My Journey Through Unemployment

Three Of A Kind

2010-07-09T12:43:00.000-04:00

The sport of People Watching has always been one of my favorites.

Meeting new people may be a close second.

I don’t always love the new people I meet, but I do love learning about other people’s lives.

As the great English poet Roderick David Stewart once said, Every Picture Tells A Story, Don’t It?

It sure do.

In my current workplace, a temporary job for two more weeks, I share an office with two gentlemen.

On the surface, we don’t have a whole lot in common.

One is a 24-year old single-man and one is a 52-year old married man.

They don’t have kids. I have three.

In just a couple of weeks of getting to know him, the single man has shared many a detail about his single life. He lives downtown, enjoys the nightlife and wonders where his career is going.

The married man, a former standup comedian, has been writing and producing television shows for much of his adult life. He moved to our area, from Los Angeles, to try and improve his quality of life.

When it comes to ranking their priorities, work and career are definitely not at the top of the list.

Both guys, like me, are on freelance status.

Meaning, we don’t get medical insurance or any “benefits” AND as an extra bonus, they can get rid of us at any time.

In my case, I was signed for seven weeks, of which I have served five so far.

In their case, as long as there is work to be done, hopefully they have a place to spend their days.

Fortunately, we all get along VERY well.

We share a similar sense of humor.

We all have a cloudy, cynical outlook on what the working world has become.

And at 5 O’clock, we go home.

The 52-year old man recently bought a new home in our area after moving here just a couple of months ago.

The fact that his wife is out of work and he could be the same at any moment doesn’t seem to bother him.

His credentials are very impressive with previous work in everything from sitcoms to music videos to cable series, so hopefully he’s got a nice stash under his mattress.

The other member of our office trio is just getting started.

He is still trying to battle his way out of college debt.

He earned his degree a couple of years ago and with it came a big pile of bills.

Now he’s working a couple of jobs, including one in his preferred field of a career (TV production) and one in his preferred field of making money (bartending).

Like any 24-year old single man living in a downtown bachelor pad, he still finds time to work in a social life.

Just two weeks ago, he informed us that if you are ever downtown AND you run out of cash AND you need to buy a hot dog from a street vendor in the middle of the night, there is one street vendor downtown who actually takes credit cards.

Last Saturday night he was headed to that vendor for a late night/early morning snack.

Unfortunately he never made it there.

While on his way, walking with a couple of friends, a “huge” man walked up to my friend and punched him in the face.

It must’ve been punched, as in plural, because when the attack was over, the damage was devastating.

Broken bones on his forehead, a broken nose, two swollen eyes and he had some teeth knocked out.

The injuries were so bad that when he got to the hospital after the attack, they had to airlift him to another hospital for more specialized treatment.

By all accounts, this was a completely random attack for no apparent reason and unfortunately the man who did this has not been caught.

According to the police, there has been a string of these going on downtown for the last few months.

There have been some arrests made, but clearly they didn’t get everyone.

My co-worker had some significant plastic surgery yesterday and fortunately he is doing well.

He expects to be back at work as early as next week, which is great news for us.

And great news for him as he looks to pay off some new debt.

How Soon Is Now?

2010-07-08T19:30:00.002-04:00

Welcome to my first ever Sir Bacon Movie Review.

GROWN UPS with Adam Sandler:

• Strikeout Swinging!

There you have it. Thanks for watching.

Talk about a movie that tried too hard to be funny.

This was it.

I got the feeling that the four SNL alums + Paul Blart wrote down 50 one-liners each and handed them to a writer and said make a movie.

Our family of five was looking for a mellow way to spend the afternoon of July 4th, so we went to the local theater.

You already know how I feel about the movie.

My wife was about the same.

But the good news is the kids laughed.

And isn’t that all that matters.

I definitely laughed a couple of times too, maybe even a bunch of times, but I suppose I expected more and I didn’t get it.

One of the LOL moments for me, and of course the kids, was when the young son of Kevin James breast-fed from his mother in front of the entire group.

That wasn’t the funny part.

The funny part was when Chris Rock asked James how old the boy was and James said 48 months.

“You mean FOUR YEARS,” said Rock.

I think it was Rock. I was barely paying attention at that point.

But I did laugh.

It also made me think about a conversation I had a few days earlier with a friend/former colleague.

We probably hadn’t spoken in about ten years, but who’s counting?

After a few moments of traveling down memory lane, we caught up to the present tense.

Fortunately I was successful in giving him the cliff notes version of the last 18 months of my life.

As much as people say they want to know, they don’t really want to know.

We also talked about our families.

I told him that my three kids were 13, 11 and 6.

He said that his son is 22 months.

You mean one year and ten months, right Mr. Rock?

I told him that 22 months is a great age.

That’s what I’m supposed to say, right?

I also told him that as much as I enjoyed “the age of months”, I really love the fact that I am now living with real people.

I’m certainly not implying that a 22-month old is not a real person, but as cute as they are at that age, there’s a reason why they call it the terrible twos.

Looking back, we had more issues with the therrible threes, but there’s nothing a deep breath and a six-pack of Corona Light didn’t cure.

I can say with complete honesty that there has not been one stage of my kids’ life that I haven’t truly enjoyed.

Sure, I could’ve done without the short, interrupted nights of sleep when they were very very young, but thanks to a bad case of father ear and a light-sleeping wife, I got off pretty easy.

And yes, I could’ve lived without some of the temper tantrums, but considering what I must’ve put my parents through when I was that age, I’ve got nothing to complain about.

And honestly, I didn’t even mind changing the poopy diapers.

Really.

Don’t get me wrong, there are moments where I wanted to scream.

And plenty of moments where unfortunately I did.

But one good thing about unemployment, it has really mellowed me out.

Somebody asked me last Sunday what I was doing on Wednesday.

Wednesday?

I’m living minute-to-minute bay-bee.

I'm not really sure how I got to this mellow here-and-now place in my life, but I’m really starting to like it.

I don’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about the future.

Probably for good reason, but the truth is the future is now.

And that is quite a change for me.

I spent a good portion of my 20’s and even 30’s thinking about the 40’s and 50’s.

When I was 21, I bought a life insurance policy so that my kids would be taken care of.

I wasn’t even dating at the time.

Damn salesman!

But now that I am here, in the now, and especially where my “now” has taken me, it’s definitely time to live in the moment.

That’s what my therapist and I determined.

Actually, that’s pretty much word for word what my 11-year old son told me a few months ago.

I can’t remember exactly what we were talking about when I told him “I wish I would’ve ________ (fill in the blank),” but I definitely remember him saying:

“Don’t worry about it Dad. Live in the moment. That was yesterday.”

Now who's the grown up.

Thanks For The Memory

2010-07-07T04:31:00.006-04:00

Bill Buckner played an incredible 22 seasons in the major leagues.

He piled up 2715 hits, with 174 home runs and 1208 runs batted in.

In 1980 he posted a career-high .324 batting average, which led the National League.

In 1982 he hit .306 with 15 homers and 105 RBI.

When he hung up his cleats for the final time, Buckner had played in an amazing two thousand, five hundred and seventeen games.

2517 games, tying him for 47^th all-time in the HISTORY of baseball.

But even with those impressive numbers, William Joseph Buckner is known for just one thing.

Well two things if you count having the best mustache this side of Tom Selleck.

But by far, Billy Buck is known for letting the ball go through his legs in the 10^th inning of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.

If you don’t believe me, type BILL BUCKNER ERROR into your Google search window.

In .20 seconds you will get “about” 28,200 results.

In case you were hibernating in the fall of 1986, Buckner was playing first base for the Boston Red Sox, a franchise that had not won a World Series since 1918.

And while the error didn’t cost the Red Sox the series or even the game, it is the moment that crushed the legacy of an otherwise stellar career.

Baseball can be a cruel game, but it is no different than real life.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to interview with a former colleague about a possible job opening.

We had a very nice visit.

I told him how much I have enjoyed being at home for the last year (plus).

He nodded.

I also told him how much I would love to get back into the working world.

He nodded again.

Then he asked me about an experience I had on a specific project.

10 years ago!

I knew exactly where he was headed before he finished his sentence.

I have been fortunate to have some incredibly positive moments in my career, but like any one person from the human race, I am not perfect.

About ten years ago, I was involved with a project where I played the role of oil, working with a group of water.

Let’s just say we didn’t mix very well.

When the high-profile project ended, the job was completed and it was quite a success.

But it wasn’t fun.

Much like Larry King’s 7^th divorce, there was no one to blame, it just happened.

I consider myself a people person and I really enjoy connecting with people, but it’s not always as simple as it sounds.

When the subject was brought to my attention yesterday, I knew immediately where the cross-examination was headed.

I answered quickly and honestly, saying that I learned a lot from that experience – which I did.

He nodded.

Again.

Deep down, I truly believe that my experience of the last 25 years will far outweigh any shortcomings from a brief hiccup ten years ago.

And I definitely believe that my track record of the last ten years will erase any bumps in the road that may have taken place before that time.

But the fact that the subject came up was frustrating.

I left the meeting feeling really good about the possibilities, but I also realize that a black cloud by any other name is still a black cloud.

I am hopeful that sunny days lie ahead.

After the meeting, I had dinner with a couple of close friends to talk about the events of the day.

As you might imagine, the featured item on the menu of our discussion was a ten-year-old spoiled egg.

But before I could crack the shell, the wife of one of my friends made a great point.

She said since it was on his mind, it’s a good that he brought it up and gave me a chance to discuss it instead of not bringing it up at all.

I really hadn’t thought of it that way, but she is absolutely right.

The fact that it was on his mind may have been unfortunate on one level and unfair on another, but the fact that we talked about it was definitely a good thing.

We had a chance to discuss any concerns he may have had and I had my chance to clear up those concerns.

I have no doubt that he is a lot more focused on what I have done in the more present tense than what may have happened in the past.

But either way, there are no skeletons.

And there is no closet.

It’s too bad Bill Buckner never got that chance.

Big Brother is Watching

2010-07-05T14:28:00.002-04:00

For those of you who have been reading my blog since the beginning, you have seen a couple of facelifts.

It started with a bunch of words on a white background.

A few months later, I found a program that let me put a colorful background behind the words.

That was followed by adding an advertisement from Amazon.com, which gave me some blogosphere street cred.

For the last month, my website has been part of a program called AdSense, where they post some rotating ads on my site, based on the subject of my most recent blog.

With all of the new blogs out there, it took more than six weeks to get approved for AdSense, which also monitors the traffic on the site.

For a stat nut like me, it is pretty cool to see how many people are visiting the site.

AdSense also monitors how many times people click on one of the ads.

I have no idea what the formula is, but if I understand this correctly, I get paid based on how many times people click on those ads.

