An NFL Experience

     The Super Bowl has come to town for the third time since I’ve lived in Arizona; this time with my wife’s favorite team in tow. We donned our Patriots gear and hopped the Metro to downtown Phoenix for the NFL Experience; a first time experience for us both. We were definitely in the minority in our Pats gear as the train filled up with fans festooned in Seahawks colored garb along the way. A couple times chants of “Sea!” Hawks!” rang out during the trip; we got really tired of hearing it break out inside the venue too.

    We arrived to a sea of people overrunning downtown Phoenix.  This was a huge crowd; a churning mass of humanity milling about seeking football fan nirvana.  Every inch of real estate that wasn’t covered by tents or signs was being tread upon by thousands of feet. We decided to hit Super Bowl Central; they handed us a map and asked if we ended help finding anything. Thus began our typical event staff interactions for the day, which was essentially the same no matter where they were or what they were doing.  When asked a question they’d lift their right arm, point and say, “Go that way.” Not a lefty in the bunch, what are the chances of that?

    While we tried to find the entrance, we wandered by a few exhibits outside like the Street Art Throw-down, which explained why my nose was assaulted with the odor of spray paint; sanctioned graffiti featuring brilliant colors with an Arizona Super Bowl theme. There were also a few strategically placed street corner preachers with headset mics proselytizing through a PA, while others passed out leaflets; only in America, side by side spectacles of such extremes in the same venue.

     We discovered the line to get inside snaked along one entire side of the Phoenix Convention Center and almost to the end of the next; you couldn’t see your destination until you got close to the entrance. The line squeezed us down into lanes created by barriers that allowed only 2 at a time to walk comfortably side by side.  Once inside the staff did the arm thing again and directed us toward the entrance for those who had tickets like ourselves. 

                                               "Go that way"

Finally inside the building

    

     For an NFL junkie this is the place to be, though if you want to experience everything it can’t all be done in one day, because this is just like a huge theme park. The most popular events like the autograph stage and the field activities had ridiculously long lines which will eat up a lot of time.  The event spanned 3 floors in the convention center, with the main activities and the pro shop on the first floor. The elbow to elbow crush of humanity created by the setup made for a lot of bumps and twists to make your way through the crowd; stopping anywhere was asking to be run into by a little kid or someone not looking where they were going. Can you say epic madhouse?  We poked around in the pro shop for a bit then decided to head on inside.

                                         Sensory overload

     The walk into the main venue was pure sensory overload; the panorama shot doesn’t even scratch the surface on the noise, lights, and stuff that sprawled in front of us. We picked the path of least resistance crowd-wise and set off to see what we could find. What we found was akin to a NFL Disney; we found lines, lots of them, and very long too. We also finally found more Patriot fans inside enjoying the festivities in their typical low key New England way; an exchange of “Go Pats” and a smile as we passed were about as rowdy is it got.

One of the Field Event Areas

Funky old team jackets

Program from first ever AFL game

Hall of Fame ring, Strahan's 

     There were NFL films on massive TVs all over the place and they were all playing different highlights. There was a nice display of old pictures, programs and uniforms from the Hall of Fame. The busts and rings from the 2014 class were on display; those rings are HUGE. We wandered through a display where they were making and selling Wilson footballs, got our picture taken next to the NFL draft podium, and met a group of Pats fans that came out for the game.  We were all waiting to put our face on a fully equipped Pats player statue. There was one of those for every team placed throughout the place; some had lines for pictures while others were used by folks to sit and rest tired feet.  The big display on the upper level showed the history of pro football from 1870’s to the present day and had some cool old time pics. There was so much to see, we walked and walked and walked some more.  This was definitely a total immersion NFL experience any fan, whether die-hard or casual, should have an opportunity to be a part of.

Drafted #1

                                              

     We made the Pro Shop our last stop of the day. The checkout line snaked around and through the shop till you reached a mini maze of those airport ribbon barriers. When you arrived at the end of the line the cashiers waved a flag to signal who was next. We took a lot of pictures to document our day, which was a hell of a lot of fun.

                                     " Honey take the picture I"m on my tiptoes!"

                    Time for a brief respite and a selfie before the trip home.

      We hopped the Metro for the ride home, which was standing room only; stand we did all the way home. We had a couple of swings and misses trying to find a place for a decent sit down dinner, though we did witness another fabulous Arizona sunset. 

     

     We were both so tired and hungry by the time we sat down to eat we agreed we would have eaten a tire covered with butter. Everything hurt except my hair by the time we got home, though I wouldn’t have missed it for the world knowing how happy it made my lovely wife. Her smile at the end of the day made it all worthwhile. When Malcolm Butler made a game-saving interception the next day, it tied a nice bow on a great weekend.

