Rabbit Stew Anyone?

Merry Christmas to all. It has been quite a week of celebrating. It began about a week ago at the Greene's Ale House Christmas party. I would venture to guess that any of you who were at this year's annual drunk fest would agree that the 2009 installment was the best one of all time. In an effort to keep friendships with some of the patrons and fellow employees who were in attendance, your names will remain anonymous. I know this may disappoint my readers, but I can't afford any legal fees that I might be faced with.

In a nut shell, it was borderline organized chaos. There were a couple of "Yuletide Romances", dancing on the bar, puking on and in a car, and a very lucky, near miss with regards to an arrest. Just a friendly reminder, when your friend says you can crash on their couch, make sure you have the correct address before you try to "break and enter". You could end up with a free ride to the local police station. Luckily our suspect was released before he was taken in and booked. It was a Christmas miracle. I have no idea how we're gonna top this year's party in 2010, but I'm sure we will try. Hopefully there will be a good rookie class to haze next year.

Anyone who knows me at all could attest that I am an absolute fanatic of the movie A Christmas Story. It is by far my favorite movie of all time, any genre. As I compose this little tale, I'm watching the marathon right now. 24 hours in a row on TBS just isn't enough. I do have the DVD so I can watch it any time of the year. And I have been known to view it in the middle of the Summer. I know, I'm sick, but I can't get enough of watching Ralphie and his crew battle with their bully Scut Farcas. And who can resist the glow of electric sex when the Old Man proudly displays his major award. Of course I'm referring to the famous Leg Lamp. I actually have 2 of said lamps displayed in my dining room year round. And I've been known to quote the movie on occasion too. In addition to my numerous A Christmas Story novelty items strewn around my house, I also own a custom made Pink Bunny Suit, exactly like the one Ralphie's Aunt Clara sent to him for Christmas. It has come in super handy at costume parties.

Now fast forward to Christmas Eve. It seemed very appropriate to don it for this year's Greene's Xmas Eve pajama party. While the few patrons who were wearing conventional pj's at the bar drew a number of looks from incoming customers, they paled in comparison to the stares I received being clad a 6 foot tall rabbit suit. One person in particular stood out when he saw me.

As I was "hopping" home at around 2am on Utica St. I saw some headlights approaching me from a distance. As the vehicle was right upon me I could plainly see that it was Police car coming into view. I just got a feeling that it wasn't going to be the last time I saw that car. I peered over my shoulder and saw the break lights shine, followed by a quick U-turn. Knowing that nobody else was anywhere near me, I burst into laughter at the prospect of being interrogated about my digs.

Sure enough, he pulled right up beside me and bellowed:

"What in the "F" are you doing?"

My response at the decibel of a jet airplane was:

"I'M RALPHIE PARKER FROM A CHRISTMAS STORY!!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS!!"

I can only imagine him calling that one into the station.

"Front desk, you're never gonna believe this one. I think I must be hallucinating. I think I just passed a 6 foot tall bunny rabbit. Send back-up!"

Fortunately, he found the humor in it. Or at least I can only assume that, based on his roaring laughter when he suggested I head home. Then he was on his way. I'm just glad I didn't have a BB gun with me as part of my get up, or I might have been one dead rabbit, and the boys in blue would have been noshing on rabbit stew for Christmas dinner.

Take 2 And Call Me In The Morning

Christmas is right around the corner. As usual, I've been delinquent with my shopping and have a great deal of work to do before I'm finished. It's not that I don't enjoy giving and receiving presents. I just hate how commercialized Christmas has become.

The whole concept of Black Friday and all of the sales that day are nothing but a recipe for disaster. Who the hell wants to deal with a bunch of imbeciles, scrambling in a mad dash, kicking and punching their way to a new flat screen t.v. I admit, I have felt a bit guilty in the past for doing the kicking and punching, but that old hag had it coming to her. As unethical as my behavior may have been, I got over it very quickly when I saw how much money I'd saved on my brand spankin' new, 32" flat screen Visio. Who could resist a new "boob tube".

So recently I went to Wally World, a.k.a. Wal-Mart. I needed a couple of things around the house. Saline, shampoo, and deodorant topped the list. I figured I might get a little holiday shopping done too. While I was browsing through the contact lens solutions I found myself standing right near the pharmacy. I guess I never realized how entertaining it can be to loiter around in a drugstore and listen to some of the shit show that goes on. We're talkin' small town USA crap like:

"How long until this itching goes away?".

And:

"Are you here for birth control young lady?"

"Nah. Momma sez you can't get pregnant in the ass."

Upon listening to such comments I realized that I'd found a new hobby. If you're ever bored, or just feeling a little blue, feel free to come join me at a pharmacy and we can pose as if we're waiting to pick up a prescription. Imagine the laughter we'd share when some douche bag came up to the pharmacist bitching about a nagging rash. Then we could commence with the heckling.

"YOU GOT CRABS! YOU GOT CRABS!"

Politically correct? No. Entertaining as Hell? Absolutely!

Come to think of it, I never did get any more Christmas shopping done that day.

Turkey Lurkey

Well folks, it's that time of year again. The holiday season is once again upon us. Thanksgiving has passed and Christmas is peeking its head around the corner. Thanksgiving was very special for me this year. I was actually able to celebrate it twice.

The weekend before the actual holiday I traveled up to Northern New Hampshire to spend a Pre-Thanksgiving weekend with one of my best friends Jeff and his girlfriend Erin. Although the 9 hour car rides there and back were a bit taxing, it was an extremely worthwhile trip. I've known Jeff since I was 5 years old and don't get to see him too often anymore, so I was eager to make the voyage. And I did have company on my travels. Jeff's brother Brendan and his girlfriend Nichole accompanied me on the journey.

Although the drive was much longer than I am normally accustomed to, it was rather scenic at times. I must have laughed out loud at least a half dozen times on the way there. When we started to get into the mountains there were signs on the side of the road that said "Beware of moose crossings, 100's killed every year". At 1st I was unsure if they meant 100's of people, or the moose that had met their demise. When we arrived at out destination Erin confirmed that it was the moose that were killed. It sucks to crack your vehicle up, but you get first dibs on the meat if you were the driver. And call it coincidence, but guess what we had for lunch the following day. MOOSE BURGERS!! And boy were they delicious. Jeff grilled them over an open fire in the back yard. If you have the opportunity I highly recommend trying one someday.

The dinner we feasted upon on Saturday was quite delectable. We deep fried the turkey and had the customary sides. After all of our bellies were filled with vittles and booze, we retired to the living room for conversation. Erin suggested we play a board game and we all agreed. And that's when the shenanigans began. We played a spirited game of Cranium, guys vs gals. I'd never played that game before, but from what I remember through a beer induced fog, it was a combination of charades, pictionary, and other trivia. One of the clues the girls had was under the charades category. I don't remember what Erin's mother was trying to act out but she was gesturing with her hand. Now this is where things got interesting.

Nichole started yelling "Hand! Hand! ....... HAND JOB!! HAND JOB!!"

I'm not sure if she got caught up in the moment, or perhaps it was the 4 bottles of wine she had consumed. The roar of laughter from the guys team was deafening. And the looks on Jeff and Erin's Mom's faces was worth the price of admission when Nichole bellowed her guess at the clue.

But the shit show wasn't just limited to our time up North during the holiday week for me. Wait until you hear what went on at my Mom's house on Thanksgiving the following week.

After another stellar, festive meal in less than a week, once again we retired to the living room for some Thanksgiving football and chatter. I was focused on the Packers and Lions game when it dawned on me that everyone was talking about what's going on with Oprah, Regis and Kelly, and the ladies from The View. It was bad enough that my Mother and sister Donna knew what was going on in their worlds. Then I realized Donna's boyfriend and my brother Kevin were actively involved in the conversation! WTF!! I wanted to go turn the oven back on and stick my head inside until their debate about Oprah's relationship with some douche named Stedman was over.

All in all, it was one of the best Thanksgivings I've ever had. There were plenty of friends and family surrounding me for the better part of a week. I gorged myself on delicious food and consumed what seemed like gallons of alcohol. I can only imagine what's in store for Christmas. Stay tuned.......

LOCK DOWN!!

Recently, my Father celebrated a birthday. And what better way to celebrate with him than visiting him at his "play ground". I'm referring to a piece of land he purchased a few years back to use for hunting, as well as logging for firewood. In addition, it's just a cool place to go for a walk in the woods and pop open a few beers. Pabst Blue Ribbon baby!

My Dad has been inviting me over to his target range for a few years now to shoot some guns. I'd never fired anything more than a BB gun as a youngster. And maybe my friend's paintball gun out of his dorm room window in college, when I matriculated at SUNY Potsdam in the mid 90's. I guess its safe to admit that now. The statute of limitations for any damage done to the campus must have passed by now.

Anyhow, we started off shooting a high powered rifle at a target, which was across a field, approximately 60-70 yards away. He went 1st and hit the target in the head four times. I stepped up 2nd and aimed for the abdomen. After centering in on my target, my old man offered one last piece of advice before I pulled the trigger.

"Unless you want a black eye, you might consider moving back from the scope so you don't get hit in the face". The gun had quite a kickback to it.

I was grateful for this last second tip. After getting my bearings back, I ripped off four shots at the target. When we got over to the target, he revealed that 3 of my 4 shots hit the target in the center circle. I must admit that I was quite proud of myself. And if his four shots to the head had merely wounded any would-be attacker, my shots would have finished the perp off. I'm sayin' that would have been one dead son-of-a-bitch people. Nice team work Pop.

We next took a pleasant ride around the grounds. He and his good friend Kevin have bull-dozed quite a few "roads" around the property to make navigation much easier. The hi-lite of the grounds has got to be his tree stand. I'm not even sure you can call it a tree stand. It's more like a fort. He even nick-named it the Taj Mahal. And as far as hunters are concerned, it really is quite impressive. It's got a fully shingled roof with sliding windows on all four walls, where you can shoot at Bambi from. I suggested that he put a generator out there and maybe a satellite dish so they could watch tv while they stalked their prey. I fear that I wasn't too convincing though.

No tv. No dish. Rats!

After we took a trip around the property, we arrived back to the range. My Dad pulled out his 38 special and we popped off a number of rounds. That was much tougher to control. My accuracy was not up to my rifle standards.

