It Really Was Twenty Years Ago Today

 

Not quite how it turned out

It was a Thursday. 

August 17, 2006.

"London Bridge" by Fergie was the top song in the land (yikes). Snakes on a Plane was holding its premiere in Los Angeles (double yikes). There were events both various and sundry going on around the world.

The day before, in The Bronx, NY, the New York Yankees held a groundbreaking for a new stadium.

In Carmel, NY, 37-year-old me was thinking about the groundbreaking with a mixture of anger, sadness, and pure disgust.

Ah! Inspiration!

As a result, I stepped on board the S.S. Blogger.

I wrote my first post here. Actually, I wrote it on Aug 16, slept on it, then hit post on the 17th.

Four thousand, four hundred, ninety-two posts later, here we are.

If you're keeping track (good lord, why would you?), this is the first time I have posted since Dec 6, 2025.

So, what happened?

Oh, I tried to get my groove back. In early July, I grabbed my laptop and started composing a post meant to present the joy of having completed my first year as a substitute teacher, and the gratitude I felt for being given hope of having a better form of this thing called life.

I was maybe 400 words in when I stopped.

I didn't like it. Any of it. Not the mood, tone, or words. I felt like it had no flow and no emotion. At least, not the emotion I was hoping for.

In short, it struck me that my passion for writing was gone. The energy that composed a single post every day for 2,629 consecutive days had disappeared.

Writers deal with scrutiny. We invite it, to a point. We even expect it at times.

But it just felt like I had too many trips to the principal's office (not literally), and I elected to disengage.

I'm glad people read. Of course, I do. But whether as a writer or broadcaster, one hopes to see a number that indicates that effort is worth it, especially if there is no money involved.

And, well, I reached a point where I tapped out.

Oh, I stayed busy. Teaching kept me buzzing. Sure, I'd love to tell you stories of some kind and, of course, no students, assignments, or even fellow teachers would be named. But I elected to shut down.

But, you bet I stayed active. The teaching. Instructing at CSB. WGCH, with Meet the Beatles and Doubleheader. Hanging with Zolz and Clicks at The Beacon. The Hudson Valley Renegades. A few video depositions. Dabbling in more mentoring and instructing. Producing podcasts galore.

And that little thing called play-by-play. I called 32 baseball games in July alone.

Trust me, when I was able to flop down on my couch and binge-watch "Suits," I was able to do so without feeling guilty. Maybe the basement won't get clean this summer or whatever other project I wanted to do. But I could be home and not feel bad about it.

For the two people (maybe less) who wanted to read content on this little nook of the interwebs, I apologize for my disappearing act. I feel sad that writing stopped producing the emotion I wanted it to. I'm hoping to get it back.

This -- a post to honor 20 years of "Exit 55" -- is meant to be a start.

I didn't feel the need to write a farewell post because this isn't an airport. But I also never felt like I had departed anyway.

I'm proud of what I've created here, even if I'm not proud of every word. I always tried to write things that I stood by. Authenticity has always been at the very heart of me. Still, I don't reflect all that I've written in 20 years, and realize I've evolved.

So I think about what my life was like in 2006.

Well, to start, I was married, owned a house, and so on. That's all gone, of course. It was hardly bliss then, either, but I always had Sean. That has not changed. Heck, he's making Buffalo wings as I'm typing. We were always close, and we're arguably closer now.

I'm probably not as hard-driving as I was then. I've become more chill, I suppose.

But the things I love are probably still all the same.

And I'm a survivor. Of what, you ask? Well, I'm not married anymore. That should tell you a lot.

But I've continued to love and tried to believe in such. And continued to just be me, even if it's an updated model.

Maybe a reintroduction in a future post is necessary.

A future post. 

That sounds nice.

To those reading -- then, and now -- I can't thank you enough. The same goes for those who have critiqued, cajoled, and any other word.

I said from day one that I wouldn't start a blog to end it after a few weeks or months.

I've made it to 20 years somehow. I've perhaps enriched some, enlightened some, mocked many, angered a few, and entertained all.

That first post is here. They're all on this site, in fact. The good, bad, and ugly.

I won't say I'm back for good.

I'll just say I'm back. For tonight.

It's good to be here.

Wonderful Christmastime

Greetings, friends.

We send you our love and best wishes on this Christmas Eve.

Sean and I again did our low-key evening of food and movies.

I also went to five grocery stores today to look for something but that's not relevant to this story.

Our movies this year were Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me and Elf.

Despite our running joke, we did not start watching American Psycho every year on Christmas Eve. at least not tonight.

To many, this night is about gatherings that are both joyous and uncomfortable.

However you are spending it, I hope it is joyous, wonderful, and stress-free.

The picture at the top is from 2013 after Mom had open-heart surgery.

Christmas Eve was spent with her in a rehab center in Fairfield.

She was tired but even looking at the picture, she looked as happy as she could be under the circumstances. In fact, we all were pretty happy.

Being with her was what mattered. Having us all together at that moment was a bonus.

We sat in a common room, had pizza, kept Mom company, and laughed.

We got her back to her room, made sure she was comfortable and took off.

Yet, in a moment of spontaneity, we went to the Setti's Christmas Village display in Norwalk before heading for home. A snowstorm added to the images of the night, and made the drive home a little more cautious.

In fact, it got a bit white-knuckled when my car began to slip down a hill on Route 137 in South Salem, NY. Every fiber of my body tensed up but I tried to keep it from my 11-year-old in the passenger seat.

After I got control of the car, he reached over, massaged my shoulders, and told me I seemed tense.

He's sometimes too smart.

Eventually, we settled into the rhythm of what we do now. 

We worked up some meatballs and sauce from a "Secret Santa" with pasta and mozzarella sticks before moving to marble cheesecake for dessert. 

After we completed our movie-watching, Sean went back upstairs and I grabbed the computer. For a moment, I put It's a Wonderful Life on but I just can't watch Uncle Billy losing the money before George has his breakdown on the bridge. It's too emotional.

My Christmas wish remains the same every year. I want peace. I want joy. I want happiness. 

Selfishly, I want to live without stress and anxiety. I want to stop being on the hamster wheel.

I want us all to be honest, real, and good to each other.

We can have our differences but can agree to disagree.

It's simple respect.

Merry Christmas, friends. I'm blessed to have you all in my world.

Honestly, I write with love and admiration for all of you.

And to those who are struggling, know that better days are ahead. You might not think so, but I believe that, though it's hard to see in the darkest of moments.

May tomorrow, and the days after, be bright.

Onto the Fall Classic

 

That sure looks like joy to me

The ball settled into Juan Soto's glove and it was over.

I sat back and smiled.

Sean sat down next to The Cat. There was much laughter.

The Yankees were back in the World Series for the first time since 2009.

It's their 41st American League Pennant and, somehow, the 12th in my lifetime.

In that moment, I wanted to see Sean's reaction, recalling how he was only seven the last time they were in the Series. In fact, I had to wake him up for the last out when they beat the Phillies.

I felt fortunate. Spoiled. And yet, unafraid to be greedy. I recall being a few outs away in 2001 from a four-peat. I always wondered what it was like to live through the 1936-1939 and 1949-1953 Yankee runs. Of course, the 2001 Series imploded in the bottom of the ninth in Arizona at a time when we needed sports as much as ever.

