My Thoughts on Phil Robertson

OK so I'm not gonna rant to much here because I know everybody else is regarding Phil Robertson, but I'll tell you what I think. Because, well, it's my blog.




Those on the left say he's a bigot for his anti-gay remarks in his GQ interview. Those on the right say his firing, or suspension is a violation of his First Amendment rights to Freedom of Speech.


Here's the thing. Who gives a shit? I mean really? I can't believe this is such an issue. Are we really surprised that a 67 year old man from the south believes that gays are going to hell? So he said what he thinks. What he believes. Big deal. And come on with the violation of his rights. He said things that his boss didn't approve of and got in trouble for it. Period. Look, do you think for a minute that if I was at work, and started bashing Sue in Accounting, or Dave in Production and my boss didn't care for it that I wouldn't be in HR explaining myself? Pa-lese.

I think the bigger issue here is that GQ is interviewing a man who eats squirrel brains. 

What Makes a Man Cry......

I woke up early today, before the clowns and in the silence of a cool November morning, I wrote a post. Not an ordinary my kid shoved skittles up his nose kind of post. Not a my job or life sucks and God has all the answers type of post. This one was a little different.

You see when I was a junior in high school I lost my best friend to a car accident. And this morning, while I was thinking of something to blog about, my thoughts turned to my friend and I begin to type. I wrote about how I spoke to him hours before the accident and he wanted me to go with him. I wrote about when I got the news. I wrote about the following weeks and how I would see his face from time to time in a crowed hallway. I wrote about being 16/17 years old and dealing with death up close and personal. And as I sat at my computer typing away, a grown man, thinking about those events so long ago, my eyes welled up with tears.

Scars are souvenirs you never lose...

Top 5 Vacations.....sort of..

So over fall break we went to Disney World. It was fantastic. My wife did a great job of planning every day for us and Disney did the rest. It was by far the best vacation I've ever had in my life. Which got me to thinking about some of the vacations my parents took me on when I was little. I present to you a worst of the worst vacations of my youth.

5. Florida -When I was about 10 or 11 we drove to Florida which is about an 18 hour trip. Now this vacation might have been rated the worst had it not been for the fact that we did get to go to Disney, Sea World, and the beach. But we had to stay with some friends of my parents which was really uncomfortable. I slept on the floor in a sleeping bag for 5 days, and got so scared while riding Space Mountain that I may have cried a bit. Oh and our car blew up on the drive down there. All in all one of the worst ever.

4. St. Louis - Not the worst vacation and it might have even been on a good list except for the fact that I got my head split open. We were walking down the street next to Bush Stadium as the Cardinals baseball team played inside. Someone threw a rock or money, we're not sure which, from atop the stadium and sure enough it hit me right in the head. Immediately I started crying and felt blood gushing from my head. I did get to go into the stadium and get bandaged up so that was swell.

3. The Ozarks - I'm not even sure what the hell the Ozarks are I just know it sucked. Once again we drove. Oh but this time we rode in style. My grandparents R.V. As if that wasn't bad enough, my dad had heard that this place was great for trout fishing. So every morning at 5 am my dad and older brother would get up and go trout fishing. I went the first time with hopes and dreams of bringing back the big one. Except we didn't. We didn't catch a damn thing. For hours and hours. And if that wasn't bad enough, my dad would shame me into going each morning by saying "you going with us, or staying here with the Girls''. This is why I hate fishing.

2. Connecticut - Now truth be told Connecticut maybe should be higher on the list because I was pretty young and don't remember much of it, but what I do remember sucked. I guess that's why I chose to put it at number 2. A vacation should be full of good memories not things you try to erase from your brain. Now for some reason my Dad was already in Connecticut so my mom, brother, sister and I were to take the train to meet him. Except when our train was pulling into the station in St. Louis our connecting train to Connecticut was already pulling out. So we missed it. We then had to take a Greyhound Bus from StL to Conn. Then when we got there, again we stayed with friends, which means the baby can just sleep on the floor.

