.
And with it comes my addiction to iTunes.
I've listened to some strange music in my day. Being a college DJ will do that to you. I used to (well, OK, maybe I still do) love bands called Nikki Meets the Hibachi, Scruffy the Cat, The Beat Farmers, Webb Wilder and the Lightning Seeds.
Well, to me, good music is good music. And that's all I want to listen to -- good music.
The group name really doesn't matter. Afterall, consider the names of groups I've recently downloaded: Hinder, The Fray, Snow Patrol, Augustana and, perhaps my new favorite, Death Cab for Cutie.
I'm not even sure what that means. But I love the music. So I'm in.
He's got a pretty normal name, but Mat Kearney is also a new favorite. Of course, he's just got one t in Mat, so I guess he isn't all that normal.
So, what's hot on your iPod? Any strange band names that you love?
What else? I got nothin'.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
From the Mouths of Babes...
My son turns three in May.
He's never met one of his grandfathers as my Dad passed away seven years ago this month.
But, every week at church, we light a candle for Papa O. That was my son's idea.
And, each night before bed, while doing prayers, we always ask God to bless Papa O, who my son says "is up in heaven."
So, tonight, it was a boys' night. My wife is out at book club. So, after dinner (at McDonald's, of course), we headed home to play Thomas the Tank Engine.
After bath and getting dressed, he got in the crib. I read a few books and then it was time for prayers.
"Where's Papa O?" I asked.
"In heaven, daddy."
"That's right, buddy."
"Where is heaven, daddy?"
"Way up high in the sky."
"Papa O house up there?"
"Yes. That's where he is. Looking down at us."
"I go there?"
"Someday, yes, you will go there and meet Papa O."
"Toys in heaven, daddy?"
"Lots of things in heaven, buddy."
"Sounds good, daddy."
It sure does, buddy. It sure does.
What else? I got nothin'.
He's never met one of his grandfathers as my Dad passed away seven years ago this month.
But, every week at church, we light a candle for Papa O. That was my son's idea.
And, each night before bed, while doing prayers, we always ask God to bless Papa O, who my son says "is up in heaven."
So, tonight, it was a boys' night. My wife is out at book club. So, after dinner (at McDonald's, of course), we headed home to play Thomas the Tank Engine.
After bath and getting dressed, he got in the crib. I read a few books and then it was time for prayers.
"Where's Papa O?" I asked.
"In heaven, daddy."
"That's right, buddy."
"Where is heaven, daddy?"
"Way up high in the sky."
"Papa O house up there?"
"Yes. That's where he is. Looking down at us."
"I go there?"
"Someday, yes, you will go there and meet Papa O."
"Toys in heaven, daddy?"
"Lots of things in heaven, buddy."
"Sounds good, daddy."
It sure does, buddy. It sure does.
What else? I got nothin'.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Final Thoughts on 2006
Well, it's almost over.
2006, that is.
But, fear not, loyal readers, I am here for you -- providing one last post for you this year. I have given up my New Year's Eve plans so that I could be here for you.
Yeah, right. Actually, New Year's Eve hasn't really been a big party time for me. Can't even remember the last party I was at to celebrate it. Will try to watch the ball drop tonight, but I'll inevitably end up falling asleep in my chair, waking up at like 1:30 and going, Damn, missed it again.
You can tell I'm concerned.
Some final ramblings for the year:
Happy Birthday, Molly. No need for a card, right? I know you're reading this.
My son, who has decided that, apparently, I'm the meanest man in the world, forgot about that for a minute tonight to say, "Happy New Year, Daddy." No matter how tough a day it had been, all was right with the world once he said that.
I'm going to try and watch Saw tonight. Fun New Year's Eve entertainment, I know.
Still have our Christmas tree up. Longest we've gone. Probably will come down tomorrow.
I took this entire week off, but it always goes by sooo fast. Lots on the do list at the start of the week. Lots there now.
Haven't made up a list of resolutions yet. But, I hope to do that. The last few years, I've done pretty well in that department.
How long into 2007 before I stop writing 2006 on checks and stuff?
Why was I sitting at the computer the other night waiting to see who was first to have pictures of Saddam?
New Year's Eve....and no snow yet. Weird.
2006 was a very good year. No complaints anywhere.
2007 -- sure to be an amazing one as well.
Especially June 20.
Because that's the due date of our second child. Gulp.
What else? I got nothin'.
2006, that is.
But, fear not, loyal readers, I am here for you -- providing one last post for you this year. I have given up my New Year's Eve plans so that I could be here for you.
Yeah, right. Actually, New Year's Eve hasn't really been a big party time for me. Can't even remember the last party I was at to celebrate it. Will try to watch the ball drop tonight, but I'll inevitably end up falling asleep in my chair, waking up at like 1:30 and going, Damn, missed it again.
You can tell I'm concerned.
Some final ramblings for the year:
Happy Birthday, Molly. No need for a card, right? I know you're reading this.
My son, who has decided that, apparently, I'm the meanest man in the world, forgot about that for a minute tonight to say, "Happy New Year, Daddy." No matter how tough a day it had been, all was right with the world once he said that.
