The Power of Nature, Numero Uno and Chachie on Drugs

I am still completely in awe over the lightning strike I pseudo-witnessed last Thursday night when the tree in front of my house was pretty much zapped to hell. I doubt I'll ever forget the initial couple of seconds - which felt like an eternity. I am torn between wishing my shades were still up -and being thankful that they were drawn. The initial flash was very bright. The immediate blast of noise that followed shook me (and my house) to the core. It was near-deafening. The red flash that lit up my entire house was beautiful yet completely frightening, and the sparks that fell to the ground looking very much like snow were something that I never thought I'd see. I have heard people try to explain an emotion that has come over them during a storm or time of crisis that "feels like the world is ending". This might be the first time I have experienced that so intensely. My immediate reaction was to run upstairs and get the baby, and to see where on the house the bolt struck. After verifying the house hadn't been hit and the baby was okay (and still asleep - he takes after his Mommy), it became apparent that it was the tree that was hit.

Upon starting my own hockey team in 1997, I knew I wanted a team name and logo that had some oomph. I have always been somewhat of a sissy during thunderstorms, and I liked the power that a lightning bolt symbol represented. I named my team "Shock Treatment", and never looked back. After seeing what lightning can do up-close-and-personal, I have no plans to change the name or the symbol should I take the franchise to another league.

My weekend was relatively uneventful. Friday night went up to Casey's for the first time in forever for the Casey's Berwyn Fantasy Football League draft lottery. I had the #1 pick last year, and was keeping fingers crossed for a top-3 pick this year, preferably 2 or 3. I got my wish, as I was awarded the #1 pick for the second year in a row. Last year, I won my division and made the playoffs in spite of a relatively poor early draft. I am eager to get at it on the 13th and for doing a better job of picking my team. Last year my team was called The Chupacabras. This year I am going with an Italian/Roman theme, and my team will be known as "S.P.Q.R.".

And now a Chachie update. After taking Chach to the vet last week we were told that his dining room-as-urinal policy was purely behavioral. Duh. The vet asked if he was a skittish cat and we told her he was. This was an understatement as Chachie has a propensity for breaking into a full run up the steps if someone exhales upon entering a room. I now have a cat on Valium. A cat on Valium... I have never done drugs, even spurning doctors who wanted to put me on behavior-modification drugs (for my shoulder twitch, etc) for anxiety and now my CAT is medicated. I told my wife that there will be no frappin' animal psychology in my house. If we get to that point, it's time to go in another pet direction. As far as we can tell, there has been no further damage in the dining room - but it is way too early to tell if this is going to alleviate the problem.

[Currently Listening: The Descendents - "Suburban Home"]

Dragging Day, Lit-Up Night

I've been as about as productive today (Thursday) as Condoleezza Rice's Mideast peace talks. My boss isn't in, and neither is my motivation. The car is back in the shop, as it began to make the evil whine that preceded the $500 repair from two weeks ago. I am supposed to be ducking out of work early to meet Kim at the vet so we can find out if there is any hope of getting Chachie to stop using the corner of the dining room as his own personal latrine. Thankfully, I have a hoops game tonight at 10. That will help break the doldrums some. Then again I fully expect my belly to blast me in the face on my first attempt to run down the court.

I did read something that piqued my curiosity somewhat over the past few days, with the lack of coverage on the story somewhat surprising. Earlier this week, the Presidents of Venezuela and Belarus entered into an alliance - aimed at defending one another from "imperialist" forces. Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez has been in the news as a vocal critic of U.S. foreign policy. The U.S. has labeled Chavez as a "maverick" leader - and this is not being used in the flattering Top Gun heroic sense. I will say that this Chavez guy has gumption. He knows that his country sits on some fairly hefty oil reserves. He sees that the foreign policy of the world's lone superpower is at least somewhat dictated by oil. I don't know exactly how much of a deterrent a Venezuela-Belarus alliance is, but with further tour stops lined up in Qatar, Iran, Vietnam and Mali, and a 3 billion dollar arms buy from Russia in the works - President Chavez may just have something going here. I may be willing to revisit my theory that only through the possession of nuclear weapons can a nation guarantee the sovereignty of its borders. It will be interesting to see how this develops.

Had a hoops game last night during which I had all of 3 field goal attempts. Three. We scored 8 points in the first half. It was not our most shining moment as a team. My own personal silver lining is that the work I have put in on my free throws paid dividends - I was 5 for 5. Still, we lost by 15 and I was not much of a factor. Immediately cheering me up following the game was my main man Herr Maert settling up our World Cup shirt-for-shirt bet. He had my new Italy long-sleeve jersey waiting for me and I LOVE it. I didn't think it would fit, as the Italian soccer jerseys are form-fitting - but it rocks!

I arrived home from my game around 11:15 to see a nasty-looking thunderstorm coming in from the west. My neighbor told me we were on a severe thunderstorm watch until 12:15. Almost immediately after entering the house, the lightning got all sorts of intense. 15 minutes later, I saw the craziest thing. There was a bright flash and an immediate boom and rattling of the house. I looked towards the window (the shades were drawn) to see a bright red flash, and sparks flying in my front yard.