1. Hot Springs Arkansas. -The all time worst vacation in the history of vacations. Sorry mom and dad, that 10 hour drive in the back seat of a 1978 Chevy Chevet to Hot Springs Arkansas just didn't do it for me. Maybe it was the fact that I had to ride back there with my two older, more miserable than I was, siblings.

Or maybe it was because we stayed in a timeshare in the middle of nowhere with absolutely nothing to do. No pool, no beach. No fun. My mom went to a grocery store and cooked dinner for us for crying out loud. We drove 10 hours in a cramped car to go to a town that sucked worst than the one we just left. We went there because my parents were looking to buy some land in the area. So not only did we drive ten hours to get there, but one of the days we went with a realtor driving around looking vacant lots for sale. Whoppie...

God love 'em my parents sucked at planning vacations.

Why I hate Tom Brady...

Yeah, yeah, everybody knows who Tom Brady is. The GQ cover boy of the NFL. The star quarterback with the model wife, blah blah blah. But let me be real honest here.....I loathe him. Now I could post all the million reasons why I don't like him like, because he's from Michigan University, he's won multiple Super Bowls, he's beat the Colts in the playoffs, and that ridiculous chin dimple. But I won't.

No today's rant is about him being selfish. Here's the thing. This past weekend the Patriots played the Bengals in Cincinnati. Coming into this game Tom Terrific had a streak of at least one touchdown pass in his last 52 games. In other words, for the last 52 games Mr. Perfect threw a touchdown pass, inching his way closer to the all time record for most consecutive games with at least one touchdown pass. But last Sunday it was not to be. Now I give credit to the Bengals defense, they played a great game. But here's reason # 1 million and 1 of why I hate Tommy.

With his team trailing 13-6 late in the fourth quarter the Patriots found themselves with a first down from the 1 yard line. The Patriots tried on first down to run the football across the goal line with no success. So on the next three attempts the man with the million dollar right arm attempted a pass. All three failed and the Patriots lost the game.

Now, from the outside looking in I can only speculate as to what it looked like, but to me, it looked like the Patriots, made every effort to keep the Golden Boy's touchdown streak alive rather than actually playing to win the game. HELLO, YOU PLAY TO WIN THE GAME (Herm Edwards). I mean, my drunk mother could fall forward for a 1-yard touchdown. How's about the Ol' Quarterback Sneak you douche-canoe.  

So why is that selfish you ask? Well I'd like to say because Team first, yada, yada, yada and all the stuff the athletes say, but more importantly because he's on my Fantasy Football team and he only got me 3 points this week. Thanks a lot TOM. Just another reason to keep on hating you.

Fatlips, Farts, and F-Bombs.....

Hey Lifers, welcome back. I know it's been awhile so lets get right to it.

We finished up the baseball All-Star season here at the Palace. The boy really loved playing toward the end of the season and was a little disappointed that it had to end. This even after he took a pop fly off his grill that left him looking like this.

He was pretty tough about it though, and only cried a little bit even with a lot of blood. I think it hurt me and his mom just as much as it hurt him. 

Speaking of getting hurt. I learned recently that you are not allowed to fart in Target. Not that I would or anything, and I'm still sticking to my theory that it was one of the clowns and they just didn't want to confess. But once the DW caught wind of it you would have thought we were caught spray painting nudie pictures in the school hallway. Not that I'd do that either, but man did we receive a stern talking to. Apparently those types of shenanigans should be saved for Wall-Mart, not Target. Who knew? It didn't really matter to me because I just wanted to get  home and watch the Notre Dame game anyway.

Speaking of Notre Dame, yes we're only four games in and already I'm filled with disappointment. I mentioned on the eve of the season, on Facebook, that it was because of my uncle that I was such a big fan of the Fighting Irish, so I should probably blame him for my Facebook tirade after the loss to Michigan right? Yeeeaaah, I had one of those moments when a "friend" posted something about Michigan won, and blah, blah, blah, BS, BS, BS. And I may have snapped a bit with a few F-bombs, insulted his mom, called his dad a cross dresser and threatened to burn his house down. OK, I didn't really go that far, but it wasn't one of my better moments. 

