Mine Super The Man

About Pete Cadwell

2011-08-18T18:25:00.000-05:00

As an eleven-year-old during the summer of 1982, I was excited to find myself seeded 10th in 11-12 year old boys 50 Meter Backstroke event at the Granite State Swimming Association Championships. As I sat in the bullpen, waiting for my heat, I struck up a conversation with a lanky kid from another team sitting next to me on the bleachers. He was seeded 9th, just a split-second faster than I was, and he said he was hoping to do well, but was quick to point out that Backstroke was not his best event. As a backstroke specialist, I was hoping that my best would be better than his on that day. Before we left the bullpen area to go to our lanes, I asked him his name.

“Pete Cadwell,” he replied.

“Good luck, Pete.”

“You too.”

It was the first time I ever spoke to Pete. I had heard his name before in swimming circles. Everyone in our age group pretty much acknowledged that Pete Cadwell was the fastest swimmer in the state. He had set numerous state records. Now I had finally met him and was about to race against him for the first of probably over 200 times over the next seven years. Pete beat me that day, and on every other occasion we raced each other.

A few years later, I joined the Nashua YMCA Prospectors swim team and became a teammate of Pete’s and got to know him a little better. This extended beyond the pool too. Pete’s mother Jane, was the awesome and ever-present team Mom and administrator. We all knew Mrs. Cadwell was very instrumental in our team’s success. To me, Pete’s sister Stephanie, a great swimmer in her own right, was the coolest “big kid” on the team as she treated all of her “little” brother’s friends with respect. (Steph, if you ever read this, I do realize that there is only a year separating us, but it seemed to be a lot at that age.) Pete’s Dad, Pete, Sr. was hilarious and Pete, Jr. exhibited that same sense of humor.

I remember a party at the Leonards’ house where several of our teammates were gathered around the television watching a movie. Pete had the idea to play a prank on everyone. A few of us sneaked outside and stood outside the window of the room where the others were watching the movie. Pete had taken the VCR remote control and aimed it through the window and started messing with the movie. It caused a minor commotion inside, but didn’t get the reaction for which he was hoping. Not deterred, Pete, in a ghostly sounding voice, said loudly through the closed window, “Goooooose is Deaaaaaad!” Our teammates turned and saw us outside and started yelling. Before the term “spoiler” became popular, Pete was yelled at for spoiling the movie Top Gun.

I was fortunate to be on several relays with Pete. Some of my fondest memories from those days are racing with Pete and knowing that no matter how far behind we were, we always had a chance with him on our team. You see, Pete was our anchor… unless he we needed a lead, then he would lead off. He was whatever we needed whenever we needed it. I was not at all surprised that Pete ran 25 miles last year to raise lots of money for Partners in Health after the earthquake in Haiti last year.

Pete and I often swam the same events and I recall one meet when I was talking to an opposing swimmer before a race and he said, “It must suck swimming with Pete, knowing you are always shooting for second place.”

“I am so glad he’s on MY team and not someone else’s,” was my reply.

For someone who was so freaking good, I could have never asked for a better teammate in every way. He excelled without attitude or arrogance and he was our leader.

It had been a couple of years since I had seen Pete when I saw him walk into Martha’s Exchange in Nashua on Halloween in 1997. I looked ridiculous in costume, sporting a “Juan Epstein” style wig, bell bottoms, wide collar shirt and vintage 70’s leather jacket. Pete flashed his ever-present sense of humor.

“No costume tonight, huh, Ian?”

It was the last time I spoke to Peter in person. Not many people can probably remember both the first time and the last time they spoke with someone, but Pete was that kind of a guy. He made an impression on me and on a lot of people. His untimely passing is so sad and he will be greatly missed by so many who knew him. I have never met his wife or his children, but would want them to know that Peter was loved by so many people. I am so truly sorry for their loss.

World's Greatest Dad

2010-06-20T20:53:00.000-05:00

I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for, but I knew that I could find something perfect. The cafeteria of the Courthouse Elementary School was filled with tables and those tables were filled with potential Christmas presents for my father. My budget was the $2.00 worth of change that I had scraped up scouring my bedroom.

I perused each table and finally had decided that I was probably going to get him that screwdriver set I saw on the second table. I knew he liked screwdrivers. He had a bunch of them and used them all the time. Of course back in the late 1970s I hadn’t grasped the concept that my father used screwdrivers because he needed to fix stuff, not because he liked using them. I also didn’t really realize that he had a lot of screwdrivers and did not likely need another cheap set purchased at the elementary school Christmas gift fair.

The last table in the group still had lots of stuff on it, but I was sure there was nothing better than those $2 screwdrivers… but then I saw it. I knew instantly that it was the best gift I could get for my father. It was a little statue about 3-4 inches tall that was made out of some unidentified material. It wasn’t wood, plastic, or metal. It must have been some sort of resin or something. It was a yellowish tan figure of a guy standing there with the clear label on the base, “World’s Greatest Dad.”