Storm Stories

     Catching Wolf Blitzer on the Communist News Network reporting about the big storm hitting the Northeast today brought back memories of other big storms I’ve experienced in the ol’ Northeast.  I tuned in to the Weather Channel when I got home just to see what was going on.  It looks like Massachusetts and Connecticut have instituted travel bans, schools have already been closed for the next two days, the shelves at the grocery stores are empty, and the storm hasn’t even hit full force yet. Yikes! I remember similar times well; some memories were fond, others not so much, and some were downright ridiculous. I was always a Weather Channel watcher during the winter when I lived in New England, especially since I had to go out and plow that stuff.  Living in this part of Arizona we don’t get snow, though we do have crazy dust storms and flash flooding and those have their own special nightmare quality.

   Seeing the travel ban in Connecticut reminds me of the blizzard of ’78, which was the first time I ever experienced a travel ban.  The big storm hit only weeks after the Hartford Civic Center roof collapsed due to accumulated snow. I had been there for a Marshall Tucker concert a few days prior to the roof coming down; talk about something that made your butthole pucker just thinking about it. For today’s storm the authorities got out ahead of the worst of the storm with the travel ban. Back in ’78 we were already ass deep to an elephant in snow by the time the Gov said, “Hey everyone, stay home!”

     Did a travel ban stop me and my running buddies from going out and buzzing around town in my silly little Pinto wagon? Nope!  Armed with a quart of brandy and other necessary supplies we spent a good part of the first night of the ban driving around helping push people out of snowbanks.  Our typical reward being a few beers for our trouble; of course we all needed more of those for the antifreeze effect. Right. The night culminated at the park about a block from my house with the last of brandy thunked into a snow bank, a toboggan and a big hill. I made the mistake of sitting in the front on what turned out to be the last run. We hit a bump, everyone’s weight shifted forward and my knee went pop! When I tried to stand up to walk back up the hill my knee was having none of that and I proceeded to collapse in a heap. My buddies loaded me on the toboggan and fortunately the snow on the streets made the task for those drunken sled dogs only slightly less aggravating than if they were clear. No doubt anyone that happened to glance out their window wondered what that collection of knuckleheads was doing out in that mess. Damn kids!  I crawled upstairs to bed when I got home and passed out. I was reminded of my previous evening’s debauchery when I collapsed on the floor after I got out of bed the next morning. A trip to the ER revealed torn cartilage and resulted in a few months of rehab. It had to be the damn snow’s fault didn’t it?

    In the mid 80’s I was living in Richmond when we were hit with 3 good sized snowstorms back to back around the first of the year. If any area was totally unprepared to handle snow of that magnitude it was Richmond.  My street was never plowed during the storms and we were essentially housebound for a few days. I tried digging for some old pictures of that storm; alas, they have been gobbled up by the sands of time during my many moves. I remember the snow being deeper than the tires on my little Subaru. It was an interesting few days for sure; snowman, snow forts and snowball fights ensued. I was out driving in the first storm and got behind a snowplow spreading sand, I think that is what he was trying to do anyway. I was puttering down the road to my house when I came up behind this plow truck weaving back and forth across the road. He was driving very slowly, from one side of the road to the other and I wondered what the hell he was doing until I got close enough. There was a sander on the back of the truck that I guess was either broken or had been set to only trickle sand out the back to save the city a few bucks. This guy was sanding the road with about a 2” wide strip that intermittently drizzled from the chute as he wove back and forth across the road. Jackson Pollack eat your heart out, this was winter street art of an epic degree; he was leaving a nice little brown ribbon that ran crisscross on the road. It was obvious that he or someone else had done the same thing previously from the opposite direction. I nearly wet myself laughing. The typical post storm occurrence in the Richmond area happened over the next 5 days, as all the snow was gone after the temps went up into the 50’s.

     My last winter in Connecticut before moving out to Arizona we almost hit century records for snowfall that winter. That winter just didn’t want to let go and in March it dumped over 2 feet of snow during a span of about 36 hours. I had planned a 4 day weekend. Silly me. The wet heavy snow just kept falling; I started to wonder when it was going to stop. It was probably one of the toughest snow cleanups I ever had. I plowed that mess in an old rot box GMC with a lousy heater and no exhaust. I didn’t sleep that night and neither did anyone else in the neighborhood while the storm howled in harmony with that old truck. By the time I was finished, my legs felt like they weighed 400 pounds each after all the hours I spent pushing the gas and the clutch. I can’t neglect to mention the untold number of times I had to get out and clean frozen snow off the windshield due to the crappy heater. I hired a handful of folks to help clear sidewalks and we must have cleared everything at least 3 or 4 times to keep ahead of the snow that just kept falling. I was running out of places to put snow by the time it was over since we still had some big piles hanging around from previous storms. I was never so glad to park that old truck. I don’t know who was more beat up after that, me or the truck. I left for Arizona 3 months later.

