First Friday Membership

This will be a quick post as I’m girding the proverbial loins for a trip up to Portsmouth with my son in law to link up with my son of the planned pub crawl.  There will also be some sort of tuxedo fitting for some wedding that’s coming up but let’s focus on priorities here – a pub crawl!

Daughter and Wife at Brew City

Yesterday saw an epic afternoon as my son in law and daughter were inducted into the mysteries of a First Friday of the Week celebration, Worcester style.  They joined my excellent boss and me at Brew City for a salute to the arrival of the weekend.  My excellent boss was restricted from his usual Samuel L Jackson descriptions of the political leadership but he decompressed in other forms.  I think they all see now the importance of ending a work week with proper recognition and send off.

The Gang Surrounding my Great Boss

We had a Zorba’s pizza waiting for us when we arrived back in Charlton and even fit in a trip to Ronnie’s where we smuggled some ice cream back home through the rain (the MEF would have been proud of us).  The rest of the night was movies and Red Sox brawls/extra inning win.  It’s kind of a misnomer to call baseball “brawls” as there’s more physical contact in the first thirty seconds of a hockey game than there is in an entire season of baseball “fights”.

Zorba's!!!!

Finally I saw in the news yesterday that the French have finally taken counsel of their seemingly inbred resentment of British and Americans reminding them that they owe their freedom to us.  France officially restricted coverage of D-Day Anniversary ceremonies this week to French television while charging exorbitant rates to any American news channel that wants to cover the ceremonies.  This is so French; maybe they’ll hope we will forget – no chance!

Ascension Endures

An afternoon at work doing battle with scheduling software along with the IT savant made for a really long day.  Around 11:30 it seemed the entire Worcester police department was speeding by in excited fashion.  I saw in the paper today they nabbed a serial bank robber just a few doors down from our office.  Ahh - the sights and sounds of Worcester!  

Our Former Neighborhood Bank Robber Gets Acquainted with Worcester's Finest

However, it was weekend eve, even better, my daughter was sneaking out of NYC to join us for an extended weekend – talk about your wins.  My redoubtable son in law, after spending the day with Buddy, volunteered to make the obligatory and danger fraught drive through wilds of Connecticut to retrieve his wife.

Buddy Snuck up on the Couch With Son in Law and Tried Unsuccessfully
to Convince Him My Wife Would Have No Issue with This

Replenished with paint I finished off the last of the porch to finally drive a stake in the heart of that project with only the attendant doubling of the blister size.  It is conveniently on my middle digit so I look forward to a weekend of demonstrating my injury to people who ask about how I managed to injure myself slinging a paint brush.

Prepped and Ready to Execute

The NYC couple showed up just after I finished up and reported finding a new “short cut” through the dreaded Hartford traffic wilderness.  I was fascinated by this development in my seemingly endless battle with the Nutmeg State’s highway system but was prevented from exploring the details as my wife was more interested in the mundane task of greeting our daughter (priorities!). 

Selfie Week Continues Late Last Night with Daughter and Son in Law

My daughter was anxious to see the Hannibal season finale which her husband’s English jaunt had kept from him.  She and I had already seen the mind bending last fifteen minutes and that made it all the more fun watching his reactions.  Hannibal truly is playing chess while everybody else is at the checkers level.  It would be scary if there ever was a serial killer with his level of intellect.

Dude!

I was sneaking away from the carnage to check in on the Red Sox who staged yet another comeback.  I wasn’t a big fan of the Drew signing but if nothing else it seems to have woken up young Mr. Bogearts who had the game winning walk off hit.  It was a little inappropriate to be jumping up and down in the kitchen while Hannibal was administering to his victims in the darkened next room.

We even spent about five minutes watching the end of the national spelling bee which is broadcast of ESPN for some mystical reason.  It turned out to be an incredibly impressive demonstration of intelligence.  Indian immigrants seem to have cornered the market on this American institution and the last two young dudes just were not to be denied.  I couldn’t even pronounce the last couple words which they both spelled flawlessly to be crowned co-champions.  It did nothing to lessen the historic pain of my failure to emerge from my own fifth grade spelling bee under the baleful eyes of Miss Thomas where even the Cantankerous Friend beat me. 

