Live Post From The Barley Pub

A good friend of mine just drove his camper, Winnebego, or RV into Dover and promptly jumped into another vehicle to head to the local pub. I was contacted and immediately proceeded to meet he and a few of my neighbors. My good friend Mott handed me a laptop and insisted I post something, "Live From The Barley Pub!" This could end up like the sketches that they tag onto the end of Saturday Night Live that have no merit, no business at the beginning of the show and no sign of comedy.

The Barley Pub is a great little place that features small batch brews. Their biggest claim to fame is that when it rains or snows, the Guinness or Snowblower stouts are 99 cents. This is when every UNH student comes out of the wood works clutching handfuls of change for beer within their price range but with some real color and flavor.

(Mott takes control of the keyboard) This post is dedicated to all the teachers and students out there who just started their summer vacations. We're drinking a few stouts here with our friend MHS who is a middle school language arts teacher. He's going to need severe therapy this summer to correct the damage that YOUR CHILDREN have done to his self esteem. If you are the parent of a middle school age child then you owe Jack twelve dollars to cover the tequila shots it took to get MHS to like himself again! MHS doesn't need this crap. He could be dusting off barbells at The Works where he'd make more money and get a free gym membership.

And on behalf Jack's wife Deb who is a teacher during the day and student in the evening --- Any kid who gets Deb for a teacher better pay attention because you only get a teacher like this ONCE. You're lucky little kids. And to Deb's professors - Debbie could run circles around you in the classroom - piss off!!

Alright I've wrestled both this laptop and Mott's car keys. Sorry about that all. Anyway the Barley Pub is a bit of a throwback. If you like dark walls, dark humor and dark beer, this is the place for you. They even allow dogs. Many a night I've told Deb that I'm taking the dog for a walk and came back four hours later. It's a much longer walk home than it is to get here. Gotta go. Cheers, y'all.

Farewell Childhood Friends

Early yesterday I heard the news that Farrah Fawcett had passed on. It was no surprise to know and feel a little sad about it. She was an iconic figure and a part of my childhood and her image helped facilitate a transformation from Hot Wheels, Evil Knieval dolls, and GI Joe to an interest in the opposite sex. Unfortunately for me any return interest would have to wait until I grew out of my awkward stage and began bathing on a regular basis. I think I'm almost there.

Yesterday afternoon I was waiting for Zachary to finish a music theory class. I was sitting outside of a local coffee shop reading the newspaper when two young girls walked by. One of them was on her cell phone and said to the other, "Oh my God. Michael Jackson just died!" At first I didn't quite believe it, first because of the source from which I heard it, but also because there was and always will be so much misinformation and controversy surrounding the former King of Pop. Zach finally made an appearance and we went home. Along the way I told him what I heard. We scanned the radio but there didn't seem to be any confirmation. No news reports, no tributes, and no Michael Jackson songs which is not an easy fete.

OF course when we got home and turned the television on, the news of his death was starting to spread. There wasn't the outpouring that I would have expected, but it was still relatively early and I believe the networks and outlets were just not expecting to report on this tragedy.

This one hit harder. Like him or not, hero or villain, Genius or tragic figure, he was and will be an icon. I still recall the day that my mother and father taking me to the Singing Cricket in Winthrop Massachusetts where I picked out the "Ben" album which would be my very first of many hundreds of records I would buy. I actually think that the first 45 I owned was "Rockin Robin" by the Jackson 5. I can still recall holding it with the dark blue and white Mowtown label with the small map of Detroit and the location of Mowtown. I played both of those records a lot, as I would with many of his records, cassettes and CDs.

I was also one of the many millions of people who watched stunned as he "moonwalked" his way on Mowtown's 25th. Do you remember where you were when Reagan was shot, or when the Challenger exploded? This was one of those moments albeit and obviously much less tragic. I was with a bunch of friends in John Farmer's basement playing darts and drinking beer. He had a little television with lousy reception and when Michael did his thing. We were awestruck. "Holy crap, did you see that?" I never got to see the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show. For my generation, this was its equal.

I was back at the gym last night and I heard a lot of the guys in and around the weight area making jokes about how all the kids in the world are now safer now that the plastic, monkey toting, Elephant Man buying, Beatles music stealing freak was gone. True, the man was surrounded by controversy and if he did the things he was alleged to have done, then I'm equally disgusted, but there was a time when he ranked among the heroes of the day. Celebrity passings also make me think that if such larger than life individuals are susceptible to their own mortality, then we'd better make the most of our own time.


Not the greatest or funniest post, but it was a strange and heavy day.

No Pain No Gain? I'll Take Two Helpings!