I wasn’t sure how such a prize was available to me in my little corner of the world and certainly was glad to see it was within my budget. It was the perfect Christmas gift for a guy I knew was, in fact, the World’s Greatest Dad. I knew he would love it.

This is my first Father’s Day without my Dad. He was a great Dad. Whether it is because of the advice that he gave, the example that he set, or the way he acted like a shitty little statue was the greatest gift he ever got, I miss him all the time.

New Entry

2010-05-25T23:10:00.002-05:00

It took a while. I can't believe it has been three months since I wrote an entry. Anyway, I started a new job in te beginning of March. I love it. I am doing the same thing as before, but doing it closer to home and getting paid more.

Brandon's last day of school is Thursday. No vacations planned yet this summer but we are hoping to get away. We were thinking about doing a cruise but an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico may put that on hold.

That's all for now. I'll try to write something funny, clever, or touching soon.

The Duke Boys

2010-02-16T09:20:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I wrote an in depth analysis of the show "The Dukes of Hazzard" and it all got wiped out somehow and isn't on this page. I'll sum it up with one question since I don't feel like typing the whole thing out again.

Since Boss Hogg always wanted Roscoe P. Coletrain to arrest the Duke boys and he'd end up chasing their car all over Hazzard County, why didn't he ever just go to Uncle Jesse's house and arrest them there without a chase?

Sometime Around the Year 3000

2010-02-02T08:40:00.005-06:00

I imagine that sometime around the year 3000, some history buff will happen across an ancient DVR or TiVo and wonder what it is. They will look at it like we look at a Lyre, or like someone from Maine looks at a toothbrush. They will do painstaking research to find out for what use the device was created.

"Television? What's that? You mean they had to wait until specific days and times to be entertained before this device?" They will learn that people had to actually sit in a room and watch a television where images and sounds were created and used to entertain and inform people. They will search out a way to find a "television" and figure out a way to power up the devices.

On one of these DVR machines they will come across a leftover recording of the Today show or some local newscast and some recording of Al Roker or someone like that will talk about Punxsutawney Phil and how he saw his shadow and how we can expect six more weeks of winter as indicated by the groundhog's fear of his shadow and subsequent decision to go back into his hole in the ground.

And then that person will say, "What a bunch of fucking idiots."

Happy Groundhog's Day, everyone.

More about Dad

2010-01-11T09:36:00.002-06:00

When I spoke at my father's funeral, it was with the belief that while he knew a great number of people, there probably were not a great number of people who would stand up to speak at the funeral. I wanted to be sure that there was not just silence when we were given the opportunity.

After I spoke, a high school friend of my father's got up and spoke about how they used to sneak my grandmother's corvair out and time themselves trying to make a 1 mile stretch of curvy road in under 1 minute. Flat straightaways are few and far between in New Hampshire.

Several others spoke as well, far more than I had expected.

My father's next door neighbor spoke of how many things they shared in common. It was astonishing. They had kids about the same age. Worked at the same place, had the same hobbies, belonged to the same Masonic Lodge and on and on. One of their only differences, he pointed out, was that my father was over 6 feet tall and he was under.

Another neighbor spoke of my father's generally good disposition and of how he sold my father his lawnmower and then asked him to borrow it a few days later to mow his lawn. His hairdresser spoke about the first time she cut his hair 28 years ago... a story that has been repeated several times over the years and dealt with exactly what it means when someone says they want their hair cut "over the ears."

A friend of my dad's (and my former swim coach) talked about the many challenges my father took on and how he the way he lived his life reminded him of John Wooden telling his players to try to make each day their masterpiece.

My dad's cousin told a story about how cool of a cousin he was and how he and she use to try to switch positions on the T-bar when going up the mountain skiing.

My dad's boss talked about his hiring. He talked about how my father's interview was really just a courtesy to my mother who had worked at the company for years but how my father gave the most complete and well prepared interview he had ever seen. He praised my father for his work ethic and his reliabilty.

My sister Emily told a story about my father teaching her how to drive and how while she did not appreciate his methods at the time, everything he did to "torture" us growing up was intended to make us better later in life.

My old college roommate Tony told a story about teaching his own son to drive and how he had unintentionally used some of the same methods that I had shared with him about my father teaching me. He laughed when he realized how my father had unknowingly influenced him.

A lot of people spoke, and I have probably left out a couple. There were two that stood out the most to me.

First was a friend and former co-worker of my father's named Mark. Mark was layed off from the place where the two of them worked together. A few months later, with no success in looking for a job, he mentioned to my Dad how he had trouble because his Jeep was in need of inspection and it would not pass because the tires were too worn. He did not have any money to buy new tires so was going to have to drive it uninspected on those tires until he could make some money. He came home the next day and had four tires sitting in his yard. My father had bought new tires for his own Jeep and gave Mark the slightly worn tires he had been using. I had never heard this story before the funeral and was very glad my father had helped this man in his time of need.

The last, and most impressive story came from a former employee of my father.

The funeral was almost over. The funeral director was clearly wrapping things up and this man came forward asking for a chance to say one last thing. He was a short man and was of East Indian descent. I recognized him only because he had introduced himself to me before the funeral. With apparent nervousness and a heavy accent, he began to speak.