The good news continued as the posers from Montreal went down to defeat and I can abandon my surrealistic support of a New York team.  It is now the First Friday of the Week and my entire crew (wife, daughter, and son in law) have committed to joining me for the ritual celebration this afternoon at Brew City.  Morale continues its ascent unabated by a forearm full of poison ivy – there is a pub crawl on the approaching horizon as well!

Son-day

Yesterday was the polar opposite of the weather emotion wise.  March weather which was conspicuously absent this year, choosing to remain February for the entire month, finally showed up.  It is not alright to see your breath in the middle of the day in very late May, it’s just wrong on a very fundamental level. 

That being said, yesterday as a lot of fun.  First of all one of my wife’s hairdresser appointments was screwed up leaving her at loose ends in Worcester and just in time to join me for the weekly morale lunch with our favorite son.  It was a nice surprise for him as well as this offered him the opportunity to get down to brass tacks in planning out the mother-son dance for his upcoming wedding.  I sat in bemused silence as he made his mother very happy by considering her choreographical insights.

Mom/Wife at this Week's Lunch Selfie

The day got even better later in the day which was long odds considering I was driving into Boston during the rush hour at the same time a Red Sox game was starting.  This usual recipe for traffic disaster was realized by several accidents involved failed auto gymnastics on the Mass Pike but this only reduced the airport parking fees through reduced waiting time.  I was headed to Logan Airport to pick up my favorite son in law who was coming in from London where his band was touring.  The drive back was awesome as we were able to talk one on one for the first time in a long time.  Both of us hate talking on the telephone and we usually see each other at the same time I’m also catching up with the daughter.  The drive back confirmed something I’ve known for a long time – my daughter has excellent judgment.

Son in Law and I Last Night Right Where I Met My Brother In Law in 1979
(see Yesterday's Blog Post)

He’s joining me on Saturday for a trip up to Portsmouth for tuxedo fitting with attendant pub crawl (important stuff).  Since I’m wearing my uniform at the wedding I won’t need the tux but I felt it was my moral duty to support the pub crawl effort (it’s how I roll).  It was great having one of the “kids” back in the house last night even if we had to import him through our daughter.  She’s due in tonight so morale should continue its ascent (I did mention the Saturday pub crawl, didn’t I?).

Brother Days of Past

My Brother

Today’s the birthday of one of the most important people in my life, my peerless Brother in Law.  I first met him at Logan Airport international terminal thinking I was going to be dodging Nashua based assassins as I returned from Germany.  We bonded almost immediately as he assumed my hitherto role of good natured tormentor of my older (certainly not elder) sister.  He’s been everything a guy could want in a brother – a friend, a counselor, and a compatriot in the vagaries of Boston sports fandom for the past three decades.  I’ve been blessed with a lot of great people in my life and I count him as right at the top.  One of my favorite activities in the world is sitting around a table with him and just talking.  It’s therefore kind of appropriate that today I’ll be journeying once again to the international terminal at Logan to pick up my son in law who’s flying in from England.  It’s nice to be reminded why that is such a special place.

As I nurse the blistered hands (I’m still trying to figure out how I got blisters just painting) and yet another case of poison ivy I was lucky enough for date night last night with my favorite Panamanian.  We went to see X-Men, Days of Future Past which both of my “kids” raved about.  It’s a great action flick, up to Marvel’s usual standard in the way of special effects, but you can also tell that a supremely talented director was back at the helm as well.

That was apparent because the story is so ridiculously convoluted in jumping back and forth between the present, past, and future that to see it flow smoothly understandable across the screen is a real achievement.  The “kids” were crowing that this movie finally returned sanity to the X-Men universe in terms of loyalty to the source material.  I was blissfully unaware that this was a serious problem but I’m assured that this is how the X-Men mythology is supposed to unfold.  I am sure to sleep more soundly tonight now that this cosmic crime has been deus ex machina-ed back in line.

