Full Speed Ahead

And I thought watching $132 million man Alex Ovechkin try to freight train every opponent was scary. If you are a Caps fan this video is cringe-worthy and hilarious at the same time. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMlJCb9XdeE

Maybe I Was Wearing Beer Goggles.

A tease. A flirt. That's exactly what the Washington Capitals ice hockey club is these days. Washington is the hot girl in a bar-all sexy, exciting and alluring-right until she breaks your heart by not giving you the time of day. Sunday she made eyes at me from across the bar when she dismantled the Pittsburgh Penguins and punked uber-crybaby Sidney Crosby. (I'm not going to really wail on Crosby here, but I will just say that Crosby calling anyone, let alone Alex Ovechkin, a "pu**y", as he did on Sunday, is the height of irony.) So, last night, emboldened by years of flirting and Sunday's eye contact, I made my move and tried buying her a drink. My reward? Washington through the drink in my face; her third period meltdown was as ugly as it gets. Now I will not trust her again. Oh sure, I'll keep my eyes on her, checking her out from across the room, but if she wants to dance she'll have to ask me; I'm tired of being rejected. Translating my mangled metaphor- I'm through believing the Caps will have any real success in the playoffs until I actually see it.

The Caps were outclassed by a superior opponent last night in a game in which Philly was missing one their best scorers and one of their best shut-down defensemen. The Caps' deficiencies have turned chronic. Their defensemen refuse to put a body on an opposing forward. On the Flyers' third and fourth goals (in a 4-2 victory, don't forget) Jeff Schultz could have disrupted the play by putting a shoulder into someone. The fourth goal was especially poor. The Flyer forward (I'm too lazy to look up which fourth line hack it was) skated across the face of the goal as Schultz flailed his stick at the puck. Schultz-For Christ sake, you are a huge man. Put your shoulder into his chest and dislodge him from the puck. You are allowed to do that. I would rather you step up and miss the check than weakly attempt to stick check him.

The Caps were again whistled for nine penalties and could have been called for a few more. Apparently, somebody on the team is getting tired of it. Brooks Laich, via the Washington Post-"...we just seem to take lazy, undisciplined, sometimes they can be criticized as selfish penalties. Every game we shoot the puck in our own zone over the glass. We've got to limit that. We spent basically [the second period] shorthanded." So Brooks' grammar wasn't perfect in that quote, but you get the idea. I wish I could find text of his quote that I heard on the radio this morning. He was harsher and relayed that the players are all grown-ups and should be responsible for taking care of this problem themselves. Coach Boudreau seemed less sure about that saying benchings could be imminent.

These penalties and a boatload of missed chances (three shorthanded breakaways!) cost the Caps last night and will continue to plague them if not corrected. I want so badly to believe they can do it, but maybe it was the beer goggles tricking me all these years, because the Caps sure looked ugly last night compared to that chick from Philly. (Who, for the record, I wouldn't go home with if it was closing time on Armageddon Day.)

No Hat, No Cattle

On Friday night I was the most powerful man in Washington D.C. I pushed through no stimulus packages, nor did I admonish CEOs from my Congressionial high horse. No, unfortunately, I controlled the entire outcome of a professional sporting event. A couple of weeks ago I threw my lucky Capitals hat onto the ice following an Alex Ovechkin hat trick. I feared that the undefeated (4-0) hat was the key to me witnessing Caps victories in person. Now that it was gone I am doomed to see the Caps lose in person for the rest of the year. Friday night's dismal loss to the Colorado Avalanche seems to have confirmed my neurotic suspicions. My departed hat has to be the only explanation for such an awful defeat. Or does it?

Perhaps the Caps crappy performance was not some paranormal event related to one fan's hat, but instead was a performance indicative of the flaws this team possesses that threaten to derail what should be a deep playoff run. For weeks the Caps have played with fire; they lack one trait- toughness. Hockey toughness can manifest itself in several ways and, fortunately, the Caps display it in some ways. They have the league's toughest fighter, Donald Brashear, a talented crop of grinding forecheckers and superstar Alex Ovechkin backs down from no one. Dig a little deeper, however, and you'll find that this team is severely lacking in two other toughness departments- mental toughness and defensive toughness.

