Every time Im telling secrets I remember how it used to be

Fantasy sports has become, dare I say, a Go-zillion dollar business in the United States. While at the same time, gambling on fantasy sports leagues has become, dare I say, a multi-go-zillion dollar business. People all across this great country, mostly mis-shapen beer drinkers men or nerdy bookworms, play in fantasy leagues in each of the four major sports. I could probably find a fantasy cycling league if I felt so inclined, but wouldn't know who to take after Lance left the board.

If you haven't played fantasy sports, I highly recommend it. Much like any gambling venture, it gets you interested in games and stats that you normally wouldn't care about it. You find yourself cheering for teams that you don't really want to win and players that you generally don't like. You can speak intelligently with the mis-shapen men of the world who want to pour over Clinton Portis' latest knee injury or how Kerry Wood's prediliction towards German porn may keep him out of a few starts. **I made that up about Kerry Woods, I have no idea what type of porn he likes**

At the same time, if you haven't played fantasy sports, I highly recommend that you stay far away. It's a sensory overload of statistics and future predictions that one cannot possibly prepare for. It yields a tremendous amount of stress and calls for a significant time investment if you want to compete. It's a commitment to your league and the endless ridicule and insulting message board posts that will undoubtedly invade your life. You find yourself trying to come up with new and exciting ways to compare another manager's latest trade to a bad Schwarzenegger movie or a venereal disease. You spend gobs of time researching trade options to get yourself a better backup relief pitcher or kicker, only to find that the guy you wanted to trade with is on vacation for the week or has changed his mind. It wastes your time and sucks your life dry.

It's probably for a third reason, that I haven't yet defined, that after 5 years I jumped back into the mix with Fantasy football this season. With approximately zero work to do this week, I figured I could waste my paid-hours scouring the internet for a strategy and a draft plan for my 9/9 draft. After 3 minutes of reading, I realized that I know a little bit short of nothing about Fantasy football and possibly less than that. I hadn't heard of three of the top five players (Maurice Jones-Drew, Matt Forte and Michael Turner) on most pre-season listings and laughed outloud when I saw that Chad Johnson had legally changed his name to Chad Ochocinco.....in early 2008. That's how out of touch I have become. That explains why most of my sports-frenzied friends look at me with complete disdain and disgust when I tell them that I don't really feel like watching any sports on TV.

I immediately began my preparation. I scoured ESPN.com, trying to steal an idea or draft approach from any of the many fat-nerdy internet gurus that I can pawn off as my own. I participated in two full mock-drafts to see if my ideas and sleeper drafts would work out for me in the end. I printed massive amounts of reading material to pass the time in the work bathroom, hoping to be productive while being...productive.

The last time that I competed (I should say participated) was in a fantasy basketball league with a group of about 11 other co-workers. Fantasy basketball, unlike football, requires you to stay informed on a day to day basis, constantly changing your lineup and wondering if Yao Ming's has a stress fracture in his bulbous forehead or if it will keep him out of a game. Constantly refreshing fantasy sites like Rotoworld.com to see if Ron Artest murdered anyone after his latest game, which would force you to pick some slug up off of the waiver wire. After 5 straight seasons in the cellar, I decided to hang it up and have accordingly saved myself a ton of grief, time, heartache and mis-managed trades.

This year, though...I plan to compete. I have concocted a strategy and approach that I think should at least give me a small semblance of a shot. If not, I will at least come up with a few interesting blog posts about the draft and maybe even a few new insults for the other teams in the league.

I've been too long I'm glad to be back...

One solid month of no posting....and to quote the immortal House of Pain "just like the prodigal son, I've returned. Anyone stepping to me you'll get burned." Although, unlike the prodigal son, I didn't blow my father's inheritance on ladies of the night and PBR. Lots has happened in the past month, so I thought I'd start with our latest vacation...