I'm going to try and watch Saw tonight. Fun New Year's Eve entertainment, I know.
Still have our Christmas tree up. Longest we've gone. Probably will come down tomorrow.
I took this entire week off, but it always goes by sooo fast. Lots on the do list at the start of the week. Lots there now.
Haven't made up a list of resolutions yet. But, I hope to do that. The last few years, I've done pretty well in that department.
How long into 2007 before I stop writing 2006 on checks and stuff?
Why was I sitting at the computer the other night waiting to see who was first to have pictures of Saddam?
New Year's Eve....and no snow yet. Weird.
2006 was a very good year. No complaints anywhere.
2007 -- sure to be an amazing one as well.
Especially June 20.
Because that's the due date of our second child. Gulp.
What else? I got nothin'.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
The Magic of Christmas
The Christmas whirlwind has ended -- I think.
But, while I wonder how this post-Christmas week (which I always take for vacation) always go by so fast, it's fun to remember some of the very cool things that happened during any of our three Christmases.
First, my family gathers at my mom's on Christmas Eve. Chinese food is the traditional meal before presents. Then, we gather in the living room, over stuffing it as best we can.
I have three siblings. This year, we decided to draw names among siblings and spouses/significant others. It worked out pretty well. We bought for one person in that group and then everyone bought for the kids.
Despite that plan, however, it seemed like there were more gifts than ever under Mom's always great-looking tree.
My son opened his first package and basically threw it down in disgust. It was sort of funny. He got clothes as his first present....and while all the other clothes he got were a hit, this first present wasn't so much a winner. A toy would have been better. But, what can you do.
He did amazingly well and got lots of great stuff.
Then, Christmas morning was at our house. He was into Christmas so much this year. Totally getting everything. My wife and I were excited for what Christmas morning was going to be like. He woke up at 6 a.m., which was great. For the first 10 minutes as he woke up, it was like a normal day. We were just talking to him in his crib, nothing major.
Then, it was like something went off in his head...he sort of stopped in the middle of talking, looked quizzically at us both and said, "Santa come?"
And from that point on, the next two hours were pure magic. I'll never do it justice with words, but it might have been the most fun time yet as a parent. This was just the perfect age for him and Christmas. So innocent. So fun.
Then, after our house, we did it all over again -- this time at my in-laws. We went over for breakfast and then did our third set of presents in less than 24 hours. Pretty good odds for a 2 1/2 year old. More great stuff for him. More smiles. More wonder. More just pure Christmas joy.
I knew it would be fun this year. But this was more than I could have imagined.
What else? I got nothin'.
But, while I wonder how this post-Christmas week (which I always take for vacation) always go by so fast, it's fun to remember some of the very cool things that happened during any of our three Christmases.
First, my family gathers at my mom's on Christmas Eve. Chinese food is the traditional meal before presents. Then, we gather in the living room, over stuffing it as best we can.
I have three siblings. This year, we decided to draw names among siblings and spouses/significant others. It worked out pretty well. We bought for one person in that group and then everyone bought for the kids.
Despite that plan, however, it seemed like there were more gifts than ever under Mom's always great-looking tree.
My son opened his first package and basically threw it down in disgust. It was sort of funny. He got clothes as his first present....and while all the other clothes he got were a hit, this first present wasn't so much a winner. A toy would have been better. But, what can you do.
He did amazingly well and got lots of great stuff.
Then, Christmas morning was at our house. He was into Christmas so much this year. Totally getting everything. My wife and I were excited for what Christmas morning was going to be like. He woke up at 6 a.m., which was great. For the first 10 minutes as he woke up, it was like a normal day. We were just talking to him in his crib, nothing major.
Then, it was like something went off in his head...he sort of stopped in the middle of talking, looked quizzically at us both and said, "Santa come?"
And from that point on, the next two hours were pure magic. I'll never do it justice with words, but it might have been the most fun time yet as a parent. This was just the perfect age for him and Christmas. So innocent. So fun.
Then, after our house, we did it all over again -- this time at my in-laws. We went over for breakfast and then did our third set of presents in less than 24 hours. Pretty good odds for a 2 1/2 year old. More great stuff for him. More smiles. More wonder. More just pure Christmas joy.
I knew it would be fun this year. But this was more than I could have imagined.
What else? I got nothin'.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Wednesday Ramblings
A few odds and ends for you on this hump day. It's a big hump for me, actually. Today is my last day of work until January 2. Can I get a woo-hoo?!
Woo-hoo.
There, much better.
First up, have to share something with you from my son, who is two-and-a-half. We're working diligently on potty training. We are trying to get him to spend less and less time in diapers during the day. Knowing that, here's how a conversation went this morning:
Him: Daddy, I have diaper on?
Me: Yes, buddy, you do.
Him: Moments of silence why he does his 'work.'
Me: Ok, buddy, let's get you cleaned up before we have to go.
Him: Not done, daddy.
Me: Still poopin'?
Him: One more poop, Daddy. Yes, sir!
The "yes, sir" was hysterical. You probably had to be there.
Ok, next up....
I mentioned how our office is getting a number of gifts from vendors. Again, I appreciate the thought and the effort. I really do.