Some days that amount is a Penny, enough to give my six-year old daughter a ride on the moving horse at the grocery store.

Some days it has been enough to buy her an Orange Juice.

But this blog is certainly not about the money, and hopefully it never will be, but I do like the fact that I am able to monitor which blogs get the most hits.

Enter Mat, with one T.

He’s the friend of a friend, who used to write a blog, and introduced me to my new favorite website.

Yes, even better than sirbacon123.com.

It’s called sitemeter.com.

Basically it's the Internet's version of big brother.

If you don't think people are watching -- guess again.

It took seconds to sign up and minutes to add the software to my website.

And for the low low low price of zero dollars and zero cents, I can now:

See the total number of hits at sirbacon123.com, the average hits per day, the average length of each hit, the traffic prediction for the next hour, day, week and month, which website referred the reader to my site, a world map showing me where the last 100 visitors came from…

But wait, there’s more.

I can also see, pretty much to the second, who is reading my blog and which blog they are reading, at that exact moment.

Now how much would you pay?

Well, not exactly who, but sorta.

Before you think I'm some type of blogging Peeping Tom, the truth is I have no idea who you are, but with the help of sitemeter.com, I can see where many of you are from.

For most people, it lists an IP address and a location.

It also tells me what operating system you are using, like MacOSX or Microsoft WinXP, along with what browser and the resolution of your monitor.

In some cases, I can even see if you prefer Coke or Pepsi.

I really hope this is not going to scare you away from coming back to my site, but if it does, you should be terrified to go to ANY site.

If some unemployed guy who can somehow manage to put some words together a couple of times a week can figure this stuff out, just imagine what else is out there.

But the truth of the matter is, THIS IS AWESOME!

I log onto sitemeter.com about nine million times a day to see who is reading about my life.

It is by far the worst addiction of my life, even worse than fantasy basketball.

I have absolutely NO idea who is reading my blog in Kirksville, Missouri or Mcallen, Texas or Pine Lake, Georgia or Brookline, Massachusetts.

But I thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing it.

It has been an unbelievable thrill to see people log on from the Czech Republic, Korea, Vietnam, France, India, Australia, Mexico and of course my brothers from another mother in Canada.

And that’s just in the last few days.

Sitemeter.com shows me the last 100 visitors for free.

If I want to spend $6.95 per month or $69 a year, I can monitor the last 4,000 visitors, plus some other cool stuff I’m sure.

As a guy who spent most of his childhood memorizing the stats of the great Steven Patrick Garvey, let there be no doubt, I LOVE NUMBERS.

But the numbers I’ve seen at sitemeter.com have absolutely blown me away more than the four straight years Popeye knocked in 100+ runs in the mid-70’s.

I will never forget the night that someone I have never met, and probably will never meet, gave me my first sitemetergasm.

From thousands of miles away, I monitored as a person from Citrus Heights, California spent nearly three hours on MY website reading 62 of my blogs.

Some wonderful person gave up nearly three hours of their life to read about mine.

Those are numbers that Steve Garvey could only wish for.

The Boys of Spring... and Summer

2010-07-04T14:05:00.001-04:00

My dad always said that a bases-loaded triple was the most exciting play in baseball.

As someone who worked for several Major League teams and saw literally thousands of games, he knew what he was talking about.

I remember him telling me that on that play, unlike any other, everybody on the field was moving.

It’s really a shame that my dad didn’t live long enough to see my son play because I have a feeling 11-year old baseball would’ve replaced the majors as his favorite game.

Through the four months of March through June, it pretty much consumes every weekend for us.

Yesterday marked the end of our season, but it wasn’t by choice.

We were playing in the State Tournament, with one game on Friday night and two on Saturday.

If we won two of the three, we would advance to the next round.

Anything less and we would go home.

For eight months.

The odds were definitely against us.

This year our team played in the 11-year old triple-A division, but our first two games in the tournament were against teams who played in the 11-year old Major League division.

To keep these games on a schedule, we play six innings or an hour and 45 minutes, whichever comes first.

We led our first game 10-4 at one point, but little-by-little the other team battled back.

It was a 10-9 game in the bottom of the 5th inning when the clock struck an hour and 44 minutes and 30 seconds.

30 more seconds and that would officially mark the last inning of the game.

We would still need to get the final out to win or they could score two more runs to do the same.

But the game would be over at the end of that inning.

Well, not so fast.

With the tying run on third base and two outs, the coach of the other team went DEEP into the rule book to take baseball to another level.

With time running out, he ordered his batter to sprint from the batter’s box into the dugout.

Once he reached the dugout, he was called out, for the third out of the inning.

But since he did it, before time ran out, the game would not be over and we would continue for another inning.

Honestly, I’ve watched A LOT of baseball in my life and I have NEVER seen anything like this.

The 11-year boy, who had a chance to be a hero, was told loud and clear by his coach:

YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO GET A HIT. GET OFF THE FIELD.

NOW!

The boy heard it, so did his parents and so did everybody else watching the game.

Unfortunately the bad guys rallied for two runs in the bottom of the next inning to beat us 11-10.

Their coach must be so proud.

The second game of the tournament was equally heartbreaking for us.

We entered the final inning down 6-3.

We scraped together two runs then loaded the bases with one out.

Our cleanup hitter was up and all we pretty much needed was for him to put the ball in play and the game would be tied.

Well, put it in play anywhere but where he did.

He smashed the ball right back at the pitcher, who stabbed it, threw home for one out and then the catcher threw to first for a double play.

1-2-3.

Just like that, our chances of advancing were over.

I know it’s just a game.

And it’s all for fun.

And blah blah blah.

But these games do mean a lot.

To the kids. To the coaches. To the parents.

To me.

With all of the time and energy we invest, this team has truly become a part of our life.

Without getting too emotionally off track here, those two devastating losses just felt like another spoiled cherry on top of my melted sundae.

I am really looking forward to celebrating something, anything, before my clock runs out.

Maybe I should grab my bat and run off the field as quickly as possible to start another inning.

Ok, the pity party is over, now back to the action.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) we still had one game left in the tournament, where, as our coach told the kids, we were “playing for pride.”

As was the other winless team.

We kinda walked through the motions for the first few innings, then kicked it into high gear.

In my son’s second at bat, he got beaned in the foot.

It was the eighth time in the last eight games he had been hit and the 12th time this year, an amazing run of bad luck which had become a running joke on the team.

After getting hit this time, my son turned to the bench, from his knees, and held up one finger with his right hand and two fingers with his left.

And he smiled from ear-to-ear, making sure everybody knew that he had reached a dozen, and that he was ok with it.

The game would go on, as it always does, and we would eventually grab a pretty good lead, something like 8-2.

The next time my son would come up would be his final at-bat of the season.

After all, the clock was ticking.

The bases were loaded and whatever happened would be my son's lasting impression of his 11-year old baseball season.

The count would become full, three balls and two strikes.

And then.

KABOOM!

A high-flying blast down the left-field line.

After it finally landed, it would roll within a few feet of the 305 foot sign at the fence.

Everybody was in full motion.

When the play had ended, all three runs had scored and my son was resting on third with a stand-up triple.

A bases-loaded triple, the most exciting play in baseball.

Somewhere my dad is smiling.

Page 16A

2010-07-02T16:34:00.001-04:00

I subscribe to a bunch of magazines.

It used to be more, before the financial reevaluation brought on by unemployment, but I still enjoy the ones I get.

I get Rolling Stone and Sporting News, Sports Illustrated and Entertainment Weekly.

ESPN the Magazine and I think one or two others.

Playboy was a casualty of the unemployment.

It’s too bad, because they had great articles.

Unfortunately I don’t always get a chance to read the magazines when they arrive.

In fact, many times I have to wait until I have a plane trip to catch up on all of the latest news.

Well, by the time I read the magazines it’s no longer news, but in a two-hour flight I can usually breeze through 10 or 12 periodicals.

On my last trip I learned that Bob Hope had passed away.

So sad.

I loved his gasoline commercials.

I do get the morning newspaper delivered to my home and I am usually able to skim through that within a day or two of its arrival.

Today on my lunch break, I set aside time to read today's paper.

What a concept.

As much as I love the Internet, and how in the world did we live without it, there is still something special about getting the ink on your fingertips.

My dad taught me that.

I usually flip from page to page pretty quickly until a headline or picture captures my attention.

At that point, I breeze through the article until I find some cool piece of information I can share with someone to make it look like I read the morning paper.

“Can you believe that ________ (insert fact here).”

“I read it in the paper this morning.”

I love people who quote the Wall Street Journal or New York Times to make sure you know just how smart they really are.

Well this morning I made it to page 16A without anything really catching my eye.

That’s when I saw this headline:

SUICIDE BOMBERS KILL 35, WOUND 175 IN PAKISTAN

That was the top story in the “World Briefs” section of my local paper.

The article was three paragraphs long with a total of 60 words.

On page 16A.

I realize I live like a trillion miles away from Pakistan and I don’t spend a whole lot of time keeping up on Pakistani News, but 35 people died and 175 people were wounded it made page 16A?

Two suicide bombers struck a popular Muslim shrine in Pakistan’s second-largest city wiping out basically the entire company I am working with now.

16A? 16A!

I don’t know how that bombing may have affected you, but if I wasn’t writing a blog these days, it would’ve taken me about 1.5 seconds to move on to page 17A.

And that is terrible.

Fortunately that bombing didn’t affect my life, but it did eliminate the lives of mothers and daughters, brothers and sisters, fathers and sons.

Of real people.

Are we that numb to the violence that is going on around the world on a daily basis that the end of 35 lives and the damage done to hundreds of others is barely a blip on our radar screen?

It’s not my local newspaper’s fault.

I’m not blaming anyone.

It’s just sad.

I realize there are certain parts of the world that are MUCH more dangerous than others, but when did the loss of 35 lives become a three paragraph story on page 16A?

The disgusting massacre at Virginia Tech killed 32 people for no reason.

The horrendous events at Columbine High School killed 13 people, including a dozen innocent children and one brave teacher.

Three months after Columbine, Mark Barton, someone described as a man, killed his wife, son and daughter and then nine others at a pair of Atlanta day trading firms.

Those were all front-page news here in the United States and they should’ve been.

On January 29, 1986, the headline in EVERY newspaper in this country (and probably world) was the tragic news of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster.

I remember after the accident, going back to see where my local paper -- the legendary Los Angeles Times -- had run the story that previous morning of the upcoming launch.

A launch, which had been delayed five different times that week and was quite historical considering that it included Christa McAuliffe, a High School teacher looking to become the first teacher in space.

If my memory is correct, insert joke here, I recall a small article somewhere near the bottom of a page in the mid-20’s, perhaps 24.

