Fourteen Years Ago

This is a re-post from 2005-

June 28th 1997. You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you.Okay it was really a Pizzeria Uno.

I just got finished performing in a community theater presentation of Much Ado About Nothing. It was closing night and the cast was going out for a few a drinks and some snacks to celebrate. Everybody (about 12 people) decided to go to an UNO Chicago Bar and Grill.

I was working in a nightclub in downtown Philadelphia and knew I would have to get to work around Midnight. I arrived at UNO at about 10:00, before everyone else, so I could place my food order, have it served, eat it and get out of there by 11:30 so I could make it to work. I sat at the bar and ordered Pizza Skins and a club soda. The rest of the cast was trickling in and were taking seats at a large table next to the bar. I knew I was not hanging for the night so it was easier for me to stay at the bar and socialize there. I watched the bartender take orders for all the people at the table (since it was his section). Someone at the table ordered Pizza Skins.

One of the cast, PJ, sat with me at the bar and we were talking about the show and I can’t remember what else when a waitress came out with an order of Pizza Skins. “Who ordered Pizza Skins?’ she asked.

Someone at the table responded and the waitress placed it at the table, with no other food for the rest of the cast.

I turned to the bartender, “I think those were for me.” I said.

The bartender looked up and said something about they would have a runner bring up my food.

“But don’t you think the waitress would have brought out the rest of the food for that table? Besides I ordered mine about 15 minutes before everyone else.”

“Good point. She is not the waitress, she is the manager.” said the barkeep.

“Listen” I said, “I have to go to work in a little bit why don’t you just cancel my order.”


The bartender agreed but needed the manager’s approval to void the guest check. The manager/waitress asked me if everything was okay and I explained the situation to her. She insisted that she could have my food to me in 5 minutes and there was no need to cancel the Pizza Skins.

“As a matter fact they are in the oven right now." she assured me.

At some point during this exchange another waitress came to the bar area and started to change one of the “Tonight’s Special" signs. She had her back to me but she was on her tippy toes, reaching up to write on the slate board. She was wearing a tucked in, denim blue collared shirt and perfectly fitted black pants. She was holding her apron in her hand so I knew she was just getting off her shift. The slate board was black, with an impressive chalk/pastel drawing around the border of a mug of beer and a slice of pizza. There was also a Killian’s Red logo on or near the chalkboard. I know all the details because I was staring.

The manager leaves and I could not stop myself from staring at the waitress writing on the board.

PJ, sitting next to me, nudges me with his elbow and gives me the Man-to-Man, silent, raised eyebrows, head nod, secret guy code that is not so secret, that indicates, “She’s hot”.

I call her over “Excuse me, I was wondering if you could check on an order of Pizza Skins for me.”

She smiled, and said something that I didn’t hear because I was captivated by her eyes, which were smiling as well. She left.

I turned to PJ and said something about her body, her looks, and her smile.

She returned and told me that there were no orders of Pizza Skins in the oven. I asked the bartender to cancel my order, which again needed the manager’s approval. The manager came over to ensure me the food would be out soon. I told her that the nice hot waitress (I didn’t say “hot” but that is what I was thinking) told me that they weren’t in the oven. The manager looked peeved. I realized I may have gotten the hot waitress in trouble and I explained to the manger that I also managed a club and that I knew that the manager’s don’t always tell the truth to customers. UNO manager was not happy.

The Hot waitress came back into the bar area and I informed her that I may have gotten her into trouble. She explained that it was okay. At some point here PJ became the perfect wingman by not making me look like an idiot. The hot waitress and I talked about the beer mug drawing on the chalkboard. She was the artist. I was impressed.

She walked away to get her things. PJ and I talked about whether I should ask her out. She was hot and talented. She had to have a boyfriend. PJ insisted that I at least check.

The hot waitress came back I started talking and I told her that since she was done her shift she should come down to the club I managed. I handed her my business card.

She looked at it and said. "Bill Meakim? Are you related to Mike Meakim?”

“Yes. He’s my brother?”

“I went to school with him. “

In the back of my mind I was hoping that Mike was nice to her in high school.

Since she was an artist and I took art classes in high school we talked about the teachers and the school. We knew the same teachers. It was good conversation. Familiar.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Lauren.”

“Well, Lauren, why don’t you come down to the club tonight?”

“ I can’t. I’m tired and it is all the way in the city.”

“Okay.” I said. “Well maybe you and I could go out sometime.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

I was losing her.

This is where the begging started. I started babbling. “Look let me pick you up for lunch tomorrow. Or you can me meet for a cup of coffee somewhere. Coffee is good. I can meet you here. Or wherever you like. Where do you live? We can meet somewhere close to where you live so it is convenient for you.”

Lauren rolled her beautiful eyes, “I live in A-Town.”

“So do I. Where in A-Town? So we can pick a place to meet.”

Lauren said, “I live on H-Street.”

“Get out!” I shouted. “I Live on H-Street too.”

She got a freaked out look on her face. Like I was a stalker. H-Street is only two blocks long. How was it possible that we could both live on the same street? She must have said something like “No way” or “That’s strange”. I knew fate was on my side.

“I live at 1847. Right on the corner.” I said.

Lauren looked at me in disbelief and muttered, “I live at 1828.”

I was quite excited. There were too many random, strange coincidences to pass this up.

My mouth was going a mile a minute, “That’s like 5 houses down. How come I’ve never seen you before?Look you can’t say “NO” at this point. I know where you live. Let me pick you up for lunch. I will WALK down and pick you up for lunch. It is only lunch. If you don’t like me or I don’t like you it doesn’t go any further than that. Just lunch. Look I am not crazy. You know my brother. Just lunch. I am picking you up tomorrow.”

“Okay”, she said “What time?”

And that is the story of how I met my wife. Sometime during our talk my Pizza Skins came out and I ate like two pieces.

I was also late for work.

Begatting the Powder Room

A few weeks ago Lauren told me she wanted to Begats the powder room. The powder room is on the first floor of our house and is used mostly by the kids and also by any guests or company we may have over. After being in the house for almost four years, 80% of the house has been renovated, re-done or begats some how. The powder room definitely needed a change.

As with all of make-over projects I get to do all of the dirty demolition work. I removed the old sink, tore off the old paneling and scraped the old linoleum floor, exposing the Asbestos tiles underneath which we did not remove.

 I got to use tools like a bucket, an iron, a scraper and a towel.

Once all of surfaces were exposed we laid down a new floor using self adhesive vinyl tiles.

After the floor was done Lauren went to work. My wife does all the fine tuning and decorative work. She got to use tools like, a level, a brad nail gun, liquid nails and a caulk gun, a mitre saw, paint rollers and other cool gadgets. Our neighbor and friend, Nelson, helped us with the plumbing on a new pedestal sink (if you are local to me and you need an HVAC guy email me and I will give you Nelson's phone number). I installed a new light fixture and Lauren finished the room with her decorative touches.