How's this for a double threat? After work I went to the Dentist then hit the gym.

A few weeks ago I had my routine 6 month cleaning and heard something I never thought I would hear. After the usual probing and picking my dentist said, "Your teeth look pretty good, but you have a couple of really old fillings that are leaking." Leaking? what the Hell is that supposed to mean? What are they leaking? Is it Mercury? Am I going to get Alzheimer's? Holy Moses! (For those of you who didn't catch that, that was Charlton Heston joke. Poor taste? Yes, but if I ever get sponsors for this blog I doubt it will be the NRA.) He went on to say that one of the old leaking fillings was pretty big and would probably require a crown. A crown is appropriately named as they cost a king's ransom.

Today was the day that I had to get prepped for the crown. It would be a fun filled hour and a half of Novocaine shots, drilling, fitting and probably more drilling. I'm happy to report that my dentist did not let me down. Allow me to digress for a few seconds and attempt to make all of the usual jokes that you hear about the dentist office. It was all there; the funky reclining chair, The little squirty guns, both air and water that even after 44 years, I still would like to play with. I had the bib on, and I'm not sure if my dentist is cheap or big into recycling because mine had a lobster on it. There was also the big overhead lamp that has always reminded me of the martian periscope on the War of the World space crafts. The lamp seems to have a personality all its own staring down as if to say, "holy crap, look at those choppers! Big fan of rock candy when you were a kid?"

It's never a good idea to piss off someone who is going to be working on you. I should have paid heed to this, but the truth is I was late for the appointment. If that wasn't enough, while the hygienist was setting up some of his tools, I asked, Is he any good with those things?" She thought he would be amused if she shared that with him, but the truth is, he wasn't. He immediately called for his precision tools that had medieval looks and medieval names such as, the probe, the scraper, and the explorer. Thank God this wasn't a proctology exam!

As my dentist (who is a really a great guy and a good technician) did his thing with the hygienist and the martians looking on. He would drill, stop, ask me a questions then fire up the drill before I could answer. Occasionally I would have to rinse. The little shot glass of liquid and my immediate drooling brought back fond memories of my clubbing days at the Palace.

After an hour and a half of this I finally got to follow the Dr. who left me stranded at the check out counter where the receptionists scheduled my follow up. As they always do, the gave me my choice of new tooth brushes as if to say, "Maybe you'll use this one." I responded with my Novocained paralytic mouth and sounded like that guy on Fat Albert when I said, "Iba Abpreciate ut, seeba ya laber!"

After leaving the dentist I figured I would kill two birds with one stone and hit the gym for a little strength training. You know, most guys walk around the gym with this strut which is supposed to show the other guys how tough and intimidating they are. I'm not immune to this and today I was particularly effective until I noticed that I was still wearing my blood soaked lobster bib (just kidding.)

The combination of the Novocaine and my lack of food did not make for a good work out. The Novocaine inspired stroke face and drooling kept my usual female admirers at bay. The weights seemed particularly heavy, and I definitely have to work on my endurance and my motivation. The whole time I was lifting I was looking forward to the crunches. Not that I like crutches mind you, I just wanted to lay down.

All in all it was a fun filled afternoon. Maybe tomorrow I'll have a colonoscopy and scrape some wallpaper.

And IRAN, Iran So Far Away

I'm watching the news and they're showing the Iranian protests and violence that's occurring as a result of the latest controversial election. The newscaster offered his opinion and stated, "This is why America is so great. We enjoy a peaceful transference of power." I suppose to a certain degree the newscaster was correct. We have demonstrated to the world that even with controversial election results, even with our highest elected office we can maintain a certain amount of civility. But wait a wait a minute, weren't we just burning cars and fighting with the police when the Lakers won the Championship? I guess we're just passionate about other transfers of power.

Can you imagine the riots that would ensue if there were a controversial American Idol ending?

Memory Lane Is Just a Click Away

Facebook is one of the all time great electronic time wasters, but I can't argue with the results. I, like many others have reconnected with some great old friends who are now, well...great old friends. Recently I got together with my buddies Sammy, Eddie, and Eddie and it was an amazing experience that has left me nostalgic for the old days but content that we're all where we're at.

We met as we have many times before but unlike the old days we were able to pay for our Guinness' with actual $20 bills instead of the singles and handfuls of change and no one ordered Tequila, Sambuca shots or "Woo woo's. Like the old days none of us approached any of the women in the bar which means not much has changed over the years. I recall the days of having to have a few drinks in order to build up enough courage to talk to girls then wondering why they showed no interest. I clearly recall thinking these women were stuck up or worse as I slurred my pick up line then staggered and swayed away to face the humiliation and heckling that would soon ensue from the peanut gallery.

