thoughts with no rhythm

I'm alone and I need to write.

If someone were to approach me in the future and offer me a million dollars to relive this weekend so far I'd have to hurt them.

A character flaw in my DNA needs to find the levity or fun in very serious situations and this weekend has been a satire of sorts indeed.

This flaw can be annoying to others and I have worked to suppress it with little success but I realize it has kept me from folding like a lawn chair during intense situations.

There was nothing fun with the news that came forth at about 5:30 on Friday night.

I am glad and thankful to know I am human.

Distance blurs communication.

Pending updates via phone are difficult to wait for.

Sue - you are the best.

I am thankful for Mark. A strong voice of reason.

I am thankful for Laura. A speedy traveler.

Kyle Bergin - you are the man.

Janet - your email worked wonders.

our first crop is down in the ground, baby!

Today we roped off our square foot garden into 21" x 19" blocks. I know this measurement isn't a square foot so please spare me any corrections from the millions of square foot gardening purists who read me.

According to the gardening calendar, peas and onions can go in now... so in they went. This has been a very satisfying quest thus far and I cannot even imagine what it will feel like when these crops come to fruition and I'm plucking sugar snap peas right off the vine and eating them... in my own backyard!

Any tips and/or advice is greatly appreciated. We've been researching online but welcome testimony as to what works and what doesn't. Stuff like what crops shouldn't go next to each other and so on.

Question: A guy at work told me he planted hot peppers next to tomatoes and the tomatoes came up spicy. Is this bull**** or what?






Oh don't you worry little onions, your neighbors are on their way.

let's get organic

The raised garden I planned, researched and built is finished. It was a lot more work than I thought it was going to be. Good thing I had my handy little garden expert Eric to help me. Sue is now an official "square foot gardener." Have fun Sue!

all night security

Here we go again.

Everyone's in bed.
I can't sleep.
Because I'm working nights this month.
And I can't sleep at night when I'm off from work.

So I'll be security tonight.
On watch.
For monsters.
For criminals.

Going to find something quiet to do.

Maybe I'll pay some bills at the kitchen table.
Don't have many.
Paid most of them last night.

Maybe I'll watch some movies.
Mostly just the ends of movies.
Finish one, flip the channel.
This one looks good.
But it's halfway through.
Watch it, flip. Watch it, flip.

I'm not with society right now.
12 hours behind everyone.

The cats are in their place.
Rex on the couch.
Thor on the red chair.
Rex is snoring loudly.
Just like last night.

Maybe I'll get on the computer.
To do a search.
I have to find some stuff.
To finish the raised garden tomorrow.
For my wife.

Maybe I'll be lost in thought.
About productive daylight.
Or knowing my kids.
Or watching them grow.
Or giving Sue a hand.
With her daily job.

It's a grind.
This all night security gig.
The hours are long.
The hours are lonely.
The hours are hard.

It is my job.

And I love it.

never ever do this

I am begging you to never ever play I SPY with a hopped-up four year old at night in a car. There are many other things a family can do for entertainment. Obviously I SPY was a big mistake on my part and I rank it after ripping one's own fingernails out with pliers on the enjoyment meter.

Happy Passover and Happy Easter to all.

1st real haircut

Eric sat in a barber's chair for the first time when he turned one. He screamed bloody murder. Our youngest, Evan, didn't make it there until 17 months (besides a bangs trim here and there). He was very patient and didn't mind it one bit.

Sue had a hard time letting go of Evan's beautiful curly mullet. I on the other hand could no longer deal with strangers referring to Evan as "her" or "she." Something had to be done for the sake of manhood. Here you go:

what a sucka I am

Well fans, it appears I've been duped. What I thought was a good move (dumping Comcast) turns out to be quite the contrary. Unless you look at the money saving part. That part of the deal is still intact.

I am only half happy now unlike yesterday when I was stupiridiculously happy.

I did not get what I wanted. The DirectTV salesperson (let's not be shy about it) LIED to my ear (we were on the phone).

