Farewell Old Friend

Farewell oh transporter of my young children.  When we first met, you were a pristine piece of automotive engineering.  We needed you desperately.  After all, you were the status symbol of a young family with little kids!  Cows gave their lives for you.  You were smooth as a newborns behind.  We were proud to have you in our family.  You protected our children, entertained with movies and carried us in comfort to our destinations. 

You endured the minor spills of Cheerios and candy and crumbs.  Your windshield was blemished by projectiles from the road.   Then our dog Molly decided that she didn’t like riding in you, so she threw up on the floor.  Then we had learned from our mistakes and let her throw up out the window. 

We hung our young son out the side to poop in the snow… while he peed on the floor…  You happily allowed a full gallon of milk seep into the spare tire well.  But you made sure that the entire carpeting absorbed as much as it could.  You allowed me to essentially hose you down- on the inside.  You have smelled like a thousand high school boys gym socks ever since.  You let our son put felt in your CD player.  When we couldn’t coax you to go backward, a friend told us “I got a guy” and we listened to him.  Although you were fixed, we learned that now we didn’t need to put on the brakes before we made you go- very safe…  When I brought this up with the friend who referred us to the friend, we found out that he was in jail for selling meth...

You let us close the garage door before you were all the way in, so your namesake was shorn off in shame.  You took us part of the way to Lake Powell, until you decided to let your heart run, but your legs didn’t know it was time to go.  When we subsequently abandoned you by the side of the road with a note saying “take me and fix me”, you stayed put and guarded over the boxes of discarded fruit that simply would not fit in the caravan vehicle that took us while you waited patiently in the hot sun for someone to fix you.  On the way back from that trip, when I went to the shop where you were taken, I had to jump a fence and avoid and keep an eye out for the junkyard dog- who turned out to simply be an elderly fella who just wanted to be petted. 

When there was nobody there to give you back to us, I had to search the grounds for the man who fixed you- worried that I’d find him dead in a trailer.  When he said that you were fine, I was incredulous.  Were you simply cramping up?  For the next year, you showed no signs of relapsing.  But when you did, you really did.  We had you fixed so that your heart would communicate with your legs and you seemed great… until we went to San Diego and your legs gave out again as we reached the summit of the pass that takes us to town.  The fact that you made it to that point was a miracle as we could essentially coast the rest of the way to a respectable establishment.  But there they told us that whomever fixed you before used voodoo and cadaver parts.  We realized that we had been duped.  But by this time, you were old.  Was it still worthwhile to keep you going?  Not our wonderful chariot… Not my wonderful chariot- for you see, the matron of the family had already written you off and cursed your very existence.  However, I still believed.  I still believed that you were a trooper and that you still had time.  We put the reindeer antlers and red nose on you one more time this Christmas.  Sure you made lots of funky noises and I worried that one of your shoes would simply fall off one day.  Sure the kids knew the “tricks” to open your doors and sure you only acknowledged that you were locked every once in a while- no rhyme or reason.  Sure, two strange dents appeared on your roof- as if someone had closed a garage door on you.  But nobody fessed up.  You may have had random wires hanging out from under the steering column, but by golly, those are simply age spots…  

When we decided to drive to California for a week and we conspicuously loaded up the sedan instead of you, I think you knew it was close to the end.  Even when the kids protested that the car was so small for a long trip, I saw that tear come from your headlight- even though you tried hiding it.

Well, two days ago, with a few bald tires and after 150,000 miles, one of your shoes wore out.  Thankfully, I was on a surface street so I appreciate the courtesy.  I took you to a shady part of town and paid a guy $10 to patch that shoe- cash only, no receipt, no questions asked.


You knew that it was over at that time didn’t you?  When I finally told mom to take some time to look into other options, she happily complied.  And within another six hours, your replacement had been found.  But don’t fret.  We didn’t leave you for another of your kind- the trophy wife, “this year’s model”.  No, that part of our life is over.  The kids are old enough and there will be no more.  The needs are different.  Feel safe in knowing that it wasn’t you, it was us… it was us being done with you…  Farewell oh Honda Odyssey.  What an Odyssey it has been.