That loss hurts more now than it did then.

In an era in which a fanbase thinks they're the only one who ever experiences happiness (you know: humor, whimsy, and joy), I'm here to say that winning is fun. That was basically the point of a tweet I sent out a few hours ago that I'm being eviscerated for.

No, seriously.  As I'm writing in the early afternoon, the tweet has over 76,000 impressions, and Mets fans are just foaming as opposed to, you know, focusing on Game 6. They absolutely missed the point but they're also uptight and are taking it out on me.

For those wondering, sports is especially full of whimy, humor, and joy when you win. Pop songs and secondary fast food mascots aren't necessary. There are myriad ways to have fun in sports but, ultimately, it's about winning at that level.

It's baseball. It's supposed to be fun.

I never said they were the smartest fan base in the world. They're not.

The replies, frankly, are hysterical. I've been laughing for probably a solid five hours now.

Regardless of them, the New York Yankees are back in the World Series. In truth, I'll be watching two games in San Francisco. Let's face it, if it's against the Dodgers, the Yankees will be the more popular team since they hate Los Angeles there.

The good news, of course, is that those games will likely be over by 9 p.m. Pacific time.

There was once a time when this felt like a birthright but I soon learned it wasn't. The Yankees of the early 70s were fun but were also, mostly, mediocre. At least until 1976.

Then 1977.

Then 1978.

Three pennants. Two titles. It felt like it would happen every year. 

Then came 1979. The Orioles were better and Thurman Munson died. 

And then came the 80s. After 1981 came one year after another. Some great players. Some great moments. Lots of fun. Watching games. Listening to games. But no playoffs.

The early 90s were the bottom.

But with expanded playoffs and a better approach to creating a team, the Yankees became a dynasty once more.

The last title was the 2009 one. Lots of playoffs followed. Lots of disappointment. And then a train wreck of a season in 2023.

But they're back.

In the World Series.

Where they belong.

They await an opponent. Either the Dodgers or the Mets.

But today, despite the misguided vitriol being aimed at me by Mets fans, today is a day to smile. 

With more work to be done.

*****

Today's "Meet the Beatles" featured Sun Kings -- A Beatles Tribute and they were outstanding. The show is in my Mixlr archive so please give it a listen. It wasn't an easy show to mix due to mics not working and the challenge of blending the vocals and instruments properly but I'm still pretty happy with it.

They were amazing and they'll be back.

Back to College

 

If there's one thing I could say about my resume, it's that it is rather diverse.

Tonight, we can add "college soccer announcer." I called the matchup between Albright College and DeSales University in Center Valley, PA on MACtv.

It was a day that wouldn't qualify as a big money maker. There was lunch, dinner, gas, tolls, and so on.

But it was a day of building relationships and enjoying experiences.

With a two-hour drive ahead of us, we got on the road to Pennsylvania a little after 10 a.m. It was just after Noon when we walked into Waffle House for our breakfast for lunch."=

We walked out happily fed and went to a nearby Sheetz to pick up drinks for the game.

We were, frankly, early for the 3:30 start of the game. Very early. Even with a road closed on our drive, we were still on site two hours before game time. That normally doesn't bother me at all, especially when it's just me, but Sean was with me and, well, there was no one at the field.

We had time to waste.

The field itself was simple. There were scoreboards in each corner and bleachers across from the benches. A small shelter served as a scorer's table. Two shelters were in place for each team. The broadcast booth was a small metal platform with a set of stairs up to it. It was stable and had a weatherproof cover on it.

There was enough room for three people, with me, a cameraman, and a person running the computer and the graphics. But, to be clear, I had to stand behind the crew to call the action, which sounds worse than it was.

In fact, I had almost no problem with the view at all. My computer, however, wouldn't be used, thus I couldn't integrate Robcasting nor could I use it for research.

Instead, I relied on my phone. A lot. I also put the rosters into my binder and just held onto that. I had no table space to work with.

It was different. But it worked really well. Or maybe I should cut myself some credit and say I made it work really well. 

As I called the game from the tower, I couldn't help but notice the baseball stadium across the street. Will I get to come back and call some DeSales University Bulldogs baseball? I would say don't count that out. I made it clear I'd be very interested in that.

It seemed the university was pleased with my work today. I likely won't do any winter sports there, which always raises the competitor in me, but calling baseball there next spring would be a blast.

Before the game, Sean and I walked into the university center and found the Campus Store where I pondered various sweatshirts and other items. I think I've decided that moving forward, any school wishing to hire me should have to throw some swag into the deal. Am I serious? Semi. What would it hurt to be given a sweatshirt, polo shirt, or a nice pullover? Heck, I'm there as your broadcaster, so why not outfit me?

Besides, like the Manning brothers, I'm a sucker for a quarter-zip.

In this case, I looked at everything and decided I would only get something once I was asked to come back. I figured, at that point, there would be a relationship. Either way, I'd be proud to wear their stuff.

For the record, I've already been asked to come back but no date has been set.

While in the University Center, we also found WDSR, the campus radio station. The small studio had a tinted window with equipment inside and, while nobody was at the controls, I just liked seeing that a station existed.

With DeSales' 2-0 victory complete, I climbed down the stairs from the tower (which wasn't that high) and headed back to the car where Sean was waiting.

A nearby Wawa was our dinner place. 

The drive took a bit longer on the return trip thanks to some ill-timed construction on I-78 in New Jersey but we made it home and considered the day a big success.

A four-hour round trip isn't necessarily ideal but I think it can be done occasionally. 

And it gets me back to doing some college sports. 

We felt like we were welcomed to their campus and the experience was good.

I'm listening to the audio right now at home and I'm mostly content with the broadcast. It was my first soccer call in roughly a year and I know there was some rust but I'd like to think the audience enjoyed it.

So, yes, let's do it again.

Talking, It's What I Do

 

Harvard Club, NYC

The alarm sounded at 4 a.m. I had just spoken on a microphone for hours the night before.

A conference was a few hours away and it was go time. I'd be back on the mic again.

I pulled myself together to head out the door. There was a 4:49 train out of Greenwich and I preferred to be on that.

Initially, I wanted to walk to the station. I thought it would be a nice workout in the cool air of the early morning. However, knowing that the walk would take some time, I could either sleep until 4 a.m. and drive or get up earlier. So I got whatever sleep I could (minimal, of course), got ready, and drove to the train station.

I grabbed a spot on the street near the station, paid for parking, paid for a train ticket on my phone, and was on the platform by 4:47.

The trip was quiet, and I strolled into the Harvard Club in Manhattan at 6 a.m.

It was a half-day conference and, once again, I think my colleagues crushed it. I got to do something different, moderating a fireside chat/panel discussion with two professionals in the industry. The tricky thing in this is that I'm taking someone else's words and making them sound appropriate. Still, it's like a radio or podcast interview and I have some experience with those.

I thought it came off pretty well, along with the rest of the day.

Somewhere along the line, I realized I'd also screwed up. I grabbed a pair of black pants back in Greenwich before reaching back into my closet to grab the appropriate suit jacket. Black suit, right?

Nope. Somehow, pinhead that I am, I grabbed a navy jacket. It was hours before I realized anything was amiss. Fortunately, nobody seemed to be any wiser, despite how embarrassed I felt.

