Karma?

Like most guys I recognize and I'm disappointed to know that I can be pretty selfish, but I do believe that one good turn deserves another. My most recent pathetic example of altruism was displayed a couple of times last night. The first being my willingness to accompany Deb to see the iconic Morrissey at the House of Blues. Quite a sacrifice, huh? Even though the Jambalaya and bourbons were nice and the band was tight, I'm just not a big fan of his music, so this was labeled "a chore" in my book.

Like Deb hears similarities in most of Dave Matthews' songs, I hear no distinction in the whiny vocals of this legendary depression inspiring crooner. It was fun to see her singing, clapping, and shouting all while I swayed back and forth to the music surrounded by a fair representation of Boston's gay community. It was pretty cool to see the passion displayed by Morrissey's following. People pushed forward and crawled over one another risking life and limb to touch the man. I have to admit I was a bit stymied by the collective gasp and cheer when Morrissey pulled off his shirt and threw it into the audience. His bare torso was a fair comparison to that of a movie star. Remember E.T.?

When the show ended, we left the venue, got into our car and headed back home. We were traveling north on Route 1 and pulled into a brightly lit Hess Station to get some much needed unleaded. The quiet of the desolated filling station was disrupted by a large Dodge Caravan that pulled in on the opposite side of the pump I was using. A voice called out of the vehicle asking, "Excuse me sir, I'm hoping you can help me." He stated that he was out of work and was heading toward Augusta Maine where his mother in law was currently laid up in the hospital. He and his family were going to stay with her. Being a veteran of working in Boston I was cynical of his tale but reached into my pocket and gave him a five dollar bill. He thanked me and continued to tell me that he was a mechanic and could not find work. I peered over his shoulder and saw a few kids, and his wife sleeping in the vehicle along with a number of possessions packed in the back of the S.U.V. My heart sank. I reached back into my pocket and pulled out another bill, this time a twenty. I handed it to him and wished him luck. I got back in my car and told Deb what had transpired. She seemed surprised that I handed over that much cash, and her tone indicated that the man's tale was genuine. After thinking for a second, she said, "You're a good man, Jack." The truth of the matter is that we've both been in a situation where cash was tight, but nothing like what I believed he was facing. I regret not filling his tank. If I had caught him earlier in the night I would have tried to cheer him up by giving him a free Morrissey ticket.

This morning I headed out to work, but had to make a stop at town hall to register Deb's car. Like the other twenty or so idiots who waited till the end of the month, I waited in line for my turn to hand over more cash to Dover and New Hampshire. Live Free Or Die, but driving will cost you... As I got closer to the front of the line I became impatient and started to fill out the first of two checks I would have to write. The renewal form displayed one fee for the city and one for the state. I filled out the check for the $111 for the city then went to fill out $43.50 check for the state. When I flipped to the next check I my heart sank as I saw not a check, but the deposit slips that occupy the back of most check books. I looked up thinking, "Oh no" and saw the sign stating, "NO DEBIT OR CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED." I immediately searched my wallet for the $43.50, then my coat pockets, then my pants. How much did I find? $42.00.

Hope he made it to Augusta...

Questionable Parental Influence? Pogue Mahone!

I was away a good part of this week and Deb has been immersed in her schoolwork so we were both feeling the need to spend some quality time with the kids. We decided a little field trip would do the trick and allow us to reconnect. A trip to a museum probably would have been nice or maybe a nature walk would put things back in perspective. No, neither of these would suit our needs. What did we do instead? We took them to see the Pogues at the House of Blues in Boston. What better way to bond with Zach and Vanessa than to bring them to a loud crowded concert filled with Boston's Irish drinking and fighting elite.

If you're unfamiliar with the Pogues, you should give them a listen. They're a great mix of traditional Irish music mixed with a punk edge that bestow the virtues of a good drink, a good fight and a tad bit of profanity. If you take a look at their tragic, humorous, lovable leader Shane Macgowen, you'll understand why there aren't any songs about the benefits of brush, floss, and a consistent six month cleaning.

The show and the venue itself were brilliant. The Pogues walked on the stage to the tune of "Straight To Hell" by the Clash and once settled and tuned, broke into songs themselves with "Streams Of Whisky". Their set was paced just a bit south of a Ramones gig with the Pogues' hits coming fast and furious and without pause aside from the more than occasional libation by Shane Macgowen. He had a little table next to his mike stand which held a small cup of water, a glass of Tanqueray and a full bottle of what appeared to be Chenin Blanc. The glass of gin never seemed to get any emptier even though Shane was continuously imbibing. I suspect that the roadies for this band also must possess responsibilities in the area of mixology.

The hits kept coming: "If I Should Fall From Grace of God", "Pair of Brown Eyes", and the sing a long. "Dirty Old Town" were all played with precision and even our untoothed and unsober hero never seemed to miss a lyric or cue. They even played "Bottle Of Smoke" and "The Sickbed of Cuchulainn" with the one of my favorite lines, "Then they take you to Cloughprior and shove you in the ground , But you stick your head back out and shout we'll have another round." a great lesson for the kids indeed!

If there was anything more questionable from a parenting standpoint than the band it was the crowd. The place where we were standing was in line with the side of the stage and an exit behind us. Security continuously walked by us with bloody and sweaty stage divers, crowd surfers, fighters both victorious and defeated each covered with their own sweat, vomit, beer, and occasionally blood.

there was a small young woman standing in front of us who commented repeatedly how cute she though it was that we were their as a family. Then she repeatedly bumped and spilled beer near or on us as she danced, spun, kicked and occasional fell. Our kids thought it was so cute how she responded to her unimpressed boyfriend by calling him a "no fun prick" who was ruining her night as usual. I have to claim my share of embarrassment as she put her arm around my neck and pulling herself toward me to let me know how "f*ck*ng proud of me she was that we brought our kids here and we were keeping it real. " In truth I really liked this girl. She had great energy and was intent on having a great time regardless of those around her and their insignificant f*ck*ng opinions. I hope all goes as planned for her.

We stayed the entire set and headed home, all of us excited and satisfied. It was a classic night of Calabrese family fun. Deb stated to the kids that years from now the kids will be able to tell their friends that they saw The Pogues which I suspect will be met with, "Who?" No matter. The important thing to me is that they'll look back at the experience of the cool things we did as a family.

Birthday/Resolution Check In

Happy Jack History Month! Yes, I celebrated my birthday on the 1st of March and I think it's a great time to check in and gauge how I'm doing on my New Year's resolutions, but first a few comments about turning 44:





I recall when my mother turned a certain age we sat together and she told me that although many years have passed she still felt like she was 18 years old. This is clearly the case with me although, 18 may be a bit of a stretch. Here's what I mean. The other day I was planning a very busy day in the office and I was about to embark on my usual journey of "adult stuff" (I'm referring to adult stuff as in grown up stuff, not like adult as in movies, magazines or bookstores.) Anyway, feeling very mature and responsible I began to get dressed and threw on a pair of pants. I could feel something in my pocket and upon investigating, pulled out a small wad of melted Starburst that had been left in my pocket, gone through the wash and were now stuck to the lining of my jeans. High powered insurance executive? I think not.





