Friday, December 29, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Take Time To Enjoy The Finer Things... Like Lunch
Monday, December 18, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Proud To Be Orange
Every once and a while you read about a professional athlete making the news for something other than what they do on the field of play. Too often those news stories are about athletes who have used poor judgment and got into trouble with the law. Today when I read my monthly Orangebytes Newsletter from Syracuse University I learned about something Carmelo Anthony has done "off the court". Carmelo, as you may or may not recall, helped lead the Orange to the NCAA Basketball National Championship in 2003. He had some impressive stats that year. I pulled these from the SU Athletics web site:- He led Syracuse to a 30-5 overall record and the National Championship.
- He was named second team All-America by the Associated Press and was a consensus pick for National Freshman of the Year.
- He was a unanimous selection for BIG EAST Conference Freshman of the Year and was first-team all-league as well.
- He was BIG EAST Conference Rookie of the Week a record 10 times during the course of the campaign.
- He averaged 22.2 points (16th in NCAA Division I, 4th in Big East) and 10.0 rebounds (19th in NCAA Division I, 3rd in Big East).
- He posted 22 double-doubles and led the Orange in scoring in 24 of 35 games.
- He led the team in scoring, rebounding, minutes played (36.4 mpg), field goals made and attempted and free throws made and attempted.
- Anthony was second on the club to fellow freshman Gerry McNamara in assists (2.2 apg) and steals (1.57 spg) and in three-pointers made and attempted.
- He only played on year of college basketball at Syracuse, and
- He has committed to donating $3 million back to the school
I am used to hearing about business owners who have achieved financial success giving huge donations and having buildings named after them, but cannot remember a donation of this size from someone who made their success as an athlete.
I cannot say enough about my years at Syracuse. It was an invaluable experience for me. I am proud to say I have my BFA in Advertising Design from the College of Visual & Performing Arts at SU. And I am thrilled to be able to share this news about a Syracuse University athlete giving back.
Keep up the good work Carmelo and Go Orange!
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Do As I Say, Not As I Karate Kick
Hannah and I had a little father to daughter chat today about manners. I decided we needed to discuss the polite way to ask for something after she shouted at me "Dad, get that and give it to me". There were two issues to discuss. First, she shouted at me. I don't like to be shouted at. Second, she forgot to say please.
I stopped what I was doing and paused to think for a second about how to handle this situation. Instead of scolding her, I decided that this would be a good chance to calmly remind her to use polite manners. I thought that if I shared with her that I sometimes forget to say please that we might bond over our omission of manners and the point would sink in. I told her "Hannah, aside from yelling at me, you also forgot to say 'please'. If you want some help, all you have to do is say please and I'm sure I'd be happy to help you with whatever it is you need."
And then I added "You know, sometimes even I forget to say please. I'll make a deal with you. If you will work on trying to say please, I will too. We can work on improving our manners together. Sound good?"
But instead of answering "Yes Daddy. I will work on my manners", she switched topics. The next thing she said was "You know Dad, Gracie and I wouldn't fight so much, but we see you and Mommy fighting all the time, so we learn from you."
What? Where did that come from? I started to chuckle as I thought about this. Hannah, based on our conversation about manners, grasped that I suggested that kids learn from watching their parents. I admitted as much when I told her that I don't always say "please" and told her that we should work on it together. As part of an effort to bond with her I intoned that maybe her forgetting to say "please" was due to my lack of manners. I was only trying to bond after all. But the fighting? I thought she went a little to far with that one. I told her so.
"Hannah, you and Gracie don't fight because you see me and Mommy fighting. Mommy and I don't fight, and we certainly don't bite each other or give each other karate kicks like you gave Gracie this morning, do we?"
That stumped her. "Okay Daddy, but you and your sister and brothers must have had fights when you were a kid."
And that caused me to think. Did I have lots of fights with my siblings growing up? Maybe we did, but I couldn't really recall any. My sister was in high school when I was born and I know we never duked it out. Brother Brian is about ten years older than me and if we had fought he would have had a seriously unfair advantage, so I don't think that happened. Rod is five years older and I know we used to wrestle in the living room, but that was more for me to show off and prove that I could pin him to the floor (a fact that he denies to this day) and my brother Kevin who is three years older was one of my best friends to play with.
Mary has remarked about me and my siblings being odd. To clarify she's said it's odd that we get along so well. She asked if there was any sibling rivalries growing up. I couldn't remember any. Maybe that's due to being the youngest, but we all seemed to get along fairly well. That would be odd. Five kids and no rivalries? I may need to give Ma a call and get the scoop. We're all over thirty now, so I should be able to get the scoop from her without her feeling like she would be hurting anyone's feelings.
And the talk with Hannah? I got her to admit that Mommy and I don't pull each others hair or steal barbies from one another.
I stopped what I was doing and paused to think for a second about how to handle this situation. Instead of scolding her, I decided that this would be a good chance to calmly remind her to use polite manners. I thought that if I shared with her that I sometimes forget to say please that we might bond over our omission of manners and the point would sink in. I told her "Hannah, aside from yelling at me, you also forgot to say 'please'. If you want some help, all you have to do is say please and I'm sure I'd be happy to help you with whatever it is you need."
And then I added "You know, sometimes even I forget to say please. I'll make a deal with you. If you will work on trying to say please, I will too. We can work on improving our manners together. Sound good?"
But instead of answering "Yes Daddy. I will work on my manners", she switched topics. The next thing she said was "You know Dad, Gracie and I wouldn't fight so much, but we see you and Mommy fighting all the time, so we learn from you."