Mentally the Caps don't show up every night. This team plays to the level of its opponent on a consistent basis. They have some remarkable wins against the Devils, Bruins, Habs and Red Wings, but have lost badly to the Kings, Avs and others. It is good to play up against the big guys, but championship teams pile up points by winning the games they are supposed to win. Lose focus against these teams and you cost yourself valuable standings points. A handful of extra victories against bad teams would have put the division away already. I'm not panicking by any stretch, but the Caps need a killer instinct against the weaker teams. Fortunately, in the playoffs there are no bad teams and hopefully nobody for this team to look past.

The other mental deficiency the Caps have is discipline. They take way too many penalties. You would think a team that has a penalty kill ranked in the bottom third of the league would do its best to stay out of the box. These players take some of the dumbest penalties. Penalties in the offensive zone, lazy hooks that wouldn't be necessary with a little skating, hauling a guy down because you are out of position or make a careless pass-it's enough to drive a fan nuts. It just doesn't make any sense when you see one of the fastest, most talented players in the league(Ahem, Alex Semin) hook a guy in the neutral zone instead of skating with him. As I was stuck in bed ill all last weekend, I was able to watch both weekend Caps games in their entirety. In two games they took three delay of game penalties for shooting the puck over the glass. In neither case was the player pressured by an opponent. That shouldn't happen three times in a season, let alone in back-to-back games. The longer your team is shorthanded, the less time your amazing offensive talent can be on display. In the playoffs, good opponents will cash in regularly if the Caps constantly parade to the penalty box. I don't think this team has that kind of margin of error.

Finally, and this flaw was glaringly apparent in person Friday night, this team lacks defensive toughness. I know Scott Stevenses don't grow on trees, but this team has no one on the blueline that intimidates opposing forwards. Teams skate into the offensive zone without fear and are rarely impeded. This puts pressure on the goaltenders and pressure on the offense to score. Then chances are taken to score which leads to defensive breakdowns which continues the vicious cycle. I love Bruce Boudreau's aggressive puck possession system; he simply needs defensmen that aren't too wimpy to hit somebody at the blue line or lay lumber on a forward who takes one too many swipes at the goaltender.

This post has been terribly gloomy, but I feel that the forecast is much sunnier than I've written here. The Caps' strengths, in my opinion, far outweigh these weakness. However, these weaknesses loom large enough to take down, what I believe is, a Stanley Cup contender. I hope they address these flaws soon. The trading deadline nears, but it would be even better if they started today when Pittsburgh comes to town. If not, it won't matter what hat I'm wearing on my next trip to Verizon Center.

Is Mommy Home Yet?

Being a part-time stay at home dad has been terrific so far. Z is out of town this week so I haven't had the usual Manny/Mentor assignment, which has left even more QT for Grace and I. She usually has a delightful demeanor and is a joy to play with. As she grows older, having just turned 4 four months, she requires a lot more interaction and entertaining. This is fine by me, but some days it seems I empty my entire bag of tricks and she still isn't satisfied.

Fortunately, Grace is learning to entertain herself (Hey look, I have hands!) and loves to play on her activity mat. I also love the mat because after spending some time on the floor with her I can sneak away to do some nearby chores while she talks to the lights and animals that hang overhead. Every once in a while, though, I place her on the mat and get a look that says "Are you serious, this same mat again? Do I look stupid?". So, now, not wanting my daughter to think that I think she is stupid(there will plenty of time for that when she is a teenager), I scoop her up and grab the next weapon in my arsenal. However, it is crushing when, after singing, reading poem after story after poem, dancing(don't ask), voicing finger puppets, playing in the mirror and walking around the house doing any of the above, she still is fussing. It's a double kick in the nuts when you look at the clock and your hours of entertaining have actually only taken like three minutes. I feel like a magician who reaches into his hat only to remember he didn't pack the rabbit. Maybe I should have gone to clown college.