Speaking of not one of my better moments. In an effort to lose a little weight and get back into shape, I've been doing a little running and stretching in the last couple of weeks. Nothing to extreme, but you have to start somewhere right? So this morning as I was stretching my legs, I pulled something in my upper calf and have been in pain all day. Now I ask you, who hurts themselves stretching? I mean aren't you supposed to pull something while your exercising? Bench pressing 400 pounds or legging out the last mile of your 15 bizzillion k? Not getting ready to. And here's the thing, I wasn't even getting ready to do anything, I was just stretching to stretch. WTH?

 

All in a Day in the Life....

I Almost Cried...

I hope you have a son who acts just like you when you grow up.

I can not tell you how many times I heard this from my mother when I was a teenager. Little did I know she actually had the power to speak directly with God to make it happen. 

Getting Hit

I was destined to be great. It was my dream. Nothing could stop me, that is until I caught a baseball in my chest off the bat of Patrick Sullivan. I remember the pain that shot through my little body. I had never felt that type of pain in my seven years of life. I struggled to breathe, and despite the feeling that my chest had collapsed, I picked up the ball and threw it to first base half-hearted. Coaches ran to my side to make sure I was OK. I almost cried. Tears welled up in my eyes and my bottom lip started to quiver. Taking deep breaths I attempted to gain my composure. Soon the pain of that baseball bouncing off my chest would leave my body and take with it my dream of ever becoming a big league star. 

I played baseball the following season, but the pitches were faster, and balls hit harder and I feared more than anything, of getting hit again. It wasn't long after that I hung up my cleats for a while. I was no longer confident. 

Confidence is Key

Confidence is hard for me to teach my son. Maybe because of my own insecurities, both growing up and now, but I think it's important. Self confident people are more likely to stand up for what they believe in. They're more likely to take risks to achieve goals, and not get stuck in a comfort zone fearing failure.

Some thirty years later I stand on a  dusty baseball diamond and see a little boy who lacks confidence, and fears my same pain. My mothers' wish had come true, although I don't believe this is what she had in mind. He too caught one in the chest a few weeks ago and has been scared every since. He continues to play the game but struggles with confidence now that the pitches are faster and hits are harder, and I hate this for him.  

It's For the Kids

I'm beginning to wonder if youth sports are really for the kids as they say. Or were they created for overbearing parents? I want my son to play and excel at sports I won't lie. I want to see the smirk on his face as he runs down the court after scoring a basket, or watch his eyes light up at the crack of his bat. I want these things for him. Because he gets joy from them, and they build his confidence. But, it's also because he's my son and I want him to be as great as I thought I could have been. I want him to conquer my fears. 

I almost cried

It's hard to see the ones we care so much about hurt. Sitting in an empty dugout I have to tell him he won't be playing in this game. Not because he's defiant, a bad teammate or doesn't listen to his coaches. Not because he's late or misses practice or broke team rules. No, it's because he lacks the confidence to be great. Because the kids in front of him are playing better right now and only so many kids can play at a time. I  kneel down and speak only to him. My eyes meet his, and I speak in a low voice so that only he can hear me. I know it's going to hurt just as much, if not more, than when that ball hit him. Upon hearing the news I see his eyes well up with tears and his bottom lip starts to quiver as he looks down to the ground. I almost cried. I explain to him that we have more kids than positions available and sometimes we have to sit the bench. He struggles to understand the reasoning and mumbles under his breath about how it's not fair. He fights back tears. I fight back tears. 

There's no Crying in Baseball

Tom Hanks said in the movie A League of Their Own, that there's no crying in baseball. But try telling that to a parent who has to watch their child strike out, or not get to play, or gets hurt during a game. At the end of the day I get that it's just baseball, and there will be many more heartaches down the road. I get that there are far more bigger problems in the world. But he's my boy and he's destined for greatness. 