 I think the best part of the room is the light fixture, which is not pictured here because it is too awesome to show. I think Lauren did a nice job with the overall makeover.

She went with  a French/Paris theme for the decorations. Why French/Paris? Because it is the room you use to Oui-Oui.

Heroes and Villains

"Look how cute you all look." the train conductor said. She flashed a big toothy grin. "You are all wearing matching orange shirts."

"Thanks." I smiled back at her. "We are heading downtown. The orange will make it easier to keep track of each other."

"Oh. Where you heading?"

"To the comic book convention." I replied.

Maxfield, Wyatt and I found some empty seats on the SEPTA train. I used the train ride to prep the kids on what to expect and what to do in case we get separated. I explained that a comic convention would be filled with lots of cool stuff, there would many distractions, but no matter what we all had to stick together. I wrote my cell phone number on a pieces of paper, placed the paper in their pockets and told them if they did get lost that they could get someone to call my phone.



Not an orange shirt to be seen.



As we stood in line at the convention center someone else commented on the matching orange shirts.

"It is so I can easily spot them in a crowd." I answered. "I chose orange because no one wears orange to a comic convention."

"How's that?" he said.

"People wear red and blue super hero shirts and black Goth-y things to these events. Aquaman is the only super hero that I can think of to wear orange. And no one wants to be Aquaman." I answered.

Max and Wyatt seemed to be enjoying themselves. We met Colleen Venable the author of Guinea PI (g) comics, who was very nice and personable. We discussed the orange shirts and how I picked the color so the kids could see me and I could see them. I joked how I dress them in bright green for Fourth of July Parades. We talked with the artist and writer of Lazerman comics. We visited many booths, like the Garrison Carida, a very cool  Star Wars themed charity organization.

We even stopped by to the see the Bat-mobile, which Wyatt recognized from the 1960's  TV show that airs on the cable channel the Hub.

We made our way through aisle after aisle looking at cool super hero stuff and collecting free comics, trading cards and other things. We saw the Mystery Machine from Scoobie Doo and the General Lee from Dukes of Hazzard.We stopped every so often so I could take pictures of the kids. We entered the area where celebrities were doing meet and greets and autographs.  Adam West, Burt Ward, Adam Baldwin, Jon Schneider, Billy Dee Williams and countless other B and C list stars from shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly and Star Gate were in various sections with lines of fans snaking in and out of the booths. It was very, very crowded.

I stopped at an intersection of rows trying to look at the floor plan map. I wanted to get out of the crowds. I turned around.

"Max, Wyatt we are going to go this way." I said pointing to my right.

Only Wyatt replied.

It took me about 5 seconds to register that I was only looking at one orange shirt.

"Wyatt, where is Max?"

"I don't know." he said.

I looked down each of the four rows at the intersection. I did not see one orange shirt. I called out Max's name. My voice did not carry far. It was dampened by the huge crowds around us. My heart started racing. I looked in the booths of action figures near us. No orange shirt. Crap. I grabbed Wyatt's hand and I started to move up and down the aisles. No orange shirts anywhere.

Should I stay put, hoping he comes back to where we got separated? Do I go look for him? Do I scream his name louder? I grabbed my phone to make sure I could hear it ring over the noise of the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of an orange shirt. I pushed my way through the crowd. As I got closer I saw it was someone wearing a General Lee "01" shirt. Who the hell wears orange shirts to a comic convention? I ran back to the intersection. A few minutes passed and I tried to calm myself down by telling myself that Max was just at a vendor's booth looking at comics. But then as I looked around the creepiness factor hit me.

People were walking around looking like this...

or like this. Creepy right?

About 5 maybe 10 minutes went by (It felt like 30 minutes) when I decided to just go up and down the aisles. I pushed through the crowds yelling his name. Nobody stopped to help. People were annoyed I was yelling too close to their ears. I was flabbergasted. With all the super hero vibes going through the place you would think someone would have stopped to help the panic stricken screaming man in the orange shirt.

As I pushed down the second aisle I caught a glimpse of an orange shirt sitting in a booth about 30 feet away. I stood on my tip toes trying to look over the heads of the crowd in front of me. I felt Wyatt's hand slipping from mine. I held Wyatt closer as I nudged past a few more people to get a better look for the orange shirt. There, sitting on a high stool in the booth of the ECW and WWF wrestling diva Dawn Marie was Max. I caught my breath.

Max hugged me and I could tell he was scared. I could also tell he was mad at me for losing him. I had a lump in my throat.  Dawn Marie stroked his hair and tried to calm him. Dawn Marie explained that Max approached her and another woman volunteer and said that his dad was lost. Dawn suggested he sit in her booth while the volunteer went to the main office. Dawn told me that Max did the right thing and not talk to anyone until he saw the volunteer.

"BILL MEAKIM. PLEASE REPORT TO DAWN MARIE'S BOOTH." boomed over the loud speakers.

I stuttered a thank you to Dawn for taking care of Max. She noticed the orange shirts and mentioned them. I explained my idea of how I wanted the kids to stand out and how it apparently failed. I noticed Wyatt was staring at Dawn and her, uhm, muscles. She had, uhm, rather, uhh big muscles and she was showing them off.

"BILL MEAKIM PLEASE PICK UP YOUR SON AT DAWN MARIE'S BOOTH." echoed through the convention hall again.

Dawn offered to let us sit in her booth until Max and I calmed down a bit. I declined. Wyatt continued to stare.  People were lining up to get her autograph and I could tell Wyatt was on the verge of saying something about her outfit. I thanked Dawn again and made a lame joke about how she was a real super hero to me. We walked away a few feet to let the lines form at her table. I asked Max why he did not use the phone number I gave him. He said he could not find it. With Max and Wyatt safely at my side, I started laughing at the situation. I took a quick picture with the camera knowing that no one would believe me.

A muscular Dawn Marie on the left. 

As we left the convention I heard my name over the loud speaker another 3 times. I felt like such the bad guy.

Me as a villain. Wyatt took this picture.

Shifting Gears

Over the past year, in an effort to lose a few pounds and not die too early of a heart attack, I took up the exercise of running. Running is a good way for me to clear my head and think about the day ahead of me. When I was in the regular running routine I was always thinking clearly and at my creative best. Some of my best ideas and blog posts were composed while I was running.


In the year 2011 I have already logged in 233.2 miles of running. Some where around mile 190 I started to get bored. Running no longer was appealing to me and I found myself hitting a plateau mentally and physically. Instead of pushing myself physically I just clocked miles. I was no longer thinking clearly on my runs but rather getting lost in thought. To fix this boredom I got a bike. Not only would the bike fix my exercise boredom but it would also save me time and money. I decided by riding my bike to and from work, 6.25 miles each way, I would save the time because I was multi-tasking using the bike as exercise and transportation but I would also be saving money when gas is close to four bucks a gallon.

