Thursday, December 17, 2009
I'm getting too old for this shit...
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
I'll have the Balsamic Vinagrette, but on the Side...

Saturday, December 12, 2009
Does anyone really LOL?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Boys Winter Concert Chorus from School
Monday, November 30, 2009
Cigar Aficionado's Big Smoke 2009: A pickpocket story
A recap of the weekend just ended, the 2009 Cigar Aficionado Big Smoke event in Las Vegas. Overall, the trip is a wonderful time for cigar enthusiasts. There is not a greater “fun” city in the world, and Vegas is the perfect location to host this group.
Thursday, November 12th, 2009
Begin arrivals by all in our party beginning around 1pm. The pre-arranged meeting point is the Casa Fuente Cigar Humidor in the Forum Shops at Caesars Palace. Pearce and Scooter (a chick) arrive first. I am a 4:40 flight time. Here's a small shot out the window of the Grand Canyon.
I wish I knew why this picture was to the left. I can't fix it.
Upon arrival at the airport, I grab my bags, jump in a cab, and head to Harrah’s, where I will be staying for the trip. I walk up, no line, and am greeted by “Veronica.” I hand over my ID and credit card, we make some small talk, and exchange pleasantries. Until…Veronica states that there is a problem with my reservation, and that I’m staying at the Imperial Palace. (A property owned by Harrah’s, just next door, but it’s a dump. I don’t want to be there, and it’s the wrong direction from The Venetian, where the cigar events are held.) Veronica is just downright rude. She could not be bothered, handed me $50 voucher for my trouble, and sent me away. I was furious, but trying to not start off the trip on the wrong foot. I complied, figuring I’d get the time to write a scathing email after the trip was complete. Off to Casa Fuente. I arrived to find Pearce and Scooter having drinks, and seated at the bar. Frustrated, I was glad finally begin my weekend. I entered the humidor, and purchased an Arturo Fuente Anejo “shark,” simply a wonderful cigar and size that will knock your socks off. The three of us spent the next hour or two catching up, waiting for Ray to arrive.
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When Ray arrived we had a few more drinks, another cigar, and then headed of to locate dinner. We came upon a fine, fine, restaurant. The world renowned “Palm” Restaurant. In we went. Let me just say two words…”loud noises.” We were not well behaved. Before the end of dinner, Pearce had a face full of key lime pie, and someone, I won’t say who, had yelled “who doesn’t like fucking pie???”
After dinner we went back to Casa Fuente, to await Dave's arrival.
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But he did not show. 9:30. 10:00. 10:30. We started to worry, so I called him. I could tell he was upset, but he said he’d see us in a few minutes. When Dave arrived to the bar, dragging his luggage, I knew we had a problem. “What happened, Dave?” Dave reached into his back pocket, and stuck his hand right through. Anything in that pocket, including a wallet, was no longer there. Turns out, Dave had been the victim of a pickpocket at the airport. The guy, an Asian, had cut Dave’s pants, and knocked him down an escalator into a crowd of people. Dave quickly realized what occurred. He chased the guy, tackled him, and broke his nose. But a do-good er passerby Canadian (always meddling, those damned Canadians) pulled Dave off, and in the scuffle hit Dave. Dave hit him back, putting him in the hospital. Asian guy and wallet got away.
To ensure that Dave enjoyed the night, we drank a large number of Caparinha's and smoked many $30 cigars. Mission accomplished. Bed time.
Friday November 13, 2009
Awoke with a slight hangover, I'll keep this day short. I called the group to see if anyone was awake. They all were. For hours. Dave had already returned to the police station to look at mug shots and fill out paperwork. Met the Canadian do-good er who he'd sent to the hospital.
For breakfast we walked about 3 miles, just behind the state of Montana, to a shit hole casino called Ellis Island, for a very mediocre breakfast. Don't ask why. Just know that I hate everyone that was involved in the decision. Cigar #1 of the day, Rocky Patel Vintage 1990. We walked back to the strip, and went into Caesars Forum Shops, to the Casa Fuente bar again. (11a.m.)
For 8 hours. $600 bar tab, and $350 cigar tab. That is all. Except that Mark Chioda, aka Mr. Handsome, former model, all around wonderful guy and crimefighter, arrives. It's on now, bitches.