"Have you ever considered applying for a pistol permit?" my old man inquired. "You could come out here whenever you wanted to use the range."

I liked the sounds of that, so I asked what I would need to do in order to qualify. He said I'd needed to find four people whom already possessed a permit to vouch for me, as well as get finger printed. That's where I began to have an issue. I've never been finger printed, and wasn't too enthused about surrendering them now.

Allow me to share a tale from my youth at this time.

When I was in 4th grade, my class took a field trip to the Police Station. At the end of the tour one of the officers said that anyone who wanted to get finger printed should line up next to the desk. Perhaps being ahead of my time, and not falling for his trap, I was the only student that refused to get in line.


"Hey kid, the line is over here. Don't you wanna get your prints taken?" he asked.

"I'm not givin' them up that easy!" I replied back with a wry chuckle.

He just gazed at me dumbfounded. He looked back at me and he must have been thinking that I would be visiting him at work again in a few years. Only that time I wouldn't be able to choose whether or not I wanted to get printed.

I mean what a complete set up. Inviting unsuspecting children to see what the inside of a real life jail cell looked like. Then, when our guard was down, offering to give up our finger prints in order to stock pile their data base. Now I'm not foolish enough to assume that none of my classmates from that day never ended up back in the "joint", but come on.

As we headed outside to board the buses, "TJ Hooker" sought out my teacher and said:

"Keep a good eye on this one."

She looked back a bit puzzled. After all, I was a model student. Some might even call me the teacher's pet. I didn't say it, but I wanted to tell him to "watch this", as I was mentally flicking him the bird.

I am however, extremely happy to report that to date, I have not been back in the hoosegow. I've had nothing more than a couple of parking tickets on my record. I would never in my wildest dreams break the law. If only everyone else were as conscientious of a citizen as I am.

Don't Judge A Book By Its Cover!

I'm sure many of you have put your proverbial foot in your mouth at one time or another. It can be quite an embarrassing event. I must admit that one such event occurred at my expense in the recent past.

Last Saturday I awoke from a deep slumber. I had the day off from work so I was in no hurry to rise and shine. What better way to start of the weekend with than a couple of lazy hours of watching the "boob tube". After channel surfing for a few moments I landed on a mini marathon of Law and Order on TNT. I must tell you that I've just recently begun viewing reruns of the show and have become hooked. So a few hours of t.v. seemed like the proper way to ease into my day.

Once I found the motivation to take a shower, I was ready to head out and tackle a short list of errands. I was still a bit fuzzy from an evening of music and beverages at Old City Hall, with a nice collection of friends. I probably stayed out later than I should have but my good friend John McConnell was tearing up the stage. If you have the opportunity, I highly recommend going out to see John next time he's around. It's a groovy mix of original tunes, complimented by a wide range of cover songs from an eclectic group of musical genres. (How was that for a plug Johnny?).

Anyways, like I was saying, I was not entirely playing with a full deck of cards when I left my home. It wasn't just from the night before. It included a 3 day bender that centered around my birthday and a celebration of the Yankees 27th World Series title. So you can imagine that my thoughts were still a bit cloudy. Any of you who were witness to the hi-jinx and shenanigans that played out during my birthday week would understand my mental state even better.

As I was out shopping I happened to bump into an old friend from school. He was accompanied by his lovely wife. I knew who she was, but was never good friends with her in the past. About 6 to 8 minutes of uncomfortable chit-chat ensued. I spent most of that time eyeballing the contents of their shopping cart, searching for another topic, in an effort to extend this awkward chatter. We talked a little bit more about the house I'd recently purchased and what he'd been occupied with at work. She congratulated me on my new dwelling and stated that they too were in the process of purchasing a new home as well.

And then I did it. You might want to hold onto your seats. I may have asked the single most awful question in the HISTORY of questions. I glanced over in the direction of my pal's wife and inquired:

"So how far along are you?"

It seemed like an innocent question, given the circumstances. Like I said, we were merely acquaintances in the past, and in my defense she'd packed a little on, if you know what I mean. When a puzzled look appeared on her mug, I could just feel the blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment.

"How far along with what?" she sheepishly responded.

Thank god my buddy quickly bailed me out and said they were less than a month from closing on their new house. The whole time we were there I assumed they were buying a new house to make room for the baby she obviously was carrying around. I shit you not, I was convinced she was knocked up.

I can never be entirely sure if she bought what her husband said, but it appeared that she truly thought I meant how long until they moved. I owe him big time for saving me from throwing myself right under the bus. As a favor, you may have noticed I have not revealed their names. I know that's not usually my style, but he saved me big time, so that's the least I could do.

So as a word of advice, don't ever judge a book by its cover. And under no circumstances do you ever ask a women if she's pregnant. Let them offer that info 1st.

All Hallows' Eve

As many of you know, Halloween is quickly approaching. The days have grown shorter and there's a brisk chill in the air. Most of the foliage has morphed into a collage of reds, yellows and oranges. Time to get your "trick and/or treat" on folks.

Without going into too much detail about the religious foundations of Halloween, I figured I should at least relay a little bit of its history. All Hallows' Eve, as it was once referred, can be traced to a PAGAN ritual of sinister actions held on October 31st. The purpose was to combat a Christian holiday held the next day on November 1st, titled All Saints Day.

I know it may come as a bit of a shock, but the 31st wasn't always about costumes, candy and decorations. Somehow Western cultures have found a way to capitalize on another commercial holiday. Weird.

Most of the memories I have of Halloween have been pleasant. And why wouldn't they be. What kid wouldn't enjoy dressing up and hoarding boat loads of sweets to be wolfed down for the next week. There were fun parties to attend as well.

When I was in fifth grade, I went trick or treating with one of my classmates, Jimmy S. Boy did we clean up that night. We strolled through the neighborhood in a driving rain storm. The people that were still answering their doors were amazed to see us little troopers battling an epic storm. It was raining so hard that Gilligan and the Minnow wouldn't have even made it to the Island. And what a shame that would have been. That show kicked some serious ass. Anyway, back to the trip down memory lane from my formative years.

We finally arrived back to Jimmy's house, only to get chastised by his parents. And although they were relieved along with my Mom, we got quite the tongue lashing for not having enough sense to come in out of the rain. For the longest time I thought that saying: "Don't you two have enough sense to come in out of the rain?" was invented by Jimmy's father.

Looking back, it was worth it. We collected so much candy I think it would be a crime for two 10 year olds to ingest that much candy today. People were emptying their bowls of candy. They must have wanted to get rid of it so they could close up shop. And Jimmy and I were more than willing to take their goodies off their hands.

As life goes though, not every story has a happy ending. Go back about three or four years earlier on Halloween, and we can all learn a harsh lesson about sibling rivalry. I would never trade being the youngest. Just like an American Express card, membership, or in my case, youth had its privileges. However, on this Halloween night, I plain and simply got SCREWED!!

My older brother Kevin and I were still too young to go trick or treating by ourselves. My Mother was kind enough to bundle us up an trek around the 'hood with us. We grew up in a residential neighborhood in Minetto, NY. It was and still is a great place for a kid to grow up. Our development was shaped in a figure 8, with plenty of homes to beg for loot. However, the upper "ring" of our stomping grounds had yet to be fully paved. And that was where that conniving rat bastard set his plan of theft into action.

After lulling my Mom into a false sense of security, my brother flat out trashed my Halloween. After letting me get candy 1st, at all of the houses, he truly took advantage of the term "trick or treat". He got behind me on the dirt road and blatantly tripped me to the ground, and knocked everything out of my bag.

"I'll help him Mommy" he snickered.

Help my ass. That son-of-a-bitch was scooping up my candy for himself, and replacing mine with ROCKS!! What bothers me the most about his plan of attack is that I didn't think to do it 1st. It wasn't until we returned home that I found a pile of rocks in my stash with like 4 pieces of candy. What a douche.

To the victor went the spoils on that particular evening. He won that battle, but I continue to win the war as adults. Every chance I get, I short change him when he comes to Greene's for lunch, and he doesn't have clue. It's actually become an art form. If I chip away at his $$ a little at a time, one day we might finally be even.

Now I hope you've all learned a life lesson here. It's not wrong to steal if you don't get caught. Unless it's from your little brother. We don't forget easy and tend to get revenge.

Jagerbombs Anyone?

For starters, violence in our schools is no laughing matter. Many of you who live in the Oswego area are probably aware by now, of the recent bomb threats at the Middle School and High School. Without going into great detail, there were virtually simultaneous bomb scares at both schools this week. Consult the local "fish wrap", otherwise known as The Palladium Times for the related scoop.

The news of these threats were a reminder to me of my formative years at Oswego High School. When I was a Junior, we too had a bomb scare during school. While sitting in typing class a voice came on the loud speaker and said:

"Would Mr. Thompson please report to the main office."

No big deal, right? So the principal wanted to talk to some dink named Mr. Thompson. Chances are he went out to lunch and tied one on, getting him in hot water with the boss. Nobody had ever even heard of a Mr. Thompson before, except for the teacher. She looked up at us with a stunned look on her mug and exclaimed:

"Mr. Thompson? MR. THOMPSON!! That's the code word for teachers, to let us know there's a bomb in the building, without alarming you kids!!"

Well, I guess she dropped the ball on that one and let the cat out of the bag. Sure enough, it was a bomb threat, as 3 minutes later the same voice came on the loud speaker and said to remain in your classroom when the bell rang. In the end, there was no harm done to anyone.

Now fast forward to the present. Working at Greene's has rewarded me with a great deal of educators patronizing this establishment. And it's not just the financial benefits of their attendance which delights me. I've become friends with many of them too, so I am able to pick their brains about how the faculty and student populations react to sensitive situations, such as these threats of violence.

What I've gathered is that frustration was the overwhelming emotion among both groups. I know what you're thinking. It's usually just a harmless prank in the end when nobody is actually hurt. WRONG. Anybody who's lived here knows all too well that even in early October, it can be quite unseasonably chilly. Especially when you're stuck out in the cold for over and hour because some douche-bag didn't study for a math test 5th period and wants any easy way out.

