Do Guys Wear Hoodies?

So a buddy of mine is going to Fenway tonight to see the Sox. He'll be five rows behind homeplate, which means I could probably see him on TV (if I really wanted to). And that would be the only reason to watch since I stopped watching them regularly about a month ago.

Anyway, I asked my friend, "Will you have a hat on or will you be wearing anything that will help me find you?"

"I won't have a hat on, but I'll probably be wearing my Patriots hoodie."

I was speechless at first. Then I said, "Wait a minute" and my voice trailed off.

He was like, "Oh boy, something's coming."

Damn right something's coming, I said.

It's a hoodie thing. I have lots of things. Trust me. But the hoodie thing is one of my newest.

When did it stop being just a hooded sweatshirt?

And, more importantly, as I told my friend, it's just not right for guys (particularly those in their 40s like him) to be talking about their hoodie. College girls wear hoodies. High school girls wear hoodies. Guys -- we shouldn't be wearing hoodies.

I can't offer any concrete rationale for it being wrong. I just know it is.

Isn't it?

The Ultimate Dinner Party

Not sure where I first heard this question, but it's probably my favorite conversation starter:

You're hosting a dinner party for four people -- you and three guests. The guests can be anyone. Alive. Dead. Real. Ficticious.

Who do yo invite?

I can never land on one group, so I have a few. Some logical. Some kind of cool. Some just plain odd.

For example, I never met either of my grandfathers, so I'd start with them. And, I don't remember a lot of one of my grandmothers, so she would round out the first table of four.

Next table is just a party of three. I'd invite my dad (who passed away six years ago) to have dinner with my two-year-old son and me. I'd love to see how they get along.

Then, I start having fun. Imagine the conversation (not too mention the looks) if JFK, Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe were my guests.

I'm a sports nut -- a Boston sports nut at that -- so I'd invite Ted Williams, Larry Bird and probably Red Aurebach.

Gotta have my music party, so I'd invite Jon Bon Jovi, Michael Stipe and probably Elton John.

My religious party would have me breaking bread with Jesus, Moses and Peter.

In my completely crazy party, I'd invite Ted Bundy, Charles Manson and Hitler.

You see that you can start to have fun with this. Think of the conversations that would be started. Think of the looks these parties would generate if you were in a restaurant. Think of the fun you would have to sit back and just enjoy.

So, enough about me, who would you invite to dinner?

The Most Ignored Road Sign

Perhaps you've seen it. Or, most likely, you haven't.

Because, it seems, many of you don't know what it means.

I'm talking about the Yield sign. You know, the one that means, you can keep going, as long as nobody else is coming, at which point you need to slow down and get out of their way.

Not the sign that means you can just keep going no matter what and you never have to look behind you to see who might be starting a 10-car pile up because of your ineptness.

Perhaps there's just a big mystery....and that's that not everyone knows that Yield actually means "Yes, I'm an Educated and Licensed Driver."

Do they just not teach the Yield thing anymore? Have we simply forgotten about it? Why doesn't anyone Yield anymore?

How about you...do you Yield?

What's On the Tube?

Loyal readers (both of you), I'm sure you've been wondering, "Where's Mike?"

If you must know, I've been in front of the TV. It's that time of year -- new shows aplenty, so with the help of TiVo (the greatest invention ever), I've been checking out what the networks are bringing to the table.

Some shows are still rolling out this week, so I'll reserve total judgment, but, so far, I gotta tell you, I love what I see.

Let's go category by category:

Reality

The best reality show on TV is The Amazing Race -- now in it's 10th season. They are promising some twists and turns, but it sure looks like they nailed the teams on this one.

Dancing with the Stars. Yup, I watch it. In fact, I love it. The only necessary change -- rid poor Tom Bergeron of Samantha Harris. She's awful. This year? Go Emmitt!

Survivor. The king of them all is playing the race card -- separating tribes at first by race. So far, so good. It's working for me.

The Biggest Loser. Didn't plan to watch this last night, but I got sucked in (no pun intended) for a bit. It wasn't bad. Won't go on TiVo as a season pass, but it was still pretty good.

Comedy

I'm not a big comedy guy. It's hard to impress me. I was a huge Friends fan, however, which is probably why I LOVED the first episode of The Class. Hilarious. I also watch How I Met Your Mother. No, I don't watch Earl or the Office. I guess I'll put The OC in the comedy category. Not really sure what else to call it!

Drama

This is my realm. So many shows. So many good shows. I'll probably forget some, too. Returning shows first.

It's new to me, but I've started watching Nip/Tuck. Pretty dark, but very entertaining. I'll also start watching Las Vegas and Crossing Jordan. Just good entertainment. Don't have to think very much watching those.