My wife and I took a trip out to Hershey Park at the end of July and ran through four of their roller coasters at record speed. I found myself very disappointed that it took me 32 years to learn that I really enjoy roller coasters and the feeling of disembowelment and incontinence that they bring. We probably stood in over two hours of lines to take five roller coaster rides, and I can't wait to do it again. The can only complaint about one thing at Hersheypark (probably all amusement parks in actuality)...the lack of healthy food options. It amazes me to see how many bad, yet amazingly tasty, options are presented to people on a daily basis. Generally speaking, most of the options taste great but offer a very limited amount of nourishment and/or energy for the body. Somehow we found a place that made taco salads (chicken, lettuce, tomato, jalapenos and cheese) which pushed us through the afternoon hours.

Having a full stomach could have been a bad idea though, as one roller coaster in particular, Storm Runner, made me feel like I had left my spine and kidneys laying at the starting gate. The ride goes from 0 to 72 in 2 seconds...and maintains that pace for a total of about 3 seconds. My wife described the experience as if "her guts were being ripped out." Luckily, after the first ride, her guts remained wholly intact, and we rode a second time a little bit later in the day.

While in Hershey, we hit our second Dave Matthews Band concert of the year, which marks my 29th show in the past 14 years. Not a terribly outrageous number when you think about it, but usually makes people think that I'm a freak of nature. Well, moreso than usual. And while I always enjoy the shows, this one left me mildly frustrated...mostly because of the archaic venue. But, also for the fact that I didn't get to see my wife follow through on a punch directed at a neighboring concert goer. OK, I am exaggerating, she didn't actually try to punch someone, but she lunged towards this girl with a look of rage and energy that I have not seen since the last time I saw her drop an ice cream cone. And if you know my wife, a dropped ice cream cone is the lactose equivalent of five atomic bombs.

So, let me set the scene for you: some 20 something Dave fan in our aisle pushed her way through our seats, which sat on the end of the aisle, only to stand about 1 foot from my right shoulder. After about 45 seconds of her drunken pig breath on my back, I turned to ask her "do you need to get back to your seat?" to which she responded "NAH! I'm going to stay right here...." Confounded by her non-sensicle and partially slurred response, I motioned toward our friendly neighborhood security guard to bring him into the situation. Keep in mind, I would not have had a problem with her standing there to watch the concert had she simply respected my space by not bumping me and had given me a fair response. Her curt retort combined with her gnarled and drunken face put me a bit on tilt and the security guard quickly motioned the surly youngster back to her seat.

We continued to enjoy the concert for another 20 minutes or so, with the music driving towards the encore. Over the course of that time, I could feel the aforementioned youngster boring holes into my melon with her beady eyes from about 8 seats away. As the band left the stage, the crowd whipped into a frenzy, calling for them to return for an encore. The surly one then made her move...pushing through the aisle towards my wife and I, with a definite sense of determination in her eyes and I could see that something was about to happen.

At this point she places her fat, alcohol-drenched hands into my wife's back and pushes her into the seat in front of her. Wifey, not one for being bullied by intoxicated slobs, wheeled around and dove towards the girl's upper torso and jugular. I'm pretty sure, if not punishable by a long prison term, she would have gladly ripped the girl's arm off and beaten her about the head and chest with it. However, while I enjoy a cat fight as much as the next guy, I successfully restrained her and shuffled the two of us out of the stadium...blowing kisses back to the young drunken pig along the way. I don't think she liked that too much. We meandered our way through the sea of osified 17 year olds and annoying people, back to a local bar for some alcohol to calm us both down...

___

Something else I found online that have apparently been around for a while...literal versions of different music videos from the 80s. A few of them, including this one, made me laugh outloud:

And there's a message that I'm sending out, Like a telegraph to your soul

13 days. 13 days since the last post, one shy of a full week for those of you who don't know how to calculate days, weeks or generally use a calendar. "Too busy" probably sums up the reasons for the few and far between style of posting that I have adopted. From working, to travelling to working out at that silly maniacal gym, I just haven't had time. But...like Costanza eating a batch of fresh mangos, "I'm back baby!"

My wife and I found ourselves sunning on a beach in Cape May, New Jersey a few weeks ago, and we tossed various discussion points. From the reason God had to put grimey sand near the ocean to the moronic smokers who toss their discarded butts into it. The latter of those topics should be punishable by some sort of very embarrasing and/or painful sentence.