But, here's the thing: All boxes of assorted chocolates need to have a map or guide included. this way, you wont' bite into the creamy nougat flavored one (which you then have to throw away) when you really wanted to bite into the white chocolate truffle.
Do we need government legislation on this? How can we protect our interest to know that we'll never bite into crappy chocolate again?
And, speaking of chocolate, don't mix fruit with my chocolate. Forget about raspberry or strawberry -- or, god forbid, orange -- flavored chocolate. If I want chocolate. That's all I want.
Shopping's not done. Not feeling too stressed. Yet.
What else? I got nothin'.
Woo-hoo.
There, much better.
First up, have to share something with you from my son, who is two-and-a-half. We're working diligently on potty training. We are trying to get him to spend less and less time in diapers during the day. Knowing that, here's how a conversation went this morning:
Him: Daddy, I have diaper on?
Me: Yes, buddy, you do.
Him: Moments of silence why he does his 'work.'
Me: Ok, buddy, let's get you cleaned up before we have to go.
Him: Not done, daddy.
Me: Still poopin'?
Him: One more poop, Daddy. Yes, sir!
The "yes, sir" was hysterical. You probably had to be there.
Ok, next up....
I mentioned how our office is getting a number of gifts from vendors. Again, I appreciate the thought and the effort. I really do.
But, here's the thing: All boxes of assorted chocolates need to have a map or guide included. this way, you wont' bite into the creamy nougat flavored one (which you then have to throw away) when you really wanted to bite into the white chocolate truffle.
Do we need government legislation on this? How can we protect our interest to know that we'll never bite into crappy chocolate again?
And, speaking of chocolate, don't mix fruit with my chocolate. Forget about raspberry or strawberry -- or, god forbid, orange -- flavored chocolate. If I want chocolate. That's all I want.
Shopping's not done. Not feeling too stressed. Yet.
What else? I got nothin'.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Ok, consider this the official Christmas rambling entry.
Here goes.
I realized this year that I'm fine with the standard form letter that comes in Christmas cards. I was never a big fan. But this year, I realized, you know what, they come from people that are my friends. If not, why are they on the card list in the first place? So, if I don't talk to them that often, isn't it good to catch up with them -- even if it's through a letter that me and God knows how many other people are getting?
Speaking of Christmas cards, I think it's funny -- very funny -- when you get a card from a couple and one person (usually the woman) writes out the greeting and then signs her name, followed by the guy just signing his name. It just looks funny. At least to me.
Gift baskets. Gift baskets. Gift baskets. The office is loading up on gifts from vendors. The early favorites? Ginger lemon cookies, some cheesey sourdough things, peanuts that don't really taste like peanuts (yet we like them) and, of course, chocolate. Lots of chocolate.
I just realized this morning that I haven't heard the Hanukkah song once this year.
My son has a new job at home -- plugging in the Christmas tree each morning. Not sure which is brighter...the lights on the tree or the magic in his eyes.
I'm all for charity. I really am. But how annoying is that Salvation Army bell?
In other office gift news. I've had someone plant a tree in my name, as well as someone donating a bike in my name.
That's nice and all. But, don't these people know that there are other things I need.
What else? I got nothin.
Here goes.
I realized this year that I'm fine with the standard form letter that comes in Christmas cards. I was never a big fan. But this year, I realized, you know what, they come from people that are my friends. If not, why are they on the card list in the first place? So, if I don't talk to them that often, isn't it good to catch up with them -- even if it's through a letter that me and God knows how many other people are getting?
Speaking of Christmas cards, I think it's funny -- very funny -- when you get a card from a couple and one person (usually the woman) writes out the greeting and then signs her name, followed by the guy just signing his name. It just looks funny. At least to me.
Gift baskets. Gift baskets. Gift baskets. The office is loading up on gifts from vendors. The early favorites? Ginger lemon cookies, some cheesey sourdough things, peanuts that don't really taste like peanuts (yet we like them) and, of course, chocolate. Lots of chocolate.
I just realized this morning that I haven't heard the Hanukkah song once this year.
My son has a new job at home -- plugging in the Christmas tree each morning. Not sure which is brighter...the lights on the tree or the magic in his eyes.
I'm all for charity. I really am. But how annoying is that Salvation Army bell?
In other office gift news. I've had someone plant a tree in my name, as well as someone donating a bike in my name.
That's nice and all. But, don't these people know that there are other things I need.
What else? I got nothin.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
All You Have to Do is Ask
It's amazing sometimes, how asking a simple question can benefit you in the long run.
I'm incredibly anal about customer service. I expect it. And I expect it to be great. And if it's not, I'm the guy who complains about it.
See the sign on a truck in front of you, "How's my driving?" Well, I'm the guy who tells him.
It's always fun to see how things work, too. Got my credit card bill the other day. We always pay the balance in full. But, due to paycheck timing and the Thanksgiving holiday, my check apparently arrived on the same day it was due. Citibank tagged me with a $39 late fee and then finance charges to boot.
So, I called them up and explained that I was a longtime customer who always paid on time and given the holiday, could they please wipe the charge. "No problem, sir, we'd be happy to." Saved myself $45 with a 30 second phone call.