Our reunion marked the first time that all of us have been in the same place in 16 years, and it was amazing to see that despite the marriages, children, distance and years that not much had changed. A few more pounds here or there and a few less hairs where they should be. Notice I said where they should be. None of us has lost any, it just relocated from the city that used to be our heads and migrated to the remote suburbs of our anatomy, living quietly in the ears, nose, backs and the other nether regions that will not be mentioned here, but I digress.

We picked up right where we left off and we continued. There's nothing that melts the years away like a good get together with old friends. The stories were many and the details and accuracy were definitely softened and mellowed with time. It was a great afternoon.

Will our next meeting be 16 years from now? I hope not and I don't think so. But the fact we did reconnect demonstrates that it doesn't have to be a wedding or funeral to get together. It's amazing how difficult it can be to go and have a beer. Regardless, I'm hopeful we'll continue to make the effort. I look forward to the day years from now when we'll we'll be able to gather in the same or a similar place and take another legendary stroll. The Guinness will flow and we'll be able to chat without interruptions as the Depends will eliminate the bathroom breaks.

Dave Matthews Band Poster Art

It's a well known fact in my neighborhood that I'm a big fan of the Dave Matthews Band. The fact that I like a particular band should prompt no need for words and shouldn't constitute enough interest to warrant a posting, but I have to tell you that it perplexes me to know that almost no one else in the "hood" digs these guys. My good buddy Geoff is convinced that both Dave Matthews music and the night time sleep aid Ambien are created in the same factory. It confuses me because they're absolutely huge and have an enormous following.

This fact was recently demonstrated when the DMB played two sold out shows at Fenway Park. Yes, I attended both nights and was lucky enough to sit in the front row for night two. It wasn't your normal front row seat as somehow I ended up with a "companion ticket" which is intended for those who accompany an impaired individual in the handicapped section. Regardless it was right up front. True, no one around me was up and dancing too much but I don't think it was because of a lack of danceable beats and rhythms.

I'm almost embarrassed to let you all know that aside form the CD's and concerts, I've also shown my support by being an active member of the DMB fan association known as "The Warehouse." Membership has its benefits. I do get to purchase tickets before the general public and there are other amenities that are offered. The Warehouse is an electronic gathering place for the legion of DMB fans who trade tickets, live recordings and stories. To say that people are dedicated is an understatement. they all have DMB influenced vanity license plates, tattoos and children named after their hero.

A recent Message Board thread showed various members Concert Poster collections. The DMB, like many newer bands create interesting and sometimes beautiful silk screened prints that are produced in very limited quantities. They're all hand made (or at least I think they are) and are signed and numbered. All of the pictures of the framed posters appear to be hanging in the basements of these 35 and 40 year old members parent's houses. How cool it must be for them to proudly show them off when they're sneaking a girl in.

For the record, mine are hanging in my office. Men will be men and boys will be boys. What that means, I have no idea, but let's face it. We guys just aren't that bright.

Finally, My Blog is Educational! Yard Sales 101

I'm sure there are those who would disagree with me but I feel comfortable in stating that New Hampshire is the Yard Sale capitol of the world. Each week as the days progress the signs start going up. Some are big and bright while others are created with less care and less information. They litter the trees and street signs advertising their pre-owned baby clothes, furniture and tools.

Now, I am not opposed to "Yard Sailing" and have actually done my fair share. I've found a few treasures in my time and I've also seen a lot of trash. It's like these people are not interested in selling quality products, it's like they're just trying to get rid of the crap they don't want. I don't get it.

There's a real art form and a whole culture associated with the Yard Sales. If you're Yard Sailing in your own town it's always a good idea to dress down. Wearing a business suit or high price outfit will make your bargaining and bartering far more difficult. Get some old beat up stuff. You can pick them up...well...at a yard sale.


Bring plenty of cash but make sure it's divided into two separate piles with one consisting of only one dollar bills. This is your bargaining roll. Telling someone that you only have $4 for that top hat then pulling out a wad of $20's is bad form. Make sure you bring some change as well. People will be happy to sell books for a nickel but they get really pissed if you try to pay for it with a $20.

As stated there is usually a whole culture dedicated to yard sailing who drive very quickly from one yard to another seeking bargains. these little ladies will not hesitate to elbow their way past you or to push you out of the way. You have to pay close attention to what you're doing. If you're pondering a purchase and put it down, the veteran yard sailor will grab it faster than David Carridine grabbing a pea from an old marble eyed Chinese man. There's a bad joke in there somewhere but it's too recent and too easy.