A-Rod Takes His Medicine (Legally This Time)

"A-Rod is not a douchebag." With this statement, my wife nearly caused me to run off the road, for I do indeed think A-Rod is a douchebag and was surprised to hear a defense of him come from the passenger seat. She had heard a portion of A-Fraud's press conference on the radio and thought he came off sounding pretty good. I watched the entire thing on tv and couldn't disagree with her more.

Let the record show that I can't stand Alex Rodriguez for many reasons that long pre-date his steroid revelations. I give him credit for standing up, admitting he used banned substances and taking some lumps for it. That alone is far more than Mark "I'm not here to talk about the past" McGwire has done. And Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens have clung so tightly to their lies that they are in jeopardy of serving time for perjury. (However, I really feel the Feds must surely have better things to investigate than whether overgrown boys were on the juice. I know, I know-they are being accused of lying to Congress, a big no-no. But, in my opinion, it was a foolish waste of time and taxpayer dollars to haul them in front of Congress in the first place.) As for A-Roid, had he given more open answers today, I would have been even more impressed. Instead, he was trying to do some image polishing with a wink and a nod; just like his PR army instructed, no doubt.

To me, there is no halfway here; if he went this far, then we need full disclosure. I don't mean that I need to know which ass cheek he got his injections in, but tell us what you were using. Playing coy, using steroid nicknames, and saying he didn't even know if he was using them correctly doesn't really wash with me. He must think I am young and naive if he thinks I believe, as he said, that he was too young, stupid and naive to know better. First of all he wasn't that young when he rocked the juice. He was age 25,26 and 27 during the seasons he juiced. He kept saying he was a stupid kid,23,at the time, but anybody with a brain can calculate what age he actually was at the time. Not that that distinction even matters. Age 23 isn't a kid and I know plenty of 23-year-olds who are mature, intelligent people capable of making the right decision. Rodriguez's transgressions were no silly youthful indiscretions and his claims to that effect just make him even less genuine. Here is a man blessed with more athletic ability than most humans and he still feels the need to cheat. I believe every world class athlete knows exactly what they are putting in their bodies. Don't insult my intelligence by telling me that well, "We knew they weren't tic tacs." Ha, ha, ha. No shit, Dr. Dummy.

It was just this casual "fakeness" that really upset me. He wants to get out in front of this story, but doesn't want to do the heavy lifting. There were too many quotes and examples of this to list them all, so here are only a few. He said God put him in a position to help "make the world a better place" by spreading the anti-steroid message. Please, that one doesn't even need analysis. Then he said he just wanted to be judged from this day forward. That's exactly the tone the entire press conference had for me. Let me throw the reporters a few bones, sound as contrite as a cardboard cutout possibly can and then I can sweep this entire mess under the rug. It's not that easy. Truthfully, I don't give a damn what these guys do to their bodies. Not my liver, not my balls. However, many people do care so there is no way this story is going away. The last straw for me, though, was when a reporter asked A-Rod if injecting the steroids like he had, was cheating. Alex would have gained an enormous amount of respect from me had he simply looked into the camera and said yes. Instead, he dodged the question. Nice honesty, douchebag.

Something's Fishy.

From the Insubstantial, But Annoying Dept:Riddle me this-Why would Cheesecake Factory put cole slaw on their fish tacos? Was it to cover up the fact that the "grilled" tuna on the tacos appeared to have the flavor boiled right out of it? Or is because carrots and cabbage are things you usually find on tacos? And if one is going to put coleslaw on tacos shouldn't one include that on the list of ingredients (that included every other thing on the plate) in the menu? Have I now asked so many unimportant questions that I have become insubstantial and annoying?

Fast Forward Five Years

Dad Gone Mad is a blog that I regularly read and enjoy. Reading today's post was like hopping in a time machine heading five years into the future when Grace is five.

America the Stupid.

I know making sweeping generalizations is often a dangerous way to give an opinion. It allows no wiggle room for details and can unintentionally insult people. But I'm not going to let that stop me from criticizing two things that I recently noticed.