"I work for Chip for six year. When I look for a job he interview me and he is very nice. When I work for him I never see anything on his face but a smile. In six year he never say a thing to hurt my feeling. He help me and my whole family. He is a good man to work for. When he leave (company) we walk out the door with him and he gave me his book to help me understand some things. There were some tears on my face. Thank you"

This was the most moving of all of the speakers, in my opinion. Despite the fact that the service was ending, he felt compelled to speak, knowing he would never get another chance to say those things in that forum. Despite his obviously difficulties with the language, he stood up and told this story and blew away those assembled with his simple story of how with nothing more than a little kindness and decency, my father had made an immense impact on his life.

Dad

2010-01-06T09:22:00.002-06:00

Dad passed away December 26, 2009. As his funeral approached, I considered whether or not I wanted to speak. I knew I had much to say, but was not sure whether I would be able to do so in any sort of comprehensible form. I thought about it for days.

We got the call on Saturday night. It was supposed to be date night, but for one reason or another, date night had turned into stay home and watch a movie night for Heather and me. We found "The Green Mile" on television and watched. The call came at 9:14 Central Standard Time. My brother Drew called to tell me that my father had had a heart attack. My mother was at the house with my father and the Paramedics. They were bringing him to the hospital and my sister Emily was on her way to meet them. He would call me when he heard anything else.

I got off the phone and told Heather what was going on. She had a million questions and I couldn't answer any of them. I told her everything I knew from the 90 second conversation. She urged me to call Emily. I called and learned from her, that my father had passed away. Immediately thereafter, Drew called and relayed the same news he had heard from Emily.

"Had anybody called Chris?" I asked.
"I have left him three messages," Drew responded.

I got off the phone and called my brother Chris and got through... he had also heard the horrific news from Emily who had finally reached him by calling his wife's mobile phone.

This flurry of phone calls set into motion a series of events. I lost it and exploded, letting out more emotion than I can ever recall in my lifetime. Heather held me as I sobbed like a little kid.

We were in New Hampshire 24 hours later. The funeral arrangements were made the following day and I had a few days to consider what to say if I could bring myself to speak at my father's funeral. A lot went through my head. I asked Heather what she thought. Of course she encouraged me to do it if I wanted to do it. I decided not to write anything down in case I chose not to speak. I didn't want to know I had prepared and couldn't follow through. If I were going to speak, it would have to be extemporaneously.

When Saturday came and the service was underway, the man conducting the ceremony asked if anyone cared to speak and share some memories with those assembled. First my right leg moved. Heather, sitting to my left, patted my left arm. I rose and walked forward. When I spoke, it went something like this,

"Hello everyone. I knew I wanted to say something, but I didn't really prepare, so we'll see how this goes.

I wanted to take a minute to talk to you about my father and the perspective that I have of him. Those of you in the family know this, but many of you outside the family may not know this. My mother died when I was very young... 6 years old. So, for a few years, at least until he met my wonderful mother (step-mother) Roxanne, he was raising 4 kids on his own as a single Dad.

A few years ago, I told my dad how impressed I was with what he had done under those circumstances and thanked him for everything he had done for me and my brothers and sister. His response was, "Well, what did you expect me to do?"

Of course it was understated and that is how he was about much of what he did. One time I asked him about his philosophy on parenting and fatherhood and he said, "Ian, more than anything, I always wanted to be someone you could count on."

He was definitely that. I could always count on him and still do. Not only would I literally not be here without him, but I wouldn't have been able to tie this tie. I certainly wouldn't have been able to drive here in this snow. So, I still count on him and will continue to do so.

Finally, I wanted to share one last thing with all of you. I spoke to my father on the phone on Christmas day. At the end of the call, the last thing I said to him was that I loved him. The last thing he said to me was that he loved me. I am SO glad that is the way things ended; I am so glad we were not in the middle of some petty argument about something that doesn't matter.

I urge all of you to tell the people you love in your lives how you feel about them. Be sure they know it because you never know when might be your last chance to say it.

Thank you."

And that was it. That is my best recollection of what I said. I am sure some of it didn't come out exactly that way but it is pretty close I think. I urge anyone who reads this to take the same message from this that I tried to pass on to those assembled on Saturday. Also, I thank Heather for reminding me to call him back on Christmas. I'm glad I did.

Apparently

2009-11-25T08:27:00.001-06:00

Apparently I cannot post photos. I believe it is because our server at work has some sort of setting to make the internet connection slower so as to discourage people from doing non-work related things like posting photos and streaming porn.

I'll have to post my Batmobile photo from home later.

It's Funny

2009-11-23T09:07:00.002-06:00

Back in the old days, my thing used to be the "Commute Song" of the day. My work commute was about 4-5 minutes so it was long enough to hear one song. Now I drive 45 minutes so it is no longer something worth doing. I usually listen to podcasts in the car now anyway.