A black and white cookie later, we missed our first train by seconds, grabbed a second train, and came home.

And I had a parking ticket. I will be dealing with that tomorrow.

The Bowling Green Hot Rods celebrate

All of this wrapped up a whirlwind 24 hours that began last night with the Renegades in their ultimate game of the South Atlantic League Championship.

Alas, a title was not to be. Bowling Green had a 2-0 lead, watched it get cut to 2-1, and eventually won 4-1. The Renegades ran out of magic, unfortunately.

There were tears and lots of melancholy as the Hot Rods celebrated near the pitchers mound. My job at that point was to remain professional and facilitate the introduction of the ceremony to present the league championship trophy before saying goodnight to the fans and supporting my colleagues.

I congratulated Bowling Green, thanked the fans and the crew, and just tried to end on a high note.

I have been around the Hudson Valley Renegades organization in parts since 2001. That, counting the COVID season, is 24 seasons of play-by-play, color commentary, public address announcing, and on-field hosting. I was there a lot over the years and I loved it. I've been there as a fan since the stadium opened in 1994.

As it is for all of us part-timers, we're all terminated effective today. It sounds cold but it's just business. Oh, sure, we can all be rehired before next April, but nothing is guaranteed. For me, it will start as an offseason of uncertainty. The 2024 Renegades season was interesting. Fascinating. Frustrating. Exhilarating. And nearly euphoric.

There were myriad highs and some absolutely frustrating moments as well. 

But what I know is I absolutely love the people I work with. Obviously, starting with Sean and Lori, but also Clicks, Fish, Beats, the Jasons, Guido, Alli, Lurch, Anthony, and so on.

I can't name everyone. Apologies to those I didn't name. To many, I might be "the voice" on the PA system. My face probably isn't well known. But there are so many wonderful personalities, like "Batman," the guy who walked around dressed with a Batman mask on, speaking in the Christian Bale "growl."

Yet, as we all left the booth, we got a sad reminder that all good things must end...

Long live "Batman"

If last night was the end for me, I want to walk away proud and happy. That's what I did, despite the loss. I don't want sadness. I don't want to avert my eyes when I drive by the stadium on I-84. I want to remember the good -- and there was plenty of that.

I was once the play-by-play announcer for the Hudson Valley Renegades. An affiliate of the New York Yankees. I'm profoundly proud of that.

If there's more, then bring it on. I love baseball. I love Minor League Baseball. 

Maybe the picture clears up quickly.

I need it.

Professional Courtesy

 

Mahopac High School. It all started here.

I got to go home last night.

I was back in Mahopac at the annual Jimmy Buffett party with the same core of friends that has attended every year since the early 90s.

Save for a few years during COVID and a rare time when I couldn't get there, I've been there for all of them.

Last night was no different, save for the reality of age. Where I might have once stayed until 4 a.m. I was yawning by 10:30.

The food was great, the beverages were cold, and the laughs were raucous.

Debauchery? That's an annual thing to an extent, though it does get tempered by the presence of young children. After all, most of us are parents now.

In fact, a couple of the kids were there last night, except they're of age now.

To be honest, you wouldn't necessarily peg us all for being friends. Yes, there is sports talk, especially hockey, among that group, but there's plenty of other stuff to talk about. But, mostly, the commonality is that we went to high school together and that's the bond.

Regardless, our differences aren't a big deal. 

As I joked with a friend, "I'm boring and I always have been."

"Sometimes boring is great," came the response.

Maybe I don't know why they like me but I feel loved when I'm among them.

It also means a chance to drive past my parent's house to see how things are progressing. It was pretty dark when I drove by but it's looking great.

It's all nostalgic and familiar.

But, mostly, the night is about a certain level of ritual. The fire-breathing routine. The toast. The jokes -- not for the sensitive types. The ribbing, which could be about literally anything.

We're friends. There's loyalty. And whatever differences there are, the friendship overrides everything.

Contrast that with petty relationships. Earlier this week, Sean and I attended the 9/11 memorial ceremony at Cos Cob Park. Also in attendance was a former colleague and, at times, a friend. 

But I guess not. 

Not only does he not acknowledge my existence but, as someone who works for the town, never shares any of my work. For instance, you'd think someone who works for the first selectman and, thus, the town would share the information that WGCH -- the town's radio station -- was broadcasting the memorial event.

Or ever noting our coverage of high school football, "Meet the Beatles," "Doubleheader," etc. In fact, he'll post the work of others writing about Greenwich and Brunswick football -- games that I call.

In other words, anything I do, he wants nothing to do with.

Which, OK, so be it. He doesn't like me because, unlike many others, I don't just pat him on the head.

The term "That's just (insert name here)" doesn't really fly with me. It's generally a cop-out but I know that's how people act when it comes to him.

I laughed at his avoidance of me, telling Sean about it when we were in the car. He took note of the person also.

"Yeah. That's weird," was Sean's reaction.

But I guess it just seems petty the more I think about it.

You can't please everyone. Part of being a friend is understanding differences and, admittedly, he and I are quite different. And yet, not entirely.

But so be it.

Like Sean said, it's weird.

We could just agree to disagree.

Incidentally, this guy has been spotted being friendly online with a certain toxic fellow.

So, yeah. I've made my enemies over the years I guess.

But I know who my friends are.

Playoff Fever

 

The Hudson Valley Renegades celebrate

I'll cut to the chase.

Last night was one of the most fun experiences I've ever had on a baseball field.

I've experienced walk-off hits, have scored a championship-winning run, and have broadcast myriad big moments, but have never joined in a celebration at a professional level.

You know me. I eschew being a part of many things that I think belong to the team. By "team," it's a bigger term in that there are the players, coaches, and, in the case of the Renegades, the front office. 

As a broadcaster (which I'm not for the Renegades) I tend to back off, with the exception of congratulating everyone. I've certainly done that on many occasions with the teams I've covered.

Last night, the Renegades clinched a playoff spot. The needed to win their own game and then wait for the result of another one. The Gades did their part, beating the Asheville Tourists* 3-0. They needed the Jersey Shore BlueClaws to beat the Aberdeen IronBirds.

*If the Asheville Tourists remind you of the movie Bull Durham, well then pat yourself on the back! 

I handled the public address announcing and we had a really nice, fun night in the PA booth. The game was over, and there was still the postgame tennis ball toss to be played, so the game between the Aberdeen and Jersey Shore was put on the video board in left field. Jersey Shore held a 3-1 lead as we started watching.

Up in the booth, Jason, Clicks, Tom, and I were joined by Anthony, Murph, Jason (Stapf), Devin, Fred, and ... oh, yeah ... Sean.

Faces came in and out but that's the crew that I remember.

As Fish hosted the tennis ball toss, we watched him complete the evening.

At that point, we glanced at the Aberdeen/Jersey Shore game, which was in the 7th inning. The lead had been cut to 3-2.

"I can listen to it in the car if I want," I said. The drive home can be a drag.

But I also glanced back down to the field. Fish was joined by members of the front office as well as the players, who were throwing a football around in the outfield.

"Guys," I offered. "I'm going down to the field."

Fish, in front, took selfies of the crew.