This is the part where my wife usually tells me that I am being judgmental and condescending, reminding me that I have tried neither of the two things that I am about to rip. She often punctuates this admonishing with an all too accurate impersonation of me huffing and puffing about how stupid something is. I acknowledge that she is usually correct and that I often enjoy, with the exceptions of roller coasters and waiting in line at Coldstone Creamery , the things I choose to negatively prejudge. However, like the General Lee through a "Bridge is Out" sign, I will gleefully proceed down this dangerous road.

So why am I calling you out, America? Exhibit A of your common stupidity is Paul Blart, Mall Cop. How on earth was this movie the top grossing movie in America for consecutive weeks? Kevin James in a porn moustache? Hilarious. (As an aside, hasn't the whole "moustaches are funny just because they are moustaches" joke run its course? When retro gags become dated themselves it is time to quit.) I'm not sure what Blart was playing against the weeks it finished number one. That it was the only movie showing that week seems like the only reasonable answer. If a fat guy in a security uniform doing slapstick pratfalls is all you need to make a blockbuster, then sign me up. Somebody get me a plastic badge, I'm gonna be rich! Sheesh.

Issue number two is less about being stupid than it is unnecessary. I give you, as seen on tv, the Snuggie. Never mind that it sounds like something I'd have to pay a hooker extra for, do I really need a blanket with sleeves? I think I've seen that somewhere before, oh yeah, hanging in my closet. It's called a robe. Mine comes in flannel; I didn't see that possiblity offered in your infomercial. Those poor helpless people in the commercial who can't hold a phone and stay warm at the same time, whose hands are "trapped" underneath a blanket-God forbid they have real problems. The only practical application I could see for the Snuggie is using them in place of hospital gowns. Then my giant ass might actually be covered while I wait for Dr. Coldhands. Though, I'd probably still manage to put it on backwards.

I'm sure with this post I have offended at least one friend or reader who can't wait until Blart comes out on DVD so they can wrap themselves in their Snuggie and watch from their couch. And if history is any indicator, my wife and I will be right there with them, me wearing my Snuggie and my Wife wearing her "I told you so" face.

Boudreau Off The Top Rope!

As if I needed one more reason to love Caps coach Bruce Boudreau. He's candid, funny, creative, appeared in Slapshot and now this. I don't even like wrestling, but for nostalgia's sake alone this is good stuff.

What Have I Wrought?

A couple of Sundays ago, thanks to the generosity of my cousin and people she knows, I found myself sitting in the Club level at Verizon Center for the Caps-Senators game. The story that follows serves as a portal to look into my sad, superstitious little mind.

As Alex Ovechkin scored his second goal early in the second period against a Sens defense that was imploding before my very eyes, I had two related thoughts-there is plenty of time for Ovie to notch a hat trick and, if he does put up that third goal, I am close enough to consider tossing my hat to the ice as tradition dictates. Sure enough, midway through the period, Ovechkin fires a laser through the defenseman's skates and past the goalie for his hat trick goal. The crowd explodes from its seats (something I can't do as easily in the cheaper, narrower "Fat Guys Should Not Sit Here" seats that I'm normally relegated to in the upper deck). High fives are slapping, the foghorn is blaring and the music is wailing. Swept up in the moment I decide, for the first time in my hockey fan career, to toss my hat towards the ice. Great game, great moment to celebrate, right? Not exactly.

You see, the hat I casually tossed away was undefeated. (Here's where the sad, superstitious part comes in.) As soon as the hat left my hand I cursed myself for casting it aside in such a fleeting moment. Prior to this season, I hadn't seen the Caps win in person in a long time, maybe since the lockout. This season, however, I've been to four games and witnessed four victories. Never mind that the Caps have stunk for a couple seasons and this year they are one of the best home teams in the league, surely it is something my friends and I are doing to assure victory. After two victories I thought maybe it was my new Caps hat purchased in the off-season. After three victories I really started searching for common denominators. St4rbux, of Name Your Fear, had been to all three games, but wasn't at this fourth, Ottawa victory. Maybe, if I'm lucky, it is the jersey- t shirt combo that I "happen" to have worn to all four victories. Or maybe it's just me, lucky ol' me. No, that can't be right.