     Plowing snow is not easy work, though it was probably my favorite winter sport; I was never a skier or skater. I had a lot of fun doing it despite the weather conditions and the physical demands.  There were many moments of hilarity that ensued when the plow truck hit the street.

     Weather predicting has been much better since the Blizzard of ’78, though everyone still has to deal with the storm once it hits. My sincere hope is that anyone in the path of this current storm can keep the lights on; the heat turned up, and wrap their hands around a warm cup of something to help them ride out the storm.

      

Mr. Zip is Watching

During any normal day I talk to folks all over the U S of A. One day last week I noticed something that I had never really given much thought to previously.  There was nothing I found that was horribly earth shattering or profound. It was just one of those mundane things that never received any conscious recognition on my part and I imagine most of the rest of you haven’t given more than a passing thought to either. I've had one of these everywhere I've lived since I was in 3 cornered pants, the rest of you probably had one too. The only time any of us really thinks about this is when we’re tossing something in the mailbox. Yep, I am talking about our friend the zip code.

     You may be asking yourself why hell is he writing about the zip code.  All I can say in my defense is this is what I get occasionally when something makes me stop and think, “Hmm, never noticed that before.” When I pull a loose thread on an old sweater I never know what I’m going to get, though occasionally I do have an idea what that pile of thread may look like, but not always.

     I happened to be having one of those days were I seemed to be talking to people from the Northeast, primarily the New England states. For the first time something dawned on me that I had never consciously acknowledged before; all the zip codes for the New England states start with a “0”. I spent a lot of years in the Northeast and had never noticed the connection before; just slap the old zip code on a letter or bill then send it off expecting it to make it to its destination. Who the hell thinks about their zip code or gives much thought to some silly bunch of numbers and wonders why they are what they are? Yours truly that’s who. I've always been somewhat of a numbers nut and as a kid would pour over the box scores in the newspaper on a daily basis just to devour the stats.  Numbers are still tasty, though stats I've come to realize rarely tell the whole story, though this little numbers game lit a spark in me. Thankfully, my pants didn't catch on fire.

     Filled with intrigue, well marginally anyway, I decided to investigate the mystery, which really isn't a mystery, though like any other mystery there were questions that couldn't be answered. The Zip Code was initially established in the early 60’s to help move the mail more efficiently, though they weren't mandatory at that time. How efficient mail delivery was prior to Zip Codes is up for debate. A few years later they were made mandatory for bulk rate mailings and the rest of the country followed along; the rest is as they say is history. 

    The Zip Code numbering system starts with the New England states, though I could not find a reason why they start there. I’d venture a guess it has something to do with the whole Plymouth Rock, Pilgrims, and the first thirteen colonies thing, but I could find nothing to refute or prove that either way. The country is basically divided into 10 zones, numbered 0 thru 9, and the first digit determines the zone.  The next two digits specify a region or city within that zone and the last two are for more specific locales.

     There are several business locations, like General Electric at Schenectady, NY and the Empire State building along with some government locations like the CIA and the main Post Office in Alexandria, VA that are actually assigned their own specific zip code. Santa Claus doesn't have a US Zip code, though the Canadians using there alphanumeric postal coding send all mail to him at Santa Claus North Pole H0h 0h0.

     I had a bit of fun with this little project as it developed and spent way more time on it than I should have; that numbers thing again I guess. I remembered being a kid and seeing the Public Service Announcements on TV with Mr. Zip reminding us to use our zip code. Little did I know at the time it was a relatively new addition to day to day life in the US. The video at the top is from the Library of Congress and runs about 14 minutes. If you can sit through the corny lyrics and goofy choreography the part in the middle with the guy sitting at the desk is worth it for the comic relief alone. It was obvious he was not cut out for being in front of a camera; he looked like he didn't know whether to shit or wind his watch. Thanks for joining me on my little history mystery and remember to use your zip code; Mr. Zip is watching.

Research Links:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZWgioyrmBU

http://www.zipboundary.com/zipcode_history.html

http://www.quine.org/zip-all-01000.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._ZIP

Meh FL

     We are down to the final four of the ugliest NFL season I think I‘ve ever been witness too; in a word meh. The taint from off the field stuff that dominated headlines right up to opening kickoff threw an egg on the league’s face that dripped from its’ chin all season.  The decision to call more pass interference penalties gave the zebras too much influence in deciding games; as if that wasn’t the case already. Parity achieved appears to be the keyword to describe the season; a team with a losing record making the playoffs falls right in line with push to have every team end at 8-8 to make the playoff run more interesting. Not.