I cannot exercise with food in my stomach. My running routine was basic, wake up, have a cup of coffee, get dressed and then hit the pavement. When I would return I would have a solid breakfast, like eggs and bacon with toast, and then start my normal daily routine. Now that I am riding I need to plan my work-outs.  I need to prep my bike and other gear,  pack a change of clothes for the day, take breakfast, which now was a cereal bar or some granola (easy to pack in my bag) and lunch with me to work. One of the problems I run into is that after riding to work, I am so hungry I find myself eating both breakfast and lunch right way. Tuna fish sandwiches for breakfast is just, well, not really breakfasty enough for me.

The Granola bars and other types of snack type bars do not do the trick. I would still eat my lunch before 10AM. This leaves me little fuel for the ride home. Two weeks ago ProMax Energy Bars asked if I would be interested in trying their line of lower sugar bars. They said they would send me free Energy Bars for me to review on the blog.  I was having a problem they were offering a possible solution. Not only that, they said they would pay me for my honest opinion.

I am not a fan of meal replacement bars or other proteins snacks because I always feel like they are trying too hard to taste like a candy bar. Or they are trying too hard to mask something with super sweet chocolate. I think meal replacement bars should taste more like the gum Violet chews in Willy Wonka.

Let me just say that these Promax Lower Sugar Energy Bars taste pretty good, not great, but they do not seem like they are masking something. On a scale of 1 to 10 I would give the flavor a 7.  I had the Double Fudge and the Peanut Butter. I liked the double fudge better. They work great for what I need when it comes to filling my belly. The serving size is a bit more than a snack but not quite a breakfast or lunch. The only thing I don't like is that the chocolate coating or peanut butter coating on the bar comes off in the wrapper. It is bit messy to open. Not a very good thing in a bar that is supposed to be used for travel. The little flecks of chocolate that end up on my desk are difficult to suck up by mouth once they are stuck to purchase order documents.

The price per Promax Energy Bar is about $1.50 each if you buy them by the dozen which isn't too bad for a breakfast. It is cheaper and healthier and less calories than an Egg Mc Muffin. Now only if they would make an energy bar that tasted like a Mc Muffin, or even better a Bacon Energy Bar. Wait a minute I may be on to something. I am having  a "Feed Tuna Mayonnaise." moment. You see that? Biking is already clearing my head.

Promax is holding a contest called the Next Doer . Promax's tagline is "Life is Go" so Go enter their contest for a chance to win a trip to Hawaii.

So far I have logged in 53 miles on the bike. After some quick math I have figured I have saved about $12.00 in gas so far. I am still trying to get the hang of the whole biking thing. Some days I feel like I am playing Frogger and some days I feel like I should be doing a paper route on my way to work. Wait a minute, hold the phone, I think I just had another idea.

I have a $10.00 I-Tunes gift card to give away to someone who leaves me a comment suggesting some decent music for me to listen to on my bike rides to work. I will choose one random comment in the next few days to win the $10.00 I-Tunes gift card. Please make sure you leave a valid way for me to contact you.


Disclaimer - I have been compensated for my time by Promax for sharing my opinion of their product with the readers of this blog.  However, my opinions are entirely my own and I have not been paid to publish positive sentiments towards the Promax Products. The I-tunes Gift card giveaway  is not sponsored by Promax and was totally my idea to solicit comments.

How to Play Second Base

In order to play the position of 2nd base on a baseball team one must first dress the part. A ball cap, a glove, cleats and eye black are all the important parts of the 2nd baseman's uniform and equipment. Most important is the eye black. A second baseman has to look good.

A second baseman must be quick on his feet and ready to move at the crack of the bat. He should position himself between the first base bag and the second base bag for optimum visibility

It is in this gap between bases, along the edge of the infield grass, that the best bugs and dirt are found. Playing second base requires the ability to identify each bug and then determine whether it gets set free or squashed.

A second basemen also needs to have excellent hearing so he can hear his father/coach yell directions to him from the outfield. The standard baseball direction terms usually are "pay attention","look alive", "eye on the ball" and "holy cow how many times do I have to tell you to get up off the ground".

Once a ball is hit a second baseman's first moves should be towards the ball. His momentum should either direct him to a bag to cover, or to the ball itself to make a play.

Sometimes that momentum and the ability to throw the ball to the right bag results in the batter being called out. The OUT results in the coach/father to smile, run in from the outfield to give his son/player a congratulatory five.

While on offense a second baseman is also required to bat. In the event of a hit the second baseman should run as fast as he can to the base. Sometimes fast is not fast enough and the second baseman will be called out.

Being called out usually makes a second baseman sad, but that is okay, as long as long as he looks good.

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We just finished our Little League season. I had a good time coaching and I think Maxfield had a good time playing. I am looking forward to coaching Wyatt next year.

All photographs were taken and copyrighted by Sharon Monaco and used with permission of the photographer.

Mary Mary

Back in the early Spring my wife decided that we were going to have some of the best vegetable gardens in the neighborhood. She planned her lay outs of all available space, comparing sun levels, watering needs and work required and matched them up to the types of veggies and herbs she was going to plant.

Along the front walkway she built wire supports for Snap Peas and Tomato plants.

The Snap Peas are coming in nicely although the yield is light due to Jackson. He keeps eating them right off the vine.

Lauren built a raised bed with protective fencing in the back yard for radishes, onions, carrots, lettuce, peppers and a few other plants.

Off of our front porch and down the side of the house, Lauren built a small stone containment wall as well as a stone path which she lined with an herb garden.

She made signs for each plant so we would know what was what. Part of her gardening process was starting some plants in pots and then transferring them to the ground. At one point Lauren told me that there were a few herbs, like Spearmint, still in unlabled pots that she was not sure where to plant in the garden.

The other day Lauren was running errands and I decided to make a special dinner using some of the fresh herbs. I made my "Best Chicken Ever" recipe with a warm mango peach salsa topping. From the garden I clipped Parsley, a small sprig of Dill and some Cilantro to mix into the salsa and give it the extra layers of flavor.

It was a beautiful bright sunny afternoon and I decided I would also surprise Lauren with a pitcher of Frozen Mojito drinks to go along with our dinner. I pictured us drinking the refreshing concation on the back porch while I grilled the chicken. I clipped a good portion of fresh Spearmint from one of the pots and threw it into the blender with the Rum and other ingredients.

Lauren was happy to see the meal, the frozen drinks and even happier that her hard work in the garden was paying off in the form of fresh ingredients. She took a sip of the Mojito and made a face.

"What's in this?" She asked.

"Mint." I said. "I took it from one of the pots."

"Oh. I already planted the mint. What pot did you take this from."

I told her.

"Oh. That is not mint. That is Basil."