Pretty much everyone came down. Admittedly, when you have a group of full-timers, which the front office is, and the part-timers join in, which we are, it can feel like the Sharks and the Jets.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

OK, maybe that's extreme but there is sometimes a divide, though not by design. It just happens.

But no one seemed to mind as Jersey Shore tacked on to their lead. Heading into the bottom of the ninth, the BlueClaws were up 6-2.

The mood was jovial as cameras began to record it all.

The players stopped tossing the football as the last of the ninth began. The front office staff began to move to the outfield to watch on the board.

"Come on guys."

We know we're the gameday people. Our involvement is different. But we're still all a small part of the journey. In my mind, I wanted to stand closer and watch the Renegades lock up another playoff appearance. This is what everyone works for.

Three outs remained.

Well, it wasn't all that dramatic. A ground out and swinging strikeout opened the inning.

One out to go.

Ryan Stafford of Aberdeen took a called strike three from Paxton Thompson of Jersey Shore and the Renegades ticket was officially punched.

FINAL

Cameras recorded the players hugging in the outfield, safe in the knowledge that more baseball awaits next week. The chance of a title is official.

We watched as the players then hustled off the field, beyond the outfield fence.

We took it all in, somewhat unsure what to do. Should we leave? The last thing I want to do is overstay my welcome or overstep my boundaries.

Then a roar went up as we watched champagne fly beyond the outfield fence The players were bathing in the moment of bubbly.

I watched the Greensboro Grasshoppers do the same thing when they clinched a playoff spot in 2021. They celebrated down the right field line as the Gades' playoff hopes died. The postseason that year was a smaller format and the Renegades -- the 2021 North Division champions -- weren't included.

Last night, it was different.

Thanks to Clicks for this

Soon, we were invited to have our own celebration and join our front-office colleagues and friends. General manager Zach Betkowski gave a brief speech, capped by imploring the pursuit of a championship ring.

Then, for the first time ever, I was part of a champagne explosion. Fish took aim at me with a bottle as I opened mine up.

For the record, Fish got more champagne on Sean than on me, but it's all friendly fire at that point.

More pictures were taken, including by the team photographer, who gathered us all up for a shot. We thanked him and he told us we deserved it, as he sees all of us on the top level at every game.

I talked with people for a bit and kind of just watched everyone enjoy the moment, mindful that it's only one step toward a championship. For the Renegades, there's more work to be done.

Sean and I stepped away as the celebration continued. We waved to Clicks and Fish and made our way out via the right field corner.

It was nice to be a part of it all. I'll treasure it.

The Renegades play again tonight before finishing the regular season this weekend. I'm working both Saturday and Sunday and then I hope to be involved in the postseason games beginning next week.

Get your tickets and go support the team!

September Mourn

Two weeks to the day before she passed. The clock was ticking.

 

The details of Sept 4, 2020, will live in my mind forever.

Most of the details of Sept 3 will as well.

I'd taken Mom to two appointments on the 3rd, with the second one being a cardiologist. She'd received news that her heart was failing.

According to her as we talked in the car, she said it could be six months or who knows.

I think, in truth, she was ready.

In reality, the doctor said it was a lot less than that. She was gone the next morning.

Four years ago today.

My parents are with me every day and I feel blessed to have had Mom until she was 83, as opposed to Dad dying at 59.

The last years of her life weren't easy. My sister and I tended to be her plus one for events. Laura took her to the weddings and showers while I took her to the parties and picnics.

Of course, she also had grandchildren who were also available. They were all there for her. I'm so glad that she and Sean were so close.

To that end, he and I laugh about her all the time. There are frequent jokes that only we get and she would laugh at.

It helps to have a bit of a dark sense of humor.

So there's no question I'm thinking of her today and trying to not think about the events of that morning.

The call to 911. The EMT arriving. The police. The phone calls. The texts.

The waiting.

Knowing that she was gone and wanting to tell the 911 operator that but carrying on as she was giving me CPR instructions. I couldn't give up but, at the same time, there was the reality to consider.

Remaining calm and keeping emotion out of it all.

The waiting (yes, there was a lot of that).

Finally, the news I expected, was given by the EMT, who assured me it wasn't COVID-related. I knew clear as could be that it was her heart. 

Then more waiting for the funeral home.

Offering the police a drink.

Being advised to not go back to the living room. That bothered me a lot.

Generally not going into the house at all. Just standing at the top of the driveway and making phone calls.

Then standing, almost at attention, as she was brought out. I had to be there for that, even after the funeral director suggested I walk away. 

No. I couldn't. I had to be there for Mom.

Oh, there was more to the day. The phone calls -- some so much harder than others.

And the one I didn't make. Couldn't make.

Sean. That had to happen in person when I picked him up at his mother's house. I remain happy he wasn't at the house for any of it.

Then helping him call his grandparents.

Then a long, lonely, drive from Hopewell Jct, NY to Bridgeport, CT. 

In shock.

If I had anything on the radio, I think it was banal sports talk that I wasn't paying attention to.

Finally, eating, at Jersey Mike's in Fairfield before getting to Bridgeport to call a baseball game. Yes, I was going to work, dammit. Everyone felt I should. I felt confident Mom would want me to honor the commitment. It was bad enough that I wouldn't make a game the evening of her funeral.

At that point, nothing had been said publicly. Then I discovered my aunt wrote something online, so I quickly posted a picture of her and a few words to let people know. We were trying to make sure everyone of importance knew before we made a statement but it was too late.

Then I spoke during the game. I wanted to say something quick to make sure Nick Castellanos didn't "make it a 4-0 ballgame."

Then listeners -- friends -- coming by to express sympathy.

And Paul Silverfarb and Shawn Sailer wanting to take me out for a few minutes postgame. Also, the reality that I had to return to Mahopac. To her house.

That, fortunately, would wait until the next day.

I wound up with family in Bridgeport to have a late dinner and just talk for a bit. That's where I finally got to see my sister. I'd spend a sleepless night on her floor.

Hell, as it turns out, was just beginning for us. This was only the first phase of the storm.

But, while sitting there, a cat came over to try to get my chicken parm. A cute animal named Binx. He was offered to me.

"I'm serious," my niece's husband Eric said. We'd lose Eric roughly six months later. 

A little over a week later, Binx came with me to Mahopac.

His name is Rascal Squeaky Beast now.

A ray of light out of a bad day.

Someone to keep me company and whenever you want to say I'm a crazy cat person, remember why he came into our lives.

Mom, we think of you every day. We were your "partners in crime." We both have so many memories. So much travel. So many stories.

We love telling them.

We miss you.

We have to work tonight.

Don't worry. We'll honor the commitment.

A Chicken Bake Thursday

 

Plans fall apart sometimes.

You go to a site, set up, and wait. Then nobody shows up.

Turns out, a mistake was made and everything gets rescheduled to tomorrow.

It happens.

So, I pivoted back to the apartment to do laundry and things around home.

With the Renegades out of town and all sports currently off, I'm in a lull.

Which is a nice way of saying I'm not working enough.

Unless I actually go away, I don't handle these lulls well.

I'm counting the days until the next conference, football game, etc. I'm asking around for the next deposition.

It's been a disappointing summer in that regard and it needs to change. 

That, for the record, is what has been causing me sleepless nights.

OK, the recent heat surge hasn't helped but it's much cooler tonight.