What does Monsters University, Despicable Me 2, and Hostage have in common????

So have you seen the preview for this new movie Hostage? Check out this picture. Pretty creepy huh? The plot summary is "A man deals with the personal tragedy of his family's death by living at the vacation cabin that they last stayed at. He soon discovers he's not alone." You can go check out the trailer if you'd like.









So what does Monsters University, Despicable Me 2, and this movie Hostage have in common?

Absolutely nothing. Which is exactly why the DW can't understand why the local theater would run this trailer right before watching these two family friendly movies. On two separate days mind you. 

I gotta say, epic fail Regal Entertainment and Great Escape Movie Theater. Please expect a call soon from my DW, and she's not happy.

Chicken F'ing Nuggets..

Since I became a father there's been one thing that has been consistent in my life.

Chicken F'ing Nuggets.

Chicken strips, chicken nuggets, popcorn chicken. It's all the same, and over the last ten years, they have become a staple in my house. 

As you know, when you become a parent there are certain things you concede. Things like privacy, burning the midnight oil, and sports cars. Most of these things you give up without much of a fight. Then one day, as your child is running from the bathroom screaming your butt cheeks are so pale after he catches you changing, you wonder, how did it come to this? 

I have the luxury of coming home on my lunch hour. So today I sent my DW a text and asked her what we had to eat. She replied and said that she had bought some Tyson  popcorn chicken at the store the other day.

Here's the thing. I'll give up the occasional being made fun off by the clowns because my butt is white. Or not being able to poop alone without getting asked which basketball player is my favorite or even going to bed at  ten o' clock because I'm actually tired, but I'll be dammed if I'm gonna eat one more Chicken F'ing Nugget.

Eventually a guy has to take a stand.  

It's all in how you look at it.....

Life is all about perspective. I'm learning this valuable lesson these last few weeks.

Yesterday I flossed after lunch with a piece of elastic from my sock. You see I had just finished eating a pork chop, and realized I had some stuck in my teeth. I tried using the corner of a granola bar wrapper, but it wouldn't budge. I searched for something, anything close by, but nothing would work. Then it hit me. Pull some elastic from your sock...brilliant. It worked like a charm. Oh sure you laugh because I used sock elastic for floss. But I say it's all about perspective. You see, I didn't go back to work with pork chop stuck in my teeth now did I.

For the last week or so, I haven't been able to get my lawn mower to run. A little piece of my soul dies with each day I'm unsuccessful working on my mower. Not because I love to have a finely manicured lawn, but because I know I don't have the funds to just go buy a new one. So I put my blood, sweat and tears into that POS every summer. And unfortunately no matter how many times I might use his name if vain, yeah, sorry about that God, my lawn doesn't stop growing just because my mower is a piece of crap. But today. Today I got it to run. Something is still not quite right with it because every time I turn left it wants to quite running, but hey, I figured out a way to just always turn right...Bam.

Last week my baseball team beat the previously undefeated Reds. I was on cloud nine. I couldn't have been happier for my team and for my two clowns. The Reds are a very good team, but on this day, we were better. I really felt like we had turned the corner and they were actually understanding the game of baseball. Then last night we got clobbered in our tournament. I had kids asking me after the first inning; are we done yet? They were playing in the dirt not paying attention, they had to go pee every couple minutes, and they were generally disinterested. I was disappointed at the end of the game but didn't let it show as I talked to the kids. As I was telling them how proud I was of each one of them for this past year, and how hard they played and how good we became at hitting the ball, the youngest kid on the team, with a grin from ear to ear reminded me that she got her first and only hit on this night. And as we we were leaving that same little girl gave me a big hug before she left. Sure we finished 3rd in a three team league, but they had fun,

Sometimes in life it's all in how you look at it.

Fast Forward...

Well as usual I've been blogging like crazy lately. Let's see, I blogged about growing some stones, my grandparents, and it being that time of the month. I blogged about faith, being a baseball coach, and George Costanza. But since I haven't published anything in forever, you missed out on all the cool ish going on inside my head. So let me recap.