I made a whole pitcher of  Basil-coladas.

Needless to say it was a lot of wasted Rum.

ROY G. BIV

Over the years people have asked me what I like best about blogging. Sometimes I like the community and social aspects that blogging has exposed me to. Sometimes I like just having a forum to write and practice telling stories. Other days the best part of blogging is the feedback left by others. Whether they be negative or positive comments it is always nice to know there is an audience from what I write.

Lately my favorite part about blogging is having the ability, pretty much from anywhere I have Internet access, to look at the past six years of my life.  Every now and then I like to go through the archives and look at lucky I am to have such a colorful life.

This picture was taken in August of 2008. A rainbow over our neighbors the Jones' house. Lauren was pregnant with Jackson, Wyatt just a toddler, and Maxfield is waist high. Life was good.

This picture was taken last week. My family standing in the Jones' driveway under a rainbow. Jackson is now the toddler, Wyatt is about to go into kindergarten and Maxfield is chest high.

Life is still good.

10,000 Hours

In Malcolm Gladwell's NY Times bestselling book Outliers The Story of Success, he repeatedly refers to a "10,000 Hour Rule", claiming that that the key to success in any field is a matter of practicing in that field for a total of around 10,000 hours. To back up his claim Gladwell points to successful artists and businessmen like the Beatles and Bill Gates. Gladwell also points out in Outliers that successful people never make it all by themselves; that circumstances, community, upbringing, family and other forces factor into achieving ones success. As an example Gladwell cites that although Bill Gates is a very intelligent and motivated person he had an unique opportunity to access to a computer (which was not very common at the time) at the age of 13. This access gave Gates not only the time to practice for 10,000 hours but also an advantage over other people who did not have computer access at that time (late 1960's).


The first chapter of Outliers talks about how a majority of the best Canadian Ice Hockey players are born during the first few months of a calendar year. Canadian youth hockey leagues determine eligibility by calendar year. Kids born on January 1 play in the same division as those born on December 31 of the same year, making the January child a full year older, more mature physically and mentally than then December child. The January kids are then better players who get more attention from Tournament coaches and All-Star teams. These additional elite teams assist the kids in obtaining their 10,000 hours with the best coaches the league has to offer. Gladwell calls it "an accumulative advantage",  the better kids keep getting better and the not so good kids never get the chance to improve. Or so the theory goes.

Part of Gladwell's theory of success is also about being at the right place but more importantly being at the right time. For instance out of the 75 richest people in the history of the world 14 of them were Americans born between 1831 and 1840. Go here for an explanation as to why. Gladwell also proposes that the best time to have been born to be a computer/technology billionaire was between 1952 and 1958. This would make a person old enough to be working in the field but young enough to take risks (ie no family obligations) at the time computer technology started to expand.

I think about the 10,000 Hour Rule often and how it pertains to my kids. When I was a kid the only thing I ever spent 10,000 hours doing was reading comic books. I wonder if there is any one thing my kids would be willing to invest their 10,000 hours besides watching Wild Kratts or Cartoon Network. Sports? Computers? Academics?

What will be their decades' next big thing that they can take a risk on? I know each one will have to find their likes and dislikes but according to Gladwell it takes many people, a community, to provide the right opportunities. My job as their father, and a member of the community, is to seek and provide the opportunities for the kids and encourage them to succeed.

Recently I talked Max into trying out for the baseball tournament team. Not that I think he is going to become a pro ball player but I wanted to give him the opportunity to get better coaching than me or at the least different coaching than me. Max is an average player for his division and the tournament team was a division higher.  For the tournament try-out he was one of the youngest players. Max did not make the cut. There were some younger players that did make the team (Go Z.G.) but their natural ability and focus on the game will enable them to start their 10,000 Hours earlier than Max. Maxfield did not seem upset about not making the team but I can't help but wonder if he is now going to lose his "accumulative advantage" in a sport he seems to enjoy.

Max has been taking piano lessons for just under a year. His teacher Mindy has been doing a great job. Lauren has been excellent in making sure he practices. I do my best to encourage him. Recently Max played the piano in his school's talent show. It was great to see Maxfield's reaction to the audience applauding him. I know from experience that there is no better rush than that of performing in front of a live audience and doing well. I think out of the 20 or so acts there were only 3 that involved a child playing an instrument. I did not think anything of it until...

The other day I was listening to the Michael Smerconish radio program, his guest was an economist who stated that there are everyday things that people can look at to determine how the economy is in their specific geographical area. They pointed to things like high-end restaurants being slow (people choosing to eat more at home and stretching their dollars) to Lowes and Home Depot being busy (people now need to do their own home projects rather than pay contractors). It was a very interesting conversation. One of the "small town" indicators they discussed on the program was the fact that private lesson music teachers are one of the first things families cut in their budget. There are less and less private music lessons happening in a slow economy.

I find it somewhat sad that one of the first budget cuts a school will make is in the art or music department. I find it unfortunate that families have to cut music lessons from their discretionary spending in a slow economy. It is upsetting that there is a possibility that this decades' generation of kids will not have artistic influences in the early developmental parts of their lives.

But as sad and unfortunate this all is I can't help but smile thinking that Max may become the only piano player in his whole school. Will he practice for 10,000 hours? Who knows. Will he become a rich and famous musician? Maybe.

I think I may have found something worth sacrificing for now to give my kids the accumulative advantage over other kids in the future.

Middle Finger

"Dad, can I ask you a question?" my seven-year-old son asked. He and his little brothers were helping me put away laundry.

"Sure Maxfield. What is it?" I responded not looking at him. I was mindlessly sorting pants by size using the air hockey table as a folding table, I had a system going and I was in a groove.

"Kevin, at school, not my cousin Kevin, showed me his middle finger and told me that it was a very bad thing to show just your middle finger to some one. He said you should never do this." Max held up his middle finger, his thumb crossed his other three fingers to hold them down*.

I don't know if my kids noticed that I stopped folding the laundry, my mindless system disrupted, or if they saw me look at the clock wondering if their mom would be home soon to field this question, but they sensed that they were on to something important.

"Like this, dad, like this." Max said trying to show me his middle finger.

"You shouldn't do that pal." I said.

"Why? Why is it bad? What does it mean? Kevin just told me it was really bad?"

"It is like saying something bad in sign language." I told him. I noticed Wyatt was struggling to point his middle finger. I sighed.

"But what does it mean?" Max asked. He was very curious and had a concerned look on his face.

"Just don't ever do it to someone. Okay?"

"Why?"

"Just don't."

"Can you tell me what it means?" Max asked.