We had dinner reservations at The Range Steakhouse in Harrah's. Basically no wine involved, because there were 6 inebriated people, and the dinner was $600 with tip. And a little disappointing, except for the potatoes and such. The Au gratin, the steak fries, the mac and cheese. Heavenly. I think Jana, who has starved herself of carbs for months, had an in-pants experience, if you know what I mean. And she got the giggles. Bad. At this. "Can someone pass me the empty Au Gratin Dish? I'm going to fuck it when we're done with it. " Back to Casa Fuente, now fueled by carbs, Janna (aka Scooter) decided to HO it up a bit. She was all over some guy. Not sure what she did with the dude, but he was staying at the Rio.
Late night, 12-1am, I stumbled back to the Imperial Palace for some Blackjack and Craps. Amazingly, I was not that drunk, and felt ready for the Saturday seminars and events.
Saturday, November 14th, 2009: Big smoke day
Group meets at the food court in the Venetian at 8:15, prior to our 9a.m. seminar start time. I've got a bottle of Baileys for the coffee. I ask Janna if she banged the dude, and she's non-committal. OK, move along. I wasn't that interested. I'd say she didn't.
The seminars were amazing, and for anyone who loves cigars, they are a must attend event at least once in your life.
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After the morning seminars, there was a lunch hosted by the Fuente family. At the lunch they introduced a new documentary project they'd been involved with. Amazing artwork and photography from their factory. Very cool. The artwork that was not cool....Ray C. got up and took a photograph of his junk in the middle of lunch, and sent it to all 6 of us. I just threw up in my mouth. Again. Thinking about it. I had to change hotels (into Harrah's, finally) and drop off my cigars. Did that. Guess where we went? You got it. Casa Fuente, at Caesars Forum shops again. As we stood in Casa Fuente, I noticed Pete Johnson, the owner of Tatuaje Cigars (Spanish for Tattoo) standing around,by himself. I invited him over, and we really enjoyed meeting and speaking with Pete. Here's a picture of Ray and Dave with Pete.
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Pete, we're pulling for you to meet Vivica A. Fox again, and just let us know when you are having the barbecue and party at your headquarters.
Everyone went back their separate ways to get gussied up. And back to the Venetian for our "Big Smoke Evening" where you meet all the manufacturers, go from booth to booth and get many cigars (Tickets to the event are like $250 bucks, so I won't call them free cigars) I brought a coke, there was a Jack Daniels booth, and we got a shitload of cigars.
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Good times. The event was less crowded this year than last. Rocky Patel's line and booth was ridiculous. Always go the CAO booth first, they light a cigar for you to smoke while you are there, and if you do and bring it back to show them, they give you another. Great deal, great marketing scheme by them to have everyone in the event smoking their cigars. "Squirrel." If you've seen up, you'd sort of know what I'm talking about.
Everyone went back to their rooms to drop of the bag of 50 cigars we were carrying, muster point at the Casa Fuente!!! One or two beers, and a cigar. Off to Mandalay Bay "Foundation Room" for a private party. We took a limo, had a great trip over, arrived, only to find that Dave's friend had failed us. Not on the list for the party. I wasn't about to argue with a bouncer in line at a bar. There are at least 1000 bars in Vegas, and they deal a little game I like to call blackjack. The group was hungry, and I was gambling deficient. They ate, I gambled. To mixed results on all parts. But Mandalay was crowded, as that night had been the Manny Pacquiao Miguel Cotto fight. (Tons of Pacquiao fans.)So back in the Limo, to the Venetian. (Limos are a great way to move a group around Vegas, and cheaper than you might think.)
Everyone was shit faced and tired. Except myself and Mr. Handsome. So we gambled until about 4am at the Venetian, playing blackjack. Great Success!! Finally, John Pearce stumbled into us. He'd been drinking and playing video poker at the sports book all night, thought we'd gone to bed. He was wrong. He wanted to stay up all night, we just enjoyed the scenery and won money. Quote of the night: "please be working, please be working, please be working."
Sunday, November 15th, 2009
Group woke up and met up at the Sports book at the Venetian again. I brought the Bailey's. This morning began at 9:30 with the Charlie Palmer breakfast. Some sort of schnitzel, which I'd never had. It was basically just a pounded flat cutlet, breaded. Pretty good. Egg and bloody mary, not so much. But the Baileys and Coffee was great. Then we moved to the Roll your own cigar seminar. I was a disaster, and usually I'm not bad. Here is picture of my ruination.