As many of you know, I often bemoan my standing as the only resident on my street whose designated parking spot is under a tree. Usually my biggest worry is bird poop. I may not have to worry about that for much longer, as the tree may have had it. The tree was spectacularly struck by lightning, blowing bark off of the entire base. A decent-sized limb ended up on my hood, and bark and other tree debris could be found all the way across the parking lot. After the main part of the storm rolled through, we went out to move our cars in case the tree was unstable. In what would be a comical after-effect of the storm (if I didn't just pay for three trips to the shop for the Blazer in two weeks), it would seem that the lightning bolt that took out the tree also took out some of my car's electrical system. The car started, but all of the dashboard warning lights are on, the dome light isn't working properly, nor are the power locks. It never ends...

Apparently I am not the only one that is noticing the nasty turns the weather has been taking in recent months. Check out Peter King's Monday Morning Quarterback article from CNNSI.com. An excerpt:

Wherever you are, have you noticed the weird weather patterns in the last few months? Unending, intense rain. High winds. It was in the midst of a 12th day of measurable rain in a 14-day period that I saw An Inconvenient Truth, the Al Gore movie about global warming.This is the most apolitical piece of advice I could ever give you, because I realize Al Gore is not popular with all of you. And I really don't care very much about Gore weaving details of his personal life into the global-warming lecture. But you should see this movie and judge the facts for yourself. What's happening out here is no isolated occurrence. It's going to keep happening and it's going to get worse. Facts are facts. And we all need to do something about this phenomenon of the Earth heating up and the polar ice caps melting. This is not exactly the venue to warn the world about global warming, but all you football junkies readying for your fantasy drafts should do one real-world thing in the next couple of weeks: take two hours to see this movie. I'm not saying you'll be glad you did, because it's going to slap you around mentally a bit. But it's something you need to see. You don't want to wake up in 15 years with the Earth permanently damaged and huge portions of the Earth's surface under water

Kudos to Mr. King for writing about the most serious issue facing the human race right now. If football writers can see what is happening to the planet, why can't the Republicans? How long will the American people, or the people of the world in general, allow the elite to line their pockets at the expense of the future of the human race?

[Currently Listening: Fionna Apple - "Across the Universe"]

Death to Chachie?

As I drove home from work Monday I felt pretty good. My Dad being back in the hospital for his heart was downer, but for the first time in quite awhile I felt pretty good about things. I got a decent raise at work a couple of weeks ago, and while I continue to be in the employ of the raving mad, I didn't feel bad about where I was professionally. At least not on Monday, anyway. I found myself bop-bop-bopping in the car listening to my MP3s all the way home. But alas, these moments of happiness and satisfaction can only last so long...

Kim decided we were going to have dinner in the dining room versus the living room and in front of the t.v. mode we have gotten used to. I objected at first, but agreed that it was a good idea. I grilled some pork chops, she took care of the sides, and we sat down to eat. The Man Zachary smashed his way through his dinner, and all seemed well. Then, Zachary started pointing behind my chair and grunting at our one cat, Chachie. Chachie was behind my chair, squatting and peeing on the baseboard of the dining room. After buying the house, the previous owners said that they had issues with their cats and the dining room. We have cleaned our carpets numerous times - and have attacked the dining room more than that - due to pet-related odor that emanates from one of the corners. I was mortified a few months ago during poker night when I, and then my guests, noticed the smell. So, here is my cat - the good one - squatting right in front of me and marking his territory, as it were! Right in front of me!

I love our cats, and Chachie tends to be the nicer or the two (Big Mac is self-serving, loud and sometimes evil). Our immediate fear is that we might have to take Chach to the SPCA. I'd hate to do that, but I also refuse to have areas of my house smell not unlike the homes of lonely old cat-ladies. A few months ago I was mortified to whiff the air in my dining room during poker night to smell Eau de Cat Urine. It was embarrassing. I refuse to go through that again. We have been meticulous in our carpet cleaning since buying the house. The previous owner said that their cats used to have issues with the corner of the dining room, so that is somewhat peculiar. In a small townhouse with wall-to-wall carpeting, there is no room for a cat that refuses to use the litter box - no matter how sweet he is. We have a vet appointment scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, so we will see.

