Dimoxi-who?

  • by Drew

Riddle me this – millions of men spend absurd amounts of money on medical treatments, surgical procedures, ridiculous prosthetics and voodoo witch doctors to increase their personal follicle count. Seriously. Ours is a culture obsessed with baldness, or rather, hiding baldness. Or maybe it’s really hiding from baldness, because let’s face it, no matter how good your process, procedure or piece, everybody knows.

Think you’re getting away with it, Baldy? Think again. Everybody knows.

And if you’re delusional, like this one cue-ball-topped friend of mine who says people only notice the bad jobs and the bad rugs, think again. They see them all, they’re just too polite to mention it to your face. No, friend, trust me. You most certainly do not sport super-rug. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Not after consuming all the gin in the tub.

So embrace your baldness. Enjoy the extra pleasure you can glean from the Minka Aire ceiling fan with no excess hair to block its gentle summer caress. Go with nature, friend. Natural is nicest. It is. It is.

Pre-flight Cocktails

  • by Drew

Ok, so maybe my last post was a little harsh. I mean, I shouldn’t disparage the elderly as a whole becuase of a couple of particularly nasty travelers. In fact, I tend to like old ladies a lot better than most people, including other old ladies.

And in truth, the trip wasn’t that bad. Yeah, there were some delays and the regular annoyed and thus annoying travelers in their wrinkled suits and rumpled demeanors. I actually enjoy the airport. Delays and such are always a drag, but the people watching is really good. Second only to those days in High School when my buddy Adam and I would hang out on the Grand Central balcony over the Pan Am Building escalator and watch the girls come in from Connecticut and Scarsdale wearing black and putting on their “cool” face. Good times.

And speaking of good times, can you just imagine the time when you could actually carry a bottle of booze with you, when you could get liquored up and enjoy your travels in a half blind stupor? I’m not talking about the little 50 ml mini bottles I stash in my quart sized plastic zipper bag stuffed with under 3 ounce containers of toothpaste and shampoo. I’m talking about real bottles, when people called their bottle a quart and metric measure had no place in the American booze market. I mean, in those days they could practically roll stainless steel drums of vodka past the security folks and hang out at their departure gate with a paperback and an extra large crazy straw.

Ahhhh, the golden age.

Beer me

  • by Drew

I am experiencing a personal renaissance…and an interesting one, I think. Though I remain a wine and bourbon kind of guy, I have recently been really into beer. And while I can appreciate a nice microbrew, I am really into cheap, light American beer right now. Don’t go snobby on me now. This stuff ain’t bad – especially on a hot day after working your tail off in the sun.

A light went on for me when I saw that crazy always–seems-to-be-drunk guy from Sam Adams, Jim Koch on a beer documentary while Carol was in the hospital with the baby. He was talking about the rise of the Microbrews (is that the title of the next Terminator movie?) but made a long comment praising big American beer. He was basically saying that the mega-breweries need to be acknowledged for producing enormous quantities of a very consumable product with incredible consistency of quality. And he’s right.

So I’ve been trying a few lately. Bud Light is alright. Coors Light I actually like a little better, but I always hear stories about the ridiculous Limbaugh-stroking conservative politics of their Executive team, so…I don’t know. Right now, though, my personal favorite is Michelob Light. I also tried the low-carb, low-cal Michelob Ultra (I’m a total sucker for colorful cardboard displays in the store) and it wasn’t bad. It tasted just a little more seltzer-y than Mich Light.

Anyway, I’ve been enjoying the easy going light beers of the American heartland, and maybe you should too. Seriously. You don’t have to go all Natty Lite or anything, but you should maybe give the big boys a shot again. As my always poetic wife would say – there’s nothing like a cold brewdog to make your day.

I really hate when she says brewdog.

Opening Day

  • by Drew

That’s right, I’m writing about sports. Who would have thought this day would come? But I’m not here to talk about Major League Baseball. I don’t really care about the Mets, Yankees, Red Sox, Citi Field or roid testing. I am, however, very keyed in to the season opener this Saturday – of the Taconic Little League. Yup, my six year old is about to start his second season.

Check this out, though. No more tee ball. Can you believe it? For whatever reason, our league decided to abandon tee ball this year. That means my first-grader has to hit a pitched ball. Oh my. Needless to say, we’ve been doing some practicing at home because he most definitely has inherited Daddy’s  native skills.

At the second practice a couple days ago when the coach (an amazingly patient and great guy) said, “OK, let’s try and catch some high pops,” I burst out laughing. Hysterical laughter. Like, Cesar Romero as the 60s Joker laughing. I seriously thought there was a visit to the reconstructive dentist in our immediate future. So far, though, the only ball to hit him in the face was thrown by yours truly, and it really just glanced off his cheek.