Whether it was actually 24 or even 14, I can guarantee it wasn’t on page 1, a place that unfortunately it occupied that next day.

People have always said that bad news sells.

And that nobody reports on somebody making it home safely.

Unfortunately 35 human beings didn’t make it home safely yesterday.

But you better read the fine print or you will miss it.

Show Me The Money

2010-07-01T03:20:00.010-04:00

Merry NBA Christmas!

This is the day that basketball fans all over the world have been waiting for.

Today, some of the top names in the game are finally “free” agents.

Players like LeBron James and Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh and Joe Johnson, Dirk Nowitzki and Paul Pierce.

And the list goes on for a bunch of others who will be getting wined and dined in the ultimate rush party.

The name of this fraternity is The Millionaire March.

Or in the case of LeBron James, The Billionaire March, with a B.

King James has always said that he wants to be the first athlete to reach ten figures.

He definitely got off to a good start, signing a $90 million dollar deal with Nike before ever playing a game in the NBA.

And now is his chance to really cash in.

LeBron’s hometown Cavaliers can offer him the most amount of money, about $127 million over six years.

If he signs somewhere else, he could get $97 million over five years.

Now I am all for people making as much money as they possibly can, but let's break this down for a moment.

Calculator please.....

Let’s assume that LeBron gets a deal for $100 million. (Easy math always wins.)

The average annual salary for a worker in the United States in 2008 was $41,334.97. (Or $40k for our exercise.)

In his first seven years in the NBA, LeBron averaged about 3,600 minutes of game action, including the playoffs.

So........

When LeBron gets the $100 mil, that means he will make in eight minutes what the average American makes in a year.

Now don’t get me wrong, LeBron is one of the best players in the league and one of the best players of this generation.

But $5500 per minute great?

In case you were wondering, minimum wage is 12 cents per minute.

I’m just sayin.

When I was working, I was one of the lucky ones with plenty of access to free tickets.

I went to more games than you can play at the county fair.

But it was always on the house.

Not anymore.

Now if I want to go, it’s coming out of my pocket.

Or the kids' college fund.

And that decision costs a lot of dollars and makes no sense.

According to the the NBA’s Fan Cost Index, the average cost for a family of four, and we are five, to attend a game in 2009 was $289.87.

Or as LeBron calls it, a three second violation.

Of course for that $289.87, you get two beers, four soft drinks, four hot dogs, two game programs, two caps, parking and I’m guessing four seats in Section Nose Bleed.

The average price for an NFL game is $412.

The average price for a Major League Baseball game is $197.

Now I’m not making any type of political statement here, I’m just giving you the facts.

If you’ve got the money and want to spend it on going to a game, I think you should.

If you don’t got the money or don’t want to spend it on going to a game, then I think you shouldn’t.

You make the call.

But how in the world did this get so out of control?

And who in the world can afford those prices?

Once a year, Parade magazine produces a special issue of what people make.

A few weeks ago, they had their 2009 edition.

A 911 dispatcher from New Hampshire made $67,000.

A teacher’s aide from Wisconsin made $19,800.

A social worker from North Dakota made $58,200.

A receptionist from Oregon made $23,500.

A police sergeant from Alabama made $67,500.

A firefighter from Arkansas made $45,000.

A parole officer from New York made $63,700.

A paralegal from Washington DC made $39,000.

A truck driver from Minnesota made $91,400.

A bus driver from Illinois made $67,000.

A registered nurse from Utah made $71,000.

A pediatrician from Maryland made $47,000.

A factory worker from Indiana made $29,800.

A state representative from Mississippi made $42,000.

A funeral home director from Pennsylvania made 6,300.

A letter carrier from Oregon made $54,200.

A UPS driver from California made $80,000.

A coal miner from West Virginia made $60,000.

A janitor from Montana made $39,800.

A car salesman from Florida made $60,000.

A barista from Rhode Island made $20,000.

Those 21 people earned a combined $1,112,200 in 2009.

Or as LeBron would say, a five-game road trip.

Something just doesn't smell right.

Direct Hit

2010-06-29T12:47:00.001-04:00

At approximately 1:54am local time last night/this morning, we were putting the final touches on a commercial I was producing.

For those of you who would like to work in TV, we started shooting at 3:00pm -- nearly eleven hours earlier.

We had our production meeting three hours before that.

The commercial is 30 seconds.

You do the math.

And that was just the shooting.

The editing comes next, followed by the nitpicking.

But if you love the art, you need to love the trip to Home Depot to buy the paint.

I think it was... me, who just said that.

As the Producer, sometimes it is my role to drive the bus and make sure that everyone is on that bus with me.

Sometimes it is my job to just be a passenger and to make sure we are driving in the right direction.

In this case, there was no problem with the direction.

For this project, there was another freelance employee who jumped in behind the wheel and hit the accelerator.

He was the Director and Cameraman, Editor and Visionary.

One of the many former bosses that I worked for in my career always said there are two steps to success.

Have a plan.

And don’t suck.

Usually the second part is more important than the first, but without the plan, you’ve got big problems.

This was my first real venture with the Dir/Cam/Edit/Visionary guy, but I could tell right away he definitely had a plan.

And we really needed one.

The sponsor of the commercial flew in from across the country to oversee this shoot.

This was a such a big deal for our company that the employees got three different emails to make sure that they cleaned up their work area and dressed up for the visitors.

As for the commercial, we shot four scenes in three different locations.

After EVERY shot, the Director showed the sponsor what it looked like to make sure they approved, which they did.

There is no doubt they were impressed with the quality of the shoots and all of the thought that the Director had put into it.

It was a very long day for every one, but it was an especially long day for the guy who had been carrying the gear around, making sure that EVERY shot passed his high standards and more importantly adjusted to any and all input from the sponsor.

We started our final scene at around Midnight, about two hours later than we had hoped, but considering how well everything had gone, nobody was complaining.

His attention to detail was incredible, but his open-minded positive attitude was even better.

Until about 1:30am.

That’s when he got a little cranky -- nothing new in this business.

But when I say a little cranky, I mean a LITTLE cranky.

Unlike MANY temper tantrums I have witnessed first hand, this was more of a man who was getting frustrated that his perfect shoot was no longer going perfect.

... at 1:30 in the morning, 10+ hours after it started.

There was no screaming or yelling, but everyone could tell that this was not the same guy we had spent the day with.

Finally at 2:18am, we heard him belt out the three words we had all been waiting for.

THAT’S A WRAP.

As the new day had started, our long day had finally ended.

After the shoot was over, a handful of us, including the sponsor gathered around to talk about the commercial.

But it wasn’t the commercial that we ended up talking about.

Before we even got going, the Director apologized for getting cranky.

If that was cranky, there was no need to apologize.

Then he explained that about an hour earlier he had taken a late bathroom break and during that break, he checked his voice mail.

On his machine were two messages.

The first was from a 36-year old friend of his.

A friend who has been suffering through stomach cancer, going to chemo on a regular basis.

His friend said that she was really hoping that he could stop by as soon as possible.

He got another call 30 minutes later.

His friend had died.

As you might imagine, we were all in shock with this revelation.

This was the first we had heard of any of this.

At no point did we have ANY idea that he was carrying around more on his back than just the video camera.

The Speed Of Lightning

2010-06-28T10:23:00.004-04:00

I spent much of my Saturday afternoon writing this blog.

Only I wasn’t at a computer, I didn't have an iPad or even a pad of paper.

Rather I was on a bike trail with my brother-in-law and one of my neighbors.

When the weather is nice, as it is now, there are a ton of trails near my house where you can hike or walk or as we prefer, ride a mountain bike.

I am far from an expert, but I do enjoy the opportunity to get out and burn some calories.

I’m not sure we are ever going to run into Lance Armstrong, but some of these trails can be quite challenging.

We started uphill, as we always do, then made a choice to head east, down a series of trails, which leads to an area where we could really push the limits.

Well that was the plan.

About five minutes later, or halfway towards our destination, it looked like someone from the paparazzi was taking our picture.

Flash! Boom! Flash!

Enter Mother Nature.

And as our luck would have it, we were located right next to an area were a bunch of power lines called home base.

Not the ideal place to be during a thunder and lightning storm.

Considering we had no other option, we kept going – as quickly as possible.

At times too quick.

I took one corner too fast, which became my first spill of the day.

Fortunately it came on a dirt trail that had been softened up by the drops of rain.

I got up right away and kept going.

The good news is my iPod didn’t skip a beat.

The other good news was our path was taking us in the direction away from the storm, so as long as we moved faster than the speed of light, we would be fine.

Eventually -- probably five minutes, but it felt like fifty -- we got to the challenging area of trails we were looking for.

At that point, we saw another bolt of lightning.

This time it was so close you could see the little lettering on the bolt that showed how many volts it was.

It was definitely time to head home.

We waited for the thunder to follow to see how far away the lightning really was.

We counted to four, so my biking buddies said that meant the lightning was still eight miles away.

One of the comedians I was riding with joked, “it’s a good thing, because we only live 7.8 miles away.”

Stick to the comedy guys, because your math and science sucks.

According to weather.com:

When you see the flash, count the seconds until you hear the thunder.
Divide this number by 5.
The number you get is the approximate distance of the lightning in miles.

So based on that information and my 700 score on the SAT math, I can now tell you that at that exact moment, the lightning was...

... carry the one...

Holy Electrical Storm Batman...

Eight-tenths of a mile away! That's like 4,224 feet.

I’m glad I didn’t figure that out until I got home.

Of course, I didn’t get home for a while. At that point we were still a good 15 minutes away.

All I kept thinking was, if I get killed by lightning, who is going to write this blog?

We headed down the trail towards home, made it to a local middle school, then a local high school, then a local elementary school -- lotsa schools in my neighborhood.

At one point, we were cutting through a parking lot and I zigged when I should’ve zagged and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground.

Fortunately I landed on the most padded part of my body, if you know what I mean.

And once again, my iPod didn’t stop.

Hey Apple, if you need me for a commercial, call my agent.

Well eventually I got back on course, pumping as quick as I could, as the rain got stronger.

Fortunately, the lightning became less frequent, or perhaps the anxiety in my head blocked out the flashes of light.

Then it was left here, right there, up that hill, cut through that street, yada yada yada... we made it home.

Phew.

Well I’m guessing you figured out by this point that I made it home safe.

Kinda like the movie Apollo 13.

Did they really need to put on the opening credits that the movie was based on a book by one of the Apollo 13 astronauts?

Thanks for ruining the ending before the movie even started.

Now in case you were wondering, and I was, what do you do when you are riding a bicycle during a lightning storm?

The quick answer is, DON’T.

According to the experts:

Avoid any metal objects such as bicycles and golf clubs, fishing rods, tennis rackets or tools.