I left The House That Chach Soiled after dinner (and cleaning) to go visit my Dad in the hospital. My visit seemed to lift his spirits, so that felt pretty good. With this being his 4th or 5th visit to the hospital in the last year or so with no clear-cut answer as to why he keeps ending up there, he is scared and I am as well. And frustrated. My completely-failing-to-prepare-for-the-future parents have found themselves in a bad place medical-insurance-wise. They have no savings, they have very little income. They have drifted for the better part of the last 10 years. This is a cause of major stress for me - and in times like this, for them. It became apparent to me while sitting there with my Dad that I have to take a very active role with getting my parents straightened out - especially now that the Gabby adoption has been finalized. Another thing that occurred to me was that I need to make a serious life-change as far as how I eat and exercise. While sitting at my Dad's side chastising him about the changes he was supposed to make after the first hospital visit, I realized that it isn't just him that has to straighten out. My Dad weighs all of 148 pounds. He is a rail. And yet, here he is - in the hospital AGAIN for heart-related ailments. If my 148-pound father has heart disease, what does the future have in store for his 260-plus-pound son? Granted, my Dad has smoked since his early teens - and I have never put one of those filthy things to my lips. However, I have exhibited the eating habits of a ravenous tapeworm-afflicted mongoloid for almost two decades. So, here I am lecturing my Dad about his smoking and such - making me a hypocrite who eats like a tapeworm-afflicted mongoloid.

Speaking of my eating habits... I decided I would be nice on the way home from the hospital - so I stopped to pick up ice cream. While eagerly awaiting a couple of Blizzards to be whipped up, I took a gander at the nutritional information posted on the wall. A large peanut butter cup blizzard is 1015 calories. ONE THOUSAND AND FIFTEEN!!! I am so dead. I was downing three of those things a week while my wife was pregnant! I should probably just stab myself in the heart with a spork and save God the trouble.

On Tuesday I was called into the boss' office where he and his wife (who is supposed to be my supervisor) were waiting for me. They told me to sit down and told me that they had an issue with the vacation request I submitted. According to their records, even though I have been here 15 glorious months, I haven't accrued enough paid time off to take my vacation. I couldn't believe it. After trying to interject some logic into the discussion - they began to shout at me. My asking them why they were yelling when all I had done was ask a simple question ranks in the upper-echelon of Vince workplace hall-of-fame moments. They are used to bullying people around here, and I am finished with that mess for good. Their math-logic is one for the boss insanity-meter record books. Apparently, prior to the first of this year, this company had no such thing as sick or personal days. So, when my son was born, the days I took apparently came off of next year's accrued vacation. I swear, my workplace is un-fricken-believable sometimes. As you could probably guess, I have no plans of dropping this issue without a fight. None whatsoever. Hey, at least they gave me a raise. That helps in dealing with the abject silliness. Sometimes.

[Currently Listening: The Transplants - "Romper Stomper"]
"I wanna know...can I count on you when its time?"

In the Dark (and a Clarification)

Tuesday evening started innocently enough. I went home from work, and immediately ran upstairs to the home office to hammer out some invoices for my night job. Kim yelled for me to come down to dinner a little before 7, and we sat down for a light dinner - as I had a hoops game scheduled at 9pm against some ex-teammates (and the league's defending champs). Shortly after we began eating I heard a noise outside. It sounded like thunder. I looked out the window to the west to see a nasty-looking black sky headed our way. I didn't know we were expecting a storm, so I ran upstairs and turned off everything in the office. Before I could get out of the room, I heard a strange noise from out back, and then a crash. I looked out the window to see the tree line out back bending to an out-of-nowhere rushing wind.

I ran downstairs and outback to investigate and noticed that I needed to secure the grill cover. Before I could finish the job, the wind shifted direction and was blowing in my face. I looked up to see a giant clump of tree parts flying at my head. I ducked and it landed with a thud inches from my feet. The securing of the grill cover no longer seemed all that important and I high-tailed it into the house.

Once inside, it might have been all of 15 seconds before the power went out. It was the first time that I can remember the power going out before the thunder, lightning and rain began. The main part of the storm lasted approximately 45 minutes, and the rain and lightning continued well into the night. Once the winds died down we and the neighbors sauntered out back to survey the damage. The thunk and crash noise combination was a tree breaking and spiking through our shed out back. When you open the shed door, it looks as though a tree grew from the ground straight through the ceiling. The back yard was a complete mess with tree limbs and unsecured yard items strewn all over the place. Luckily, no one was hurt, and none of the trees crashed directly onto the houses.

Have you ever gotten a present from someone that upon receipt, you find yourself scratching your head and/or laughing? A couple of years ago Kim's Grandmom gave me a battery-powered flourescent light lantern. It took me a couple of years to realize the value of this gift, but I will be giving her a huge hug next time we see her. I also got a grill light/radio combo for Christmas that came into good use on Tuesday night. The first hour of no power (post-storm) was fun. We spent time with a few of the neighbors, drank a beer (less it get skunked) and marveled at the power of nature - the residual cross-sky lightning that kept up for a few hours after the main storm was spectacular. After the novelty wore off, things began to get boring. And warm. Thankfully, the storm front significantly lowered the near-100 degree temperature. As our living room was the brightest on the block, lesser-prepared neighbors came by throughout the evening to borrow matches and candles. We are pretty good neighbors. I did not make my game that night (the game I was looking forward to most all season), and reports from teammates suggest that my presence probably would have altered the outcome (a loss). I feel bad about letting my teammates down, but I couldn't leave Kim and Zachary to deal with the storm aftermath alone.