The one topic that intrigued me the most, and had me thinking about the blog was: things that people have said to you in your life, that you literally will never forget. Everyone has some of these statements in their life, but have you ever taken the time to put them into writing? NO, because you're not cool enough to have a mediocre internet blog with six followers. Fortunately for me, and you...I do.

Keep in mind, in many cases, I don't recall who said these things, and in others, I don't even know what they mean. Some refer to life situations, some sports, some gambling, some you have certainly heard as well and some are simply dumb. But in all cases, I heard someone say these things at some point in my life, and I remember them to this day.

So, without further adoooooo...here's the list with the parentheses detailing where the saying applies.

Things I Have Heard:

1. There's always a breeze on the beach (the wife made this point about why people like sunning on the beach, as opposed to their house, or their deck....this started the entire discussion)
   
2. Never tell someone that you hate them (friends and family)
   
3. Always double down on 11 (Blackjack)
   
4. Always split Aces and 8's (Blackjack)
   
5. Never make the third out at third (Baseball)
   
6. Never go to sleep wearing a hooded sweatshirt or chewing a piece of gum (don't know, ask my mother)
   
7. Don't look at your cards again, you know what you have (Poker)
   
8. Don't complain about something if you don't have a solution in mind (life)
   
9. Make decisions based upon facts, not opinions (mostly business, but can also apply to arguments with your wife)
   
10. Don't feed your dog chocolate (pet care)
    
11. Always bet on black (Roulette - thank you Wesley)
12. Sometimes you can't score, but you can always play defense (Basketball)
    
13. Feet on the floor, shoulders back, left hand on top of the paper (Catholic school writing)
    
14. If you always do what you've always done you'll always get what you've always got (life)
    
15. It takes no talent to check out (boxing out in basketball)
    
16. Pick it, lick it, stick it, flick it (mostly applicable to nose goop, but I'm sure it's expandable)
    
17. Take care of your feet and they'll take care of you (applicable to gnarly, crusty toes)
    
18. If you don't fall down, you're not pushing yourself (applicable mostly to skiing)
19. Cash is king (downpayments and savings)
20. Don't put anything in writing that you don't want anyone to know you wrote/said/thought (business...and/or blogging)
21. Don't go all-in on a draw unless you're short stacked (Poker)
22. Somewhere, someone else is working, and when you meet them in head to head competition, they'll beat you (Basketball, but probably applies to most things in life)
23. Don't eat carbs/partially hydrogenated anything/fake sugar (mostly depends upon my wife's mood at the time of her latest fad)
24. It's not a lie if you don't let the person leave the room believing you (a high school teacher once said this in jest...but, I think I actually like it.)
25. Watch the man's waist (either when playing man to man defense, or perhaps learning to tango)
26. Conflict is usually a good thing (in business, but certainly not in marriage)
    
27. Light beer has the same amount of alcohol as its regular counterpart, its just brewed differently
    
28. Don't try to change someone else's belief system (mostly in religious conversation)
29. Everything is better when you add cheese
    
30. HHeLiBeB CNOFNeNaMg AlSiPS ClArK CaScTiV CrMn FeCoNiCuZn (no one actually said this, but I needed a pneumonic device to remember the first 30 elements in the periodic table as a Sophomore in HS...and that's what I came up with...clearly it worked)

I would love to hear if you have some of your own...if so, post them to the comments. And I'm sure I'll add to this list at some point. That's all I got for now though

Call my name, or walk on by...

This post comes to you live and direct from Cape May, NJ. A full day spent in the town, and I have found it very quaint, classic and Victorian. The beach is not much different than Wildwood, Sea Isle or any other cigarette butt ridden gravelly beach in New Jersey. But, there's less kids and general riff raff running rampant through the streets. I may blog a bit more about the town later, but I still owe the blog additional details about NYC.

New York Part II

I quoted that 80's song once before, but in this case, I think I need to use it again. "Don't You Forget About Me" by Simple Minds is the first 80s song that pops into my head when thinking about our trip to Ground Zero two weeks ago. Again, I wouldn't say that you necessarily need to go there, but it certainly can be a troubling and worthy trip if you're in the area. The first thing you think of when you get there is...probably anger. In my case, I found myself angry at the fact that I never really got to see those two buildings in person. I never got to marvel at their enormity and New York effectively lost half of it's skyline on 9/11. You can't help but look at the gaping hole in the financial district and think about the fact that two of the tallest buildings in the world were once here, and are now gone.