I bet you're also thinking, 1/2 of them would rather not be sitting in a boring classroom. (That goes for both students and faculty.) And the other 1/2 are upset that they are missing out on valuable classroom time. That would be the nerds and the dedicated teachers who aren't in it for the paycheck. I can make cases for both sides, but ya gotta suck it up and suffer through the cold for an hour if it gets you out of school.

What about after school activities? Once again, it goes both ways. All of the derelicts carousing the halls all day long, who had after school detention, were off the hook for a day. That just allows them to smoke their "cigs" an hour earlier. The ones who suffer are the athletes who have games and practices postponed, and the dorks who stay after school to "brown nose" and work on extra credit.

If the athletes and "brown nose-rs" would team up, I could offer a solution. Have the quiet kids keep their ears open and find out which one of the burnouts called in the threats. Then they could simply turn that information over to the jocks and they could kick their asses all over campus. Even if they beat up the wrong person, who cares. At least the message would be sent. These threats are nothing more than foolishness. DON'T DO IT AGAIN!!

Through this method I believe the children could come together and foster a nourishing environment, both academically and socially.

Hockey Night In Canada

Ahhhh. The scent of Autumn is in the air. With that comes the revival of hockey season. And once again eternal optimism returns for fans of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Although my beloved Leafs dropped a tough home opener to the hated Montreal Canadiens last nite, I realize it's a long season and there's a lot of hockey left to be played.

As I reached into the closet yesterday to dress for work I saw my Maple Leafs jersey hanging right in front of me. I think I even heard the Canadian anthem in the background as I plucked the shirt off the hanger. I considered lacing up the skates for work but realized that probably wasn't too practical. I thought of going with in-line skates but that could have been dangerous as well.

Around 3pm I looked at the clock and thought just a few more hours until the puck drops. In walked a couple of college students to get some grub and spirits. One young lady commented on my wears:

"Nice jersey!" she exclaimed. "Are you a Leafs fan?"

Of course I am. What a dip-shit. If I wasn't a Toronto fan why would I subject myself to the scrutiny of their recent misfortunes. They've missed the post season the last 6 years. One of those seasons was lost to an owner's lock-out of the players, so it's actually only five straight seasons. Not that it makes much of a difference.

Anyways, what came out of her mouth next still has my mind boggled.

"You must be one of those bandwagon Leafs fans" she chirped. And she snarled it in a slutty valley girl voice.

Really? Is that even possible? Isn't a bandwagon fan someone who roots for a team that's had a great deal of recent success? I suppose winning their last Stanley Cup in 1967 constitutes recent achievement. And that was 8 years before I was born! I know what you're all thinking. How could someone in great shape and as good looking as me possibly be creeping in on the age of 34. Actually I get that all the time. You have to get used to being gawked at all the time by the "shorties". It's just a part of my life that I have to deal with.

Anyway, getting back to the bandwagon crap. Although Toronto hasn't won a title in over 40+ seasons, it's not like I haven't witnessed any success. They've made it to the conference finals 5 times in my lifetime, 1978,'93,'94,'99, and 2002. I hardly think a bandwagon fan could rattle off those dates without having to look them up.

But enough about the Leafs, and back to bashing this obnoxious bitch at the bar. After bragging about how huge her $22 bar tab was the night before, she stated that she would not be drinking alcohol with her meal. I couldn't have cared less. I just wanted her to shut up for Christ sakes. After I ID'd her companion for his White Russian she too just had to have a drink. I asked for her proof and she was like:

(Again, in a valley girl tone) "Really? Wow that makes me feel so good to still be getting ID'd."

Now I was thinking maybe I misjudged her age. Nope. She turned 21 in APRIL OF THIS YEAR! So after not shutting her mouth for the entire hour they were here, they asked for their bill. It came to $21.08. They passed me 22 bucks. Normally I would give the benefit of the doubt and give back a dollar instead of the exact change. Not this time though, I just had a feeling about these two yokels. I set the $.92 on the counter and as I walked away I could hear her friend push the change forward as it rattled on the bar. It was like finger nails on a chalk board.

He then asked for a cup of coffee because he had to work that night. So naturally I made a fresh pot of decaf without telling him. As I asked for the dollar and a quarter to cover the cost he looked at me like I had horns. How dare I charge him for a measly cup of joe. And what does he do? He grabbed a dollar from his wallet and the quarters from my tip! Upon exit I was down to a $.17 tip! What a couple of giant bags of douche.

Now all of you know I'm not in this job for the money. And I am compensated very well for the most part. I'm all about customer service with a smile. But I do have a mortgage to pay.

Wanna know the worst part? I later found out that both of them are employed in the service industry. They work for tips too. What a couple of clowns. I hope they both get the swine flu.

Sharp Stick In The Eye

Following another tough loss for the Buffalo Bills this weekend, I'm not sure who is gonna blow up 1st. Terrell Owens in Buffalo with the media, or myself having to listen about the "2nd coming of Christ" in Minnesota. Of course I'm referring to Brett "Frickin" Favre and his lucky pitch into the back of the endzone against the San Francisco 49ers this past Sunday. I thought I got my frustration with Pack-Man out earlier this year, but it has started all over again.

Monday morning was an ESPN love-fest for this dink. Forget that Vikings receiver Greg Lewis made an amazing toe-tapping dance in the back of the endzone to save the game with 2 seconds left, but Favre just chucked the ball in desperation. I realize I am a little biased in my opinion with regard to "Brett the Great". The catch wouldn't have been possible without his pass, but for Pete's sake, give it a rest. I was even disappointed to hear that the coronation was going on the radio waves as well. My favorite sports radio program, hosted by Dan Patrick, was blowing Favre as too.

On my way to work on Monday I stopped at Pathfinder bank to get change for the bar. Upon exiting the building I ran into Green Bay Super Fan John B. I was convinced by the end of our conversation that he had crossed over to the dark side and was a Vikings fan now. Deep down I know he is still a Packers fan because I went through the same thing with him last year when his 2nd favorite team was the New York "Brett's".

After listening to how wonderful Favre was all day long, what really set me off was a ridiculous comment on ESPN's NFL Live show. In my rage I forgot which analyst said it, I think it was former quarterback Trent Dilfer who said:

"That play was the greatest moment in Brett Favre's career."

Really? Talk about being a prisoner of the moment. I understand it's fresh in everyone's mind, but PLEASE!! Favre did win a Super Bowl with the Packers over the Patriots following the 1996 season. Isn't that a little more of a milestone than winning a game in week 3 of the regular season.

The real news this weekend should have been the Detroit Lions winning their 1st game since December of 2007. They upset the Redskins to snap a 19 game losing streak. And by the way, during the Lions run of futility the last couple of years, "Brett the Great" has played for 3 teams, as well as retired not once, but TWICE!

Hey Brett, everyone is tired of your holier than thou persona. Go back to the farm in Mississippi and make another friggin' commercial for Wrangler dungarees. Excuse me while I pour wax in my ears and poke my eyes out with a sharp stick so I won't have to see or hear about you anymore.

Monkey Suit

Allow me to set the scene for this entertaining tale. It was centered around a wake that I recently attended. I just want to be upfront and state that I'm not making light of someone's personal loss. It's just that sometimes I can't believe how stupid some people can be. And I'd also like to take this opportunity to pay my respects to my good friend Dave and his family for the loss of his father. R.I.P. Don H.

Alright, back to the rant. So last week a friend was meeting me at Greene's to pick me up after work, so we could travel to Baldwinsville, NY to attend a wake. Obviously he was dressed up a bit. A customary shirt and tie. He left the coat in the car. Nonetheless, he wouldn't normally wear such attire to the bar for no reason. Enter the first ass clown of the night.

"Who died?" he asked, no doubt in reference to my pal's dressy wears. He must have thought he was being funny because he said it with a wry smile. Of course the reply was that our friend's Dad had passed away.

Insert foot! In fact, I even thought I heard a little dialogue between this douche's mouth and foot. It went a little something like this:

"Mouth, this is your foot. Foot, this is your mouth. Well it's nice to meet you".(ASS)

We attended the wake. It's not the circumstances you'd like to see these people under, but it was nice to visit with a few that I hadn't seen in a while. When we exited the funeral home, for some strange reason an enourmous thirst began to overcome us. Not being familiar with the area, we began a trek to find a local watering hole. We stumbled upon a nice place near the water so we agreed that this joint would be satisfactory. I believe the name of the place was Lock 24 or something or other. And if you have the means and are in that area, I highly suggest the over stuffed mushroom caps. The were quite delectible.

As we took a couple of stools at the bar I quickly saw that they had a regional beer called Saranac Black Forest. It's a very smooth, Porter style brew. Upon my request, the lovely bar maid complimented me on my choice.

"You must know your beers." she stated. I nodded in concurrence. "Then you must be old enough to drink too?" she alluded. As I pawed for my wallet she said I was ok, but I already had my ID in hand. So she decided to take a gander at it anyway, since it was already out.

"How old do you think I am?" I inquired as I pulled my license away. She took a good glance. I guess I kinda would be classified as "eye candy". Then she looked at the MUCH, MUCH OLDER friend to my left and assumed he was my father. I don't think I mentioned yet that I was sitting next to Rich Murney. Sorry, I just had to throw you under the bus there big guy.

"24?" she guessed with great confidence. I then handed over my ID with a proud smile. After all, I was born in November of '75. Do the math people. Suprisingly, I'm nearly ten years older than she thought. I believe her response was "No fuckin' way!!"

We finished up our beverages and vittles and returned to Oswego. After a quick stop at the Oswego Country Club's bar for a "pop" at the 19th hole, we then ventured down the road to Thirsty's bar. Afterwards, I made my way to Spencer's Ali before stopping back to Greene's. I know that sounds like quite a drinking session, but it made sense to stop at Greene's. In my defense, it's on the way home.

Now admittedly, I am kind of a t-shirt and shorts type of guy for the most part. So of course I looked a bit out of place in a shirt and tie. (And before you ask, yes, I tied it myself.) Many of the patrons at these establishments were of course inquiring about my "digs".

"Lets see, Thursday night, and I'm dressed up? I went to a wake tonite you morons. Ya think I got all gussied up for the farmer's market?"

And then someone had to be an idiot and ask "How was the wake?"

"It was a real humdinger. We were having such a great time, WE CLOSED THE FRICKIN' PLACE!!"