So, possibly, by tossing the hat I have doomed myself to see no more Caps victories in person this season. The first test will be two Fridays from now when I visit Verizon next. I apologize in advance to my seatmates. Unfortunately, if it was the hat, I have broken the victory spell. If they do win, I'll remain a slave to my other superstitions.

Two perhaps karmic sidenotes to the game:
1)My hat did not reach the ice from the club level, instead it clipped a little girl in the arm. She was not bothered in the least and her dad tossed the hat onward, but I felt about "this big". In terms of bothering a child at a Caps game it is only surpassed by my inadvertent insulting of Bobby Carpenter's son back in the 1990's.
2)I found out after the game that the hats scooped from the ice after hat tricks are left ,for a brief time, at a lost-and-found spot in the arena so the owners may reclaim them. This info would have been more useful were I not already off the Metro and in my car when I received it. Damn it.

Gracie Goes To Washington.

Grace's first trip into D.C. (If you don't count in Mommy's belly.)

Grab Bag

A hastily cobbled-together collection of what's been on my radar lately. (It's quite possible you'll be dumber after having read this.)

- I think the new Castrol Think with your dipstick! commercial is hilarious. Everything time that Scottish dude shouts it, I laugh my ass off. The Super Bowl Castrol grease monkey ad wasn't too bad either.

-The Angry Whopper is not that angry. Tasty, but dissapointingly, not angry.

-Great thing about our newly aquired HDtv-Hockey in HD. Best thing about HDtv-The Food Network's Giada DeLaurentis working with her melons in HD.

-Went ice skating tonight for the first time in nearly two years. First time on an outdoor rink. Damn, that was fun.

-Thanks to my friend Jack who led me to this hilarious infomercial that I'm still not convinced isn't a spoof: http://www.tiddybearcomfortstrap.com/. Watch, listen and enjoy.

25 Random Facts About Me.

This survey has been sweeping Facebook, so I caved and filled it out. Thought I would crosspost it here.
1. I'm proud to be a dork.
2. I love New Orleans. I couldn't live there, but I could visit for about two weeks every year.
3. I don't drink coffee and I don't put milk on my cereal.
4. I am neither an animal lover nor an animal hater. I'm more like an animal tolerator.(Though I hate to see any animal in distress.
5. I kind of miss going to mass, but I have some issues with the Catholic Church.
6. Hockey is my favorite sport to play, but baseball is the best sport to follow religiously.
7. I'm not an "idea" guy. However, I enjoy helping others hone their's.
8. Dying of a food-borne illness is among my top five fears.
9. I think Richard Dawson may still be the coolest dude in America.
10. Working at Barnes and Noble was great- except for the customers.
11. I have an amazing wife and beautiful daughter. Each of them makes me a better person.
12. Random rap lyric that I'm glad is NOT true about me: "I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom."
13. I do a piss poor job of keeping in touch with people, especially my faraway friends.
14. It's possible I would eat anything if it was deep-fried.
15. I wish I had more time to blog.
16. If being a Weitzel's busboy was lucratrive I could have done it forever.
17. I wish I could grow a real beard, not one that is patchy and lame.
18. Ii's amazing how many things you thought were important no longer are once you have a child.
19. I'm 34 and still don't know what I'll do when I grow up.
20. I'm thankful that others volunteer for military duty so that I don't have to serve.
21. These pretzels are making me thirsty.
22. Bryan Evans and I were convinced that we could share hosting duties and top billing of a successful late night talk show. It's just crazy enough to work. Why? Because Bryans rule.
23. I'm a Republican that voted for Obama.
24. Managing a glass shop mostly sucked, but I'm proud to possess a a fairly rare trade skill.
25. If I had to choose one make-believe career it would be a toss-up between between Captain of the Millenium Falcon and a Ghostbuster. I love Star Wars, but bustin' makes me feel good.