While I loved the science fiction aspects, my wife “marveled” at the fully exposed gluteal muscles of the Wolverine displayed in all their glory.  She muttered something about crossing an item off a bucket list.  Hugh Jackman’s butt has been a serious topic of discussion ever since she saw him on Broadway a few years ago.  

Corner Painting

The past three days will be “fondly” recalled as the “Great Porch Weekend”.  Saturday and Sunday was spent scraping an inordinate amount of flaking white paint off the front porch, whose size I never fully appreciated until this event.  Yesterday was scheduled for putting the paint back on because the weather forecasters had assured us all week that Monday was the “pick” of the weekend with no rain scheduled.

I’ve lived in New England long enough not to believe anything our forecasters say and I woke up yesterday to a steady rain.  Once we had the paint scraped off though we had to proceed.  The rain semi-stopped around 10am and we launched.  Buddy wanted to help by swatting his ceaseless tail against the freshly painted posts.  Since we hadn’t decided on white paint swatches throughout the interior of the house he spent the bulk of the day admiring our handiwork from afar.

The Inevitable Before Picture

My wife wisely consigned me to areas where my somewhat less refined painting technique would inflict the least amount of collateral damage.  The Keene Friend found out we were painting and volunteered to come down for the day which turned out to be a Godsend.  He assisted the wife on her side of the porch which allowed them to keep pace with my slightly more frenetic endeavors (does house paint kill roses? – one of the many questions I’ll learn the answer to this week – color me nervous on the answer)

Keene Friend and Buddy After Picture

The off and on drizzle abated long enough to even get a coat of paint down on the areas not covered by the roof before we ran out of paint.  We probably wouldn’t have run out if so much of it wasn’t applied to my face, hair, arms, clothing, and the odd rose bush or two but let’s not split hairs.  We only need to apply a second coat to two small sections to declare victory.  I’ll pick up another gallon of paint today to finish the project off when the rain stops again. 

The Wife in Action

We finished our efforts shortly before dark and as we creakily made our way inside made a sterling illustration of the importance of ibuprofen in a middle aged life.  It seems eight hours of bending at strange angles to apply paint into the cleverly concealed corners of the porch railings is not conducive to a life without muscle pain.

I Wasn't the Only One with Paint On my Arms
But this is Really a Poor Effort Compared to my Masterpiece

We assuaged our pain with the aforementioned chemical remedy and some really tasty dead animal flesh properly seared in Memorial Day fashion.  The Red Sox even decided to finally win again, thank God for the National League.  Since our painting efforts had thoroughly gassed the Keene Friend, he acquiesced to spending the night.  This allowed him to see the Wolf of Wall Street for the first time.  I had almost as much fun watching his reactions to the excesses as they rolled across the screen while my wife harrumphed in spectacular fashion from the kitchen at the liberal use of gutter language. 

Keene Friend and I Concurred on the Wolf Wife

I also discovered there was a gaping hole in my Keene Friend’s entertainment experience as he had never seen “24” before.  We rectified that and he was drawn into the spectacle that is Jack Bauer.  It is a little strange that it’s been more than three weeks now since Jack last dispatched a bad guy but I think the body count is due to rise in the coming weeks.  Caitlin Stark is still seriously pissed about the red wedding because she’s about unleash hell upon London with only Jack in position to thwart her.  Keene’ Friend’s DVR just acquired a new recurring event and I’m going to try to inveigle a loan of some of the earlier seasons from my son for him to watch.

Scouting Memorialized

Today’s Memorial Day when we remember and honor those who gave their life so the light of freedom would continue to burn in this contentious yet enduring bastion of liberty.  Days like today cause me to wander the pathways of memory back to my formative years (my wife will tell you I’m still in those). 

I remember Memorial Day as a cub scout and then a boy scout marching in the annual parade in my home town.  This was my first real exposure to the military culture and to say it left a mark would be a vast understatement.  The parade always wound into a cemetery where a bugler would play taps while a respectful silence fell over the entire parade.  All of the scout leaders (as well as every adult present) were veterans of World War 2 and I remember being struck by how poignantly impactful those renditions were to these men.  I didn’t understand it at the time but the song brought back memories of friends and loved ones who had answered the nation’s call to preserve our way of life and didn’t return.  For those heroes the day is done, gone the sun, from the lake, from the hill, from the sky, all is well, safely rest, God is nigh. 