Really people, it's usually a good idea to think before you speak sometimes. I learned a very long time ago, from working in a bar, that if you see someone dressed up, and they never wear "stuff" like that, there's probably two explanations. They've either got a wedding to go to, or they have gone to a wake or funeral. And when it's a weekday, that's usually a pretty good indication that its the latter.

Super Bowl Shuffle

For starters, I am a die-hard, life long fan of the Buffalo Bills. I realize that first sentence is already making some of you laugh, or maybe just smile a bit. If that is the case it's probably because you are a Bills fan as well. Or maybe you enjoy watching your friends endure the mental torment that we suffer through every Fall when the NFL returns to punish Buffalo Nation. Said pain was inflicted with a great deal of passion & fury again with the onset of the 2009 season. September 14, 2009 will be yet another day that will go down in history as a dark day in Western New York, as well as the surrounding areas in the Bills viewing market.

For any of you who watch football and don't know by now, the Bills let another lead slip away in the waning seconds of game 1 vs the hated division rival New England Patriots. Forget that they went into the game having lost 11 straight to the Pats, and I believe 16 of the last 17 games vs New England, this loss especially hurt because the Bills had a 24-13 lead on the road, with five and a half minutes left on the clock. I think I may have been the only person at Thirsty's bar that wasn't chanting "Its All Over" with five to play. I should have known right then and there that impending doom was on the horizon.

Tom "Friggin'" Brady just had to pull his usual late game heroics and throw 2 touchdown passes in the last 3 minutes. Of course it didn't help that the Bills kick returner, Leodis McKelvin, had a complete brain fart and forgot to secure the ball on a kick-off after Brady's 1st touchdown. Buffalo had the damn lead! They didn't need the four extra yards he tried to gain, with five hungry tacklers grabbing for the ball. And much to the despair for all of us fans, out popped the ball. You could audibly hear the gasps as McKelvin put the "pill" on the carpet, leading to the Pats eventual game winning touchdown.

Now I'm not a religious guy at all, but all I could do was look up to the sky and mutter: "What is this, sarcasm?"

Believe it or not, the pain isn't just isolated to the four Super Bowl losses in the 1990's. Although it was tough to watch those crushing defeats, those seasons were actually a great deal of fun. They might not have won the "Big One", but the Bills were an excellent team back then. All of the Hall-of-Famers that have been getting inducted in recent years are proof of that.

The gut wrenching frustration from the most recent loss to the Patriots was just another reminder of a victory being snatched away. It brought back the memories of the "Music City Miracle", when the Tennessee Titans returned a kick-off with 20 seconds to go to knock the Bills out of the playoffs. Incidentally, that was the last playoff appearance for Buffalo. Yup. It's been 10 friggin' years since a once proud Bills franchise has been in the post season. And after last years 5-1 start, which also ended in a disappointing 7-9 record, Bills fans again can't help but feel pessimistic about the '09 season.

The Law of Averages states that this trend has to reverse itself at some point, doesn't it? If not, I guess I'll just have to rely on my current weekend diet of Pabst Blue Ribbon and vodka to get me through the Winter.

The old saying in the sports world claims that "No-one circles the wagons like the Buffalo Bills!!" That may have been true at one point in time. I just hope there's plenty of water in Western New York to put out the fire that began smoldering in Buffalo after their week 1 loss. I hate to say it but, there's always next year. But don't worry about me and my fellow Bills fans. We'll congregate again this weekend with the same pessimism and enthusiasm as we always do. Hopefully the hangover on Monday will be more tollerable than this week's.

I guess that's enough venting on my part. I actually feel better already. PBR me ASAP and GO BILLS!

Givin' It The Old College Try

SUNY Oswego is back in session for another academic year. With that comes a boost for local businesses, a noticeable increase in traffic, as well as some excellent scenery around town. Of course I'm talkin' about the "shorties". It's always nice here in the Fall before the weather begins to turn because there's usually an abundance of scantily clad co-eds,with their tight shorts and minuscule tops, walking and jogging around the city.


With the onset of a new school year, I've found myself looking back on my college years. And believe me, I put in some time during my SUNY tour. Not one, but 2 stops at Potsdam College and then I wound up at Oswego State. I learned a great deal while I attended college. Although, I never did locate the library at Potsdam. People who attended school there before and after I did swear there was one. I know there was a library at Oswego though. I spent many hours sleeping there between classes.


Let's get back to the plethora of knowledge I acquired living in the dorms at Potsdam. I'm referring to the tom foolery, shenanigans, and hi-jinx I learned in Bowman South, the best place to reside on campus. Although some of these gags may seem cruel, I'm sure many of you will agree that they are hilarious pranks. There are too many to tell about all of them, so I shall share just a couple. So ladies and gentlemen, grab a pen and paper and jot these down. Welcome to Professor Boozer's "The Art of the Practical Joke 101". Class is officially in session.

Lesson 1. Cricket tag. Wanna get back at your buddies for waking you up at the crack of dawn? I just happen to have a cheap, simple solution to ruin your friend's ability to get a good nights rest. Go to a bait shop, or if you're really ambitious, catch a couple of crickets on your own. When they aren't paying attention, slip into their dorm room and release the crickets in an inconspicuous place. When they turn off the lights to go to bed they will be serenaded 'til the first of the morning light. Childish? Yes. Full of fun and revenge? Absolutely.

Lesson 2. The Tidal Wave. This could result in getting your ass kicked, so don't get caught with this one. Got a friend who used up all of the hot water before you got in the shower? Well here's a great way to get back at them. It's the lost art of the 'Tidal Wave'. When your "enemies" have retired for the evening, grab the biggest garbage can you can find. Fill it as close to the top as you can and lean it up against their door. When they wake in the morning to start their day they will be in store for a great suprise. Upon opening the door they will be doused with gallons of water rushing into their dorm room. In order to attain some damage control you might consider moving any electronics that might be in the path of the wave. But be careful not to move anything too obvious and tip off your victim. Risky? Yes. Necessary? Again, absolutely.

Lessons 1 and 2 are in the books. So your assignment is to practice one of these pranks. I'd suggest starting with Cricket Tag and working your way up. It's just a chance to gauge the amount of anger and revenge your victims will unleash on you should you be found responsible. Now get to work kids. Class is dismissed.

Where's The Beef?

I was watching News 10 Now a short time ago and apparently it was Beef Day at the New York State Fair in Syracuse. I wasn't even aware that such an event took place at the Fair, but you can probably imagine my disappointment that I was unable to attend. Although, I guess the void will have to be filled with the memory of paying a whole dollar a couple years ago, at the very same festival, to view the 1600 pound Yorkshire pig name Norm. This pig was 8 feet long! However, the best part of visiting with Norm was the elderly couple that was in line in front of us. The woman says to her husband:

"Honey, do you think it's a male or female?"

Which of course was my cue to but into their conversation and reply for him:

"Lady, judging by the size of his 'coin purse', I'm gonna go with a male".

Which if you've ever seen these giant hogs at the Fair, you would agree that their balls are friggin' huge!! His sack had to be at least the size of a basketball. Her reaction after she turned around to look at me was priceless. After gazing at the smart-ass behind her she immediately looked back at Norm and let out a shriek.

"Oh my god!!" was all she could blurt out, as she grabbed gramps by the wing and ran out of the tent. When we came out of the exhibit laughing our asses off, the rest of our party that wouldn't part with a dollar to see him just looked at me and said what did you do to that old woman.

Anyway, back to Beef Day.

So when I saw the story on the news about bovine day at the Fair, I was reminded of another tale about about the cows coming home. Well, sort of. Across the street from my Dad and Step-Mom live a group of cattle. One afternoon there was a jail break by one of these mad cows and it was running around the neighborhood. My old man's wife Donna spotted the runaway and decided to intervene. She got a group of neighbors to help form a posse to get the animal back behind the fence across the way. They decided to form a half circle and "push" the cow back over with the rest of the herd. I'm not sure how long it took, but none the less it was a job 'well done' (pun intended) and they got her home.

It didn't take long for word to spread around the 'hood about what had happened. The owners were quite thankful that their little pet had been returned safely. They quickly learned who had organized the rescue and couldn't wait to give thanks in person. A short bit of time passed and the woman who owned the cow spotted Donna outside and ran across the street. After a quick embrace, they exchanged pleasantries and the woman was on her way. And this is where it got interesting. The owner turned around and said:

"Oh, where are my manners. To show our appreciation we would love to have you over for a steak bake in the fall when our prized cow is ready for slaughter".

That was all Donna needed to hear. The "water works" began almost as soon as the woman was out of sight. It was at this point, through a plethora of tears, that poor Donna realized she was, in fact, responsible for MURDER!! The whole time she thought she was saving the cow's life. When in actuality, she directly lead to its demise.

I probably won't be invited back to their house for Christmas this year after she reads this. But come on people, this is hilarious. I was actually thinking about delaying this post until the Holidays have gone by, but I just couldn't resist. It may cost me a gift on December 25th, but I'll just have to live with it.

So what have we all learned from Beef Day? New York State produces over 236 million pounds of meat a year. In addition, it doesn't always pay to do what you perceive to be a good deed all of the time. So pick you spots for charitible work well. And is it just me, or does a nice medium-rare veal shank sound ideal for dinner tonite.

12 Step Program

In the blink of an eye, time has passed by so fast. I recently looked at the calender and realized that Saturday August 29th marks the 12 year anniversary of my being gainfully employed at Greene's Ale House. And boy, I've not only enjoyed the ride, but also learned a great deal.

One thing I've learned during my time at the bar is how good my hearing can be. I like to refer to this attribute as "bartender's ears". I'm not sure if it's the alcohol talking, or what, but people tend to think that just because I'm not making eye contact with them, I must not be listening. You'd be suprised at some of the gossip I've learned while working. I've heard about people that have gotten "knocked up", as well as some extra marital affairs. In addition, with the amount of educators to pass through the doors, I've heard a lot about inter-office politics in the school district as well. Some of you may be alarmed to hear this, but don't fret, your secrets are safe with me, for the time being anyway. You never know when I might need some extra cash, so if you receive any tapes in the mail with your voices on them, get your checkbooks ready. On 2nd thought, cash is better.