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Then began the Cigar pairing with the Bourbon Tasting. Oh my. 5 premium bourbons. After this weekend, it's such debauchery. I couldn't stand it. Dave drank everyone's bourbon. I tasted all. I really liked the Evan Williams reserve. But on to important things. Football Sunday was in full effect. We basically ran over to the Pallazzo, to Emeril's Sports Stadium to watch the games. Except you couldn't find a table. So the group left, and went to the Rhumbar, a sister to Casa Fuente, this one at the Mirage. I left to go meet a few friends in Vegas (Mizelle and Kraft) at the Las Vegas Hilton. I took the monorail to the Hilton. It was a nice ride, nice views, and inexpensive. I would do this again for sure.
Mizelle and Kraft had been decimated in gambling, and I'd had a bad morning of 1pm games. So we needed to change things up a bit. This new arrangement brought us all good luck. We all won all of our bets, and drank, and made fun of people less fortunate and less healthy than all of us. With our financial come back, so did our sense of humor. I left the boys to go home and shower. I met the group at Casa Fuente, then we left for the restaurant. Here is a shot of the Volcano at the Mirage on my walk over to meet the group.
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Mizelle and Kraft were meeting us all at "The Golden Steer," a famous Vegas landmark restaurant since the days of Sinatra and Martin. It's hard to find, and off the beaten path, but it does have that old Vegas feel to it. On my way, I bet the Patriots against the Colts, and the over. I had both bets essentially covered in the first half. It was a good night. Eventually the Colts came back and won, but who gives a shit? I covered both bets.
For the "Vegas Six" this was the end of the road. We said our goodbye's and they all went back to the hotel. Mizelle, Kraft and I went to the Palms. The good old Palms. We gambled, laughed, and went upstairs to the Playboy Club. It's a lot of fun, and we all won a few bucks playing blackjack up there. "Mmmmm, Damn!" It was a great ending to a great weekend.
Monday, November 16th, 2009
I got up. I ate McDonalds. I played blackjack. I won $300. Mizelle and Kraft picked me up. I went to the Airport and flew home.
All in all, a great trip. Especially considering the pickpocket incident that started it all off. Disaster averted. See you next year, Vegas.
Monday, October 19, 2009
A Parent Looks at Forty

Sorry for the play on words, Jimmy Buffett fans. Like all of us, my parents are getting older. So am I. No big shock. Recently there have been a few events that both my mom and my dad have dealt with, which brought me to this blog post today. I'll touch on a few of them, particularly my dad. The problem I'm seeing at times is not that my dad is getting older, it seems at times he is getting "worse." He looks old. Tired. He's starting to break down. And it's weird for a kid who always saw him as the guy that could beat me in basketball, arm wrestling, or throwing a ball.
Last week my dad had a second pacemaker installed. (I guess that's the term, installed???) It's like getting a new set of brakes for your car. Take out the old one and put in a new one. I wonder if they leave the old pacemaker in the box in the backseat, so you can see they did the work.....Needless to say, these events and surguries have gotten me thinking about my own situation: relations with my own boys, my parents, and the fact that I myself (give or take) am only 20 years from being on the flip side of this blog post, with my kids sitting down and pondering the same issues.
I've lived out of state, away from my parents (who still live in Virginia) since I graduated from JMU in 1993. My parents are divorced, neither remarried. Since I've had my kids, I'm lucky if I get to spend more than a few days a year with my parents. And I wonder now where the time has gone. Weekends are busy. Cub scouts, soccer games, and work. It's hard to squeeze in what I need to get done in just 2 days off. Somehow, I've been so busy living my life the last 10 years that I feel like I have forgotten/failed to share the boys with my parents. And just as important, share my parents with my boys.
Growing up, I have fond memories of my grandparents: Vacations, holidays, birthdays, etc. I'm not sure that any of my children have EVER seen a grandparent on their birthday. My boys should have those same memories. As I started to think of these things, I began to wonder how well I even know my own parents. I have questions popping into my head right now that I should know about my mom and dad, but I don't:
- Favorite Movie?
- Favorite Actor/Actress?
- Vacation place?
- Place to eat?
- Childhood memory?
- If they could change one thing about their life, what would it be?
- Who do they miss the most?
- Who are their best friends?
- Favorite TV Show?
I think I've decided that I'm going to play a little game with my kids the next few days. We are going to come up with some more questions to ask my parents the next time we see each of them. I can blog the answers, where they'll live here on the internet forever. The boys can always look back on those questions and answers. It will be a little piece of my parents that will be around as long as we want it to be. So I guess I've got a topic for a future blog.
