Hello. Again.

It's been a long, long time since I've contributed to this blog. I'm feeling the need to start again.

That's It

No, don't freak out family and friends. I'm merely putting this blog to bed.

Heart Attack in a Can

Those with whom I've spent any substantive time know that I'm not a health nut. Far from it. Due to my family history I'm going to die of a heart attack before I'm 70, which would frankly be a miracle if I last that long. Thereby I admit that this posting is absurd.

I enjoyed delicious home made chicken noodle soup last night (no, you silly reader, I didn't make it). It was frickin' awesome. Instead of spooning up mouthful after mouthful of salty water, I was rewarded with scoops of (shocking!) chicken and noodles.


Aside from the palpability of each spoonful, I was shocked by the flavor. It wasn't like drinking salt water. I could actually taste the hunks of chicken, crunched the carrots, and enjoyed the pasta.

I base my chicken noodle soup experience on eating Campbell's. The little chewy morsels of meat are closely related to the chunks of muscle that's attached to the shells which are found on ... well ... mussels. The noodles are sparse and limp. The vegetables in Cambpell's are nearly non-existent.

Then I had home made chicken noodle soup. The difference was amazing.

So what's this got to do with the morbid topic of keeling over with a heart attack?

Well, the first thing I noticed about home made chicken noodle soup was that it wasn't salty. A few minutes of research results in these facts. Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup contains 890mg of Sodium. That's 50% of the FDA's daily allowance in one serving. I just saw on CNN a couple of days ago that *shock* lowering my salt intake by half could produce health benefits on par with reducing high cholesterol or smoking.

Hmmmmm ... bacon, salt, or smoking. How to choose?

Holy heart attack, Batman. Add that to all the chips, bacon, beer, pistachios . . .

It's a wonder I haven't dropped dead yet.

My Vote Counted

For the first time in my entire life, my vote counted in a senatorial race. I was accustomed to shuffling into the voting booth, casting my pointless 19% stake in trying to unseat Kerry and/or Kennedy, and feeling like I wasted my time.

I'm still in shock that the voters of Massachusetts, often called "the most liberal state in the country," elected Scott Brown.

Sketchy Santas

Merry Christmas, everybody! Here are some hilarious pictures of sketchy Santas. *shudder*

Jenny Gets Gold!

My buddy Jeff and I attended the Special Olympics equestrian event today to cheer on his sister Jenny. It was wonderful to see her face light up when she saw Jeff. I think it's really cool that she always greets me with a big smile and a bright "Hi Donnie!"

Jenny was very proud of her gold and silver medals. Me too.

Aquifer

I recently used the word "aquifer" in a conversation. The person with whom I was speaking stopped me mid-sentence and accused me of making up a word. I was honestly puzzled, so much so that I had absolutely no idea about which word I was being accused of creating.

Aquifer.

Be honest, please. Consider this a scientific study. Do you know what aquifer means, and if not then do you think I'm an asshole for using it in polite discourse?

Life Is Short

Mortality has always been a fascination for me. My good friend Jeff's unexpected passing is yet another kick in the ass.

Y'see, my dad died at a relatively young age of 54. I had seen him just two weeks before he died. Interestingly, I beat him at a game of chess for the first time of my life that day. It was such a monumental occasion that we took a picture of it. A "Master" (not a grand master although close in the rankings), he made me play at least once a week since I was old enough to speak. My parents were divorced when I was seven years old, but the chess bug was well situated in my system. I've given it to my sons too.

I was with my mom as she died a couple of years ago. My grandfather and namesake, Don Sr., died when I was 14. I took care of my Nana as she died a slow and horrible death from cancer, colostomy bags and morphine and all that shit. I never knew my biological grandmother on my father's side. And I just can't talk about Papa. People who know me will give me a pass on this. He was for all intents and purposes my dad.

There's nobody left on the totem pole higher than me. With Jeff's passing I'm left without a person from whom I can seek sage wisdom and guidance. That's it. It's just me now. It's scary.

Getting back to my friend Jeff. I just spoke with him a few days ago. Things were well. He was kicking ass and taking names, starting up yet another non-profit organization. He bragged about his son Jarrod and how well he was doing in school. Business as usual with Jeff. He asked me to write a LinkedIn recommendation and of course I did so. All was right with the world.

Then he's gone in the blink of an eye at 48.

This blog post is wavering off point. Yes, mortality. It's always been fascinating to me. Here it is. We're all blips on the scene of history, and it makes me chuckle about those with whom I interact with an ego. Listen, I've been fortunate enough to meet lots and lots of celebrities, actors, athletes, and politicians. None of them will be remembered in 50 years.