What? Where did that come from? I started to chuckle as I thought about this. Hannah, based on our conversation about manners, grasped that I suggested that kids learn from watching their parents. I admitted as much when I told her that I don't always say "please" and told her that we should work on it together. As part of an effort to bond with her I intoned that maybe her forgetting to say "please" was due to my lack of manners. I was only trying to bond after all. But the fighting? I thought she went a little to far with that one. I told her so.
"Hannah, you and Gracie don't fight because you see me and Mommy fighting. Mommy and I don't fight, and we certainly don't bite each other or give each other karate kicks like you gave Gracie this morning, do we?"
That stumped her. "Okay Daddy, but you and your sister and brothers must have had fights when you were a kid."
And that caused me to think. Did I have lots of fights with my siblings growing up? Maybe we did, but I couldn't really recall any. My sister was in high school when I was born and I know we never duked it out. Brother Brian is about ten years older than me and if we had fought he would have had a seriously unfair advantage, so I don't think that happened. Rod is five years older and I know we used to wrestle in the living room, but that was more for me to show off and prove that I could pin him to the floor (a fact that he denies to this day) and my brother Kevin who is three years older was one of my best friends to play with.
Mary has remarked about me and my siblings being odd. To clarify she's said it's odd that we get along so well. She asked if there was any sibling rivalries growing up. I couldn't remember any. Maybe that's due to being the youngest, but we all seemed to get along fairly well. That would be odd. Five kids and no rivalries? I may need to give Ma a call and get the scoop. We're all over thirty now, so I should be able to get the scoop from her without her feeling like she would be hurting anyone's feelings.
And the talk with Hannah? I got her to admit that Mommy and I don't pull each others hair or steal barbies from one another.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Writers Block of Cheese
I wanted to write a post tonight, but could not think of a thing to say. But then I got an IM from Scott. He asked if I had read his latest post. I had. It was a good one. I told him so and that he ought to write more often. From that point our IM exchange went like this:
scottmonkeyboy77 9:46 pm: i have bdd
danthemanimal 9:48 pm: bdd?
scottmonkeyboy77 9:48 pm: blogger deficit disorder. find it hard to write stuff everyday.
danthemanimal 9:48 pm: agree
scottmonkeyboy77 9:49 pm: you come up with killer posts all the time.
danthemanimal 9:49 pm: nah. but thanks
danthemanimal9:49 pm: I've hit a bit of a block lately
scottmonkeyboy77 9:49 pm: guess you can always write about cheese
danthemanimal 9:50 pm: good idea. it's a challenge. Tonight I write about cheese.
scottmonkeyboy77 9:51 pm: block of cheese. turning writers block into gourmet cheese
scottmonkeyboy77 9:51 pm: and the style is cheesy of course
danthemanimal9:51 pm: writers block of cheese
scottmonkeyboy77 9:51 pm: sounds tasty
And then as usual our conversation flipped to a totally different subject. Absolutely no segue. It is important to note however, that we are both "fathers of daughters" with three girls each.
scottmonkeyboy77 9:53 pm: you gonna try again for a son
danthemanimal 9:55: that would require lots of debate... I think we're done... for now
scottmonkeyboy77 9:56 pm: yup.
danthemanimal 9:56 pm: you going for boy?
scottmonkeyboy77 9:57 pm: i don't think so.
danthemanimal 9:58 pm: get a dog
scottmonkeyboy77 9:58 pm: or a penguin
scottmonkeyboy77 9:59 pm: go write the cheese report
So there you go. A post about an IM chat between to guys talking about cheese, babies and penguins... The Cheese Report. Was it any gouda?
******
In fairness to Scott I have changed his IM name here to keep him from getting unsolicited IM's. I'll let you guess if mine is real or not.
scottmonkeyboy77 9:46 pm: i have bdd
danthemanimal 9:48 pm: bdd?
scottmonkeyboy77 9:48 pm: blogger deficit disorder. find it hard to write stuff everyday.
danthemanimal 9:48 pm: agree
scottmonkeyboy77 9:49 pm: you come up with killer posts all the time.
danthemanimal 9:49 pm: nah. but thanks
danthemanimal9:49 pm: I've hit a bit of a block lately
scottmonkeyboy77 9:49 pm: guess you can always write about cheese
danthemanimal 9:50 pm: good idea. it's a challenge. Tonight I write about cheese.
scottmonkeyboy77 9:51 pm: block of cheese. turning writers block into gourmet cheese
scottmonkeyboy77 9:51 pm: and the style is cheesy of course
danthemanimal9:51 pm: writers block of cheese
scottmonkeyboy77 9:51 pm: sounds tasty
And then as usual our conversation flipped to a totally different subject. Absolutely no segue. It is important to note however, that we are both "fathers of daughters" with three girls each.
scottmonkeyboy77 9:53 pm: you gonna try again for a son
danthemanimal 9:55: that would require lots of debate... I think we're done... for now
scottmonkeyboy77 9:56 pm: yup.
danthemanimal 9:56 pm: you going for boy?
scottmonkeyboy77 9:57 pm: i don't think so.
danthemanimal 9:58 pm: get a dog
scottmonkeyboy77 9:58 pm: or a penguin
scottmonkeyboy77 9:59 pm: go write the cheese report
So there you go. A post about an IM chat between to guys talking about cheese, babies and penguins... The Cheese Report. Was it any gouda?
******
In fairness to Scott I have changed his IM name here to keep him from getting unsolicited IM's. I'll let you guess if mine is real or not.