I know one of Steve's things is the "Commuter of the Day." I don't want to step on that idea, but I think I am going to start posting pictures of messed up cars I see around here. The diversity of the people in this area certainly leads to interesting choices. Last week, I saw a "Superman" car parked in front of someone's house. Somewhere I saw a "Batman" car. I have already discussed the Oscar the Grouch and Hawaiian Punch cars. These are never commuting anywhere when I see them though. They are always just parked. Going forward, I am going to try to start capturing some of the "unique" cars in the Shreveport area.

Idea

2009-11-10T11:22:00.002-06:00

Ok, I saw where BRazil is thinking about giving homeless people mobile phones. I think this is a great idea if we then turn them into crimefighters. For every mugging, theft, or robbery they thwart using the phone, they get a free meal. For every murder they thwart they even get dessert.

Flashforward

2009-10-05T11:14:00.002-05:00

There is a new show on ABC called "Flashforward."

Here is my problem with it... the title, although it makes sense on the surface, really makes no sense.

"Flashforward" is supposed to be the opposite of "flashback." These people see a "flash" of something to happen in the future. That's where the "flash" part comes in.

So, then the opposite of "back" is "front", right? Shouldn't it be "Flashfront?" In this context, no.

Let's look at it from another angle. The opposite of "forward" is "backward." So, the title of the show is correct, but the long accepted term "flashback" is not. It should be "flashbackward" and should have been all these years, I guess. Either that or the show should be called "Flashfor."

It seems to me that the best way to resolve this would be if the show just changes it's name to "Flashahead." If they do that, then and only then will I be able to follow along with it's ridiculous storyline.

Some Quick Hits

2009-09-24T10:12:00.002-05:00

1. I should be working
2. I care less about the Red Sox than usual. I think I will watch if they make it to the World Series... but beyond that, I make no promises. It is hard to follow a team from far away.
3. I am looking forward to the Celtics season. They added some good players and they started out 29-2 last year. Garnett may or may not be healthy, but for now I will be optimistic.
4. I really should be working.
5. I am proud to say that I have never watched an episode of "Dancing With the Stars" from start to finish.
6. I am ashamed to say that I watch four consecutive episodes of "Sex Decoy Love Stings" the other night and liked it.
7. I never update my facebook status because I always figure nobody cares what I am thinking or doing.
8. Sweatfest survived the loss of Matt17 as its organizer but could not overcome the loss of JS... unless it was conducted somewhere else without my knowledge.
9. I really really should be working.

Make Those Rims Shine, Ms. New Booty

2009-09-14T12:47:00.002-05:00

The other day I drove by a place called "Get it Rite, Get it Tite Detail'n."

I have not written much lately and sometimes I feel like I am lacking in creativity or ambition or some other thing I haven't the energy to think of.

Sometimes I think that the stuff I see in the world is just so much more funny than anything I could hope to write.

There are lots of things I see around here which need to be documented with photos but when I weigh that need against my need to not get my ass kicked if I am seen taking said photo, I usually refrain.

September 9

2009-09-09T10:50:00.003-05:00

September has always been my favorite month, at least ever since I can remember being old enough not to strictly judge a month based on how many presents people were obligated to give me during that month.

September 9, 1997 was a great day for me. I had passed the bar exam the previous year and had been working at a law firm for several months. Me and several coaches that I had worked with before had left the local YMCA to coach our own swim team. We were finally going to be able to coach the kids without the politics of the YMCA getting in the way. We had tryouts the previous weekend and the turnout had been good.

I don't remember much about September 9, 1997 specifically. I might have had to go to court that day. I might have been at the Federal Building meeting with a Bankruptcy Trustee. I don't remember what I did or who I did it with, but my life would change dramatically that day even if I didn't know it yet.

On September 9, 1997, over 1500 miles away from the three bedroom apartment I shared with my brother and my friend, my son was born.

Brandon's mother and father were in West Monroe, Louisiana. It was a town of which I had never heard. I certainly knew nothing of this new baby until almost 9 years later.

Brandon is a great kid. He is smart. He is funny. He is challenging... and never boring. He tries my patience, but has proven to me time and time again that I am capable of seemingly infinite patience and understanding at times.

As a 26 year old attorney filing divorces and bankruptcies, I was a pretty bitter and cynical guy in 1997. I was cynical when I didn't even yet know about what to be cynical. Some time after that, I learned to have a better attitude. I learned to be more tolerant. These traits are necessary for any good parent to possess.

Every day, I am so thankful that Brandon is in my life now. I hope that he has a very happy 12th birthday today (even though we still have to talk about that note he lied about giving his teacher... .)

Rodneysdad, continued

2009-07-28T12:04:00.000-05:00

Sorry about the letdown here. I know I said I would write about Heather and Rodneysdad but I kind of got bored with the story.

He told her that she had been mean to him every since she thought he put an ironing board in our driveway 2 years ago.

