Count the blessings, and the turkeys, too

I lead a blessed life and I know it. And Thanksgiving is perhaps my favorite holiday because I get to celebrate those blessings with the people who both provide them and – most importantly – are counted among them.

This is quite possibly the best Thanksgiving ever, with the largest gathering of those people that we’ll probably ever assemble. I’ll soon offer all kinds of details and photos.

Meanwhile, it’s time for our annual pause to reflect upon some of those blessings. And we’ll look at the turkeys as well, because without them running around making things difficult, we’d forget just how special the good times and people are.

I’m thankful: That I got to experience one last game at Shea Stadium. My awesome cousin Tim and my awesome parents provided the tickets, and we watched Johann Santana almost beat the Yankees in the middle game of the final Subway Series. It was such an emotional day. But I made sure I got one more look from just about every possible vantage point that security would allow – and some that it didn’t. The Mets lost, but that barely detracted from a very, very special day I’ll remember forever.

Turkey! Derek Jeter. It’s known that St. Derek the Intangible manages to appear on this list each year. It’s also true that there is no obvious reason for including him this year. People who get SNY might disagree after watching that Edge ad over and over and over and over. But I regretfully don’t get that station, so I can’t join in their pain. This leaves me to conclude that one of two things is possible. Jeter might finally have learned his lesson and straightened up, living life the Met Way. Or, Derek has finally become proficient at keeping his misbehavior away from our vigilant eyes. I vote for the latter. Don’t let Jeter outside in the rain, because he’s a turkey!

I’m thankful: That I was able to see the Mets four times this season. I actually have many benefactors who look out for me. Long-suffering best friend Will and his lovely sidekick Laurie provided seats at Wrigley where the Cubs got one over on the Mets. That was followed by the weekend at Shea, where, of course, they lost. Then the Baseballtruth.com executives indulged me by making a July 19 game in Cincinnati our annual Executive Game, and, of course, the Mets lost. I extended my trip a little and bought a single seat for the next game. The Mets went up, then allowed the Reds to tie then went ahead in the 10th inning, holding on for a 7-5 win, shattering a 17-year, nine-city personal Mets losing streak. I’ll always be thankful for Robinson Cancel, who had the big hit.” And next time I see the Mets, I can boast that I have a one-game winning streak!

Turkey! Alex Rodriguez. ARod, the reluctant Yankee, was caught leaving Madonna’s apartment. Now, we don’t know for sure what Alex was up to. But it’s fun to speculate. I didn’t notice him carrying his Jenga or Travel Scrabble games in the photo. It was too late in the season to serve as draft consultant for her fantasy baseball team, the Blonde Ambitions. And if the Material Girl had a Wii,, Alex would have stayed longer because the bowling part of Wii Sports is addictive. Beat my high score of 244, Alex! But I digress. Hanging out with Madonna, whatever the reason, does nothing but whip the tabloids into a frenzy and create a distraction for his team.

I’m thankful for: Costco! My camera started to expire in the middle of our Key West vacation, so naturally I went to the Best Store Ever for a replacement. It was pretty cool, too, though I learned the zoom lens was not especially good when my Dad was able to zoom in on Mr. Met taking down the Shea Countdown number in centerfield from our seats in the loge, and I tried to zoom in and had most of the outfield remaining in the shot. But it was still a decent camera. Alas, it was a casualty of the game in Cincinnati. The streak was broken, but so was the view screen. I think someone stepped on it by mistake. But I bought it at Costco, and was still a week away from hitting the 90-day deadline to return electronic items. The store happily accepted the broken camera, and I walked out with an even newer camera with a much better zoom. Costco rocks!

Turkeys! People who drive while using the cell phone. My son is learning to drive, so we are keenly aware of other motorists, especially those with bad driving habits. It’s used to be that when you saw someone ahead weaving and driving slow, you’d see that it was one of our senior citizens wearing those oversized sunglasses that fit on top of their regular glasses. But now, the vast majority of the time it’s some doofus using a cell phone. We’re at the point where we can pick them out from a distance. And this happens every single day. It’s only a matter of time before this stuff gets banned. Years from now we’ll be telling kids, “I remember when you used to be able to use your cell phone right when you were driving,” and they’ll look at us with the horror folks of my generation reserve for people who don’t wear seatbelts. End the call, turkey!