We won’t forget your sacrifice or those who continue to sacrifice despite a world that wants minimize the threats we still face. Thank you for the gift of freedom. 

Scraping By

Paint Scraping Results

My wife decided to honor America’s patriots who gave their all to ensure our freedom on this Memorial Day weekend by painting the front porch.  The first step in that process is scraping the old paint off.  Semi-memorable, because this is the first house we’ve ever lived in long enough to scrape paint that we ourselves applied.  That didn’t take any of the pain out of the experience though.

I did try to dodge the initial phase by claiming I had long planned on a massive rehab project for our mailbox which was a rusted mess leaning out into the street.  I hastily installed it when we moved in nine years ago and never got around to fix the obviously poor installation.  I approached the leaning tower of postal reception to discover the post and surrounding ground was liberally festooned with poison ivy.

The Rehabbed Box

Since the neighbors saw me venture forth with shovels and painting materials there was no way I could retreat in the face of the is chemical threat.  I think this was the most gingerly I’ve ever dug a deep hole.  That project was over all too soon and I was sentenced to hard labor on the porch under the withering supervisory eye of my favorite Panamanian.  I certainly couldn’t use the Red Sox game as an excuse since they’re starting to invent new ways to lose.  The scraping will continue today since actual painting will have to wait until tomorrow when we’re promised a rain free day finally.

I did finish off my latest foray into the world of Brad Thor and his inestimable hero – Scot Horvath in Full Black.  This was the first of Thor’s books that left me a little frustrated.  Thor spends altogether too much space delivering what are obviously his political views on Muslims and the problems of progressive Western governments.  While I agree with a lot of what he’s saying I don’t need to be beat about the head and shoulders with it.  I pick up a Horvath book expecting an almost constant sequence of death and destruction administered to the enemies of America by the redoubtable Horvath.

Full Black has plenty of that but it’s interspersed with Thor’s diatribes delivered through his Bond-style uber-villain and Horvath’s internal thoughts.  This made reading the book a series of dramatic stop and goes with the attendant whiplash effect.  Horvath is called upon to thwart a pervasive terrorist campaign and speeds from Sweden to California, Delaware (??), Paris, and New York City.  It’s a great ride as long as the focus stays with Horvath but for the first time I was left a little frustrated with a Thor book.

Type Casting

One of the enduring lessons of my life is the trap represented by categorizing an entire group of people based on observations of the most visible representatives of that group.  It is of that failed manner of thinking that racism and all too many other of our social ills are perpetuated.  It’s easy to think all Muslims are inherently evil when you see the words and actions of the radical Islam that dominate our airwaves. I found the everyday Muslims I’ve met in my journeys around the world as uniformly nice and welcoming. I honestly believe they have the ability to carve out the cancerous growth on their reputation that is radical Islam that extends their inability to move forward in so many countries.   

African-Americans shouldn’t be judged by rap “singers” or even more idiotic athletes any more than white people should be judged by skin headed nazis.  I still believe one of the most profound statements of the past century was Dr. King’s hope that people would be judged by the content of their character and not the color of their skin.  It’s very educational to be the member of an actual minority population as I’ve been in several places I lived during my military career.  The enduring lesson I took out of those experiences is that there are idiots in every culture/society and they are the true minority.  Defining them as idiots is not racism until you extend the judgment to all others of the same race. 

Y

My Boss Monitoring Traffic Yesterday

esterday’s First Friday of the Week celebrations unfolded exactly as expected – fantastically.  My excellent boss who has a monster commute through the teeth of the supposedly monumental Memorial Day traffic decreed that we should convene our Brew City session remarkably early.  I was unable to produce a cogent reason to argue with his reasoning.  He, however, made a critical error but bringing his i-pad to monitor traffic on his chosen route home.  Every time he would check it and it was clear we would order another round.  By the end of the afternoon we were concocting alternate routes for him in order to justify the next round.  It was a lot of fun.