     There were some nice highlights in a season of lowlights and low life’s, with the commish at the top of the second list. The biggest surprise out of the gate had to be the Cardinals starting off at 9-1. Because they are essentially the Chicago Cubs of the NFL they didn’t really get any respect, though they did make the cover of SI. The possibility of a team playing a home game in the Super Bowl for the first time had some legs until Carson Palmer’s knee betrayed him.  Cardinal’s fans are left to ponder what may have been.

    The other surprise team would have to be Dallas, who most experts predicted would be lucky to win half their games with the defense they brought back. I doubt anyone suspected the reclamation project that defense was would end up actually playing as well as it did. DeMarco Murray’s assault on the season rushing record fizzled down the stretch, though it did add some excitement to an otherwise drab season.

     This was the epitome of a season with no best team. There wasn’t one team that dominated from the outset and the statistic that the best team only wins the championship about 25% of the time in any of the major league sports won’t matter for this season. There was no best team this year and the Super Bowl winner again will be the team that peaks during the playoffs.

     The awards handed out at the end of the season will probably bring more drama than the majority of the laundry fests that masqueraded as games this year.  Does anyone think Houston would have won 9 games without JJ Watt? I don’t think so. I think he has a good chance to be the first player since Lawrence Taylor to win both Player of the Year honors, though being on a non –playoff team will hurt his chances. The others in the mix like Murray, Aaron Rodgers, and Tom Brady all had great years and they also had a better group of players around them too. JJ gets my vote if I had one.

   Odell Beckham is a human highlight real and has to be the Rookie of the Year. No could ever confuse me for a Giants fan; their games, just like NASCAR just won’t come in on my TV, which is odd since I have satellite TV. This season though I had to gag myself with a spoon, then sit and watch the Giants just to see this kid play; he is special and has a ton of talent. Thanks Odell for helping me win a championship in one of my fantasy leagues.

   Bruce Arians gets my vote for Coach of the Year for keeping the Cardinals in the mix all season long despite losing some big time players even before the season started. It was unfortunate to see the wheels come off as the season wound down; the defense finally collapsed under the strain of having to be the offense too.

     The season did have its laugh out loud moments though with either the Jets, Redskins or Raiders seeming to be perpetually in  3^rd down and LOL type situations each  week; unless of course you’re a fan of one of those teams then you have my condolences for the mismanaged disasters those teams are.  Fans of the Bears, Saints and Falcons should ask for refunds on their season tickets for the half-hearted efforts those teams put on the field.

     I often found myself this season with an internal debate each Sunday deciding if I was going to watch the games; I don’t know any of these guys so why should it matter who wins? Some habits are hard to break, and this has been one I’ve been considering dumping for a few years, though I still allow myself to be sucked in by each fall.  I have no doubt I can find something to replace it, though my sock drawer doesn’t need to be reorganized on a weekly basis. My days of spending fall afternoons playing touch football on a street strewn with leaves are long in the rear view mirror and maybe it’s time to leave another fall tradition behind too..  

Cool as the Other Side of the Pillow

     When Stuart Scoot first started appearing on Sportscenter I wondered, “Who is this guy?”  I have to admit he made me laugh and was a great addition to the Sportscenter desk. I loved Kenny Mayne and Dan Patrick as a broadcast pair; their straight men deliveries often lead to hilarity. Chris Berman had been throwing references to songs and musicians into all his highlight shows for a good while already, so over the top silliness with a dash of personality on Sportscenter was definitely not outside the norm.

      Into that crazy mix dropped Stuart Scott and the bar was raised just a tad. With his signature lines, each delivered with their own specific cadence and emphasis he made himself stand out from not only the broadcasters on ESPN, but all the other networks as well.  Those signature lines were original and sounded like them just came naturally to him. I wondered when I first saw him on screen if those lines were stolen from some long forgotten standup comic on Holiday Inn cirucuit or a wannabe rapper street performer. No matter the origin of those lines, they made us sit down to watch and take notice.

      As I continued to tune into Sportscenter I noticed a change; as the old guard at ESPN were moving on the new guys were trying to be Stuart Scott and failing.  Sportscenter turned into an contest to see who could come up with the zingiest one liner to go through the highlights.  It is said that imitation is the greatest form of flattery; no one said the imitation had to be good. I realized after a while that Stuart Scott was in a class by himself; he owned who he was and shared it with the rest of us. If the highlight show had been music, then he was the Michael Jackson of Sportscenter; he had the music in him.

      I ‘ve watched some of the tributes to him over the past couple days as the news of his passing hit the airwaves and everyone seemed to have a story to tell about Stuart’s influence on their life and career.  There were two poignant moments that stood out to me from all the others. The first was from Robin Roberts, a tough and very cool lady who had her own battle with the Big C, and how the two of them helped each other fight the good fight. The other was from Keyshawn Johnson on Game Day. It was a side of him that I’ve never seen on air before. The huskiness of his voice as he related his Stuart story barely disguised the emotion it was obvious he was feeling. If anyone was going to cry on that set I would have expected it to be Cris Carter.