If on a bicycle and lightning is within 5 miles, STOP riding, get off of your bicycle, find a ditch or other low spot and sit down.

There is no safe place in the mountains during lightning.

In the baseball world, that would be referred to as Strike 1, Strike 2 and Strike 3.

I think I got off pretty easy with a sore behind.

Ghana With The Win(d)

2010-06-27T01:09:00.001-04:00

Like many kids 13 and under, I grew up playing soccer.

And like most kids 14 and over, it stopped there.

I did play on my fraternity’s intramural soccer team in college, but I probably did it to give me one more excuse to avoid going to class.

In my town growing up, we had a team from the North American Soccer League, the NASL.

The NASL was THE professional outdoor soccer league in this country from 1968 to 1984.

We went to quite a few games, which were played in the same stadium where our NFL team played its games.

The only difference was the NFL team would sell out the 60,000 plus seats, while the NASL soccer team would draw about 3,000.

So if you chewed too loud on your popcorn at the soccer game, the goalie could hear it.

We were told in the 70’s that with the amount of kids playing soccer it would be the next great sport in the United States.

We were told in the 80’s that with the amount of kids playing soccer it would be the next great sport in the United States.

We were told in the 90’s that with the amount of kids playing soccer it would be the next great sport in the United States.

We were told in the 2000‘s that with the amount of kids playing soccer it would be the next great sport in the United States.

This is not a recording.

The bottom line is that tons of kids, including my youngest one, are still playing soccer.

And it still hasn’t meant very much to the popularity of grown up soccer in this country.

Every four years, 32 countries compete in the World Cup -- imagine if the Super Bowl had a baby with the Olympics.

It’s the biggest event for the world’s most popular sport.

The United States team has never won the month-long tournament, but we did finish in 3rd place.

In 1930.

Well the tournament is going on right now in South Africa and Saturday the U.S. met the country of Ghana in an elimination game.

The loser goes home.

The winner advances to the quarterfinals to face Uruguay, a country with a population of 3.3 million, approximately the same size as Chicago + Tucson.

My son’s baseball team also had a game on Saturday, about an hour away from our home.

They won with five runs in the top of the last inning, including a go-ahead two-run single by my son.

I had to mention that, right?

Well after the game, we stopped a local watering hole for a bite to eat.

When we got there the USA-Ghana game was on TV.

Three TV’s actually -- two in English and one in Spanish.

For whatever reason, the Spanish broadcast was actually a second ahead.

By the time we sat down, the US was losing 2-1 in the first overtime.

Unlike the NFL, it’s not sudden death. If the game is tied after 90 minutes of regulation, you play two 15-minute overtime periods.

If the game is tied after overtime, you go to a shootout.

If you can’t tell, I know a little something about soccer.

Not a lot, but a little.

But you would’ve thought that Pele was sitting there.

When I explained the overtime to my son, the questions started flying from across the room:

What’s the deal with injury time?
How many substitutes do you get?
What time is Happy Hour?

Fortunately there was a guy at the bar who knew more than I did, so I let him answer all the questions.

As we watched the rest of the game, my son informed me that Ghana had a home field advantage.

Why is that I said...

...Well at least they are on the same continent as South Africa.

That’s better analysis than I got on the Spanish channel.

I did learn from the English broadcast that Ghana is the size of Oregon.

I also learned from Wikipedia that Ghana has 24 million people, the same as Texas.

But with all due respect to the fine people of Ghana, we should not lose to Ghana in any sport.

I realize that sounds very ignorant on my part -- and I would very much agree -- but really?

We are going to lose to Ghana? With a chance to play Uruguay?

With a chance to go to a World Cup Semi-final?

For the first time since... 1930.

Oh, I guess we are not much of a soccer powerhouse.

Of course, we lost to Ghana four years ago in the 2006 World Cup to get eliminated, so there goes that theory.

But really?

Well, sure enough, we lost again.

We played 90+ minutes of regulation and 30+ minutes of extra time and when it was all over, we lost 2-1.

To Ghana.

Again.

Prompting my son to say, U.S. is a Ghana (goner).

Oh well, at least it's time for Happy Hour.

The Time Machine

2010-06-25T14:28:00.004-04:00

Technology is a fantastic thing.

If you don't believe me, maybe I can tweet you from my iPhone or poke your Blackberry from my Facebook.

I must admit that as hard as I try and as much as I think I know, I'm still behind the curve.

At least when you compare me to all humans 13 years and under.

If I need any computer assistance, I don't need the Geek Squad, I just ask my kids.

But it's really not my fault. My parents should've birthed me 40 years later.

Of course there are some advantages to being an antique.

To me SPAM was a junky food, before it was a junky email.

I remember when Macintosh was an apple. Apple was a fruit. Java was a cup of coffee. A cookie was a treat.

Those computer guys have more of a food addiction than I do.

When I was young if you Google your Dongle too much, you’d go blind.

Password was a game show.

A virus made you feel sick.

Oh, some things haven’t changed.

In sixth grade our school got its first computer, a brand new TRS-80.

That was so cool.

And so slow.

Pong was the greatest video game of all-time.

WAS.

Try to play it now. I dare you.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) the kids of today will never know what life was like before YouTube.

Recently my 11-year old son and I were driving in the car of a friend of mine when my friend ejected a cassette from his dash.

"WHAT IS THAT?” my son said, as if he had seen a dinosaur.

A few days ago, I was grabbing a quick bite at home with the kids, enjoying one of my favorite meals -- Cereal Surprise.

The concoction du jour was one part Honeycomb, one part Sugar Smacks and one part Grape Nuts.

You gotta hit all the food groups.

My son and daughter each threw a french bread pizza into the microwave.

While we were waiting, I informed the youngsters "when I was your age, we didn't have a microwave."

Now who's the dinosaur?

Of course the conversation didn't stop there.

I told them we got water from the sink, not the dispenser on the refrigerator.

If you wanted to change the channel on the TV, you had to get up and do it yourself.

Remote control? What a concept.

From time-to-time, one of our three or four channels would go out and a graphic would pop up.

"Please Stand By."

So I'd get off the couch, go stand RIGHT next to the TV.

And within seconds the picture would always come back.

It worked EVERY time.

I told my 13-year old daughter that we never had a VCR player and that DVD were the initials of Mary Tyler Moore's husband.

Mary who?

In part fear and part curiosity, my daughter asked, "how did you watch movies?"

"The movie theatre," I said.

"What happens if you want to see it again?"

"You went to the movies."

"Again."

I honestly cannot remember my first cordless phone, but that had to be one of the great moments of my life.

As someone with some serious pockets of ADD, the ability to talk on the phone while doing something else was a real recipe for success.

And to think that someday they’d invent a cordless phone that you can use from the car.

Or the street.

Or the Starbucks.

What's Starbucks?

As if I didn't feel a million years old already, my son asked what types of pets we had when I was his age.

Well there was Sparky, my little Wooly Mammoth and Bubbles, my adorable Rhamphorhynchus.

How old do they think I am?

I gotta go.

The Golden Girls is on.

On A Role

2010-06-23T10:25:00.001-04:00

Today marks the beginning of my fourth week back at work.

I hope they have a cake waiting for me.

The job has been my opportunity to get back into the world of TV, creating and producing shows during a seven-week freelance gig.

I’ve still got a month left and PLENTY of work to do.

I suppose that’s the good news.

The bad news is the best way to describe my mood these days is, miserable.

I've been hired to produce a series of shows that involve a subject matter I know nothing about.

But that’s not the problem.

In my 25 years in the TV biz, I worked on many shows that have introduced me to a new world.

I found that challenge to not only be... challenging, but also a great way to expand my mind.

The people who were kind enough to hire me for my current job are getting 100% of me 100% of the time I am there.

But this is definitely not what the doctor ordered.

I show up to work on time everyday.

And I leave at the same time.

Everyday.

And once I’m out of the parking lot, I’m gone.

I don’t put one second of thought into the job from the moment I leave until the moment I get back.

Fred Durst may have done it for the nookie, but I'm doing it for the money.

I have officially become a worker.

Hold on...

Before you send me hate mail, please keep in mind this blog is about expressing my real feelings and I'm just trying to keep it real.

I am in NO WAY knocking the millions of great people in this great country who go to work every morning, work all day and then go home.

In a way, I guess I’m jealous.

But I gotta be honest, that’s not me.

I became very happy as a stay-at-home dad.

I would be very happy to start my career over again.

But this life in limbo thing flat out sucks.

I spent all of my professional life putting my heart and soul into every project I have ever worked on.

There was never a clock ticking in my head.

I left it all on the table.

Pick a cliche, any cliche.

It was a labor of love.

I never worked a day in my life.

Until now.

I have absolutely no investment into this job other than doing the best job I can for seven weeks.

Which I am.

Considering the shows they do and my lack of interest in doing the shows they do, I don’t see this becoming a full-time job.

In my last full-time job, I managed 50 people.

I had real people with real questions and real problems coming into my office every day looking for a grown up to guide them through life.

It was an honor to play that role for them.

Now I live on the other side of the tracks.

Every manager knows that every employee believes every manager is stupid.

Those conversations used to go on behind my back.

Now they are happening in front of my cubicle.

Despite what you may be thinking at this exact second, this is not about power.

I have never had the desire to be the President of the World.

I have never had the drive to be a famous movie director.

In fact, I drifted more into management than I ever would’ve expected.

I got into TV because it was cool.

I stayed in TV because it was creative.

I’m now in TV for a paycheck.

It probably doesn’t help that I spent the entire school year at home by myself and now that my wife and kids are out of school, I’m leaving for work at 8:00am every day.

It probably doesn’t help that I spent the last six months going to the gym every day and now I haven’t worked out since May.

It definitely doesn't help that the one lead I thought I had on a GREAT job now seems to be more of a mirage.

I guess it's back to the drawing board.

Does anyone have a pen?

Good Job, Good Job, Good Job

2010-06-22T03:25:00.002-04:00

If you’ve read more than one of my blogs, you probably have a pretty good idea that I love food, I love music and I really LOVE sports.

Pick any restaurant, concert or game. I’m in.

Well, ALMOST any game.

I realize I won’t be getting any votes for father of the year for this blog, especially in my own house, but here goes...

Six-year old girls tee ball sucks.

I mean, it really SUCKS!

Don’t get me wrong, I would watch my kids perform in an opera if that is what they want to do.

But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fall asleep.

With three kids, my wife and I have moved into the zone defense when it comes to their activities.

So far this year, I’ve made it to most tee ball practices, but this past Saturday was the first game I attended.

OMG!

First, can we talk about the rules.

Everybody hits. Every inning. Nobody gets out.

Not that anybody on defense can actually make an out.

The last batter in every inning gets to run all the bases after they hit the ball to give the impression that they did something right.