My Date With the New Pizza Selection

Pizza Overload Zone

The fun continued with my weekly Zorba’s date with my favorite Panamanian.  She even blew off yoga class.  I’d like to tell you that was because she wanted to extend her stint with my charming personality and not that she took so much time choosing an outfit that class time passed but you can do that math. She woke me on the couch (long week at work don’tcha know!) and we were soon safely emplaced in the middle of Zorba’s Friday frivolity.  My wife threw another curve ball when she decided we needed to abandon our traditional pepperoni for a pizza of not only pepperoni but bacon, ham, hamburger, sausage and various other species of dead animal flesh.  Again, I felt it beneath me to argue with her and “suffered” through this iteration.

Thank You MEF!!!

The MEF must have been channeling positive energy my way last night because my wife finally relented and we topped the night off with a stop at Ronnie’s for the first ice cream on the new season.  Buddy was suitably impressed when we returned. I have the scratches on my arm to prove his interest in the ice cream I carried in.   

Success!!!

Randomness

The events in far Eastern Europe continue to fascinate.  Putin’s counter-move to the European’s call to his bluff of gas supplies was to turn to China.  He trumpeted a new multi-year deal to supply China in case he feels to need to flex some influence with European supplies.  Meanwhile in Ukraine, Putin’s Spetnatz (Russian special forces), whoops I mean “ethnic Russian militias”, took out a Ukrainian military outpost killing over a dozen.  If anybody truly believes those were militia fighters than I have a southern Florida land deal ready for you to sign.

My author friend, who’s a hell of a lot smarter than I can ever hope to be, posted a blog where he pointed out Putin’s adventurism in Crimea was ill advised because they already had everything they needed out of the region but now had to support this new Russian province which heretofore received virtually all of their food and fuel from, you guessed it, Ukraine.  There’s now a pesky slice of sovereign Ukrainian territory between mother Russia and Crimea.  Three guesses where all the “unrest” has been percolating since Crimea fell (I knew you wouldn’t need those first two). 

Site of Yesterday's Attack

My friend also points out that a hefty and strategically significant percentage of Russian military equipment is produced in that pesky slice of Ukraine.  I’ve held all along that Crimea was phase one and Putin has intended to annex another huge swath of Ukraine.  With the Ukrainian election this week it will be interesting to see what Putin means when he says he’ll “respect” the results.  It could mean something entirely different in Moscow.  My friend also astutely points out that Putin may get his new provinces but he’s not going to like what he ends up facing once he gets them.  His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Mong, indeed!

I got own self in trouble last night by trying to stay out of trouble – it’s how I roll.  My wife and the Worcester Chapter of the Panamanian Mafia were cooking up a dinner theater extravaganza.  I love hanging out with this group so I was agreeable until she revealed the date.  To her credit she held this information right until the end of the presentation and flawlessly acted surprised when she “realized” I had something planned for that night.

She could tell I wasn’t pleased but I said I’d go because I didn’t want her angry at me for the next two weeks.  That apparently is not the correct tact to take in these situations because she said she didn’t want me to go if I didn’t want to.  Quandary time, she’s going to be angry if I don’t go and she’s going to be angry if I do go.  These are the type puzzle boxes which a successful marriage confronts and inevitably solves.  I know there’s dinner theater in my immediate future and I’m thinking some roses will be involved.

My excellent boss has declared an extremely early First Friday celebration in order to avoid the worst effects of the Memorial Day weekend traffic this afternoon.  I will try to rise to the occasion despite the brutal interruption of scheduled work hours.  

Ketogenic Diet – End of Year 1

Yesterday was my weekly hump day lunch with the morale boosting son so I inflict yet another parking lot photo for that momentous (for me) event.  The conversations are becoming more and more focused on his upcoming nuptials which seem to now be approaching at the speed of light.  He reported the honeymoon coordination is in full process at this time.  We also confirmed Father’s Day weekend activities.  He’ll be joining me on a company sponsored trip I put together to see the Pawtucket Red Sox on that Saturday night.  We’ll follow that up with a barbecue with the most excellent parents of the MEF on Sunday; dead animal flesh will be intricately involved.