One frickin' channel. That's all I cared about.

I don't care about:

• Comcast Sportsnet Bay Area
• Comcast Sportsnet Chicago
• Comcast Sportsnet New England
• Comcast Sportsnet New York
• Comcast Sportsnet Mid-Atlantic (Washington DC)

I do care about: Comcast Sportsnet Philly

Boy, I screwed up real bad.

Note to Comcast Sportsnet Philly:

I'm sorry I left you. What a fool I am! I will return I promise. Please do what you can to let the Phillies and Sixers and Flyers have awesome championship seasons. I will be watching from afar, mostly on the 11pm news highlights. I will come back to you and never let go again, after my effing 2 year agreement with DirectTV is up and I rip this dog-humping hunk of metal off the side of my house. I am sending my love, to keep you warm and snuggly.

Joe

Later today DirectTV is getting a phone call. Lock your doors and windows. It's gonna get ugly.

for love OF wallet

I'm happy at this moment. There is a brand spanking new DirectTV dish being attached to the side of my house right now. It's kind of sexy.

I am keeping comcast internet service but have decided to drop cable TV. Comcast makes me mad on many levels. First of all, I am sick and tired of sending them over two benjamins a month for, in my honest opinion, a subpar channel selection and internet that isn't even close to speeds that they advertise. Secondly, they docked their key employees, people I like to call "runts" (the technicians) a 100 bucks a paycheck. All this coupled with the fact that they have the tallest, most obscene brand new skyscraper dominating the Philly skyline makes me really ill. I will keep the internet as a gesture of good will towards the many technicians (runts)I've had visit my house to fix a problem or install equipment. These people always performed service with a smile and treated my home with respect.

This is a leap of faith on my part. I have heard horror stories about DirectTV. But, in the end a change was in order and change is sometimes tough. With savings of $100 a month I think I'll live. I'll keep you posted.

earning my wings

A new counter is running on the site. It says countdown to Tampa but it might as well read countdown to complete nervous breakdown or countdown to massive involuntary bowel movement episode. A group of regulars, including myself, are going on our annual get-outta-Dodge golf trip. And we are flying. In a plane.

I am not a big fan of flying.

My wife is growing tired of my daily questions:
Sue? Am I going to be alright? Yes Joe, you'll be fine.
Sue? You don't mind flying, right? No Joe. I don't mind flying. You'll be fine.
Sue? The maintenance guys are going to tighten all the nuts and bolts, right? Yes Joe, they are the best mechanical guys around. They don't let those birds off the ground unless those bolts are torqued to specification. You'll be fine.

I hate when people say air travel is much safer than getting in your car. Phooey. In my book, if the unspeakable happens in a car, it is much better than the realization of your impending doom while nosediving for 3 minutes from 30,000 feet. Excuse me? Do you have any paper? I need to chicken scratch a message to my family.

I've flown before or maybe I didn't; I'll explain later. I'll admit, when we are cruising on the runway and the engines are thrown to full power for lift-off, it's a thrilling and powerful experience. But what I hate the most is the initial almost vertical climb to altitude. You see, in my head, flying completely disregards logic. How can a 500 ton piece of metal even get off the ground? And then sustain flight? It's magic, I'm tellin' ya. Smoke and mirrors. That's not jet-lag you feel after a flight, thats the feeling of all your body's cells getting glued back together after getting warped Star Trek style from one place to another. And I don't want to hear about your Mile High Club experience. That was simply a wet-dream warp proven by the best conspiracy theorists the world has to offer. Also, please don't try to explain the physics behind this magic. Lift, drag and rotation is helicopters. I'm no dummy. Thrust? Suuuure. I also find it offensive when a plane goes down and all the expert investigators are scratching their heads as to why. I know why. It's because flying is illogical. If mankind was meant to fly we would've been born with yada yada yada.