After every swing, hit or miss, you hear -- good job.

After every play, good or bad, you hear good job, good job.

Then at the end, while the girls are fighting for juice boxes and oreo cookies, the whole reason they came anyway, you hear it again.

Good Job, Good Job, Good Job.

See you at practice.

Saturday, I coached third base in each of the three innings.

It was on me to somehow convince the runner on second base to put one leg in front of the other without getting distracted.

When they eventually got to third base, I became a stand-up comedian.

Keep them entertained until the next batter dribbles one six feet off the tee.

It usually starts with a high five. Followed by a joke about racing them to home plate.

“That’s the base you are running to next sweetie.”

These kids have the attention span of a, six-year old.

Then ask if they want me to pour water over their head to keep them cool.

That’s always worth a chuckle and a smile.

Oh, and of course, Good Job.

Hopefully by this point, the next girl would have put a ball in play, which means I can cue up the same comedy set for the next runner.

If I sound like a sports snob. Guilty as charged.

Excuse me for not finding a game between the T-Ball Chicks and Fire Flys as riveting as the Yankees and Dodgers.

Even if my daughter is playing.

The highlight of the game for me was when one of the hitters (on the other team) threw her bat and her coach had to jump out of the way.

The highlight wasn’t the first time she did it, but the second and third times.

Since we don’t keep score -- and everybody scores anyway -- there are no losers, just the kids who get this false impression that they are all winners.

At the end of the year each girl is going to get a trophy with their name on it to help them remember this most important season.

The coach will come up with some line about how little Susie improved or what a great attitude Hannah has or that hilarious moment when Jessie ran to third base instead of first.

And then everyone will giggle before we eat cake.

The truth is the kids are more interested in picking up grass than picking up grounders.

And the parents. Oh, the parents.

They have basically hired a one-hour nanny to give them sixty uninterrupted minutes on their iPhone.

And if Saturday’s game wasn’t bad enough, the coach informed me that he was going to be out of town on a business trip and he needed me to run the next practice.

I went in with an open mind, but that open mind closed about three seconds after we started.

Can I play pitcher?

Can I play shortstop?

Where is shortstop?

I’m thirsty.

I want to hit.

Where is the Coach?

I’m thirsty.

Why do I need to wear a helmet?

The entire time the parents are slouched over their lawn chair texting away:

can u b-leave i found another jack azz to watch molly for an hour? lol.

Well text away Mr. and Mrs. Doe, the joke is on you.

My daughter had a blast and she went to bed tonight thinking that her father loves tee ball.

Good Job Dad!

Papa Can You Hear Me?

2010-06-20T03:04:00.005-04:00

Eight years ago I wished my dad a Happy Father’s Day.

For the last time.

Thirteen days later, he died of a massive heart attack.

The good news is he suffered for about 15 seconds.

The bad news is I have suffered for nearly eight years.

And counting.

Father’s Day is not the same without your father.

I wasn't there that morning

When my father passed away

I didn't get to tell him

All the things I had to say

My father made it very clear that I was his earth and his moon.

And his only son.

My parents got divorced when I was 12 and I was pretty much raised by a single dad.

He did the best job he could -- a damn good job -- considering his father died when he was nine.

My dad, an only child, spent the next 50 years raising his mom.

He graduated from New York University after going to seven years of night school.

That gave him the opportunity to work during the day to bring in money for the two of them.

He believed in working hard and wasn't afraid to do it.

The result was an amazing career.

He started off in the newspaper business, then moved briefly to TV before locking in on a career as an executive in the sports world.

He became one of the most respected people in his field, worked with several sports teams in professional basketball, football and baseball and was the first, and one of the only people to earn a Super Bowl ring AND a World Series ring.

At 5-foot-9, he did it the hard way, through the front office.

He spent the last 10 years of his life hosting a sports radio program.

While our lines of work had a lot in common, we went about our business in different ways.

He would often call me to get my thoughts on his shows, listening to every piece of advice I gave him.

I would call him too, but many times I was too clueless to hear what he had to say.

If there was something bothering him, he would never burden me.

Anytime I would get frustrated, I would go to him to vent.

And each time, it would end with him telling me to “keep my chin up.”

It got to the point where I would mouth the words at the same time he said them as our phone conversation came to a close.

Shame on me. I would give anything to hear that from him again.

Every generation blames the one before

And all of their frustrations

Come beating on your door

I know that I'm a prisoner

To all my father held so dear

I know that I'm a hostage

To all his hopes and fears

I just wish I could have told him

In the living years

On June 29, 2002, he hosted his last radio show.

Immediately after that show was over, he met some friends for dinner at a local restaurant.

He asked me and my family to join, but we passed.

Instead we went out to dinner with a former colleague and his family who were in town for a visit.

When my dad and his party got seated at their restaurant he asked his wife to order him a Dalwhinnie (Scotch) on the rocks as he left for the restroom.

As he stepped a few feet away from the table, he collapsed.

And died.

That quickly.

No warning signs. No significant pain. Nothing.

Gone.

To this day, I still think about why I wasn’t at the restaurant with him that night.

Deep down I know it would've been a terrible thing for his grandchildren to watch him die.

It would’ve been a terrible thing for his son to watch him die too.

But I still think, why wasn’t I there?

I can still remember that night, as clear as yesterday, hanging out with my three-year old son in his bottom bunk when the phone rang.

My wife came in and said Barbara was on the phone.

Barbara was my dad’s second wife, of 17 years.

I told her to take a message.

Nothing was more important than my son and I having one of those moments.

One of those moments where a father and son are doing absolutely nothing but hanging out and loving each other.

Unfortunately that moment was cut short.

My wife said Barbara NEEDED to speak to me, “it was very important.”

Within seconds, she informed me that my dad had collapsed and that I needed to get to the hospital right away.

“They didn’t think he was going to make it.”

Talk about a wake-up call.

By the time I got to the hospital, it was too late.

I walked into his room, spoke to him for several minutes, told him I loved him, said a prayer and kissed his cold forehead goodbye.

I knew something was about to hit me, but I didn’t realize how hard of a hit it was.

Say it loud

Say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It's too late when we die

To admit we don't see eye to eye

So we open up a quarrel

Between the present and the past

We only sacrifice the future

It's the bitterness that lasts

So don't yield to the fortunes

You sometimes see as fate

It may have a new perspective

On a different day

And if you don't give up

And don't give in

You may just be O.K.

I told my three kids tonight that I was going to write a blog about my dad, on this, Father’s Day.

The older kids each have a picture of them with their grandfather hanging up in their room.

My son says he looks at it EVERY night before he goes to bed.

I asked each of them, individually, questions about their relationship with my dad.

I’m not really sure what kind of reaction I was expecting or what kind of reaction I was going to get, but I wasn’t really prepared for the one that I got.

Within seconds, there were tears in their eyes.

I asked why they were crying, but I didn’t really get a good answer -- not that I needed one.

My oldest daughter remembered the moment when I told her my dad had passed away.

She said I explained that “Papa has left us. God took him away because he needed him in Heaven.”

She was five at the time.

She is 13 now.

My son is 11.

His eyes welled up tonight when he said "even though he was really busy, he always found time for us.”

I asked him why he was crying.

He told me that this was a subject he didn’t like to talk about.

I then spoke with my six-year old daughter about the grandfather she never met.

In the Jewish religion, you are not allowed to name a newborn after someone who is still alive.

When I asked her about my dad, she proudly stated that she was named after him.

She then broke down and said she was sorry she would never get to meet him.

I think I caught his spirit

Later that same year

I'm sure I heard his echo

In my baby's new born tears

I just wish I could have told him

In the living years

Mike and the Mechanics, The Living Years

The Crying Game

2010-06-18T10:16:00.001-04:00

Last night, Adam Morrison became a two-time NBA Champion, winning his second consecutive ring with the Los Angeles Lakers.

In college, Morrison played in every game during his three years at Gonzaga University, posting an amazing 83-12 record.

In his Junior season, he led the nation in scoring with 28.1 points per game.

In 2006, the Charlotte Bobcats selected Morrison with the third overall pick in the NBA Draft.

Despite all of those accomplishments, if you watched the 2010 NBA Finals, you probably didn’t see Morrison.

But my 11-year old son did.

“Hey dad, he’s the guy that cried.”

That was the reaction of my son when the broadcast showed a shot of the Lakers bench.

In 2006, Morrison’s Gonzaga team lost a heartbreaking NCAA Tournament game to UCLA in the final seconds, 73-71.

It has been called one of the best games of the decade.

With 2.6 seconds left and his team trailing by just two points, the cameras zoomed in on the 6-foot-8 Morrison sobbing uncontrollably, face-down on the floor at center court.

BEFORE that moment, Morrison was known as one of the most competitive, talented, hard-working, success stories in recent college basketball memory, who bucked the trend by showcasing long hair and a long mustache.

AFTER that moment, C.W. Nevius of the San Francisco Chronicle said Morrison looked like “a sniffling, red-faced ten-year-old who just fell off the swing set.”

I can still remember watching the crying game as it happened and saying that Morrison would NEVER live this down.

Unfortunately I was right.

And what a shame that is.

Here’s a guy who was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was in eighth grade.

Here’s a guy who played in his high school state championship with hypoglycemia and scored a game-high 37 points.

Here’s a guy who tests his blood sugar at “pretty much every time out.”

Here’s a guy who has the discipline to eat the same exact three meals at the same exact time every day to stay as healthy as possible.

Here’s a guy who has been a spokesperson for diabetes, spending his free time educating children on the disease.

And despite all of that, he is still known for one thing.

Crying.

On the court.

FOUR YEARS AGO.

Morrison said that the incident was “something natural”, he’s “not ashamed of it” and that he has “no regrets”.

Unfortunately things don’t work that way.

Like diabetes, celebrity can be a very cruel disease.

At this point, after four years in the NBA, he has become nothing more than a punch line or a punching bag, depending on the day.

It’s hard to imagine Morrison will ever approach anywhere near the potential that so many people saw in him.

He played a grand total of 240 minutes during the most recent six-month NBA season. Many guys do that in eight nights.

He spent all but two games of this post-season dressed in a suit and tie on the Lakers bench.

What’s sad is that when I think of Adam Morrison, I don’t think of a guy who beat the odds, reaching the highest level of professional basketball despite very serious health issues.

And what’s really sad, is neither does my 11-year old son.

All You Need Is Love

2010-06-17T14:34:00.009-04:00

The jukebox in my head has this amazing shuffle feature.

Pick a day, any day, and I've got some random song buzzing through my skull.

And usually it ends up with a full audio track for anyone within an ear-shot.

Yesterday, "The Way" by Fastball was center stage.