Despite the bleak economic outlook, the two wars, global warming and the whole world going to Hell, things are pretty good. Good job, great family, friends, and all the goodies that life has to offer. I don't owe anybody outside of the usual institutions cash and everybody's health is pretty good. In certain aspects I am feeling 44. I just got back from what I call "a cereal run". It's a loose term as there's usually some jogging, walking, limping, spitting and drooling. The "cereal" term refers to my knees and associated joints. In short, there's a lot of snap crackling and popping going on.



As for my progress on 9 in 09:



I've read 5 books thus far (the fact I'm counting is indicative of the fact that I don't read enough.)



9 pounds? I'm not doing too badly but I expect to have a big push once the holiday season is over...



U2 less than 9 times? I love the new album, but they're playing stadium shows instead of multiple dates so I should be okay. No promises though...



Charity and volunteering. I'm working on it...



Less T.V. and more interaction. Definitely less T.V. but not as many games so far. I did manage to play darts and cribbage a few times in a few pubs. I may have to rethink this one as I'm not sure this is an improvement in my character, health or well being.

Hiking and exploring with Deb? We haven't but walking around Ireland wasn't a bad place to start...



More time with the kids? Apparently, I have some communicable disease. This one has been much harder than originally planned. It seems like teenagers like hanging with their friends more than their dad. Strange, huh?

9 new bands? This one will be easy. If you haven't already checked them out, listen to the following:

Seasick Steve
The Hold Steady
Fleet Foxes
Neko Case
The Rifles
TV on The Radio

also, although not new... The new U2 album is a monster but it'll take you a few listens to get into it. There's a lot there and it's not as accessible as their last two discs. The Kings of Leon's last album is incredible and a worthwhile listen. I'm also still hooked on Radiohead's In Rainbows and the last Dylan Bootleg Series.

I'll check the list in a month or so and see how I'm doing. Remember kids, inspect what you expect.

Farewell Old Friend...

It was a cold and damp afternoon standing graveside. The mourners were all bundled up, quiet and introspective. The color guard stood close to the family and I could see one of my best friends holding back his tears. His fourteen month old son was struggling and impatient. He began to cry. A soldier began to play Taps and a cool wind picked up out of nowhere. Now the little boy really started to cry. His mother could not comfort him and the boy was temporarily quieted when passed to his father, but he was not able to hold him long. The mother put the child down and he began to bellow. Sensing the frustration of the parents at this disruption during such an emotional time, I thought how I might be able to assist. I searched my deep pockets for some item that may feed the child's curiosity and calm him, but the only thing I could find were my car keys. I gave the keys to the boy who took them and immediately began to play with them. Relief was shared by all who were close. The boy then ran off and threw my keys into the newly dug hole. The family stood by in horror while I was in the grave digging by the casket trying to retrieve the keys.



No, this did not actually happen. Yes I was at a funeral and yes my friend was there and the Marines and the crying child, but the key thing happened only in the wide open spaces that are or is my mind. I can't explain why this passed through my head, but it just did. I actually envisioned it as a potentially hilarious scene in a movie. "Hello, could I speak to one of the Farrelly Brothers, please?" I admit, I'm a bit embarrassed by it, but maybe it's just a defense mechanism against the real emotions passing through me.



Just so you know, I asked my friend Bert for his permission to write about this experience as I'm fully aware that I'm skirting the line of good taste. He gave his blessing because his father who was an incredible man thrived on humor even though he endured more than his fair share of hardship in his life.





Bert Kline Sr. was a self made man who served in World War II and spent time in China, and the South Pacific. He put himself through school earning not one, but two degrees. He opened his own pharmacy and worked very hard to make it the success that it was. He lost his wife at a very early age and he took on the responsibility of raising his six children alone. He provided his guidance, loyalty, and his support, but he also held them accountable for their actions and some of the children learned or will learn the hard way. Bert was a man to be admired as he was classic in every sense.


I was given the honor of speaking at his funeral and I was told by Bert that my part would be to lighten things up a bit. I stood at the podium with the tiny Yarmulke covering just the tiniest part of my head and spoke for a few minutes. I struggle with hats as I think they make my head look big. the Yarmulke was just ridiculous on me. It was like I cut the ear parts off of my mickey Mouse Ears. Speaking of accessories, I once put on a pair of glasses and asked Deb if they made me look more intelligent. She said I'd need a full face mask for that. Lovely girl...

After I finished speaking they brought up Bert's aunt who was Bert Sr.'s sister-in-law for over forty years. Claire who is well into her eighties had a well prepared eulogy and she delivered it with great care and obvious affection. The trouble was that she is so small that she barely reached the top of the podium so all who attended were intently listening but seeing nothing but an empty podium.

Before we attended the service, both Deb and I were hungry, but could not find anyplace to eat aside from a mini mart located across from the funeral home. There we were sitting in the funeral home parking lot with our beef jerky and Pop Tarts. Yet another classy vision for you all to take in.

Probably not the perfect send off, but Mr. K would have approved. The man loved to laugh.

Ireland: Nice Place, But When Are They Going to Clean This Place Up???

So we've been here a few days now and I can say that Ireland is an incredible country for all of the reasons you already know. It's absolutely gorgeous with the rolling hills and the amazing coast line. We've been taking pictures fast and furious and thank God for digital photography as we would have wasted an awful lot of film on the ruins here.





The first time you come across an old and crumbling castle or church, you snap shots like crazy because you don't generally see such things in the states, but then two minutes down the road there's another one and another one. The whole damned country is littered with dilapidated homes of former lords and ladies. Maybe someone over here should invest a little time and fix some of this crap. Maybe a hammer instead of getting hammered???

To be honest I've only gotten a little taste of what this country has to offer as I've been working over the past few days, but I'm off and "off" at noon today (Wednesday) and I'll have the opportunity to explore a little more. I'm sure there'll be more adventures to report, but until then, here's a few quick hits and observations:

• The people are absolutely amazing here and I can assure you that "Irish Hospitality" is alive and well. They're all very friendly and almost too friendly. The biggest challenge is trying to understand what people are saying. They speak very quickly and their accents are as thick as a good pint of Guinness. It's even more difficult in the pubs. I find myself just nodding yes over and over. I've no doubt that someone if not multiple people have asked if I was a flaming arsehole. Nod, oh yes, Thanks!