We did learn some interesting things, though, while visiting the site. St. Paul's Chapel, a church about 2 blocks from Ground Zero, has setup a bit of a living memorial to 9/11, and rightfully so. In the days following the attacks, the church served as a triage unit, a hostel, a soup kitchen and a place of solace for those helping in the relief efforts. Relief workers would come back to the church to grab some water, patch up some wounds and even catch a few winks in the cots you see here.

Walking around the church, we actually heard some of the rescue workers sharing stories and talking about those days...sharing their own experiences. The church has setup different areas with photos, videos and items from those days of rescue and recovery. Today, many law enforcement groups and individuals return to the church and leave their city or township patches in honor of those individuals who worked through the tragedy and clean-up efforts. We saw patches from all over the United States and the glove. It's a touching sign of solidarity amongst the police and fire groups who feel a sense of connection to those in their field.

Throughout the financial district you'll find memorials and statues that commemorate 9/11, as it has become a bit of a tourist trap. The backside of the church is actually a cemetery, although I don't know that any of the victims or other related individuals have been buried there. In the cemetery area, you'll find a bell, which commemorates the day and resembles the Liberty Bell. In Battery Park, we found the statue on the right, which actually sat at the base of the Twin Towers in the days and years prior to the attacks. The collapse of the buildings damaged the Plaza Ball, but they salvaged what you see here and moved it into Battery Park. The ball also has an eternal flame in front of it, similar to the flame at JFK's grave in Arlington National Cemetery.

My blog postings haven't been as frequent as I would like, and this is certainly not the most entertaining or comical posts of my life. But the trip to Ground Zero gave me a bit more education than I had anticipated, specifically in the trip to St. Paul's. And while I normally don't opt for serious posts, I thought I needed to jot a few points down here...if not so I remember, so that anyone reading doesn't forget.

Two weeks without you and I still haven't gotten over you yet...

I feel like the whole blogging thing started when traveling people needed to communicate vacation updates to their friends and family back home. Whether visiting a massive hole in the ground, staring at some faces carved in a mountain or driving towards "the second largest ball of twine in the world, which is only four short hours away," people love to tell stories. In fact, after reading my friend's blogging adventures during a cross-country trip last summer, my travel blogging started. I have since invited that unnamed friend to start posting to this blog as well. He's mildly amusing, partially intelligent and somewhat interesting...but, it seems he's too lazy to post. We'll see if I can get him to post some additional drivel here...till then, I'll continue to bore you on my own.

As I mentioned last time, this weekend offered us an opportunity to see a singer named Jamie Cullum at New York's Carnegie Hall. Vagrants, drifters and the looming cloud of crime make NYC a great candidate for travel blogging. Since we had never visited Carnegie, we figured we would hop on NJ Transit and head on up to the Big Apple. We had our lunch plans, our dinner plans, our hotel plans and the concert in our head. However, like marriage, making chicken cordon bleu and sitting through a Keanu Reeves movie, navigating NYC is much easier on paper than it is in real life.

PART 1...

We arrived at Penn Station at 34th street, planning to hop on the uptown E line to 53rd street at 7th avenue. We walked to what we thought was the right platform, at which point, a partially marked E train made it's way down the tunnel. MTA (Metro Transit Authority) likes to liberally paste the words "express" and "midtown" and "downtown" all over their trains, thusly confusing both the locals and the blatantly obvious tourists. I stood on the platform with a duffelbag on my right shoulder and an "I am carrying multiple cameras to take an inordinate amount of pictures of your city" bag on my left...they knew we were tourists. After a confused trip back to the ticket counter, one missed train, and an emergency door entry back to the platform, we got on the right train towards our hotel: The Hilton NYC.

We stayed at the Hilton once before when we came up to the city for a Dave Matthews concert at Radio City Music Hall. The hotel sits in a bustling area of mid-town, equidistant from Carnegie Hall, Radio City Hall, Times Square and multiple certain-death alleys. Although, I didn't feel unsafe at any given time during the trip, I'm pretty sure that I could have found a willing pick pocket or a potential triple homicide if I felt so inclined.