“How do you know I thought YOU put it there, Joe?” she asked.
“Because it was thrown in my yard,” he answered. “I didn’t put it there, but I know who did.”
“Who put it there?” She asked.
“Oh, I am not going to tell you that now. You have been mean to me. I have never had any problems with people complaining about the fence line until now. I have always gotten along with all the neighbors.”
“Joe we asked you to cut it last year, and earlier this year. The old woman in the wheelchair who lived here before us said she asked you to cut it 10 years ago and you told her that you grew it so you wouldn’t have to look at her ugly shed.”
“Yeah, I did say that. Bill on the other side never complained.”

I stepped in and said, “No, Joe, instead he built an 8 foot high wood fence on that one side of his yard.”
“Oh, you don’t know anything. You have not been here very long,” he told me.
“Joe, I can see the fence and that they only built it on one side of their back yard.”

Heather resumed, “They built it because you have the ugliest house and yard on the goddamned block.”

It went on from there, but you get the idea. It was good times. Let’s just say that it pretty much ended with Heather telling him he was a liar and a crazy old man with mental problems.

Fence

2009-07-04T10:03:00.003-05:00

For years and years, the fence line in the back yard has been a problem here. You see our neighbor Joe, Rodney's Dad, is an asshole. He lets the bushes and weeds grow up so high through and over the fence that it is virtually impossible to keep under control.

The picture above is the "before" picture.

We have asked him a few times to clean it up so that the weeds aren't encroaching 5-6 feet over our fence. He did clean it up one time about a year ago but generally he does nothing with it. To make matters worse, he is only there about one weekend a month as he lives with his lady friend in Arkansas. We can't ask him to clean it even if we wanted to.

About a month ago, Heather got sick of asking him and seeing nothing done so she called the city. The city has all kinds of ordinances about how tall your grass can be and stuff like that so they said they would come out to look at it. With them being the City of Shreveport, we figured that meant they would do nothing and wait until we called again.

We did not see them show up at first, but we found out they did when Rodney's Dad showed up and he was pissed off at us. He had received a certified letter basically telling him he had 2 weeks to get it cleaned up or face a fine and the cost of the city to clean it up for him. Because his mail is forwarded, he got the letter 2 days before the deadline and had to drive down from Arkansas and spend two solid days in 100 degree heat cleaning up his yard. He could have paid a yard guy a couple hundred bucks to do it but he is too cheap.

By the time he was done working on it, he was good and mad when he decided to confront Heather. That was not a good idea.

To be continued...

I can't believe he is gone

2009-06-28T20:41:00.002-05:00

We lost a true pioneer this week. It's hard to believe after all he has done, he is gone forever. It's hard to believe that we won't see his face on tv anymore or hear his voice on the radio. That's the way it is though. Life and Death.

Rest in peace, Billy Mays. You will be missed.

a long time

2009-06-21T22:52:00.002-05:00

I know it has been a long time since I posted anything.

You see, several weeks ago, my employers basically said that anyone caught accessing non-work-related sites would be fired on the spot with no questions asked. I asked no questions and just kind of stopped going to blogger. I have been on a little from home but have not written until now.

Not a lot has happened since then.

I heard a guy at the hair place ask the girl to give him a caesar. That was pretty funny.

Also, we got into a fight with our neighbor (Rodneysdad from JS if any of you remember him.) I will write about it soon.

See ya!

High school photo

2009-05-04T08:41:00.003-05:00

This photo was taken when I was on the Freshman basketball team. We were not a very good team which is evidenced by the fact that I was the only one with a face.

I think our record was about 6-12. That was because I hardly ever played, of course. I scored 2 points that season.

The following year, when about 6 of us were junior varsity we were much better. I think we finished 12-6 that season but finished 7-1 in our last 8 games. I lit up the scoreboard for 5 points during that season including a three point play in front of the home crowd. I don't have a picture of that, unfortunately.

I should mention that this photo was posted in response to snowangel and Simon posting their earlier photos. Go check theirs out too.

Greg

2009-04-27T08:32:00.005-05:00

I used to coach swimming to kids. I started when I was 18 and continued doing it until I was thirty-four. When I was a law student at age twenty-three or so, I realized something that bothered me. I knew that if I continued to coach and interact with between 80-150 kids every single year, it was only a matter of time before we lost one of them at far too young an age.

A few months later, I got a call from my parents back home telling me about one of my swimmers who had died in an automobile accident. My realization had become a reality. A seventeen year old girl was dead at far too young an age.

This post is not about her, though. This is about Greg, the subject of the second such phone call I received. This call was last week.

Greg was the oldest of four boys. My fourth year coaching, I met Greg as an eight-year-old. He was very tall and thin. He did not start out being an exceptional swimmer, but then again most people don't. They get better from practicing. As the years went by, Greg improved. His brothers joined the team as they got old enough to do so and their family was one constant we could rely on. Greg was a backstroker and during the last year I coached him, I believe was the backstroker on a state champion medley relay. He was a smart kid. He always liked to read more than play with the other kids. Even his younger brothers were much more social than he was.

Last week I got a call from a friend who still lives back home. He left me a voicemail message telling me that Greg had passed away. He knew none of the details, but had just seen the obituary in the paper and thought I would want to know. I knew it must have been a suicide considering the lack of details. There was no accompanying story about an automobile accident or no phrase about a "lengthy illness."