• Driving on the wrong or right side of the road ( depending upon your perspective) is a challenge. I've never been the most coordinated guy (ever seen me run?), but this is a whole new level. Driving on the right is difficult on many different levels but for me it's remembering there's a whole bunch more car on your left side to think about. I've come way too close to all types of immovable objects including but not limited to cars, pedestrians, signs, sheep, castles, and everything else they've got here. I have hit at least one curb where I was convinced I blew out a tire. Deb was smitten...

• I have to be honest in as good as the Guinness is here the food is equally bland. It's not bad per se, but they don't season their food here. Everything needs salt and pepper, and I don't think they know what garlic is. Have you ever heard of anyone coming to Ireland for the food? How many famous Irish restaurants are there in the states? C'mon Ireland let's get going! A little little Turmeric wouldn't kill you and Tarragon actually sounds a little Irish, doesn't it?

• Belfast is a tough city that's gone through some difficult times. All seems pretty cool now, but you don't want to mess about as you don;t know who's who. Deb and I were a bit lost coming into the city and we were probably travelling slower than we should have been. An obviously frustrated driver honked his horn behind which brought out the Sommerville in Deb. She responded and yelled, but quited down once we saw that it was a police cruiser. Nice...

• Everything closes crazy early and it's difficult to find something to eat after 8:00. A lot of the pubs and restaurants stop serving food at 7:00. Of course, the McDonalds, Burger King and Subway were still open. I'd love to punch that Subway Jared kid right in his Terryaki Chicken Sub filled belly.

• When you drive through the country you see sheep and lamb everywhere. After a long tour through the North Coast we finally found a place to sit and eat. While I was reading the menu I reflected on the cute little animals and thought about the cruelty in slaughtering them for my nourishment and enjoyment. I actually felt a little remorseful. In any event the roast leg of lamb was delicious, albeit a bit bland (see point 2.)

• We toured the Bushmills factory which is the oldest licensed distillery in the world. The tour was cool and the tasting was even better. I tried their Anniversary Whisky and was surprised as I usually don't enjoy Irish Whisky, but it was very tasty. There is definitely an aspect of enjoyment that comes form the surroundings you're in. I tried the Anniversary Whisky when I got back to the hotel last night and it was terrible. It tasted like fermented barley, water and yeast...Gross!

I'm off to work, but we're heading south toward Dublin and Galloway today. More to come...

Home at Last, Home at Last. Thank God Almighty, I'm Home at Last!

I'm finally home, but not before a marathon of a day consisting of meetings and a demo just before noon. Some of the Brits took a colleague and I to a pub for a few laughs, farewells and follies. This is never a good idea because it's very easy to drown a few pints in a matter of forty minutes or so. Not that this is a problem as it was a pleasant time, but far more pleasant than the ride to Heathrow with a bladder full of once proper English ale, now transformed through the digestive process into Miller Lite. I was in traffic, teary eyed, uncomfortable and dancing in my seat. I actually thought of putting my iPod to justify my "pee pee" dance to the driver.

I had a bit of a dilemma as I was on the same flight home with the CIO of my company. I knew she was sitting in business class, but somehow through mileage point status, I had been upgraded to first class. How should I deal with this? Should I be gracious and insist switching places , or should I wish her well in the lower class seats and politely ask her and the ruffians in her section to keep it down? My fears cooled when I discovered that American Airlines eliminated First class on their transatlantic flights, but a new problem emerged. I now was blessed with a seat next to my very senior, very intelligent, and very important mentor. What if I fell asleep and drooled all over her? would I be able to watch Sponge Bob on the in-flight entertainment, or worse, what if I watched a movie and they showed a booby or something? If I had to relieve myself in any way, would I have to sit in discomfort until we travelled the 3,000 plus miles home? What if she was behind me in customs and what if they checked my bags? This is exactly why mom insisted I keep my underwear clean.

In all seriousness, it ended up being a very enjoyable. We got a little work done and discussed my career aspirations. I had a couple of cocktails and relaxed. It was a long flight made short by a developing friendship. I also had the benefit of piggy backing on her status and had a limo ride back to my house, which was, as my luck would have it, was witnessed by absolutely no one. Remember that scene in Aurthur where Liza Minnelli had the chauffeur wait until Ms. Litman, her neighbor could see her come out of the Rolls Royce?

I had a great welcome home by the family, and received many kisses, especially from the dogs which seemed appropriate because after such a long day we shared similar breath. After the hellos and dispensing the gifts Deb and started toward bed and I got my first taste of being home. For the first time in two weeks I had to wait for the bathroom and ended up "conking" out on the bed, half dressed, teeth un-brushed and without relieving myself of the technically imported liquid again holed up in the aforementioned bladder.

I slept deeply, but dreamed about being back in the car to the airport until I forced myself to get up and wander into the bathroom. peeing the bed on the first night home would not have impressed the missus.

I did my duty and finally brushed transforming my Johnny Rotten choppers into minty pearly off white teeth. Unfortunately, I was now wide awake and it was only 3:30 in the morning. I thought reading would relax me enough to go back to sleep but decided TV would be much easier. Much to my disappointment, I couldn't find Cricket, Rugby, Darts, Sheep Herding or any of the other English television favorites. I returned to bed only to be awoken by an alarm clock at about 6:30 with Deb asking if I wanted to wake Vanessa up and take her to the chorus field trip she was travelling to at 7:30. Now here's where the whole perspective thing comes into play. From my perspective, I should be given a pass because I have been travelling and I was obviously tired. From Deb's perspective, she has been carrying all of the weight of the house, kids, work, and her schooling and she deserved a break. Recognizing this and the fact it is Valentine's day I did what I thought would be an example for myself and all men. I faked being asleep until she kicked the blankets over, got up, and drove Vanessa to her thing.

I now get to enjoy the trappings of all things home, at least until Friday when I jump back on a plane and head to Ireland for a week. The great thing is that Deb will be coming along. If anyone deserves the break and the trip, it's her. I imagine Ireland will present itself as a very beautiful place that will inspire much romance. Then will it be her turn to fake it...

Images of London

Westminster Abbey is an awe inspiring place. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get in on Sunday which I found odd, but there's much to see outside with it's incredible architecture, history, and art. One interesting is pictured here. Above one of the entrances there are a number of saints commemorated in sculpture. I was surprised and proud to see an American among the many other historical and religious figures. There in the middle was Martin Luther King Jr. As I looked closer at the statue I couldn't help notice that the pose the artist used to capture him seemed to have him dancing, or it at least appeared that way to me. Never the less, I was impressed just the same.

Later the same day I was walking through Leicester Square when I noticed in front of the National Gallery a bust of George Washington. Again, I thought it strange to see this embodiment of American history and the father of our country in such a spectacularly English location. I did notice, however an apparently English bird, a loyalist if you will, paying his own tribute to old wooden teeth. Uh, George, you've got a little something on your face...