Air Travel For A Dummy

I don't fly much. I love flying, and when younger, I was blessed to have travelled a good amount- Hawaii, Europe, Canada, Guatemala, Honduras, Korea, across the U.S., etc. I knew my planes and had ridden on everything that was around.

But as an adult, my flying frequency has dwindled. We drive to California to visit grandma.  Some buddies fly to Arizona to visit during spring training (where I live), and I'm an appraiser, so I never have time to go anywhere, nor do I typically need to for my profession.

So when with my new company, I was invited to visit corporate headquarters in Northern California, I got a chance to take a trip. Packed, boarding pass, carry on, on time, good to go...

When going through the TSA checkpoint I was interested to see the new full body scanners in action, but I'd been used to taking off my shoes and belt and emptying my pockets.  Everyone was pleasant and it went pretty smoothly.

When they had a second person do a quick pat down, I was cool. No invasive groping. But then they asked me to step over to another area. They let me out my shoes back on, and my belt and fill my pockets- even get my tablets closed up. But then the girl asked if had any sharp objects. "No ma'am, no sharp objects." She asked this as she was rummaging through my carry on bag- the bag I take to work with me every day, with a few books, pens, business cards, etc. it's one of those bags with a bunch of pockets.

So when I confidentially told her I had no sharp objects- like Penn and Teller asking "is this your card?", she pulled out my leatherman. "Oh shit!"


"Oh man, I totally forgot about that, I never fly and had no idea that I had in there. I'm so sorry!"

She looked at me for a beat and I asked "now what?"

She coolly replied "you can check it"
"But I already checked my bag. What other options do I have?"
"You can mail it to yourself or throw it away"
"What do I have to do to mail it to myself?"
"Go back out, find a place to package it and mail it"
"Yeah, I don't have time for that. Can you save it til I come back?"
"No"
"How bout you take it home and give me your phone number and ill call you when I get back?"
"No"
".... Ok... Dang that was a wedding groomsmen gift... Alright, chuck it"
"Sorry"
Lesson learned- I guess. But letting a shaved head guy with a knife go through without further grilling was pretty lucky I guess.

Remembering Dads and Dogs

Of Dads...

It’s my dad’s 100th birthday on September 15, 2011. No he’s not one of the new era of Japanese centurions who are in the press today. He actually passed in 1991 so he died just short of his 80th birthday. That would make ME how old now? 80? 70? 60? Let’s just skip 50 and tell you that I’m 41. So from early on in my life I had to contend with the notion that my dad probably wouldn’t live to see me reach certain milestones in life. He saw me through little league, soccer, buying my first car, high school graduation, pledging a fraternity and that’s about it. Now I’m not trying to belittle the time we had together, but let’s face it, not meeting your son’s wife or grandkids is kind of sad. In fact, my kids have never known met their own grandfathers- on either side- as my wife’s dad passed before we were married. And I never got to meet my own grandfathers. I was a baby when I met my mom’s dad, but that doesn’t really count.
So my father has been gone just as long as he was with me on earth. Here’s a brief synopsis of his life. Born in Kentucky, lived in boarding schools with his older brother David, went to University of Oklahoma- ROTC, served in World War 2 in among other places under Patton in North Africa and he was actually on the Champs -Élysées on VE day, became a full colonel in the Army, has pictures with Bob Hope, Mickey Hargitay and Jayne Mansfield during what appears to be USO shows. He was married before my mother and had a daughter who now lives in Maine. He served a full career in the Army and then went on to become a vice president of the Long Beach, CA Chamber of Commerce. He worked for a startup company that did hazardous waste cleanup. He was pretty much retired when I was a kid, attended every practice and game, took me to every rehearsal. He kept going to college even when he was old- learning more foreign languages and whatnot. He always had stories to tell of his military friends and adventures, and he always had a semi-racist joke chambered which always left me a little uncomfortable. We had a clear generation(s) gap to contend with but to this day, I still love hanging out with old people.