Monday, November 27, 2006
What The Fleck???
I found this site while surfing around from link to link today on a couple of sites I frequent to get my geek fix in. I've played around with it a little bit and think this could possibly be a very cool tool to help share thoughts on web sites without having to take screen grabs, dump them into a Powerpoint deck and then make notes and arrows to point out what you want to talk about or share. There are a few bugs still to be worked out, like being able to make notes within a flash component of a site, lock the notes in place to a site like a blog (they stay in same location on the screen, but if new content is added and the notes refer to specific content they will be out of place). Overall, though I like the idea and think its pretty neat.Here's what they builders of Fleck have to say about what they've created:
Fleck.com wants to add a new layer of interactivity to the web. Fleck is inspired on a story written in 1945 by Vannevar Bush and an article titled 'We Are The Web' by Kevin Kelly.I gave it a try here. I made a few notes on this blog layout, look and feel, etc... to show how it works. You need to view the link via Firefox or you will not be able to see my notes. There is not a version for other browsers yet, though the site indicates they are working on one for IE.Vannevar Bush predicted a machine called the Memex that would allow people to surf from one information page to another. Some people say that Hypertext and the World Wide Web are based on or at least inspired by the Memex.
One thing that the Memex had and the web doesn't is the ability to add new content to every page it contained. After reading the Wired article by Kevin Kelly we decided to try to add a new level to the web by adding new tools that would allow its users to add information rather than just consuming it.
Fleck allows you to interact with pages on the web just as if it were pages in a magazine. You can save your annotated page for yourself, send it to friends or colleagues or use it in your blog.
Try it out. Fleck my page and send me your thoughts on the layout of this blog. I'm looking to revamp the look and feel and welcome comments.
Wikipedia Brown
We just finished reading an Encyclopedia Brown book with Hannah a week ago. It was a kick to read it with her as I had read the entire series when I was a kid. The series was published sometime around the late sixties/early seventies.
When we visited my sister she gave us a few more Encyclopedia Brown books that her boys, now in high school, were willing to part with. These were two of the books I had in my collection that now made their way back to our home. Books are meant to be shared, so it was fun to now have them back to share with the newest reader in the family.
So with Encyclopedia Brown as the book series du jour at our house, it was only fitting that I should come across this modern day take on Encyclopedia Brown.
Way to go Encyclopedia... I mean Wikipedia... I mean Colt Brown!
When we visited my sister she gave us a few more Encyclopedia Brown books that her boys, now in high school, were willing to part with. These were two of the books I had in my collection that now made their way back to our home. Books are meant to be shared, so it was fun to now have them back to share with the newest reader in the family.
So with Encyclopedia Brown as the book series du jour at our house, it was only fitting that I should come across this modern day take on Encyclopedia Brown.
Way to go Encyclopedia... I mean Wikipedia... I mean Colt Brown!
Thanksgiving
We have returned from a successful trip to Chicago for Thanksgiving with my side of the family. The girls had a wonderful time seeing their Gram and Da, hanging out with Aunts, Uncles and of course the people they most wanted to see, their cousins.
A few things that I confirmed I should be thankful for from the trip:
A few things that I confirmed I should be thankful for from the trip:
- Putting new tires on the car less than a month ago
- Getting new brakes the day before leaving for our trip.
- Stopping to wash out my left contact lense when we were only two minutes north of downtown KC.
- Continuing a family tradition of always saying a Hail Mary prayer as we left the driveway at the beginning of our trip.
- Working seatbelts.
- Not hitting the 8 point buck as it darted out across the highway while I was driving 70 MPH, in the dark, with the kids and Mary asleep in the back.
- Safe travel to and from our home this past week to see loved ones.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
I'm Weird... Not Boring.
I read my post again from last night. Those things weren't really weird. I think I failed to deliver. Here are some weird things about me to make up for the boring/slightly odd stuff I shared. I mean two diplomas? That's not weird. Just trivia. Not anything like what Andy shared. Not even close. So here we go...
1. I am right handed. When I was in high school I taught myself how to throw a baseball left handed. Now, that's not really weird, but I did it just in case I somehow got in a nasty accident, maybe on the farm with a combine involved or something and lost my right arm. Apparently during my high school years there was a rash of incidents like this going on. I figured I should do this so that I could one day play catch with a son if I had one. And though I didn't grow up on or anywhere near a farm and don't have a son, I continue to work on my delivery just in case. I've also rationalized that if one of our girls turns out to be lefty that I'll be able to teach them to throw in a way that's natural to them... as a lefty.
2. When I was little my mom used to buy Hershey's syrup in a can. From time to time I would sneak into the kitchen when no one was around, crab the can opener and punctured two holes in the top so that one could let air in while I drank the syrup from the other. One time I drained a whole can. And I'd probably do it again today if I could find one of those cans. Do they still make them?
How's that for a make good? Oh, here's another one...
3. When realize I did something half baked it drives me nuts and I go back again and again and again to fix it until I am 100% satisfied and then realize that it is something that no one really gives a hoot about. And that bugs me.
1. I am right handed. When I was in high school I taught myself how to throw a baseball left handed. Now, that's not really weird, but I did it just in case I somehow got in a nasty accident, maybe on the farm with a combine involved or something and lost my right arm. Apparently during my high school years there was a rash of incidents like this going on. I figured I should do this so that I could one day play catch with a son if I had one. And though I didn't grow up on or anywhere near a farm and don't have a son, I continue to work on my delivery just in case. I've also rationalized that if one of our girls turns out to be lefty that I'll be able to teach them to throw in a way that's natural to them... as a lefty.