Every day, as a parent, I go through some type of debate in my head between telling the truth, protecting the innocence, keeping it real, keeping their youth, knowing is half the battle (GI JOE),  ignorance is bliss etc. etc. I do believe that sometimes the best answers are "Because I said so." But at this time I felt some type of explanation would take some mystery out of the equation and maybe give Max some understanding as to why he should not give the finger. I did not want to talk about the sexual nature of flipping the bird, that would be whole other conversation, but I didn't want him to think it was okay to do. He is too young to be labeled a bad kid for something innocent. I searched my brain for something that I could use to explain the nature of the gesture but also impress upon them why it was bad. A long time ago I read an article about giving someone the finger and it's history. The only part I could recall was the story (which is a false story) about some king cutting the fingers off of his enemy's archers.

I took a deep breath and told them a story.

"A long time ago there was a very evil king. This king was the most evil person alive at that time.  He sent his army from village to village taking property and stealing to expand his kingdom. He would make the villagers work for him in the farms and not pay them. Some of the villagers tried to fight back. The villagers used bow and arrows and swords. The kings army was too strong. When they won the battle the king's army cut off the middle fingers of all the men so they could not fight any more. They cut off the middle finger so the villagers could not pull back a bow or hold their swords. After a while none of villagers in all of the land had middle fingers. The kings army would ride into town and the king's soldiers would hold up their middle fingers to show they were loyal to king and also to make fun of the people without fingers. Over the years, showing someone your middle finger has now become a meaning that you wish that person to be hurt. You wish them harm. It is not nice to wish other people harm. It means you support the evil king."

The room was quiet. Max looked at his middle fingers. Wyatt was still playing the story in his mind.

"So that is why I never want you to show your middle finger to someone." I said.

"What if it is an accident?" Max asked. "What if I use it to point at something. I am not trying to be mean."

"I use my middle finger all of the time to point. Just never point it at someone in the way which you think is bad. Okay?" I said. "Don't do it as a mean gesture."

"Okay." Max said.

I looked at Wyatt.

"Okay." Wyatt said.

We went back to folding laundry.

"Dad, why didn't they just cut off the whole hand?" Max asked.

"Uhhh....so they could still work the fields and do their jobs for the king?"

"Dad, why couldn't they shoot arrows using their other fingers?"

"It's tricky." I said. I grabbed a clothes hanger pretending it was a bow and tried to demonstrate. "Without their middle fingers their aim was off and the strength was off."

"Dad, did they cut off the middle finger on just one hand or both?"

"Both."

"Dad, does a finger grow back if it gets cut off?"

"No. Once it is gone it is gone."

"If a person has their finger cut off and has a baby, will the baby be missing their fingers?"

"No."

"What if both the mom and the dad had their fingers cut off, would the baby still have fingers?"

"Yes."

There was another 30 or so questions that followed (I can't remember them all) as well as a quick discussion about Luke Skywalker's hand being cut off and how it was replaced. Max and Wyatt discussed why pirates could fight with hooks instead of hands and how they would make a hook to replace their middle finger. I listened to them talk and went about putting clothes away. I walked into Jackson's room.

"I would hook you." Wyatt said to Max.

"I would hook you." Max returned.

"No. Hook you." Wyatt said.

"Hook. You." Max said.

And so that is what the middle finger now means. Hook You.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

* For scientific purposes I am conducting a survey. There are two ways to give someone the finger.
1- Middle finger up- thumb holding the other fingers down.
2-Middle finger up- Thumb out to the side.

Say someone cuts you off in traffic and you have to flip them off, do you use #1 or # 2?

Features

Sometimes I look at Jackson, the youngest, and I cannot figure out who he looks like. More often than not I do not see either Lauren or myself in his features.

Other times though, I totally see it.

High Tolerance

Last week I went in to have my upper wisdom teeth* removed.

I am not a fan of any type of surgery but after talking to some friends and my doctor I decided to get it done. After all I was not using them the way they were supposed to be used. They had the potential to cause more problems and complications which could be costly. I was also told that the procedure was not painful, would only take about 30 minutes and only required a couple of days for recovery.

Lauren dropped me off at the surgeon's office the morning of the operation. I asked her to pick me up in an hour. Even though I was only having a local anesthetic the people at the facility suggested I have someone drive me in case I ended up feeling woozy post operation.

I laid back on the chair as the nurse pushed pedals to make adjustments to the height and angle of the chair. The surgeon prepped his instruments. I watched as he inserted a huge needle into a glass bottle of the local anesthetic. He pulled back the plunger and filled the syringe with the clear liquid. The nurse left the room as the doctor started his work.

"You will feel a slight pinch and quick burn. Then you shouldn't feel anything after a few minutes." the doctor said.

I felt a pinch. I felt the burn. We waited.

I watched the doctor grab some shiny metal things and I closed my eyes as he went to work. He must of sensed that I was not completely numb when as he made his first cut I nearly jumped out of the chair.

"Can you feel that?" he asked.

"Yes. How could you tell?" I responded somewhat sarcastically.

The doctor gave me a little bit more of the anesthetic.

I felt a pinch. I felt a burn. We waited.

The doctor went back to work. I could feel him cutting me. I felt him prying and poking with his instruments. I broke out into a sweat.

"I can still feel everything you are doing." I said through gritted teeth.

"Do you feel pain? Or pressure?" he said. "Pressure is normal." He added.

"Pain! I can feel everything you are doing. Every cut, every move, every instrument, everything." My knuckles were white from where I was gripping the chair, my nails were leaving indentations in the vinyl covering.

"You must have a high tolerance the the anesthetic. Most people only require 4ccs. I have already given you 6. I will give you 2 more and we will wait. It should do the trick."

I felt a pinch. I felt a burn. We waited.

The doctor went back to work. I nearly leaped out of the chair.

"I can't believe you felt that?" The doctor said. He was clearly annoyed.

"I am not making it up." I was starting to panic.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I just don't understand." He tried to comfort me.

"Let's just get it done." I said. "I will deal with the pain just hurry it up."

He called the nurse into the room and they looked at the bottle of anesthetic, making sure it was within the expiration date. They spoke in hushed tones and I heard him say something about never having to use the full 10cc before but he will try it. The nurse opened and prepped a new syringe and needle. The doctor gave me the last 2cc in original needle.

I felt a pinch. A dull burn. We waited. I was finally numb.

The doctor grabbed his instruments and went back to work being very careful and meticulous. He made sure I was not feeling anything. What was supposed to take a half hour turned into an hour. Lauren texted me to make sure I was okay. She was back to pick me up. I texted back saying that I would be a few more minutes.

The doctor sighed in a way that signaled he was done. He placed his metal instrument on the tray next to him. "Okay. You didn't feel any of that, did you?"

"No." I said. "Am I all done?"

"No." he said. "I still have to do the left side."

My eyes went wide. I may have whimpered. A tear may have slowly rolled down my cheek.

"Don't worry." he said, "I will give you the full 10ccs to start with."




*For the sake of the male readers I substituted the words "Upper Wisdom Teeth" for Vas Deferens.