I’m thankful for: Two Mets books, one that was published this year and another that’s on the way. Crane Pooler Jon Springer and Matthew Silverman penned “Mets By the Numbers,” which is a fascinating telling of Mets history through uniform numbers. Turns out numbers are an indicator of a player’s destiny. If you’re handed No. 43, for instance, don’t unpack your bags. I’ve already glossed this tome to be the best book ever, and not just because Jon asked me to submit a photo of my Mercury Mets jersey. Fellow blogger Greg Prince will take a run at that that designation with his “Faith and Fear in Flushing” book that should hit the shelves as pitchers and catchers hit St. Lucie. I can’t wait!

Turkey! Then we have writers we don’t like so much, like Bob Klapisch. Klap’s a known Met hater and was exposed as a Yankee lover when he wrote a column suggesting that Yankee closer Mariano Rivera should start the All-Star Game.

"No, the real way to commemorate Yankee Stadium in what could be its final marquee event is to let Rivera start the game: Allow him to bask in the thunderous standing ovation, and let him know what it feels like to have a million flashbulbs go off in his face upon delivery of that first cut fastball.But Rivera would only throw one inning; that would be the stipulation. One inning, and he gets to stand on the mound and let the ovation cover him like a soft rain. It would be a reminder of better times in the Bronx, back when the Yankees really did rule the world.”

It was the “ovation covering him like a soft rain,” that sent me over the edge. It’s become a catch phrase!

I’m thankful: That I had some very nice students in the college journalism class I taught. I know it was a learning experience for me, and I hope it was for them, too. The students were patient, and one even won an award for a story she wrote for my class, so something good must have been happening. None of them turned in something with soft rain ovations, either. And the tossing-the-baby-sock-at-the-governor incident is now part of college lore.

Turkeys! Mets bullpen, I’m looking at you. All of you. Heck, one of you even screwed up the All-Star Game. Blame Willie’s slots and Pedro’s short starts all you want. But you guys stunk up the joint, especially on the very last day when we needed you to stink less than normal. Tim Lincecum needs to send each of you a slice of his Cy Young Award, because Johan Santana would have won it had you goofballs not blown so many of his games. I suspect that Omar is spending the winter trying to get most of you in a different uniform by spring training. And he should.

I’m thankful: Then again, some of them pitched better than I did in some coed softball games this season. But we still had a lot of fun, taking third place in the consolidation round after coming within one out of ousting the eventual league champs. I am very grateful the church folks allowed me to coach again. I founded and coached our newspaper coed team in Flint for nine seasons, and it was fun to break out the Coach-a-matic 2000 magnetic lineup board and lead a team once again. Well, most of the time.

Turkeys! I’m disappointed, if not openly bitter, at how the Mets and MeiGray are handling the auctioning of Shea Stadium memorabilia. Actually, the auctions don’t bother me because if things get bid up, that’s the way it goes. But it the fixed-price items get my goat. You’d think the Mets would want to have something at every price point so just about everyone could have a piece of Shea to treasure. But bricks are selling for $50, and that’s just crazy.

I’m thankful: Then again, who needs a Shea brick when Cousin Tim honored me with a piece of new Citi Field! The Mets even send a duplicate brick that serves as a beautiful display in the family room. It’s comforting to know that in a small way, I’m right there with the Mets.

And I’m very, very thankful to you, gentle reader, for spending some time here. It’s an honor and a responsibility.

We joke a lot around here, but I do realize and appreciate that the Lord has taken good care of me even though I might not always recognize how he is working. I wish you and your family a wonderful and safe holiday.

The life and soon-to-be fast times of Costco IV

I’m worried about Costco IV, my goldfish.

A movie crew used my paper’s newsroom as a set this weekend, spending the night with an amazing amount of equipment both in and outside the building.

I wasn’t among the lucky few tapped to be extras, but a co-worker sat at my desk during the filming.