      I watched his acceptance speech at the ESPY’s for the Jimmy V award; dry eyes were not in attendance for this seat.

     The sports world and the rest of the world lost one of the good guys, who will forever remain as cool as the other side of the pillow.

     

Tag, You're In and the Floppy Socks are Out

     When the New Year rolls around, as it just did, conversation often turns to the question of New Year’s resolutions. What New Year’s resolutions are you making and how long do you think you will stick to them?  The idea, in essence, makes a lot of sense; we just passed through a time of introspection and reflection on the year that was, as Christmas and whatever holiday you celebrate blew in through your front door and out the back. Then again maybe not, everyone celebrates the holidays in their own way and some folks are just happy to see the previous year in the rear view mirror as we look to a fresh start.

     New Year’s resolutions have been around since ancient times and are recorded as far back as the Babylonians and the Romans. The Romans moved the practice from March back to January, apparently as an offering to the God Janus, where we get the name for the month of January.  This god had two heads looking in opposite directions, one looking at the year ahead, the other head peering back at the year behind.  No doubt Saturday nights in the land of the gods must have been difficult; when you have two heads wanting to go in opposite directions deciding which party they were going to run off to probably ended in a tug of war. As you can see in the pic above he has his party jug at hand. I bet he walked sideways a lot.

     The beginning of a new year is similar to the experience of driving a stretch through a winding road only to finally come around a blind curve that opens into a long straightway. That straight stretch of road appears to have no end as it touches the horizon in the distance, though we know perception lies a lot and that straightaway may contain a dip we don’t see and a turn or three as we keep on truckin’. Maybe that’s where New Year’s resolutions come in to the picture; either way we get to see where the road leads.

     As we drive, those resolutions can become navigational aids or convenient clubs left by the side of the road to pick up and beat ourselves over the head with when we feel the need. The old standby resolutions such as eating better, losing weight, getting more exercise, quitting smoking or drinking have the potential to lend themselves to frequent stops to grab a club. From this seat I see those as year round sort of resolutions; whether it’s January, May or October I can always start my year over.  I kind of consider offering the old standbys as my New Year’s resolutions as being kind of lazy on my part; most of those pop up all year long for me anyway, so I know I am and will continue to be a work in progress.

      My resolutions tend to be a little outside the norm and I fully claim the right to make new ones at any time of the year. Last year in March I had to make a late resolution to not wear my shirt to work inside out. Apparently I threw on my polo shirt inside out one morning and didn’t notice until someone asked me why I had a tag on the outside of my shirt halfway through the day. I didn't bother switching it around at that point, why argue with success?

   A brief side rant here: Why do we call polo shirts polo shirts? I remember when these types of shirts started showing up everywhere during the 80’s we called them golf shirts, because golfers seemed to be the only ones wearing them.  There is a lot more people that play golf anyway. Who the hell knows anyone that plays polo?  Seriously, full contact croquet on horseback with a soccer goal and we name a shirt for that?  No, nah, nah, nah no, false. Okay, end rant now where was I? Ah, resolutions for a new year and the right to change them, or not.

     I’ve decided to keep the not wearing my shirt inside out to work resolution, and will apply that to all apparel with tags, though my wife and I disagree on one item. I say underwear doesn’t count because no one sees it, she disagrees; the eternal debate rolls on.

     Another resolution I am going to stick with this year is to try some type of food I have never eaten. A few months ago I ate guacamole for the first time. To me it is the most disgusting looking stuff; I thought it looked more like lizard puree than something edible. As far as I’m concerned it still is horrible looking stuff, though now I can say it tastes good. Live and learn I guess, though I do reserve the right to not eat cottage cheese again. Ever.

    Another resolution I’ve made for this year is a kind of two in one. I decided at least a couple times a month to wear different colored socks to work. That idea will test my creativity with a collection of socks that are either black, grey, or brown, which leads to part two. I resolve to purge my sock drawer of all my Pete Maravich socks. You know the ones I’m talking about; the ones with the elastic that is shot so they just puddle around your ankles. Hmm, I guess there is a part three here too. I suppose I’ll also have to rid my sock drawer of all the socks I’ve sharpened my toenails on for so long I can read the newspaper through the toe.

   I resolve to make more lists this year to give myself a visual reminder to not forget to do the stuff I keep forgetting to do. I think I will do them in pencil, because those trusty old pencils need some love too. I think I have a sharpener stashed in my office supplies box, its probably hidden under the box of staples I bought 5 years ago. This list idea is done under the guise of having my office be more organized. Now if I can keep the top of my desk a little more clutter free I might be able to find said list. 