Growing some stones

I'm to nice. It's not like I let people walk all over me, but most of the time, I bite my tongue and don't say what I really want to. Only to later wish I had. In short, I need to grow some stones.  I need to be more assertive and not let people dictate my actions.

My Grandparents

I didn't really know any of my grandparents growing up, and they passed before I had a chance to get to really know them. I'm glad my clowns have awesome grandparents. My parents, as well as my DW's, are awesome for and with our clowns, and I'm so grateful for them. I hope my clowns appreciate it. 

Time of the month

The other day while passing my cubical, a lady co-worker suddenly stops in her tracks and shouts, does anyone have any chocolate? Seriously lady? Hey why don't you just wear a t-shirt with a cool iron-on that says Bleeding Vag Coming Soon. C'mon man.

Faith

I struggle to post anything about my faith, or lack there of, but I find myself blogging about it frequently. I ask a lot of questions. I pose what if scenarios. I never post them though. Maybe deep down I don't want to know the answers? I don't know, maybe it's therapeutic just getting my thoughts out.

Being a Coach

I've learned that I love being a coach. I'm proud of the kids when they play well. I'm happy for my team when we win, and it hurts deeply when we loose. I find myself thinking about individual kids and how to help them get better. More importantly I enjoy teaching them life lessons through sports. I remember every coach I ever had throughout my childhood, and one in particular stands out from the rest. I want to be that coach to some kid.

George Costanza

Daily something happens in my life that I relate to the 90's t.v show Seinfeld. You know the show about nothing. About a month or so ago I stumbled upon the executive bathroom at work. I'm sure you know where this is going. It's clean, well lit, has a full length mirror, and did I mention it's clean. So anyway, there's no rules in the employee handbook that says pee-ons like me can't use that bathroom, I know, I checked. So now I use it all the time. What's the worse that can happen, right? 

So there you have all my latest unpublished posts in a nut shell.

J-Tony

Doing Drugs and Kissin' with Tongue...

I think that one of the biggest responsibility of a dad is being able to teach. My father was and is a great provider, but let's just say he was a little light in the teaching department. Oh sure he had his ways, you know like slappin' the shit out of you when you messed up. But that was after the fact. He didn't exactly teach as we went along.

I try to make it a point to teach my kids. To talk to them about life and the decisions we make along the way. 

Growing up and doing drugs

This past weekend I had to run out to get gas for the lawnmower so the oldest clown went with me. It's about a 15 minute drive into town, and I figured it was a perfect opportunity to talk.  No not The Talk, God No. I just mean a time to talk just the two of us.

She's finishing up the fifth grade, and knows way more than I did at her age. She's smart, and beautiful, and it won't be much longer before the pressures of school start to creep into her daily life.

We talked about the pressures kids face in school. Mostly about doing drugs and trying to be popular, things like that. My biggest fear in life, along with spiders, is for one of my clowns to get caught up in drugs. It happens. It happens to good kids with great parents, and great childhoods. And it scares me to death. So we talked about it. Then we took the long way home so we could rock out to some J.T on the radio. Hey, I like a little Suite & Tie, every now and then.

Kissin' with Tongue

We took the clowns out to hunt some mushrooms this past weekend. It was nice out, and while we didn't have much luck with the mushrooms we did have a nice day as a family doing something together. No ipods, no earbuds, and nothing plugged in. Just us and the woods. At one point while the  boy and I were waiting on the ladies to finish in the bathroom he looks over at me and says, Dad, that would be really gross if while you were kissin' somebody, they put their tongue in your mouth.

Father Knows Best

 I love being a dad. I love having conversations, real conversations with my clowns.

With my oldest I told her the truth. How it won't be long until her friends are trying drugs to impress people; boys. And how she would be faced with hard decisions. How I trusted her to make the right choices. How proud of her I was for who she already was, and I knew there was so much more to come. I told her how her mom and I would always be there to help guide her and she could always talk and count on us.

To the boy. I simply told him yes, yes it would be.