Desperate Housewives is back. I'm feeling it. And you know LOST is going to be fabulous.

New shows: Justice is getting a little better on FOX. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip had an OK first episode, but you know it'll be good. I'm looking forward to giving Six Degrees and Brothers and Sisters a try, too.

So...yeah, it's a busy TV season. Thank goodness for TiVo. But, if I'm not here, now you know where to find me!

Two Big Boys

The two men of the house are on their own this weekend. That's me and my two-year-old son.

His Mom is visiting her sister in Florida -- marking the first time in more than two years she's been away from our son for an overnight. Therefore, it's also the first time he and I have been alone together overnight. It'll actually be two overnights. She comes back Sunday.

So, with the woman of the house away, the men of the house are ready to have a boys' weekend.

Tonight, we went to McDonald's for dinner. That was a great way to start. We were going to go to a football game, but the rain put a damper on that.

My wife is getting a much-deserved vacation -- even for two nights. She's nervous about being away from him for the first time. But, it's gotta happen at some point. I'm getting some much-appreciated one-on-one time with my son, too.

Mom is the one who spends the most time with him, so this will be a good weekend for us. And, the first phase accomplished with no trouble. We got dinner, a bath and down to bed without incident. And I've even already cleaned up toys that were lying around and did some dishes.

Not sure what the rest of the weekend is going to bring. Like real men, we're going to wing it. No plans in this house! Just men -- or as my son says, 'two big boys.'

Mustard on Meatloaf?

Ok, so here's the thing.

It's hard to find something that tastes better than a hamburger right off the grill. Add some perfectly melted cheese and the only thing that makes that burger taste better (besides a cold beer) is the perfect amount of mustard.

That's right. I put mustard on my cheeseburgers. No ketchup. Just mustard. And, you know what? I love it. Nothing tastes better to me.

But, here's the thing....when I have meatloaf, which is one of my all-time favorite dinners, what do you think I put on it? Mustard?

Nope. Guess again.

Yup, I put ketchup on meatloaf. Can't really tell you why. I just do. I know, meatloaf is just a hamburger in a different shape. But, there is something that just won't let me do it. Ketchup doesn't go on cheeseburgers, but it goes on meatloaf with melted cheese.

No idea why I do this or why I can't change. I just know that's what I do. The only time ketchup will make it on my burger is if I'm mixing it with mayo to make secret sauce.

So, yeah, that's me. Weird, eh?

My Generation's Kennedy Moment

My Mom can tell you where she was when President Kennedy was killed. That was always hard for me to fathom. How a complete generation of people had one moment in history that would always link them together.

I never really understood that.

Until 9/11.

I was at work in East Hartford (at a job I no longer have). We were in an all-staff meeting. It was a short meeting -- I think we started at 8:30. When we came out at 9, someone mentioned something about a plane and a building in New York.

I quickly got online -- or tried to anyway. The internet was crawling as millions of people were trying to find out what had happened. And then when CNN's web page came up, we knew. We hooked up the only TV we had in the office in the conference room, and about 20 of us stood around and watched silently as the towers fell. It was surreal.

Just unimagineable. I thought back to a trip to New York when I went to the observation deck of one of the towers. I thought about how the 19 story building I was in at the time absolutely paled in comparison. I thought about my friend Nancy who I knew worked for Morgan Stanley -- but was fortunately more mid-town. I found out that my friend Liz's husband Tim who worked in one of the adjoining buildings didn't go to work that day.

And then I thought about my trip.

On September 12, my college roommate and I were due to fly to Kansas City and then on to St. Louis in our ongoing quest to see a baseball game in every major league park.

Our flight wasn't until later in the day on the 12th, so I was sure we'd be in the air and on our way. A couple hours later, I was thinking, well, it's ok if they delay us one day. We'll still get out there.

Flights would be grounded for days. What we were watching would change the course of the world.

It has since been documented in television specials, coffee table books and government commission reports.

And all I was concerned about at the time was baseball -- America's pasttime.

I was so naive.

My Son's First 'Concert'

Saturday morning, my wife and I got everything ready, put our son in the car and off we went. He only knew we were going on a "special special" which is what we call a, well, special trip.

If you've watched your share of Thomas the Tank Engine episodes, you know it comes from there. But, it works, so we go with it.

It wasn't Thomas that morning, however. Rather, it was Elmo and Sesame Street Live. So, needless to say, he was wearing his Elmo shirt and his Elmo shorts.

We got to the arena and as soon as he saw the stage, he knew he was somewhere special. We told him he would soon be seeing all of his friends -- Elmo, Big Bird, Count, Cookie Monster, Bert and Ernie and Oscar -- up close. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the explanation, but as soon as the lights went down and the characters came out, his curiosity took over and his eyes were fixed on the stage.