Had something weird on my Directv bill the other day, too. It wasn't a charge, but I didn't understand something, so I called to make sure that I eventually understood what they said. Then, during the conversation, the phone rep makes some reference to my past experiences with the company.
At that point, I said I was always happy, even after my first year when they gave me a month of Showtime just for lasting a year with Directv. He said they appreciate that type of feedback. So I said, well, how can I get that again? Do you ever run promos or anything.
He then offered me three-free months of all the Showtime channels.
"What's the catch?" I asked.
"No catch, sir."
"None?"
"Nothing at all. We just want to keep you as a customer."
They sure will. And I'm glad I asked.
So, what else? I got nothin'.
I'm incredibly anal about customer service. I expect it. And I expect it to be great. And if it's not, I'm the guy who complains about it.
See the sign on a truck in front of you, "How's my driving?" Well, I'm the guy who tells him.
It's always fun to see how things work, too. Got my credit card bill the other day. We always pay the balance in full. But, due to paycheck timing and the Thanksgiving holiday, my check apparently arrived on the same day it was due. Citibank tagged me with a $39 late fee and then finance charges to boot.
So, I called them up and explained that I was a longtime customer who always paid on time and given the holiday, could they please wipe the charge. "No problem, sir, we'd be happy to." Saved myself $45 with a 30 second phone call.
Had something weird on my Directv bill the other day, too. It wasn't a charge, but I didn't understand something, so I called to make sure that I eventually understood what they said. Then, during the conversation, the phone rep makes some reference to my past experiences with the company.
At that point, I said I was always happy, even after my first year when they gave me a month of Showtime just for lasting a year with Directv. He said they appreciate that type of feedback. So I said, well, how can I get that again? Do you ever run promos or anything.
He then offered me three-free months of all the Showtime channels.
"What's the catch?" I asked.
"No catch, sir."
"None?"
"Nothing at all. We just want to keep you as a customer."
They sure will. And I'm glad I asked.
So, what else? I got nothin'.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Where Do You Sit?
Faitful readers, thank you for the response to the last question. An interesting topic. As I think this one is, too.
Now that I know where you sleep, I want to know where you sit.
I'm talking about when you go out to dinner with your significant other. So, two of you at the restaurant.
Now, there are two scenarios in play here.
First, the booth:
Do you sit across from each other? Or, do you sit on the same side of the booth, leaving the opposite side empty?
I could never imagine sitting on the same side as my wife. I just don't get that. Besides the fact that it looks strange, doesn't it hurt your neck if you have to keep turning to talk to the other person?
The only time I can see sitting on the same side as your signficant other in a booth is if you are with another couple (or kids or something). But, when it's just the two of you, I just can't figure that out.
Second scenario, the table:
Ok, so it's just two of you again. This time, you're sitting at a table with four chairs. Where do you sit? Do you face each other on opposite sides of the table? Or, doe you sit 'next' to each other by sitting at perpendicular sides of the table?
This one is a little more flexible, I think. Again, my wife and I would typically be opposite of each other. That's not always the case, though. I can't think of a scenario right now, but I know we have abandoned the opposite thing once or twice. It's more of a case-by-case basis than the booth scenario.
So, my faithful readers, where do you sit?
What else? I got nothin'.
Now that I know where you sleep, I want to know where you sit.
I'm talking about when you go out to dinner with your significant other. So, two of you at the restaurant.
Now, there are two scenarios in play here.
First, the booth:
Do you sit across from each other? Or, do you sit on the same side of the booth, leaving the opposite side empty?
I could never imagine sitting on the same side as my wife. I just don't get that. Besides the fact that it looks strange, doesn't it hurt your neck if you have to keep turning to talk to the other person?
The only time I can see sitting on the same side as your signficant other in a booth is if you are with another couple (or kids or something). But, when it's just the two of you, I just can't figure that out.
Second scenario, the table:
Ok, so it's just two of you again. This time, you're sitting at a table with four chairs. Where do you sit? Do you face each other on opposite sides of the table? Or, doe you sit 'next' to each other by sitting at perpendicular sides of the table?
This one is a little more flexible, I think. Again, my wife and I would typically be opposite of each other. That's not always the case, though. I can't think of a scenario right now, but I know we have abandoned the opposite thing once or twice. It's more of a case-by-case basis than the booth scenario.
So, my faithful readers, where do you sit?
What else? I got nothin'.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Where Do You Sleep?
Faithful readers, a question for you. Actually, a question for those of you who are in fact sharing a bed with a partner.
Where do you sleep?
No smart remarks like, "in a bed."
The thing is this. Stand at the foot of the bed.
Using that perspective, I'm guessing 90 percent of the guys sleep on the right half of the bed and that women are sleeping on the left side.
First of all, am I right?
Secondly, what's the deal? Is this weird?
Or is it just me?
Wait. Don't answer that.
So, let's hear it.
What else? I got nothin'.
Where do you sleep?
No smart remarks like, "in a bed."
The thing is this. Stand at the foot of the bed.
Using that perspective, I'm guessing 90 percent of the guys sleep on the right half of the bed and that women are sleeping on the left side.
First of all, am I right?
Secondly, what's the deal? Is this weird?