I had a hunch this might happen, since my desk has a perfect sight line to the Big Guy’s windowed walls. I suspect this is so they can always keep an eye on me because I am trouble, or at least amusing.

Nevertheless, I cleaned off the desk — strategically. Some items were left in plain view: A Tom Seaver Starting Lineup figure, a mini Statue of Liberty and the photo of me, Dad and Cousin Tim at Shea Stadium.

And, of course, Costco IV, my silent companion. His two-gallon domain sits on my desk, serving a calming influence and bookend for my reference materials.

And as you can tell by his numerical name, the life expectancy of the tank’s previous occupants has not been especially long. But this guy has been here since spring break, which means he was born not too much before then.

In his little world, the Mets’ late-season collapse of 2007 in ancient history. Johan Santana has always been a Met and the Yankees have always been also-rans. It’s a happy little world.

But I arrived this morning to find a note on my keyboard. "Dave, I’m at your desk as an extra in the movie with Val Kilmer. I’ll hold up the goldfish so it will be famous!"

Not good. Not good at all.

I think we all see where this is going.

It starts with a small scene, strutting and splashing in the bright lights of stardom. The right people will notice.

Soon it will be "Val said this," and "Val said that," and "That Charlie Sheen is really fun.

Then he gets an agent and I have to hear, "Costy, baby, you’re too big for that bowl! Let me get you outta there!"

The sycophants start hanging around my desk, getting in the way while I’m trying to take calls from school board members. Then, it’s "Have your people sprinkle a pinch of goldfish flakes with my people."

Soon he’s sitting in the lap of some Fox sitcom starlet in the row behind the dugout at the World Series in one of those shameless promos.

Then Costco IV starts living fast. Maybe too fast. Appearing at Obama rallies with the other A-listers, the parties with Paris and Brittany, replacing the water in the tank with Dom Perignon.

Then the inevitable arrest and the confessional appearance on "Leno," followed by the rehab, the cameo in the very special episode of "Desperate Housewives," the comeback, the relapse then — BAM! My fish is lying there bloated and dead on the sidewalk in front of the Viper Room, with some has-been from "21 Jump Street" quickly flushing something down the toilet as the cops and cameras show up.

Next thing you know, I’m back at Petco crying in the aquarium aisle while some unsympathetic clerk drops the newly-christened Costco V in a plastic bag full of water to head back to a freshly scrubbed tank.

I just don’t know if I’m ready for all that right now, at least until after the Braves series.

Damn you, Val Kilmer.

Cleveland rocks!

I have a new favorite road trip destination -- Cleveland! My son and I picked the city on Lake Erie for our semi-annual bonding trip that included baseball, rock and roll and even a president.

And, of course, we had some adventures and even a nice encounter with some fellow Mets fans.

I like Cleveland. We had a nice visit back when the Indians played in the monsterously huge Cleveland Stadium, and I sat for a spell in the bleachers interviewing John Adams, the guy who bangs the huge drum. And Will and I returned in 1997, first for a game and later for the All-Star Game Home Run Derby, won shockingly by Tino Martinez.

And we toured the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with the Baseball Truth gang after the opening game of our 2003 weekend was rained out. There was a massive upgrade since my prior Hall visit, and we'll get into that in the next post.

We started with the Cleveland Hard Rock Cafe, which is located in a mall-hotel complex just two blocks from Progressive Field, the unfortunate new name for Jacobs Field.

If you've seen one Hard Rock, you've kind of seen them all, which is not a bad thing. We took turns walking around the restaurant checking out all the sweet rock and roll memorabilia on the walls. We also added to my son's collection of Hard Rock t-shirts and pins.

After our pulled pork sandwiches, we headed over to the ballpark. It was "Beach Weekend," and the Indians had all sorts of music and activities, including truckloads of sand. We had more than an hour before the gates opened, so we walked on down to the Rock Hall to plot our visit for the next day.

The Indians have some neat plaza art, with an impressive Bob Feller statue, and large letters spelling out "Who's on First?"

The Jake is a nice ballpark. Built at the start of the new wave of design, the team passed on the retro look for a sleek, modern look with lots of exposed white steel. It's already 14 years old, but doesn't look it. The video display on scoreboard is just incredible, and blows away what the Reds had to offer the week before.