The show was longer than expected -- an hour and a half, not counting a 15-minute intermission (more on that in a minute).

For the most part, he did great. Got a little antsy toward the end, but can't blame him for that. We were getting that way, too. All in all, though, I think he enjoyed his first concert.

So the announcement of an intermission wasn't 30 seconds old when a vendor carrying a bundle of what had to to be 100 Elmo balloons hit the main floor. Yeah, I'd say people flocked to him dropping probably $5 or $10 on one of these souveniers.

We did not go home with one, I'm proud to say.

Sesame Street does it right, though. Good show. Characters all looked great. It was a good day. And his first 'concert' was much different than mine -- which was KISS. Oh well, there will be time for that as he gets older! And no doubt I'll take him to his first rock show, too.

Call Me Cynical, but....

Ok, let's call this one a rambling rant. I'm half ranting and mostly rambling, so that's what you get.

I'm sorry, but I don't get this big news story about Steve Irwin. He's dead. I'm sorry for that. (Honest.) Nobody deserves to go the way he did. But, a couple of things. He's a croc hunter -- his time was coming eventually, no?

But, more importantly, is it really this big of a deal? "Breaking News" all over the place that Steve Irwin is dead? The local paper here has a spot on its website for people to post messages of condolences. Honestly? Who reads that stuff (Ok, I do...some of it is just so funny)? Who writes that stuff (I don't do that!)? Do the people that write it honestly believe that Steve's family will read this stuff? Are people so hurt by his loss that they need to publicly express their grief?


I don't get it. Help me understand this.

What It Means to Be Two

My son is two -- which means he's very good at trying my patience (as well as his mom's).

My son is two -- which means he gives the best hugs in the world.

My son is two -- which means he sometimes will put his feet on the dinner table (even when he knows he shouldn't).

My son is two -- which means if watching him eat an ear of corn won't make your day, I'm not sure what will.

My son is two -- which means bath time isn't always the easiest time of day.

My son is two -- which means there is no better smile when he comes out of the tub and is bundled in a towel in his mom's lap.

My son is two -- which means he rarely uses his 'quiet' voice in quiet places.

My son is two -- which means hearing him say "choo choo train" will melt you.

My son is two -- which means he doesn't always understand that you can throw balls outside, but you can't throw them inside.

My son is two -- which means I love him more than I ever thought possible.

My First Official Rant

It's happened to me. I'm sure it's happened to you.

You're on the highway, cruising the left lane, minding your own business. Maybe you're going 70. Perhaps a little more. Whatever it is, it's not enough to get pulled over.

Then you spot him, out of nowhere, in your rear-view mirror.

The cop, almost always in an unmarked car. He comes right up on your tail, virtually forcing you into the right lane, only to cruise by you and then everyone else in the left lane.

If you're doing 70ish, you figure he's pushing 80. And, of course, no light. No siren. No nothing. Just a cop car.

I can't be the only one who can't stand this. I can't be the only one who has said to anyone listening in the car (or to just myself), "Why can he do that?"

Is there a cop code we don't know about? A code that says they can break the speed limit as much as they want and not worry about it?

Apparently there is.

There's also another thing they can do -- at least here in Connecticut. Cops can talk on their cellphones without a headset without a worry in the world. Who's gonna stop them? You've seen it, too. I'm sure you have.

I don't know why this stuff bugs me, but it does. A lot.

Am I alone?

If I Write It...

...will you read it?

When I started this blog, that was my big question. Will people read it?

Well, the answer, apparently, is YES!

I have two comments so far. That's not a lot. But, hey, gotta start somewhere. And I don't even care that one of them is pointing out a mistake. I did My Eager Mother....instead of My Very Eager Mother....when talking about planets.

Thanks to a loyal reader (or someone who landed here by mistake), I was able to fix it.

And to the other anonymous commenter, thanks for your words. The rock climbing thing was in Hartford, CT, at a new challenge course along the Connecticut River.

That's all for now.

Mike

Dad or Parent?

This morning, while playing trains with my son, I felt like a dad. Since he was born a little more than two years ago, I guess I've always just felt like a dad.

An hour after dropping him off at my mother-in-law's, where he spends his day while mom and dad work, I felt, for the first time, like a parent.

Why the change?

Today was the "Parents Coffee" at what will be his preschool starting in October. My wife and I were sitting among a group of probably 50 other parents listening to the director of the school go over all the details and what not of how they operate.

A couple of thoughts going through my head during all of this:

• Damn, this preschool situation is a whole thing. He'll be going twice a week from October through mid-May. I knew this all along, but it hit me today. He's going to school. We signed permission slip after permission slip and medical forms and library card applications. This is real. Very real. Isn't he just two? Isn't all this stuff for older kids? I should enjoy all this, because we'll be filling out Financial Aid Forms before we know it.