Guys like Jeff won't be remembered either. Nor will my dad. Nor will I. And that's okay, it really is. My point is that we're all here for a short time, and nobody really gives a shit unless they love you.

So here's my unsolicited advice. Tackle your kid(s) and smother them with kisses until the pee their pants while trying breathlessly to beg for mercy. Donate blood. Let somebody merge ahead of you even though they're driving a BMW and being a prick by nudging forward. Have a drink at 11:00 in the morning just 'cause you want to have a drink. Look at the trees sway in the breeze and feel peace. Go to Punta Cana. Learn how to ride a motorcycle. Tell your co-worker that you appreciate what they do for the company. Engage in a conversation with somebody at Dunkin' Donuts this morning. Tell them that they look nice today and wish them a good day at work.

I already miss Jeff. A lot. Of course not as much as his wife and son miss him, but I'm talking about me. I'm being selfish here.

We're here for a very short time. Make it count.

Enough preaching.

An Everyday Hero of Whom You've Never Heard

Yesterday I received news that my friend, mentor, and a hero to countless others across the country passed away. Whether Jeff was launching yet another non-profit organization to help people in need, drumming up support for a cause with me by poking his finger into the chest of a corporate bigwig, asking his son Jarrod about the lessons learned in school that day, or letting loose with me for some well-deserved fun in Las Vegas or at an Ohio State football game amongst a throng of a hundred thousand college students ... Jeff did everything at 110%. Everything. That was Jeff in a nutshell. He was either sleeping or was full speed ahead.

He and I had many adventures together both in business and regular life. I miss him already. Godspeed, friend.

Jeff Hay
1961 - 2009

Arguing

I never fight with anybody. Ever. Ask anybody. It's the polar opposite of my nature. I tend to listen, say "okay," and then absorb it.

Well ... tonight I had some harsh words with someone I love. While everything ended up with the usual exchange of "I'm sorry," it left me a reeling, and I can't sleep.

Sometimes I wish I were a testosterone-laden asshole that didn't give a shit. But I think I'm a regular guy with regular feelings. And yes, I realize that saying that kicks me out of the Man Club.

The person with whom I argued tonight ended up saying that they simply were in a foul mood and struck out at me. [Olly olly oxen free . . . if the person with whom I argued tonight is reading this, then go f* yourself. This is my blog.] We talked about it after the fight, and everything is okay. It really is. I'm done with it and all's well.

Here's the point. Why do we strike out on those whom we love most? An example -- my sister and I have told each other many times that we hate each other, but don't for a second think that we are not each others' most ardent defenders in a time of need. Sometimes I hate her with a passion, but I love her with an inexplicable deepness -- unbreakable and until the day I die. I would literally take a bullet for her, but then tell her to go f* herself with my dying breath.

I believe we sometimes strike out against the ones we love because there's a big, fat, ugly zit on all of our backs. Someone we love (really love) has to be the one to squeeze it and relieve our discomfort. That's a very special person.

For those very very very few people for whom I have love, I'm happy to squeeze your big and disgusting zits.

You know who you are. All seven of you.

Abandoned Places

Long time readers of my blog (and especially my previous blog) will know that this subject fascinates me. I don't know why, but I have a deep desire to see abandoned, unpopulated, out-of-the way places across the globe.

Imagine my glee when I stumbled across this post on Unique Scoop. I can't spare the time to write more about this subject, as I have to go back to browsing.

Your Bluetooth Tattoo

Would you consider getting a bluetooth enabled sub-dermal device implanted into your arm? I think I would. Maybe. I don't know. It creeps me out a bit, but it's also supercool.

This Bluetooth device is permanently implanted beneath the skin. It is flat, flexible, silicon and silicone. Tightly rolled when it's inserted through a small incision, and then unfurled beneath the skin, it lies benignly between skin and muscle.

Through the same incision, two small tubes are attached from the implanted device to an artery and a vein. A coin sized blood fuel cell in the implant converts the blood's glucose and oxygen from the artery to the electricity required to power the device. Used blood returns through to the vein. The digital device's power source is the same as for all of the biological components in the body.

The surface of the implant that faces the underside of the skin is covered with a matrix of field producing pixels that activate a matching matrix of pixels tattooed onto the surface of the skin above the implant. The field penetrates the skin to drive the tattooed display, while the skin continues to provide its function of sealing the body from the world. The surface of the implant is also a touch screen control, pressed through the skin. Rather than ink, tiny clusters of microscopic spheres are injected, like tattoo ink, into the skin. Each sphere is filled with a field sensitive material that changes from clear to black when a field in the matrix is turned on.