I couldn't help but laugh when I saw this family of four driving through the city. I appreciate people wanting to save on petrol, but seriously folks, what time are you do back at the circus?

Subterranean Homesick Blues

I've been on the road for almost two weeks and I'm dying to get home. Although this has been a very successful trip, admittedly, I'm a little homesick. For eleven days I've had a relationship with my wife by dialing the phone and typing on email.

When I get home I'll mistakenly think "it's all about me" and I'll expect all to smother me with affection. Undoubtedly I'll get hugs and kisses but it won't be long before Deb threatens to douse me with cold water.

Travelling is fun and eating out is cool, but I want a peanut butter sandwich and milk with real hormones and yummy chemicals in it. Is the Salmonella thing still happening back home?

I realize my days of leaving the bed unmade and throwing my clothes on the floor only to come back to the room to find everything neat and tidy are over. Deb has informed me on many occasions that there aren't any house maids at our estate. (Is this a comment about my laziness, or the fact that we can't afford a maid...actually it's all the same, isn't it?)

I want to have a bottle of water that doesn't cost seven dollars American.

I'm tired of flipping through only six channels on the television. I want to be able to not find anything to watch on three hundred channels like we do in America.

I'm eager to get back into my workout routine. I have been getting up to go to the gym in the morning but it's so difficult to pass up "Saved By the Bell The College Years." That Screech kid is a riot.

The people here are great but entertaining is actually work. You always have to be "on" when you're travelling. It's more fun hanging out with friends at home where I can call someone a d*psh*t without fear of repercussions outside of a retaliatory bald joke.

I like and miss the fact that I can just walk into anyone of my neighbors' houses without knocking. I tried that here but it didn't go over well. By the way, the security guys are really gentle here at the St Martin's Lane Hotel. The pepper spray is more Pablano than Habanero. It's actually quite refreshing.

I hear myself picking up some of the local dialect. Yeah, I know it's English, but there's a different way of speaking here. I even hear a touch of an English accent although I'm mangling it to death and sound like a "Bloody Wanker. "

The economic situation is very precarious here. I can't wait to get to the financial stability of the U.S.A.

We've done 22 training classes in 10 days and have received good feedback. I wonder if I'll inadvertently give Deb an evaluation form after our date night Saturday?

London weather is London weather. I wan to see the sun, even if the temperature is two degrees.

See you all soon.

Pappy Van Winkle or Sappy Scam Stinkle?

I'm in London at the St Martin's Lane Hotel. The hotel and accompanying bar is the type of trendy place that literally has the whole velvet rope thing, keeping the poor and uncool at bay while the beautiful people of London's hip scene dance and Crystal the night away. I have to admit that it's a fun place to stay, and even though I am a guest here, it's quite obvious that I'm a casual observer and not a member of the "in crowd." But that's not what this posting is about and it's not what I'm about.

What I am about is friendship. Long enduring friendships that are meant to last a lifetime. I keep in contact with my old buddy Eddie Nowick who's father and mine went to high school together. My friend Bert and I speak to each other at least a couple of times a week, poking fun at each other, almost brutally, but with enough love to not take offense. If you recall the disgusting childish conversations you had with your buddies when you were in junior high school you'll understand what I mean. Although we've accumulated much in our lives, it's nothing compared to the accumulated and dispensed height, bald, fat, short, fart, poop and pee pee jokes.

I've been blessed once again with an incredible neighborhood that mocks the notion that only old friends endure. Mark and Michelle, Tim and Margaret, Dave & Christine are more than anyone could ask. And when I thought the neighborhood wouldn't or couldn't get better, along came Matt and Jess and of course Jen and Geoff. But this isn't what this post is about.

What this post is about is whisky and a mystery, at least it's a mystery to some. You see our neighborhood seems to go through trends. First it was beer. I recall a certain someone walking down the street with a stainless steel bucket filled with Coronas so cold that the condensation from the bucket would drip as he "tip toed" down the street. Drinking beer, making beer, and trotting through the falling snow to catch some of the 99 cent Guinesses at the Barley Pub, we enjoyed the brew and enjoyed each other. Then it was Martinis; Gin, Vodka, cappuccino flavored, it didn't matter. For months we had half filled jars of olives filled with pimentos, almonds, horseradish and anything else that would allow us to experiment with different flavors. You have to understand that it's less about the alcohol and more about the excuse, and I mean any excuse to hang out together. It's the neighborhood you see in old movies. Classic, and the classics never die.

Over the past number of years it has been bourbon. One family is "Sieked" about Knob Creek, another "Debellowed" about the merits of Wild Turkey, while another always seemed to be "Holting" a Jim Beam (Sorry about the lame attempt at humor, I realize it's not "punny.") This trend seems to have lasted, but I'm sure Scotch is not far away.

One day I was driving back from the airport and stopped at Kappy's on Route 1. I looked at the bourbon selection and noted a particularly interesting bottle with an old dude with a cigar that looked like what I suppose I'll end up looking like later, or sooner in life. It was more expensive than I would offer and I politely passed, but I was intrigued and had non buyers remorse. A few months later I found myself in Singapore at a cigar bar that featured this rare amber libation, and I tasted and I experienced it with a fine Cuban cigar.

Upon returning home, I told my buddies about Pappy's and I was told that the distillery apparently stopped producing it and that it had become rare, expensive and coveted. Being the easy sale I am, and always loving a challenge, I jumped online the next day found a website, and called the distillery. Fortunately, or unfortunately, they still make the bourbon, but only in very small batches. After calling a few places the distillery recommended and visiting a few more, I decided to go to the source of all bourbon. For those of you who do not know, it's Kentucky. This is where, and only where bourbon is produced. Did I call another distributor, liquor store or bar? No. I called my favorite, non swearing, non R rated movie viewing, and non drinking Christian friend Byron. Another most excellent friend, he enthusiastically did the leg, found our friend and asked his beautiful wife to do the purchasing, towel and bubble wrapping of not one, but two bottles of the amber treasure.

The anticipation grew on the street, which was made worse by the "Pappy Van Winkle Song" sung in high falsetto at every given moment. I'm embarrassed to say that even the kids got the goofy jingle stuck in their heads. With much debate and discussion, one wonders if we have over thought and over heightened our expectations. Will it be the best bourbon? Will we be let down? I got a glimmer this evening as the trendy place I'm staying at offers the very whisky you're reading about. I have to tell you that I was stunned to see it and taste it. It was unbelievable. Does that mean good, bad, average? I'm not saying.

In the coming weeks or months, the boys and hopefully girls and members of the "Friends of Florence Street will gather, eat, drink, and taste. Only then will the mystery of this posting's title be revealed. So stay tuned kids; Same Pappy time, same Pappy channel. Cheers!

