Aside from breathing, Bikram Yoga classes are quiet affairs with only the instructor’s guiding voice taking you through the 90 minutes. That said, three things are not real desirable to have happen, especially all in the same evening.

1. A sneeze

2. A Yawn

3. Your stomach remembering you skipped dinner so it makes its displeasure known by screaming like an stereotypical old man “oyoyoyoyOYOYOYOYOYOYoyoyyoyoy”

If you had any flow to your work, that last one takes it away.

There is something about the South Grand Island bridge that makes my chest tighten and fear a little for the vehicle I’m driving across. Perhaps it’s the inescapable feeling that it seems like they have never finished building it.

No road sissy I, I’ve taken on the Beltway, I95, the Henry Hudson Parkway and even the 401, going into Toronto, in my father’s car, with him helpless trapped in the car ahead of me (If that doesn’t prove your manhood, I don’t know what will). Maybe it is the see through gate in the driving lane, but tonight it was the repaving project that bore the bridge’s surface raw, exposing every nook, cranny, industrial stapler that may me question the wisdom of my journey.

My initial plan for tonight was simple enough. On the relative spur of the moment, head up to the falls. Avail myself of free parking at the casino and stroll down Old Falls Street for the Hard Rock Cafe Show.

I encountered that fixture of Western New York Summers, the construction induced traffic jam. Where the I90 and the 190 became one traffic was a stand still. Nearly threw in the towel, almost wish I did as I passed through a booth stuck on go, to trek out on to the Bridge. Six lanes of heavy traffic trying to distill itself to two. I look to my left and see some space, which is a good thing as I look to my right and see a semi within inches of my door. The road of the bridge is a collection of mismatched segments designed to make you suck in your breath each time you had the bad fortune to cross a seam.
You reach the Apex where the construction ends and the Civic in front of me rides the break down the entire second half of the Bridge. Your brakes, moron, but are you FRIGGIN KIDDIN ME???

Doesn’t anybody know how to coast anymore.

I was halfway across Grand Island before I was breathing normally again.

Thanksfully, the Hard Rock, Old Falls Street, the Scott Celani Band and the Philharmonic threw a nice block party. That street proved to be a nice impromptu ampitheater. Only sour note was the BPO should have advertised a night of Progressive Rock as the advertised Pink Floyd only amounted to a few songs. As an advertiser myself, I like a little more truth in my advertising, but I really liked the plentiful refreshment vendors.

Nice night, didn’t even mind the bridge on the return

It's the end of the week and this is what I have lingering in my mental pockets:

Refusing help with the BP spill? Sounds odd, but check this out

If somebody has an idea, it seems like help would be a good thing as the folks at BP are looking like Oil Executives in headlights. The never-ending news cycle has folded into name calling between Brits and some Americans and that seems silly. If the Belgians have an idea, bring it on.

C'mon Aaron Schoebel. I respect wanting to be close to the family. If you still want to play, but closer to home, say so. If you don't want to be a linebacker here, say so. The mealy mouthed "It's in the Bills' hands" rings a little empty, like somebody is watching over a bonus payment.

Pulling into work this morning, I got to see first hand the after effects of the Corporate Challenge, you know that race celebrated with lots of beer and bratworst? Given the high population of Sea Gulls scaling the mound of trash bags on either side of the ring road, it looked like the Challenge was sponsored by Alfred Hitchcock.

That amount of birds does make you think twice about where you park your car.

My employer is holding a creative black tie dinner tonight and in my email I got an inquiry from a business associate wanting to know how to dress.

Found tickets for Paul McCartney in Toronto. Seems like a good show to break in my Beatles appreciating son into, I mean, who's first rock concert is a Beatle? Hard act to follow.

Remember how the new Peace Bridge was supposed to be done around now? The legal funds of the few blocking the needs of the many.

Good for the Blackhawks and their Stanley Cup win. I didn't have a side in that series, but as hockey playoffs go, that was a great series and all praises to Pat Kane. He's adjusted to life in the spotlight pretty well recently and looking for family and remembering where he came from were great notes to end an exciting game.

Allentown Art Festival starts tomorrow and I can't help but wonder when the art gets in. All the soul is in Allentown west area where some great music and actual craft takes place. Don't need to stand shoulder to shoulder up Delaware for the sake of looking at largely generic sofa sized offerings.

Think Pete Carroll timed things just right?

Partook of some LaNova pizza for the first time in ages last night and circumstances lead to pizza induced bliss. My stomach was in its happy place for the rest of the night.

Where is the Save the Gulf telethon? The ineptness of BP's response has wrecked the area for untold years even if all the oil magically disappeared as you read this?

Got to get to the store (hence, the title)

Haven't been feeling it lately, but let's reconnect.

Pre-emptive break-up today. Between that and being greeted with the need for bloodwork, that may qualify as a monday.

That is an odd thing, but since our offices are over an exhibit, everybody got lined up for testing. Didn't run into that in other assignments.

Joked that the last time I stood in a line like this, I got a Roger Waters ticket at least.

Had a comparatively mellow weekend. The ex was out of town so number one son bunked with me. We had a nice dinner at Chez Louie's on Friday night, where we got into a borderline scholarly discussion on the state of Batman with one of the counter guys. It was fun to see my boy hold his own with another passion supporter of the caped crusader.