Make Way, Baby on Board.

Playing manny/stay-at-home dad has gone pretty well so far, so inch by inch I've been getting bolder with my activities with Grace. A few days ago we tackled a trip to the grocery store together for the first time. Why I picked the Glen "When did so many people move to Glen Burnie?"Burnie Wal-Mart Super Center at 3pm on a Friday afternoon is beyond me. Probably because our lives have become an ever-changing quadratic equation of feeding times and spare minutes and I thought I could squeeze the trip into my limited window. With an hour to an hour-and-a-half until probable feeding time I bundled the girl up and ventured forth without any formula or milk. Like a bomb squad hearing the ticking, I had one eye on the clock and one eye on the sweat beading on my forehead from the moment we left the driveway.

With carseat safely in cart and diaper bag slung over my shoulder I entered the store and immediately started using what has become my go-to move when in crowded public places with Grace. I put on the harried dad face, look a little frazzled (neither expression faked or exaggerated, of course) and wait for the seas to part. It's amazing the looks I get just pushing my little pumpkin around. Grandmothers nod knowingly, clerks smile and even other dads with older kids make way for my rolling circus. I've gotten so accustomed to this treatment that when somebody doesn't immediately cede their aisle space (which obviously they have every right not to) I catch myself getting exasperated. Hello, did you not see the red carpet unrolling before me as I walk? For crying out loud I have a BAY-BEE in the cart! Grace, for the most part, doesn't interfere with my plan, sleeping away as I use her cuteness to manipulate my fellow shoppers.

On this day, however, the store was so packed and the aisles so clogged that even my diabolical scheming wasn't getting me through fast enough. I'm checking my watch knowing that, though she is sleeping peacefully now, I could be moments away from a full scale Grace Hunger Wail. Running out of time I do the only thing I can - I turn into the goddamn Jack Bauer of grocery shoppers. I'm sending the cart careening around corners, diving for cans on endcaps. I toss a grenade to blow through a blockade of carts and shoppers in the freezer section (Cleanup on Aisle 4!). I even shoot a mouthy deli clerk in the leg for taking too long with the Meunster cheese. My urgency pays off (or so I think) as I arrive at the car with Grace awake but smiling.

Fifteen minutes shy of the house, however, my Princess Jekyll turns into Ms. Hyde. With the flip of a switch my smiling, laughing baby girl is wailing, screaming what I'm sure are tiny baby insults at me. Of course, in accordance with Baby Law #37, the decibel level of Grace's screams was inversely proportional to the speed of the drivers in front of me. Alas, I have no Jack Bauer left in me; there will be no super driving. I am left to suffer in traffic learning a very valuable lesson that deep down I knew all along. Never be a daredevil. Always take the formula with you.

Baby Product Endorsement

Though it sounds like something unseemly you'd encounter in a one of those clubs on Bourbon Street that have signs that boast "Watch women turn into men before your eyes!", Boudreaux's Butt Paste rocks. It knocks out diaper rash like a Tie Domi cheap shot on Ulf Samuelson.

Mr. Mom Makes His Big League Debut

Amanda returned to work today following her 11 week maternity leave thereby commencing my new Mr. Mom era. I embark on this new era with sweaty palms and some trepidation. I have handled Grace alone plenty, feeding and changing her often. I'm confident she's in good hands, but it is still nice to have your teammate around. Amanda, I'm sure, has her own anxiety to deal with-leaving Grace, returning to work, knowing she's leaving Grace with her dopey father, etc.

So, how did Day One go, you ask? In a word-Chunky. You see, Grace decided that today was the day to have the two worst(at least that I can recall) spit-up episodes of her young life. I'm not sure if she is protesting Mommy leaving or what, but she uncorked two unholy floods that may very well have ruined two outfits and a TV remote control. I haven't seen this much spew since Lard Ass set off the chain reaction vomiting at the pie eating contest in Stand By Me. With her partially cleft palate, Grace usually has some stuff exit through her nose on the occasions when she does spit up. Today, however, it gushed out. It looked like when the snakes poured out of the holes in the wall of the Well of Souls in Raiders of the Lost Ark. I don't know where all the spit up came from; it didn't seem like she had eaten enough today to produce the volume that came back out. Maybe my kid is a camel that has stored formula for weeks waiting for this very moment.