In my last entry I ripped fughezi fans who bandwagon-jump to front-running teams from other cities when things on the home front are bleak. Apparently I have hurt the feelings of some friends who are fans of out-of-town teams, and I can legitimately say that some of these guys ARE true fans of these teams. They have shown their loyalty to these franchises when they were just as bad (or worse) than their Philly-based counterparts. Some of these people have family from the regions where their favorite teams are based, and others have loved these teams since their youth after falling in love with their helmets (I always wanted one of the old-school Orioles caps when I was a kid, but never openly rooted for them - but I digress). Bennie Mac has been a Red Sox guy long before their recent resurgence; E-Dog a Chargers fan through some of the worst seasons ever; Franny T. a Patriots nut long before their Super Bowl runs. I know Maert has been a Cowboys guy since he was a kid, but I do not know the origin of his loyalties to that franchise... So, my apologies to anyone who was hurt by my anti-bandwagon-jumping-vermin diatribe from yesterday - at least those of you who are true fans of your out-of-town teams. To the rest of you to whom the description fits, sorry if the truth hurts. I hope we can still be friends.

[Currently Listening: Fabulous Thunderbirds - "Tough Enough"]

Green and A New Understanding of Bandwagon-Jumping Scum

I was not looking forward to this past weekend by any means. In fact, Friday felt like any other work day as my wife had me scheduled to assist in the painting of our living room. She had finally grown weary of the plain white walls and the spackle and scuff marks left behind by the previous owners. We started almost as soon as we got the baby to bed. The first step was re-painting the ceiling, which had some uber-annoying spots that we never dealt with upon moving in. We were going to stop there and start the walls on Saturday morning but we had some momentum going so we got started on the first wall coat, finally running out of gas around 12:30am. The original plan called for getting up early and getting the walls done sometime in the early afternoon. This plan was destroyed when I did not get out of bed until close to 10am on Saturday. Long story short, we finally got the second coat done around 6:15pm, and while I had no desire to take on this project over the weekend, I was really impressed by how much better our living room looked when we were through. I begrudgingly accepted Kim's suggestion (I use the term very loosely) that we go with green. It wasn't until I got home from playing cards Saturday night, with everything back where it was supposed to go, that I realized that she has a very good eye for color. We still have some ceiling touch-ups to do, but the room looks incredible. So, kudos to my wife for making me get off my fat butt and paint.

I cannot for the life of me remember a more frustrating time to be a Philadelphia sports fan. This sequence of events would be affecting me more if I were still the bleeding-heart Philly sports maniac I was as a youth and young adult. I still follow the teams, but I don't live and die with them as I once did. I thought it was this more-mature approach to fandom that had me feeling somewhat detached of late, but it is becoming more apparent that it is the sports landscape in general that has me put-off. I am beginning to believe that I may never again see a Philadelphia championship parade down Broad Street...

The Eagles are entering a crossroads season - one that I am actually looking forward to since no one seems to know what to expect out of them this year (versus the Super Bowl-Or-Die expectations of the last 4 years or so). The 76ers are a team that I thought could make some noise entering last season, but they play less defense than the 1940's French. Their General Manager has given out some of the worst contracts in the NBA - and it looks as though it may be years before the team can improve as it languishes in salary cap hell. The only player on the team with trade value also happens to be the heart and soul of the Philadelphia sports scene over the last handful of years. History dictates that the 76ers will not get anything near equal value in a trade for Allen Iverson - yet the entire city awaits the details of what looks to be the inevitable trade of the best player the team has had in over a decade. The Flyers try hard. They really do. They are a franchise that visibly works towards its goal of a Stanley Cup. GM Bobby Clarke has taken heat for some of the free agent signings heading into last season, but I laud him for his efforts. There was no way for him to know that the NHL was actually going to enforce its rules aimed at opening up play - when the League had made numerous rules changes over the past decade and enforced exactly none of them. That being said, the Flyers have taken on some players that are not suited for the "new" NHL. It will probably take them a couple years to contend. This brings us to the worst offenders in all of Philadelphia sports: The Philadelphia Phillies.

When I was a kid, I liked a lot of sports, but I LOVED baseball. I could recite the statistics of players from the Phillies and from all over the league. I collected baseball cards, sticker books and 7-11 Slurpee baseball player coins. I dreamt of being able to afford my own Phillies cap and just knew that I would be a season-ticket holder once I was of age...