Sticks and Stones...

So apparently an Asian lady Hyun Lee, was picking up some pictures at a CVS in southern New Jersey, and whoever was running the register identified her like this on her receipt:

In case you didn't catch it, they identified her as Ching Chong Lee, get it; because she's Asian. OK so apparently Mrs. Lee was so tore up about this "intolerable discrimination" that she is now suing CVS for 1 Miilllion dollars *** Dr. Evil voice

Are you kidding me? A million bucks because somebody put Ching Chong Lee on your receipt? I gotta say, I'm offended that this lady was offended. What ever happen to Sticks and Stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me?

This is exactly what's wrong with society today. Everybody is to sensitive. And seriously a million dollars because Beavis or Butthead called her a name.

Well, I for one say thank you Ching Chong Lee for the rising prices at CVS. Enjoy your Yen or whatever.

Boston

As I watched the events unfold in Boston, obviously my heart hurt. I was reminded yet again of how quickly things can change. People tell us all the time to keep you're loved ones close and safe, and never miss an opportunity to tell them how much you love them. This always holds true.
After seeing the explosions, my thoughts immediately turned to Sandy Hooke Elementary and that horrific act back on December 14, 2012. I didn't blog about that day because I think sometimes words just get in the way in situations like this.

Today I'm saddened and angered by the bombings in Boston. And the shootings last December in Connecticut, 9/11 and the Oklahoma City bombing in '95 and so on and so on. I'm saddened because I know lives were lost and changed forever because of these events. For those of us on the outside looking in the hurt eventually fades away, but for those directly affected I'm sure that hurt never stops. With each new tragedy the memories are rekindled.

I'm angered because I know that all too soon the smoke will clear and America will once again become a divided nation. You see after an event like this we come together like no other country in the world. We stand beside and care for one another in times of tragedy; for about 10 minutes. Oh sure everybody says the right things afterwards. Our thoughts and Prayers are with Boston. But soon our political views take over. We argue about gun control, gay marriage, and the way or where those very prayers should be shared. We argue over wars and who should be the next president. The political agendas of our politicians get in the way, and the fact of the matter is, we're a reactive nation, not a proactive one. It's only after something like this that this nation remembers the last tragedy.

I hope it's not the next event that brings us together and reminds us of Boston.

It's not me, It's you...

I'd be as skinny as a super model; I'd be rail thin.

These are the words that came out of my 10 year old daughters mouth the other day while we were eating lunch. I don't remember exactly what led up to her saying this, but it had to do with eating, or maybe not eating.

My guess is this is not the first time my daughter has thought of herself as less than skinny. Or saw herself as less than perfect. Now of course the DW jumped right on it and explained to her that she was skinny as a rail, and that she was perfect just the way she was.

For years I've read or heard women complaining about the Barbie image that men want. They say it's us men who expect the size zero with the large breast. It's us men who drive the image of what a woman should look like. It's us men creating an unattainable figure.

But the truth is ladies. It's not us, its you.

That's right. It's you women constantly talking about being fat that our young ladies hear. It's you mothers, and wives who I hear weekly if not daily complaining about this or that being to big. It's you who paint the picture of what makes a women. My guess is my daughter hears it too.

Look ladies, I get that you want to eat better or loose a few pounds, or just want to be healthier in general. That's great.  

But you're a guy it's different.

Sure it's different. The difference is I don't let it bother me. I don't have this imaginary figure in my head of what I should look like. It doesn't determine who I am. I don't feel like I have to achieve this perfect image.

But you're skinny.

You're right. I am skinny by most standards. But I don't look the way I did when I was 25 either. Things change. Life changes. Having six pack abs doesn't make me a better man any more than being a size smaller makes you a better woman.  
.
But I've gained 20 pounds since the baby.

Big deal. Unless you have health risks, big deal. Your husband still loves you, your child loves you, your parents love you. Now you start loving you.

My point is this. It's hard to be a father of two girls in this day and age. Two girls who are no doubt going to have their fair share of insecurities along they way. All I'm saying is, I could sure use your help.