I've also learned that the best way to ensure a lucrative shift is to go out the night before and get hammered. It never fails. When you go to work after a long "session" the previous evening, you are sure to be busy. However, one of the best things that has happened during my stint here is the ban on smoking in bars. Anyone will agree that a hangover sucks, but adding cigarette and cigar smoke to the equation makes it 10x's worse. And I quickly learned that visine and cologne can be your best friends. Blood shot eyes and sweating out beer can be a dead give away that I'd had a long night.

Lastly, I became aware early on in my beer slinging career that the customer is NOT ALWAYS RIGHT, when alcohol is involved. What I say goes. I know the customer might not always agree, but I'm the one who is completely sober. Many of you who are regulars can attest that I can often be seen drinking "iced coffee" out of my coffee mug when I am working. I find that it helps me stay alert and on top of my game. I really frown on mixing alcohol with counting money for anybody that's on company time.

So I'd like to take this time to thank all of you who have made my 1st 12 years at Greene's Ale House an absolute pleasure. Without all of you I wouldn't be where I am today. Hopefully, my next 12 years can be even better.

Lets Go Racin' Boys

As the Summer wanes, yet another time honored tradition in Oswego County will be coming to a close for another year. I'm talking about the Farmer's Market on W. 1st St in Oswego. And with the climax of the market comes the finish line to the Thursday evening "stroller races" down Bridge St.

If you've ever been to Greene's Ale House on the corner of W. 8th and Bridge St.(the home of 20 draft beers and an excellent pub menu) on Thursday evenings in the Summer, you have undoubtedly seen the mass of baby strollers being pushed down to the Farmer's Market. I know, I know, what a shameless plug for the bar but I'm trying to make a living here people.

Every week around 5:30 in the afternoon they line up and "race" to grab their sno-cones and baked goods from the Amish people. Although I choose not to attend, from what I hear it can be kind of a rough crowd down there. There tends to be a strong police presence to deal with unruly teens, many of which are the "pilots" of said strollers.

What kills me about these races is the amount of people who are constantly smoking with all 8 of their kids flocked around their "push carts". I think it must be a prerequisite for teen moms to light up in front of their kids. It's like, why don't you just hook up a hose to an exhaust pipe and stick the other end in their baby bottles. Have some common sense you douchebags.

In fact, I've heard that some schools in Oswego County offer partial credit for home economics class if you get knocked up before senior year. They can even get extra credit if they can prove that at some point during their child's 1st 5 years, the state will have to intervene and stop them from totally wrecking their kid's future.

An example of some stellar parenting was displayed at Greene's on one such afternoon when a family made a pitstop to use the bathroom. One of the little rugrats, who was about 9 years old, was asking me about my job. Did I like what I do, things of that nature. I was thinking wow, this kid might turn out o.k. He's already taking an interest in future employment. So I ask him a simple question.

"What do you wanna do when you grow up little boy?"

His reply: "I wanna do what my Daddy does. Sit on the couch drinking beer all day, and cash the checks the government sends him. And he's real good at it too. The Police stop by at least once a week to talk to him about his job".

Trying not to laugh, I simply wished him luck and they were on their way. Something tells me that kid has a future as a chef, IN PRISON!

Return of the Jedi

I'm pleading with any of you who may be an avid hunter to please travel to Minnesota and purchase a bow hunters license. It is officially "Viking" season. I'll even pay for the license and travel costs. I think I threw up in my mouth when Brett Favre inked his deal with the Purple People Eaters today and returned to the NFL, AGAIN!

I'm sick and tired of this pretty boy "retiring" every year so he doesn't have to go to Spring practices or training camp. Isn't that where he should be from day one in an effort to build some chemistry with his new teammates. Not to mention learning a new playbook. But no. Yet another owner and general manager signed off on bringing this douchebag back out of retirement again.

And have you heard the terms of the deal? Seriously, $10 to 12 million for one year, for a 39 year old quarterback. For pete's sake, what's their next transaction gonna be? I've heard rumors that Yoda's agent has been in contact with the Vikings about playing running back for Minnesota this year. And he's willing to take a $1 million contract, incentive based of course. But at least he's got "The Force" on his side.

Farve is so old, that when he showed up for his 1st practice today he was wearing a purple helmet with giant horns coming out of the sides, and there were yellow braids flowing in the breeze. I'm not a Packers fan. Far from it. But it must be sickening to see him wearing purple and gold. And that roar of laughter coming from New York is undoubtedly all of the Jets fans who went through this circus last year.

So here is my offer. I'm looking for some new decor for the house I purchased earlier this year. I can think of nothing better than mounting this prima donna's helmet with the braids and horns over my mantel. I'm willing to pay a king's ransom. Anyone interested in making some fast cash just contact me at http://ihatebrettfavreandallofhisneverendingbullshit.com.

Strike Up The Banjo

Yet another of Oswego County's finest visited Greene's Ale House for a bite to eat yesterday. I will spare you a physical description of this monster. If you've seen the movie Deliverance, that would be a good jumping off point.

So in comes "Hoss" with his mother. They ask for a menu and take a seat at a booth. They order a haddock sandwich to split because "Mom won't eat much" he says. I place the order ticket in the kitchen and grab two Pepsi's, one with no ice, as requested. When I deliver their refreshments, approximately 1 minute since they ordered, he asks how much longer is that gonna be. For Pete's sake I don't even think the hook was taken out of the fish's mouth yet it was so raw.

"Sorry pal, it's gonna be a couple more minutes. You didn't order the sushi" I sneared.

As I roll my eyes on the way back to the bar, I turn around first so he can't see my frustration. When I get behind the bar, I turn to see he's right behind me.

"Can you put some more ice in this" he inquired.

Yup. You guessed it. It was the Pepsi that had no ice in it to begin with. Apparently it wasn't that cold after all and his teeth could take a cooler beverage. So I topped it off with a few cubes and he appeared to be satisfied, returning to his table. Next up, the restroom.

He gets up from the table after a brief visit with Mama. I can only wonder what his next inquiry is going to be. He walks around the corner and spots "the head".

"Mama! Mama! They got a bathroom over here!!"

I don't know if this was their 1st meal in a public place or they just aren't used to indoor plumbing. Then I feared that he wanted her to come and wipe his ass for him.

So they quickly eat the meal and he asks for the check. I'm thinking, what a guy, he's treating Mom to a nice lunch in the big city. Nope. He walks back to the table and hands her the bill. As she's fumbling for the money he again returns to the bar. What could he possibly want now.

"Who's selling the motor cycle and snowmobile?"

I can only wonder what my face looked like.

"I like to get them for cheap when they're outta season" was his reply to my stare.

Last I checked, isn't this the ideal time for riding a motor cycle in Upstate New York. All I could picture at that point was him riding one of those old mo-peds that you had to pedal to get started. And somewhere in the background I thought I could hear Ned Beatty squeeling like a pig in the woods (watch the movie Deliverance). My only regret is that I didn't ask how much cash his "brother" got for selling his gold teeth last Winter.

School Daze

The days are getting shorter my friends. The sun is rising later and setting earlier. For those of you in the Oswego area, Harborfest has once again come and gone. Although in my opinion there's still some great weather to be had in the Northeast, many of you are starting to see the Summer will be coming to a close soon.

Although I am not wishing the rest of the Summer away, I can begin to look forward to Autumn. I love the Fall season in this area of the country for many reasons. The Buffalo Bills are preparing for another run at a Super Bowl. (Any of you who are snickering can kiss my butt) The Yankees are coming off a pivotal August sweep of the Boston Red Sox and are poised to get back into the post season again, after a much too long absence from October baseball and the World Series. In addition, the visual changes of the season around here are outstanding. But there is one other event that I look forward to as September is knocking on the door. The return of a new school year.

Teachers and children both act like kids in a candy store when the school year comes to a close. I should know. There are a great deal of educators who come to see me at the bar when school lets out to rub it in about how much time they have off. Although I might be a little jealous at first, I must always keep in mind that their "un-ending" vacation is indeed a finite period of time.

Therefore, I ask that each of you who are in the same boat as me and actually work year round, to join me in a little tradition I began about 12 years ago. And those of you that have retired, you may join in too. After all, you've put the time in and deserve to not only have your Summer's off, but the rest of the year of as well, if you choose. So it's on to the annual "Welcome Back to School Celebration".

All you have to do is begin planting the seed in the minds of teachers and students that its time to get back to work. And lets not leave out the bus drivers, coaches and trainers while we're at it. No more lazing around the pool all day, or wasting all of your time on video games. Its time to start going to bed earlier and getting up at the crack of dawn with the roosters!

The best part of this welcoming back committee has to come on the final day of vacation, or the first "school night" if you will. When all of the long faces appear because they know their LAP OF LUXURY IS OVER!! At this time feel free to grab a cooler of refreshments, put the chairs out on the porch or lawn, and commence the heckling. When the kids ride by on their bikes and skateboards yell out:

"LAST DAY. ITS ALL OVER BABY." And wait for their reactions. Some may flip you the bird, and others may shed a tear. But this I promise you, as great as they felt on the last day of the previous school year, we will feel the same joy on the first day of the new academic year.

Center Court at Wimbledon

Picture it. Center Court, Wimbledon. A 33 year old former high school tennis star comes out of retirement to play an epic match. OK, so the match actually took place at the courts at Oswego High School. But you get the picture.

I start off slow, dropping the 1st game of the match. But once I worked up a little sweat, I begin to find a rhythm. My serves start to find their way in on a consistent basis. Before I knew it, I took the set 6-3. A small crowd began to form.

As we get into the 2nd set, the trash talking is at full force. When my worthy oppponent Brendan challenged me a couple of days prior, there was quite a bit of smack talk. But once the match was underway, there were no holds barred. By now I started to take control. You would have thought I was Roger Federer or Andy Roddick out there.

"You want me to take a little pace off those serves you sissy? I snarled.

"Just serve the damn ball you douchebag" was all he could muster.


I cruised to a 6-0 victory in the 2nd set. By now the crowd had tripled. As I walked to grab a drink of water my fans began to chant "BOOZER, BOOZER, BOOZER". I think they got into my head a little bit because I somehow let the 3rd set get away. I have to admit a little bit of fatigue began to set in. The serves started to get away. I must have felt a little sympathy as I dropped the 3rd 7-6 in a tiebreaker 10 points to 8. I think Brendan even thought I was really trying in that set, but I just wanted to encourage him to keep playing. My only regret is that I was too good of a sport and gave him a bandaid for his blistering hand.