We travelled a lot when I was young- Hawaii, Tahiti, a Eurail Europe vacation, an “Across America” tour which included Canada and Guatamala. He had a lung cancer scare years after he quit smoking- they took out a third of a lung and he made a full recovery. He loved to garden, meet people of all cultures, bring cold beers to the guys working on the utility problems in the neighborhood. He had a big belly for as long as I could remember- thin as a rail except for that gut. I never saw him drink a touch of alcohol (where did that gut come from and how do I avoid it?)

During college, I knew that he was getting on, so every visit home ended with a crying goodbye as I wondered if it my last time seeing him. I’d lay with him in bed and sometimes talk about things though I don’t remember what about- I was more concerned with his breathing and thoughts of death.  I had no clue what I'd do after college, how to find a job, network, deal with office politics, etc. But it was kind of late to start discussing it with him. He eventually succumbed to age and I was able to visit him in the hospital before he actually passed. He had a little dementia before the end and a few scares- like the time he disappeared in his Cadillac and ended up in Dana Point (about 30 miles south of home). His final hospital stay was pretty short and I told him I loved him and although he couldn't say it back to me, I knew he could hear me and that if he could answer he'd say the same thing. The day I got the official call that he had passed, (I was back at school) I had a final. I took it and did fine. I didn’t really cry at his funeral- I guess because I was prepared. It actually took me like a full year to cry after he died.  My girlfriend at the time joined me at a veterans cemetary by school and I spent some time at the flag since he was actually buried at sea and we had no actual place to visit his remains.

Our mom (I have a younger brother named Bobby- we’ll get to him later), still grieves about him regularly and on his actual birthday, she and my brother will go to the Seal Beach Pier like they’ve done many times before and say a prayer and throw some flowers in the ocean. I live in Arizona so I’ve never actually shared in this private ceremony with them. I guess this year, I’m remembering by writing this. Perhaps I’ll even share it with mom and Bobby. I really do miss him and I talk to my kids about him and I show them pictures of him. But just like my dad’s parents are to me, my kids won’t think of him fondly as a family member they’ve met. But that’s ok. Happy Birthday Dad…

Of Dogs...

Now I could easily end this here, but the timing of certain events will double this little entry. So if for some reason, this has made you a little sad, I need to go over another topic that’s related.

When I was a kid, my parents got a Dalmatian for the family. Of course we named her Spot and she was a cool dog. She ran like the wind, only knew how to “sit” and she was an outside dog. If ever she did get inside she’d do these insane laps around our giant two story house. She’d run up to my parent’s master closet and just start digging at the floor- like she was looking for a bone. When she’d get out of the yard, she’d just bolt. And the only way to get her back was to physically get the car, chase her down and open the door. She was flat out nuts like so many other Dalmatians, or dogs in general.

But even though we got her as a puppy, she eventually got on in years. At one point she got a tumor in her chest so we had it removed. Later, her hips started giving out on her. She started going blind- to the point where when we’d take her for a walk, when she got to a curb, she’d instinctively try and hop up the curb and collapse when she landed. It was pretty sad.

I was in high school about that time and one night when I was at my part time job at the CD Center, I found out that my dad had taken her to the vet to put her to sleep. I was a little shocked at how quickly this happened. But what was sadder was that my dad told me that he was sitting out back in his chair in the afternoon, and Spot ambled up to him and placed her head in his lap, and looked up at him with sad eyes. My dad knew what she was telling him and he decided that it was time. Sure it’s the humane thing to do, and at first I took it at face value. But later, I found out that my dad was especially upset about it because he revealed that he always assumed that HE would pass before Spot and would never have to endure another lost dog. That story always makes me sad.