• Again, it's my competitive spirit, but, as a parent, how do you sit in a group like that and not have thoughts go through your head like, my kid knows his colors. He can count to 10. He might not know the ABC song, but he knows his letters. He's gonna be the smartest one in the class.

• Are any of the other parents here thinking the same things I am?

I was having a hard time focusing as a parent. It wasn't a case of information overload as much of it was a case of, wow, our son is going to school!

But, thanks to the director, I was able to think like a dad again. I'm not really sure why I think this is the coolest thing in the world, but the big news was that all the two-year-olds get their own cubby to hold their stuff. I mean, how cool is that? His little Red Sox backpack will have it's own place to stay while he's learning and having fun.

And, when I as a parent goes to drop him off at school, I'll leave feeling like a dad when I watch him put his stuff carefully away in his very own cubby.

Yup, my son is going to school.

Eight Miles High (well, not quite)

If you know me, you know I'm competitive. Very competitive. To the point where I'm nervous about teaching my son how to play games -- even something as innocent as Candyland. I play to win. Always.

If you also know me, you know that while I love sports, it's safe to say I wasn't born with the best set of athletic skills.

Very competitive. Not a great athlete. Interesting combination.

Where is this going? I'll tell you.

I made it just more than halfway up a climbing wall yesterday. That may not sound like much to you. But, to me, I might as well have been on Everest.

I don't consider myself afraid of heights. I'm more afraid of ladders or any other tool you need to get to the height. Once I'm there, it's no problem. It's the getting there than can be a problem.

So, when my five co-workers and I went to a Challenge Course yesterday for some teambuilding, I was like, hmmm, not really sure I'm going to be into this climbing thing.

But, once there and seeing the climbing wall, my competitiveness took over. So much that I wanted to climb first.

With encouragement and guidance from my office mates, I reached my max height. I couldn't believe I had made it that far -- let alone how hard it was.

I felt really good about what I did. I mean, again, unless you really know me, you don't know how big of a deal that was.

What killed me though, was then watching the next five go...two of whom reached the top. Being able to visualize what they did and see their course, I was like, OK, I can get to the top. Now that I really see it, I can get there. My competitive spirit was what was driving me to want to do it again -- so I could be better than I was the first time.

So, that's my story. I climbed. Kind of high. Higher than I thought I could go. That's the cool part. It may not have seemed like a big deal to someone that could scale the wall without issue, but to me, I might as well have been, as The Byrds sang, Eight Miles High.

Stumped by a 2-year-old

I can't believe it's taken me this long to mention my son.

He's 2. Oh, and he's the coolest thing in the world (running neck and neck with his mom).

It's a breakfast ritual that my son always wants to have some "Daddy juice" -- which is nine times out of 10 a mixture of orange and cranberry juice (minus the vodka, madras fans).

He loves to take big sips from a big glass. It's just one of those little things that is fun to watch.

Well, this morning, I threw him for a little loop -- unintentionally, of course.

I had run out of cranberry, so my glass was full of just orange juice -- or so I thought.

"Daddy yellow juice. Daddy yellow juice."

"Would you like to try some," I asked.

"Pllllllleeeeease," he responded. "Daddy yellow juice."

I told him that this wasn't the usual concotion that this was just orange juice.

"No, Daddy yellow juice," he said stating the obvious.

I couldn't really disagree with him. I had new juice and, despite its name, it was yellow.

Long Live Roy G. Biv

I guess I'm still not fully over this Pluto's no longer a planet thing.

How can you just do that? Well, apparently there are some science guys who can.

Gone is My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas. What do we replace it with? How about My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Noodles? At least until another planet is stripped of its title. Or another is added.

Oh, and another thing....did you know that Uranus was originally named Herschel? For real. It was. My question is, how do you decide to change the name from something as simple as Herschel to something as Uranus?

Maybe I'm under-estimating the sense of humor of these science guys?

Well, here I am.

*tap, tap*

Is this on?

A friend asked me today if I blogged. After admitting that I had thought about it, but hadn't pulled the trigger, she said, "Give it a try."

So, here I am.

It's 1:58 a.m. I should be in bed. But, I'm here. Creating something that I'm not sure anyone will read. Maybe you will. Maybe you won't.

And I'm OK with that. Really.

Because this is for me. Well, and for you. If you like it.

Let me know if you do. And let me know if you don't. After all, I'm going to let you know what I like, and, more importantly, what I don't like.

Blogging is a two-way street, right?

All I can think about right now (remember, it's basically 2 a.m.) is, "is this what Doogie felt like?"

With that, my first blog entry concludes.

See you soon. I hope.