This device communicates wirelessly with the world as well as with other devices implanted in the same body. It is always present, always on, but out of sight and non-obtrusive. It also continually monitors for many blood disorders, alerting the person of a health problem: A human version of the check engine light. Product styling is the latest and coolest downloaded display interface showing on any tattoo on the block. This product is waterproof and it is powered by pizza.

Mr. Perfect

Congratulations to Mark Buehrle of the Chicago White Sox. He just became only the 18th pitcher in history to throw a perfect game. No hits, no walks, no base runners. Perfection.

I guess Gabe should have hit it about five inches deeper, but I know that Buehrle will be treating DeWayne Wise to a steak dinner tonight. Wise robbed Gabe by making an awesome above-the-wall catch, robbing Gabe of a home run and saving Buehrle's perfect game.

My Big Tough Dog

A moment ago I glanced out the front door. No shit, I swear ... two rabbits, six turkeys, and a groundhog were all having a party on the lawn. Where was my local fox? Did he not get the invitation?

While the below video was taken a couple of days ago, it illustrates my dog's "toughness." Sarcasm intended and with emphasis. Based solely on Lindsay's tail wagging, I think she merely wanted to be friends with Mr. Groundhog.

This happens almost every day. I especially get a kick out of watching Lindsay trying to catch up to a deer that's nesting in the tall weeds next to my house. Sure, Lindsay is half greyhound, but she gets left in the dust with the lateral jig-jags that the deer do to her though the forest.

For matter of record, Lindsay does not like the local coyotes. She runs inside, tail between her legs, and whimpers whenever she hears the yip-yip-yipping of the pack.

Bizarre Craigslist Offerings

Since you're here over teh Interwebs, you already know about Craigslist. I haven't bothered to research whether or not there's an entire website devoted to bizarre advertisements, so mayhaps this is redundant. Whatever.

I'm an addict. Once in a while there are some truly amusing listings. Here's one such example:

Free mean rooster. Hi there... my friend just emailed me that her rooster is getting mean and she needs him out of there, probably only good for a slow cooker, but anybody willing to help for free... would be appreciated. thanks

Of all the weird ads I've seen, my favorite has to be the one offering 1/3 of a package of coffee filters. Sure, it's free. But then again, would you drive even a mile to pick up 18 coffee filters which cost 99¢ per hundred?

Bohemian Rhapsody (Annoying Voices Edition)

"Actor Rick Miller performs Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody as '25 of the most annoying voices in the music industry.' From the 2001 Just for Laughs Festival in Montreal."

Brilliant. Well done, sir!

Speed? Check. Instincts? Check. Smarts? Nope.

My dog Lindsay is built for speed. Her veterinarian opines that she's half lab and half greyhound.

Anybody who has met Lindsay will describe her as painfully shy, sweet, and, well, the perfect companion. She loves kids, other dogs and even cats. The only time she ever displays instinctual "hunter" behavior is when she spies a squirrel, turkey, deer, or raccoon in our back yard.

Sometimes while I'm tapping away at my computer she will abruptly stand up and cock her head to one side. We both know what this means. She's heard something outside. She then silently creeps to the always-open back door, looks out over her domain, and watches intently. Waiting for what she thinks is the perfect moment, she eventually charges like a bullet toward her quarry.

Unfortunately for Lindsay, she's not the most adept in altering her tactics mid-hunt. She'll often "tree" a squirrel in the glorified bush at the center of the back yard. Instead of paying attention to where her target has fled, she just barrels forward on an imaginary train track she has built in her mind at the point in time when she first spotted her prey.

Forgive the poor quality of the cell-phone video example below this post. You cannot see the squirrel at the base of the aforementioned glorified bush, nor that it immediately scrambled into safety of the branches instead of risking a sprint across open ground in an attempt to reach the higher canopy of the forest at the edge of the yard.

However, you can clearly see Lindsay's unbelievable acceleration and apparent lack of strategy. To her credit, at least she sort of veers to port once she realizes the squirrel is no longer where she thought it would be. Hey ... she gave herself a 50/50 chance guessing a lateral direction to charge, right?

25 Awesomely Bad Pop Culture Tattoos

I received a link from a buddy to Maxim Magazine's 25 Awesomely Bad Pop Culture Tattoos. What were these people thinking?

Shame on You

Hold onto your hats.

I can't keep it inside anymore. This started out as a two-sentence response to something I read tonight.