No, I wasn’t using him for target practice. The last couple days it has been pretty warm in the morning. While waiting for the bus we’ve been throwing the ball around. He’s actually keeping his eyes open now and is getting fairly decent at catching my version of high pops.

Plus, I’m getting some exercise in the morning. I mean, it’s no major fat burner or anything, but it’s better than my usual morning workout of reaching for a coffee cup and lifting the kettle. And he did whip one by me this morning. It rolled straight down the driveway and across the street. Suddenly I was 9 years old again, scampering for a loose ball, casting glances left and right before darting across the street.

Got a little winded there. I guess baseball season has officially started.

Uh-loft or Ay-loft…

  • by Drew

It looks like I need to make one more trip down to Virginia for work, and then it should be a while. I mean, since October I’ve gone pretty much once a month with a break in February, I think. I’ve stayed at a few different hotels on these trips – there are a ton of new ones in Chesapeake. It is this hot new commercial spot like 20 minutes from Virginia Beach where my company’s headquarters are located. And there are some other big HQs in the area. Dollar Tree corporate is down there – I drove by.

And seriously, there are tons of hotels. You see all the major chains, but there are also these extended stay hotels that are, I guess, for people who do heavy long term consulting, or maybe management training types who need to spend a week or two at the corporate HQ before taking over their own XYZ franchise. 

Last time we went down I stayed at one of the newest ones, a place called aLoft. There was some discussion about how to pronounce it – long A? short A? Who knows. Who cares.

It was a neat spot, though. Kind of like a little Manhattan studio without the kitchenette, though you could probably get a hot plate. It was very square and very modern. It’s not my personal style, or our decorating style at home, but I was definitely digging the vibe. There really wasn’t any furniture, just built in cubicles and countertops that acted as dresser/bureau/closet/shelves. And they had a magazine rack next to the toilet with Wired and Business Week and Cycling. It was both amusing and…kind of cool.

Oh, and a huge flat-screen TV on the wall. That was a pretty popular detail. And the lobby bar with the fiber optic impregnated bar – that was cool too. Though their bourbon selection was kind of lame. I mean, they had Maker’s Mark, so that was alright, but I would have liked some esoteric small batch something or other. But hey, nobody’s perfect.

Ragin’ On the MD 20/20

  • by Drew

Can you tell me what is up with people lately? I know there’s a lot of stress in the world right now. We’re all suffering form declining property values, increased cost of living, and seriously reduced opportunity for personal advancement. I get it. Rossi Burgundy is up to $15 a gallon in some places. It’s practically freakin’ Armageddon.

But seriously, is it just me or have you noticed how NASTY people are. People are driving like maniacs and bitching like mad in public. I heard a nun muttering in Stop & Shop in the coffee aisle and I’m pretty sure her ramblings included the phrase “fucking Colombians.”

Egads. I got blocked into a parking space by a white mini bus with a big handicapped sign -the kind of bus you sometimes see groups of the mentally challenged on an outing. He pulled into the space next to mine at and angle, so close to my rear bumper that I’m not sure I could back out, even if I cut the wheel hard. He came out as I was loading Noah into his car seat and was giving me attitude. Like I was holding him up or something.

Do people have vinegar pumping out of their shower faucets? Or urine? Or hot sauce? Or some hellish mix of mustard powder and Cisco?

I’m thinking I need to get a good stash of bum wine and set up a table in front of the mall. You know how you see some dude behind a table outside the mall and you think he’s going to ask for donations for little league or whatever in a town you’ve never even driven through? Well, what if you saw that table, and while you were trying to walk by without making eye contact, some freaky 35 year old dude in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt was like, “Hey, you look like you need a free shot of Mad Dog. I’ve got Grape Wine and Berry flavor. What can I get you?”

Tell me that wouldn’t rock your Saturday afternoon. At least for a minute and a half until you saw that 17 year old schmuck who almost ran you over in the parking lot with his BMW Mini five minutes ago. But hey, a 90 second break in your crap-ass day is better than nothing, right? I think this is an investment in humanity that I’m willing to make.

Beautiful

  • by Drew

In a few months we’ll probably be describing days like today as overcast and dreary, wet and yucky. But right now, after all that sub zero winter weather, with a bit of bitter black gravelly snow clinging to the mud, today is one hell of a day. People are driving a little friendlier. Grocery store clerks have a twist of a smile on their lips. The usually deadpan and even a little impatient woman at the pizza place is chatty and, dare I say, almost happy.