     My resolution for this weekend is to put all the Christmas stuff back in the shed and fill the recycle bin with the boxes left over from Christmas shipping. The cats will lose their playhouse, though they have more than enough toys around here to keep them amused; especially the hair ties from the two-legged in the house.

     My wish for your New Year is one of good health and much success. Hopefully you will all find the time to find a good spot to watch the sun rise or set, take in the glow of a full moon with someone you care about, find some flowers to get a good whiff of and just basically  be happy. I say this to you and also to myself. We have a new year to mold, enjoy it and fill with new memories. Here's to making it a good one.

     

The Year of the Pen

    Each year as the end of the year rolls around there are numerous lists of the 10 best, worst, funniest, saddest, and whatever other name can be slapped on a list of 10 somethings during the year. I like checking out some of those little "year in review" lists; they become snapshots to remind me what went on during the year while I was busy being busy. Relax my friends, this is not going to be one of those lists. Well, then again no promises, I’m just going to follow this missive to the end.

   I spent a bit of time thinking about this past year and the new one hurtling at us. Not surprisingly I decided I wanted to get some thoughts down on paper, though I didn’t want to make just another "year in review" list type of thing; several someones have been gracious enough to do that for me already.  The end of the year easily lends itself to look back at what was; whether with fondness, or a tear, a grumble, or a guffaw, we all have things to be grateful and thankful for.  The New Year is always a bright shiny box we have to wait to open until January 1^st. We open that wondrous mystery with the hope that within there will be bigger and better, new and exciting happenings;ever hopeful it includes untapped wells of quiet strength and boundless faith tucked in the corners to carry us through till we say goodbye to the year that was at its conclusion.  

     The year 2014 was another typical atypical year; it had 365 days like any non-leap year, the sun rose up in the morning and dropped below the horizon at night. During those days strung end to end there were many moments for us to stop and take notice that it was a great year, mainly because we’re still above ground at the end of it. Not everyone was so lucky. Some of us lost someone close to us, or at least near the sphere of our day-to-day; their absence most notable during those moments we know they would have enjoyed too. Others we will miss from afar because there are no new offerings to make us laugh, the sound behind the music that carries us on epic road trips is silent, or the eloquent words on paper we use to whittle away a cold rainy day have come to the end of that life's book. Many of us have added to our families, whether by an exchange of rings, bundles of joy with tiny little fingers and tiny little toes, or made some new friends to add the family that’s not related by blood.

     This has been a year of change for me, the biggest of which you are a part of now by reading this. Starting this blog and keeping it going has been a big step for me and an ongoing one at that; finding my voice and keeping my ear tuned to the world around me has been a lot of fun. I’ve written for years, since I was a kid really, though more in earnest after I started keeping a journal in the 70’s, and I’ve never really shared those words on paper with more than a handful of folks.  Now a day doesn’t feel complete unless I’ve written something, even if it’s just a book review or two on Amazon.

     I really want to express a big Thank You and attempt to convey how grateful I am to those of you who take the time to read the musings, rants and silly stories that flow from the ends of these fingers. If i had to give 2014 a name it would be the Year of the Pen, and now I face 2015 with a blank piece of paper and my trusty pen with the hope that I never really find the bottom of the hole in the paper. Thank you for stopping by.

                                                  *** Happy New Year! ****

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Requiem for a Dinosaur

     A couple of weeks ago the phone book pictured above landed on my front sidewalk. I hadn't really thought about how much these were still used, or wondered how many people still used one. I haven’t kept any of the phonebooks I've received the past several years after I got rid of my house phone, so now when I get them they go straight to the recycling bin, except this one for the time being. We are watching the extinction of another piece of Americana fade quietly into the night. 

     Seeing it sitting there on my desk got me thinking about how out of place it is to see a phone book now, because there was a time when there was always one somewhere in the house; now they just seem to be teleported in and dumped from another time. The days of the poor old battered and abused phonebook are numbered; they were often covered with crazy doodles, had a number or two scrawled on the cover when another piece of paper wasn't close at hand, or had the pages containing your usual take-out joints dog-eared for easy access. They served us well for many a year didn't they? Now with the prevalence of cell phones with internet access they have become an object of wonder almost. The fact that I received this one tells me there are still plenty of land line phones out there, though I imagine there may be more businesses with the then homes. This is the Yellow Pages for the East Valley, which is about 1/6^th the size of the first East Valley Yellow pages I encountered when I moved to Arizona in 1994; that one was actually split into two 3” thick volumes because there was so much in it, an added plus due to its weight was it could serve as a weapon in a pinch. I don’t think selling add space in the Yellow Pages would be such a good gig these days.