After checking into the hotel, we headed out for our first leg of the day: a liesurely walk across the Brooklyn Bridge and lunch in the DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) area of Brooklyn. It's an up and coming area of town that apparently had lots of restaurants and sits right on the East River. A clever nickname if the last two words weren't redundant. Things started off pretty well, as we jumped back onto the subway for the four or five stop ride down to the WTC site for a quick tour of the area. I don't know that I would necessarily recommend a trip to ground zero, as there's really not a ton to see there other than the unimaginable vacancy that sits where the towers once stood. But I did learn a lot by going there. There's actually a bit more to talk about than meant for one single post...I'll blog about that later.

After snapping some photos of the WTC area, we headed towards the BB. At which point, the heavens opened and began dumping rain directly in our paths. Again, I'm convinced that my wife is either part witch, part cat or completely made of oil...because she HATES the rain. As a superhero, she'd really struggle to succeed as villains would simply need to spray her with a hose to take her out. I'm not kidding...she has a very bad sensory reaction to rain. In fact, if she ever became president (she's talked about this many times,) her checklist would look something like this:

• Make smoking illegal
• Require that all food products be made with some form of ice cream and/or chocolate
• Outlaw the production and distribution of rain
• Death to people who throw trash from their cars
• Creation of a 24-hour "The Sound of Music" television network
  

At any rate, our handy dandy umbrellas didn't stand a chance in the open space of the Brooklyn Bridge, so we took some pictures and high-tailed it back towards the financial district. After a quick bite to eat, we headed down to Battery Park, with hopes to get a few shots of the Statue of Liberty.

Taking good photos has become a bit of an obsession with us when we travel, but often times they don't come without a good bit of effort. We did get some pics of Lady Liberty, but the weather pretty much sucked for getting good ones. Much like Don Johnson's singing career, we were doomed from the start...we didn't stand a chance of getting any good shots. I would probably describe the weather as "miserable." It was that cold annoying type rain that you want to punch in the face (if it had a face) after about 4 minutes of walking in it. We walked in it for 4 hours.

I heart NY.

Mother's tired, she needs a rest, the kids are playing up downstairs...

To this day, I have no idea why I started posting a random 80's lyric as the title to the posts. Perhaps it's because the 80s serves as the last bastion of cheesy musical hope in the world today. Or because 80s music gave us the term "luft balloons" and Rick Allen (the one armed drummer from Def Leppard.) Either way, the lyrics spark thoughts of those terrible songs, so if you recognize the lyric...post the song title to the comments. It'll be interesting to see who actually reads the titles. But, don't read the comments first...just post...cheaters.

A few weeks ago I made a long winded observation about birds, their architectural prowess and their incredibly knobby knees. They had constructed a Taj Mahal of sorts under my deck, which caused my neighbors to stop and marvel. Two days after the aforementioned post, the Taj fell. Either they hadn't accounted for proper weight distribution between sheaths of hay, or a fat uncle came over to visit causing the nest to tumble to the ground. My wife and I quickly disposed of the twisted rubble, but felt pretty bad on some level. I don't know how we'd respond if we had haphazardly put together a twig and leaf homestead, only to have it blown to smithereens by a 2 mph wind. I do know how the birds responded though...they rebuit.

Like a phoenix from the ashes, they rose up and laughed in the face of mother nature. Much like the neighborhoods of the 9th ward in New Orleans after Katrina, the birds of NE Philly needed to get back on their feet. However, unlike other beings with rational thought and cognitive thinking skills, they built the exact same house as the one that crashed to the ground. Clearly they didn't consult any other feeble minded creatures to get some architectural tips. Ultimately, I anticipate that we will need to clean up another bird-home in the next week or so. Although, I do need to point out the picture seen here, which I took from the backside of the soon-to-blow over twighome. Somehow, without the luxury of opposable thumbs, they figured out how to wrap this little piece of string around one of the deck bolts. This stabilitzation measure was here on the first version of the house, though, so I don't think it's going to do any good for the dumb little bird brains at this point. HAHAH...BIRD BRAINS!!! Get it?