I'm Swamped

"I've got my country's five hundredth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped."  Prince Humperdinck

I have been meaning to post something but life keeps getting in the way.

Some people have written how an oversaturation of blogs in the past few years has really watered down the art of blogging.

Others have written how advertising and terms like "social media", "branding" and "click through rates" have soured blog readers.

Some people say that Twitter and Facebook are killing the medium of blogging.

Here are some of the blogs I read on a regular basis that I think prove the above statements to be incorrect or inacurate. Blogging is just evolving. Go check them out.

Always Home and Uncool

April's Reign

Clark Kent's Lunchbox

Muskrat

GreebleMonkey

Honea

Luke I Am Your Father

Sweet/Salty

The Meanest Mom

Black Hockey Jesus

The Bloggess

Dooce

Absence of Alternatives

Burning

My understanding of the Greek legend of the Marathon is that in 490 B.C. the Persian army had landed in the city of Marathon to punish the Athenians for revolting against the king of Persia. During the battle, a part of the Persian army set out to go to the city of Athens which was 26 miles away. The Athenian army sent Pheidippides, a runner, to Athens to warn them of the invasion. Pheidippides ran the entire 26 miles, told Athens the news, and then died.

"Williameakipeddes!" The General barked. "The enemy has set a bomb, a PU-36 explosive space modulator to be exact, in the Philadelphia Navy Yard on the other side of the city. I need you to run and warn our allies."

"How far is it sir?" Williameakipeddes, who often went by the nickname Meaks, asked.

"Ten miles." the General asnwered, bluish grey cigar smoke billowed from his mouth.

"Can't I just use my cell phone and call the Navy Yard to warn them?"

"No. The signal from the cell phone may activate the device. Now get moving."

Somehow, somewhere, my wife Lauren convinced me to run in the Blue Cross/Blue Shield Philadelphia Broad Street 10 Mile Run.  It would be nice to run another race together she said. After running for the past year, I thought I was ready for a 10 mile race. My shorter running paces have been about a 10 minute mile. I set my goal for this race at an 11 minute mile, figuring I could run the 10 miles in an Hour and in 50 minutes. On Sunday May 1st 2011 Lauren and I woke up at 4:30 am and headed down to Philly to park the car at the finish line, take a subway 10 miles to the starting line and wait around a bunch of Port-a-Potties with 30,000 other people until the race started. Lauren is faster than me and 20 minutes before the race we separated into our separate color coded corrals. Lauren in the Orange group and me one city block behind her in the Grey corral. This is how Lauren and I run together with her always being far ahead of me.

I was by myself with thousands of other people. I put my ear phones in and hit the play button hoping that songs from Ben Folds, Rob Thomas, Peter Gabriel, G.Love and Special Sauce, Bush and Counting Crows would motivate me before the start. I decided that I would try to beat my 1:50 goal and do the 10 miles in 1:45. At 8:30 AM thousands of runners started the race. Different corrals were released every few minutes. The Grey group slowly marched forward to get to the starting line.

"Which way should I go sir?" Meaks asked the General.

"Go straight down Broad street From Olney Ave, around city hall and finish near the sports complex in the Navy Yard. I will give you the code to disarm the bomb."

"What is the code?" Meaks asked starting to get nervous, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

" Put this paper bib on, there is a microchip in it. If this chip crosses into the Navy yard in the next hour and fourty five minutes the bomb will disarm." The General peered over his bi-focals and focused on Meaks' wide eyes.

"1:45? 1:45? How about 1:50? Can't I disarm the bomb in and hour-fifty? I think that is do-able." Meaks said with hesitation.

"1:45 or the Navy Yard burns. I have faith in you Meaks."

"What if the enemy sees me?"

"Listen you pansy-ass, I will send about 25,000 decoy runners with you. It will make it harder for the enemy to spot you. But be carefull, the enemy may be out there, if you see the enemy you need to run past them."

"How will I know what they look like?" Meaks asked.

"You'll know. You'll know. Now Go."

A loud air horn blasted and the few thousand people in the Grey corral started to run. I took a deep breath, turned up the volume on my music and I started the race. I felt a bit funny in the beginning of the race trying to find my rhythm and pace being trapped by various people all around me. After the first mile either I broke free of the crowd or the crowd broke free of me and I was in a comfortable zone. G Love's cover of the blues classic "Fixin to Die" was blasting in my ears. I realized that although the beat of the song was good for a running, the idea and words may not be that great in the first mile of a 10 mile run. "I've been walking kind of funny, Lord I believe I am fixin to die."

Meaks weaved his way in, out and through the crowds of decoy runners. He kept his head up and did his best to see if he could identify any of the enemy. There was a sea of decoy runners all around him but mostly in front of him. Meaks knew he would have to push himself to finish in the time required. At mile two Meaks felt confident in his mission, he was keeping a 10:15 mile pace. He did a quick mental check of how he was feeling; breathing good, chest good, legs strong, feet okay, bladder full. Wait, what was that? Bladder full? That's impossible. Meaks had made sure he emptied his bladder about 4 times before the mission. Meaks knew if he stopped he may not make his time. Or even worse, the enemy may recognize him or beat him to the end. Meaks decided to push on.

I felt pretty good when I hit the halfway point I was at 51:42. Still on pace for my new goal. There was an older, heavy set, woman with bad spider veins in her legs in a green top in front of me. I focused on her legs and matched her pace step for step. I figured if she could do this then so could I. She was running in rememberance of someone who died from cancer. Thats what her shirt said.

Running is funny, people of all shapes and sizes can run and looks are often deceiving when it comes to speed.

I ended up distracted by the scenery of city hall and the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts building on my right. Lauren used to work at PAFA and Maxfield Parrish studied there. I did my best to a get a decent picture of city hall but people kept passing me. Ben Fold's "Effington" came on the music player. Again my music choice was great for running, the lyrics not so much. "I want to die in Effington, Please bury me in Effington."

Williameakipeddes realized he was approaching the center of the city and knew he was halfway to his goal. His bladder did not feel as full and he was keeping a good pace. He spotted an older woman in a green tank top and spider veins. She must be the enemy. This woman was not the first enemy he had encountered. He had determined that there were other enemies.  The 60 year old man in the red shorts and knee high socks, the so called team of highschool students in blue T-shirts, the orange clad team of moms and the girls in day-glo yellow and pink, were all enemies that he had systematically picked-off and passed during the first five miles. The older woman in green, how could someone of her shape and size be running faster than him? She must be an enemy. He focused his attention to her legs and tried to match her pace for pace. He would not let the enemy beat him to the finish. He would save the Navy Yard from explosion.