Driving to Tampa would be a 20-22 hour trip. Flying is about two. That's a big time difference. When I committed to flying with our golf group, I didn't give it much thought. Now I think about it everyday. Before my flight I think I'll indulge in a little self-medication at the airport lounge. Or maybe I'll have my brother Mark shoot me with a rhinoceros tranquilizer gun in the parking lot. Or maybe I shouldn't do any of these things. I need to retain my status as the cool old guy within my circle of golf trip buddies. I have to keep it together on that illogically large airborne cylindrical tube of uncertainty because I don't want to be the butt of jokes for years to come. I'm just wondering but do you think they'll notice if I'm wearing a Depends?

Uh Sue? Why don't they make planes with tops that pop open and seats that eject with parachutes in cases of extreme emergency? For the love of God Joe! Grow a sack and get on the damn plane!

Ok Sue. You got it. I'll do my best because I'm a big boy and I wear big boy pants. But if anyone reading this sees me at the grocery store on May 5th buying adult diapers, keep me in your thoughts and keep the diaper thing to yourself. On a wing and a prayer, I'll return. Hopefully.

two weeks of heaven

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled prime time programming (and some afternoon soap opera time) for the absolute greatest event in sports. I'm talking about The NCAA Basketball Tournament. If you're looking for soul-stirring drama where David has the chance to take down Goliath, look no further.

So sit down, crack a beer and enjoy March Madness with me. You'll love it!

A taste: buzzer beater!

crazy legs

Eric, I.. am your.... father

I'd like to revisit a theme I used from my very first blog post over a month ago. I had talked about "significant moments" that we as dads experience from time to time when dealing with our kids. These moments of significance happen to us all. I'm not sure we as parents recognize all of them; some may fall through the cracks without any reflection whatsoever. Well one happened last night. The gravity of the moment was simple in nature, but the significance of it empowered me with the will to go toe-to-toe with Mike Tyson in a 12 round title bout. Maybe we can scale that back a bit. Let's say tickle contest.

I will try to set the scene best I can.

Sue usually puts Eric to bed and reads a book or two before he drifts off. Evan, our youngest wasn't feeling the whole bedtime vibe at that moment and was being especially difficult so Sue thankfully opted to deal with him instead. So I was last night's book reader.

Walter the Baker was the choice and I found myself enthralled by the story. It's just a story about a baker and an unreasonable king who was really ticked off at the baker because the baker's cat spilled the baker's milk so he had to make the king rolls with water instead of milk and the king wanted to throw him out of town because the rolls sucked but the baker pleaded and the king relented and issued a challenge to come up with the most ridiculously awesome roll by tomorrow or else so the baker accidentally invented pretzels and the king loved them so they all partied in the street like mardi-gras with beads and alcohol and wet white t-shirts. The only thing Eric cared about is why the king had a dog.

When I read Eric bed time books I lay in bed with him flat on my back with the book on my chest. Eric snuggles next to me with his head on my shoulder. When the book was done there was a moment of silence but I didn't look his way for fear of jarring him awake in case he was already asleep. I let another minute pass and gave him a glance. I was surprised to see him staring blankly into my eyes. I softly said "Night night I love you buddy" and his eyes slowly closed while he replied "I love you too, daddy" and he was out like a light, cuttin' logs.

I am finding it hard to describe how I felt at that moment. I mean everybody's kids tell them they love them. There was just some kind of significance there that I immediately recognized and will cherish probably forever. A confirmation or affirmation that I am dad and he feels safe and secure.

I'd like to re-neg on the whole Mike Tyson bit. I would easily win a tickle contest. Did you ever see Castaway? With Tom Hanks? There is a part in that movie where Tom struggles to make fire. Finally after many cold nights with no success and on the verge of giving up, he does it. The euphoria and gratitude for warmth Tom displays is probably the best comparison to how I felt when I got up from Eric's bed.

Paid in full, Eric. Sweet dreams.