And now it's evolved into a tome. This post exceeds 10,000 words -- crushing any previous post -- but I hope emphasizes how strongly I feel about how badly our society has gone off track.

Someone I hold dearly posted a truly genuine and touching plea to contact politicians about the draconian cuts to a program within the Massachusetts budget, and how it will directly impact my friend's family. Aside from this friend, there are another two other people in my little universe who will be touched by this and similar cuts.

I get it. I really do. And thereby my gut reaction was one of sadness. Then after a moment of contemplation I got frustrated, disappointed and eventually angry.

While I wanted to reply in the comments section of the blog which instigated these thoughts, I feared my words would have been misconstrued as unsympathetic. But nothing could have been farther from the truth. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought "shame on you."

Yes, you. Shame on you.

It doesn't matter in which state you live, but especially Massachusetts.

It's got nothing to do with any one particular issue. None at all. In fact, you pick a subject. Go ahead. Name it. Any subject about which you care. Whatever. The environment, education, the arts, transportation, whales, green energy, cancer research, homelessness .... anything. It's not the point at all.

After reading the blog I felt a crushing disappointment about how we, collectively, as citizens of Massachusetts are about to hurt people that need, deserve, and depend on the support which our society provides.

It is your fault.

Yours.

Shame on you. It's my fault too. I haven't been as vociferous as I could have been.

It's all of us.

We continue to elect -- seemingly mindlessly and without effort nor care -- power hungry politicians that continue this spiral of shame. If we have reason to complain, then each and every one of us need to look in the mirror and accept responsibility. For some reason we have failed to force politicians to accept term limits and forgotten the Jeffersonian concept that our governmental representatives should be gentlemen farmers.

You are now reaping what you've sewn.

Let's face it. Last-minute pleas for assistance are futile and are a waste of our collective political energy. Borrowing my teenage son's words, "don't hate the player, hate the game." Get involved before your interests are on the cutting block. Use that political time to make a difference.

[Author's note ... the person giving me the creative spark to write this post has been an absolute monster about being involved and engaged on a public and governmental level. I'm talking to the rest of you who get pissed off from time to time.]

So what exactly is my point, you ask? Glad you did. My point is that I'm thinking about my experiences growing up and now raising kids in Massachusetts. The services with which we are provided today were always available (for the most part), but without the gnashing of teeth over budget woes. Massachusetts taxes are relatively in line [23rd in tax burden at just under 10%] with other states, yet today more than ever you'll hear citizens use the term "Taxachusetts."

My son wants to participate in high school soccer next year. While I am biting my tongue so hard that it's bleeding about his choice of sports, that's fine. Maybe I'll get him a tattoo and a motorcycle for his impending 17th birthday. I digress.

Here's what really pisses me off, and I'm sorry for that grammatical train wreck. It's going to cost me hundreds of dollars for him to KICK A FRICKIN' BALL AROUND ON A FIELD. Are you kidding me? Seriously? Really?

I sincerely want to know. Please tell me why this should cost me hundreds of dollars, and why this used to be an included portion of my town's educational program merely three years ago.

There are literally millions of people around the world who are, at this very exact moment, kicking anything even remotely spherical toward an ambiguously-shaped square representing a goal. For free. For the fun of it. And I have to pay $250 to watch a bunch of 17-year-old boys kick each other in the shins over a shiny new Nike soccer ball? Really? Are you f*ing kidding me? I am f*ing shocked and wicked pissed off.

Goodness gracious ... I just realized that I don't have the self-control to hold back what will surely be the Old Grumpy Man persona to which I swore I would never succumb.

Where did Massachusetts go so wrong? How did we spiral so wildly out of control? Why are paying for all these things which used to be just accepted as part of life "back in the day?"

I now pay $400 a year for garbage disposal (and that's not for curb-side pick up .... I have to f*ing bring it there myself and pretend to f*ing "recycle" under the watchful eye of the uni-brow Dump Witch). That used to be included in my taxes until a few years ago. I have to pay $300 for my kid to ride the f*ing bus to school. That used to be included until a few years ago. But what a bargain at $500 for two kids to take the bus! Yippee!

This year I'll have to pay $50 to swim in our town's lake. That is perhaps the most ridiculously infuriating slap in the face. It's a God-given right to swim in any lake you'd like, wherever you are in the world, never mind the fact it's a lake in my own damn town. Thoreau is surely rolling over in his grave. FFS ... I have to pay to let my kids splash around in a glorified septic tank?!