Yesterday in an Undisclosed Parking Lot

Speaking of dead animal flesh, yesterday also marked the 1 year anniversary of launching on the ketogenic diet.  A year ago I was forced to do something since the knee doctor told me my admittedly substandard running (more accurately – jogging) career was at an end.  This was bad news since I always used running as an excuse to eat and drink anything I wanted to.  As I cast about for solutions to maintain the beer consumption I associate with a healthy lifestyle my son in law proposed the diet he and his band used during an extended tour – enter the ketogenic diet.

When I started I was about 25 pounds heavier than when I left the Army, hovering right around 250 pounds.  As I took a hard look at my lifestyle it was obvious the medical effects of my running program had failed miserably in their published goal.  I wasn’t obese but I wasn’t winning any bathing beauty contests either.  The diet is actually pretty easy for me since it involves a lot of meat (talk about wheel houses!).  I do miss the bread, potatoes, and especially popcorn. 

After the first couple weeks of feeling a little woozy at times the benefits started kicking in as I shed weight at an almost alarming rate.  By the end of September I’d lost 52 pounds which was 12 pounds further than I really wanted to go but I just wanted to see if I could take it under 200 for the first time since the very early 1980s.  My ketogenic guru (son in law) told me when I reached my target weight I could then take one day a week off the diet and that would keep me from losing too much.

The First Friday of the Week and Keto Vacation Day turned out to be a match made in heaven.  If you read this blog at all you know what I mean.  Since October I’ve kept myself at that target weight with the 6 days on and 1 day off approach. 

The hardest part of the diet was convincing my wife that I wasn’t trying to set a new record in cholesterol counts with my daily bacon and eggs along with a serious cheeseburger fetish.  She could see the weight sloughing off but for some reason (despite a very generous life insurance policy) she was honestly concerned about my health.  Then came my annual checkup where my cholesterol count was actually down along with my blood pressure.  The doctor was genuinely stunned that as a late middle aged guy my test results were improving instead of heading south.

There were also some attendant benefits that surprised me.  Not carrying the extra 40+ pounds around cured the knee pain I’ve had fairly constantly for the last ten years – that was to be expected.  Since the keto diet calls for mostly fresh food instead of processed forms I’m convinced that has produced additional benefits.  My energy level is better than it’s been since my thirties and there’s been no loss of strength.  I no longer have to take daily medication for a decade long acid reflux disease (that I was told was permanent) since I went on the diet.  It raises interesting questions about exactly what is in our processed food.

The keto diet is not for everyone and has to be followed with discipline to be effective. I’m luckily not averse to eating almost the same thing every day which would be intensely boring for people who, unlike me, take great pleasure in a wide variety of food.  I still gaze longingly at hamburger buns and the smell of fresh baked bread or cinema popcorn still sends me into paroxysms of mouthwatering self-doubt and temptation but I’m not willing to abandon the beneficial effects of the keto lifestyle. 

I have a pretty cool son in law.

Nostalgia Lizard

Nostalgia is defined as pleasure and sadness that is caused by remembering something from the past and wishing that you could experience it again.  Friends will tell you that I am heavily into nostalgia, if you hadn’t already figured that out reading this nonsensical blog. 

Nostalgia can be a dangerous thing if not properly pigeonholed as fond memories and not a destination.  While I love revisiting old friends and significant places from my past, life is about moving forward.  I often reflect on the choices made and it wouldn’t be human to think about going back and making different decisions. 

Failing to ask that girl out in high school who I worshipped from afar, a lack of serious approach to studies during my fraternity days, and the big German decision are all aspects of my life I periodically reflect back on and wistfully think how my life would be different now.  Regrets are life’s way of educating you and making you a better person, as long as you take the lessons to heart.  After college and pre-marriage there were very few girls I wanted to go out with that I didn’t ask (talk about your double edged swords!), when I went back to graduate school I was the student I should have been during my undergraduate days, and when I did meet my future wife I didn’t wait around but married her right away (32 years and counting). 

