Tyra for President

Wednesday night I was torn between watching President Obama's Address to the Nation and America's Next Top Model on the WB. Decisions. Decisions. Swine flu or Anorexia. The safety of Pakistan's nuclear arsenal or five girls on a beach in Brazil. Barack Obama or Tyra Banks. After flipping channels several times, I decided on Tyra. Barack, listen up. Your cautious stammering was outshone by Tyra, who can smile with her eyes. Mr. President, take note. The strain of the first one hundred days is starting to wear on you. Before the election, you promoted change. During your press conference, I just wanted to change the channel.

When pigs fly

The new strain of Swine Flu is a mutated version of Swine Flu, Bird Flu and Human Flu. It is believed a pig somehow got contracted the Bird Flu. An unsuspecting human came in contact with the infected pig and contracted the combination Swine/Bird Flu, creating the current strain of virus wreaking havoc in Mexico. The virus has already spread to several other countries including the United States. I'm not ready for a pandemic. Who has time?

True value

I had forgotten the value of a friend. A true friend. A friend who wants nothing but to be with you. To talk. To laugh. To end the day on a lighter note. To compare life experiences. To remember the good times of the past and to talk about good times to come in the future. After one beer with a friend, I remember it all.

Cat scratch fever

At six a.m. as I lay in bed waiting to hear the morning news on the radio, the cat decided to use my face as a springboard to leap across the bed, digging into my face and lip with her back claws. After rushing to the bathroom to rinse my bleeding face with hot water, soap, Neosporin and Listerine, I thought to myself, "I love my cat."

Men who shop

I walked uptown today with Woody during my lunch hour. He bought a pair of sneakers in Chinatown. They were "ED" brand (go figure). Every box said size 12 but the Chinese woman selling the shoes told him to ignore the listed sizes and just try them on. The price: $15. Woody loved them so much he didn't even try to get a discount. I think he could have gotten them for $10.

We then proceeded to Dunkin' Donuts for them to screw up my order once again. What's so hard about making a chocolate iced coffee? Here's a hint, just give me mocha and tell me it's chocolate. I won't even be able to tell the difference.

Woody also bought a cell phone cover off a cart at Downtown Crossing. In the middle of the sale, the owner of the cart ended up being treated by emergency technicians for some heart problems. As we stood there, an ambulance was arriving to take the vendor to the hospital. Luckily for Woody, the vendor from the next cart stepped in to finish the sale.

And it's a good thing Woody knows how to operate a lottery machine because he had to venture behind the counter in a Chinatown store to punch in a QuikPik for me for the daily lottery number. The woman behind the counter in the store had no clue how to operate her own lottery machine. My number didn't come out anyway. Thanks Woody. Tomorrow is Friday the 13th. I feel good luck coming my way.

Summer Morn

It is morning. 7:30 am. The house is still. My wife has already left for work. My son sleeps peacefully on the sofa, worn out from a night of video-games and cartoon shows. The dog lies sleeping in his dog bed. The cat sits at the threshold of the back door and watches the chirping birds through the screen door. The only other noise
is the hum of the large air conditioner in the kitchen window. The only movement, a drifting, deflating foil balloon that reads "Happy Birthday" in crumpled letters. The stand fan blows a soft breeze benefiting no one except the artificial plant. I need to make my lunch and head to work. Instead, this is the time I choose to write. Something in me decided I needed to capture this moment, not on film or with a camera, but with words.

Men who shop (part two)

My co-worker Woody and I took a walk downtown to check out the clearance racks at Macy's. Usually we find great deals. Usually Woody finds better deals than I do. I found an awesome vest but it wasn't marked down low enough and it didn't really fit (although I tried it on over the vest I was wearing so it was hard to tell). I found a new favorite pair of jeans that I purchased for a really good price. Woody wasn't so lucky this time. The pair of jeans he found on "clearance" were so expensive the discount brought the price down to what you would pay for an expensive pair when they weren't on sale. If you want to wear Calvin Klein, you have to pay the price. Then it was on to Dunkin Donuts for an afternoon mocha latte. I got the lattes while Woody checked out the produce stand in front of CVS. When I walked out of Dunkin, Woody told me we had a ride back to the Herald. Something called a Tylenol Taxi was giving free promotional rides through Boston and Woody was lucky enough to be selected for a free ride. As usual, our day ended with the unusual. That's the price you pay for shopping with Woody.

x-rays for x-mas

On Christmas day, my wife just put the delicious looking roast beef in the oven before
her crushing chest pains began. A half hour later we were in the
emergency room spending Christmas evening with the poor souls who had
to work on the holiday. You would think the place would be empty, but
quite the opposite. Sickness takes no time off during the holidays.

Luckily my wife's doctor was on duty at the hospital so we got to
confer with him on the cause of these reocurring dibilitating spasms
that have been happening to her since last spring. When the doctor
tells you your wife's illness is an enigma, it's never a good sign. He
is going to try some alternate treatments before resorting to
exploratory surgery since her tests have all come back negative.

I called my son at home with cooking instructions via cell phone so the
Christmas roast wouldn't burn while we were at the hospital. Hours
later, after an Ultrasound, an EKG, some X-rays and a shot of Demorol,
my wife was released from the ER. She spent the night sleeping while my sons and
I had our late night Christmas dinner. I poured an extra glass of wine for myself
hoping I wouldn't be heading back to the hospital later in the night.

Luckily, all is calm for the time being. I can't wait until the new year.

Tales from the new depression

Recently, my kitchen stove was out of commission for a week due to a faulty thermostat. I had to improvise dinner for a few nights, limiting the menu to things that could be microwaved or cooked on my electric griddle. My youngest son glanced around the dinner table with a questionable look on his face. He stared at the mismatched drinking glasses, the mixed patterned silverware and the Zataran's Beans and Rice with sliced ham steak I was serving as our main course.

"Wow," he said. “I guess we really are in a depression.”
I hope this is the only new depression era story he will have to tell his own children after things change for the better for all of us.