Be prepared to see a lot of junk. It had to have happened somewhere and at sometime, but someone intentionally purchased that microwave cook book, Simpson's margarita glass set or George Foreman grill brand new. Now they're nickel. What a bargain. The box with all the free stuff is not actually free as it will you cost you money to throw it out later.


If you're looking at records, you really need to know what you are looking for. You'll see alot of easy listening albums, and you'll definitely see copies of Michael Jackson's Thriller, Billy Joel's The Stranger, and Fleetwood Mac's Rumors. Be careful when opening any double album from the 60's or 70's as the seeds that will roll out may get you into legal and financial trouble, especially if you're going near any drug sniffing dogs. Open a Frampton Comes Alive album? Those aren't tomato seeds buddy.

It's a matter of debate in the way you approach the people running the yard sale. When walking up you may feel a bit awkward and will say something to break the ice. this makes it harder to leave when you realize that you don't want any of their crap. If you buy something just to leave without feeling awkward, what your doing is basically stating, "I'll throw this out for you."

You should never but clothes at a yard sale especially if you are in your own town. Nothing would be more embarrassing to come into work on Monday with that suit you picked up on Fisher Street and having someone from work ask you, "Hey, where did you get that suit?" "I don't remember" you say. "Well I do. You bought it at my ex wife's yard sale Saturday. That's the suit I wore to my father's funeral." "No, you say I got it at the Men's Warehouse." Uhh, buddy, the $.25 price sticker is still on your lapel. This could and will limit your professional upward mobility.

A good tip to remember is that if you're yard sailing and you run into someone you work with, Tell them that you are looking for old Jazz 78's and ask them if they've seen any Thelonious Monk or Coltrane discs around. They'll think you are cool and eccentric. Just make sure they don't see the Chinese throwing stars you're going to buy.

All in all the phenomenon that is the yard sale will continue especially in these tough economic times. Best of luck to you all. I'd write more but I'm driving to the big Bernie Madoff, AIG, Citi Bank rummage sale. Hope they have that Fondue set I've been looking for.

"Boronto" and the Joys of Business Travel

Toronto is a great city with beautiful and friendly people. Ask anyone that has ever been here and they'll tell you that it's really nice and very clean and it has all of the trappings of any major metropolitan area. But for some reason and I'll concede that it must be me, the largest city in Canada has yet to touch my heart or move my soul. Yeah, it's nice, but to date I've found it uninspiring. Maybe it's too clean, maybe the people are too nice. I have formed some good friendships here and undoubtedly they will not be happy if and when they read this, but I'm hoping this current trip will convert me.

I flew here yesterday which forced me to leave the family on a Sunday so I know I'm already in trouble. The only thing that curbed this was the fact that the weather was absolutely dreadful. We spent the morning as a family piling a chord of wood. Deb thought it would be a good bonding experience for the kids to log off and pile logs on. The kids weren't amused but they stuck it out and we put a good dent in it.

Like me previous trips to Toronto, my drive to the airport and my flight were uneventful. When I got my luggage I realized I had to get some colorful and playfully named money, but the not one, but three ATM's were either out of order or out of cash. I started to question whether my card privileges had been terminated. Would I be stuck here?

I stood on a curb and hailed a taxi. "Where to?" asked the cabby.

"I'm going to the Marriott Renaissance."

Where?" he asked.

"The Renaissance, downtown. You know, it's connected to the stadium."

"I don't know where that is sir."

I thought he must be kidding. I said, "You know where the Blue Jays play? MLB? Baseball? You know next to the CNN Tower?"

"I don't Know that place, sir."

"Listen, you have two tourist places in this city and they're right freaking next to each other. Look. See that big tall thing? Take me there. "

He was actually a very pleasant man, and after he intentionally took me to the Residence Inn, and I corrected him. he kindly corrected me in saying that I shouldn't have incorrectly stated that Marriott because the hotel at Rogers Stadium was a Renaissance Hotel.

When I finally got the the MARRIOTT RENAISSANCE I was greeted by a very pleasant woman who checked me in. She informed me that the Blue Jays were out of town so the rates were a little lower. I already knew this but having even an empty baseball stadium as my view would still be pretty cool. When I got to my room the blinds were closed. When I pulled them open, this, and I'm not kidding here, was and is my view:

Laughing out loud, I left my room and headed out in search of food. Once again I spoke with the nice lady at the counter who told me that I wouldn't find much on a Sunday night but I should head to the harbour to a place called Pier 4. I found my way there and saw a festival happening with a lot of interesting food choices, none of which I could take advantage of because all I had was Uncle Sam's Green Currency of Evil. I passed by the West African and Indian Cuisine and went into the Pier 4. I then immediately walked out of the dreary cheap, establishment which should have been named Pier 70 thus reflecting the decor and the average age of their patrons.