So how does this event from 21 years ago relate to recent times? Well, my brother Bobby is still single and besides living with roommates, he’s unattached. Some years ago, Bobby inheirited a dog simply named Girl. Now Girl came from an abusive owner and had been permanently scarred with a fear of men. Whenever we’d go visit his house, Girl would always go hide.  I could never go wrestle with her or even leaving her alone with the kids was a little sketchy as she was very much a regular dog- protective of her space and stuff.  We on the other hand have our own dog named Molly who will always shy away from overfriendly dogs, will never growl, will never bite and will even let you scrape the tarter from her teeth without much protest.  I guess we have a weird dog- but now I've strayed from my point...

Bobby was pretty much the only male that Girl trusted. He has pictures of the two of them on trips and just hanging out. Several years ago, Girl got a crazy illness caused by foxtail that bores into dog skin. It caused enormous boil-like sores and essentially can cause organ damage if not surgically removed. Bobby rallied his friends to have a “help pay for Girl’s surgery” party and he was able to offset the costs.  Within this past year, Girl got sick with a pneumonia-like illness with a nasty hacking cough.  As Bobby is a musician in a touring band, he couldn't really stay home with her, but he did make the right decision to postpone a trip out to visit us to take care of her instead.  She recovered somwhat from that too thanks to his love and affection.

But last week, Girl took a turn for the worse.  As he posted on Facebook:

And then just yesterday:

Our mom was with Bobby when she was put to sleep.  My brother was crying a lot.  And she took one last photo of the both of them with her iphone (it is now the photo that pops up when he calls me)

It's Girl right before she went to eternal rest.  Bobby purposely wore one of our dad's shirts for the ocassion.

Goodbye Fuzzy Angel, Happy Birthday Dad.  We miss you already and always.

10 Years Since That Infamous Day

Where were you ten years ago? It's hard to forget where you were. After all, there are only some things that will be etched in our minds forever- depending on your age. For me, it was the day the Challenger exploded and where I was when OJ was set free. Both sad days.

However, the day I'm talking about- ten years ago- was also the day that Ed McCaffrey broke his leg on Monday Night Football. It was one of those gnarly events that rivals Joe Theismann (actually pronounced THESE MEN) or Moises Alou or Willis McGahee or even Freddie Mitchell. It was flat out gruesome and I will never forget it.

But let's get serious for a moment. We all know what really happened ten years ago. Sure I can try and gloss it over with some humor- however gross it may be, but those who don't care about it are either insensetive, unAmerican or just flat out bad people. Let me recount my perspective...

It started off like most other days. I was getting ready for work. I was dressed and ready to leave the house and my wife Nadine called upstairs in a very serious voice for me to come downstairs. The big joke to this day is that I replied with "do I have time to check my email?" She replied with silence, so I knew that it was something that couldn't wait.

So when I came downstairs, I realized the severity of my insensetive request. We got in the car and drove in near silence down Interstate 5 from Vista to La Jolla, California. Traffic was moderate. I kept looking over at her but she was staring out the window- I could see that she was crying. I tried to make light conversation but was met with more silence. We kept the radio off.

Luckily we arrived at our destination safely, but as soon as we walked in the building, we knew that this whole incident was reality. We were rushed to our safe haven to brace for the worst.

Then the emotions really hit me and I started to tear up. It was overwhelming. And within a few hours we felt like things were over. And we prayed and we knew that we would never forget.

It was at that point that I realized that the world would never be the same. Like most other sane people in this situation, we knew that our vigilance must be heightened from now on and that it would be hard to trust certain people. Call it what you want, but when you see certain "types" of people, you really need to be on your guard- call the police, inform your neighbors. My wife even asked if I would kill one of "them" if the need arose. She was halfway joking, but yeah, I just might if one of them did harm or threatened to do such harm. I have guns now and I even think there's a country song about "cleaning my gun" just to make a point.

So now a full decade has gone by. My hair is thinner. My waistline is... about the same. And yes we've gone through it again since that memorable day. But it could never be as indelibly stamped in my brain like it was ten years ago. I finally caved in and bought a cell phone, desk aquarium and Angry Bird plush doll to commemorate the ten year anniversary- we all do it differently so don't criticize...