This morning, "Angels Wanna Wear My Red Shoes" by Elvis Costello was the choice du jour.

A couple of days ago I started singing "I Swear", the 90's classic by the group All-4-One.

Now when you are at home singing in the shower or kitchen or wherever and nobody is around it's really not an issue. We all do it.

But now that I am back in the working world, I probably need to be a little more aware of when to hit that play switch.

A few days ago I was typing along on my computer at work and all of a sudden I just belted out the words "And I Swear".

Immediately, like it was on cue, my co-worker, easily 15 years my junior, added from across the room "by the moon and the stars in the sky."

And with that, All-4-Two was born.

It kind of reminded me of that Saturday Night Live skit where one guy in a bathroom stall starts humming Under the Boardwalk* and the next thing you know the guys in the other three or four stalls are tapping their feet and singing backup.

Unlike most of the songs that pop into my head, there actually was a good reason why "I Swear" made it onto my playlist.

You see, a few weeks ago, my daughter and I attended the wedding of one of my closest friends and the sister of his wife-to-be is married to one of the four singers from All-4-One.

At the wedding he treated us to a live solo version of the big hit as well as another love song that was perfect for the occasion.

After his performance (and I had a couple of drinks), I offered to sing backup on one of my favorite songs from that album, a great cover of the Motown classic "So Much In Love".

He politely turned me down saying that we needed four people for that song.

Whatever.

Well as great as it was to have our own private concert, that was only one of the highlights of the four-day affair.

Wedding, affair. Bad choice of words.

But it was an amazing four-day show for two wonderful and genuine people who are truly, so much in love.

It was not a wedding for just the bride and groom, but it was a celebration for all of us lucky folk who were smart enough to attend.

I guess I can add this to the list of things I would not have been able to do if I was still a full-time employee.

Glass half full, right?

It was an honor to be asked to give the toast at their wedding and I made sure I had prepared a speech.

I spoke about my friend, who I view as a brother, an older brother, by 355 days.

We went to college together, we lived together, we both went into the TV business, we both are sports fanatics...

My kids call him Uncle, even when he is not twisting their arm.

My only sibling is 14 years older than me, so I always dreamed of having a brother closer to my age. I just had to wait until my teenage years to get one.

Actually, I got a bunch of them.

I am so very fortunate to have a core group of friends that I would do anything for and they would do anything for me.

You really get to appreciate your true friends when your life goes a little sour.

They are the ones who tell you to quit your whining when you bring up unemployment for the 40th time.

Back to the wedding.

Since we met at freshman orientation in 1984, my friend and I have shared it all.

We were sitting next to each other at Dodger Stadium in 1985 when Jack Clark crushed our World Series dreams.

We have spent several long and amazing nights seeing Bruce Springsteen in concert.

And he was one my first calls, in the middle of the night, when my father suddenly passed away in 2002.

During the speech, I spoke about how he has seen every side of me and I have seen every side of him, but I had never seen the side like the first time he described his new bride to me.

Or the second time.

Or the tenth.

To see him, them, so much in love and so happy is so fantastic.

And to see the families of the bride and groom, who come from opposite sides of the world, come together as one was really incredible.

Despite what you are reading, I'm really not the emotional sapp that I sound like.

I have always found the cynical side or bad tasting joke in everything, but the way my life has changed in the last 18 months, everything now looks a little different.

Since becoming a stay-at-home dad, I have worked very hard to become a more patient person, especially with the kids.

When I was working 60+ hours a week, my family was always on my priority list, but not nearly as high as they should've been.

I was always able to justify that in my head by saying... "I was doing my part for the family, providing them (material things) by working all those hours."

In reality, they were getting cheated.

The four days I spent with my 13-year old daughter at the wedding may very well be one of the last times that she and I get that quantity and quality of one-to-one time.

And it was one of the highlights of my life.

At NO point did I raise my voice.

At NO point did we argue.

At NO point was either of us unhappy.

At NO point did anything else in the world matter.

To see my friend the happiest I have ever seen him was a real treat.

But I'm the one who got the gift.

I swear.

*-P.S. I originally wrote the SNL skit featured the song My Girl, but I was corrected by a loyal reader of the blog. The correct song was Under the Boardwalk. The reader who corrected me was my friend, who is featured in this entry. I smell a full circle.

What's the Deal with Cancer?

2010-06-16T01:07:00.004-04:00

I have smoked two cigarettes in my life.

The first came at a party during my freshman year in college when I capped off a night of underage drinking by losing my tobacco virginity.

I know, I know, two wrongs don't make a right.

The second cigarette came about a week later when a girl space friend offered me a menthol.

Have you ever had a menthol?

It really is the cure to quit smoking.

It did it for me.

Now, I'm not claiming to be any type of health nut and I certainly enjoy eating straight out of the Ben and Jerry's pint as the clock strikes midnight, but fortunately tobacco has not been part of my diet since that night in 1985.

I can remember my dad puffing on a cigar from time to time.

And I can remember my mom sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom.

But fortunately I didn't come from a family of chain smokers.

Then again, my mom and dad had no brothers or sisters, so there really wasn't much of a sample.

It's always amazing to me when you walk through an airport and there is that smoke filled room with the closed glass door where the smokers are sent to cross pollenate.

How bad is this addiction that you actually WANT to open that door and walk into an ashtray?

So what's with all this smoke talk?

Well I got a call a couple of weeks ago from one of my closest friends who told me that his 72-year old father had just been diagnosed with lung cancer.

Of course, the first question out of my mouth was, "did he smoke?"

According to the American Cancer Society:

90% of lung cancer patients come from tobacco smoke
70% of people with lung cancer are 65 years or older
One out of 14 people will get lung cancer at some point
2009 Projections: 219,000 new cases, 159,000 deaths

So why does anyone still smoke?

Try a menthol people. You can thank me later.

"He smoked 30 years ago," my friend said.

He said that his father's tumor was the size of a tennis ball and that he was beginning chemo in a week and that they think the cancer has been growing for about three years, but the one piece of information that I really locked in on was that the doctors expected a full recovery.

And really that was all that mattered.

But that's not where this story ends.

You see my friend's father was driving around his hometown after the diagnosis and saw a bus with an advertisement on it.

It said something like... "if you have lung cancer and you don't think you should have lung cancer, give us a call."

It was probably a better slogan than that, but you get the point.

So he called.

The law office asked him a series of questions.

They learned that he was not a long time smoker. They learned that he used to work in construction. And they learned that he used to work in a building that contained asbestos.

Bingo.

Apparently this wasn't the first case of lung cancer without a smoking gun.

The lawyers told him that since he had developed lung cancer AND he worked in the building with asbestos, his settlement would be worth somewhere between 50 and 100 thousand dollars.

I guess that's good news.

My friend's dad shared the news with one of his former construction colleagues, who had been diagnosed with a mild case of Mesothelioma several years earlier.

Mesothelioma is also referred to as Asbestos Cancer.

As it turned out, his friend had spoken with a lawyer a few years back about his situation and he has been getting checks in the hundreds “from time-to-time.”

So let me get this straight -- if you are unlucky and you get lung cancer from a building with asbestos, you get one of those big Tiger Woods type checks in the neighborhood of 100 geeze.

But if you are unlucky and you ONLY get a mild case of Mesothelioma, you get dinner at Morton's.

Let me add that to the list of things that makes no sense.

Like smoking.

My Maiden Voyage

2010-06-15T02:48:00.001-04:00

If I could do it all over again, I would’ve been a musician.

Perhaps a struggling musician, perhaps a world famous musician, but I would’ve been a musician.

I love music, all kinds of music.

If you check out my collection of CDs, you will see everything from Billie Holiday to Eminem, Bryan Adams to Ryan Adams.

I also LOVE going to concerts.

Something about it being live and unpredictable.

In my 43 years, I have been incredibly fortunate to see nearly every band I wanted to see.

Even acts I don’t know much about.

As a 16-year old, my friend Phil and I paid $5 each to sit at the top of the Hollywood Bowl to see B.B. King and Ray Charles.

Have you ever been to the top of the Hollywood Bowl?

No wonder those seats were $5.

But hey, we can tell our grandkids we saw B.B. King and Ray Charles in concert.

We couldn’t hear ‘em, but we saw them. Barely.

A couple of years ago I took my wife to go see Metallica, a great concert band.

My wife is not much of a music person, although she claims to be a Barry Manilow fanatic, but lets just say Metallica wasn’t her thing.

To the point where she fell asleep at the show. Literally.

I didn’t know it was humanly possible to fall asleep at a Metallica concert, but it did make for a funny moment when two kids in front of us turned around and said, “she is so wasted."

One of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t have the foresight to keep the ticket stubs from every show I have attended.

By the time I figured out what a great collection that would make, I had already attended at least 200 shows and it was too late.

Well tonight I returned to the concert world, erasing another name off my musical bucket list, Iron Maiden.

Say what you will about heavy metal -- and yes, I am a true fan -- but when it comes to the genre, there are not too many bands more successful than Maiden.

They have sold more than 80 million records and are still going strong.

If you don’t believe me, maybe you’ll believe the other 12,000 folks who attended the show on a Monday night.

The people sitting in front of us drove more than 500 miles to attend the show.

Unlike those people and most of the others, I somehow fought the urge to fork over $40+ for a t-shirt.

And what’s a concert with a drink.

The beers ranged from $8.50 to $13 each or if you prefer a bottle of water, just hand over a five-spot.

Don’t worry, they’ll give you 50 cents back, along with your water.

While I would consider myself a fan of Iron Maiden, I wouldn’t say I’m a know-every-song kinda fan.

But considering our seats were ninth row in the center, I would’ve been happy to see Iron Maiden or even Iron Butterfly.

I attended the show with the drummer and guitar player from my own band, The Clearance Rack.

(If you’ve missed a couple of my blogs, I am the lead singer.)

Tonight’s show really had it all. A very cool stage, a crowd that was definitely into it and an energetic band that knows how to entertain, especially for a bunch of 50-somethings.

But the part I think I enjoyed the most was the people watching.

I would say it was about 98% male and two female. Not two percent, but two females.

There was no shortage of hair, although I have a feeling much of it has been transfered from the top of the head to the chin and back since the first time they saw Maiden in concert.

With all the head banging tonight, there is no doubt there will be some sore necks in the morning.

But I didn't hear anybody complaining.

Then again, I couldn't hear anything at all.

Dream On

2010-06-14T03:40:00.002-04:00

After the disappointment of the last 18 months, I have really tried to go about my job search in private.

Sure, I have mentioned quite a bit here, but I have intentionally left out a lot of the details so that there wouldn’t be a trail of crumbs in my secret double life.

But when you drop a little bombshell that you are about to interview for a “dream job” in the middle of the 15th paragraph of the 103rd blog, you really get to find out who is reading this thing.