I had not seen or spoken to Greg in several years. The odds are that had he lived I never would have seen him again. I'll still miss him though. He was a good guy and I just think it is very sad that he decided to shoot himself the day before his twenty-fifth birthday. I think it is sad that he spent his last day feeling so hopeless.

Here is a picture from a better day. Greg is the one on the right.

14

2009-04-24T10:58:00.002-05:00

14 more wins until title number 18 hangs from the rafters. The Celtics have won 2 games in the playoffs this year.

To win a NBA championship, a team must win 4 best-of-seven series in the playoffs. That is only 16 games total. So, a team can go 16-12 and be the champions. It really sounds much easier than it is. I know this because only one out of sixteen playoff teams ever get that 16th win.

A team could go 15-4 and not be the champs. It's that 16th win that gets it. When you start examining the details and saying they will probably have to beat a team with LeBron James AND a team with Kobe Bryant without having the benefit of the homecourt advantage and without their best player, getting there it seems impossible. But it's not.

Sunday they play the Chicago Bulls and they can win that game. That is all they can do Sunday and if they do, the number will be down to 13.

Beast

2009-04-21T08:28:00.002-05:00

I was reading comments from fans on ESPN.com and came across this one:

"I know Bull fans and Celtic haters are thinking that the Celtics will lose in Chicago, but you gotta remember that Paul Pierce hasn't had a good game yet. So you never know what factors can round into a game. You're not always gonna get beast games from Rose or Gordon to bail you out. I'm a Laker fan and I hate the Celtics as much as the next guy, but I'm just saying that the Bulls can't relax just because they are at home now. "

I added the emphasis on "beast."

Brandon walks around talking about how beast things are and how beast he is and how beast everything is... unless it is epic. Sometimes things are both beast and epic.

I guess my reaction is similar to what my father's reaction was when I started calling things "massive" and "awesome" back in the early 1980's. The difference is that "massive" and "awesome" where always adjectives. I'm not sure when "beast" changed its part of speech.

I have never really used the word "beast" all that much except for a couple of years in college when people referred to what they were drinking as "The Beast." The Beast was the nickname for Milwaukee's Best Beer which is far from beast by today's standards. It was cheap though. Of course, sometimes it was hard to get ahold of beer in those days so just having some of the Beast was beast enough for the night.

Differences

2009-04-03T13:19:00.002-05:00

A while back I wrote an entry about the differences between living in New England and living in Louisiana. It was on Journalspace so you won't find it in this journal.

I encountered another difference today.

I was in a rural town trying to get an older man to answer some questions for me about a particular piece of property. He answered my questions and then had some for me. The first question he asked me was to what church I belong.

Where I come from nobody cares what church to which you belong or even if you go to church at all.

Fortunately I had an answer for him. I am not sure how helpful he would have been otherwise.

Healing the Red Heeler

2009-04-02T13:29:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, Heather, Brandon, and I went to dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant. The restaurant is about a 10 minute drive from our house with about 5 minutes of it being through a less than desirable part of the city.

On our way home from dinner, we had to drive past the “Triple J” gas station that I like to refer to as the “Nine J” because the sign for it actually says “Triple JJJ.” That’s nine J’s total. The station is in that less desirable five minutes part of the drive.

It was pouring rain and I noticed a Red Heeler standing outside the convenience store. The dog was wet and had a frayed piece of rope tied around her neck. The rope was not tied to anything else.

I asked Heather if she had seen the apparently stray dog. She said she had but was trying to ignore it. She has a very soft spot for animals in need and was hoping to just drive past. My bringing attention to it caused us to both decide to turn around just to see if the dog needed food.

We pulled into the parking lot by the gas pumps and I got out of the car and looked at the dog. She seemed friendly enough but had a really bad rash and lots of hair missing on her back and neck. It appeared to be mange. I wanted to help, but did not want to step on someone else’s toes if she belonged to someone who was inside so I walked into the store to ask if she belonged to anyone in there. A dirty older man standing near the door said she was his.

“Do you want to adopt her?” he asked.
“No. I just wanted to know if she needed some food,” I answered.
“She can always use food,” he replied. “She’s probably tired of leftover Domino’s pizza crust.”

I went in and bought a $4.50 bag of dog food that costs $1.00 at most stores. I opened the bag and poured some out for the Red Heeler. I handed the rest to her homeless owner, JJ. (That’s 11 J’s all together if you are counting.) I hoped he would be able to carry the rest of the dog food and the six-pack of beer he had purchased back to wherever he and the dog were headed.

Heather and I told JJ that we wanted to help get the dog treated for her condition and gave him our phone number. Heather told him she would call a few places and try to find out where we could take her and how much it would cost and that we would handle it. All he had to do was call us back 3 days later and we would let him know what to do.

Heather called an emergency vet for their input that night when we got home. The next morning she called our veterinarian and called to Humane Society about trying to find a place to house her while she was being treated. We were going to get her mange treated, get her spayed, and get her vaccinated and de-wormed. We could not take her into our home because of the contagious nature of mange.