(click here if your memory is fuzzy for re-enactment of Castaway scene I found on youtube.)

good news from the carpe diem department

Last week, my brother and I took a trip to see mom in South Carolina. It was planned as an intervention of sorts after we caught wind that mom, who was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer last year, was still smoking. We just wanted to remind her that there's a lot to try and live for since our calls and emails haven't been replied to for quite some time. The last time we saw her in August she was in bad shape with all the chemo and radiation treatments she was going through. We didn't know what to expect or how we were going to be received.

I am happy to report that there were no cigarettes present for the three days we were there. And she looked good too! Last summer she couldn't eat much because her throat burned when she swallowed. That's gone now and her hair and weight are coming back strong.

The really good news came when the phone rang this morning and it was her saying her latest pet scan shows the cancer is all but gone and she is being released from most of her treatments.

I know it's hard to give up a 40 year habit. I am very proud of her strength and hopefully her commitment to stay clear of cigarettes and ultimately be lung cancer free.





Mom pretending to look for shells but actually prowling for studs.

just so I know that you know

Writing posts in a blog is therapeutic. I say therapeutic because there have been many events in the past couple of weeks that have steered my innards in every emotional direction and a little keyboard therapy never hurt anyone. I enjoy the naked translation of turning my thoughts or feelings into words so my audience or followers can understand who I am. Doing this has helped me better understand who I am. I recognize I have a lot to say; I just can't say it. I always thinked I speaked english goodly but I'm constantly at a loss for words when I open my mouth, even if Sue in one way or another tells me to shut-up ten times a day. I am much more comfortable when I write and I'm truly appreciative of the compliments and encouragement to continue that I've received. Thank you from a guy who failed English his senior year in high school.

I am touching base since it's been over two weeks since my last post. Over the next couple days I will expound further about those events that have twisted my innards.

This therapy session is now out of time. Thanks for reading and see you next session.

I can't shake this one...

I read somewhere today that India, an up-and-coming economic superpower, has a major health crisis on it's hands. Of the country's 200 million plus households, only half have toilets. Many deficate openly on the street, in rain water drains, in farmer's crops and even in rivers and creeks.

Cancel that trip to bathe in the Ganges and if you go anyway: DO NOT drink the water.

*click here*

did you see this coming Mr. Gutenberg*?

I realize there are people and families in a far worse situation. Some people in the American workforce have taken pay cuts and restructured their benefit package while sadly some people have lost their jobs and in the end, their means. Truth is, it's not bad for my family because I am still employed and am able to pay the bills. All I have is the fear of losing my job. It's not the fear of losing my job due to bad performance but losing it because society in these new digital times has no use for my product anymore. Where I work, management is starting to take from us to try and meet or exceed budgeted numbers that they themselves presented to their bosses last year. Our six press operation is now a five press operation and 24 souls have been demoted or re-assigned to other areas. I understand. Management never saw this economic storm coming. I remain mostly untouched and feel very fortunate.

The nationwide printing scene is not too healthy right now. With the economy the way it is advertisers are just not investing in print media. Unfortunately, I am a printer. Some say printing is a dying trade. Fortunately, I don't think so. In my 19 years of printing, our industry has been through several rough economic periods and we have always come out on the other side with the sun blazing and our futures bright. Although we have never seen anything of this magnitude before I have no choice but to stay positive and do my part as a company man because the alternative scares last night's dinner out of me.

Something I'll never forget is a conversation I had with our company's VP of Operations 19 years ago concerning the future of the printed word and how long it will last. He told me about a similar conversation he had with a person ten years prior. The person told him that gas-burning engines will be obsolete by 1990. When the VP finished telling me his story he gave me one of those fake 'attaboy' punches to my shoulder, confidently flashed a smirky smile and walked away. I think he winked at me too. Well guess what? In 2008 ExxonMobil made more money than God herself. This, my friends, is my only source of comfort and inner peace. Ok, maybe your wondering what the hell I'm talking about. I suppose I'm trying to convey that there has to be a tomorrow and I must believe in it, whatever it holds. Great. I am now getting cloudy about what I'm trying to say. Hopefully I made my point. (Note: I am currently auditioning new inspirational thought patterns to deal with everyday anxiety. If you got 'em, let's hear 'em. All drugs, pharmaceutical or illegal will be returned to sender. Maybe.)