But I can't complain because, other than coating my shirts enough that they looked like I was about to make french toast out of them, my girl Gracie was awesome to hang with on Day One. Who knows what will crop up on Day Two. All I know is I'll be ready for the spit-up machine having already fashioned a shirt out of super absorbent Brawny paper towels. Wish me luck.

Our wacky year of change continued on a sad note Thursday; my maternal grandfather, Jorge Mino, passed away at age 88 after a tough bout with cancer. He enjoyed reading what I wrote, often imploring me to write more frequently, so I'm going to use this meager forum that I have to attempt to pay tribute to him.


My grandfather squeezed a lot of living into his 88 years. Born and raised in Ecuador, he was an engineer who helped literally carve roads and rails through the Ecuadorian jungle. He had many amazing tales from those days, but one always stood out as my favorite- They were working near a canal where the wind blew so steady and so powerfully that you could lean against it as if it were a wall. Of course, my grandfather happened to be leaning when the wind let up just long enough for him to fall backwards into the canal.


In the early 1940's my grandparents emigrated to the U.S. becoming American citizens. My grandfather was fiercely proud to be an American and truly lived the suburban American dream. He was so patriotic and pro-America that I was reluctant to tell him when I purchased my first Honda for fear of a lecture about "Made in the USA". He often praised the work ethic of Americans as compared to Ecuadorians, whom he said often didn't want to put in a full workday. He instilled this work ethic in his three children who, in turn, passed it onto his grandchildren. (Just because I don't always heed the lesson doesn't mean I didn't learn it.)


One of the other things Grandpa loved about America was its national pasttime. He loved baseball, sharing this love with his children and, I can say for sure, this grandchild. He and my mom sparked an interest in the game that for me has sometimes bordered on obsession. Grandpa may have loved baseball, but he excelled in golf. While I was never actually able to play a round with him, I've heard he was very good. And his tips and clubs have helped my game immensely. My grandfather followed many other sports and even tried to watch one of my favorites, hockey, because he knew I played and wanted to learn more about the game. He may have been the only man in America who like Fox's Glo-puck. The gimmick actually helped his tiring eyes follow the action.



Grandpa's greatest passion of all, though, was his family. I know a grandson's perspective can be rather biased, but I know he cared for nothing more than the well-being of my family. He took great pride in grandchildren's stellar report cards and school projects. His encouragement or "atta boy" was always considered high praise. As kids, Grandpa would always "secretly" slip us some cash at every visit, something "for the gas tank", even if we weren't yet at driving age. Then sometime during high school the small gifts stopped. It was an unspoken, understood signal that I was growing old enough to take care of my own cash flow. A lesson that was not lost on me. Grandpa would often spend his time tracking hurricanes possibly churning towards coastal relatives or watching the flight numbers of planes ferrying family members. ( See I told you my anxiety was hereditary.) I always found these things ironic because he had a great many adventures as a young man. Did he worry his way through those? I'll never know.


In recent years, he slowed his pace and traveled less frequently. As I grew older and real life intruded, I visited far less than I should have. I will regret that to a certain extent, especially with e-mail and telephones I should have kept in better contact. That's not to say we didn't talk, because we did and I enjoyed it every single time. My grandfather and I had intelliegent conversations, he possesed a wicked, hilarious wit and he told the greatest stories.

I am forever grateful that he was able to meet Grace; during the summer he admitted he feared he wouldn't be around to get that chance. We were to see him the day after Christmas; obviously we missed that last trip. But now Grandpa is free from the multiple bouts with cancer, the tricky back, the creaky knees and the failing hearing. He had made peace with his end, so now it is up to the rest of us to make peace with it as well.

Dr. Bryan Hailey, D.D.S.