Heather asked what I thought she should tell JJ about how we would transport the dog and where she would stay.

“He’s probably not ever going to call us,” I told her. I hoped he would but I told her not to worry because she had done everything she could to possibly help that dog. It was going to be on JJ, who did not look like a picture of reliability.

JJ never called. It’s probably better for us personally, but I feel sorry for that poor dog. This morning on my way to work, I saw JJ on the side of the road. The Red Heeler was not with him.

Gram

2009-04-01T09:52:00.004-05:00

My sister recently re-sent me an email that our grandmother had sent to her about a year before she died from ALS. My grandmother had a rare form of ALS which impacted her ability to speak and swallow long before it impacted her ability to walk and otherwise function normally. She could still go to the store, work in the garden, and play solitaire.

She was reluctant to embrace new technology but as it became impossible for her to speak and use the telephone, she did start to use email to communicate, albeit sparingly. We got her a new computer specifically for this purpose but every time I went over there the only thing I ever saw her use the computer for was to play solitaire on the computer instead of using a deck of playing cards.

She tried using email, but just never got totally comfortable with it. Here is the email my sister forwarded to me:

"Dear Em Are you still planning on coming next week? You are always welcome. I hope the cold weather stops soon. What are you doing for excitement? I went up to Penny,s yesterday and bought a pair of slacks and a jersey. I took them back this morning. Love Gram"

Bacon Double Cheeseburger with Onion Rings

2009-03-09T15:07:00.003-05:00

“Bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings?” she asked, jolting me out of a daydream. I looked down at my chicken strip basket with fries as if to confirm to myself that I had not ordered the bacon double cheeseburger with rings. It sure sounded better than what I had been eating.

“No, that wasn’t me,” I replied, sending the Dairy Queen employee along her way to find the owner of the burger.

I sat alone at a table and ate my lunch. When I left for work that morning to do research in one of the most depressing little towns I have ever seen, I thought to myself that since there were only a Dairy Queen and a McDonald’s there, I might want to bring my lunch with me. I took the lazy route and instead left without packing one, knowing I could certainly eat at either of those places if I wanted to eat lunch that day.

“Bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings?” I heard the server asking another patron at a nearby table. Unlike me, this man had no food in front of him so it was certainly more likely to have been his than mine. The older gentleman with the reddish flannel shirt shook his head.

“No, that’s not mine,” he said.

I looked out at my car in the parking lot. I had several thousands of dollars worth of work product and work equipment in the car. It made me happy to know I could watch my car from the restaurant as I ate lunch, but made me somewhat uneasy that I had to leave it unattended while inside doing my courthouse research. I do not worry so much about my car being stolen, but I do worry about my computer and my work being stolen. I never know if I am better off bringing my stuff into the courthouse with me and taking my chances there or leaving it in the locked, but unattended, car.

“Bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings?” the woman shouted. No one in the restaurant was taking ownership of it and she was getting frustrated. She walked back towards the counter.

I wasn’t sure how I ended up here. As I drove to eat lunch, I noticed a Popeye’s Chicken and a Pizza Hut that I had forgotten about when considering my options that morning. I thought I had only two options and had settled on Dairy Queen. I ordered a chicken basket and wished I had ordered a bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings… or wished I had gone to Popeye’s to get chicken. I briefly considered taking responsibility for the orphaned burger order, but wasn’t hungry enough to do that.

I noticed the cashier motioning over to the older gentleman with the red flannel shirt as she directed the server as to where the burger belonged. The server went over to him again.

“Bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings?” She asked him again.

“No,” he replied in protest. “I ordered a bacon double cheeseburger with onion rings and a coke.”

I decided it was time to go back to work.

Take Two

2009-02-27T09:29:00.001-06:00

I know you are all shocked by this title. "A Mexican cleaning woman?" What the hell kind of nonsense is he talking about? We had one though as this story is true.When I was in college, we had a team of housekeepers who were responsible for cleaning the common areas in our dormitory. When I first got there, we had one guy named Paul and he was good. The guys on our floor had a good relationship with Paul. He did a good job and didn't complain about cleaning up after college kids. For our part, we did not mention how this guy was like 50 years old and cleaned college dorms for a living. It all worked well.Our world was rocked one day when we were told that Paul had quit. He was being replaced with a Mexican cleaning woman. I did not know her name. I just knew her as the new Mexican cleaning woman. To show my naivety at the time, I did not realize that there were different types of Mexican cleaning woman like Guatemalans and Puerto Ricans, for example.

On my floor we had one bathroom which had 3 showers. This was shared by about 25 people so there were people taking showers frequently. This meant that the MCW would almost always have to clean the bathroom while someone was in there showering.

It was all ok though. There was a curtain on the shower stall and then there was a private drying off area and another curtain to get into that. She could come in and clean the toilets and sinks and not be directly exposed to naked college guys. If she heard someone taking a shower, she would avoid the shower area until they were gone.

The Mexican cleaning woman had a special trick that she used to like to pull. When a guy was in the drying off area, she would pull the curtain aside and then act surprised when she saw someone there.