Tony Bennett's Smarter Than He Looks

I indeed left my heart and maybe a small portion of my liver (kidding) in San Francisco. What a fantastic city! I can't wait for the opportunity to get back and explore a little more. Here's a few general comments and observations from a weary traveller who enjoyed the 2.5 days in The City By The Bay:First, speaking of the Bay, I never really saw it, and apparently there's some famous bridge in San Francisco, but again it eluded me. No worries, I'll pay attention to the Tobin when I get home. How much different could it be?

San Francisco is a very crowded city and has some very interesting buildings like the Transamerica building pictured here. It seems like a nice place, but architecturally I don't get the point of it...

San Francisco has a huge Asian population that is the largest in the U.S. I believe, but to be honest with you if you've seen one Chinatown you've seen them all. The weird thing was an hour after I visited this one I felt like I hadn't and wanted to visit it again. One other thing; we were referred to this supposedly great Chinese restaurant, and yes, it was good, but to be honest it looked and tasted no different than the stuff you get at the old August Moon, Kowloon's, or Lucky Garden.

Speaking of food, San Francisco has a great Italian section in North Beach. It's your usual parade of restaurants, bakeries and coffee bars. If you ever come here, you absolutely need to go to Molinari's Deli. This place has been in business for a hundred years and probably doesn't look that different from the day they opened. They have great meats, breads and they even make their own Buffalo Mozzarella. Yesterday I had a sandwich ( Parma Prosciutto, Copa, Sun Dried Tomatoes, Buffalo Mozzarella, and Olive Oil) that if I weren't already married I would have dropped to my knee and proposed immediately. As you can see by the picture, I was simply awestruck by it's sheer yumminess.

Another must see and stop is the Vesuvio Cafe. A classic old bar opened in the 40's and played host to Jack Karouac and much of the Beats. Great decor, great classic drinks, and great people. I was in San Fran for three evenings and I managed to get to the Vesuvio each night.

San Francisco being the eclectic place it is, you can be sure that you'll meet some interesting characters, and I certainly did.

I have have to catch a plane. the next post will be coming from London, and I have a growing list of things to write about pertaining to travelling in First or Business class. I have to tell you that these are the most uninspiring, nasty, needy, lecherous, and entitled people ever.

Coolness? Fade To Black

It appears to this writer that my status and days as the "Cool Dad" are numbered and dwindling, much like the follicles of my life. Like many of you I have tried to maintain a close relationship with my kids, but I've always tried to do things that moved us beyond the father son/daughter thing. This has been increasingly difficult. The harsh reality is that the once regarded funny guy that the kids lived with is now corny, goofy and quite embarrassing. Qualities Deb has endured for quite some time. I just don't think they get the complexities of my sophisticated comical stylings. "Pull my finger."

Recently, I took Zachary and a few of his buddies to see a triple bill of The Sword, Machine Head, and Metallica. Now, I'd like to be able to tell you that this altruistic gesture was purely for the benefit and development of Zach and his friends, but the truth is, which Deb was quick to point out, that I wanted to go. Me wanting to go to a concert? Not much of a stretch.

When we hit the road Zach plugged in his iPod and said, "Dad, you don't mind if we play some of our music?" This referring to the music they like, not their own original work. I laughed when the next few selections came on which included Zeppelin, PearlJam, Van Halen and of course, Metallica. I couldn't help myself and turned down the music to ask, "Why do you think this stuff is your music and not mine?" They responded by telling me that the music they hear around the house isn't "Crunchy." My cool dad status immediately soared when I informed them that I had seen everyone of these bands including Led Zeppelin. They asked where I had seen Zeppelin to which I told them that they played at Live Aid in 1985. Cool dad crash! "Whoa! How old are you anyway?" 1985? They made it sound more like 1885.

Once we got to the show I was quickly reminded of what a Metallica crowd looks like. Picture the largest shop class ever assembled. A sea of faded blue jeans and black T shirts. The whole place smelled like stale beer, dope, and B.O. As we walked on, all of us in faded blue jeans and black shirts and hit our seats. You should have seen the looks I got from the boys when I handed out the ear plugs I purchased. "What are these for?" "They're ear plugs. They're for your ears!" "They look like suppositories, dude!" Apparently it's difficult to be cool with fluorescent yellow marshmallows sticking out of your ears. "Hey, it beats hair sticking out." Uh, dad, you've got that too."

Metallica finally came on and played a blistering set. The four silver coffins suspended from the ceiling were a little silly ala' Spinal Tap, but they can still shred. During the song "One", I found myself really getting into it and started a little fist pumping and I actually yelled out. this caught Zach's attention as he peered at me with a look that said, "Take it down a few notched big guy. We don't want you breaking a hip."

The ride home was long and all of the kids were crashed, sprawled out all over the back seat. Finally I had the iPod to myself and played the music of my generation, you know, Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran, and Otis Redding. I drove home feeling pretty cool. The Fonz of father hood, but I have no doubt Zach will, at least temporarily look at me as "Potsie.'

"Potsie, what the hell is a Postie? How old are you, dude?"

Canadian Cuisine. Gravy on Fries? Really?

I was researching restaurants last night to try to find something that reflected the local culture here in Toronto. One of the places I saw listed their cuisine as "Canadian." I clicked on the menu to see nothing but steaks and fish. No special sauces, no indiginous crazy dishes. No elk, no reindeer, no moose and no goose. How the hell did this mix of steaks burgers and fish make it Canadian? Could I at least get Canadian Bacon on my burger? Upon asking some of the locals, they stated, "we don't have a cuisine per say, but if there is, it probably includes bacon and mushrooms." Bacon flavored mushrooms? that'd be a good start.


At the restaurant we eventually selected, I had a Canadian appetizer called "Duck Confit, Poutine". I was so excited and hey, it sounds pretty good, right? Wrong. When they brought me the pile of french fries with cheese, gravy and shredded duck I immediately thought they brought me the wrong dish. Actually, it looked like the discarded table scraps from another table. It didn't taste any better. Heavy, greasy and all out "ducking" terrible. I wept in my Molson Golden Ale.


This morning, just for the hell of it, I typed Canadian Cusisine into Wikipedia and got responses of such culinary delectables as, Beaver Tale, Maple Taffy, Smelts and Chicken Balls. I kid you not, there were even notations referring to Kraft foods and Jello. Planning on booking your next vaca here? Don't bother. It looks like Salt Lake City without the mountains. and if you do come here, pack a sandwich.


What do you expect from a country who's primary export is Moosehead Beer, Bacon and Celine Dion? A country that has currency called the Loonie. A place where the French population wants to cecede. I suppose we should, however give a nod for Neil Young, although the truth is he high tailed it south 40 years ago and hasn't returned. Sugar Mountain? How about Simi Valley.