 

Put me in Coach....

So last month a couple of my clowns decided they wanted to sign up for baseball this year. So I signed them up, and on the sign up sheet that says would you be willing to help out, I checked yes.

I'll let you in on a little secret. When they ask you if you'd like to help out , that's really code for you're going to be the coach. I've now experienced this twice in the last three months for two different sports, so I'm pretty sure it's a rule or something.

Don't get me wrong, I wanted to be involved in some capacity with my kids' team. What I had in mind was to yell from the sidelines, and then when I feel like my kids aren't getting the playing time they deserve, I chastise the coach. You know, something like that.

So anyway, I'm now the coach of my son and daughter's baseball team. I've got 13 kids. Boy's and girls ranging from 5 to 8 in age. No big deal right?

Last week we had our first practice. It was a little Helter Skelter out on the field, and I'll admit I should have been a little more prepared. After practice one of the mothers grabs me and wants to talk. Ok sure. So she asks me questions like how many kids do we have, in case she wants to bring juice boxes or something. Would I call if practice was cancelled, and how long will they typically last.  I chalk them all up as simple mom questions. No harm in that. And maybe something I should have addressed from the beginning. Then she throws me a curve ball and says, So I noticed there was a lot of standing around, to which I explain, yeah it's baseball, that happens from time to time. Then she comes back with, so how are we going to keep the kids engaged?

What?? Um, OK lady.

So I get back to the car and tell the DW about this lady and her Keep the Kids Engaged comment, and immediately the DW goes into Al Pacino, Scarface mode as if somebody has just gone against the family, and she's ready to put a horse head in this lady's bed.

Now according to the DW this lady was chastising my coaching skills. Ok first, that was supposed to be my job. And second, WTH lady. It's the first practice of the year? In fact its the first baseball practice of my life as a coach. Cut me some slack.

I should have let her know that I'm only one coach, and she's welcome, in fact encouraged, to come out onto the field and help me out. But I didn't. In fact, I didn't really think anything of her comment until the DW started singing Pink, Na na na na na na na we're gonna gettn' a fight.

So anyway, I got a feeling this one's gonna be difficult. Wish me Luck.

March Madness...

So this past weekend was one of my favorite weekends of the year. It was the opening weekend of the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament, more commonly referred to as March Madness.

This past weekend is my favorite for a few different reasons. Typically it's around St. Patrick's Day, I know it was a little later this year, but whatever. So there's beer to be consumed and St. Patrick's day along with basketball games, provide a good excuse to drink. For me, the tournament also represents the arrival of Spring, even though we had snow on the ground yesterday. And each year, here at the Palace we fill out our brackets for house bragging rights.

But maybe more than anything else this past weekend reminded us of hope, and what it's like to live in the moment.

Every year a little unknown team takes on the big boys and captures our heart with their display of brotherhood, or what it's like to be a true team. They give us hope by showing us that anything is possible even when others say it can't be done, or we can't win. And with each tournament win by the Florida Gulf Coasts of the world we see the youth of America dancing and celebrating, living in the moment, knowing they just slayed the giant.

And every year,  it reminds me that I suck at pickin' the winners.

So, how's your bracket?

 

Earning Extra Credit...

So this time of year you can't turn on the t.v or listen to the radio without hearing or seeing a commercial for a jewelry store or florist. That's right it's Valentine's Day. 

Valentine's Day is the worst. You see, you have all these hundreds of thousands of dollars being spent by businesses like Jared and Pro Flowers on advertising in hopes of luring me and every other male over the age of 16 into purchasing something to profess our love. I get that from a business standpoint. And that's fine. Let 'em. Let them duke it out over teddy bears and if every kiss does indeed begin with Kay.

What doesn't make sense for me is that for us guys, we've already professed our love. Remember when we said, to have and to hold from this day forward, till death do us part, yada, yada, yada? At that point, weren't we good? Wasn't that me professing my love? I mean, I said I do. I didn't say sure. Or whatev. I said yes. I do.