I'm now paying $7,000 a year in property taxes on a $350,000 house in 2009. It was $4,700 in 2003. Where is all this f*ing money going? I always vote "NO" loud and clear on spending increases. F*ing learn how to live within a budget, people!

Hey, it all adds up to only $200 a month. So what's the big deal?

But listen to me very, very carefully. Please. I beg you to keep this in mind when you step into a voting booth, answer a pollster's phone call, and for all of humanity's sake before you write to an elected public official.

$200 a month is a LOT of money to your fellow citizens. A lot. I dare venture that I should have said "most" instead of "a lot."

It's okay if you just squinched up your face and thought "Really? It's only $200!" Really, it's fine. It's not derogatory. Good for you! Really. I'm not kidding nor being sarcastic. High five. Seriously, I wish I were you.

Deval Patrick is perhaps the worst governor in the history of Massachusetts. Don't even get me started about all of the corrupt groupie/zombie "yes sir" Democrats on the Hill. Tax. Spend. Make cuts on things that really matter. Go ahead. That leaves more money for our esteemed Governor Patrick "wiring a $175,000 job for an early political supporter," although the position had been deemed unneeded and thereby vacant for over a decade.

Tax some more, but don't call it a state-wide "tax." Make more painful cuts on things that really matter, which impact the quality of life for families. Let's lower support to the towns! Great idea! Spend some more on things to keep the Democrats in control of the purse strings. Bribery and bra stuffing. Influence peddling. Toll collectors earning $90,000. More taxes! Wheeeeeeeee! Who cares about anybody outside of the elite Route 128 belt ... let's face it ... they're all hicks and farmers. They are "those whom we support with our incomes [in metro Boston]."

Oooh! Here's another good idea while we're spending more money! Let's do a study to support the concept that we should, in our almighty moral authority, make it illegal for people to enjoy tasty food prepared with trans fats! Thank you, Mr. and Ms. Stalin for saving me! I don't mind about spending the estimated $250,000 to reach the conclusion that I'm too stupid to take care of myself while dining in Brookline!

Tax some more. Spend some more. The Massachusetts Turnpike Authority. $150,000 "board members" and their 90% retirement plans ... at the ripe old age of 42 ... for the rest of their lives. Tax. Spend. Make cuts on things that really matter. Multi-million dollar high schools built in the lock-step methodology of the "McMansions." Tax. Spend. Heck, we'll throw a million your way because we think you're cute out there in Shrewsbury.

Here's a f*cking recommendation. Make cuts on things that don't matter. Put that money toward what the citizens say are important. Let us decide how to spend our own money. We are the people, we are the government, we won't be ignored like children as the Massachusetts House of Representatives would like us to be.

I think I just answered my own question about how we've gone so wrong. The citizens of Massachusetts need to throw a bucket of cold water over their heads and realize why we've (until recently) historically elected some great Republican governors. With a nearly unanimous Democratic House of Representatives and a sickeningly incompetent Democratic governor, things are becoming a mess and getting worse every day. A one-party system just doesn't work.

Regardless if you're a life-long Democrat, Republican, Independent, Socialist, Libertarian, or whatever ... this is a serious problem. I vote. I vote independently, intelligently, and with my kids' future in mind. I dare you to say the same.

Let me solve everybody's woes and worries right here, right now. Set a tax rate of X%. That's what we have available to spend. Spend it however we the citizens decide to spend it (since our Democratic representatives choose to ignore and over-ride our votes regarding taxes, this might take a bit of force for them to understand). And then that's that. There is no more money. None. Deal with it.

Now that it's been settled .... let's take a look at our needs. Do you know of a particular program which would benefit people like my friends? Who need our collective help? Yes? Great! Call your representative and your senator. Tell them to fund these programs by cutting the waste.

If you're just reading this and then close the window while thinking "hmmm ... that was interesting .... I'm going to Dunkin' Donuts now," well then go f*yourself. No wonder there's a sad and shocking series of budget cuts looming on the horizon. Our money's being pissed away because the majority of Massachusetts citizens don't give a shit and vote for the name they know instead of the causes about which they care.

Shame on you if you're one of them.
Good for you if you actually care.
-- Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

Good job, sir! You punched me well.

Stan Grossfeld/Boston Globe

This is a picture of New York Islander Tim Jackman and the B's Shane Hnidy going at it. I had to laugh about the quote from Jackman. "It was a good battle and a good rest for five minutes. He said, 'Good job,' and I said, 'Good job to you.' It was a tough battle."

Huh. How about that? Personally, I don't think my buddy LB would say such a thing right after beating the crap out of somebody. But I'd betcha he'd buy his opponent a beer after the game.