I mean, the only other excitement of the day, other than the missed meeting and "Doubleheader" (because, of course) was our trip to Costco.

What could possibly be better than father and son strolling around a warehouse store, shopping for a 30-pack of toilet paper, orange juice, half and half, and whatever else grabs us? Well, the ability to shop as we please would be nice but, again, the concern about not working enough.

The whole "gainfully employed" thing would be nice, despite how hard I work and how busy I am.

But, under these circumstances, what could be better?

Dinner!

There is something to be said about Costco's cafe, with its ridiculously inexpensive offerings. 

I've long been a fan of the hot dog/beverage combo with a slice of their passable pizza. I went to the kiosk to order when Sean stopped me.

"You're getting a hot dog and pizza?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"I'll take a chicken bake."

Ah, of course. The chicken bake. That item that I've stared at on the Costco menu for years. I always convinced myself I'd like it but stuck with my tried and true combo.

"OK," I retorted, "but I want a bite."

"Deal."

So we ordered a feast for two kings at Costco, including a warm chocolate chip cookie for my 22-year-old Cookie Monster.

The hot dog was a standard issue. Always delightful, with a dollop of mustard on it. For as much as one can put a "dollop" of mustard on a dog.

But it's also the classic dog that will be repeating later, like now.

The pizza was...as always...fine. Nothing I'd ever find in a New York pizza place. Connecticut, on the other hand...

I even enjoyed a taste of the cookie, but I don't mess with them otherwise because Sean loves them and I don't need them.

However, the chicken bake was the star. While I've read that devotees say the taste has changed, Sean and I were both pretty content with it.

I always pictured it as a chicken Caesar salad wrapped in a crust. That's not far off from what it tasted like. The crust was crunchy and created a bit of a heft to it, thus making it more of a meal than you might believe.

Sean liked it a lot and I thought it was pretty tasty.

And it was cheap. I love that.

Who knew a chicken bake could help salvage a day?

Let the Photos Only Resurrect Good Vibes

 

A small part of every day is spent with an app called Timehop.

It pulls together memories from various parts of my social media footprint and presents them in a clean, concise order.

This morning, the collection included snaps from a getaway to Maine in 2004. Sean and I drove up along with his mother and my mother.

The thing about that is life forces you to process such memories. Yes, my ex-wife was in the passenger seat for that trip and you have to assess that. In this case, I don't have anything good or bad to say. She was there. That's it.

I don't recall anything particularly positive or negative pertaining to her.

I've learned to accept the reality that who I traveled with mattered for the purposes of chemistry and, to an extent, survival, but their presence can indeed be swept aside.

It's not preferable but it's better than wishing none of it had ever happened.

Instead, it's a reminder of Sean and I hanging out.

It's also a reminder of the bond between Sean and my mother.

I always liked Maine from the very first time I visited it in 1994. It just felt comfortable. I liked driving there. I liked the shopping, especially walking around Freeport. I liked the New England charm.

I think it should say "Home of John Nash" at the state line but I digress.

I haven't been in nearly two decades and I think about driving back up there often, especially to complete that portion of Interstate 95 to the Canadian border. Our trips there didn't have much time to drive over three hours to the border, just to turn around and come back.

Now, on my own, I could do such a thing but I need the wheels and the money to allow that kind of trip.

I also need good weather as I don't recommend doing such a thing in winter. I've been trapped in Freeport a few times due to snow and it's a lovely town. I'd rather not be trapped on 95 out past, say, Bangor.

In fact, there were times when we -- yes, this is crazy -- day-tripped from Mahopac to Freeport. Admittedly, I'd be begging my ex for a hotel on the way back because I was exhausted and always got shot down. 

If you've ever driven I-495 in Massachusetts, it gets a little boring after a while.

But as I looked through these pictures this morning, I was immediately grabbed by the one at the top of the post.

That's always been a favorite of mine. Sean was always a trooper when doing stuff but, let's be honest, he was two in this picture and he needed a break. He and I stepped away from the occasional monotony of shopping* and he sat on the rocks to watch the fish in the in-store pond. 

*Seriously, there were stores he would complain about going to, especially with his mother. The Gap was one of them. Daddy, he learned, walked in, looked around, and walked out. I'm a quick browser.

Anyway, I took his picture next to the pond and although I don't think he was actually feeling well, he was his usual smiley boy for me. His hand curled around his sippy cup in his look of a polo shirt and khaki cargo shorts. He was almost a stereotype at that moment.

But he was happy and I was relaxed. It can only be described as a nice moment as we no doubt talked about the fish, with me likely making up some story about the fish and how they were behaving.

I know I've told you the story of walking to LL Bean from a nearby inn where I was staying just a few years after this picture was taken. Oh, yeah, it was in a driving snowstorm at four in the morning and it's a favorite memory of mine. Seeing this picture of Sean reminded me of that.

In this case, it was a very warm day in August.

The other picture that stuck out to me was one of two numbered road signs.

I was most definitely taking a picture of the I-295 and US 1 signs but I liked that Mom was walking Sean in his stroller at the same time. I saw it as a slice-of-life shot.

My mother often used strollers and grocery carts to lean on as she aged, feeling that it was comfortable for her, especially in her latter years when she didn't want to use a cane. Plus this gave her a way to spend time with her grandchildren.

In this case, she's still getting around pretty well and looks good as she makes her way down the incline on Bow St. 

Sean, of course, is nonplussed, sipping away on whatever beverage has been prepared for him. He wasn't always just an orange juice man, preferring a nice 2004 milk or water or perhaps some other time of juice.

I'm sure I came away from this quest with some wares though I don't remember what. I recall I used to find some good bargains at various stores in both Freeport and Kittery but LL Bean was always the star for me. 

If we stayed anywhere on this trip, and we did, it was down near Portland as hotels and inns in Freeport were too pricey for us. I think, as I said, Sean wasn't feeling well, and, believe it or not, I was having a hard time finding the hotel I had booked in Portland.

Sean, by that point, melted down, repeatedly saying he wanted to go to the hotel. Repeatedly. That lasted for some time as I tried to figure out my mistake.

Yes, I couldn't find the blasted place. Keep in mind that our other hotel of that era was in South Portland, a few miles away and in a totally different area. I think it was sold out.

The takeaways from this post are missing the sweet memories of my son, missing the presence of my mom, and how much I love to travel. The pictures, of course, are keepsakes of the time.

And that's how you parse those memories.

And maybe it's time to get back to Maine.

Host with the Most, Part Two

 

There's a hint of pride in that face

I made my second appearance as the on-field host for a Renegades game last night.

I was told that the possibility existed on Thursday but I honestly didn't give it much thought.

By Saturday, I had confirmation that I'd be on the field.

I appreciated the vote of confidence and hoped to do my best.

Unlike last time, Sean would be in the stadium.

So my goals were 

- Don't embarrass the team.

- Don't embarrass Sean.

Me? Oh, heck, I can deal with embarrassment. I'm good at it.

Early on, things went according to schedule, at least on my end.

I handled the on-field hello and the first pitches. I chatted with people on the field, including Renegades "Mount Rushmore" legend Wade Davis, who came to the stadium for a first pitch of his own.

The team gave away mini Mount Rushmores, with four of the legends in team history portrayed on it.

One thing I did notice was that the microphone I was using was being temperamental. So was the walkie-talkie I was carrying.