Well Thursday morning, I posted that blog.

By lunch I had heard from a bunch of friends via phone, email and text messaging, sending their best wishes.

Now deep down, I know a lot of friends have started reading the blog, which makes me feel great, but you still don’t know who is reading what and why.

Or when for that matter.

Case in point -- I showed up to my son’s baseball practice on Thursday afternoon and was greeted by the coach who said, “we need to talk.”

My first thought was my son missed a bunt sign or something.

As you long timers may recall, I wrote about the coach in mid-April.

Nearly two months ago.

At that time, out of courtesy (and hope that he would read it), I told him about the blog.

He sent me a very nice note after he read it, but that was the last time we spoke about Sir Bacon.

Until Thursday.

Now, let me give you a little background on the coach.

He is perhaps the most genuine person I have EVER met.

He treats EVERY kid on the team with respect and courtesy. If one of the kids makes a mistake, he coaches them instead of yelling at them.

What a concept, huh?

When he said we needed to talk, he wasn’t talking about a bunt sign or a pitch out or a double steal.

He was talking about a hit and run.

“I read Sir Bacon today,” he said.

The first reaction inside my head was, “Wow. He reads the blog?”

Then I quickly realized, he was referring to my dream job.

He had a big smile on his face when he spoke, but if this dream thing really happens, he’d be losing the switch-hitting catcher he’s been molding for the last four years.

Oh and I’d be leaving too.

For most coaches, if one of the better players on his team was possibly leaving, that would time to hit the panic button.

But as I could’ve expected, the coach didn’t want to talk about my son, at least not yet, he wanted to talk about me and the possible job.

And Sir Bacon.

He said he reads the blog on a regular basis and he really enjoys my writing.

WOW!

Hearing that is like slapping a 1-2 slider to the opposite field with runners on second and third with two out in a 3-2 game in the bottom of the eighth.

I mean, that was very cool.

Well as for that pursuit of the dream, I spoke with the exec on Friday and I think the call went as well as I could’ve expected.

Then again, he didn’t immediately offer me the job on our first call, so maybe my expectations were a little low.

He asked if I would be interested in the opening.

I said YES in a quiet, polished and relaxed voice.

He said good and he would be in touch.

If that doesn’t sound like a sure thing, then I don’t know what does.

Does anybody have the number for U-Haul?

I am still very excited about the possibility, but at this point, it’s just nice to be back in the discussion.

As a sports fanatic, I seem to live life in sports terms, so why stop now.

This situation is somewhat like the NCAA basketball tournament.

I’d say I’m a high seed.

I think I just won the first game, but all that gets me is a game against a tougher opponent.

Before I get to the Final Four, I still have a couple of more games to go, but hey I’m still in the tournament.

Let the Madness begin.

One Bad Apple

2010-06-13T01:02:00.002-04:00

I'm really not sure what caused Mick Jagger's 19th Nervous Breakdown, but I have a candidate for his 20th.

Take away his personal computer.

That little event has definitely done it to me.

Around this time last week, my incredibly awesome amazing fantastically wonderful less than one-year old iMac home computer took a major turn for the worse.

The biggest issue was it taking nearly ten minutes to turn on.

Clearly it's not a male computer.

In addition to their products, one of the great things about the Apple company is their customer service.

Those people truly love life and LOVE their job. At least when they are on the clock.

If you ever feel like doing bodily harm to yourself, stop by the Apple store.

One of my goals and greatest accomplishments during my 18 months of unemployment was to learn how to edit home videos.

After taking several classes at the Apple store, that mission was accomplished.

In the last year I have successfully edited a photo montage set to commercial music for each of my three children on their birthday.

Hopefully I will be able to do a new one every year, but if not, the kids will always be able to look back at their special birthday video and remember:

"ah, that was the year that my dad had way too much time on his hands as a stay-at-home unemployed father. I miss those days."

During my time in TV, I spent A LOT of hours in the edit room, but thankfully there were always professionals pushing the right buttons so that I didn't have to.

But I must say, I have truly enjoyed learning the other side of the edit process.

And it has really paid off.

One of my new jobs is editing videos for a company's website. I download the video at home, edit it at home and upload it back to them.

From home.

I think I'm starting to figure out why so many staff jobs have been eliminated.

Well, all was very well with me and my Apple until last week, when my computer started crashing.

The good news is that I was able to take it into the Apple store, still under warranty, and all the work would be done for free.

After three days in the shop, we had a new hard drive.

I brought the computer home, turned it on and ...

and...

ten minutes later, it worked. Sorta.

So with my wife, the school teacher, out of school for the summer, she was able to take it back to the Apple store right away to clear up the problem.

I told her to see one of the geniuses. That's what they call themselves.

So, she took the computer back, they checked it out, gave her some instructions and she brought it home.

When I got home from my day at the office -- I love saying that -- I hooked up my four gigabyte baby, ready for a big night in the homemade edit suite.

Tick.

Boom.

(At least) ten minutes later, the computer came on.

Are you kidding me? Smile, you must be on Candid Camera.

So enough of the Apple store, this morning, I went straight to the 24-hour Apple Care Hot Line.

Them is the real geniuses.

At 7:00am, I made the first call.

45 minutes later we were on our way.

90 minutes later, it was still taking ten minutes to log on.

Call #2.

I spoke with the Senior Advisor, who is located one cubicle above the Advisor.

At least 45 more minutes later -- do this, do that, MAC OS this and System Preferences that... Yada, yada, yada...

Nothin.

He gave me some download link that was going to clean up something or other and this and that.

Bottom line, it was four hours after 7:00am and I was freaking out.

Remember now, this was like day six or seven without a home computer.

I literally had to walk away for a couple of hours to give some new software time to download and to give my own personal hard drive time to cool down.

By the time I got back, the download was done, my pulse had slowed down and I was ready for business.

Only problem was my computer was not.

Back to the Senior Advisor.

Of course, the guy who helped me earlier was gone for the day -- and today was his Friday, so he was gone for two more -- so I got a new guy.

He told me to do this and that.

After some new 45 minute download, the error sign came up.

The last time an error hurt me this much, I was playing third base on my high school baseball team.

Time for Senior Advisor #3.

I made the mistake of beginning our relationship with an F-bomb.

He wasn't the target, but the shrapnel must've struck him.

Note to kids: don't ever drop an F-bomb when somebody is trying to help you.

Fortunately he had my file right in front of him, with all of the gory details, and I think he genuinely felt bad for me.

After a couple of apologies, we were able to move past my vocabulary faux pas and get down to business.

Unfortunately by this time, I was out of time. We actually had places to go and people to see and there was no time left to deal with this problem today.

It was 5:30pm, ten-and-a-half hours after my first call. Six or seven days PLUS ten-and-a-half hours after the problem first came up and Cupertino, we still have a problem.

I requested that the first Senior Advisor who reports to work tomorrow morning calls me at home to take another shot at this.

An Apple a day?

Not what this doctor ordered.

Honesty, The Best Policy?

2010-06-10T02:58:00.002-04:00

So what is a blog?

Well, according to dictionary.com, a blog is:

An online diary
A personal chronological log of thoughts published on a Web page
Typically updated daily, blogs often reflect the personality of the author

For me, it has been all of that and A LOT more.

It has been a place where I have been able to be honest with you and honest with me, while dealing with the disappointment of a busted career and a broken heart.

It has been a place where I have been able to live and re-live the amazing moments that I’ve shared with my family in the last 18 months, thanks to that broken career.

And perhaps more than anything, it has been a place where I have connected with new friends and reconnected with old ones who have shared their stories and shared their support to help me, and them, as many of us have entered this new world of being brave.

Since I started writing this blog at the beginning of the year, I have done my best to be as honest as possible.

At first, the writings were of the anonymous nature, under a nickname given to me by my six-year old daughter for some unknown reason.

A three-minute and ten second appearance on CNN blew my cover, but it was something no unemployed blogger in his right mind would’ve turned down.

Here we are nearly six-and-a-half months into this journey and I have a dilemma.

Well, at least a dilemma in the blogging sense.

If something is happening in my life, I’ve shared it with you.

I’ve shared my moments of depression, I’ve shared my many moments of satisfaction and I’ve shared my pursuit of regaining my career.

Well that career has a chance to take a giant step forward today.

I am scheduled to speak with a VERY high-ranking person in my profession who holds the keys to what I would certainly call a “dream job.”

These opportunities don’t happen every day, at least not for me, and considering that I’ve worked with this high-ranking person before, I’d at least consider the job a possibility.

However, whether it’s a defense mechanism or not, I'm not allowing myself to get too attached to this job.

At least not yet.

I’ve attended this rodeo before and that bull can kick pretty hard.

Don’t get me wrong, I am excited.

Let me rephrase, I AM VERY EXCITED.

I have no doubt that I can do the job. I have no doubt that I would be great in the job, but until it happens, it hasn’t happened.

If you’ve read my blog at least once in the past, you’ve probably got a pretty good idea that you are not going to get any more details than what I’ve already said.

But considering a phone call I had yesterday from one my closest friends and part-time reader of this blog, I’m not even sure if I should’ve written anything at all.

I realize he was playing the role of devil’s advocate, but hearing him say that a potential employer may have a problem with something that I’ve written on my blog was really disappointing.

Of course I wasn’t mad at my friend. He was just being, a friend.

What made me mad was the fact that here I’ve finally found an outlet that has helped me survive one of the most difficult times of my life and now I need to watch my every word in my every blog?

It was never my goal to get a job because of the blog.

And it was definitely never my goal to censor my blog.

I guess I figured the two went hand-in-hand.

Perhaps I was wrong.

I hope not.

Ready, Aim, Huh?

2010-06-08T09:31:00.001-04:00

While working in the TV biz for 25 years, I went on a lot of shoots, but nothing like the shoot I went on today.

After an 18-month hiatus, last week I started working at a local production company which has had a lot of success producing outdoor shows of the hunting and fishing flavor.

Did I mention I was Jewish?

Well today I was asked to go with a cameraman to a local shooting range to do a feature on a gun class.

Did I mention I was… oh, never mind.

Have an open mind, right?

When I arrived, I walked into the center of the lodge surrounded by a group of people carrying handguns.

Normally that would be scary, but fortunately they didn’t know I was Jewish.

Ok, that was the last one, sorry.

In the room there were 14 students, four instructors and one Master Instructor.

I drove over from the lodge to the range with the Master of this domain, picking his brain along the way.

Q: How much is the class?

A: $750 per person

Q: How much is a gun?

A: You can get a Chevy for $700 or a Ferrari for $2500.

Then he decided to ask me some questions.

Q: Do you own a gun?

A: No.

Q: Hey, why are you wearing a seat belt?

