Joe Wilson revealed himself to be a real twit. Yelling "You Lie" during the President's speech the other night was the second most childish thing to happen in the news this week. The first being the hullaballoo about the President talking to school kids. I have a hard time fathoming that, remembering by sent to classes to hear Nixon for pete's sake. The whole week makes me think there is some truth in Maureen O'dowd's column in yesterday's New York Times.

Not sure what to make of the whole Mickey Kearns vs. Bryon Brown dustup. I went to a function and Kearns did listen to one of my long held gripes that what is working in the city is largely in spite of City Hall. I came away certain of only that the Irish Times knows how to properly pour a pint. The whole scene reminded me of a scene in "The West Wing," where President Bartlett maintained that the one thing government can do well is collect money then put it back out in the community. First guy to have that attack of common sense can have my vote. I am a little bumfuzzled at our current leader who went confronted with a question, concern, etc, his first reaction is to disavow any knowledge of the incident. That just ultimately breeds suspicion and eventually even contempt. Either case, Kearns' suprisingly strong polling as made it an entertaining race. Thanks for that Carl.

I'm thinking good thoughts for an ailing friend.

A week of meetings, essential and otherwise has otherwise fried me. I've spent the first part of the morning with coffee and ironing. Tomorrow, I slept to better get my mojo working for Tuesday. Enjoy opening day, everybody as Tom Brady will force home some harsh realities on us Western New York Football fans tomorrow night.

Things have to be looking up. I have dibs on a Springsteen ticket

to be back homeward"

It's been a odd week. The Beatles "Golden Slumbers" medley has nestled itself in my head recently. I think that is largely a byproduct of the Rock Band release on Wednesday. I'm not rushing out to pick that up with Springsteen tickets going on sale shortly, but I have been enjoying the hype a little bit. VH1 Classic earns its keep in my eyes with actual music, full concerts and stuff like The Beatles: Anthology, a great documentary from the 90s. Fun seeing the surviving (at that time) three casually talk about all the stuff that happened to them so long ago.

Got a hard lesson in being careful what you say when you post something. After a very hard labor day at work, I made a joke on that social network that shant be named and a reporter made a story out of the exchange of notes. It pisses me off that I got played, when I've done that so much better. It was lazy journalism ruining my thursday and casting a pallor over Friday. I think I was mostly upset with myself for letting my guard down.

I already journaled about the Hill service on Monday, but it has been interesting to see the way the story made it around the world via various news feeds. Nice to see joy trumping the sadness in every respect except for the occasional forum knuckleheads.

But a few tenative dates are leading in the right direction. Age breeds baggage, kids. You tend to go a little slower. And I got access to 200 level Springsteen tickets, so, it's all good.

"Man, the dope is that there's still hope."

Nice escape yesterday. Some of my family took up residence in Ridgeway, Ontario (right near Sherkston) for the past week and I took the day to come play yesterday. Aside from a nasty mosquito issue near the house, the beach was pretty close to perfect. It was a lot of fun to fall in the water, splash wars and even fit myself into a kayak and get back out with bruising my dignity too much, even got enough sun that my farmer's tan from events at work may have disappeared a little bit.





























It was a most satisfactory way to deflower my new passport card. Cherry on the cake of the day was the Duty Free having plenty of Sleeman's Draught in stock.

Just got back from exotic Verona, NY where I manned a booth for the Zoo at a regional travel trade show. Whoever said getting there is half the fun is a butthole. I got some affirmation that I am not a casino guy, as I wandered into to work a little before 8 yesterday and the amount of people at the slots inside the Turning Stone Casino was impressive.

Setup the day before was the bigger deal. The Turning Stone facility is impressive in its vastness. I found the door I thought I needed to go. I asked one of the valets the best route to my exhibit and he did indeed send me to it "Family Circus" style, wandering through all sorts of hallways that I didn't need to be in. At the registration table, they couldn't find me because apparently The Buffalo Zoo was registered under "The." Set up my table all nice and neat and went back to my cheap hotel, "The Inn at Turning Stone," where my reservation was fucked up and I needed my own card which had just enough sitting on it to cover the night. The Inn was right along the highway so it was laden with trucks and other sundry casino driven folks, most of whom were primed to lose what was left of their shirts sometime in the immediate future.