For me nostalgia is all about valuing the past because those decisions determined the person you are and you’ve got to kind of like yourself (only option really).  I like going back to reunions and get-togethers with old friends precisely because they remind me of the good times but at the same time updates the feelings forged in the past into the maelstrom of today.  One of my high school classmates made a very shrewd observation after last year’s class reunion.  He wrote that it was so enjoyable to gather together after all these years with all the nonsensical social trappings of high school stripped away; wise words.

Definitively in the nostalgia department was last night’s date night movie, Godzilla, bringing back memories of the giant lizard viewed from the floor of the YMCA during a rained out summer camp day in the distant past (see, I told you).  This current movie is sneakily very, very good.  I’ve always taken the stance that the name “Godzilla” should always be uttered with a deep guttural Japanese accent.  It was therefore with intense pleasure that the first time it was said in the movie was in just that fashion by the excellent Japanese actor, Ken Watanabe.

This flick is successful because it stays with the human story and uses the huge monsters as a plot device instead of the focus.  Godzilla emerges as natures response (much to San Francisco’s detriment) to two large nuclear feeding monsters called MUTOs.  The monsters are forces of nature and the movie is about the way we would react to this immense challenge.  There are no sinister humans or corporation rabbit holes to explore.  There were some pretty dumb tactical decisions made but this was obviously done to keep the story moving forward.  The young actors were especially good, the Olsen twins’ younger sister and Kick Ass himself, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, were effective as the young couple the story centers around.  You wouldn’t want to stand around his character in a thunder storm though as wherever he happens to be standing is ground zero for something extremely bad to happen.  This is definitely the best Godzilla movie ever made which says a lot, nostalgia wise.  

Closet New York Fandom

Well the detritus and carnage from my wife’s flower-palooza over the weekend finally seems to have abated.  Absolutely nothing even vaguely newsworthy happened yesterday (altogether not a bad thing) except a huge turkey patronized Buddy's bent bird feeder.  My Father’s Day weekend plans were solidified with a short but satisfying call with elder (although you would never know it by looking at her) sister. 

The Turkey - Note the New Bend in the pole Thanks to the Wonder pooch

I even had an all too rare opportunity to speak with my younger sister about some impending shoulder surgery.  She tore her rotator cuff and other various and sundry muscles over the winter while executing that well known New England performance art known as falling on ice.  I’m glad she’s got someone in her life now that will be there to take care of her through the process.  All too often she’s had to be the person who’s there for everybody else around her.

My Apparently Very Cool Sisters

I’m left to ponder why my sisters get all the cool injuries.  My elder (chronologically only, bear in mind) sister once tore her hammy and has had both of her knees “scoped”.  Now my other sister is having rotator cuff surgery.  I’m thinking they may have some sort of secret sports careers going on behind the scenes.  Meanwhile I only have dermatologists carving pieces of skin off my neck and face, definitely less sexy.

I have a confession to make that will stun most people who know me – I’m rooting for a New York sports team (temporarily, I hasten to add).  It did come easily and I still pause to check my temperature and pulse at times but I’m actually cheering for the New York Rangers.  It took a team as loathsome as the Montreal Canadiens to bring this fanapocalypse about and last night I watched the Rangers shut down the whiny crybabies from Montreal for the second straight game.

Surreal - Don't Tell Anybody I'm Doing This

It should serve as a blue print for the Bruins about dealing with these bozos.  There is no after the whistle shenanigans that the Canadiens invariably bait the Bruins into but more than anything else it’s evident the answer is team speed.  The Bruins play a methodical style that is ill suited given the increasing openness of the NHL game.  The Rangers were flying for most of the night and the Canadiens did not have an answer – although they did talk a lot.