A: In case we…. Oh, I get it.

With a 45-caliber smile on his face, he said that he hoped that I get a gun before I am a victim.

“Because you will be a victim.”

Considering he has probably used that exact phrase thousands of times to hundreds of people, I didn’t take it too personally.

When we got to the range, I met ten very nice men and four very nice women who I had absolutely nothing in common with.

Among those students was a father and son, husband and wife, another husband and wife and a former NBA basketball player.

How weird is that? An NBA player who waited until AFTER his career to get a gun.

Who knew?

The entire time I was at the range I was like a little kid at a gun store, eyes wide open getting quite the education.

I learned that when the instructor says, “make ready,” you’d better put your headphones on quickly because the shots are coming.

I learned that you’d better be able to go from holster to shot in under 1.5 seconds or "the bad guy will get you.”

I learned that a “double tap” is when you put two shots into the center mass to create two separate wound channels.

And I also learned that anyone carrying a “nine” better get ready to be the butt of all jokes.

For example: anything over SPF 30 will stop a nine.

And a fly got hit the other day by a nine and flew away.

I know nothing about guns, but with 19 people packing within 20 feet of me, I laughed at EVERY joke.

All of the guns were nice and shiny, but there was one man who was using a gun that looked exactly like the one Jack Ruby made famous nearly fifty years ago.

That must’ve been the nine.

This was the third and final day of their class and after a morning lecture at the lodge, this was their final chance to improve their time.

For about 45 minutes, it was shot after shot after shot… after shot.

It sounded like the fourth of July on steroids.

When they were done shooting, there were more empty shells on the ground than a western bar after a night of all-you-can-eat peanuts

Most of the folks finished around the one second mark, but the son, who came to class with his father, led the way with a point eight something.

That got a round of applause from the crowd, including his VERY proud father.

Parental pride.

Maybe I do have something in common with this group.

A Day In The Life

2010-06-06T21:32:00.007-04:00

Disclaimer:

If you are a parent, you will probably do a lot of nodding during this blog.

If you don’t have any kids, you will probably do a lot of nodding off.

Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

It is Sunday night and we just completed a marathon.

Not a real marathon, that’s too much work, but...

It all began Friday night with game one of my son’s weekend baseball tournament.

Following a satisfying win and an even more satisfying meal with the family, we got back home at around 9:30.

It was a quick lights out as the alarm clock was scheduled to go off at 5:50am to get us ready for game two.

A quick lights out for everybody but me.

I’ve always been a night owl and no matter what is scheduled for the next day, I always have a hard time getting to bed early.

I have this little unwritten rule in my head though, as long as I sleep five hours or more, I am fine.

Four hours and 59 minutes or less and it is guaranteed to be a two coffee day.

For this night, my goal was Midnight 50.

This time I made it, but barely.

For the last five plus months, the highlight of my day is getting everybody to sleep so I can sit down at the computer and put together a new blog.

Hey whatever keeps you happy, right?

That process usually takes about an hour, but Friday night I was writing blog #100, so I wanted it to be extra special.

For this one I set aside 75 minutes.

Bottom line, I made it to bed just in time to satisfy the five-hour rule.

My son’s tournament was about 40 minutes from our house, so when you factor in a coffee stop and getting lost, we were up with the roosters.

Usually our coach wants the kids there an hour before each game, but with a quick turnaround, he said we could get to the 8:00am game by 7:30.

How does 7:42 sound? Damn directions.

That was just the beginning of a Saturday to remember:

5:50am -- Alarm clock goes off

6:30am -- Try to leave for my son’s game

6:55am -- Actual departure time

8:00am -- Weekend baseball game #2

10:00am -- My wife leaves the baseball game to get my oldest daughter to her dance practice and my youngest daughter to her tee ball game

11:15am -- Dance Practice

12:00pm -- My son’s second baseball game of the day, third baseball game in 19 hours

1:00pm -- My youngest daughter’s first tee ball game of the year

By 2:00pm I was ready for a nap, but there’s no time for that.

On the way home, my son and I stopped at my mom’s assisted living facility for a quick visit and to get her to take care of some monthly paperwork.

With my weekdays now being gobbled up by work -- what an inconvenience that is -- I needed to carve out some time this weekend for mom.

So my son and I stopped there, which was fortunately on the way home. We spent about 20 minutes saying hello, how are you, sign here and be well.

From there, we made a quick pit stop at the gas station, followed by the grocery store to pick up some food to throw on the barbie.

Those errands got us home by 4:30ish, just in time to flip on the grill, make dinner for the family and inhale a meal.

But wait there’s more.

While cooking, the email came in from the other members of my new band, The Clearance Rack, that tonight was the night they wanted to practice.

Really? Cool.

It would be pretty diva of me to say I was too tired for band practice, right? Even though I am the lead singer and all that.

So after I got the kids to bed, I made a quick late night stop at Starbucks for a half-caf something or other and I headed to the studio.

(Well its actually a garage, but studio sounds more official.)

Two hours and three new songs later, practice was over.

By this point, the clock had struck, Sunday.

As in Sunday -- day three of my son’s baseball tournament, which brought another 5:50am wake up call.

If I left band practice immediately, I might’ve, just might've made it home just in time to get my five hours of sleep.

But nooooooooooooo. We had to have a philosophical conversation in the parking lot about music.

That’s so Axl!

I love being in a band.

Thanks to the iPhone and youtube, we were able to watch and listen to both Nick Lowe’s Cruel to be Kind and Marshall Crenshaw’s Someday Someway without any interruption.

Of course by this point, the clock was ticking.

I got back in my car my Midnight 45ish, well aware that I would be lucky to get even four hours of sleep.

What an exhausting day!

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The Century Mark

2010-06-05T02:00:00.002-04:00

100 blogs?

Wow!

It seems like just 154 days ago that this ride began.

And here we are 64,031 words later, at least that’s what my computer tells me.

I can still remember my first day in the blogosphere, sitting at the computer, basically writing a story for myself.

I can also remember my second day.

And my third day.

But it was the fifth day that really opened my eyes. That was the day that I wrote a blog titled, “Mom and Me”.

It was about my 80-year old mother.

At the time she had just moved into an assisted living facility about 15 minutes from our house.

We had tried to have her live with us, but let’s just say, it didn’t work out.

Over the next five months, I wrote about my mom many more times.

I wrote about our weekly Tuesday lunches.

I wrote about her joining a choir.

But the subject that got the most attention were the stories I wrote about her bipolar condition.

The feedback and support I received absolutely blew me away.

I have always enjoyed writing and I have always enjoyed telling stories, but it wasn’t until this blog that I realized I could do both at the same time.

Unfortunately the circumstances of that revelation was the end of a 25-year career in the world of TV production.

By becoming a member of the unemployed I discovered emotions that I had never felt before.

Some of them were sad. Some were depressed, but to be perfectly honest, most of them have been very positive.

I have fallen in love with a true sense of freedom.

As I mentioned yesterday, I am just now finally returning to the working world by picking up a couple of local freelance jobs.

And that’s a good thing.

But I have really grown to love my life as a stay-at-home dad.

I love the opportunity that I have had to spend countless hours with my family.

I love the opportunity to be the singer in a brand new neighborhood rock band.

But the thing that I love the most is the person I have become in the last five months.

I started seeing a therapist back in the early part of 2009 after losing my job.

Despite an optimism for life, watching your career get flushed down the toilet can be pretty depressing.

One of the first goals that we set in therapy was to have me become more present with my family.

Many times I was physically there, but my mind was wandering.

This was definitely the case when I was working.

My kids would say something like -- Hey Dad -- and I would say Pittsburgh.

Or they would say -- Do you want to (fill in the blank)... -- and I would say Tuesday.

Not my proudest moment.

So actually connecting with my family was a lot more difficult than it sounded.

Enter the blog.

As pathetic as this may be, I probably needed this little unpaid writing gig to become who or what I have become.

There's that damn, "everything happens for a reason" cliche again.

Pretty much every minute of every day now is spent thinking, “Would that make a good blog?”

And based on the wide range of subject matter I have covered in the last 99 entries -- from Spelling Bees to Judaism, my appearance on CNN to gambling on the Super Bowl -- I think it is working.

Not every one of my blogs is headed to Cooperstown, but the fact that I am actually paying attention is an accomplishment beyond words.

It has never been my goal to become the most popular unemployed guy in the world, but I must say it still makes me feel like a kid on Christmas morning when I get a new follower on Facebook or Twitter.

I truly love sharing my stories with you, but even more, I love when you share your stories with me.

And isn't that what this is all about?

As we enter my new century of blogs, I have a little request.

If you like my writing, send my link to one person.

If you love my writing, make it a double.

That’s it.

If you don’t, then don’t.

I promise I won’t put a curse on you.

Here’s to another 100 blogs.

My Journey Through Employment

2010-06-04T02:06:00.003-04:00

To paraphrase former U.S. President Leslie Lynch King Jr., my long national nightmare is now over.

At least for now.

After more than 18 months since I was told my services were no longer needed, I have finally found someone who needs me.

Actually, I have found three people -- or six if you count my kids.

It was just a few weeks ago that my stepmother told me to forget what I had accomplished in the past, figure out what I do well and find a job that uses those skills.

I’m very excited to announce that I will be displaying my skills in the areas of storytelling, producing and editing on three completely different jobs.

That’s the great news.

The less great news is that all three of these jobs are part-time gigs.

But you won’t hear me complaining.

Two of the three will disappear by the end of the summer, while the third will hopefully have a longer life span.

Keeping with the spirit of this formerly anonymous blog, I’m gonna keep the specifics to a minimum, but I will say that only one of the projects speaks directly to my previous professional experience.

The other two are working in areas that I have never fiddled with before.

And I take that as a compliment.

To be perfectly honest, after 18 months off, I was really starting to believe like I would never get a job again.

And let’s be straight up here, we know which way my stock was going with each day I was out of work.

I’m beyond excited to be taking on these jobs and in the same breath, I can’t wait to find out what's next.

After 25 years as a staff employee, this part-time freelance world is pretty interesting.

Well, pretty interesting if you get the work.

Pretty depressing if you don’t.

I have no doubt I will succeed in this new world or at least I will die trying.

And hopefully these new assignments are a sign of things to come.

So where does this big piece of happy pie leave this blog on my journey through unemployment?

Well the way I see it, the blog is as much a part of me now as anything I have ever done.

The support I have received from so many old friends and so many new ones has made this the greatest experience of my life.

And I’m not about to stop now.

Sure my blog started as a journey through unemployment, but it has evolved into a story of real life.

My life.

And that’s where it’s going to stay -- stories about the real world.

I hope you continue to follow my journey, because I’m going to keep writing about it.

Thanks for everything.

See you tomorrow.