     Who remembers when you could just call 1-411 for directory assistance and have an operator find it for you? I guess you can still call it since the cell carriers have it available, though from a land line it’s probably 12 bucks a shot now. When I was in college some of us would drunk dial National Directory Assistance at 1-area code- 555-1212 and talk to operators in exotic places like Hawaii, Alaska and North Dakota. Alas, AT&T put a stop to that in 2000, those dirty buggers: 

http://transition.fcc.gov/Bureaus/Common_Carrier/Public_Notices/1999/da992541.html

Over time the phone companies got a little smarter, and started to give you options to connect the call, for a fee of course. If you've ever had a phone you know how those fees manage to sneak their way onto your bill.

     I have been a numbers nut for a long time and there was a time if I wrote a number down, then used it, I would remember it; I still remember the phone number from my first apartment, odd I know. The trusty phone book or books always managed to find a place in the house , whether they were piled next to the phone or stacked up on the floor nearby for those who were phone book rich and furniture poor like me; in a pinch a stack of them made a decent end table. Nowadays, if I write a number down it’s either to just use it once, or to put in my phone under a name and then I don’t have to remember it, I just find the name in my contacts list. The world has moved on.   

     The old days of paying a fee each month to rent your phone as part of your phone bill seems like such a ridiculous idea now with us having the ability to carry our house phone wherever we go. I managed apartments for many years and would find phones left in apartments when folks split in the middle of the night; they usually were owing rent.  At one time I had so many of those ugly princess phones and hang on the wall kitchen phones, in their lovely gag me with a spoon colors, I was giving them away to friends. Of course, I ran extra lines to every room in the house I could to add a phone; when the phone rang it sounded like the donations lines at a Public TV telethon.  

     When long extension cords for phone lines became readily available I was stoked; I never have been one to sit in the same place while talking on the phone.  Of course one the drawbacks to having one of those long cords is that after a few weeks of walking around the house talking on the phone you have something that resembles a rats nest of Christmas lights without the lights sitting on your floor. Unwinding all the twists and kinks was never big fun, though eventually I’d be back in business to start that ridiculous cycle all over again.

      Those original cheap handsets that didn't need a base were a fine example of a product that should have been extinct before it was ever put on the shelf. I had one that would pick up the Spanish station in Hartford, but only at night; it sure made for some interesting conversations.  “Are you listening to the Spanish station?” “No, it’s my phone, only does it at night.” “What, I couldn't hear you the music got kind of loud there for a few seconds.” Ahh, this new technology is great isn't it?

 I grew up in the dark ages, i.e. the 60’s, and we had a wall phone in the kitchen with a short cord. You had to stand there next to it like you were using a payphone in your own house. My dad finally put in an extension in the basement; after breaking the railing on the cellar stairs for the 3^rd time dashing up from his workshop to answer the kitchen phone.  There were no answering machines or Caller ID, which really didn't matter; when the phone rang you wanted to answer it! 

     That thinking changed over time of course. I learned that if I turned the ringer down and my music up loud I didn't hear the phone ring; kind of like Caller ID before it became available and the best part; no extra fee. There was about a 2 year span where I was pretty much subsisting on berries and bark and it wasn't in my budget to have a house phone. I really didn’t miss it much and came to see having a phone as a luxury not a necessity. That was back when you could still find a payphone somewhere besides a grocery store, an airport, or some other mass transit location. Those phonebooks at those pay phones really took a beating didn’t they? How often did you find one that didn’t have a chunk of pages ripped out of it? Who can say they never ripped a page or two out of phonebook at a payphone; if you have never seen one then you can’t count that as a never.

     What’s it all mean? Do I long for the days of phones on the wall, with a stack of phone books standing by at the ready to let my fingers do the walking? Hell no,now I have room for the detritus of my daily existence to fill the space created by the phone books absence. I like that my phone can go in my pocket, I don’t need an alarm clock and it’s a great little flashlight to save my toes from finding malicious furniture in the dark.

     .

It's a Brown Christmas Charlie

Christmas lights on palm trees, a very Arizona Christmas.

    Winter time in many locales is usually infused with brown as the primary color in the surrounding scenery; trees are hanging out naked, the last few leaves to jump from their limbs huddle at the base patiently waiting for the first leaf blower of spring. Your lawn takes on the color of the walls of your first low budget apartment, producing the sound of walking on a bed of corn flakes in your daily trek to investigate the postman’s offerings of more flyers and promises to save you money on your car insurance.

     Of course you could be lucky enough to have Santa deliver a blanket of snow for the holiday season, no doubt your opinion of the word luck determined by how thick that blanket is and whether or not the snow blower has enough gas on hand to allow you to make it possible to see the driveway again before spring time.  Of course, not everything is a dull shade of brown or dusty white, if there are evergreens populating your home turf. There is nothing quite like snow on evergreens, unless you happen to be standing beneath one when gravity decides it is time to free itself from its winter coat. 