I spent the entire day yesterday glued to the computer screen which I moved closer to me on the desk since it was such fine detail and these eyes have seen better days.  It’s scary to think about far I’ve come computer-wise since I retired from the military (my children are now laughing uproariously at that claim).  My wife did her meals on wheels thing yesterday and used that opportunity to buy (wait for it) more flowers.  There was one pot that was conspicuously forgotten and required immediate attention.

Sailing Through Flower Storm

This Incredible Lady's Birthday Yesterday
My Wife's Older Sister Who Passed Away from Cancer Almost Ten Years Ago
She More than Any Other Person Insured My Wife and I Ended Up Together
We Love and Miss Her, A Lot.  Gone But Never Forgotten

Despite my wife’s annual, almost unearthly flower planting frenzy over the past week, she informed me we were still 9 pots short of a full load (flower pots for those of you with active imaginations).  This opened the very real chance of a sneaky trip up to New Hampshire and tax free flowers (not to mention a potential sports bar) since this was supposedly the Keene Friend’s Sunday off.  My morale was definitely peaking when we learned that his schedule had changed and he had to work.

Following that plummeting experience I resigned myself to actually accompanying my wife on a local flower buying expedition.  Early in our marriage we discovered that shopping together is not something we should attempt lightly.  I hate shopping with a white hot passion while my wife revels in the indecision that marks her shopping efforts and my attendant frustration. 

As we made our way towards the shopping destination the traffic on the other side (and our usual way home) was backed up for well over six miles.  I didn’t know if this was due to the Brimfield Fair or the weekly accident on the Mass Pike/I-84 interchange.  This wasn’t contributing to my enjoyment of the shopping experience.  The wife sensed my lack of enthusiasm (not exactly a closed book here) and made some (for her) timely decisions. 

My Wife with Yesterday's Flower Haul

We made our way home through some serious back roads that evoked Stephen King only the way truly rural New England can.  It’s kind of scary these places are only miles from where we live and seemingly unseen for the most part except for locals avoiding the main road backups.  I wonder how many never are heard from again (but I digress). 

I thought my work was done when we avoided the untold mysteries lurking in the abandoned dilapidated houses we passed and safely returned home.  My wife was of another mind as she commenced another planting frenzy.  I was sentenced to painting detail for my lack of shopping enthusiasm.  The white trim around the newly painted front door needed to be done.

I Used a Lot of Blue Tape

I tried to point out that my painting technique was not ideally suited to such delicate work (think of Peanuts’ Pigpen with a paint brush).  She decided this would be excellent training for me (Note to self:  tell son that wives never give up hope of reforming their husbands).  I kind of went overboard with the tape in hopes of avoiding disaster (painting over the new red door or the hardwood floors).  Buddy assisted by staying completely away and guarding the back deck against the birds and the occasional suicidal squirrel. 

The Final Product - Not a Complete Disaster

I’m not sure my efforts will meet the Good Housekeeping standard of excellence but everything I spilled or blotched was cleaned up prior to final inspection.  Thank God for an adequate supply of paint thinner.  We ended the day with the 9 pots filled and the door (as well as numerous exposed body parts) painted. 

Buddy Ready to Launch on Some Unsuspecting Robins

Over the weekend I finished off my latest John Ringo sci fi book, To Sail a Darkling Sea, which continued the story of a world consumed by a zombie like apocalypse.  I love Ringo’s work, especially when he deals with close combat scenarios which he brings to vivid life.  He also has a great sense of humor which is on full display here as the remnants of humanity gather on a flotilla of yachts in the mid-Atlantic and start to reclaim some form of society.  The stars of the book are the two teenaged daughters of the head guy.  One’s a zombie killing savant while the other is a cracker jack boat captain.  It’s exciting and a lot of fun.

I just hope Ringo stays with the series to completion.  He has a bad habit of building up a great story line and then getting bored with it and moving on to other things.  He’s so successful that the publishers obviously give him full say on direction.  While I am left a little frustrated at what happened to a bunch of great characters left in limbo in these other series; this also means I’m going to be enthralled by a bunch of new characters in whatever scenario he cooks up; a tradeoff I guess.

My Own Daughter Battling Some Sort of Metal Giant in New York Over the Weekend