As we break before the start of the 4th set I stopped to sign a few autographs for the fans. What can I say, I think its important to keep the masses happy, as if my play on the court wasn't treat enough for them. And while I'm signing away I catch a whiff of smoke.

Sniff, sniff. I look over and see Brendan taking a smoke break. Seriously? Who the hell smokes during a tennis match. By now I know in the back of my mind I've got him right where I want him. Although he gave a spirited effort in the 4th, I began to pull away. After a legendary game that went to 8 deuces, I finally break his serve to take 5-2 lead. By now the crowd is in an absolute frenzy. Smelling victory I press on in an effort to close him out once and for all. I could see the finish line and my world ranking was sure to skyrocket.

And then it happened. As I blister another serve he somehow gets a racket on it and we begin to rally. Then the friggin lights went out. WTF!!! Victory was snatched from me. I guess all good things do come to those who wait. If only that bastard didn't take the cigarette break I could have completed my dramatic comeback.

Eat your heart out Johnny McEnroe, I'm back and better than ever.

Crossing the Border

It is with great pleasure, I proudly declare my support for "Home Land Security" (see previous post). There was a tremendous breakthrough at one of my favorite Oswego "watering holes" this weekend. I feel as though an Olive Branch has been tossed my way.

Not only was I not required to show 2+ forms of ID, as I reached for my wallet, the "soldier" at the door actually recognized me and said: "You're all set, go on in".

WOW! I think I even peed a little at 1st.

What a step. It wasn't everyone's "favorite" bouncer, but none the less, it's always cool to be remembered. It makes me feel like a regular. And I don't wanna brag, but I'm a pretty popular guy, so it was a nice boost to my ego.

I must also say John McConnell on guitar and vocals was again, outstanding. Gotta love that tamberine too, right? Cleatus was clutch on drums as well. All in all, it was a great evening.

Now that I've conquered the border at this fine establishment, my next goal is to get my good pal Wink through customs so he can return to Canada again one day. Now that will be quite challenging. Anyone know a good lawyer?

Video Crack

Let me start of by stating that addiction of any kind is no laughing matter. Whether it be drugs like alcohol, smoking cigarettes, or gambling. When something has got a hold of you, bad things can happen. Gambling, in particular, is where I would like to lend a helping hand.

Speaking from experience, I used to have a bit of a gambling problem thanks to the State of New York. Of course I'm talking about the wonderful game Quick Draw, or as I like to refer to it, Video Crack. I used to play a few days a week. Fortunately, I would say I am actually ahead of the State. I know, I know, everybody says they win when they gamble. But I swear, in my case its true. However, in my experience with the customers that come into Greene's, I must be one of the lucky ones.

I had a customer come in recently and drop $420.00 in about an hour. This numb nuts hit the ATM up 3 times to support his habit. I was begining to wonder if his card would freeze up because of suspicious patterns of use. But no, the wonderful people at VISA were more than willing to let him keep taking out loot so he could donate to the education system in New York. And I just love how at the bottom of the ticket next to the NY lottery logo it says "Helping Educate New York's Children Since 1967". Give me a friggin break. If anyone out there can name one person who's benefitted from the NY State lottery scholarship fund I will walk to the State Capitol in Albany and personally thank them on your behalf.

When it was all said and done, he bought 2 Jack and cokes, cashed in his "winnings" for a whopping total of 8 bucks. Now that's an expensive couple of cocktails.

What pisses me off the most about "crack draw" is the people that come in an pull out a $20 and say "I'm just gonna play 'til its gone".

"REALLY? I got a better idea" I usually tell them.

"Since you plan on playing until you lose it all, how about you just give me the $20 and I'll come to the other side of the bar and kick you in the nuts, then we'll call it even".

I believe that would be a very effective way to help someone curb their cravings for gambling. I'm nobody special. Just a concerned American trying to make a difference in the World. Strangely, I've never had any takers on my offer. I can't imagine why.

Miami Vice

It's official. I now hate the Miami Dolphins even more than ever. A press conference has been set for Thursday to announce that Gloria Estefan and her hubby Emilio, have purchased a minority ownership of the Fish.

I mean is she that hard up for work that she has to buy a team so she can sing the National Anthem at home games. Does this mean that The Miami Sound Machine is back? I seriously hope not. Next thing you know Benny Mardonas is gonna buy the Buffalo Sabres in an attempt to resurect what little career he never had.

And didn't she die in a bus accident like 20 years ago.

I can see it now. "Ladies and gentlemen, your Miami Dolphins take the field!"

And 53 douchebags in teal jerseys come running out to her favorite song CONGA! If the Bills don't beat the crap out of them this year I'll never be able to show my face in public again. And if she even thinks about flying up to New York when they play the Bills I think I might go and punch her in the face.

Brett Favre retires from the Jets, Tom Brady blows his knee out, "Mrs Castro" owns the 'Fins, and Terrell Owens signs with Buffalo. All the stars are aligning. This could finally be the year the Bills win a Super Bowl!

Home Land Security

So Friday nite I decide to check out a couple of bands at a local watering hole after work. Central New York duo Elephant Shoes was the opening band. I highly recommend checking them out the next time they come to town. It will be worth your while. Just a bit of advice though, be sure to bring plenty of ID and a note from your parents that its ok to be out drinking past 7pm.

Here's why.

Now, I would never complain about someone doing their job and asking for ID to drink alcohol. After all, I've been bartending for close to 12 years, and I understand the risk of serving someone underage. Thankfully, I have never done such a thing because when I'm behind the bar, I'm a super cop. The door guy working Friday nite was..... how should I say this..... ummmm.... maybe a little "over enthusiastic" about his job.

So I get to the door and see the bright neon green staff shirt. No big deal. I just think he's gonna ask for a cover charge. When he asked for ID I immediately handed over my valid driver's license which states that I am 33 years of age. Actually, I'm almost 33 and 2/3rds of a year. (I don't know why I still refer to my age in fractions like a 4th grader, but I guess it's just the kid in my heart, it keeps me young) Anyways, as he's looking it over I turn to talk to the "old guy" behind me. Sorry Rich, but he didn't even ask you for ID.

"I said I needed to see 2 forms of ID" he barked.

"Oh, sorry Mr. General. My bad. Here ya go"

I handed him a credit card with my picture on it thinking that would appease him. Not so much. As I handed him the card he sees an old college ID from Potsdam, circa 1996.

"Whoa, what was that one. I need to see that too. NOW."

I'm thinking, what a dick. And then figure this is gonna get fun real fast. If any of you knew me in '97, or have seen that picture, you'd know I look nothing like that anymore. I was 21 and had a HUGE AFRO!! I could see that picture was gonna be an issue so I immediately grabbed for another credit card. Now we're up to 4 forms of ID. That's apparently twice the amount of proof he asked for in the 1st place.

"Need anything else? I got a lot more in my wallet if you need it" I spouted back.

At this point I don't know who wanted to deck him more, me or the old guy behind me. I was just about to pull out my Official Scooby Doo Membership card that I got in 1st grade. And YES, I still carry that card to this day. Never know when it might come in handy.

He looks back at me and says "I guess you can go in" and he handed back all of my ID's.

What a dink. Do your job, but you don't have to be a douche about it. And I can't wait until the next time he comes into Greene's. That's right, he comes to the bar I work at. And I go to the bar he works at 2 times a week at least. I don't care if he just want to get lunch and a soda. If he can't prove 4 times over that he's at least 18, gonna have to send him on his way until he comes back with a parent or legal guardian. Two can play at this game.

I guess I'm not a preferred customer at that establishment, but that's another story for another time.

Shot Heard 'Round the World

Well I found out why you are required to have homeowner's insurance a couple of nights ago. I've been in the new pad for 3 weeks and just avoided getting sued by the hair on my chinny chin chin.

So Monday night I get home and decide to cut the lawn. Although it's been cut twice already by a lawn service my friend owns, this was the maiden voyage with my brand spanking new ,fire engine red lawn mower. At first things are going well. The "grass chopper" is purring like a kitten. The land on my estate is starting to look so good that I considered cutting the Yankees logo into the side yard.

As I'm cutting out by the curb the mower bottoms-out and I begin to think I hit a boulder that must be sticking out in the ground. I'm surprised nobody called the cops to report a shotgun being fired in the neighborhood. The rock seized up the engine right then and there. So I back up and look under the deck of the mower to check to see what might be left of the blades. They seem to be intact so I give the cord another try. The engine fired up and the blades sound like a machine gun, not to mention the thick cloud of smoke pouring out the side. I haven't seen smoke like that since my days in the dorms at Potsdam.

Recognizing that I'm incredibly mechanically challenged, I do the walk of shame and drag the mower back to the shed. I know there had to have been an audience forming from all of the neighbor's windows. There's no way I'm gonna be able to fix it so why subject myself to any further embarrassment of looking like I know what I'm doing with tools.

Well, the next morning I realize it's time to bite the bullet. I put my tail between my legs and call my old man to see if he can come fix it.

"Is that the 1st time you've used that brand new mower?" he inquired

"Yup, it lasted about 7 or 8 minutes before I destroyed it" was all I could muster.

"Well, I can stop down today and see if I can salvage anything" he replied. But at least he reaffirmed that all of the smoke was from tipping the mower over to see what was left underneath. When it was tipped the carburator was flooded and it had to burn off the fuel. What a relief.

It turns out that the guard was bent on the deck so that's what the blades were vibrating against. It was a quick fix and no harm was done. It would have been nice if he had finished the lawn but I was grateful none the less.

So that brings us to today and the real gem of this tale. I get up this morning to go out and finish the rest of the job. As I'm right back to the same spot where I hit the rock I see a neighbor out of the corner of my eye. I stop the mower and introduce myself. As I reach out to shake his hand he hands me a couple of golf ball sized rocks with red paint. And the paint just happened to match my mower.

"Oh my god, I had no idea that I flung those rocks down the street". At that point I could feel my face turning a similar shade of red. He had a ring side seat for the one man shit show I was performing in. He said he heard the POW and saw the rocks come shooting down the road. And he lives over 100 yards away! Thank goodness there weren't any of the neighborhood kids riding their bikes in front of his house like they usually are. Not to mention I didn't hit any parked cars.