Little did I know when I took the Manny job that I would, as part of my duties, have to masquerade as an orthodontist. Okay, perhaps masquerade is not the right word; I didn't perpetrate a fraud on the public by impersonating an orthodontist. However, I have played amateur orthodontist as I have had to repair Z's appliance a handful of times over the last couple weeks. Z has a Herbst device, which I can assure you is indeed an orthodontic appliance and not some sort of evil weather changing machine.

Mr. President release the prisoners or I will be forced to unleash the Herbst Device! Bwa ha ha ha.

Anyway, back in the real world, the Herbst device is a hinged appliance that works in conjunction with braces to move the jaw and teeth. The hinge, though wired to the braces, sort of moves freely in the mouth. And sometimes the hinge pulls apart and must be repaired. That's where I come in. To put the hinge back together, it first must be taken further apart. This requires removing and then replacing the tiniest microscopic screw you've ever seen. So I, Clumsiest Man Alive, have to use my ham hands to remove and replace the screw. Poor Z has to yank his cheek over like a fishhook so I can jam my fat fingers in his mouth. Anyone who knows me knows that finesse is not my strong suit, but the "procedure" went quite smoothly. After several procedures over the course of a couple days I became quite adept and it became rather routine.

Since it seemed that the hinge was sliding apart too often we went back to the orthodontist to make sure there wasn't something Z was doing wrong to cause the frequent mishaps. No, they said, everything looked great and as he adjusted to having the device in his mouth it would probably occur less frequently. Great. Everything's hunky dory, end of story, right? Of course not.

That night, a mere three hours since we've been in the orthodontists office, the cap that anchors the device to his back tooth breaks completely free allowing the device to float around in his mouth held in only by a string thin wire attached to to the braces. By this time I'm wondering if I'm being punk'd by my family. I've never had braces (though I should have), but I understand there is a certain level of frustrating maintenance that goes with the the deal. This, however, seems ridiculous. I'm thinking we are going to have to make a trip back to the orthodontist office because there is no way Z could get through the night like this.

I call the emergency after-hours number and the doc on duty tells me to just take some wire cutters and snip the wire so I can remove the device until we can come back in and have it put back on. Really, just take some wire cutters and snip that little old wire, huh? But that's what I did. Of course, not having sterile equipment or an autoclave I had to root in my tool bucket for wire cutting options. I found dull scissors, rusty pliers and filthy wire cutters. It looked like an array of torture tools.

Hey, Z, maybe after I clip that wire I can use these rusty pliers to rip out your toenails.

Fortunately, the wire cutters cleaned up well and, despite the dubious look on his face, Z let me clip the wire. I even did it safely without chipping any teeth or slashing any gums. Maybe I've found a new calling. I wonder how I'd look in a white lab coat.

Movie Review Haiku-Quantum of Solace

Flick only so-so,
Bad title and awful song,
Dan Craig still cool, though

Did you hear that?

One of the toughest adjustments I've had to make so far as a new dad is tempering my overactive worry gene. My dad lives by the credo, "I'll worry when there is something to worry about." On the other hand, my worry meter, via my mom's side of the family, says "There's something wrong, I just don't know what it is yet."

The area where my anxiety is toughest on me is in the baby sounds department. You need to be an NSA cryptographer to decode the meanings of all the sounds the baby makes. Some are cute and some will make you bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night (assuming you've been able to fall asleep in the first place). Gurgle. Sigh. Snore. Sneeze. Hiccup. Gasp. Squeak. Amanda and I have conversations that would sound ridiculous to outsiders. (Though, I suspect most new parents have had the same conversations.)

"She's making a weird snoring sound. Do you think that's normal?"

"Hey, she stopped making that weird snoring sound. Think that's normal? Check to make sure she's still breathing."

"Is that a different gurgle than the one she was making yesterday?"

"Is that more sneezing? I hope that cold hasn't settled in her kidney."

Logically I know that most of the sounds are normal and, unless they are accompanied by signs of distress and/or crying, that they are harmless indicators that my daughter is growing. I just wish she wasn't a Navajo Codetalker leaving me to decipher the code of what's normal and what is not.