This is where I need to expound on a matter that makes my blood boil - I hate bandwagon-jumpers. An example: growing up, there was a small pocket of ultra-annoying Cowboys fans in my old neighborhood. None of them were from Texas. None of them had ever seen a game in the Cowboys' home stadium. None of them had any clue what time zone Dallas was in. Yet here were these total chaches prancing around the neighborhood with their #11 Danny White jerseys. It made me sick. There are still a ton of these fughezi Cowboys fans running around Philadelphia. They are worse than rats. Now there is a NEW bandwagon-jumping fad that has manifested itself over the past 3 years - and it is called "Red Sox Nation". Give me a break! Here is one of the few franchises (prior to 2004) that has suffered worse than ANY Philly team. Fans of the Red Sox have been loyal to that team forever, through thick and thin, through decades of losing... Real fans of the Sox probably can't help from feeling infected by the scores of non-New Englander fans that have glonged on to their team like some sort of globulous tumor.

The Red Sox were in town to play the Phillies from May 19th through the 21st and the majority of fans in the park for all three games seemed to be Red Sox fans. This is disturbing and annoying, but true fans will follow their teams to cities that are not fully supporting theirs. What was truly disturbing to me was the local newscasts. Just about every network figured that it would be a good idea to interview segments of Red Sox Nation - and I noticed something peculiar. Almost none of them had New England accents. In fact, a lot of them spoke with the same Philly dialect as Frankie from Frankford. The more interviews I watched, the more it became apparent - the same bandwagon-jumping phenomenon that turned Eagles fans into Cowboys fans in the 70s and 80s has made the leap to baseball, where Phillies fans are breaking their necks to jump on the Red Sox bandwagon. At first I was filled with ire, but after thinking about it for awhile I wondered if there might be a valid reason to explain these traitorous louts after all.

Anyone paying attention to the news over the past few weeks knows about the mess that is the Philadelphia Phillies. Not even a new ballpark can cover up the stench brought upon this city by an ownership unwilling to take the steps necessary to win, and the mostly-heartless team they have put on the field. The Phillies are stocked with talented, under-achieving players who (according to at least one ex-manager and one high-profile ex-teammate) bristle at the hint of criticism and lay down like dogs when the pressure to win is felt. The Phillies have some nice young talent to build on, but some rebuilding needs to be done before whatever heart-ailment suffered by many on this roster becomes contagious.

Not only have the Phillies put a mediocre under-achieving product on the field, but their ownership is apparently operating under the belief that all true Philadelphia sports fans "love" the Phillies, and any dissatisfaction with the franchise is overrepresented by the local sports talk radio shows and the "crazies" that call in to the stations. This and other nonsensical meanderings from Never-Never-Land can be found in last week's (7/10) interview of Bill Giles by the Philadelphia Inquirer. This interview may have been the last straw for me. The franchise's laughable handling of the Brett Myers alleged wife-beating incident was bad, but this interview had me incensed when I first read it. I do not think its possible for someone to be more out-of-touch with their customer base. I am very close to pulling my support of the Phillies - at least until there is an ownership change (alas, this is discussed in the above-described interview and does not look to be likely anytime soon). One thing I will not do is throw my support behind another MLB franchise. I will not sell out like that.

After giving the bandwagon-jumping issue some thought, part of me says I can't blame people for eschewing their local teams and prostituting themselves to franchises from other cities - even though most of these people have no clue about the teams' histories, etc. I will continue to look down on these poseur "fans". And, should the Philly teams ever get their collective acts together (you will forgive me for not commencing breath-holding), I will be happy - and I will celebrate as a true fan. If and when that day comes, I don't want any of the phughezies back.

[Currently Listening: Weezer - "In the Garage"]

Nukes, Climbs, Head-butts and Alternators

I have not gotten as worked up over the Iran and North Korea missile/nukes crises as I might have in the past. I understand the seriousness of both situations, but I am torn somewhat on how they should be handled.

As anyone who has followed world events even a smidge over the past few months is aware, Iran is attempting to develop nuclear weapons. This is bad for many reasons, which include Iran being ruled by religious zealots, said religious zealots' admitted blood-hatred of a neighbor, the fact that nuclear weapons themselves are very bad and more of them on the planet is never a good thing, etc. With that being said, I have no problem whatsoever with Iran (and North Korea) wanting nuclear weapons - as they are the greatest deterrent against a potential invader, period, end of story. Iran knows that they are on the U.S. radar for action at some point. [editor's note: please forgive the ultra-simplistic explanation that follows] What is stopping the U.S. or Israel from encroaching on their borders and invading them at some point (other than domestic political pressure, costs, stirring the entire Muslim world into veritable rampage, etc.)? Right now, nothing. What are the chances of the U.S. or anyone else invading another country armed with working nuclear weapons? The chances are most slim. Iran and North Korea are working under the theory (one that I subscribe to, mostly) that the only thing that can guarantee a nation's sovereignty in today's world is access to nuclear weapons. Do I feel that they should, or should be allowed to, develop nuclear weapons or weapons of mass destruction? My problem with these pursuits have nothing to do with "shoulds" or "should nots" - my problems with these two nations in particular stem from them being run by complete maniacs.