But somebody out there decided that even though I said, I do, even though I said in sickness and in health, that's not good enough. Because on February 14th, I have to do more. It's like my usual love isn't good enough. I've got to earn extra credit. You know by spending the same amount of money I spend on feeding my entire family for a month on professing my love....again.

So all those times I went shopping with you and stood outside the dressing room while you tried on 100 outfits doesn't count for something?

Nope. Need flowers.

How about the little surprises throughout the year. Like the unexpected diet coke, or good morning beautiful text when you wake up.  Doesn't that count? 

Nope. Must have chocolate.

What about all the bumps in the night that I get up for, or always greeting you at night so you don't have to walk alone in the dark?

Nope. Need candy.

I don't get it. And don't tell me that it's not just a day for women it's for lovers. Paa-lease. You don't hear commercials from Home Depot telling her nothing tells him you love him like a new lawn mower, or stubhub offering 20% off tickets to the game and a teddy bear if you order before 4pm.

Well, better get going. I've got a card to make.....


Tell me your thoughts on Valentine's Day.

It's All in How You Look at It....

I'm at the head of the table. My demeanor reminds me of my dad. The way I sit. Eat. The way I hold my fork. I sit and listen to stories of the day gone by. Stories about school. Stories of sick clowns and doctors visits. I listen but only slightly as my mind roams. I think about her. I think about the years past, and our time together. My thoughts are interrupted by a constant dad, dad, dad, and a tug on my arm. I snap back to reality.

In between bites I watch them. They play with their food and despite my efforts to get him to lean over his plate, he drop more on the floor than he actually eats. Something I'm sure the dog appreciates more than I do. Soon I'm thinking about other things again. The dishes in the sink. The laundry that piles up. The bills, my job and the upcoming weekend. I see her across the table, and I smile. Man I'm lucky.

J-Tony

Happy New Year

Happy new year Lifers.

Yeah, yeah I know I'm late, so what. Something happened to me while on my way to being ordinary-dad-who-becomes-famous-because-of-his-awesome-blog. Real life got in the way. Well, that and the fact that I don't have an awesome blog, but these are minor details.

So because I know you're just dying to know, I'll give you the cliff notes version of some of the posts I didn't publish over the past month or so. Here goes.

Lance Armstrong is a douche. Yeah I've thought about this one for awhile. I know there are those who say the ends justify the means, but c'mon. Not only did he cheat and benefit from it for years, but he trashed people along the way. Crushed and ruined people. And why now make a public statement after years of lying? Why? Once again for his own benefit. I say he's a douche.

On another note. My beloved Notre Dame Fightin' Irish got throttled in the college football championship game back at the first of the year. C'mon ND. I waited 25 years for that? Well I guess on the bright side, at least they made it to the championship, and their future does looks bright. So I'll take it.

Speaking of Notre Dame, did you hear about the player who had an imaginary girlfriend? Hey here's an idea, how about you prepare for a championship game instead of making up stories of hot chicks wanting you.

Speaking of hot chicks, the DW bought a new t.v recently. I say she bought it because she did all the leg work. We'd needed one for a while but I just didn't want to spend the money. Yeah that's right, I'm a tight ass. Besides it still worked, sort of. I guess a lady can only watch McDreamy for so long on a crappy t.v before she snaps. So we joined the 21st century and purchased a big 'ol flat screen.

Speaking of joining the club, I've discovered Pinterest. Now I know its mainly a site for you chicks to share recipes, or cleaning secrets, and talk about how to get that flat tummy, which is overrated by the way, but there's also some awesome do it yourself projects on there that I think are pretty cool. And besides, who knew you could make chalk board paint? 

Speaking of who knew. Who knew that signing up to help your kids basketball team would lead you to being the coach. The only coach. But apparently in a church basketball league it does. So yep you guessed it, this guy is now coaching his son's basketball team. Just call me Buttermaker.

And there you have the last month or so of A Day in the Life.

J-Tony