What a great way to introduce myself to the neighborhood. Everyone must have been thinking 'who the hell is this goofball.' I think my next endeavor to impress everyone will be to hang an engine from a tree and restore a classic hot rod. That ought to raise a few more eyebrows.

Stairway to Heaven

So many of you know I put my big boy pants on recently and made an adult decision. I purchased my first house and moved in almost 2 weeks ago. When I looked at the house there was one feature in particular that caught my eye. It wasn't the size, color, location, or condition. Although each of those were important factors, the major selling point was the stairs leading to the second floor. They had CARPET!

I realize that might sound a bit strange because any house that I decided on buying, I could have just put the carpet in myself. However, my history of navigating staircases in the past has been less than stellar. This place was ready for me to move in. Allow me to share why this feature will be crucial to my survival.

Years ago, following an afternoon of adult beverages at a local watering hole, I returned home. As I went upstairs to retrieve some money to pay for my dinner, I somehow lost my balance on the top step and tumbled to the bottom of the staircase. With my feet resting on the fourth step and my torso all the way at the bottom, my housemate comes running around the corner to find out what all the racket was coming from upstairs.

"Are you alright? Do you need help getting up? he questioned with a smirk on his face.

"Uh... No, I'm just gonna stay here for a couple of minutes" was all I could manage.

I think I may have even snuck in a little nap as we waited for our subs. But let me tell ya, I wasn't doing so good the next morning when I had to go to work. I had rug burns on my arms and legs. I might have even had a crack in my collar bone. When I reached up to grab a mug that was hanging at the bar where I work ,I dropped right to the floor in agony. It would be months before I could reach above my head without buckling in pain. Not to mention, it really put a hitch in my golf game that Summer. But at least the stairs had carpeting, so I slid most of the way down.

Now fast forward to this past New Year's Eve. I got out of work at 4 and had a few drinks. Not nearly enough to get me drunk and fall. Or so I thought. So I go home with a slight buzz and call Canale's for dinner. If you have the means, I highly recommend trying their Chicken ala Cacciatore. It really is to die for. But I digress.

So as I'm waiting for the delivery, I figure I might as well go out and shovel. It's good exercise and a chance to keep me in shape for city league basketball. Gotta give my best for the team. Go Fightin' Gargoyles!!

So I get done with the driveway and sidewalks and accidentally tracked in a bunch of snow into the house. Unfortunately for me my cheap ass land lord didn't have carpeted stairs to soak up the moisture. Sorry Seth, but it's true. You could of prevented major injury with carpeted stairs.

So the food gets there and as I'm running down the steps I hit the snow and go tumbling down the stairs. I must have did two and a half flips on the way down. Fortunately the door at the bottom broke my fall.

"Are you o.k. in there sir?" I hear the driver shout through the door. Seriously, did he have to bruise my ego even more and call me sir. It's not like I broke my hip or something.

So I reach up and unlock the deadbolt and my body falls onto the outdoor steps.

"I'm fine. Just gimme the damn food" I bellowed. "And is there any way we can keep this our little secret? There's an extra tip in it for you"

Looking back, if I was him I would have told everybody. That's just something you can't make up. So all of you on the Canale's staff that night, I admit it. It was definitely me who took that hilarious fall. And boy was I sore for a few weeks. I had bruises that changed into just about every color you can imagine. But, I learned my lesson and haven't taken a spill since.

Now you see why carpeting on the stairs was a major selling point in buying my house. I've found over the years that it pads the fall just enough to cut down on the bruising. The house is great now that I've unpacked and I do love the neighborhood. I guess all that's left for me to do is knock some chick up and get married, then get divorced so I can get a head start on my 2nd marriage. I can see it playing out like this.

"Sorry honey, I'm gonna have to get rid of you. I'm happy, but statistically speaking this is probably gonna end soon anyways." And then I can live happily ever after in my very own house with carpeted stairs.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

O.K. So this happened a long time ago, but I'm still laughing my ass off today. 1st let me lay a little ground work for this little tale. I used to rent a house with a good friend of mine that I've known since I was 5 years old. He's practically like another brother to me. In addition, he has also fortunately supplied me with a great deal of material for my blogging.

So we used to rent a house on Liberty Street together. Nice place. 2 bedrooms and a living room upstairs, as well as a huge party room downstairs, with a half bath and laundry room off the back of the room. It was often "open to the public" for after hours when the bars of Oswego would close. If the walls could talk..... Well, let's just say Hollywood might have an interest in using the "goings on" in that house for a movie. Some pretty funny, as well as f#*ked up shit when on there. And here's one of them.

One night my roomie comes home intoxicated. Hard to believe, I know, but it happened. Fortunately this was not one of those after hours nights, so I wasn't pulled from a slumber by a bunch of drunks shaking the house with earth shattering tunes on the stereo downstairs. I, being the responsible one, went to bed early because I had to work in the morning (in other words, I passed out a few hours before he got home.

So as usual he makes some sort of mess in the kitchen for his bedtime snack. This time it was a heaping plate of pasta with sauce. Perfect for letting the dishes sit out over night and really let the Ragu dry on to the pans and plate. Which who do you think got stuck cleaning the dishes. I wish I had more patience to wait for the kitchen to be cleaned up, but I wanted to eat again before the end of the month.

At just past sunrise I was snatched from my beauty sleep to hear blood curdling screaming. I swear to you I expected to see Leather Face in the house gunning his chain saw, ready to kill anyone in his path.

Being the great guy that I am, I ran out of my room, unarmed to save the day. But seriously, I thought my roommate was being stabbed to death. What I thought I could to do to help is beyond me.

So there we are in the kitchen.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I bellowed.

"I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding!!!" he sobs.

In his defense, his entire foot was covered in dark red. He looked like Curt Schilling standing on the mound with the infamous bloody sock. So as I'm doing my best to calm him down, I began to put 2 and 2 together. I see a series of "bloody footprints" leading from the living to his bedroom.

"Hey you idiot. What did you eat when you got home last night?"

"I dunno.....Why?"

"Was it pasta and sauce?" I inquired.

"Uhhh.....yea. I think it was. How'd you know that?" he asked with a rather puzzling look.

"Cause I think I found the person who stabbed you" I chuckled.

That numbnuts must have put his feet up on the ottoman in front of the chair in the upstairs living room and fell asleep. And I'll give you one guess as to what was still sitting on the foot rest. Yup. A stale plate of cold pasta with sauce. He left "bloody prints" all across the carpet directly leading to his bed and passed out. Then when he got up to piss in the morning he thought his foot had been hacked to pieces.

I swear I couldn't make this one up if I tried. It's been over 7 years since I lived in that house. Lots of good memories. And who knows, probably some more material for me to use on a future post for my readers. Stay tuned. :)

Just Say No to Drugs

As many of you sports fans know we are smack in the middle of March Madness. It's a term coined to describe the time of year when college basket ball really heats up. The field of 65 in NCAA hoops is widely known for epic comebacks and down to the wire, dramatic games that makes college basketball so special. This season has been no different.

1st of all, I'm sure everyone was as shocked as I was that Duke was knocked out early this year in the 3rd round. I know, I know, how did they not win the National Championship this year. They're only the greatest team to have ever inhabited the planet. And believe me, as Oswego's biggest Duke fan, smack in the middle of Orange country, I was reminded of that numbing defeat to Villanova all day at work by a plethora of over confident SU fans. I manned up though and proudly displayed my Duke gear the day after their sweet 16 loss to the Final Four bound Wildcats.

"You've got a lotta nerve wearing that shirt today" and "What time does Duke play next?" were among the many snide remarks I heard.

It's kind of funny. SU decides to put their tradition of a late season collapse on hold for a year and skip the N.I.T. to play in the Big Dance and all of a sudden the entire city is filled full of over confident, orange toting big mouths. I mean there was so much fresh Syracuse gear in the bar on Friday that I hope everyone remembered to separate their colors from the whites in the wash so all of the brand new T-shirts don't bleed and ruin their wardrobes. I actually got a couple of customers to look at their shirts when I said you forgot to cut the price tag off when you bought that today. But enough venting.

So with Duke out of the tournament, and my brackets completely gone to shit, I still keep an eye on the rest of the field. There's no team left to root for, but there's definitely a few teams to root against. So I watched the games even though there's nothing on the line. However, there are still other games going on in the rest of the sports world.

So Saturday night I tune in to watch my beloved Toronto Maple Leafs take on the rival Boston Bruins. Two of my best friends are Boston fans so there's always the bragging rights on the line, plus a standing $2 bet I have with one of said fans. Toronto has already been eliminated from playoff contention, but I really could use the 2 bucks. All of these cigarettes during lent have put a dent in my bank account (see Jesus Fish blog), but at least I have some yellowing teeth to show for it. And who knows, one day I might be able to pass those teeth off as gold and really cash in! I've heard there might be a market for such a thing.

So here's where the game started to get interesting. The Leafs put on a valiant effort but lost the game 7-5. So as I'm beginning to roll some change to pay off my gambling losses and get another pack of smokes, I'm just waiting for the texts and phone calls from those Bruins fans to start rolling in. Rich made me wait it out. I hadn't heard from him before I went to bed so I assumed he felt sorry and was letting me off the hook. I was wrong however. I got a nice wake up call from him via text message at 3:48 AM! What a dink!

But before his message came my inspiration for this little story.
I feel I must change the name here to protect the idiot.... I mean innocent.

For the purposes of this little anecdote I'll call him "Brandun Layne".

So the whistle blows to end the game and the phone rings immediately.

"Boston scored a touchdown against the Leafs. They got 7 points" he chirps.

Well hardy har har. After getting in a few barbs we chat for a couple of minutes. Just some small talk about his day at work and the such. And then he does something that should be nominated for this years Darwin Awards.

"Dude, I've only been home from work for 5 minutes and I've already misplaced my cell phone."

I'm thinking, what the hell is he talking about. How the hell did he call me, and what is he talking on right now. I've been to his house and know that he doesn't have a land line. Realizing what's going on, I bait him and suggest a few places to search. Possibly look in your car or coat, I offered. Then I decided to turn that little light bulb on resting over his head.