I got to watch The Man Zachary by myself yesterday for a couple of hours and it was an eye-opening experience. My son is strong for a 10-month-old. And, he likes to climb. He likes to climb everything. He climbs onto foot-stools, he climbs over people to get to couches and then windowsills. He climbs onto chairs so he can climb onto t.v. stands. Frankly, it scared the crap out of me. Kim was relatively calm about this - much to my dismay. I understand that you cannot get rid of all living room furniture until a child can be trusted to sit on it rather than climb it - but I feel that a 10-month old is a little young to be left to learn life lessons by taking headers off of these objects. Stay tuned.

I am still getting a kick out of reading the myriad writings concerning the World Cup aftermath - an in particular, the Zidane head-butt and subsequent red card. Special thanks to Jordan for posting the exploding-head Zidane video in my MySpace profile comments! That rules! One article in particular on CNNSI.com got me rankled to the point that I had to respond to the author:

Mr.Taylor,

Why wouldn't Materazzi get a "free pass"? Unless anything he said to Zidane was racial in nature, what did he do that athletes all over the globe do NOT do in almost every contest?

If Zidane charged Materazzi with hurling a racial insult, then Materazzi should be investigated and suspended. That being said, if Zidane's account that it was his mother and sister who were insulted is true...one can only imagine how long he would last in the NBA or NFL before getting suspended for a violent response to a taunt. Might he make it through the second pre-season game? The third?

Taunting and trash-talking are not the acts of sportsmanship - but sadly they ARE a part of today's gamesmanship. Until that is changed, Materazzi shouldn't be held to scorn. Zidane overreacted, pure and simple. Materazzi is guilty of nothing, and should be remembered as what he is - a champion.

Today has been a bizarre day. It doesn't really feel like a Friday - as my wife has me painting all weekend. My entire body feels out of whack, and has since my hoops game Tuesday night. We played a bunch of rejects from Malibu's Most Wanted - and beat them handily. I scored 16 quick points in the first half, and only a bucket or two the rest of the way. I didn't really stretch or warm up, and I am paying for it now. I may have to cave and go to a chiropractor. I was in the midst of office-to-printer-and-back running around this morning when my battery light came on. The Blazer had been making a bit of a whining noise over the last few days - but I figured it would be okay until the weekend. Uh-uh. While trying to leave the printer (again) the car struggled to start. When re-starting for the next run, it gagged as it turned over, and once it did, all of my gauges were dead (speedometer, gas gauge, etc.). I dropped it off at the mechanic and can only wait with baited breath for what they find. I finally got a raise this week (more on this later), so it is fitting that everything that can go wrong will go wrong to offset my gains...

[Currently Listening: The Bluebeats - "Don't Get Crazy"]

Greatest Spread Ever, Bourbon and Copa Craziness

What a weekend. Took it easy Friday night knowing that there would be a lot of living packed into the rest of the weekend - with a Philly wedding on Saturday and the World Cup Finals on Sunday.

Saturday was a lot of fun. Kim was out getting her hair and makeup done, so I got a few hours of father-son time with The Man Zachary. I got him up, gave him his bottle and proceeded to spend the next two hours being crawled on, drooled on and head-butted. My little guy has some Zidane in him (more on this later). It was awesome!

Kim needed to be at the hotel at 11:30am, and as usual, we were running slightly behind. We needed gas (the wedding ceremony was in Mt. Airy, the hotel in Center City - two places where running out of gas could seriously affect your weekend), and we needed something to eat. We accomplished both in Exton, and I assured my wife that as long as we were on the highway by 11am, I would have no problem getting her to the Crown Plaza on time. This bit of Vince-math was quasi-solid, but did not take into consideration traffic back-ups caused by car fires in the vicinity of the Girard Ave. exit of the Schuylkill Expressway eastbound. The backup began just after the City Line Ave. exit and the tension began to rise. The next half-mile of travel would take approximately 35 minutes. We were now officially late, and the fire truck that came speeding by on the shoulder caused my wife to let out an anguished shriek. It was at this very moment that I took a step backwards in my development as a kind, understanding spouse. You see, my wife is a great person, but she is also a worrier. I tend to handle crisis situations in a relatively calm manner, so as to better handle them. Not-so-much with Kim. She tends to wear her emotions on her sleeve (and this is something I love about her,usually). So, after she voiced her thoughts for the fourth time that we were late and were probably going to be egregiously so, I asked that if she was going to continue to spaz, to please do so utilizing an "inner monologue". I actually said this to her. Needless to say, my request earned me some nasty looks and a very perturbed wife. However, I prefer the angry-at-Vince Kim to the uber-worrying, spazzing Kim. I should not have said what I said, but unexpected bumper-to-bumper traffic and a deadline for arrival are stressful enough. I did apologize, but the damage was done.