Or is it just me?
Wait. Don't answer that.
So, let's hear it.
What else? I got nothin'.
Friday, November 17, 2006
I'm Baaaaaaack
Loyal readers, your patience has been tested. And, today, it is rewarded.
I have awaken from my slumber. I am back. And you reap the benefits.
So many topics. Where do I start? Well, how about some random thoughts so I can catch you up on things in my world.
After all, isn't that why you're here?
Is Thanksgiving really next week? I love Thanksgiving. Why? Because I love cranberry sauce in the can. And here's the thing about that. It's not sauce. If it were sauce, why would it be like jello? Don't you pour a sauce? That's my judgment on whether or not something is a sauce. Try it. You can't poor cranberry sauce (the smooth kind, I'm talking about) out of a can. But, that's the name. And I love it.
I'm sick and tired of the "mid-season" or "fall" finale in TV land. What's up with that?
I love my son. Can't love any more than I love him. We're potty training. (He's 2 and 1/2.) We've got the nighttime thing down pat. So now we're working on other times during the day. So this morning, I'm eating breakfast, mom's already at work and he's playing with his trains in the other room without a diaper.
Next thing I hear is, "Daddy get potty."
I'm pretty excited at this point. Wow. He could feel it and he told me. He knows what's coming. Well, almost. I get over there to find him with soaking wet sweat pants, a pee puddle on the rug and big 'ol smile on his face. "A went potty." Yes, he did.
I'm 37. I shouldn't get zits.
I understand why construction guys where hard hats when they are on the site. But, my god, why do they where them all the time -- even when they are nowhere near the site? Someone just walked by my window with a hard hat. The site is probalby a half-mile from where he is. Is he afraid of things falling out of the sky and bopping him on the head? Weird.
I'm hungry. Fish and chips at the Portugese Club. Nobody makes fish and chips better than them. Well, except for me when I was the fastest (and best) fry cook in the world 20 years ago.
It's weird that I can say, "20 years ago." Makes me feel crazy old. But I don't feel crazy old. Does that make sense?
That's all for now, I think.
What else? I got nothin'.
I have awaken from my slumber. I am back. And you reap the benefits.
So many topics. Where do I start? Well, how about some random thoughts so I can catch you up on things in my world.
After all, isn't that why you're here?
Is Thanksgiving really next week? I love Thanksgiving. Why? Because I love cranberry sauce in the can. And here's the thing about that. It's not sauce. If it were sauce, why would it be like jello? Don't you pour a sauce? That's my judgment on whether or not something is a sauce. Try it. You can't poor cranberry sauce (the smooth kind, I'm talking about) out of a can. But, that's the name. And I love it.
I'm sick and tired of the "mid-season" or "fall" finale in TV land. What's up with that?
I love my son. Can't love any more than I love him. We're potty training. (He's 2 and 1/2.) We've got the nighttime thing down pat. So now we're working on other times during the day. So this morning, I'm eating breakfast, mom's already at work and he's playing with his trains in the other room without a diaper.
Next thing I hear is, "Daddy get potty."
I'm pretty excited at this point. Wow. He could feel it and he told me. He knows what's coming. Well, almost. I get over there to find him with soaking wet sweat pants, a pee puddle on the rug and big 'ol smile on his face. "A went potty." Yes, he did.
I'm 37. I shouldn't get zits.
I understand why construction guys where hard hats when they are on the site. But, my god, why do they where them all the time -- even when they are nowhere near the site? Someone just walked by my window with a hard hat. The site is probalby a half-mile from where he is. Is he afraid of things falling out of the sky and bopping him on the head? Weird.
I'm hungry. Fish and chips at the Portugese Club. Nobody makes fish and chips better than them. Well, except for me when I was the fastest (and best) fry cook in the world 20 years ago.
It's weird that I can say, "20 years ago." Makes me feel crazy old. But I don't feel crazy old. Does that make sense?
That's all for now, I think.
What else? I got nothin'.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Two More Thoughts
I'm always up for a quickie. So here goes:
I was crazy thirsty this afternoon. So, I coined a phrase. Think about it. If you are starving, you say, "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."
Well, if you're thirsty, what do you say? See what I mean. There's nothing.
Until now.
I know it's horrible, but it's what I came up with on the fly and I'm going to the copyright office on this one.
"I'm so thirsty I could empty a reservoir."
Don't like it? Give me your best effort.
NEWSFLASH -- Britney is divorcing Kevin.
Her career sky rockets. His plummets.
And, Brit, I'm here if you need a shoulder to cry on. (I'm sorry, I'm a fan.)
What else? I got nothin.
I was crazy thirsty this afternoon. So, I coined a phrase. Think about it. If you are starving, you say, "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."
Well, if you're thirsty, what do you say? See what I mean. There's nothing.
Until now.
I know it's horrible, but it's what I came up with on the fly and I'm going to the copyright office on this one.
"I'm so thirsty I could empty a reservoir."
Don't like it? Give me your best effort.
NEWSFLASH -- Britney is divorcing Kevin.
Her career sky rockets. His plummets.
And, Brit, I'm here if you need a shoulder to cry on. (I'm sorry, I'm a fan.)