Our Madison is now 10 today. Happy Birthday Madison! September 10, 2001. We will do our best to remember your special day each and every year and not let it be overshadowed by the realities of the world- like thunderstorm during pool parties or rained out miniature golf and water park parties.

Madison Today

Jury Duty (aka The Most Boring Story in the World)

I'm now 41 and have been a registered voter for 23 years. For the first time, I got called for jury duty. My wife served on a brutal murder trial earlier this year and she was a trooper despite the details I heard after the case was closed. So, I on the other hand wasn't really thrilled with the notion of being stuck on a week long jury. After all, I've got a job and don't want my work to suffer from having to do it at midnight for a week.

I usually get to my real job at like 7AM so I figured I'd make the 8AM check in time no problem. Of course I slept in a bit, and left the house a little later than usual, but then I hit what I'm not used to- morning traffic. What should have been a 40 minute drive didn't appear reasonable. And since I left the house at 7AM I quickly realized that I'd be screwed. But rather than freak out about it, my thoughts wandered to the countless "citizens" who get jury summons and simply blow it off- or make a lame excuse on why they can't go.

When I pulled into the parking lot at 8:10AM, I hustled to the courthouse only to be met by- a line. A line of about 50 people to be exact- and not just people going into court, but the jury pool line. By the time I got to the front of the line, there were another 25 people behind me.

Once in the jury selection room or whatever it's called we sat there until 9AM watching CNN, knitting, reading, fiddling with our smart phones, setting up laptop workstations, or simply sitting. Me and my 400+ new friends- and I guess you could call it "standing room only", or some people were simply too xenophobic to sit next to someone else.

So exactly at 9AM, a girl gets on the speaker and immediately announces a trial that will last 26 days that they need 80 people for. She'd call out names and you answer yes or no- but if you answered "no" you had to fill out an explanation form on why you couldn't do it. Once she got to 80 yeses, she was done- my name wasn't called. But Winnie Cooper was... and Elizabeth Banks too- so that was pretty cool...

At 9:30, the girl announced where we're supposed to park and then said that if you didn't park there, you could get up right now and move your car. So of course my thought is "oh my God!, it's going to be another half hour before we do anything else!" But instead she starts orientating up with the refreshment table, smoking locations, lunch policies, etc. It was pretty straightforward. Then we watched a 15 minute video on how great jury service is. I noticed that the flat screen TV I was watching was the only non-tube in the room. If I haven't already painted an adequate picture of the room, let's say that it was a combination of an airport waiting area, sprinkled with a lot of DMV, but with a doctor office cleanliness.

At 10AM they put on the first "in flight" movie- the blockbuster hit "Are We Done Yet with Ice Cube and John McGinley. I've got to admit that the image I had was Ted McGinley of such hits as Happy Days and Married with Children, but then I realized it was his cousin- casting favorite of Oliver stone, star of Platoon and Wall Street... oh well, they're cousins or something like that so- close enough

At about 10:10 they started calling the first group- 80 people whom each took a 8x10 laminated paper with a big number on it. They were shuffled away by the female bailiff (sorry Rusty, but feminism is key!). Almost immediately after, they took another 80- with another female bailiff. After a 15 minute gap, they called the next 80- third female bailiff- if you haven't figured it out yet, I hadn't been called yet. It was during this time that the same woman was called 3 times, but never answered. So she got there, checked in, and then split.

Next thing I knew, it was 11:20 and they told us we could go to lunch until 1PM! Great, downtown Phoenix in 109 degree heat. Luckily I yelped a local deli and found a decent sandwich. I've never actually walked around downtown Phoenix during the day- and I'm really not envious of those people. So while at lunch I texted a friend who flips properties and asked where they do the auctions- he told me so I boogied over there and "observed" the frat house atmosphere. It was like the cast of Jersey Shore to be honest with you. And because it's sort of a good "old" boys network of 25ish Ed Hardyish types, I got a lot of glares- even though I had my jury badge and kept a distance from the activity.