Traffic opened up a lot faster than I expected it to, and I commend the Philadelphia Police and Fire Dpeartments for a quick job-well-done. We arrived at the hotel around 12:15, which gave Kim ample time to get ready. I drove two of Kim's friends to the service, which was a full Catholic mass running almost an hour-and-a-half. The length of the service blew up my plan to visit Tower Records between the service and the reception, but my disappointment would not last long. Ah, the reception. I can honestly say that I have never seen a better setup. The cocktail hour spread was as thing of pure beauty. There was enough fantastic food to fill every guest three times over. There was a fry bar with beef, shrimp and chicken skewers, a sushi station, pasta dishes, colossal shrimp, lobster tails...It was a fat man's heaven. Dinner was equally spectacular, as was the dessert table. I've never seen anything like it. Color me ridiculously impressed. And stuffed. Then there were the bars. I had a couple Boddington drafts at the pub while we waited for the shuttle, and given my newfound lack of tolerance, I felt them immediately. Began drinking bourbon and gingers shortly after arriving at the reception. Got silly in a hurry. While my wife was unhappy with me having so many drinks, I am thrilled to report a complete lack of my doing anything stupid or embarassing. I am also thrilled to report that I was completely checked out and given the eye by a gorgeous 23-year-old blonde upon arriving for the party. My wife witnessed this and I was put in a downright euphoric mood for the next few hours. I promised the mother-of-the-bride that I would dance with her, and I am guessing I will figure somewhat prominently in the wedding video as I was pulled onto the dance floor multiple times. My wife has a lot to complain about with me, but I feel she takes for granted how much fun I can be...

Sunday morning came and recovery was needed. We had no headache meds in our room and I knew that functionality on Sunday morning required some pre-bed ibuprofen. Thankfully my wife forgave me for our late-night spat concerning my alcohol intake, and she went to the lobby to get me some much-needed Advil. Got a nice breakfast at the hotel pub/restaurant (banger sausages rule!) and I was well on my way to recovery. Got out of the city in plenty of time to get home for the World Cup final between Italy and France. My Dad, Gabby, Nicole and Rob came over to watch the match with me, and we had a good time. I blasted the Italian national anthem more than a few times during the pre-game show, and we were ready to rock.

The first half was very exciting. France scored first after an early (and questionable) penalty kick was awarded - sucking the energy out of my living room. Italy bounced back quickly to tie the score, sending Casa di Blando into complete hysterics. Italy dominated most of the rest of the first half, narrowly missing a go-ahead goal. It looked as though Italy had taken a lead early in the second half but my near-kicking of good friend Rob while I jumped for joy was for naught as the goal was disallowed. The rest of the game was actually very boring, as both sides seemed to be too tired to push for a go-ahead goal. After two scoreless overtimes, the game game would go to a penalty-kick shootout - the bane of every Italian soccer fan's existence. Italy's history of losing every match of note that has gone to penalties was so painful that my father left the living room and went out back before the shootout began. Italy ended up prevailing, breaking a jinx of epic proportions and sending millions of Italians and those of Italian descent into delirium. I must say that the Italian Cup win brought me joy, but to see the Championship decided on penalty kicks was almost anti-climactic. Brent Musberger said it best - "the match must end sometime", and he has a point. With two exhausted teams, it is possible that a match could go on for days without a goal being scored. I wish there was a way for FIFA to create a better way of deciding matches. The NHL uses shootouts now to settle regular-season games, but they would never use them for playoff games. Perhaps the substitution rules need to be tweaked for tournament knockout overtime sessions, but other than that solution, I cannot think of a way to fairly decide the outcome of a soccer match.

I am still in amazement over French star Zinadine Zidane's head-butt meltdown in overtime yesterday. If you haven't seen it, you should check it out. Here is one of the most decorated and celebrated players in the history of the game having an absolute loss of control and attacking another player - with his head. The incident did not spark an outcry from me - but it did raise some questions. First, what did Italy's Marco Materazzi say to make Zidane lose it like that? My initial thoughts were that it had to be of a very personal and most likely racial in nature (Zidane is of Algerian descent, and published reports have suggested that Materazzi called him a 'terrorist', a charge that Materazzi vehemently denies). Secondly, if you are going to attack someone, who chooses their head as a first option. Zidane's "tete" is quite formidable, but only a soccer player or a member of the WWF's former tag-team champions "The Wild Samoans" would lead with their melon in that situation. It was shocking, and I must say, fairly comical. It was definitely a "did that really just happen?!?" moment. I am happy Italy won the Cup, and while it stinks that it had to be decided in penalties, at least my Father will no longer have to leave the room should Italy be forced into another penalty kick shootout.

[Currently Listening: Quiet Riot - "Metal Health"]

The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat

In yet another sign that I might be getting older more quickly than I thought, I caught myself half-asleep-on-the-couch head-bopping to Lionel Richie and "Dancing On the Ceiling" during last night's Philly July 4th concert. My deterioration has gone from steady to rampaging...

I have been disgusted with myself since Monday night. I surprised everyone by actually showing up for poker night in Berwyn. I really need to get myself out more. When the host of an event says "Vince! Oh My God! I can't believe you came! I mean, I'm really glad to see you. But, wow!", it generates mixed feelings. On one hand, it feels good to be greeted warmly by your friends. On the other hand, it shows that you aren't getting out to see them nearly enough.