What else? I got nothin.
Empyting Out a Cluttered Mind...
Did you vote yet? What are you waiting for!
My son is 2 and 1/2. He said today that he doesn't know what he wants to be when he grows up. That's OK, I told him. Daddy doesn't either. I'm 37.
Had a vanilla shake today. Only problem was, it tasted like chocolate. It's like getting french fries that taste like onion rings. Hate that.
I think I'm addicted to eBay. I'm buying Thomas the Tank stuff for my son. Stuff I can't wait to play with! Everything I'm buying is brand new. And I haven't paid anything near regular retail price.
Kirstie Alley in a bikini? I'm sorry. No interest in that.
Cindy Margolis not in a bikini? Much interest in that.
Why aren't you watching Brothers & Sisters?
90210 and Melrose Place are out today. To those of you buying me Christmas presents -- hint, hint.
Why don't they paint lines on the street at night, as opposed to 7:30 this morning in the middle of the morning rush?
What else? I got nothin'.
My son is 2 and 1/2. He said today that he doesn't know what he wants to be when he grows up. That's OK, I told him. Daddy doesn't either. I'm 37.
Had a vanilla shake today. Only problem was, it tasted like chocolate. It's like getting french fries that taste like onion rings. Hate that.
I think I'm addicted to eBay. I'm buying Thomas the Tank stuff for my son. Stuff I can't wait to play with! Everything I'm buying is brand new. And I haven't paid anything near regular retail price.
Kirstie Alley in a bikini? I'm sorry. No interest in that.
Cindy Margolis not in a bikini? Much interest in that.
Why aren't you watching Brothers & Sisters?
90210 and Melrose Place are out today. To those of you buying me Christmas presents -- hint, hint.
Why don't they paint lines on the street at night, as opposed to 7:30 this morning in the middle of the morning rush?
What else? I got nothin'.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Enough with the Discrimination
I'm sick of it. Really. I never thought it would get to this. To a point where I had to appeal to you, loyal readers, for support. But, here we are.
I am fed up with the discrimination.
Not because I'm white.
Not because I'm Catholic.
Not because I'm straight.
Because I drink orange juice.
Yup, I, and others like me, am a victim of discrimination.
Here's the scenario. You've seen it a hundred times. I'll play the starring role.
I'm in a restaurant, let's say it's my and my better half out for breakfast. She orders coffee. First of all, unless you're going to Fourbucks, it's usually only $.99 or something silly like that. In addition, it's always a bottomless cup.
Think about it, how often when you're out to dinner does the waiter/waitress come by and ask, "More coffee?"
Well, no more coffee for me. I don't drink it. I drink orange juice.
Back at the table, after my better half orders coffee, I order a glass of juice. The first problem is the price -- it's at least $1.75, but these days, it's not a surprise to find it more than $2 and sometimes even higher.
But that's just the beginning. There are two more major elements in play.
First, the size. And, ladies (and gentlemen), here's where size matters. I just paid more than $2 for a glass of juice and it's 8 ounces or something foolish like that.
What's worse?
That's just for the one cup. There will be no waiter or waitress coming around asking if I'd like to "refresh" my juice.
See what I'm saying?
Juice drinkers of the world, we must unite.
It's bad enough I always have to answer the question about why I don't drink coffee. But now, I have to, more than ever, defend my choice to drink orange juice. Or, god forbid, defend my choice of asking for a second glass -- of which I know I will have to pay.
Do you feel my pain?
What else? I got nothin'.
I am fed up with the discrimination.
Not because I'm white.
Not because I'm Catholic.
Not because I'm straight.
Because I drink orange juice.
Yup, I, and others like me, am a victim of discrimination.
Here's the scenario. You've seen it a hundred times. I'll play the starring role.
I'm in a restaurant, let's say it's my and my better half out for breakfast. She orders coffee. First of all, unless you're going to Fourbucks, it's usually only $.99 or something silly like that. In addition, it's always a bottomless cup.
Think about it, how often when you're out to dinner does the waiter/waitress come by and ask, "More coffee?"
Well, no more coffee for me. I don't drink it. I drink orange juice.
Back at the table, after my better half orders coffee, I order a glass of juice. The first problem is the price -- it's at least $1.75, but these days, it's not a surprise to find it more than $2 and sometimes even higher.
But that's just the beginning. There are two more major elements in play.
First, the size. And, ladies (and gentlemen), here's where size matters. I just paid more than $2 for a glass of juice and it's 8 ounces or something foolish like that.
What's worse?
That's just for the one cup. There will be no waiter or waitress coming around asking if I'd like to "refresh" my juice.
See what I'm saying?
Juice drinkers of the world, we must unite.
It's bad enough I always have to answer the question about why I don't drink coffee. But now, I have to, more than ever, defend my choice to drink orange juice. Or, god forbid, defend my choice of asking for a second glass -- of which I know I will have to pay.
Do you feel my pain?
What else? I got nothin'.
Friday, November 03, 2006
They Screw You at the Drive-Thru
The whole purpose of the drive-thru is convenience.
Be it at a bank, drug store, fast food restaurant or, in some places, even a package store, the point is providing the customer (me!) with a quick experience. No need to get out of the car if you don't have to.