2. When I was little my mom used to buy Hershey's syrup in a can. From time to time I would sneak into the kitchen when no one was around, crab the can opener and punctured two holes in the top so that one could let air in while I drank the syrup from the other. One time I drained a whole can. And I'd probably do it again today if I could find one of those cans. Do they still make them?
How's that for a make good? Oh, here's another one...
3. When realize I did something half baked it drives me nuts and I go back again and again and again to fix it until I am 100% satisfied and then realize that it is something that no one really gives a hoot about. And that bugs me.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
I'm Weird - A Meme...
Okay, so Jenne got tagged by Wendy and now I got tagged by Jenne. This is totally seventh grade girl stuff, but since team player I've decided to go with it. I didn't send any dish towels to Jenne, but I'm thinking of sending her some puffy stickers.
Here are the rules: List 5 weird things about yourself or your pets. Tag 5 friends and list them. Then, those people need to write on their blogs about 5 weird things, and state the rules, and tag 5 more people. Don't forget to let the people you tag know by posting a comment on their blog!
1. I've broken my collarbones six times. Yup, six. First one was as a toddler falling down a flight of stairs, second was as a toddler a short time after getting the brace off for the first break - a different set of stairs this time. Third break was in third grade playing a vicious game of "Smear The Queer" - totally politically incorrect game, and just so we're clear I was the tackler, not the "Queer". Fourth time was a flip over the handle bars of my ten speed as I was racing home with two friends after a trip to Old Orchard Theatre to see Back to the Future. Fifth was playing hockey. And the sixth occured on my twenty first birthday. Let's just say that a particular Hosipital in the Bronx named "Our Lady Of Mercy" - wasn't.
2. I will not finish a painting until I have started another one.
3. My right arm hangs an inch and a quarter lower than my left arm. See #1 for the reason. It prevents me from buying off the rack. That is a pain.
4. If I am ever feeling down or stressed all I need to do is look in the mirror for the main reason. I need a haircut.
5. I have two high school diplomas.
There you go! Now I'm off to tag Geoff, Aaron, Mariah, Rod and Scott.
Here are the rules: List 5 weird things about yourself or your pets. Tag 5 friends and list them. Then, those people need to write on their blogs about 5 weird things, and state the rules, and tag 5 more people. Don't forget to let the people you tag know by posting a comment on their blog!
1. I've broken my collarbones six times. Yup, six. First one was as a toddler falling down a flight of stairs, second was as a toddler a short time after getting the brace off for the first break - a different set of stairs this time. Third break was in third grade playing a vicious game of "Smear The Queer" - totally politically incorrect game, and just so we're clear I was the tackler, not the "Queer". Fourth time was a flip over the handle bars of my ten speed as I was racing home with two friends after a trip to Old Orchard Theatre to see Back to the Future. Fifth was playing hockey. And the sixth occured on my twenty first birthday. Let's just say that a particular Hosipital in the Bronx named "Our Lady Of Mercy" - wasn't.
2. I will not finish a painting until I have started another one.
3. My right arm hangs an inch and a quarter lower than my left arm. See #1 for the reason. It prevents me from buying off the rack. That is a pain.
4. If I am ever feeling down or stressed all I need to do is look in the mirror for the main reason. I need a haircut.
5. I have two high school diplomas.
There you go! Now I'm off to tag Geoff, Aaron, Mariah, Rod and Scott.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Give It A Sling!
This game is mindless and yet so addicting. I guess the two kind of go together, don't they? Check it out at http://www.miniclip.com/games/sling/en/
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Arresting Politics?
A few posts back I took suggestions for titles that I would then write a story to fit. Jenne suggested "My First Arrest". Since I wrote that post I've recalled a few incidents with various police departments during my stint as a Hotdogger that, while not ending in actual arrests, came close a few times. One of those incidents took place in Boston, Massachusetts on Tuesday November 8, 1994. It was Election Day and we were out for media coverage.
We had not planned out how to get coverage for the Wienermobile prior to that day, but being the adventurous types we decided to skip putting a real plan in place and instead headed into the heart of Beantown to see what we could do to get some good press. We almost got a doozy of a story. Almost.
Now, for those who have been to Boston on Election Day and have driven a commercial vehicle shaped like a hot dog there are a few things you surely know:
1. If you drive on Storrow Drive be sure to let some air out of the tires, and
2. Police who work the streets near Faneuil Hall on election day don't have a sense of humor, nor do they care to debate what actually constitutes a commercial vs. non commercial vehicle.
Right. So, what happened was this... Jeanne and I had a few hours to kill before we needed to hit the road and head to an event in Detroit. We decided to take a quick jaunt into downtown Boston to see if we could get interviewed or at least get a photo of the big dog in the paper. Boston media outlets have large circulations, so we'd rack up the impressions if we got a mention somewhere.
We drove around town for a while looking for crowds gathering or camera crews out on the street filming. We finally found some near Faneuil Hall. As we got close we scouted for a location to pull over and park, a nearly impossible task for a hot dog car in Boston. We saw a street right next to Faneuil Hall that looked perfect.
It was a two block stretch of road on the South side of Faneuil Hall. It was a one way street which happened to have a sign that said "Commercial Vehicles Only". We didn't have commercial tags and we really wanted to go down this street since there were tons of folks marching around, holding signs and shouting out for their candidate. Surely there would be some cameras around. And since we lived by the creed "better to ask for forgiveness than permission" we decided commercial tags or not that we'd take a quick spin down the street. It was only two blocks long after all.