                                                      

   Winter, no matter where you live brings to mind images of warm socks, thermal duds, and sitting in front of a crackling fireplace sipping something hot, either toddies or cocoa, whichever way your pleasure tends. We actually do that in Arizona, winter is winter, and desert cold is cold even if you think 50 is not. My friends from back East laugh at me when I tell them it’s cold here. I've realized cold is a relative term.  If you live in a place where the summer high is in the neighborhood of 85-90, and you drop the temperature 65-70 degrees, that’s kind of cold; not the “It’s so cold I’m going to die and it feels like there’s a porcupine in my nose’ type of cold. It’s just cold period. In this part of Arizona the summer highs typically get to 110-115 and if you drop the temp here 65-70 degrees that is going to feel cold.  That’s winter just being winter.

    Winter also brings thoughts of the holiday season to come; the snap in the morning air becomes a bit snappier after the goblins disappear from our sidewalks and plans turn to important things, like who can’t sit next to each other at Thanksgiving dinner.  By the time the last of the leftovers have finally disappeared from the fridge, Christmas decorations have been dragged from the attic or shed and begun to make appearances in our environs, including the dreaded strands of Christmas lights.

                                            Simple elegance.

                                                             

                        Shrek the Halls, or the front yard

                                                          

     In backyards and garages, on porches and patios everywhere, innocent Christmas lights become victims of a stream of vitriol usually reserved for the driver that hurries to get in front of you so he can go slow. This is done no doubt in the expectation that swearing at that rats nest of lights will magically cause them to untangle themselves before they swath the house in Christmas cheer for the coming weeks. Have no fear, those sturdy strands of blinking beauty can handle a few cuss words; all they want to do is show off and they do it oh so well.

             
                My first ever sighting of a reindeer with a parachute.

A cul-de-sac offering

      In Arizona, where brown is virtually a year round color scheme, the fall and winter months are when we start to see color, especially around Christmas time. Christmas lights are much more prevalent here than what I remember from the cold Northeast.  I've decided it has to be because it’s much more comfortable putting up lights when its 55 degrees outside as opposed to 25; no doubt when you’re hands aren't stiff with cold it’s a tad bit easier to really go all out. This is a sprawling city, filled with neighborhoods often built like a giant cul-de-sac, each containing a several smaller ones within their borders. It is apparent the residents of that cul-de-sac either get together to simply entertain or try to outdo the others in their semi-circle in the city. The light displays are impressive, whether they are simple and whimsical or garish and garbled, they have an inherent ability to bring out the season. Seeing Christmas lights wrapped around a palm will always make me giggle; I guess I‘m just an old Yankee and still associate Christmas lights with evergreens not desert plant life. I make a point to look for someone both brave and foolish enough to put Christmas lights on a cactus; it’s not impossible though removal time must be fraught with prickly consequences.

The group of lights in the back are in a tree that's tough to see in the pic. It looks like someone stood on the roof and threw them into the tree. 

The main drag in Gilbert, Arizona

   My wife and I enjoy looking at Christmas lights and finally decided to take some pictures this year, which are included here. We had a lot of fun driving around looking for interesting displays; the time just melted away.  We made a special trek to see if the little farm we were married at was lit up for the hoiliday; alas there we no lights lit at our special place.  As we gazed out the windows on our trek homeward what to our wondering eyes did appear, but a dune buggy lit up with Christmas cheer. A hasty pursuit culminated in a parking lot filled with more buggies lit to celebrate the season, some in the process of being loaded for home.  We interrupted a couple and their teenage son as they were beginning the process of loading their buggy on a trailer. They were both gracious enough to stop and talk to us for a few minutes. 

                                          
                                     Just a few of the buggy light parade.

   The wife told us that the group started about 7 years ago with just a handful of folks getting together to decorate their buggies and ride around town. Over the past several years it has grown to the point where 60 buggies joined in for this year’s night time light parade. We stopped to grab a few pics. It was a really neat way to end our Christmas light trek through the city.

   I've lived out here in the desert the past 20 years and Christmas still manages to sneak up on me, probably due to the fact snow is never in the forecast during this time of year. Seeing Christmas lights adorning houses, lampposts and palm trees is usually what it takes to get me in the Christmas spirit; Christmas lights on palm trees will never cease to make me smile.  This year seemed to fly by, don’t they all the older you get, this year I decided to put some thoughts of the season down on paper, or at least something approaching paper. My wish for you all is your Christmas was the merriest of all and the New Year brings success, love, good health and happiness.

                                                             

                            

                       

                   
    This was the find of the night with video below as a perfect compliment.

     

     I saved this for last. Turn the sound up on the video. We had the car radio tuned to a station playing Christmas music; timing as they say is everything.