In the end, do my industry brothers and sisters and most importantly me a favor. Don't take your digital readers, laptops or cell phones into the bathroom when you know the stay will be longer than usual. Take a magazine, newspaper or book with you instead. It's more sanitary and a great save if you're out of toilet paper. Just don't loan me the book later.


*RIP Johannes Gutenberg 1398 - 1468


If anyone actually reads this:
The first one to decode the secret message I have in this post wins five McDonald's dollars. The answer involves how my family is managing day-to-day operations. The ideology of this code will be suspended in early May when I fly to Tampa to participate in a much needed although money igniting golf trip.

his dinner conversation is priceless

Thor waiting patiently for his plate but reaching

his limit.

doing what we can

Eric and I picked up trash across the street today. There are no houses, just some swampland and a lot of over-grown plants with thorns. The whole area is a filter for trash and the occasional moron who never bought into the Give a Hoot: Don't Pollute slogan.

Eric is a real gamer when it comes to helping me and he really goes above and beyond to please. Maybe we can take our civic duty campaign to another level in the future.







"Uh, daddy? How do I get out of here?"

I have a problem

I am addicted to hitting the "next blog" button at the top. The randomness of where it takes you is interesting.

You're probably thinking I should paint a wall or check the air in my tires or even play with my kids. Thanks a lot. Now I'm feeling guilty.

nice days in winter are good for...

...doing a number on the grass. My oldest son thinks he has freedoms that a stellar report card may provide. I assured him bare-butt exhibitionism and urinary landscaping are not part of said freedoms.

Surprise! Happy Birthday!

No question, some critical elements need to transpire in order to have a successful "surprise" birthday party. Commitment from the participants and innocent ignorance from the honoree are two big ones. I am happy to report these elements aligned themselves perfectly on Feb. 7th on my father-in-law's birthday.

Presents of chocolate cigars, jigsaw puzzles, a marinade book and music were graciously accepted but I am sure having everyone there unexpectedly was the best gift of all. The payoff for the organizers was the reaction. And the reaction was priceless.

Thanks to all that could make it for the miles traveled and all the delicious food prepared.




Happy Birthday Dad, Zaida, Jules!

how will I deal?

I can't believe this is happening. She's sick and I feel our time together is short. She's had so many surgeries already. When it's warm she wants to play but when it's cold she won't move. So many years together. So many places and so many memories. The cost is getting too high. My beloved car may soon sputter it's last exhaustive breath.

According to the sticker on the back window, my car rolled off the assembly line and out of an Atlanta Ford car manufacturing plant in May of 1996. She is a third generation Taurus SHO. I know you may be reeling and impressed by the fact that I own such an exquisite machine. A machine that commands respect. There have been many snap-neck-double-takes when I pass by as if the stunned onlookers were saying "was that a... no way, hold it, wait, yeah I can't believe I actually saw one. Wow!" There weren't many made. Her and I were a unique couple.

I knew I had to have her after the initial test drive. The throaty purr of her exhaust coupled with her unlimited engine power and the clarity and amplitude of the mind-numbing six-speaker stereo sealed the deal. I bought her at a Ford dealership in Kutztown, PA. I was going to be the second owner of this beauty. The salesman who sold her to me was the actual owner of the car and there was a seriousness and sadness in his demeanor that reflected his inability to come to terms with his dreaded departure from his machine masterpiece. With tears in his eyes and a frog in his throat he repeatedly asked me if I was sure I could handle the responsibility and respect, honor and embrace the Code of SHO Ownership. I assured him I could and after I signed on the line we had a brief swearing-in-to-the-club ceremony witnessed by the sales manager and an envious customer. I permitted him a private goodbye with his former girlfriend and with a heavy heart he handed me her keys at 7:14 pm on November 15th, 1999. Our love affair had begun.

