Been one for the books, hasn't it kids?

Had to do the good son-in-law schtick over the weekend as an uncle who had been slowly killing himself since my father-in-law passed, succumbed to liver cancer on Friday night.

I think I felt bad that I didn't feel worse. He was semi-estranged from his daughter which gave the whole proceeding a "We really don't want to, but something should be done" sort of air. I always liked him, but only recently discovered all the wrongs he was inflicting on himself.

The service took place on Tuesday at a mortuary over on Jefferson. I had to laugh a little when I was stopped at the gate. My in-laws are black and while I'm pretty soulful, I'm so not.

Mortuary home worker sees well-dressed (I can wear a suit) me strutting up the walk and says "Sir, it's a family service" and before I can say anything, a cousin bellows from the steps of the place that "he is family, jerky!"

Take that, jerky.

It's a nice feeling, the circle never really closed when it really matters. The place was full to overflowing and my kids and their mom and mom's partner were all lined up on the one side of the room. I joined them and couldn't help but smirk a little imagining what a picture that must have made.

(Me, the dread headed ex, the newly bald partner (locks for Roswell, my charming daughters). Tain't nothing but a family thing.

Oh such stuff, strength comes. We looked at each other later that night, and exchanged "that's out of the way" sorts of expressions.

And then I came home to the note about (e:joshua). I hadn't seen him since we hoisted a few ales at the Blue Monk's initial Saturday opening but bantered periodically. Disagreed about everything and had a grand old time doing it. I'm heartsick for (e:jason) who was cool enough to come to the big benefit for my work in February.

All good vibes to you, Jason.

Perhaps, it was the cold. Perhaps it was the need to repair all the tires on my car. Perhaps it was the mild concussion suffered two days before one of my offices bigger benefits (having slipped on the ice in front of my ex's house). Perhaps it was the ticket I got in the previous journal entry. Perhaps it was the rent increase that arrived in yesterday's mail, but I'm ready for a new month. February was a kidney stone of a time frame. Even the fun of a new romance (yay, me) got a little tempered with all this crap.

A lot to process.

There, got that off my chest.

As you were

I wasn’t going to rail about this, but it’s starting to look like a good idea to exercise the demons.

With an unexpected bit of afternoon off thanks to Friday’s snow storm, I set about being a good dad. I scooped up my lovely daughters to take them to get their new glasses. We meandered our way up Elmwood down Amherst St, with an eye to Delaware to better take Delaware Rd out to Sheridan. At 4 on a Friday, this seemed better than hopping on the 90.

Apparently, you cannot make a left turn from Amherst Street on to Delaware Ave from 7AM to 7PM during the week. This is news to me, and apparently the two cars that got busted doing the exact same thing right behind me. I’ve never noticed the now prominent sign alongside the road telling you this about Amherst St. Seeing as it isn’t in the main thoroughfare category of Delaware, Elmwood or Main, I can’t help but wonder why it has that designation.

Given all the people making turns off those streets during morning and evening rush hours, I couldn’t help but wonder if Buffalo’s finest weren’t better spent say working the intersections by Utica. Perhaps they wore, as the demeanor of the gentle fellow who stopped me didn’t scream customer friendly. My kids were in the car, so I led by example, even asking permission to open my glovebox.

Office Krupke was not amused. Seeing how I was guilty, I took the punishment like a grown up (paid the fine this morning, after whining to my mom last night).

Reading the complexities of the back of the ticket makes me think the whole exercise is at the heart of what is leaving New York State emotionally exhausted and morally bankrupt. The fine includes a $20.00 processing fee and a $60 handling fee. I’m pretty sure the machines doing that processing and handling aren’t in need of such upkeep, that by screwing up and ignoring what looks like a recent sign, I actually donated to Pedro Espada‘s pension fund to a degree.

What a world

Had one of our big benefit parties for my office on Thursday night. It seemed to go pretty well. We were all still speaking on Friday, so I guess that is a good sign.

The staging of those things is always a project. We spent all day Thursday getting ready, along with a chunk of Wednesday, so it is a project. This year's was even more of challenge as I took a rare fall (for me) in front of the ex's house on Tuesday night. It was one of those wind knock you out, what did I smack my head against, just how big is the bruise gonna be specials.

Even better in front of the kids, I have a sneaking suspicion number one son saw me go. Couldn't him to admit it.

So with a bruise on my shoulder blade that resembled Italy and one that resembled my pocket knife on well, where my pocket would go, we spent a day and an a half prepping for a the party. It looked fun. I have a tendency to spend those events looking for problems. You get the occasional fun moment, but it is mostly making sure everything is moving.

Seemed to go well. Spent a large part of this weekend sleeping with aided my recovery along with the occasional elixirs, Sleemans, jack, etc

But not necessarily any wiser....

47 years ago, Monday, the Beatles arrived, I waited until a day later.

Nothing reminds you that it is anything but a milestone when you get notified that the child is throwing up. Instantly, the morning at home coffee tastes slightly like the swill at the office and the delight of the digital greetings generated by Facebook and a few well-meaning bots during the overnight get dampened a little with the reminder that even though I took off, as a parent you are never really off.

So, as I sip the evening’s ale, cleaning out some random notes as I head a little closer to grumpy old man hood.

I, like at lot of hockey fans here, have been following the gossip leading the Buffalo Sabres‘ new owner. Out of the hullabaloo and the questionable practices of recent months, I have an admiration for Lindy Ruff as a stand up guy. He wouldn’t slip any contract extension under the public relations wire. That is a nice show of integrity that combined with Mr. Pegula’s supposed Cup desires might make Buffalo desireable for free agents and guys with Kaberle-like no trade agreements. It does kind of stink to see Rene Robert upset with the club, Don Luce and Craig Ramsay succeeding in other colors, and one of the hottest GM possibilities, Rick Dudley, landing elsewhere.

I’m not really concerned that the national anthem got a little butchered at the Super Bowl. I don’t think it was intentional, stuff does happen. The bloated faux patriotism of reading the Declaration of Independence by football folk past and present seemed rather shallow.

I never been huge fan of the remastering of classic albums. I’ve picked up a few a long the way, but I’m not enough of an audiophile to always pick up on the subtleties. The packaging and production is getting pretty elaborate. When the anniversary remaster of Bruce Springsteen‘s “Darkness on the Edge of Town” was announced. I was really intrigued because there was a lot of there there, so to speak, but not enough to justify the $80 price tag. Well, gift cards are good things as with the aid of amazon largess, only $30 will bring that home to me. Got to buy yourself a present sometimes, ya know.

I’m shocked, shocked I say that Hassan was found guilty. Yes, that is sarcasm dripping off your screen. If anything the local version of “trial of the century” was a nice demonstration on how accused should probably think twice about representing themselves. I am a little relieved that all the media folks can go cover something else.

Go see the Skiffle Minstrels play sometime. Try to have a bad time, you can’t do it, I dare you. You’ll be in a good mood by the end of “All Night Diner.” If you aren’t tapping something at the very least, then I’m pretty sure you need a check up.

You never have to check tire pressure on a warm day, it’s always days like today where the wind is blowing and your gloves are just bloated enough to ensure you got remove ‘em. One of Murphy’s laws that makes me want to smack Murphy with a bag of hammers.

I’ve been checking on the Sabres game while writing this and coverage on the Versus network is still headache inducing, including Tampa-rooting announcers. That just seem wrong on a number of levels.

Yeah, 47…the new 37.