Look, Canada is a fine place but one that seems to struggle with it's cultural history and cultural cuisine. They should take a lesson from their neighbors down south and partake in the delectable offerings of such American Culinary Mecca's as Chili's, The Macaroni Grille, Applebee's, or that salad and bread stick haven known as the Olive Garden. Look kids, we're not much better.

In all fairness, I've only just started to scratch the surface of what this place has to offer. The people are great and the place is really clean. The money is a lot of fun with their Loonies and Twonies, Purple $10bills and Red $50s. It's like being in play land. It's colder than hell, but not much colder than the climate I just left. As far as the food goes, Deb and Jen say I'm a picky eater and a food snob, which may be true to a certain extent. I can tell you that if I order something that sounds french and they bring me something with fries and gravy again, I'm going to snap and publicly insult Wayne Gretzky, Rogi Vachon, and Ken Dryden. I've never been kicked out of a whole country before...

The Naked Truth About Men and the Locker Room

Alright, so far the resolutions are coming along. I finished my first book of the year called "Choke" by Chuck Palhaniuck. A disturbing little story about a disturbed guy written by an apparently disturbed but brilliant author. It's very graphic in terms of the content but I laughed out loud a number of times. I believe they've made it into a film which has yet to be released.

I've also managed to lose a few pounds, most likely water weight, but I also managed to lift and swim a few times and I'm intent to keep the activity up. This endeavor will be increasingly difficult next week as I'm on the road. Canada isn't particularly known for their culinary offerings but I'm sure I'll manage to find something interesting. "More carabo Mr Calabrese?" "Another Molson, perhaps."

While I'm on the subject of working out, I have to share the bizarre disgusting experience that is the men's locker room. Based upon recent occurrences, if you're a guy and you managed to convince some poor unsuspecting woman to be your girlfriend, wife, or significant other, you should thank your lucky stars you have somebody that can stand you, because we as a gender are the most grotesque, disgusting, stinky, undesirable beings the world has ever seen. If we were indeed created in someone's image I'm certain he expected we'd have the good sense to keep our fingers out of our butts.

Guys seem way too at ease in their own nakedness and nudity. I won't say buff, because there doesn't seem to be a lot of "buffness" happening with this particular crowd. It's a locker room of "before" pictures. Guys walk around with no pants, shorts or underwear. They can't even seem to muster the energy to wrap a towel around themselves. Confused about my sexuality? No, I'm just confused why guys can't speak to each other in the normal course of a day, but in the locker room, everyone wants to talk to me with their "little buddy" in the mix.

In any event, the locker room is one putrid petri dish riddled with crimes of human indecency. Here's a couple of long winded examples:


The Gaze:

Men are insecure, and we're terrible at pretending we're not looking. Just ask any woman that wears a low cut blouse, a high cut blouse, a turtle neck, a ski parka or a suit of armor. We get caught looking all the time. It's no different in the men's locker room. It's not a sexual thing mind you, it's a matter of comparison to see how we "measure up". Here internal comments vary from "Holy god" to "That poor bastard."

This also happens well beyond that one particular area. We want to see that we're in no worse, and hopefully better shape than the other guys in the room. Given that the age group is anywhere from 18 to 100 it's a physical perspective of where we've been, where we are and where we will be. The six pack may be gone but at least I can look forward to my manhood hanging to my ankles.

Yes, nakedness abounds in the locker room, but it's worse than you think. I've seen multitple guys use the urinals with nothing but a towel hung over their shoulder or nothing at all. It's disturbing to see some dude with his feet shoulder length apart, leaning back relieving himself with nothing on. It just doesn't look right. The more disturbing thing os that of you have a have young boys in the house, you know not only does with age come wisdom, but also aim. These urinal exhibitionists are usually standing in other guys inaccuracies. How does the rhyme go? "No matter how you sing and dance the last drop always ends up... well, on some dude's feet. "

The Hair Dryer Guy:

The locker room offers some great ammenities including a steam room, sauna, and a number of sinks and complimentary hair dryers. Most guys wash their hands, shave, brush their teeth while naked. I couldn't help but laugh when I was shaving the other day and this gentleman who looked old enough to have attended Lincoln's funeral and naked of course, took his position to my left. He grabbed the hair dryer and started drying his hair? no, he started drying ass. While I was happy to find a use for my long unused hair dryer, I was downright tickled when he turned to use the blow dryer on his front side. First straight on, then from the left, then right. Then he picked himself up and dried his undercarriage.

The Chair Guy

In one corner of the locker room there is a flat screen TV and a few chairs positioned in front of it. The other day there was a guy sitting in the chair watching ESPN with nothing but a T shirt. No pants, no undies. Just sitting back with one leg crossed over the other watching Lebron while scratching himself. By the way, the chairs are not plastic or wood, but upholstered cloth. Have a seat? No thanks. I imagine if I asked him why he was sitting there with just a shirt on, he'd say, "Of course, I'm wearing a shirt, not wearing one would be gross!" Yes it would...Yes it would.

All in all this place is one big carnival of scratching, burping, farting, snorting, all the while looking at everything and nothing at the same time. As much as I would like to change in the car or at home, I'm currently forced to use the locker room. I suppose I'd feel better about it if I didn't keep hearing guys whispering, "That poor bastard."

Reolution - Nine in 09

Alright. Many people make resolutions at the beginning of the year and most don't keep them. I'm not much different but I have been thinking a lot about it and them. I have always liked tag lines and slogans so I figured I would do the same for my resolutions in 2009. I have put a little though into them and I already know I'm overshooting and setting myself up for a shortfall, but what the hell. Here it is for all of you who care is my list of things I'd like to accomplish in the year, the list known as nine in 09

1. Like most people I wouldn't mind getting into better shape. I did a pretty good job last year, but i still have some work to do. My priorities have changed a bit in that previously it was about looking better, not I'm just interested in staying alive. So, resolution number 1 is to lose 9 pounds. We're heading to Myrtle Beach in April so that's little more than than a few pounds each month till we head south. I'd give you the exact number and\or calculation but math isn't on my resolution list this year.

2. I will read 9 books that will help me in my career and or personal life. If you have any suggestions for me, I'm all ears. I'll also read at least 9 books for pure pleasure. Not a big number but twice what I read in 08.

3. Debbie and I have spent the past few years walking through Vaughn Woods in South Berwick Maine, and we've talked about hiking elsewhere. I plan to hit 9 different hiking trails in New England this year. I'm sure Deb will come along for the walk.

4. I will learn 9 new things on the guitar this year. For those whom have heard me play, know that my attention span prohibits me from making any real progress. Yeah, I can play, but only a little of this and a little of that. Jack of all trades and master of none? This is where it is most prevalent. If I had a band it would be called "Medley." The truth of the matter is that if I play a whole song, I'm obligated to sing, and nobody wants that...