As soon as we pulled on to the street, we ran into an issue. Ahead of us was an ambulance stopped in the middle of the street. We hadn't seen that. With nowhere to go I put the car in park until we had space to move. Taking advantage of our lack of movement, Jeanne grabbed a bunch of wiener whistles and hopped out of the dog to hand them out.
Since I was the driver on this day I stayed behind the wheel, ready to roll at a moments notice. People on the street began flocking to the driver's side window and asking me for whistles. After just a few minutes we had a huge crowd around us. I looked outside the passenger side window and saw Jeanne asking someone if she could carry their candidate sign for a photo op. Things were looking promising. But when I looked back to the driver's side window I saw a cop.
And he was angry.
He told me to move it.
The conversation went like this:
COP: "Move this vehicle now."
DD: "Okay, I'll just exit to the left down that side street then."
COP: "No. Pull over to the right."
Before I could do that the ambulance began to back up. I couldn't move while the ambulance was moving, there was a van behind me and no where to go. So I just sat there waiting for room to move. Apparently oblivious to the fact that I had zero options to move right then, the police officer got angry again. He must have thought I was not moving just to bug him. You could see the blood pressure building.
COP: "I said move."
DD" "Officer, I cannot move. There's no place..."
COP: "That's enough! Pull over!"
DD" "I understand, but the ambulance is right in front of me. I cannot move."
COP: "Drive around it and park on the left." he said through clenched teeth.
At that time Jeanne had seen what was happening and opened the Wienermobile's gull wing door to get in. (The gull wing door is one of the unique features of the big dog, much like the door on a Delorean, or even more so like the wing of a seagull, the door opens up and down vs. out and to the side like a normal car - a distinction which will be important to know in a bit).
COP: "I told you to move!"
DD: "I will, I will. My partner just opened the door and..." he didn't let me finish.
COP: "MOVE NOW!"
DD: "But I can't. The door is still open and she's not in yet!"
COP: "I've had it. MOVE NOW!"
Jeanne had just closed the door and quickly took a seat.
Jeanne: "Dude! What's going on?"
DD: "Hang on, gotta move. This guy is having a bad day and taking it out on me right now."
I should mention that all this time a crowd has been gathering and watching this go down. Some of the crowd ignored the cop and shouted at us through the passenger window to toss out some wiener whistles. Jeanne obliged as we slowly pulled around the ambulance and pulled over to where the police officer pointed.
COP: "Show me your license and registration!"
DD: "Am I getting a ticket?"
No answer.
I handed over the requested info.
People were still asking for whistles. Apparently the police officer did not want this so he slid my window shut. (The front windows on the '88's slid open to the side.)
I did not like him shutting the window on me so I slid it back open. Before he could turn back to his car to look up my info he came back to the driver's side window and told me I needed a permit. Jeanne piped up from the front passenger seat.
Jeanne: "Excuse me sir. What type of permit do we need, and for what? Who do we need to speak with to get one?" She said it very sweetly.
This time he did not respond. He simply shut my window again on both of us this time.
When he returned he had a citation for me.
COP: "I need your signature here."
DD: "Can you explain this to me before I sign it?"
He ignored my question which in turn caused me to start to get really irritated with him. I was slightly irritated before, but now I was really irritated.
DD: "Well then can I at least get your supervisor's name?"
No answer, just a glare.
DD: "Can I get your name and badge number please?"
COP: "It's on the citation!"
DD: "And your Supervisor name is?"
And that seemed to finally push him over the edge.
COP: "I'M GONNA ARREST YOU! GET OUT!"
DD to Jeanne: "Jeanne! Grab the Bacon's guide and start calling the media. I'm getting arrested!" This was going to be great. Who could arrest a Wienermobile driver? We'd get tons of sympathy coverage!
I hopped out of the front seat and made my way to the door. As I opened the door and looked around I saw the huge crowd gathered around. The cop was there. He stepped toward me. Steam was coming out of his ears.
So I extended my wrists to him for him to slap the cuffs on me. A few laughs came from the crowd. He was silent and then, through clenched teeth sputtered out "leave now". I wasn't going to be arrested after all. He was letting me go. "Oh well", I thought, "That probably wouldn't have gone over too well with Russ anyway".
So as the cop gave up on arresting me I too gave up on the idea that getting arrested in a Wienermobile would be a good media story. I turned away from the cop and the crowd and reached back with one hand to grab the handle of the door and pull it down shut. And then I heard two sounds:
"Thunk!" and "Ooooooh!"
Something had prevented the door from closing.
The "Thunk!" came from the door slamming down on the cop's head. For some reason he had not moved out of the way of the door as I pulled it shut. The "ooooh!" was from the crowd. Turning slowly I met the cop face to face and his was as red as a beet. Veins were bulging from his neck. He did not say a word. He merely pointed at me to get back into the vehicle and drive away.
And I did.
I did not get arrested. We did not get any media coverage. That was the good news. The bad news was that we were now behind schedule for leaving for Detroit, and that meant taking a shortcut through Canada. As it turns out that was another bad decision... one that Russ would hear about.
We had not planned out how to get coverage for the Wienermobile prior to that day, but being the adventurous types we decided to skip putting a real plan in place and instead headed into the heart of Beantown to see what we could do to get some good press. We almost got a doozy of a story. Almost.