For this rant, we're focusing on the fast food drive thru -- McDonald's in particular.
It's rare that I stop under the golden arches for breakfast. But, this morning was different. Junior woke up late, which threw our typical morning routine off, which meant I didn't have breakfast. So, after dropping him off, I started contemplating breakfast options.
And then it hit me. I hadn't had the world's greatest breakfast sandwich in quite a while.
I'm talking about the Sausage McMuffin with Egg.
Take that back. It's not the greatest breakfast sandwich. It's better than that. In fact, I'll go so far as call it the best fast food sandwich -- breakfast or otherwise.
So, I pull into the drive-thru lane. And then I change my mind. I never change my mind. But, today, I did.
I opted for the McGriddle. Have never had it, so figured why not give that a try. Live on the edge. Think out of the box. Push the envelope. You get the idea.
I pull up to the window, give the guy my money and take my bag (I got the hashbrown, too) and my juice (just wait until you read my rant on the unfair treatment of juice drinkers).
I get to the office, settle in, call up the local daily on the web and start to read while finishing off my hashbrown -- which, for reasons I don't really have, I always eat first.
Then, I reach in my bag and pull out a hefty sandwich in a labelled wrap that says "bacon egg and cheese bagel."
B-A-G-E-L.
You're kidding me. I didn't order a bagel. I ordered a McGriddle. I should have ordered a Sausage McMuffin with Egg, but on this day of great adventure, I go for the McGriddle.
But it's not there.
At this point it's too late and too complicated to drive back. Ugh. Another drive-thru meltdown at the hands of someone who doesn't care about customer service.
I wanted it to taste good. But it didn't. How could it? Not only was it something I didn't want. It was something I would never order. But, I was hungry. So I ate it.
And as I was eating it, I thought about checking the order at the drive-thru. But who does that? Really. Do you? I don't. But I probably will now. Doing that, though, defeats the entire purpose of the drive-thru. Fast service. Not getting your stuff and opening the bag to check it while everyone is sitting in their car behind you.
Ugh. I should have stuck with the stand by. See what happens when you try and mix it up?
What else? I got nothin'.
Be it at a bank, drug store, fast food restaurant or, in some places, even a package store, the point is providing the customer (me!) with a quick experience. No need to get out of the car if you don't have to.
For this rant, we're focusing on the fast food drive thru -- McDonald's in particular.
It's rare that I stop under the golden arches for breakfast. But, this morning was different. Junior woke up late, which threw our typical morning routine off, which meant I didn't have breakfast. So, after dropping him off, I started contemplating breakfast options.
And then it hit me. I hadn't had the world's greatest breakfast sandwich in quite a while.
I'm talking about the Sausage McMuffin with Egg.
Take that back. It's not the greatest breakfast sandwich. It's better than that. In fact, I'll go so far as call it the best fast food sandwich -- breakfast or otherwise.
So, I pull into the drive-thru lane. And then I change my mind. I never change my mind. But, today, I did.
I opted for the McGriddle. Have never had it, so figured why not give that a try. Live on the edge. Think out of the box. Push the envelope. You get the idea.
I pull up to the window, give the guy my money and take my bag (I got the hashbrown, too) and my juice (just wait until you read my rant on the unfair treatment of juice drinkers).
I get to the office, settle in, call up the local daily on the web and start to read while finishing off my hashbrown -- which, for reasons I don't really have, I always eat first.
Then, I reach in my bag and pull out a hefty sandwich in a labelled wrap that says "bacon egg and cheese bagel."
B-A-G-E-L.
You're kidding me. I didn't order a bagel. I ordered a McGriddle. I should have ordered a Sausage McMuffin with Egg, but on this day of great adventure, I go for the McGriddle.
But it's not there.
At this point it's too late and too complicated to drive back. Ugh. Another drive-thru meltdown at the hands of someone who doesn't care about customer service.
I wanted it to taste good. But it didn't. How could it? Not only was it something I didn't want. It was something I would never order. But, I was hungry. So I ate it.
And as I was eating it, I thought about checking the order at the drive-thru. But who does that? Really. Do you? I don't. But I probably will now. Doing that, though, defeats the entire purpose of the drive-thru. Fast service. Not getting your stuff and opening the bag to check it while everyone is sitting in their car behind you.
Ugh. I should have stuck with the stand by. See what happens when you try and mix it up?
What else? I got nothin'.
Monday, October 30, 2006
What's Old is New Again
My son loves fire trucks. No, wait. That's not right. Let me start over.
My son LOVES LOVES LOVES LOVES fire trucks.
While at my in-laws (where he stays during the day), he got a great treat -- playing with an old Tonka fire truck that used to be my brother in law's.
Well, seeing that reminded me of my old Tonka fire truck. I told my son to remind me about it the next time we went to my mom's.
We were there this weekend. I had completely forgotten about it -- until he came up to me and said, "Daddy old fire truck?"
A-ha! That's right. Daddy's old fire truck.
So, up to the attic we went. He climbed the steep dark stairs in a quest for another fire truck. And there it was. Just sitting there. Not covered. Just one really old (yet still really cool) red Tonka fire truck.