But, OK, I've been down this road. I've gotten around equipment failures.

Right before game time, my job is to get the word from the dugout to the PA booth to start the music that serves as the introduction of the team. Then, the on-field host normally introduces the players.

I got the OK to point up to Clicks to start the music.

I also tried to radio up. They couldn't hear me. Eventually, they started the music.

Then, I tried to take my microphone off mute.

And it died.

Jamie Goerke took the mic from me and I left it in her hands as chaos began. The Renegades waited to come out. The national anthem singer was waiting.

And it was like dead air in radio. It felt awkward.

I stood and waited. Patiently. Jamie radioed up to play the national anthem on the PA system.

The Renegades took the field on their own.

Jamie got the mic to work but it was too late. The anthem had started and the singer couldn't sing.

Honestly, that could have killed the vibe of the night right there but we weren't willing to let that happen. This, as you know, wasn't my first rodeo or baseball game. It also wasn't my first time as the on-field host.

Initially, we decided we would leave the mic on and let Clicks handle the volume in the booth. That means there's no option for me to mute and unmute the mic, thus taking away my ability to ad-lib during the game. That wouldn't be the end of the world but it takes some of the fun away as a host.

Eventually, Jamie got another microphone working and handed that one to me. It worked the way it should and we were in business.

After playing a game of Tic Tac Toe with a mother/son duo, I felt my mojo kicking in.

The night took off from there.

I felt like I was able to shine in a few moments, especially standing on the first base dugout when I had to play the "Dirtiest Car in the Parking Lot" segment. It is exactly what it is: a car is selected and we have some fun with it, before giving the "winner" a prize from a local car wash.

I heard some laughs as I shamed the car in question.

Later on, we played a trivia game involving players who had played for the Renegades before making the major leagues ... or not.

I played it with the entire crowd and, again, I used the skills I developed in various Hunt Scanlon conferences and banquets.

It has to be done quickly, in the span of an inning break and, where I struggled in my first game, I was much cleaner this time.

Once again, Jamie Goerke was the rock star for me, patiently dealing with any questions.

I'd have to say, my anxiety was non-existent. I relaxed and had fun with the fans as well as my coworkers who were universally supportive.

I appreciated those who called out my name to say hello. I appreciated the fan who noticed I was wearing a Bobby Murcer 1973 1973 Yankees jersey. It was Old Timers' Day in The Bronx after all.

I appreciated the good humor of those who played the games, including the couple involved in Water Wars, a trivia game in which the person who gets the questions wrong gets doused with buckets of water.

The questions -- which I came up with -- were impossibly silly and simple.

The man in this couple got all four wrong. Soaking and, with a smile, he fist-bumped me.

The Renegades won the game so I couldn't be blamed for them losing. 

Players sign autographs, especially taking care of the kids

After the final out, I returned to the field to thank everyone for coming out before playing the post-game tennis balls event. People buy bags of tennis balls and try to throw them into hoops on the field to win prizes.

With that complete, I handed the mic back to Jamie and officially said goodnight.

Sean, Anthony, Clicks, and Jason were waiting to support me and hear the stories. Clicks had his own crazy night with the PA mixing board giving him grief.

It was one of those nights but we got through it without fans really knowing what was going on.

That survival skill is the best.

I don't know if I'll ever get to do it again but I had fun and I proved to myself that I was capable of doing a good job.

Most of all?

My son wasn't embarrassed.

I drove home with a smile on my face.

*****

WCBS Newsradio 880 switches formats at midnight. I've been listening whenever possible and, like many of my brethren, will mourn its end.

It's a shame. I've mentioned it before but I wanted to say it once more as the end is almost upon us.

Sad. That's all I've got. Just sad.

The Picture Doesn't Tell All

 

Sean is at his mother's place doing some cleaning.

There's so much to say about that sentence but I'll resist. "Baby steps," as Sean said to me.

He texted me the picture above, taken in Mar 2002. But, being my son, he couldn't resist a jab.

"You look so thrilled to be a new dad!"

I had no response, except to laugh.

Of course, deep in his brain, he knows the truth. And so do I.

I loved being a new father.

As in, I've rarely loved anything more.

I was overjoyed and treasured every minute of helping to raise him.

And I loved it when he fell asleep on me, as in this picture.

There's no doubt in my mind I'm watching TV or that I'm deep in thought about something. I also look tired but, before anyone says "2 a.m. feedings" and so on, it wasn't that bad with Sean.

I just tended to work ... and work ... and work ... and often worked strange hours. Who knows what game I might have just got home from?

Or if I was filling in on the morning news? I did that quite a bit back then, often leaving Mahopac around 3:30 in the morning.

Baby Sean was a sound sleeper. So is grown-up Sean. Sure, there were the 2 a.m. feedings but they weren't that bad and I'd often get sent back to bed because of my crazy schedule. It wasn't long before he'd sleep through the night. 

Honestly, I wish he could pass some of that back to me as I'm really struggling lately. The lunatics in my brain are winning the race currently.

Sean wasn't even one to cause many sleepless nights. I recall one night that he struggled to sleep and we settled down on the couch for a bit. Eventually, he dozed off on me and I put him back in his crib. It was pretty quick.

Another time, when he was a toddler, he came in and told me he couldn't sleep. I repeat: he came to me. He came straight to my side of the bed.

Even now, he'll tell you it's because he "knew that Daddy would wake up." So that's what I did. I shot up, in fact. I walked him back into his room and settled him down. I probably offered to stay in there with him though I don't remember the details. Either way, he quickly went back to sleep.

But this picture, despite my expression, is back at the very beginning of the father-son partnership that has existed between us. That bond has always been there and continues to be.

There's no great message in this post otherwise. The picture, and Sean's snarky comment, make me smile.

I love being a dad and love that kid.

That's reason enough to post it.

And Right Back to RI

 

"Wait. You interrupted your trip to Rhode Island to teach?"

It was as if he was surprised. If this person truly knew me, it wouldn't be a shock.

"Yeah. I mean, I made the commitment, and I know how much we switch things around. I didn't want to do that again so I dealt with it."

Getting on the same page with me when it comes to my schedule is quite a trick. There's baseball, depositions, the Renegades, "Doubleheader," and whatever else. I wish it wasn't like that (as in having a home base, aka #HireRob) but it comes down to weighing all of the options and doing right by my commitments.

I'd already changed my dates with CSB so I honored the commitment and held classes yesterday and today. As I wrote last night, it gave me the chance to run home, see The Cat, etc.

So, yes, I have made it back to the hotel where I am happy to see my key still works.

But, wow, the temperature has dropped as the weather gets uglier. It's in the low 70s and I actually have a sweatshirt ready if necessary.

I want to like the drive from Stratford to here but it's just too much traffic on I-95 for only two lanes, especially when a lane was closed. Unfortunately, traffic doesn't flow. So, mix that together and it makes for a grind to the RI border.

Ever fascinated, I stopped by the memorial to those lost in a massive fire at the Station nightclub on Feb 20, 2003. One hundred lives were lost 230 more were injured when a pyrotechnic display ignited flammable acoustic foam in the walls and ceilings surrounding the stage. Jack Russell's Great White was getting ready to perform at the club in West Warwick.