 Williameakipeddes kept pace with the Spider Vein lady for the next 20 minutes. She was alone but she was determined. Meaks took advantage of the median in the middle of Broad Street and weaved his way around some decoy runners that were losing their steam. He eventually put himself in the spider vein lady's 8 O'clock position and then muscled past her on her left. Meaks felt invigorated by the increase in his gate and knowing the Navy Yard was only 3 miles away, when the entire left side of his body went numb. The Spider Vein lady must have shot him with a stun ray.

I ran at a steady pace through the Avenue of the Arts section of Broad Street. I could feel myself slowing down and tried to pick up my pace. My left side of my body was going all numb with a pins and needles type tingling. I figured it was my herniated disk in my neck pinching my nerves.  I tried to shake it off but I remembered I told Lauren I would try not to die.  I slowed my run down to a fast walk, keeping my heart rate up but also taking the pressure off of my body. It seemed to do the trick. I noticed a lot of people were starting to walk at this point. After about 200 yards I felt better and began to run again. Some where around mile 8 the feeling came back and I almost stumbled. Luckily I was near a watering station and I walked and drank some water for another 200 yards when I heard someone yell that the finish line was only 1.4 miles away. I looked at my stopwatch. I was still on pace for my goal. I started to run again.


Meaks, as a soldier of the Blue Cross/Blue Shield army knew how to shake off the effects of the stun gun rays. He was hit a second time. The Spider Vein lady was a good shot.  He slowed down and took a few sips of the greenish-yellow liquid on the side of the road. He gained his compusure, looked at his timing device and realized he was 1 mile away with 11 some odd minutes to go to stop the explosive device. Meaks looked up and saw the Spider Vein lady had passed him. Determined Meaks started to run as fast as he could. He trailed the Spider Vein lady by about 25 yards. Slowly and surely he closed the gap.  Meaks felt as if he was hit by a another stun ray but he continued to press on. He was 10 feet behind the Spider Vein lady as they approached a slight upward hill and an overpass. Meaks decided he would use the cover of the shadows under the overpass to push past the Spider Vein enemy. He was now only a little more than a quarter of a mile away. 

Shadows and lights danced in the street as Meaks came out of the cool air of the overpass. He did not see the Spider Vein lady and continued on his current gait and pace. Meaks came down a hill and heard cheers from the decoy runners as he saw the area he needed to cross to prevent the exposion. There! There it was a big banner spread across the road. That must be the area Meaks needed to cross.

Williameakipeddes pushed himself. He felt his knees start to buckle and his chest tighten. He pushed on. He thought he was running as fast as he could. He pushed. He tried to sprint but his body would not let him. Sweat poured down his chest. His face burned from the sun and sweat stung his eyes.

He pushed. He crossed the line. He made it.

Meaks looked up to see the Spider Vein lady a head of him. He looked at his timing device. It read 1:46:43.

Just then the Navy Yard exploded. It burned.



I was finished the race almost two minutes past my goal time. I was disapointed but happy. Lauren finished about 17 minutes before me. It was a great day.

Williameakipeddes sat on the grass of the Navy Yard eating a free soft pretzel and drinking a free bottle of water. He was dissapointed by the fire and failed mission but happy by the light show and the warmth the fire was giving him.

Discovered

Right after I took this video of Maxfield playing Ode to Joy, he turned to me and said "Put that on your blog."

I was shocked. "Excuse me?" I asked. "Do you know what a blog is?"

"No. Not really." He answered.

"Then how do know I have a blog?"

"You talk about it." Max said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Do you know what it is called? What I put on there?"

"Poop and Boogies." He smiled as he said it. "You write stories and put pictures and stuff on it."

I started to give him an explanation but he was already moving on to Lego Ninjago. Once Ninjago spinners come out, well, then there is no hope of having anyone pay attention to what is being said.

Max knows about the blog. He was 1 when I started it. He is now 7.

I am still trying to wrap my brain around all of the moral and ethical questions that arise in regards to what I should and should not post on here now that I know that he knows.

Supporting Characters

I was recently asked by the publisher Little Brown and Co to review the book The House that Ruth Built by Robert Weintraub. I read the quick blurb about the book "A new stadium, The First Yankees Championship and the Redemption of 1923". I was pretty up front with my response to editor about how I was a slow reader and that I was not a Yankees fan but that I wouldn't mind taking a look. I like history. I did not know too much about the history of Babe Ruth or the Yankees and I figured I may get an education.

Weintraub weaves a very interesting story about Babe Ruth, the NY Giants Coach and anti-Yankee man John McGraw, the Yankees' owners Ruppert and Huston and the building of Yankee's Stadium. The first few chapters read more like historical fiction than a typical baseball book filled with statistics and assumed knowledge of players. Weintraub does a nice job dropping in enough modern day references like Rocky Balboa or more modern landscape references that gives the reader (me) a better visualisation than say your customary black and white photo reference.

I think that The House that Ruth Built does an excellent job at providing details, like the quantity of bolts used for Yankee Stadium, but without making the book too statistical. Everyone and everything in the book is described with personality. At one point I found myself reading as if the stadium itself was an actual character in the story. Which is understandable since every ball player in that era had a nickname that sounded like a serial killer, like "Sultan of Swat",  "Jumpin Joe", "Bootnose" or "Gink".

More importantly than the detail and descriptions Weintraub does an incredible job of bringing to life the secondary personalities and lesser know characters from that era. He gives meaning and punch and purpose to construction workers, sportswriters, coaches, players and other influences to the story and the life of Ruth and theYankees.

And that right there is what makes this book such a great read. The lesser known or forgotten personalities are part of the mix. If the book were fiction these people would be considered supporting characters. But they weren't characters, they were people. People with minor influence but influence non the less.

Hearing a heartbreaking love song after a breakup gives that song much more impact. Seeing a funny movie at the right time or with the right people makes the movie that much more funny. Reading a book and liking it or feeling good about it , I believe, much like hearing a song or seeing a movie is all about the timing. Reading The House that Ruth Built is perfect in it's timing for me.

This year I am again coaching Maxfield in his Little League team. Is the next Babe Ruth on my team? Who knows. But I am aware (even more so now because I am reading this book) of all the secondary and minor influences that are happening now. If a book is written about Cole or Zach or Shamus or Nick or Billy or the other handful of kids on the team, will I be mentioned? And if so, will it be in a good way or a bad way? Was I the coach that did too much or too little? Will Maxfield be an influence on a future great player? Will he himself be a great player?

So as I read the House that Ruth Built I read every character and every name and I quickly think of the other coaches, players and other volunteers I know who give meaning and punch and purpose to the kids playing on my team. It makes Weintraub's book that much better.

I hope someday a book is written where I get a mention. I just hope it is not a book about a serial killer.