Now, for those who have been to Boston on Election Day and have driven a commercial vehicle shaped like a hot dog there are a few things you surely know:
1. If you drive on Storrow Drive be sure to let some air out of the tires, and
2. Police who work the streets near Faneuil Hall on election day don't have a sense of humor, nor do they care to debate what actually constitutes a commercial vs. non commercial vehicle.
Right. So, what happened was this... Jeanne and I had a few hours to kill before we needed to hit the road and head to an event in Detroit. We decided to take a quick jaunt into downtown Boston to see if we could get interviewed or at least get a photo of the big dog in the paper. Boston media outlets have large circulations, so we'd rack up the impressions if we got a mention somewhere.
We drove around town for a while looking for crowds gathering or camera crews out on the street filming. We finally found some near Faneuil Hall. As we got close we scouted for a location to pull over and park, a nearly impossible task for a hot dog car in Boston. We saw a street right next to Faneuil Hall that looked perfect.
It was a two block stretch of road on the South side of Faneuil Hall. It was a one way street which happened to have a sign that said "Commercial Vehicles Only". We didn't have commercial tags and we really wanted to go down this street since there were tons of folks marching around, holding signs and shouting out for their candidate. Surely there would be some cameras around. And since we lived by the creed "better to ask for forgiveness than permission" we decided commercial tags or not that we'd take a quick spin down the street. It was only two blocks long after all.
As soon as we pulled on to the street, we ran into an issue. Ahead of us was an ambulance stopped in the middle of the street. We hadn't seen that. With nowhere to go I put the car in park until we had space to move. Taking advantage of our lack of movement, Jeanne grabbed a bunch of wiener whistles and hopped out of the dog to hand them out.
Since I was the driver on this day I stayed behind the wheel, ready to roll at a moments notice. People on the street began flocking to the driver's side window and asking me for whistles. After just a few minutes we had a huge crowd around us. I looked outside the passenger side window and saw Jeanne asking someone if she could carry their candidate sign for a photo op. Things were looking promising. But when I looked back to the driver's side window I saw a cop.
And he was angry.
He told me to move it.
The conversation went like this:
COP: "Move this vehicle now."
DD: "Okay, I'll just exit to the left down that side street then."
COP: "No. Pull over to the right."
Before I could do that the ambulance began to back up. I couldn't move while the ambulance was moving, there was a van behind me and no where to go. So I just sat there waiting for room to move. Apparently oblivious to the fact that I had zero options to move right then, the police officer got angry again. He must have thought I was not moving just to bug him. You could see the blood pressure building.
COP: "I said move."
DD" "Officer, I cannot move. There's no place..."
COP: "That's enough! Pull over!"
DD" "I understand, but the ambulance is right in front of me. I cannot move."
COP: "Drive around it and park on the left." he said through clenched teeth.
At that time Jeanne had seen what was happening and opened the Wienermobile's gull wing door to get in. (The gull wing door is one of the unique features of the big dog, much like the door on a Delorean, or even more so like the wing of a seagull, the door opens up and down vs. out and to the side like a normal car - a distinction which will be important to know in a bit).
COP: "I told you to move!"
DD: "I will, I will. My partner just opened the door and..." he didn't let me finish.
COP: "MOVE NOW!"
DD: "But I can't. The door is still open and she's not in yet!"
COP: "I've had it. MOVE NOW!"
Jeanne had just closed the door and quickly took a seat.
Jeanne: "Dude! What's going on?"
DD: "Hang on, gotta move. This guy is having a bad day and taking it out on me right now."
I should mention that all this time a crowd has been gathering and watching this go down. Some of the crowd ignored the cop and shouted at us through the passenger window to toss out some wiener whistles. Jeanne obliged as we slowly pulled around the ambulance and pulled over to where the police officer pointed.
COP: "Show me your license and registration!"
DD: "Am I getting a ticket?"
No answer.
I handed over the requested info.
People were still asking for whistles. Apparently the police officer did not want this so he slid my window shut. (The front windows on the '88's slid open to the side.)
I did not like him shutting the window on me so I slid it back open. Before he could turn back to his car to look up my info he came back to the driver's side window and told me I needed a permit. Jeanne piped up from the front passenger seat.
Jeanne: "Excuse me sir. What type of permit do we need, and for what? Who do we need to speak with to get one?" She said it very sweetly.
This time he did not respond. He simply shut my window again on both of us this time.
When he returned he had a citation for me.
COP: "I need your signature here."
DD: "Can you explain this to me before I sign it?"
He ignored my question which in turn caused me to start to get really irritated with him. I was slightly irritated before, but now I was really irritated.
DD: "Well then can I at least get your supervisor's name?"
No answer, just a glare.
DD: "Can I get your name and badge number please?"
COP: "It's on the citation!"
DD: "And your Supervisor name is?"
And that seemed to finally push him over the edge.
COP: "I'M GONNA ARREST YOU! GET OUT!"
DD to Jeanne: "Jeanne! Grab the Bacon's guide and start calling the media. I'm getting arrested!" This was going to be great. Who could arrest a Wienermobile driver? We'd get tons of sympathy coverage!
I hopped out of the front seat and made my way to the door. As I opened the door and looked around I saw the huge crowd gathered around. The cop was there. He stepped toward me. Steam was coming out of his ears.
So I extended my wrists to him for him to slap the cuffs on me. A few laughs came from the crowd. He was silent and then, through clenched teeth sputtered out "leave now". I wasn't going to be arrested after all. He was letting me go. "Oh well", I thought, "That probably wouldn't have gone over too well with Russ anyway".