So I got back at about 12:45 and there was some other movie on... but it was another black-centric movie which I then found to be odd- because out of like 400 people, there were no more than 10 blacks in the whole jury pool. As my lunch started to settle, I found myself dozing a tad and did the head nod into the post next to me. But I was saved by the announcement girl welcoming everyone back and going immediately into the next group. And guess who was number 31?

So our bailiff- just like all the others was also female and she shuffled us up to the 11th floor for our trial. We lined up in order along a hall and she announced that we needed to separate the triplicate form we filled out when we arrived and she told us what was about to happen. A few dudes in ill fitting suits paced back and forth, three police officers and a fireman were huddled together and then two youngish lawyer types walked by with an aerial image of an apartment complex and a pool with an arrow pointing to the pool.

My imagination is now racing- civil suit for a drowning? murder?... OK, race over. We go in, the court staff is standing there courteously- like we're the guests of honor- and except for a white dude in a suit with tattoos all up his neck and a fat young Hispanic lawyer type, everyone else was female. No big deal, but I saw a weird sexist theme going on with lots of estrogen ruling the courthouse.

The judge introduced the staff and explained what everyone does and then asked some questions about if we'd be able to serve 3 days (not counting today). Like all other questions, we were to lift our card and then they'd call us by our number to explain our answer. Like 8 people said they couldn't serve that long and after explaining their situation, the judge and lawyers chatted and let 5 of them go. Then the judge explained the case- it was an alleged parole violator who was caught with a gun.

Then came questions about whether we had positive or negative opinions of police or the court system. Then questions on if we have family who are criminals, been victim of violent crime, etc. And by this point I realized that there are a lot of people with criminal connections, or who have been victims of crime, etc. It was actually pretty scary to think about that. But I also notice that in most cases, it was the same people answering yes to every question. I didn't raise my number for any of these so I guess I'm just boring. But here's a few things I learned:

• one woman witnessed her drug addict brother get tased multiple times by the cops



• one man's son was in tent city and had been for the prior year and got pneumonia and lost his job, so the dad was a little pissed at the lack of swift justice



• one guy is a chaplain at county jail and gets to hear the alleged criminals confess to him



• one woman kept answering "it's personal" which hinted that she was victim of a violent crime



• one guy was a prison guard for the past 5 years before moving out here



• one girl got kicked off a jury after trial started because she couldn't stay awake



• one guy got roughed up by the cops because he was part of a street fight and he was bitter that he got singled out when there were many others involved

They next asked about guns and our opinion on them. They asked if we own guns and I got to raise my card for the first time. A few guys had to go down the list of all the guns they own- (some people just like to hear the sound of their own voice). Finally, they asked us to get up and tell our job, amount of time doing it, kids, spouse and if we'd served on a jury before. As I'm a nuclear family kind of guy and we've already established that I'd never been on a jury, I got a sinking feeling that I might be chosen. I did some simple math- there were like 35 people left, about 12 had enough "history" to raise questions on their objectivity and I was reasonably articulate... but then again, I usually get singled out at the TSA screening line so who knows what was going to happen. They told us to leave for 45 minutes and that a jury would be selected when we came back- it was now 3:15PM

At 4PM, they called us into the room and had us all sit together. They'd call out our number if we were selected and then assign us an actual jury number, so even though I was 31, if they called me first, I'd be juror #1. "Number 5, you are juror number 1. Number 6, you are juror number 2, Number 8, you are juror number 3, Number 10, you are juror number 4..." Mind you, there are 10 jurors for this trial, so I'm thinking that I might not be picked. "Number 24, you are juror number 9. Number 25, you are juror number 10" I didn't get picked.

But even more surprising were that

1. they picked taser sister girl



2. the entire jury was women!

At that point, I was done and a little relieved- even though I know that I could be objective and fair and a pretty good juror- if I could stay awake. But it made me think that this poor schlub who will probably get convicted had a loser court appointed lawyer who couldn't get a single dude on the jury... but then again, maybe there's a method to the madness- I'm no lawyer