Old Yeller

A few months ago I discovered that I was yelling at my kids more and more. I am sure the increase in the volume of my voice as well as the increase in the times I found myself raising the volume of my voice is due to many many circumstances. The first and foremost circumstance would be the fact that I have three boys. I believe there was a medical study done which related the presence of a Y chromosome decreases the capability to hear ones parents by about 75%. Combine that with being pent up in the house most of the winter, short attentions spans, stress, home projects, and the kids inability to stop hitting each other I found myself yelling a lot.

 I don't like yelling. I think the more a kid gets yelled at, the more they tune it out. The yelling becomes part of the background noise and is even less effective. This than causes the yell-er to yell more and even louder which , well, you know becomes a bad cycle. Anyway, I found myself yelling more and I decided that I would try my best to not yell at the kids. I decided I would give it up for lent. I even told the kids I was giving up yelling for lent. I knew that if they knew I was trying, I would hold myself up to a somewhat higher standard. Just by thinking about not yelling would make me talk to the boys in a different and hopefully better manner. I was giving myself 40-46 days to break my yelling cycle and hopefully figure out a better way to discipline and deal with my parenting frustrations.


Let me just say that this is one of the hardest Lenten sacrifices I have made. Instead of yelling or barking at the kids I have found myself gritting my teeth and issuing whispered gravely voice reprimands. There is a seen in A League of Their Own where Tom Hanks does his best to hold in his screaming at one of the players for missing the cutoff man. I feel like that. All the time. Does this mean I yelled at my kids all the time? No. It just means that I think my kids know I am working on NOT yelling and they are taking advantage of me.

I hope my little experiment pays off and even after Easter I continue to work on not yelling.


Parenting in public is hard work. Not yelling is even harder. I never realized how much yelling is an impulse reaction. Over the past 5 weeks I am sure that I must look like a deranged twitching conniption ready lunatic when I have tried to discipline kids or get their attention.

If you know me and you see me and the kids at the grocery store or the ball field or wherever and I look like a muttering stuttering spastic whispering through gritted teeth please do not think I am a crazy person. Please just know that I have three boys and one of them is in trouble.

Save Me

A little over a year ago I wrote a post about taking my mother-in-law to a Ree Drummond book signing. My mom, at that time, said to me, "You never took me to a book signing."

It has been a weight of guilt (not really) I have been carrying for a while.

Back in January I was going to see Brad Meltzer promote his book The Inner Circle and I asked my mom if she wanted to go with me. She said no. I asked her if there was an author she would like to go see and my mom answered Lisa Scottoline.

"Who?" I said.

"Lisa Scottoline. She writes a column for the Philadelphia Inquire and she also has written a bunch of novels. I saw her on some local cable show and I just love her." My mom gushed about Lisa Scottoline for a few more minutes.

"Fine. When and if she comes around I will take you to a book signing." I said.

I never heard of Lisa Scottoline and I decided to do some research. She wrote a bunch of books. She was from the Philly area. She wrote some funny columns for the paper. She seemed down to earth. She had a new book called Save Me coming out in a few months. I emailed her my story about how I took my Mother-in-law to a book signing but not my mom and asked her if she could help. I never heard back. I emailed again. Nothing.

One night while I was Twittering I saw that Lisa tweeted something to Brad Meltzer. I jumped into the twit stream and asked Brad to Twitterduce me to Lisa. I don't know if he ever did but I did get a tweet from Lisa saying she would be doing signings in the Philly area in April. She suggested I come to one of those events.

I told my mom and we made plans to attend. My mom then read three more of her books and became a huge fan/stalker of Lisa Scottoline.

We went to the Lisa Scottoline book signing last night. We waited at the book store amongst the stacks of prenatal care and early child learning books (Scottoline does not write books about prenatal care that was where the sigining was taking place) talking to other fans. Every now and then someone would approach and ask a question about the store, which I would answer to best of my ability. Finally the author showed up right on time. Lisa Scottoline was funny and full of energy as she spoke to the group of about150 people. She was quick witted but also serious about her work. Very, very funny.

Scottoline spoke about how the seeds of the idea of the book were planted in her brain. She said that her friend was asked one night to pick up another small child with her own after school. When her friend arrived at the school she realized that she only had one car seat. The internal emotional, moral and legal debate about which child should get the car seat really weighed on her friend. Who should get the car seat?

Lisa Scottoline asked everyone in the crowd who they would give the car seat to. 90 percent said they would give the car seat to the other child. Lisa then asked who would give the car seat to their own child, standing in the back I raised my hand. Lisa asked me why. I was afraid I was about to embarrass my mom who was sitting to my right.

"I don't know if you ever had to deal with a car seat, but they are a pain in the ass." I said. "They do not make it easy to adjust and re-adjust the straps and buckles and seat belts for the weight and size of another kid. I would have put my kid in the car seat out of the simple fact it was already fitted perfect for him."

People in the audience appreciated my answer and Scottoline threw a bag of  Herr's potato chips at me and then moved on (The bag of chips, as I later learned, comes from a lesson Lisa' mom told her about always bringing food to a gathering. Lisa always brings PA based food to her signings to support PA). Her entire talk was funny and engaging. She even took the time to point out and recognize a fan that just earned their U.S. citizenship and another fan whose daughter was in the military. Scottoline also explained that her book has nothing to do with car seats but it does involve a what would you do type of dilema.



Lisa has law degree, is twice divorced, has an adult daughter, and loves her dogs. She even brought her dogs to the book signing. Which made me laugh to no end. My mom is very very afraid of dogs, it is a borderline phobia.

My mom and I stood in line for about 30 minutes waiting to get a chance to meet Lisa Scottoline. I used some Jedi mind tricks and some old school "my mom has a condition" tricks to get us through the line a bit quicker. My mom was absolutely ecstatic to meet Lisa Scottoline, she was grinning from ear to ear.  Lisa was so awesome taking her time to chit chat with my mom. My mom beamed the entire time.

Guess what? My mom soooo not afraid of Lisa Scottoline's dogs. She even said they were cute. What the?

I  then mentioned the Poop and Boogies blog to Lisa and gave her my card.  I could see either a hint of fear or recognition in her eyes as she read it. She gave my mom three more bags of Herr's chips.

My mom was very excited as we left the book store. I asked her if I embarrassed her at all.

"No, not in front of Lisa." She answered. "But you did when you were acting like a book store employee."

We got into the car and I breathed a sigh of relief, I no longer felt the guilt over my head. I finally took my mom to a book sigining.

My mom handed me the bags of Herr's chips.

"I can't believe I gave up chips for lent. "  she said.

And that, right there, made my whole night.

I have never read a Lisa Scottoline book. Now, after hearing her speak, and listening to my mom, I am very interested in reading some of her novels. If you get a chance go check her out.

Lisa's question in the beginning of her talk really struck me. What would you do? You are asked to pick up your small child's friend, two kids, one car seat, do you give the car seat to your kid or the other kid?

Or two book signings same day at the same time, one is your Mother-In-law's favorite author and one is your mother's favorite author, who do you choose?