So as the cop gave up on arresting me I too gave up on the idea that getting arrested in a Wienermobile would be a good media story. I turned away from the cop and the crowd and reached back with one hand to grab the handle of the door and pull it down shut. And then I heard two sounds:
"Thunk!" and "Ooooooh!"
Something had prevented the door from closing.
The "Thunk!" came from the door slamming down on the cop's head. For some reason he had not moved out of the way of the door as I pulled it shut. The "ooooh!" was from the crowd. Turning slowly I met the cop face to face and his was as red as a beet. Veins were bulging from his neck. He did not say a word. He merely pointed at me to get back into the vehicle and drive away.
And I did.
I did not get arrested. We did not get any media coverage. That was the good news. The bad news was that we were now behind schedule for leaving for Detroit, and that meant taking a shortcut through Canada. As it turns out that was another bad decision... one that Russ would hear about.
Monday, November 06, 2006
The Leaning Tower of Boston
I was doing a little searching on Google Maps this evening and zoomed in on dowtown Boston. Check out the image I found of a part of downtown near Faneuil Hall. Doesn't it look like one of the buildings is falling over? I cannot figure this out. Why does this look so odd? It looks like a photo of one building was taken at a different angle and then plopped into this image. Anyone have an explanation?
Sunday, November 05, 2006
If The Shoe Fits...
I work at an advertising agency. Now, for those who don't know, advertising agencies, in general, are much more lax about dress codes than, say, a bank. Some agencies require pants while other are okay with shorts from time to time. As a standard rule agency representatives dress up when meeting with clients. We generally strive to wear the appropriate level of attire to match what the client wears. Ties are tough to get any agency folk to wear, especially creatives. There has to be some wiggle room right? Banks on the other hand are notoriously tight on what is acceptable dress code
Earlier this week I had a meeting with a client. I skipped the jeans and wore slacks and dress shirt to match their corporate casual dress code. All was good. I was at their attire level and clothing differences were negated.
One the way back to the agency I noticed that my socks did not match. I had on one dark blue sock and one black sock. They were of the same pattern and because they both were very dark I was likely the only one to notice my error. I hope.
My mother once made an error like that, except it was with her shoes. The difference between what I did and what she did was that it was quite obvious that she was wearing two different colored shoes. While one was dark blue and one was black, you could easily tell that they were different colors. The other difference between what she did with her shoes and what I did with my socks was that while mine was accidental, hers was not.
It's not that she did it on purpose. Actually, she didn't do it all all. I did.
One day while home from college for the summer I noticed a pair of my mother's dress shoes on the stairs going up to her bedroom. I also noticed that inside each shoe was a circular dayglo yellow sticker. When I asked her what that was all about she told me that because it's so dark in the morning when she gets dressed that she decided to put stickers in her shoes to tell them apart from another pair that looked very similar, but was a different color. She had two pairs of shoes that were the same style and pattern. One was dark blue and one was black. She put the stickers in the blue pair.
Now, this seemed to be to be a very logical thing to do. After all, when you are getting dressed in the dark it can be hard to tell the difference between dark blue and black. You wouldn't want to make that mistake. Not with shoes. That would be dreadfully embarrassing. So naturally my first thought was that it would be hysterically funny to take one of the stickers out of the marked blue shoes and put it in the corresponding black shoe. So I did. I then set them together in her closet.
The next day she got dressed and went into work. I don't remember if she called home that afternoon from the office or if it was when she got home after work, but I sure did get an earful. I think what she said to me went something like "oooh! urrrgh! You! I, I, I'm gonna get you for this! Oooh! watch out mister! Paybacks! Oooh!" or something like that. In between the sounds of fury coming out of my mom were giggles and laughter. She seemed to alternate between laughing and thinking about ringing my neck. Mission accomplished.
Now, mom, if you are reading this, just know that I meant it all in good fun. And if you do try to get paybacks like you said you would at the time, just remember that if you leave this world before me I can always have the funeral home dress you in one blue shoe and one black one! There, that ought to make you think twice about paybacks!
Earlier this week I had a meeting with a client. I skipped the jeans and wore slacks and dress shirt to match their corporate casual dress code. All was good. I was at their attire level and clothing differences were negated.
One the way back to the agency I noticed that my socks did not match. I had on one dark blue sock and one black sock. They were of the same pattern and because they both were very dark I was likely the only one to notice my error. I hope.
My mother once made an error like that, except it was with her shoes. The difference between what I did and what she did was that it was quite obvious that she was wearing two different colored shoes. While one was dark blue and one was black, you could easily tell that they were different colors. The other difference between what she did with her shoes and what I did with my socks was that while mine was accidental, hers was not.
It's not that she did it on purpose. Actually, she didn't do it all all. I did.
One day while home from college for the summer I noticed a pair of my mother's dress shoes on the stairs going up to her bedroom. I also noticed that inside each shoe was a circular dayglo yellow sticker. When I asked her what that was all about she told me that because it's so dark in the morning when she gets dressed that she decided to put stickers in her shoes to tell them apart from another pair that looked very similar, but was a different color. She had two pairs of shoes that were the same style and pattern. One was dark blue and one was black. She put the stickers in the blue pair.
Now, this seemed to be to be a very logical thing to do. After all, when you are getting dressed in the dark it can be hard to tell the difference between dark blue and black. You wouldn't want to make that mistake. Not with shoes. That would be dreadfully embarrassing. So naturally my first thought was that it would be hysterically funny to take one of the stickers out of the marked blue shoes and put it in the corresponding black shoe. So I did. I then set them together in her closet.