At first we thought it was all perfectly innocent. A few of us discussed this and decided it was happening far too frequently to be so innocent. I would try coughing when I knew she was in there, just to alert her that there was someone behind the curtain. It didn’t matter though, she would still “accidently” open the curtain to clean the shower. (In retrospect, I don’t know why it never occurred to me to just yell to her that I was in there, but it didn’t.) By the time we would be in there sounding like tuberculosis patients and were still being walked in on, we realized it was not a mistake on her part.

After considering whether or not to turn her in, I decided to let it slide. I did not care that much and I figured if it gave the MCL some small thing (and I mean that figuratively) to look forward to when she came to work, it was the least I could do.

The Mexican Cleaning Woman

2009-02-26T11:01:00.007-06:00

I know you are all shocked by this title. "A Mexican cleaning woman?" What the hell kind of nonsense is he talking about? We had one though as this story is true.

When I was in college, we had a team of housekeepers who were responsible for cleaning the common areas in our dormitory. When I first got there, we had one guy named Paul and he was good. The guys on our floor had a good relationship with Paul. He did a good job and didn't complain about cleaning up after college kids. For our part, we did not mention how this guy was like 50 years old and cleaned college dorms for a living. It all worked well.

Our world was rocked one day when we were told that Paul had quit. He was being replaced with a Mexican cleaning woman. I did not know her name. I just knew her as the new Mexican cleaning woman. To show my naivity at the time, I did not realize that there were different types of Mexican cleaning woman like Guatemalans and Puerto Ricans, for example.

...I am so disappointed. The second half of this story was lost when I tried to publish it. I will try to finish it later.

New Entry

2009-02-12T08:51:00.002-06:00

I don't have much to say but hate having not updated in a while so I will just say this for now.

WTF?

What's New

2009-01-26T12:27:00.002-06:00

I have very busy at work. It's one of those projects where they say, "Be here by this time and if you aren't here by then, you can start looking for other work." I worked last Saturday but refused to go in this weekend for one very simple reason.

I am going away next weekend to visit my family in New England. I did not want to give up my weekend with Heather this weekend.

I am going to visit my family back in New England because my brother and his wife HAD A BABY this morning! I am very excited to go meet my brand new niece.

I appear to start a lot of paragraphs with the word "I."

I guess that must be a sign of self-centeredness.

I don't care today.

New Photo

2009-01-08T08:57:00.002-06:00

I just added a photo to my profile. This is our dog Macey. She is almost 6 months old. She gets "fixed" next week. By "fixed" I mean she gets spayed but I wish it meant that they would stop her from acting crazy, going through the trash, and eating the other dogs' crap. Of course, I have less crap to clean up out of the yard, so that is a positive.

Speaking of photos, I have a question/issue with some people's photos. Why do people take pictures of themselves with their phone in their hand? I mean, why is the phone in the picture? I understand it is a camera phone and everything, but turn it around and take a picture. If you don't like it, erase it and take another. It's not that difficult to figure out.

Nerd

2009-01-07T08:45:00.000-06:00

"He's a nerd," he told him. "He's a nerd, because he never played any sports."

Even though we had virtually nothing in common, I thought we could at least find common ground over the fact that we are both Ohio State University Football fans.

"Yeah he did," he responded in my defense. "He played basketball and he was a swimmer."

"Well, he's a pussy too. Those aren't contact sports. Basketball is a nigger sport and swimming is a faggot sport."

Trust me, I do not care what his loser uncle thinks about me, but I do care what he says to my step-son about me or anything else for that matter.

What is it that makes me a nerd? Is it the fact that I became an Ohio State football fan while attending law school in Ohio and not when I was serving time in jail?

What is it that makes me a pussy? Is it playing a "nigger" sport in a state where I did not have a black teammate and played against teams without any black players. I think one team we played had one black guy. That was it. Basketball is not traditionally considered a contact sport, but I wonder how he would feel if he actually played ball against me some time. I would be willing to bet that I hit more people on a basketball court, without pads and helmets, than he ever did on the football field.

Or was it being a swimmer that makes me a pussy? I practiced BEFORE school and did my homework and had a social life after school. If swimming is a faggot sport, then I was pretty fucking gay. I set state records and was one of the 200 fastest faggots in the United States. I also continued my faggery as a swimmer in college. I suppose I could have been more "straight" wasting time in jail. For someone who talks about being straight he certainly seems to like having "contact" with other men a lot.

Maybe it is paying my own bills that makes me a pussy. I do not live with my brother and his wife and two kids. I have held a job for extended periods of time and I treat my mother with respect. Maybe that is the stuff that makes me a pussy in his eyes.

As I said, I really do not care what the asshole thinks about me but I DO care what he says to my stepson. I go out of my way to not talk to B about what a douchebag his uncle is and it is difficult. For now, I'll continue to be the grown-up in all of this but I hope that B is able to identify who the "pussy" is as he gets older.

Hi

2009-01-05T09:01:00.001-06:00

Ok, I don't know about all of this.