Back to the Turning Stone, where exhibitors got a reception/dinner (Yay! free food), but I had some time so I wandered the shopping mall, tried to understand craps (ain't happening) and generally killed a little time. One of the clubs was a sports bar where I went and had a seat to watch Wolf Blitzer (for a broadcaster, dude says um an awful lot) talk about Ted Kennedy. This is where the Oneidas are genius. They don't or can't serve alcohol publicly. They'll take the money but you can't get a beer to cry into, brilliant! The ultimate screw you. Upon receiving the knowledge, I started to feel like I was Clark Griswald in Vegas vacation.

The private exhibtors reception had a couple saranacs to soothe my gradually ruffling feathers to go along with the nice dinner. Drove back to my Inn, did some email and relaxed a little, and retired for the night.

About an hour later, a thump against the wall from next door. Then another, and another followed by the requisite moaning. A lovely couple was celebrating their casino fortunes with enough vigor that I wanted to have a cigarette. They were not making love, they were performing some serious stress tests for their headboard. Perfect end to a malaprop of a day.

Yesterday, as the show was getting to start after that restless night, I'm prettying up my booth when the guest relations manager wants to know my thoughts on my stay. His mistake, I told him. He handed me a $20 match card for card games, like I was staying after I finished working. Show starting packing up at 2:45. I was on the 90 by 3.

Like most of those gatherings, I'm all set for writing implements now, but was glad to be able to keep an appointment at Pearl Street at 6 last night.

Life in show biz.

I've been thinking about Asa Hill a lot over the weekend. He and my son played together a few times. And living on Anderson for many a moon, his great family was often visible given the proximity to the Ujima Theater (a marvelous place, btw). I don't them personally very well, but enough to know they are good folk and to lose somebody so young, well, there aren't any right words.

I suppose the silver lining in all of this for me is the amount of people who left their cars and did everything they could to give that little boy a fighting chance. We live in a world where we don't treat each other very well, very often and to see people rally like that is heartening. But I fall back on young parents burying children. I'm sitting on the couch tonight, torn up a little that I missed the service for an exhausting day at work and projected that onto my son. As a result, I'm having a horrible day dream about that being a consequence which has resulted in me being a big teary mess.

The Grandfather said something about being joyful for the time he got. I completely appreciate and respect that sentiment, but I guess if number one son was taken from me, I'd be pissed and angry with whatever diety or other invisible man in the sky about that, gyped over what should have been. There are evil cantankerous, hate inspiring sons-of-bitches who have all the durability of Michael Meyers, yet kids who don't know hate meet this type of end so soon.

If somebody came up to me with some bromide about God's plan, my first thought is that there is a serious rewrite need. That's provided I didn't deck 'em for excessive clinche use.

Yeah, I guess it is hitting awfully close to home as a parent and somebody who's been through it before. I was 14 when my 11 year old brother passed away. He had some health issues that never gave him peace and I think my folks at least at the benefit of knowing what was coming. That doesn't make it easier to take and I can still remember the looks in their eyes when they broke the news to me. I can't tell you what dinner was like tonight, but stuff like that I can remember in fine detail. Love my folks, my dad remains my most trusted advisor as I stagger through my 40s, but that is one trait we don't need to share. I know that is a stretch, but you worry.

My lovely son is slowly coming to terms with dogs. For the longest time, he has scared of even the most harmless thing and it is slowly turning around. I like most dogs more than some people but sometimes not everybody remembered my guy's phobia. Last school year was his first, getting himself out to the bus. There are a couple of friends, but it was his first time on his own. After a couple weeks, I relaxed a little as he fell into a great routine. It helped that another great friend brought her kids and dog down to the same stop. I had this clear as we're watching vision of number one son running away from a dog that was only sort of paying attention to him only make the mistake of going into Ashland where not all the motorists are paying attention to what their car is doing.

Which is I guess where I should wind up this rant. We need to watch out more for one another. Nobody, I mean, nobody needs to be on the phone in the car. Nobody needs to text. Put the damn ipod on shuffle, before putting the car in drive, and leave it the fuck alone. The world will keep spinning if you pull over to check your messages. None of us are so important that we need to be constant uninterrupted contact. After all, how can I miss you if you won't go away. That's why reuniting feels so good. Take a little time, so you always have the time.

Watch what your car is doing and hey, let's be careful out there.