The park was dedicated in 2017 and each victim is lovingly remembered with personal memorials. I remember when the fire occurred and I was honored to pay my respects today before moving on to the hotel. What struck me was how many of the victims were in the same age range as me.

Sad. All of it. May they rest in peace. It is said many survivors have dealt with post-traumatic stress since.

I'm back in my room now and the weather is quite gray as we keep our eye on Tropical Storm Debby, who is cruising up the east coast.

I've heard from Sean in Myrtle Beach and he is fine, if somewhat wet I suppose. Rain has been intense but, at last check, he was sending me pictures of Steelers items in stores down there. I'm happy to see each picture, serving as an indication of all being well.

I've also texted with Kristy, my niece in North Carolina, who said the rain is heavy as she had to drive to Raleigh. She said the storm was notable but they were OK.

I'll take those answers.

Of course, it's worth noting that it's supposed to eventually reach Greenwich (you know, there's a cat there) and, well, Rhode Island, where there's a baseball tournament to be played. I'm happily not in the shoes of those running the Little League tournament here who have to make decisions based on the weather.

I want what's best for the kids.

And these Trumbull kids are playing outstanding baseball. Their next game is tomorrow morning at 11* against a team from Vermont. Weather permitting the game will air on Robcasting and Gamechanger.

I have plenty of things to keep the equipment (hopefully) dry.

(*Update: Here we go with the weather. Tomorrow's game has been backed up from 11:00 am to 1:00 pm due to overnight rain)

Fuel Pumped

 

You didn't think the car was fixed, did you?

No, it's really effing not fixed.

I got in the car this morning and, sure, enough the same warning that has haunted me for years reappeared.

So I went back to the service center in Port Chester. I was taken in quickly and sat back down in the same place I did yesterday.

I'll spare you the details.

The car needs a fuel pump. That, of course, is not cheap.

Oh, I know. "Cry me a river." Well, allow me a few paragraphs to self loathe, please.

Oh, I guess it can get me to the stadium tomorrow and to Rhode Island -- TWICE -- over the next week.

But it won't pass the Connecticut emissions test.

And, to add to it, the service center could do the work on Monday.  Great, right? 

Except I have to teach Monday. In Stratford. Eventually, I have to drive back to Rhode Island.

No, I can't get the work done until the following Monday.

Sean will be away, for instance. Not his fault. He even offered me his car but there's no way to make that happen without jumping through hoops that simply don't work.

It's a perfect storm, if you will, of issues, led by money, of course.

I'm currently irrationally pissed off if you want the truth.

And I simply have to stop this post here because I can feel a long boiling rage creeping to my fingers as I type.

So, there's that.

Happy Friday.

*****

I wrote the bulk of this hours ago and am going to leave it as is.

As is always the case the wisdom of time and the love of people who you talk to helped to cool me down a bit.

I'm still annoyed, of course, but I'm not seeing as much red as I did earlier.

The sun, of course, will come out tomorrow and I'll go about my business.

The thing is that you can't just tell me things are going to be OK. That doesn't work. I generally need a reason to believe that.

*****

Most of the takes on the Olympic boxing controversy involving Imane Khelif of Algeria have proven that people prefer hot takes and don't like to read.

She was born a woman. Her passport says so as well. That's enough for the Olympics.

Yet people just react.

And that's pretty much all I have to say about that.

*****

Aug 2 was the day we lost both Thuman Munson (1979) and Vin Scully (2022).

Both are missed tremendously.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears...But Mostly Sweat

 

Water...seltzer...anything to stay hydrated

I walked into WGCH today and stopped to chat with two of my colleagues.

"You look like you've lost weight," one of them said.

I'm never comfortable with weight talk though I'm hardly immune to it. There's no question I've struggled, especially over the last few years post-COVID. We can downplay what happened, the shots, the masks, etc, but there was a mental, emotional, and physical impact that can't be ignored.

And that's where I come in. There was food during the many lows of that time.

But if I've shed some weight recently, that would be good.

The reason? Well, frankly, I've had sweat falling off of me every day.

And it really started on July 1.

We had warm days before 7/1/24 but that was the day that we moved to the new apartment.

Even if it wasn't a hot day, we were constantly in motion. I was at it, as you might remember, from waking up at 4 a.m. until later that night.

The days began getting hotter from there. Things went from the low to mid-80s to the high 90s with real feel temperatures over 100.

And each day, whether I was moving things, packing things, hanging things, lifting things, or broadcasting things, I was sweating. I normally had a towel next to me so that I could mop off and looked forward to any moment I could get in air conditioning.

Sean -- who prefers the cold weather -- would grumble at me about how I could possibly like warmer days.

In truth, I'll always take Fall and Spring first, then Summer. 

I like Winter sports. I don't like Winter weather.

I suppose I'd like it just fine if I was in Florida.

It's been 30 days of activity. Constant moving and shaking. 

And so, while I don't like discussing weight, that's what has been going on.

The move, obviously, started it. Then we had to go into the basement and reorganize our stuff.

Then there were over 30 baseball games of setup and breakdown and walking to and from the broadcast site. Plus, of course, was the broadcasts themselves.

There were multiple missed meals, though they kept me well-fed in Oxford during the Cal Ripken tourney.

There was walking to and from trains in Greenwich and Brooklyn on Sunday.

And there have been multiple trips back into the basement to drop things off and bring things out. Plus, lots of walks to the garbage can as well as back into the basement for laundry.

Certainly, it has been exercise with a touch of diet. However, let's not ignore the mental exercises of the month, from calling games to everyone's good old friend, stress.

But it's also been a hot month where simply sitting and watching TV, sans air conditioning, could produce droplets running down my face.

I get embarrassed by all of this for a few reasons, including sweat being part gross and part "TMI."

But it is what it is. Most people do it, though some do it more than others.

I keep joking with myself that I'll stop sweating on Aug 1 though I hardly think that's true.

And, given I'm working for the Renegades tomorrow for a game starting at Noon, I think I'll achieve 31-for-31 sweaty days.

I'll still take this over winter weather. I mean, really. I don't miss the cold and the snow and the ice. 

So, yes, I'll take sweat and staying active, thanks very much.

A few quickies before we wrap this one up:

- I've been asked to serve as field host for the first time at a Renegades game. If you want to see me do something completely outside of the box, come out to the stadium on Saturday. I'm only sorry that Sean won't be there to see it. It will mean embracing a different side of my personality. My goal isn't to be better than anyone else. My goal is to be a viable option if needed. And to not embarrass myself or the team.

- A trip to Rhode Island is completely in play for the Little League Regional beginning this weekend. I'm figuring out how to navigate the issues I presented about teaching and The Cat. I'm trying to make it all work, but...

- I'm having car work done on Thursday so that I can pass the emissions test in Connecticut so a lot hinges on that.

Stay tuned, as always.

A Quiet Night

 

Sean had a friend here when I got home today. 

It was one of the guys who helped us move nearly a month ago and he was here to learn the ins and outs of audio editing and production. Sean took him over to WGCH and they were having lunch when I walked in.

We made our way down to the basement where I showed them some of the mixers I have in my collection. At this point, I really only use my Rodecaster and Zoom PodTrak P4. I also have access to a Zoom PodTrak P8 at WGCH if needed.