In the ten years since our initial meeting we have had many experiences together. Many good, few bad. She has made many concessions and even let me wander from the code when my human family expanded which made our economic situation get tighter. She let me replace her z-rated low profile tires for a more affordable and durable set of rubber. It kind of made her look like Stacy Kiebler with fat ankles, but she didn't mind. She let me switch from 93 to 91 octane during the fuel greed-a-thon and didn't complain. She let my brother Mark, who was the best man at my wedding, drive me to my... wedding. She knew I had known Sue much longer than I had known her, but I sensed a little jealousy nontheless.

She was fiercely loyal. One day, I stopped at a local convenience store. The pierced-nose Goth girl behind the counter asked me how a stud like myself could drive such a girly car like a four-door Taurus with a tiny spoiler on the back. A month later I noticed I hadn't seen that Gothy girl in a while. Until I saw that girl's face on a milk carton. She swears she had nothing to do with it. I know nothing.

She got sick about a year ago. The doctors quickly diagnosed a bad transmission, so I forked out the cash to have a new one installed. She was a new lady again and I was happy.

Until one bitterly cold morning three weeks ago. I tried to start her but she just belched and coughed. I tried again with the same result. I asked her what was wrong and she told me her belly hurt. I quickly called all the doctors, specialists and researchers I could find and inquired about our situation. They said there was probably ice in the tank from moisture getting in one way or another. They said I should try again when the weather gets warmer and in the meantime, give her a water-negating additive to help her feel better. And hope for the best.

I didn't know how to give her the news. I tip-toed around for a bit until she had enough and told me to spill it. I told her about the possible hole in her tank and she became distraught. She told me of her dreams to go head-to-head with Dale Jr. at Daytona and dropping the hammer on the German autobahn that may go unfulfilled. All with me at the wheel. I told her I was sorry for not keeping her in the garage. I promised I was going to do all I can to be in her company for as long as I could, within reason. I told her how I loved her passing power and how she looked in her black bra. We cried.

Now all we can do is wait. We are waiting for warmer days and hoping for the best. For love or wallet? The pressure is heart-breaking.

it only gets better

I am sure I speak for all of us dads that there are milestones in a dad's life that have significant meaning. Many months of pregnancy, the birth, going from formula or breast milk to moo milk, that first step, that first word, that first conversation and finally fitting our little ones into "big-boy pants".
Disclaimer: Notice I said dad or dad's. If any mommies happen to read this I assure you I am not selling you short. I know that the pregnancy and birth are much more than significant. What you guys do is beyond amazing and all mommies are held in such high-regard and respected by the author that I am sure your farts smell of butternut ice cream. I bow in reverence.

Ok. Let's get back to a dad's point of view and the whole reason I wanted to sit down and write today. We took our oldest son, Eric, to his first day of school in September for orientation. There, with us in the back of the room I witnessed him sitting at his desk, guarded and meek, squeaking mostly inaudible replies to his new teacher's questions. It was very difficult for me to see him in a withdrawn state. I thought maybe I should come to school with him everyday and explain everything; give him some iron-clad encouragement. I was worried. How could we send him out into the world at three years old without the protective umbrella and oversight of mom and dad?

Sue and I had our very first parent-teacher conference on Jan. 29th. The parent-teacher process at this school is very interesting. We were told to come at 8:45 am and the meeting will last for 15 minutes at which time the next set of parents will come in. So we go, and there we are sitting in a classroom on chairs that are six inches off the floor talking with his two teachers. We learn that Eric is polite and participates, he sings and loves his gym time. The part of Eric's evaluation that struck me the most was a very small comment by the teachers stating that a new boy arrived at school about two months into the year and Eric, along with his best school-mate, let him into their circle of learning and playtime. I am not worried anymore.

I realize now that I wasn't worried about Eric. I was worried about the anxiety I felt of not being able to let go of him for three hours a day, twice a week, to grow intellectually and athletically and actually figure things out for himself. I am pleasantly surprised and proud beyond words.

Thank you Eric for another milestone witnessed. I can't wait for more.



Eric's first report card