Heading up to NYC this Saturday to see the Jamie Cullum concert at Carnegie Hall. He's a british crooner who sings in the style of Michael Buble, only Jamie's actually got talent. Not that Buble isn't a great singer, but he's more manufactured and "pop friendly" than Jamie. I think if Buble was on American Idol, he'd probably compete very well, but I don't think he's any more talented than Taylor Hicks, Kris Allen or (insert name of forgotten Idol winner here.) They're all pretty much a cookie cutter type and Boobs probably fals into the same category. By the way, he'd probably have an even bigger following if he'd just adopt that nickname...and when he does, I want credit.

Jamie, on the other hand, writes most of his original songs, plays the piano and does a great job covering a ton of really good adult contemporary tunes. Plus, he does some other cool covers, like the one below...he's just generally a really fun artist. If you haven't heard him at all, he's got three albums out there: Pointness Nostalgic, twentysomething and Catching Tales. He's only doing about three shows in the USA this year, so I'm pretty excited about going to see him.

Girl I don't understand it...why you wanna hurt me?

Time seems to fly both when you're having fun and when you're beating your body senseless with sports and inane, god-forsaken workouts. My arms began to straighten out about 4 days after the initial workout, which allowed me to successfully scratch my own back and eventually to blog again. I went from looking like a big headed alligator to a blond praying mantis. Yet, for some reason, I went back to that dumb class last week.

I officially signed up for a twice a week beating, and have gone to two classes since the initial hazing. It's not until you have had something beat you down that badly that you realize the shape that you COULD be in if you just did the workouts, and that pushed me to join up. Much like paying to see Jessie Spano get naked in Showgirls or doing a shot of praire fire, I'm sure I'll regret the decision.

I didn't, however, anticipate the angst that would accompany the class when watching my wife finish a more difficult workout than me, in a shorter amount of time. I think the word I'm looking for emasculated...perhaps embarrassed. It wouldn't have been so bad if she wasn't the only girl who had a better time than me. There were at least 4 women with superior times, including one girl who beat me by about six full minutes. In my defense, my wife and I are both convinced that this girl is superhuman. She's certainly part cyborg and possibly from another planet. I wouldn't be surprised at all if she pulled off her face, Scooby Doo villian style, to reveal that was indeed Chuck Norris.

The workout starts with a 400m run (why the F can't the US just go to the metric system like the rest of the universe....it makes no sense,) and moves right into kettle bell swings. Kettlebells are heavy metal balls with handles on the top. You bend at the knees and swing the kettlebell through your legs and up over your head. After swinging the item you see here through your legs four or five times, you want to swing it through someone's face. In doing our kettlebell swings, I had a 25 lb weight, my wife had a 35 and Betty Claude Van Damme had a 45. Imagine swinging a 4 year old back and forth between your legs 35 times. That's the dril, which is generally a tough drill. But, when you add hands that produce more sweat than your average carnival worker, you're not only hurting yourself, you're risking the life and limb of all of those around you. At least twice I had to adjust my grip so as to avoid firing the kettle bell directly into the trainer.

After the 35 swings, it's on to double under jump ropes. Another wonderful exercise where you jump rope, but instead of bringing the rope around once, you do it twice. What a great idea!! While we're at it, let's chew glass and do pushups on a bed of nails! You do this 35 times. God forbid you mistime your jump too, because catching one of their jump ropes to the arm gives you slash marks like Michael Fay, circa 1994. The only difference is, he received cane slashes for stealing street signs Singapore...you get your scars from voluntarily jumping rope. Merry Christmas.

The three events above constitute the entire workout...but you do the workout above three times. Each time, feeling worse than the previous, each one shrouded with a feeling of "why the F did I come back to this place?" I finished the workout in 18:07...my wife in 17:27, and The bionic woman in 12:05.

I'm still going back, because I'm aparently sadistic. Either that, or I'm interested in having at least one muscle for at least one day of my life. The next class is tomorrow afternoon. With a little luck, I'll dodge any chin-ups, but I'm sure that posting this ensures that they'll be on the workout. Which probably makes the trainer the sadistic one...not me...