At long last and after wandering through the city I finally stumbled toward my hotel which, again is conveniently seated just below the cabby elusive CNN Tower. That's where the remainder of my evening was spent. A little food, A cold beer. A good bartender. The NBA Finals and a local music rag. Maybe this place isn't so bad after all...

By the way, the shot glass wasn't mine.

Sales Is All About Getting People to Like You!

Ever wonder how your kids view you?

I used to train sales people on the many disciplines that are selling skills. During training sessions I used to coach people by providing them with real life situations and giving feedback. I would tell my sales reps that the feedback they received was a gift and would help them improve their skills their opportunities for success and ultimately their wallet or purse. This past Sunday I had the opportunity to assess a sales person and in the process I received candid, honest and direct feedback.

I was enjoying my day of rest by working in the back yard with my favorite nemesis the weed whacker when Deb let me know that we had to pick up Zachary from yet another sleep over. We both jumped in the car and headed off as we were going to grab some vegetable plants for the garden. We were also going to buy a new "old style" porch swing. After grabbing Zach we headed up to the furniture place which was not and would not open until noon. We had some time to kill. Deb suggested we swing back by a car dealership that we passed. There was a car that caught Deb's eye.

We were barely out of our car when the young salesman appeared. He started off with the used car salesspeak without hesitation and without stopping. He gave me the, "If I can make the numbers work for you, can I put you in this beauty today?" He said, "This car is cleaner than a baby's bottom." This guy obviously never had kids.

We took the car for a ride and then we were led into the interrogation area where the battle of wits would ensue. Without going into all of the details, I can tell you that I held my ground and didn't an inch of ground. He threw everything he had at me and resorted to insulting me in front of my wife and son, but ultimately I escaped without a new car and without a new monthly obligation. I wanted so badly to tell him my profession, but I didn't want to embarrass him. I really wanted to say, "look kid, I know what you're doing..." Regardless, I escaped.

A few nights later we were having dinner and when we were finished with the school and work discussion I asked Zachary what he thought of the experience. He said, "You mean the car? It was really nice!" I said, "No. What did you think of the exchange between the salesman and I?" Zach replied, "It was kind of wierd, but I always know when you want to leave or get out of something. You act smart and start making those faces with that goofy smile, and you act like a dick!" The rest of the family erupted with laughter!

"Dustin" the Wind or "Urned" Run Average

Forgive me readers for I have sinned. It's been one month since my last post. There's no question that I've been crazy busy, but the blog thing hasn't been far from the forefront of my mind. I honestly believe I've been suffering from a slight case of writer's block. This isn't to imply that I think I'm a writer, but I have been struggling to put something together. Over the next few days, I'll try to get caught up on a few of the recent adventures in an average guy's life.

About a month ago I had the opportunity to see the Sox play. Now I don't usually need a reason to hit Friendly Fenway other than to pay the $7.25 for a watered down and warm Miller Lite but this trip actually did have a purpose. My buddy Geoff's grandfather passed and their close relationship inspired Geoff to distribute his ashes at some of his favorite landmarks including the House that Ruth rented. Now I envisioned Geoff casually and quietly releasing the ashes as we walked around the park, or maybe even by his grandfather's favorite seats in the boxes or bleachers. Geoff had another idea in mind. The ashes had to go on the field and no other place would do. There were a few problems with this idea: First, our seats were in the roof boxes. Any attempt from this spot would result in the people below and their Fenway Franks being covered with a fine coating of grandpa. The second and probably more important thing is that unbeknown to either of us, spreading ashes in a privately owned property is a big no no and is actually a crime in some states. Geoff and I plotted like Ralph Malph and Potsie and came up with a plan. He would sneak down and distract whoever he had to and lean right over the field, and I would remain above and document the event with my camera for the court case or to show the doctors how Geoff got all of his injuries. I'm sorry to report that I have nothing to report. The whole thing went without a hitch. He snuck down and was only held up by one usher. He went to a different section and told he usher that there was a friend that he wanted to say hello to. He went down, sat next to a total stranger and told him what he was about to do. He made his move and in front of 33,000 plus, leaned out over the small wall and shook the little baggie onto the field. There was no fuss and no muss.

So the next time you're watching Pedroia, Big Papi, or Veritek up at the plate and they're tapping the bat against their cleats, that little dust that comes off may just be someone somebody loved. And for the record, when I die, I'd like to be cremated and I'd like my ashes to be spread all around my house so Debbie can clean up after me one more time.