Speaking of my faithful traveling companion, he has been taking Capoiera over at Shakti Yoga for a few months. Last weekend, the studio had a happening at a spa in East Aurora. It was done on this semi-enclosed porch. While it was beautiful to watch and to see my son hold his own with all types of folks, I couldn't help but wonder if the little enclosed patio was going to lose its roof.

Fate is a funny thing, as a reward for his showing, he asked if he and I could go to Iron Man. I said yes, since I was suddenly free that evening. I was going to go with the woman I've been seeing to see of all things a cover band who did Emerson Lake and Palmer. She had the tickets then lost them to somebody who was going to take a husband. After I said yes to my boy, she texts me back and says I got the tickets! I write back that since you didn't have them and were going to study, when my son...blah, blah, blah. She went with a friend, who asked her out this weekend and next. So, my pre-emptive breakup. Iron Man might be responsibile to the latest detriment to my social life, but keeping my word as Dad seems a little more valuable. The shenanigans never cease my friends.

I think I'm headed to the b-movies tonight, near the left bank.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Denoting the fact that this idiot wasn't watching to see if his idiot guard was on the beard trimmer. That wakes you up in a hurry, a sort of reverse playoff beard.

Went out for a stroll post dinner Sunday night and the power of the shuffle setting on my Ipod sent me rolling for a few miles, home flush with fresh air and salient observations:

An old J.Geils Band can make you laugh to yourself, but that isn't really out of place around Elmwood & Forest.

We would all flunk our road tests if we had to take them again as nobody, myself included, does left turns right. We're a region of semi-circles, when we should be angles.

Jon Vogl from the Buffalo News is right, the Bass Pro ain't gonna fly downtown, even if it wasn't fictional. An IKEA would bring em, though.

It's "punch bug" not "punch-dub"...asshats

There are some pedestrians that have incredible faith in traffic and how it won't hit them. Walking back near Delavan, I saw the light change and a bus and car both started to move and the woman darted out in front of both. She stuck her arm out Heisman trophy style like that was enough to keep the vehicles at bay. Guess it was, foolish chance though.

I took my car to the car wash near Record Theatre yesterday and $15 bucks there is worth is worth multiple kisses from the other guys. I couldn't help but snicker a little as my 8 year old Grand Am was sharing space with a Porsche Boxster, Mercedes and a Cadillac. They all shined up nicely, but I think despite running fine, my car now has esteem issues.

Brodo closed its Elmwood location (bastards!), but that didn't stop a "Street Commerce" Agent from attempting to relieve folks of extra change. No rocket scientist I, but wouldn't you double your control group if you did that closer to a business that had people going to it?

Maybe, just maybe, people will get off Patrick Lalime's case now.

Parenthood has it all over Brothers and Sisters.

Hearing the phrase "Mets-Nats highlights at 11!" doesn't fill me with, well, any anticipation.

A book and a soundtrack in the Elmwood sunshine seems like well, just right.

The Rollerblade experiment was successful (as I didn't fall), just wondering how many peeked out their waterfront windows and wondered....

You know you are getting older, when your musical heroes appear equally on the covers of Rolling Stone and Modern Maturity. I've always had decent luck in securing a ticket for something I've really wanted to see locally. Even my mom was emboldened with some benign coolness as I had a test the day Bruce Springsteen tickets went on sale in 1980. My mom took mine and my friends money and went up to National Record Mart and scored first row golds. Couldn't do any better than that in days of yore. In fact I think it set a precedent for shows that I really wanted into the next generation. I took my lovely eldest daughter to her first major show the last time U2 deigned to come to Buffalo. On the ticket, behind the stage didn't sound promising, but since they played to whole arena, every few songs my daughter borrowed my phone to tell people she was "this close to flippin Bono!"

If you are over 35, you remember cueing up for tickets on Delaware Ave or one of the record stores (remember them?), but it has gotten more complex and incredibly more expensive in the age of these here internets. Inflation and greed made my $5.00 ticket to my first Bruce show seem downright quaint. Witness the shenanigans of Live Nation and Ticketmaster as well as Tickets.com., where you get assessed double digit "convenience" charges for tickets you can run off your home printer. The upshot of this is I've gotten very picky about venues as I ease into late middle age.

To see Neil Young at an actual concert hall seemed like a worthwhile opportunity. The pricing structure for Shea's seemed kind of odd. It was a little strange to see 69, 99 and 149 dollar seats in a building so compact. For 69 dollars, you would have the abilities to spit on the people who paid 70 dollars to sit 70 feet closer. That irony should strike some. Despite a little shock at $150 price tags, I thought it might be worth 69 bucks to see ole 'weird Neil. But, it ain't to be. Despite being armed with a decent internet connection and speedy cell phone, I could only watch as the retail tickets disappeared 5 minutes into the on sale time frame.

StubHub had some that had only been inflated 2-300% from the original selling price within 20 minutes.



Sorry, Neil, guess I'm sitting this one out. Heart of Gold was on tv last night. I think it was foreshadowing. Ticketmaster, Live Nation, Tickets.com? This thing of yours ain't working for us working folk, but since profits are higher than ever before for you guys, I guess you really don't care. Good luck with that merger.

This is seriously some too much time on your hands programming, but my inner 12 year old thinks it's bitchin.

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Been missing the sound of the water. Hope Spring is about to do its thang. Wandering in the Saturday sunshine at the Marina.