I did myself no favors heading into the night's poker action. I severely damaged myself with a lunchtime Burger King run, and followed that with a rushed ring bologna, potato salad and corn on the cob dinner. My stomach was a mess as I headed north on Rt. 202, and it got worse as things went along. I started the night by winning a nice-sized pot, but I found it tougher and tougher to maintain my concentration and patience as my stomach rebelled against me. Failure to procure allergy medicine prompted a most nasty allergy attack that set in early in the night - which didn't help matters either. We played most of the night 11-handed, $1-$2 no-limit. A game that size no-limit requires patience and intelligent playing of position. I had three wild players on my left, and this hurt me throughout the night. As is the case with a no-limit game, I had up-and-down swings all night. I'd be up $75, and then lose $30 right back. I played very well for a lot of the night, but off-set my good play with some truly stupid decisions, including one that will stand out for a long time that cost me almost $40. In fact, it might have been the worst hand of poker that I have ever played. I ended up buying in for $100, and cashed out $50 for a minus-50 night. I will do better next time I play with those guys. I will say it was worth $50 to see everyone on Monday night. Sometimes you don't realize how much you miss people until you are around them again.

As I wrote in my last entry, I was locked-in for yesterday's Italy-Germany World Cup semi-final. There were many times during the contest that it looked like I would be on the wrong end of the result (and my bet with Herr Maert), but Italy scored twice in the final minutes of the second overtime, and exultation exploded across Italy and the Blando living room. After I calmed down my shrieking and blasting of the Italian national anthem, some guilt crept in. Here I was, on the 4th of July, wildly celebrating a goal scored by the national team representing a country I had never stepped foot in. I felt very much like a poseur. My father is from Italy, and I grew up watching the games with him, cheering on the blue-clad Italian national team, and rooting for Napoli in the Italian Serie A. I am proud of my Italian heritage, but I have never truly immersed myself in it - I never studied the language, and I have never visited my Father's homeland. Let it be said that I am newly motivated. I WILL visit Italy. Once we get caught up on some finances, I am going to start putting money away so I can see my Dad's hometown, and as much of the middle-to-south of the country I can. I will climb Mt. Vesuvius as my Father did when he was a boy, and I will visit Naples and Rome. I will attempt to time my visit so I can attend a Napoli soccer match (that is, if they have climbed back into Serie A by then).

[Currently Listening: Cyrkle - "Red Rubber Ball"]

E, cominci!

While I am the first to admit that I have serious problems with our current governmental system, I am very much an American patriot. You do not have to support every decision made by the people running the country in order to love your homeland. I am an American, and proud to be one. So, Happy Birthday America! Here's hoping the next year brings you closer to what the Founding Fathers had in mind when you were born, instead of the rich-get-richer society subjugated by Big-Business and a "culture" dominated by the comings and goings of celebrities.

As most of you know, my father is from Torre Annuziata, Italy, and while I have never been to my father's homeland (at least not yet), I am very proud of my Italian heritage. The highlight of my 4th of July holiday will not be fireworks, beer or a cookout - but the FIFA World Cup semifinal match between Italy and Germany. My parents and niece will be coming over tomorrow around 2, and while the girls will most likely go up to the pool, I will be riveted to the television with my Dad, rooting like crazy for the Azzurri. Making the game even more exciting is a bet I have going with my uber-good friend of German descent, Herr Maert. He floated the idea of putting national team jerseys on the line for the game. If Italy wins, he has to buy me an XXL Italy jersey, and I will buy him a Germany jersey if they win. This might go down as one of my poorer sports betting decisions, as the Germans (with homefield advantage) are heavily favored. I mis-read one online betting house I visited this morning on which I interpreted Italy as a 1.5-to-1 favorite, temporarily alleviating my fear that I might be on the wrong side of the odds. Oops. And, begin!

The "holiday" weekend was okay on my end. Friday night I played the card game "a$$hole" for the first time in ages. My reputation as a beer pong player is legendary, but my prowess at the a$$hole table is equally potent. I am a vicious bastard when I play that game. I doubt my neighbors will play with me anymore after Friday night. I was very cocky and mean, after quickly ascending from the bottom spot after joining the game late - as I was rocking the baby to sleep. Playing again made me nostalgic for the 7749 and "Westgate" Eras. A$$hole was a staple of our weekends back then, especially when a lot of our crew lived at Westgate. We'd play for a few hours, walk across the street to Maddie's, stay there for a couple hours, come back and play some more. Always a great time.

Speaking of cards and the old Westgate crew, I am very eager for tonight's card game in Berwyn. I haven't played in a little while, and I'm looking forward to sitting down and seeing what I can do. More importantly, I am looking forward to seeing some very good friends that I haven't been able to spend much time with over the last couple of years. I am thankful that I still get invited to card games, and that they haven't written me out of the will (or the fantasy football league) yet.

[Currently Listening - Neil Diamond - "Cracklin' Rosie"]