It’s a turning point kind of day. It’s the kind of day when you feel like there’s sun-shiny hope on the horizon. It’s a day when you’re feeling less half-empty and a little more half-full. Yeah, my sinuses are still screwed up and my neck and joints are achy, and my nose is a little runny, but who cares – a couple of margaritas will make it all go away.

It’s an I think I can actually see the end of winter on the horizon day. It’s a hose the salt off the cars day. It’s a finally get the icicle lights off the gutters day. It’s a let the kids ride their bikes on the driveway day. It’s a maybe my wife will let me set off some of those giant fireworks we bought on vacation in Pennsylvania kind of day.  

It’s the kind of day you feel charitable and warm toward your fellow humans. Hell, it’s such a fantastic day that I don’t even think a hunk of plastique rigged with a Patek watch timer, shoved inside a Hello Kitty lunch box and duct-taped to the bottom of the Evil Blimp‘s * car could make me feel any better.

Yup, it’s a good day. Just beautiful.

 *For those of you who were not regular listeners of my WAMH afternoon radio show circa 1994, the reference is to an indie seven inch I played frequently: Rush Limbaugh Evil Blimp by Neighborhood Texture Jam. Yeah, I hate that fat SOB. But even if he did explode today, I don’t think I could be any happier.

The New New Noise

  • by Drew

A few weeks ago I made some serious upgrades to my home studio. Overdue, perhaps long overdue upgrades. Most notably a new digital hard disk multitracker and some suh-freaking-sweet monitors. I’ve spent every spare moment of the last few weeks trying to get past the learning curve and put tunes to tracks. And I’ve been making some progress – slow but sure – progress you can track on the Noise pages where I’ll post new material and works in progress.

And man, it feels good. I mean, I’ve been away from it too long, and I’ve really been feeling it lately. It’s funny, the absence was not so noticeable, but now that I’ve had a guitar in my hands for hours every day for a couple weeks, I realize there was a hole.

Maybe it’s something like a mid-life crisis, but I don’t really think so. It’s not like I woke up one day and said maybe I should check out a health care career or maybe something in human resources. There’s always real estate. That’s more like my foray into the wine business. <wink>

This, I think, is more of a return to what it once was – what I once was. The hard part has always been reconciling the urge to play with marriage and parenthood and real-job-having-ness. And maybe, I think maybe, I can figure this out. Or die trying.

Or not. I still have a basement full of booze after all.

Red, White and…Branson?

  • by Drew

If you don’t get the title, it’s a Waiting for Guffman reference. If you haven’t seen Guffman yet…well, we have nothing else to talk about it. Good day to you.

For the rest of you…

The last couple of winters we’ve taken a few days of vacation at the fabulous cruise-on-land resort Woodloch in the Poconos. It’s swell, and we always have fun, and we will probably do it again this year, but I have been spending a little time looking for other possibile family vacation options. Surprisingly, one of the spots I encountered and didn’t immediately rule out was Branson. Yup. Branson, Missouri. It may not be the stool capitol of the world, but it still looks pretty okay.

Now, if it wasn’t a 20 hour drive, it would seriously be in the running right now. Hell, air far to Missouri has got to be cheap, but the pregger wife and the two monkey monsters…well, let’s just say a flight – no matter how cheap – ain’t happening.

Nevertheless, I am filing this spot away. It seriously reads like a bit of Americana. There are all kinds of shows you can attend, like the Baldnobbers (that’s got to be hip) and Andy Williams, and Bill Haley and Paul revere and the Raiders and Bill Medley. I had the time of my life indeed! Seriously, there may be some snow-capped heads here, but who cares. What is drawing all these legends to Missouri? When did Branson become the Vegas of the midwest?

Puppets, magic, music, wholesome family fun…No lie, I am very curious about what’s going on over there. Dude, they even have Broadway! Check the list, I’m not making it up. If they throw in a free jug of moonshine I may go myself.

There are some reasonable package prices here, so you might want to check it out. I may just click the I Want More link and get me color brochure. Carol won’t be pregnant forever. At least, I hope not. She’s taking up a lot more room in the bed these days.

Of course, if she reads that remark, I’ll be sleeping on the couch so it won’t really matter much.

New Year’s Eve

  • by Drew

Yesterday I found a sparkling apple beverage that behaves something like a sparkling wine or champagne and it is only 4% alcohol. So, I’m actually going to be able to toast with my pregger bride tonight…at least a little one.

A little one for the little one?

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