"Why don't you look what's in your hand you DOUCHE BAG!" I bellowed.

I don't know who was laughing harder between the two of us. My guess is it was me. I'm still smiling about it now. I guess the moral of the story here is to 'JUST SAY NO'!

Jesus Fish

Yesterday it became apparent to me that it was the start of lent. At 1st I thought I just had some scummy customers who forgot to wash the dirt off of their foreheads, but was later corrected when my buddy said his wife would be joining him shortly, after she went to church for ashes (thanks Wink a.k.a. Shamrock).

Knowing I was off to a great start to the Lenten season with the delicious turkey sandwich I had for lunch, which was to be followed by lasagna with sausage for dinner at my father's house, I figured I would approach lent this year with a bit of a "bizzaro world" theme. That is to say I will do the opposite of what all of you good little Catholics are supposed to do.

Therefore, I promise to eat meat every Friday until lent is over. And that includes red and white meat as well as ALL SEAFOOD. I never got how Catholics justified fish as not being meat. I mean was Jesus sitting on the side of the mountain giving a sermon declaring "And there shall be no meat eaten on Fridays as we sacrifice during this Lenten season." Followed by, "But Jesus, what about fish? You love fish, you eat it everyday!"

"Uh, uh..... fish isn't meat," must have been his reply.

"Then what is it?" his devoted follower replied in distress.

"LISTEN. I'm calling the shots around here and I say that fish isn't meat. GOT IT." he proclaimed with that stare only He could do. And everyone got in line.

Next, I will not give something up for lent. I have decided to pick something up instead. What better habit than smoking. I promise to smoke cigarettes for the next 40 days in an effort to show my devotion to those of you who toil every year with the idea giving up something you love. When I was a kid and was... how can I say this...I was forced, ...no.... STRONGLY encouraged to give something up for lent,and I would go without soda until Easter. I would count the days until Easter Sunday, knowing that not only was there a bunch of candy in my basket somewhere in the house, there would also be a warm 2 liter of soda next to it. And every year I would pop the top and drink at least half of it in one swig. Which always resulted in the same dilema every year. An hour later I'd be squirming in church trying not to piss in my Sunday Bests after all the Sprite I'd consumed.

The way I figure, 40 days ought to be just about the right amount of time to not only get addicted to cigarettes, but also not break my bank. And at the end of 40 days I pledge to quit smoking, cold turkey. Hey, if I got off the steroids after 3 years of use, I think I can lick smoking too. Plus, I've been told by former smokers that quitting has been the most rewarding experience of their lives.

So there you have it. A steady diet of red meat, fried seafood, and Lucky Strikes for the next month or so. If you too are a "Recovering Catholic" like me and want to join me in this mission, please jump on board and light up a smoke today!

I'm Off the Juice

By now I'm sure some of you have heard the news and with much regret I admit it is true. I did in fact take steroids in the late '90's while employed at Greene's Ale House in Oswego, New York. It's time I came clean.

First, I'd like to apologize to my family and friends for dragging you through the mud. When I took the job I swear it was never my intention to take job enhancing drugs. I only intended to use recreational drugs (to which I admit also happened) and it was a downward spiral from there. I was a typical college student who fell prey to the temptations of experimentation. When working three nights a week til 3am on top of 15 hours a week of in class time I began to feel a great deal of fatigue. And although I could live with academic mediocrity, I simply couldn't allow it to affect my job. Those of you who know me well, I routinely throw myself into my work with no concern for my well being. And this dedication caught up with me in the Fall of '97.

After less than 2 months on the job the academic pressures began to catch up with me. I was exhausted from over studying but went to work anyway. And on a busy Saturday night tossing kegs around in the cooler I sustained a serious knee injury which still exists today. Afraid that I would no longer be able to compete with my fellow bar back and move up to bartender I did in fact knowingly take performance enhancing drugs. Within weeks I was promoted and even given my own set of keys to the bar. With this instant status jump I became addicted to the celebrity. Flocked by numerous fans and countless ladies I went on taking "roids" until my performance was back up to my standards.

Eventually, the guilt of what I had done not only to myself, but also the shame I was bringing to my fellow bartenders was too much to take and I was able to get off the juice cold turkey. I realize it may seem trivial to reveal this a decade later but I believe it's imperative to finally find closure. Anyone who I may have hurt along the way I am truly sorry. I hope I can be forgiven and I swear on my Mother's good name that when I won Bartender of the Year the past 2 "seasons" I was completely drug free. I will understand if some of my loyal drinkers pull their votes this year. I brought this on myself and except full responsibility. It is my hope that we can all put this embarrassing stage of my life behind us and move on.

Thank you.

And the Grammy Goes To?

Alright. In light of the recent heat wave in Upstate New York I've started getting a little Spring Fever. And with the impending rise in temperature comes the Summer concert tours. Time to get outside, do some tailgating, do a few beer funnels, and listen to some tunes. As I anticipate what shows I'm going to attend this year I got to thinking about the shows I've been in my formative years.

So the purpose of this blog is to share with you my concert history as well as yours too. What I'd like all of you to do is think of all the shows you've been to and pick out the most embarrassing concert you've ever been to. I know it might be painful to admit it, but the therapeutic recall could be quite beneficial.
Before I get to my most embarrassing concert, and it's a DOOZIE, I thought I'd share what I listen to now as well as the many other kickass shows I attended in the past.

I'd have to say I got a bit of a late start into music. The second concert I ever went to was to see The Grateful Dead in Buffalo in the Summer of '93. My introduction to the Dead came about 6 months before the show. My older brother came home from college for Xmas break and came into my room while I was sleeping. Without any concern for my obvious fatigue he sits on my floor to play my Nintendo, (which by the way more than 15 years later, it still works. Who needs an X Box anyway.) So he pops in a Dead greatest hits CD. As I'm pulled from my slumber to realize that he's in fact the reason I'm even more tired than when I went to take my nap I start to enjoy what I'm hearing. Without boring you with the crap I'd been listening to up to that point in my life I asked what he was listening to.

"Oh, did I wake you up?" No, I usually listen to music that shakes the walls. I find that it tended to refresh me when I slept. He could be such a douche bag at times. But I don't want to get side tracked. That would be another session with my therapist.

He asked me if I really liked this band. I said yes and he said we're gonna go to see them this Summer. As it turned out they were on tour in the East Coast only a couple hours away when the dates were released in the Spring. Plus Sting was opening for them, which if you ever get the chance, go see him too. I was kind of a closet Police fan in the early to mid 80's. I think my older sister won one of there record albums off the radio when we were kids so I used to listen to that. Plus it was better than the other crap she always played. Artists such as Journey ( who I did see at the State Fair last August and realized they aren't too bad actually), Air Supply (ugh!) and Foreigner. I mean are you ever really Cold as Ice? I think not. Sometimes I wonder how the Hell I ever made it out of that house and ended up being this popular and cool.

So we truck of to Buffalo on a hot and hazy Sunday morning. It seemed like a better time than going to church that day. We arrive at the parking lot and begin to sample some of the "culture". I remember asking why none of these people ever took a shower, but they seemed to be very nice as a whole so I put up with the stench. When we went in I couldn't believe what I saw. Still to this day one of the most memorable days of my life. It was like everyone was family. We were befriended by complete strangers. I wouldn't call it quite a religious experience. That would come more than a decade later when I went to the Midwest to see them again in Deer Creek Indiana and then at Star Lake Amphitheater in Pittsburgh where I experienced some "stronger culture" so to speak. Imagine a simpler time when venues still had their own unique names, not something dot com, or Pepsi center. Although I do really like the taste of Pepsi. There's something about it that's quite refreshing.

With the Dead beginning to have an influence on me I would begin to find some other great bands. Many of which came to this great metropolis of Oswego at legendary venues such as Old City Hall as well as Bucklands. For you younger people Bucklands used to be located where McDonald's is on the West side of Oswego. Ask you parents about it. They just might admit to have been there, but I doubt it. But I saw bands such as Conehead Buddha, which to this day is still my single most favorite band. Must have seen them close to 50 times in my life and it was always a work out. Those of you who had the pleasure of seeing them live, let alone watching me dancing like a pogo stick in the front row would back me up on their excellence. Also bands such as Doc Apple and Dexter Grove to name a couple played some fantastic sets here in O-Town. And today my new favorite band over the last 5 or 6 years, The Travis Rocco Band, who you can see at Greene's Ale House on the Friday night of the Bridge St. Run (I know, what a shameless plug for my favorite band and the bar that I work at, but I guarantee they are worth your time).

Outside of Oswego I've seen plenty of great bands. The Allman Brothers, Phish, Buck Cherry, Papa Roach, Pink Floyd, and Dave Matthews among others. When I saw Dave in '94 at Darien Lake for the Horde Tour nobody had ever even heard of them. If there were even 30 people up in front of the stage for their set I'd be surprised. Then a year later they sold out 80,000 seats at Giants Stadium in 90 minutes. Amazing! Caught them before they got huge and still to this day the only time I've ever seen them. Maybe that's something I'll have to remedy this Summer. And the number of K-Rock-a-thons at Weedsport that I've attended. I'm sure I'll go again if its there this year to. Look for me.

Which brings me to the point of this essay into my past. All of the memories stated above are something I am proud to admit to have experienced. What follows? Not so much. But again I'm going to throw Big Sis under the bus because this was her idea. In the Spring of 1988, Oswego State announced their Spring concert event. In my defense the "artist" which I'm about to reveal was someone I had a huge crush on. She was a cute teenager with perky "congas". What boy of 12 and a half wouldn't have adored her. And anyone who thinks I'm talking about Tiffany, Fuck You! If that's who you thought it was, "I think You're (probably) Alone Now", go jump in the lake. Any guesses? Yup, you got it. None other than DEBBIE GIBSON! I know, I know, but I was 12 and everyone who was anyone from Minetto Elementary Class of '88 went to see her. You know who you are. Admit it now before I expose you like A-ROD and steroids.

Alright. So the cat (MEOW) is out of the bag. Now its your turn. Take that trip down memory lane and share your most embarrassing concert of all time if you've got the balls. I'm sure at least one of you went to see New Kids On The Block or Prince. Reveal yourself now, or I'll do it for you.