The next day she got dressed and went into work. I don't remember if she called home that afternoon from the office or if it was when she got home after work, but I sure did get an earful. I think what she said to me went something like "oooh! urrrgh! You! I, I, I'm gonna get you for this! Oooh! watch out mister! Paybacks! Oooh!" or something like that. In between the sounds of fury coming out of my mom were giggles and laughter. She seemed to alternate between laughing and thinking about ringing my neck. Mission accomplished.
Now, mom, if you are reading this, just know that I meant it all in good fun. And if you do try to get paybacks like you said you would at the time, just remember that if you leave this world before me I can always have the funeral home dress you in one blue shoe and one black one! There, that ought to make you think twice about paybacks!
Monday, October 30, 2006
The Karmamobile
Jenne posted tonight on Karma. Her post was about changes. It was about life, learning and menopause. When she was a teenager and her mom was going through it, she didn't get it. She didn't think it was THAT big a deal. She couldn't sympathize. Not really. Not then. Now that she's going through it early - thanks to chemo, she's feelin' the karma. She now knows what it's like. Sorry Jenne!
Well, the karma train stopped at our house tonight. But not really a train. No, upon reflecting for thirty minutes since I wrote that (I had to get the baby ready for bed and make some finger puppets for the girls to take to school tomorrow) a train seems too big. More like... a karma scooter.
While Mary and I sat in bed watching TV and making finger puppets, the babe alerted us that she needed changing. It was my turn to do it.
So, undoing the diaper I got the all clear sign. No poops. Ha! This was my luck. Mary's at home all day, running errands, picking up the girls from school and changing diapers all the time, most of them poopy. What do I get for the one diaper change I've had today? Nothin. Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothin' but a wet diaper...and that's a good thing.
And then...
"Mary! Help! Quick! I need help!"
I think I even said "stat"! It's always good to throw in "stat" to emphasize the need for immediate help. Mary used to watch ER and now watches Grey's Anatomy. Heck, she's doc herself, so you think "stat" would have some meaning to her. Nope. She just sat there making finger puppets. I shot her an incredulous glare.
"Mary! What are you doing? I said I need help. She's pooping and it's getting all over everything. It's coming out like a water through a fire hose! I cannot control this!"
While my left hand held the baby's legs up in the air, much like you might hold a chicken while on the way home from the market (and didn't have any bag to carry it in and if you lived a long time ago when you could buy chickens from the store with their feet still on and you just did this because somehow I have in my head that that is how people carried chickens way back when, though I grew up in the suburbs and my only time on the farm was on school trips, but somehow I still have this idea that this is how you would carry a chicken), my right hand was occupied keeping stuff off my side of the bed. I didn't have a third hand to grab more wipes. And yes, I know, I should have thought twice about changing the baby on the bed. I know. Bad move to begin with.
And Mary just sat there.
"Why aren't you helping me? It's now all over my hand and it feels gross!" I was a big baby.
She answered "It's not that big a deal. I change diapers all day long and it get on my hand too sometimes. When it does I deal with it. You can too."
"Yeah, but it's on MY hand right now! And it's going to get on MY side of the bed!"
And that's when it hit me. She changes diapers all day, gets spit up on far more often than I do and really deserves a break. The karma scooter delivered a little something to me today to remind me that I shouldn't complain.
But still... I think I said "stat"!
Well, the karma train stopped at our house tonight. But not really a train. No, upon reflecting for thirty minutes since I wrote that (I had to get the baby ready for bed and make some finger puppets for the girls to take to school tomorrow) a train seems too big. More like... a karma scooter.
While Mary and I sat in bed watching TV and making finger puppets, the babe alerted us that she needed changing. It was my turn to do it.
So, undoing the diaper I got the all clear sign. No poops. Ha! This was my luck. Mary's at home all day, running errands, picking up the girls from school and changing diapers all the time, most of them poopy. What do I get for the one diaper change I've had today? Nothin. Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothin' but a wet diaper...and that's a good thing.
And then...
"Mary! Help! Quick! I need help!"
I think I even said "stat"! It's always good to throw in "stat" to emphasize the need for immediate help. Mary used to watch ER and now watches Grey's Anatomy. Heck, she's doc herself, so you think "stat" would have some meaning to her. Nope. She just sat there making finger puppets. I shot her an incredulous glare.
"Mary! What are you doing? I said I need help. She's pooping and it's getting all over everything. It's coming out like a water through a fire hose! I cannot control this!"
While my left hand held the baby's legs up in the air, much like you might hold a chicken while on the way home from the market (and didn't have any bag to carry it in and if you lived a long time ago when you could buy chickens from the store with their feet still on and you just did this because somehow I have in my head that that is how people carried chickens way back when, though I grew up in the suburbs and my only time on the farm was on school trips, but somehow I still have this idea that this is how you would carry a chicken), my right hand was occupied keeping stuff off my side of the bed. I didn't have a third hand to grab more wipes. And yes, I know, I should have thought twice about changing the baby on the bed. I know. Bad move to begin with.
And Mary just sat there.
"Why aren't you helping me? It's now all over my hand and it feels gross!" I was a big baby.
She answered "It's not that big a deal. I change diapers all day long and it get on my hand too sometimes. When it does I deal with it. You can too."
"Yeah, but it's on MY hand right now! And it's going to get on MY side of the bed!"
And that's when it hit me. She changes diapers all day, gets spit up on far more often than I do and really deserves a break. The karma scooter delivered a little something to me today to remind me that I shouldn't complain.
But still... I think I said "stat"!
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