Additionally, I still have an Allen & Heath ZEDi 10 that I could use, even though I never mastered how to get the best out of it. It turned out to be a wasted purchase, unfortunately.

So, the point is that I have plenty of equipment, and I'd like to hand some off to people who I think would use it. In the case of Sean's friend, I was happy to give it to him, especially as a thank you for helping us move on July 1. He was really clutch that day.

The transaction comes with a guarantee of answering questions and helping him learn how to use it.

All for no charge. As in, paying it forward.

Otherwise, it's just a very pleasant night here. Earlier today, I stopped at the dry cleaner downstairs and picked up a few items I dropped off. They needed to be repaired and I enjoyed getting to meet the people who run a business in our new neighborhood.

I haven't met everyone around here but I intend to still walk to the other places and get comfortable with them.

But I was asked at the dry cleaners today how we liked the neighborhood.

And that's just the thing. A big advantage here has been the neighborhood. The car horns are mostly gone. Even living so close to the hospital, we don't hear that many sirens. We hear some dogs, some kids, and occasional traffic. 

Otherwise, things are fairly peaceful here.

In fact, my bedroom is quieter. I haven't used my AirPods much since we moved in, though I've let Alexa play some peaceful sounds to help me sleep. But noise is not an issue.

Even though our driveway is shared with the dry cleaner, another family, and a few other cars, noise is minimal here. As I sit here right now, I'm just watching the Yankees/Phillies game (Yankees lead 9-4) and Sean is upstairs. A fan is buzzing here and I hear an occasional car go by.

It's amazing how moving just a little bit almost puts us back into the country. As I said, we're not alone here. It's not a dead end. We have a street behind us and there are houses back there as well. 

So we're surrounded but it's just quiet.

Oh, that doesn't mean I'm glad we left Bruce Park. We loved it down there but I will shed no tears over the change in noise and parking situations.

But, when my schedule allows, it will be nice to put my feet up and read or just listen to some music. We don't have a deck and I miss that greatly but we do have space where we can sit in the backyard. I have yet to take advantage of this but I hope to eventually.

It's a nice feeling to not be overthinking about things. I'm just able to write, watch baseball, and lay low tonight.

I should try this more often.

Paul the Photographer

 

The credit for this one belongs to Sean.

A photography exhibit by a certain Sir Paul McCartney debuted at the National Portrait Gallery in London in June 2023.

It opened a week after I left London, where I had been for a Hunt Scanlon conference.

Figuring it was a case of "Oh, well, sucks to be me," I laughed at the tough break and moved on.

But then it turned out that the exhibit was going to tour.

In late 2023, it stopped in Norfolk, VA. I considered taking a trip in January for a weekend to visit it. Sean and I discussed a fun getaway for Waffle House and Beatles photos, knowing we also had a drive to Florida in March. So common sense and financial responsibility won out.

Then I saw a post from Macca's Instagram page.

The tour was coming to Brooklyn.

Brooklyn, NY is certainly reachable but can also be a bit of a trip. Any longtime reader of this blog knows I frequented Brooklyn quite a bit at one time. You can drive but, well, it's New York City. You can use mass transit but be prepared for changing trains.

As I said, this story belongs to Sean. He insisted that we go because "I don't want you to miss this." Once in a while, he takes a stand and, in this case, he was resolute.

Obviously, we've had some things to deal with over the past few months. We've worked for the Renegades and I've worked multiple sporting events and so on. Then, of course, the move occupied our minds and time.

Our schedules have just been crazy.

The exhibit, Paul McCartney Photographs 1963–64: Eyes of the Storm, arrived at the Brooklyn Museum on May 3. 

It closes on Aug 18.

Time was ticking away. Or, to put it another way, "Life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friends."

I had to include a song quote, even if it's from the wrong era.

But I promised we would go. I didn't want to miss it. It would simply be a shame to have this within reach and not see it. So I marked today as the day.

In the end, it became an adventure for father and son as we made good on the promise.

With that said, the day began with "Meet the Beatles," because it's Sunday. We left immediately after I got home, walking from the new apartment to the Greenwich train station. It's a roughly 30-minute commitment for those wondering. I'll have to consider that in the wee morning hours of a September day when the next conference comes around.

It's best, however, to not worry about time in this case. The train took us from Greenwich to Grand Central and we boarded the shuttle to Times Square before taking the 3 train to the museum. 

I call this "Two Selfies." Also, I need a Beatles T-shirt

With all due respect to the Brooklyn Museum and the other fine works of art therein, we were there for Sir Paul, and we went straight to the fifth floor.

Now, Sean thought this was an art exhibit and didn't realize that it was a photography display with some artifacts. For him, that turned out to be a pleasant surprise as he is into photography.

For me, it didn't matter. It was Paul. John. George. Ringo. It was those in their world in 1963-1964.

And it was magnificent.

While it covered just a brief stretch of Beatlemania, it was a look at the insanity as the lads took over the world.

There are portraits and action shots. There are behind-the-scenes vignettes. There are views of Liverpool and London and New York and Washington and Miami. 

There are the four Beatles but also George Martin and Mal Evans and Neil Aspinall and Cilla Black and Brian Epstein and the other wonderful characters that participated in this seminal time. Also included were pictures of Jim McCartney and Mike McCartney (Paul's father and brother) as well as Jane and Peter Asher (Paul's one-time girlfriend and her brother) and George Harrison's parents as well as George's sister, who lived in the US.

There was plenty from the Plaza Hotel, where The Beatles stayed for their appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show.

There were also some glimpses of other photographers, including album covers such as With the Beatles. Of course, with some changes, it was known as, ahem, Meet the Beatles here in the US.

There was a Beatle wig.

It was truly wonderful, especially for a fan of the band.

Sean was dazzled and I was overwhelmed.

And I'm beyond grateful to him for making sure this happened.

I wish I could say we came away with a souvenir but, alas, the options were sort of meh and a bit overpriced. I really liked the exhibit poster but couldn't justify plunking down $35, knowing I'd want to frame it also. The idea of carrying that home wasn't appealing to me either.

I looked at a few things but, hey, it's OK. I saw it. I took a few pictures. Not everything has to have a trinket.

I'll take the memories as a souvenir.

As we walked out of the museum, a band was playing jazz and I had to remark that I loved it but I came to Brooklyn for The Beatles. We both laughed.

Shake Shack said to pick a number. How'd I do?

With the day being warm but comfortable, we enjoyed a walk through Grand Army Plaza and out Flatbush Ave to find some food. We settled for Shake Shack, though admittedly it wasn't my first choice.

But the subway was across the street and the journey to Greenwich was awaiting.

Oh, but first we had to get black and white cookies at Zaro's in Grand Central.

With minutes to spare, we found two seats and chilled out on the train.

Nearby, four teenage girls giggled and talked about clothes and whatever else teenage girls discuss. 

Despite their occasional shrieks, I laughed at them. Sean didn't find them quite as amusing.

Maybe it's the dad in me.

Our journey ended a little over a half-hour after stepping off the train in Greenwich.

Sean is upstairs talking with friends online.

I'm watching the Yankees and Red Sox, with the Bronx Bombers reminding me of the roller coaster that is a baseball season.

But today was about Sean and Paul McCartney.

A day -- an adventure -- that I will be forever grateful for.

Yeah yeah yeah.