As I think about my dad and look back, I wish that our relationship was closer. He wasn't the most warm and loving fellow. My fondest memories of my dad are of him taking me to sporting events. Mets games in New York as a small boy. Capitals and Orioles games as a teenager. Events, that, quite frankly, ticket prices preclude me from doing with my boys as often as I would like.
I can remember thinking that my dad was nuts as we sat 2 rows behind the Penalty box in the Cap Centre. It must have been 1981, and the Vancouver Canucks were playing Washington. "Tiger" Williams was a semi-talented goon who played for the Canucks. I remember him being a big fighter, and getting some cheap shots in on a Capital player. There was my dad, banging on the glass, yelling "Pull his hair, Tiger, you little Girl." Tiger was banging his stick on the glass, and pointing at my dad. I was scared shitless. But that's the way I remember Dad. I remember he and I going to all the Capitals fan club banquets, and sitting with number 14, Gaetan Duchesne. My dad making my practice my limited french while sitting with one of my idols, a French-Canadian. Again, scared shitless.
In 1978 or 1979, my dad took a job in Virginia. We lived on Long Island. He lived in VA, and drove back home on the weekends. He always brought a present. Albums: The Bee Gees, Foreigner. Baseball cards. I looked so forward to him coming home. A boy needs his dad.
I guess it's unfair or one sided of me to mention some of these fond memories without mentioning some bad ones.
I remember living in New York, I was playing in an end of season baseball All Star game. I was nine years old. My dad was supposed to come, I looked for him, and he never showed. Mom was there. I played great. I asked Mom "where's dad?" She said that he was busy, or else he would have been there. When I got home, I remember finding him out back on that patio, drinking a Tom Collins with our neighbor, Lou Prelli. I was so mad that he'd missed my big day. He laughed at me.
I remember him playing golf. Lots of golf. On the weekends. And Mom never being happy about it.
I remember Mom ALWAYS driving us to practices and being at our games. She never missed them. He missed often.
She's still just as consistent, up here for every holiday, always having a great time with the boys.I remember being like 16, and Dad and I got into an arguement. He threw a screwdriver, and almost hit me. I was livid, and so was my brother Rob, who saw it. We fought with him. But he finally realized that we were big enough that together, he could no longer handle us. I'm certain my brother Rob remembers the day, as we've talked about it on occassion through the years.
Which brings me to today. With my Dad's health starting to go downhill, and my littlest boys in that 9 to 10 year old time frame, I look to myself. Am I doing enough? What will they remember? Will they think of me any differently that I recall my time with my dad? I'm way involved. I coach soccer. I'm a Cub Scout den leader. My brother Rob coaches as well. It's probably a reaction to our Dad's lack of involvement. At times I worry if I'm too involved. I don't remember my dad ever really saying that he loved us. I know he did. But he didn't say it. So I say it to my boys every day and every night. There is never a day in their life that they don't hear from me that I love them. I mean it, but it's probably also a reaction to my Dad's lack of saying it. (or maybe he did, and I don't remember, and all of this just isn't that important.)
In the end, maybe it doesn't matter at all how the kids remember the parents. Perhaps it's more about the expectation level that the parents set for the children. What ideals do they instill? What is important in life...to the parents, and the child? How will I pass these values on the my kids. If I raise them right, as responsible citizens, with a nice expectation of a good education, good morals, and a good quality of life, I've done my job. Right?
I wish I could change my situation geographically. I wish I lived closer to my childhood home. I wish that my boys could spend more time with my folks. They love their grandparents. I get a kick when the boys call Grandma or Grandpa (from their cell phones.) I don't even know who they are talking to. The boys just chatting away like old women. The little guys want to spend more time with grandparents. Not that we haven't.

All that other stuff. The baseball. The hockey. The golf. Some of the not so rosey memories....That isn't important. In the end, I can erase the bad, keep the good. Maybe create a few new memories and stories in the years to come. At the end of the day, I still want to hang out with my parents. I hope my boys will feel the same about Maria and I when they get older.
No, I'm not a pirate. But I am looking at 40. Hopefully I haven't arrived too late. I think I can still make the cannons thunder...
Two hundred years too late
The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder
I'm an over-forty victim of fate
Arriving too late, arriving too late