The cool feature of this truck is that its a bucket loader truck -- or, apparently in fire truck speak, a snorkel truck. So, he immediately started raising the bucket.
U
P
A
N
D
D
O
W
N
Non stop. I'm sure we'd still be up in the attic unless I carried him (holding the fire truck) down the stairs.
We got home and there was immediately a comparison between "old daddy fire truck" and his others.
(Mine, of course, is the coolest.)
It doesn't matter that this truck is more than 30 years old. It doesn't matter that the two side ladders are missing. It doesn't matter that part of the hose from the side is not working right.
What matters is that it's a fire truck. And to my son, it's perfect.
It was for me, too.
What else? I got nothin'.
My son LOVES LOVES LOVES LOVES fire trucks.
While at my in-laws (where he stays during the day), he got a great treat -- playing with an old Tonka fire truck that used to be my brother in law's.
Well, seeing that reminded me of my old Tonka fire truck. I told my son to remind me about it the next time we went to my mom's.
We were there this weekend. I had completely forgotten about it -- until he came up to me and said, "Daddy old fire truck?"
A-ha! That's right. Daddy's old fire truck.
So, up to the attic we went. He climbed the steep dark stairs in a quest for another fire truck. And there it was. Just sitting there. Not covered. Just one really old (yet still really cool) red Tonka fire truck.
The cool feature of this truck is that its a bucket loader truck -- or, apparently in fire truck speak, a snorkel truck. So, he immediately started raising the bucket.
U
P
A
N
D
D
O
W
N
Non stop. I'm sure we'd still be up in the attic unless I carried him (holding the fire truck) down the stairs.
We got home and there was immediately a comparison between "old daddy fire truck" and his others.
(Mine, of course, is the coolest.)
It doesn't matter that this truck is more than 30 years old. It doesn't matter that the two side ladders are missing. It doesn't matter that part of the hose from the side is not working right.
What matters is that it's a fire truck. And to my son, it's perfect.
It was for me, too.
What else? I got nothin'.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Rain, Rain Go Away
It's raining today. Pouring actually. Not to mention the 35 m.p.h. wind. These are not days you like when your basement can act up on you. Thankfully, the worst is behind us (I hope), and nothing bad has happened. Yet.
So, it's been a crazy week. I seem to be saying that a lot lately. Regardless, I owe you a few thoughts, so here they are -- in no particular order.
My birthday is coming. It's Wednesday. Forty is getting closer and closer. Ugh. Don't feel anywhere near it, though, so that's a good thing. Right?
The day before my birthday is Halloween. The boy wonder is 2 and a 1/2 this year. We are hoping this becomes his official trick-or-treating debut. He's even got the "trick or treat" part down for when people answer the door.
So what's the problem? Well, not sure if he'll be in a costume or not. We finally landed on Thomas the Tank Engine as the preferred costume. The problem is that once we actually got the costume, he's wanted nothing -- and I mean nothing -- to do with it. So, we'll see!
Chocolate chip pancakes for dinner tonight. Love breakfast for dinner. I'm just saying.
Why am I so excited that the Dancing with the Stars tour is coming nearby?
Are you watching Six Degrees? You should be.
Speaking of TV, I do love the Vegas. Well, Las Vegas. It's perfect mindless television. I also loved the old Vegas -- remember Dan Tanna? Yup, I do. I don't remember what I had for lunch yesterday, but I remember Dan Tanna.
November 7 is election day. And, no doubt about it. I do have an incredible decision to make. A decision that could affect me in so many ways going forward. That's what election day is about, right?
The decision I'm facing -- do I buy both 90210 and Melrose on DVD when they come out that day? Now that would make for an interesting debate.
What else? I got nothin'.
So, it's been a crazy week. I seem to be saying that a lot lately. Regardless, I owe you a few thoughts, so here they are -- in no particular order.
My birthday is coming. It's Wednesday. Forty is getting closer and closer. Ugh. Don't feel anywhere near it, though, so that's a good thing. Right?
The day before my birthday is Halloween. The boy wonder is 2 and a 1/2 this year. We are hoping this becomes his official trick-or-treating debut. He's even got the "trick or treat" part down for when people answer the door.
So what's the problem? Well, not sure if he'll be in a costume or not. We finally landed on Thomas the Tank Engine as the preferred costume. The problem is that once we actually got the costume, he's wanted nothing -- and I mean nothing -- to do with it. So, we'll see!
Chocolate chip pancakes for dinner tonight. Love breakfast for dinner. I'm just saying.
Why am I so excited that the Dancing with the Stars tour is coming nearby?
Are you watching Six Degrees? You should be.
Speaking of TV, I do love the Vegas. Well, Las Vegas. It's perfect mindless television. I also loved the old Vegas -- remember Dan Tanna? Yup, I do. I don't remember what I had for lunch yesterday, but I remember Dan Tanna.
November 7 is election day. And, no doubt about it. I do have an incredible decision to make. A decision that could affect me in so many ways going forward. That's what election day is about, right?
The decision I'm facing -- do I buy both 90210 and Melrose on DVD when they come out that day? Now that would make for an interesting debate.
What else? I got nothin'.
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