5. I'll spend 9 days with each of the family one on one. I know this doesn't sound like a lot when you consider there's 365 days in a year, but with two teenagers it's hard to get them to say hello, never mind spend any real quality time together. The travel doesn't help either. Let's face it, these days are numbered, and I have to keep working on my "cool dad" status.

6. I'll average 9 miles a week. This may be walking, swimming, running or biking. Does driving count? The point is, I'd like to keep in motion and keep my jeans from being an ocean... I've bren swimming more lately, but it's not coming easy and it's not pretty. It's more of a controlled drowning.

7. I'll do 9 things outside of my normal work responsibilities to help people that I work with be more successful.

8. I'll try not to see U2 more than 9 times this year (kidding.) Actually I'll do 9 things around the house to improve it. This will be outside the normal maintenance. I'm talking painting, plastering, or some other thing I hate doing...Actually maybe I'll just hire 9 guys to do this crap for me.

9. I'll put time into these 9 things:

• Become more technically proficient with my camera
• Draw, sketch, or paint something and anything
  
• Working on a craft with my kids or the kids in the neighborhood (I'm thinking of a paper mache dragon for our block party...)
• Volunteering time for a local charity or community event
• Avoiding television. Chess, cribbage, back gammon may be suitable alternatives
  
• Finding 9 good new bands. these days it's harder than it appears to be.
  
• Keeping up with my blog
• Visiting my brothers and getting to know their families better
  
• Reading the newspaper and being more informed globally, nationally and locally.
  

i know it's a big list, but what the hell else have I got to do... I figure if I cover half of the list, i'll be doing great.

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It's The Simple Things That Make Life Great

Is there anything as simple and amazing as sharing dinner with friends and family? We strive to do Saturday or Sunday dinners with friends and family, and I have to tell you there's not much in this world that I enjoy better, sans the occasional minute and a half excursion with the misses.

I have to admit however, that I struggle with one aspect the dinners; We're so blessed to have so many friends that I agonize limiting the number of people who can comfortably attend. I want everybody here and it pains me to have to exclude anyone. We used to do Soprano's Sundays with 18 to 24 people almost every Sunday for as long as the seasons lasted, but it got very chaotic and very expensive. I do have to admit that I loved every minute of it. I used to refer to it as memory making in hopes that the kids would think of the great times that occurred during their childhood week after week.

As you would imagine, many of the meals are Italian. Pasta and gravy, Arincini, sausages onions and peppers and then a few glasses of Limoncello or Sambuca with espresso, they are gastrointestinal marathons.

I'm not quite sure why the post, but I suppose the the purpose of the blog is to share, and the dinners are one place where we excel in sharing.

If you find yourself in the neighborhood, drop us a line and we'll put out a plate for you. I can guarantee you'll leave with a belly full of food that is sore from the laughing. Salute!

Timber!

Some people call New Hampshire during the holidays, "God's Country." This reference is probably not because God likes to buy cheap cigarettes, cheap liquor or the other tax free shopping available in this "Live Free Or Die" state. It's more due to the fact that it's damned right pretty around here during the holidays.

Deb and I shared a special moment yesterday. For the first time in our relationship we sought out and cut down our own Christmas Tree. Now you may be saying that this should be a family event, but the truth is our children have secretly met and reached consensus that their parents are now officially the uncoolest people this, and any side of the Mississippi. They wanted nothing to do with getting the Christmas tree. It's almost like they believe the sole purpose of Christmas is to get presents and eat.

It wasn't a farm, but someone's actual residence that advertised "cut your own trees". We drove down a dirt driveway and found a quaint house with a quaint gentleman standing in his driveway. He had a saw horse with a tin tea canister that had a hand written sign that stated, "pay here." There was also a small selection of hand saws to choose from.

I have to admit that the 27 acres were scenic. It's probably corny to make reference to Norman Rockwell, but that's what it was like. We held hands as we walked by the pond and toward the selection of soft blue pines. Debbie asked me to imagine she and I retired in a similar spot with dogs, camp fires, and all the peace and tranquility that goes along with such places.

We browsed the selection of pines and found the sparsley branched tree that reflected Deb's vision. Again, the classic New England scenery, the hand holding, and the light banter all made for a very romantic atmosphere. Unfortunately this all came to an end when I cut down the tree and dropped it on my wife's head. If this wasn't bad enough, I bonked her in the head again when I was carrying it in the house.

It's the beginning of a Cristmas I'll never forget, and she'll never remember.

"Kids Say the Darndest Things"

I remember a comedian once saying that kids are brutally honest. If a kid tells you you're ugly...you are. I had a similar experience last weekend.

I said hello to the kid in this picture, you know, just trying to be friendly. Her response? "You're bald!" Um, yes, I am... "And your teeth are yellow!" She then turned to Debbie who was laughing hysterically. Debbie asked, "Are my teeth yellow?" The little girl said, "Well, they're not too bad, maybe a little on the bottom, but they're not nearly as bad as his."

When you think you are all that, and you have the world under control, kids will intentionally or not, ground you. This is why we ground them...

I'd tell you more about my conversation with this little one, but she left stating she couldn't tolerate the "stinky" cologne I was wearing.

Shower to the People!

Like most parents who have teenagers, we are challenged by usual things that kids do, such as leaving every light in the house on, or not eating anything that we make short of cheeseburgers and fries. The shower has recently been more of an issue for us. It's confusing. How can two kids who don't pick up after themselves, especially their rooms turn into clean freaks when they enter the shower? I'm talking about half hour or more marathons. They tell me that I don't understand because I don't have to wash my hair which is kind of a cheap shot and completely untrue. I do have to wash my hair, it's just that when a shampoo bottle says to pour a quarter size drop into your hand, I get fifteen cents back. More recently the kids have been using the long since abandoned bath tub.

On Saturday, Casa De Calabrese was enjoying a usual Saturday morning. I had my iPod on while washing the dishes. Zachary decided to take a bath. Deb was heading toward the shower. I was jamming away and scrubbing the breakfast dishes when I was struck with something. Debbie had gotten into the shower and started lathering when all of the hot water went bye-bye. She was immediately pelted with ice cold water. She literally jumped out of the shower and tried to get my attention. This was a challenge as I was "live in concert" and dancing in place. Deb reached into out pantry, grabbed a pack of bagels and let them fly. It scared the crap out of me, and by the way bagels have some weight to them. That's how things roll at the house.

