Month: February 2010

Looking at this picture, it’s a wonder my brother Kevin isn’t really screwed up. Well, I mean more than he is now. What was my mother thinking dressing him “totally plaid?” And is that a freakin’ beret? Now look at me. Totally sweet threads! Navy blazer… Gray slacks… White shirt… Hankie… Stylin’, baby! Jeez… Kevin looks like a midget from “Cirque de Plaid.” Sadly, the kid on the right, Kevin Gatti, died in a fire shortly after we moved from East Boston to Wakefield. I remember hearing that as the house on Homer Street was being engulfed, Kevin appeared at a second floor window and was encouraged to jump. He disappeared back into the deadly cloud…

Anyway, this was a happier day, probably a Sunday before or after church at St. Mary’s off Bennington Street. I loved going to that big old church with my grandmother Lily… I don’t recall going with my parents. Maybe they weren’t into it. My mother developed a pretty strong faith later in her life. I guess faith can help you get through some tough stretches of life road. I know it’s helped her. Anyway, I went to the school there through second grade. I had a wicked crush on Sister Laura, but once we got to Wakefield, a mortgage payment replaced tuition and I was on a different path. One that brought me here.

So… here. I have no regrets about the journey and am quite happy where it’s currently winding. Oh, gotta go. I’m winding over to the 5:00 Mass. I hope to hear something interesting. Now where’s my plaid blazer?

Last night after cranking my heart rate at 155 for the last half of a 30 minute elliptical endurance, I arrived home to a healthy Megan prepared meal: tacos. [For the record, the 155 bpm is the 80% target for a 30 year old… Note to self: Don’t die.] After crunching down 2 with about 4 bites, a taco minus the crunchy corn home sounded less bad, so I tossed the ingredients into one of Maddy’s little plastic bowls… a fuchsia one. As I turned from the stove, I caught the little blond with my “Chapix,” or “Chap-Stick” for those of you who don’t speak Maddy-ese. “Give me that Chapix,” I said sternly. She’s now a serial “Chapix” thief having clipped 3 from me, so yeah, I was serious. Regardless, rather than cowering consensus from Miss Madison, the following negotiation took place:

“Papa, that’s my bowl.”
“Well, can I use it?”
“No.” (I sensed the sting was in play.)
“Can I use it if I let you use my Chapix?”
“Yes.”

She’s 28 months old… I used to joke about how negotiating with Megan was tougher than with any lawyer. I can now gleefully imagine future Blond-on-Blonde negotiations. I think that’s called Karma.

As much as I’d like to write my annual Valentine’s Day rant, uh… I’m busy, so you’ll have to be entertained with re-runs and viewer mail… Sorry.

Fifteenkey has received some Valentine’s Day feedback:

Jenny writes, “I think its a chance for people who have trouble normally expressing how they feel to let it out without feeling weird…some people are just not comfortable with expressing themselves romantically all of the time…so on one day a year they can be as mushy as they may feel all year…but not be open enough to communicate…”

For the record, I’m not crazy about that term, “mushy.”

Esmeralda joins in, “…at least the outcome is generally pretty positive with this valentine stuff: people expressing thoughts of caring to one another. It could be worse.”

Yes indeed, Esmeralda. It certainly could.

Strict copyright enforcement by the non-lingerie (as far as I know) football league prohibits my use of the proper term of tomorrow’s “big game” without the express, written consent of the… You get it, right? I can’t write “Super Bowl,” so you won’t see it here…

Anyway, I don’t want to generalize or be sexist in any way, but let’s face it, many of you ladies don’t have a clue about tomorrow’s game, so I’m here to help you engage your cave-men in their natural habitat and impress them with your football chops. And no, “football chops” are not something you serve after the nachos… Let’s get started, shall we?

First of all, the Indianapolis Colts used to be the Baltimore Colts and while the New Orleans Saints have always been from New Orleans, Archie Manning, their first big star, will be rooting for Baltimore… Uh, I mean Indy… Got it?

OK, so I want to give you some contextual nuggets to sprinkle into the testosterone and hot sauce fueled pigskin talk. Stuff you can say at just the right time to let the boys know you’re not just another pretty face… For example, early in the game when Indy gets a key defensive stop (whoa, this is going to be harder than I thought…). Re-do… Any time Indy’s defense (that’s when they don’t have the ball) stops the Saints on what appears (based on cavemen reaction) to be an exciting play, wait for the din to subside and say, ‘it’s amazing how the Colts “D” has played without Sanders.’ Bob Sanders is an outstanding safety (that’s a football position) who’s been out injured with “a knee” since early in the season. Trust me, the boys will be impressed.

This one is a little more sophisticated and is really a two parter… When the Colts have the ball, but are not successfully passing and Peyton (Archie’s kid) Manning appears frustrated, say “Wow, Marvin Harrison has been invisible today!” Now the guys will snicker and may try to ridicule you because in fact, Marvin Harrison, a long time Indy star receiver, is retired. When one of the he-men points that out, say “I guess you missed the irony of that, eh?”

Finally, here’s one you can serve with crackers or melted over nachos… When (and if) the Saints appear headed for a touchdown, try “I think the Saints are going to go marching in…”

Enjoy the game! Oh, and hon, can you get me another beer?