Shower story #2

Before I got into the shower this morning I reinstalled the smoke detector in our back hall that connects the kitchen and downstairs bathroom. I did notice that there was no nine volt but the smoke detector is hard wired. No sooner had I jumped in the shower when the smoke detector let out a quick high picthed alert, this to indicate the battery needed to be replaced. Now I should tell you that the alarm on the smoke detector scares the living daylights out of our dogs, especially Bean. So it was no surprise ot me that after it had gone off, Bean was quickly at the bathroom door. She was frantic, so frantic that I had to step out of the shower and let her in the bathroom. I couldn't believe it when she ran right into the running shower. Picture me in all of my nakedness, (talk about your appetite surpessants...) trying to puch a fifty pound dog out of a running shower. After a second I gave up and just shut the door and proceeded to kill two birds with one stone. Bean and I emerged from the shower, both clean with shiny coats, and it was still shorter than the kids' showers...

"Uncle" Bertie Kline clearly still distraught by what happened in 1985.

Christmas in London

I've just returned from my latest trek abroad. I was in London this week. It wasn't the greatest in terms of finding "posting" inspiration as I was was incredibly busy with work type stuff. I did manage to get out with the camera a few times as is evident by the picture to your left. I found it really interesting to note how deeply the city is in the throws of the Christmas Season. While in the pub during lunch (which is still the coolest thing ever) I stated, "We usually wait until after Thanksgiving to put up lights etc." Um mate, we don't celebrate Thanksgiving here." "Yeah sure, you probably don't bother with the 4th of July either!" (note: they don't.) Another in a series of awkward moments while travelling to different places. So if you're travelling here's a few tips as represented by mistakes I've made.

In some hotel rooms you have to put your card key in a slot to activate the electricity in your room. I didn't know this. I was in complete darkness feeling around the walls and switches to get any kind of light in the room. The bellman who brought up my bag to find me deep in the room cold, lost and scared was quite amused.

There's no faster way of showing you are an American than by tipping. Everybody in America, whether it's the person behind the Dunkin Donuts counter to the local plumber expects a gratuity. This is not so in many places. I put a tip down at a pub and one of my mates immediately picked it up and told me not to ever do that again. Most restaurants already include a service charge. Don't pay double, we're in a credit crisis dummy!

While presenting to a large group of Brits, don't tell people they have two options by sticking up your two fingers with the back of your hand out toward them. Your essentially telling them to f*#k off. Insurance executives don't seem to like this. Also don't ever make reference to a "fanny pack" as it doesn't mean the same thing as it does here. This being said, if you are a guy and have or make reference to a fanny pack you probably deserve what's coming to you.

Soccer is football and like many people in the states, football is religion. Don't say it's a lousy sport, especially in a pub. Also, if you're going to spend any real time there, learn the teams. Go Manchester United!!!

Speaking of football, they wonder why we strong Americans need so much padding. They are also mysteriously offended by the Patriots (which they pronounce with a soft a.)

Also:

Learn the metric system
Warm ale is good
An ale or beer in the day is Okay.
Malted vinegar goes on chips, not Ketchup
If your looking left to cross the street, you probably should be looking right
Mopeds and scooters are not uncool here
People dress with flair and style. There are lots of fancy suits, lots of cuff links and most people wear scarves
People still listen to Uriah Heep, Status Quo, and Queen.The Kings of Leon are considered rock Gods here and fill 100,000 seat stadiums.
Don't be a dobber, don't drive whilest pissed, and don't ever toast with an empty glass

Cheers.

"Tom Waits For No One"

You know you've had a fantastic experience if it the memory stays fresh and repeatedly creeps back into your thoughts. I've been blessed with many, but I've intended to write this one down for some time as it was a brief, but great father son moment.

Earlier this year I had the opportunity to see one of my musical heroes, Tom Waits (Please note for the record that I was turned on to Tom Waits by my lovely bride who has not let me forget this or anything else since. Thanks Deb!)

Tom being the nut that he is squashed my dream of Deb, myself and my buddies seeing him in Boston at the Orpheum theater. His tour omitted the usual "Big Market" stops like New York, Boston, Chicago or Los Angeles and took a different path to such thriving metropolitan areas as, Tulsa, El Paso, Mobile, Columbus, and Okay, Atlanta. "Screw it"I said, looked at the dates in terms of what would work and decided Atlanta would be the target. This would be the last stop on this brief tour.

The show was scheduled for July 5th. This was going to be tight, as we had concrete plans for the 4th and we were leaving for a 10 day family vacation on the morning of the 7th. My dad committed to not only coming to the show, but driving the 6 hours to get there. Deb opted out due to the impracticalities, the logistics and general stupidity of flying to Atlanta for one night to see a concert, (Thank God someone in the family actually uses their brain.)

I got to Atlanta fairly early, checked into the hotel and walked over to the theater. Amazingly, even though it was only 10:00 in the morning there were quite a few people milling about the The historic Fox Theater, home of many legendary performances including the classic Lynyrd Skynyrd live album "One For/From the Road." I spoke to almost everybody there finding out where they were from, where they were sitting, what TW disc was their favorite etc. I was not surprised to see that I wasn't the only loser who travelled to come to the show. There were people from the West Coast, Germany, Sweden, Spain, and even a far off place called Milwaukee. Again, it should be noted that Tom Waits does not tour often and when he does, he doesn't go far and he doesn't go long (sounds disturbingly familiar...Sorry Deb.)

I toured the theater and later met up with my dad and his misses. We had a couple of drinks and then dinner. Joyce opted out of going to the concert as the gravely whisky and cigarette soaked voice possessed by Mr Waits is an acquired taste much like Scotch or Moxie, (for those reading who are not familiar with Moxie, it's an acquired taste much like Scotch or Tom Waits music.)

To make a long story not so long, I'll state that the concert was all I thought it would be. Tom Waits is an amazing performer and someone, like Sinatra or the Stones should at least be seen once in your lifetime. I do however have to admit that early on in the show I tried not to look at my dad, this for fear of seeing him disengaged, bored or tired. I just wasn't sure if he was going to enjoy it and selfishly I didn't want to spoil my own experience. I was thrilled however to look over and see him into it. We met the people around us, yet again noting that people came from all over the globe. We all shook hands talked laughed and joked and created our own miniature, temporary community. Dad and I were a well oiled communicating machine with people probably remembering the guy with his bald father being a really fun part of the show(warning: This is an inside joke. Male pattern baldness skips a generation.) Anyway We were all in it together, that is until about three quarters of the way through the show when I couldn't resist the temptation to get a closer look. I abandoned dear old dad and the temporary U.N. to get a better look. Technically, it wasn't rushing the stage, it was more a moderate limp down the aisle, but I did manage to kneel and watch a song or two from about the second row(note: Tom looked better from the 26th.)

All in all a fantastic experience. I got up the next morning, had breakfast with Dad and Joyce. We said our goodbyes and I was off to the airport. Worth it? Absolutely! The show was great, the people were fantastic, but the time spent with the "old man" was great. It's weird in a way it was poetic justice. Deb may have turned me on to Tom Waits, but my father is the one who instilled the great love of music. Just look at his comments from the Buddah posting. He knows his shit. Thanks Dad.