It was cap night -- never a bad thing -- and I was impressed that small programs were handed out for free. But they lack a scorecard, so I picked one up at a concession stand, and learned that the yearbooks were half-price. A sale at a ballpark?

The gift store was more than adequate, with a charity section selling game-used jerseys for $175, and autographed tags that looked like locker signs for between $25 and $75, depending on the player.

Of course, I opted for the lower-end of the souvenir spectrum, buying an Indians Statue of Liberty pin to get change for the penny squishing machine.

I didn't notice of there were any specialty foods, but we were still full from our meal at the Hard Rock.

Strolling around, I discovered the Indians' Heritage Park in centerfield. It's basically a collection of plaques commemorating the team's greatest moments and players. It was nice, but a drastic step down from the Reds' over-the-top Hall of Fame from the week before.

The lower level had this plaque for Ray Chapman, the only player killed in a game. There also was a section for what appeared to be the 100 greatest Indians, with autographs etched into polished black stone. Ex-Met Carlos Baerga gets some love there.


I also ran into Slider, dressed in his beach party attire. We could not figure out what Slider is supposed to be, which makes him a bad mascot. Then again, not everyone can be Mr. Met.

Speaking of the Mets, I was wearing my 1994 Indians Eddie Murray jersey for the occasion. My son and I settled into our seats behind home plate in the upper deck, and in the middle of the second inning a man and a woman came and sat in the seats next to us.

I saw him looking the out-of-town scoreboard and say to his wife, "Oh no, the Mets are already down 4-0," in a perfect accent. Instinctively, I turned and said, "I guess Brandon Knight is getting roughed up in his debut."

"What are you, an Indian fan who also roots for the Mets?"

"No, I'm a Mets fan who collects jerseys. Where in New York are you from?"

"Wantagh."

"No. Freaking. Way. Massapequa Park!"

OK, so there are 38,500 people at this game and I'm lucky enough to get to sit next to a Mets fan from two towns over. I lead a blessed life.

Turns out my new friend was in the middle of a ballpark tour with his wife, seeing the Pirates the night before, then heading to Detroit the next day and over to Toronto before heading home. And he, too, was at the second game of the Subway Series, where Johan Santana was denied and my streak extended.

Naturally, we had all kinds of fun talking about our resurgent team and how Cleveland was a nice city. I warned him about Detroit.

We noticed that the Indians fans were very polite. The Twins rocked Fausto Carmona for 9 runs in two and a third innings, and he walked off the mound to a smattering of polite applause. That's not quite the response he would have gotten at Shea.

But we also had praise for our hosts. "I haven't seen a single person in Yankees gear all night," the wife testified. "I saw three people in Pittsburgh last night wearing Yankees stuff."

I say anyone who rates crowd intelligence by the lack of Yankee logos is pretty darn astute. And I pointed out that I saw a guy with a David Wright t-shirt and Mets backpack, plus my son was wearing his inherited Mets batting practice jersey. That's a good ratio.

There was a beautiful sunset and clouds on an absolutely perfect evening. I'm loving both Costco and my new camera for allowing me to capture this.

Here's an aside for some Costco love. My old camera -- old in relative electronic terms -- died in Key West in April, and we bought a new one from Costco.

Well, sometime in the glory of the steak snapping in Cincy, either I dropped the camera or someone stepped on it in my backpack because the viewing screen was shattered. There was much sadness.

I know Costco changed its electronics return policy, which we have used liberally after a series of iPod deaths. I thought we had 30 days to return something. But when I brought my shattered camera to the store to check into buying a new one, I discovered that you actually have 90 days -- and I was on day 85.

So I was able -- encouraged, actually -- to return the broken camera and get a replacement. Since they don't sell the model of the broken one any more, I had to upgrade to a model that features a much better zoom feature.

And this why all of my gold fish are named "Costco." But I digress.

The Twins eventually spanked the Indians 12-4, which I could enjoy as a neutral observer. We did have some angst following the progress of the Mets game. The team had caught up with the Cardinals, then lost the lead again.

We hit a place in The Flats and found ESPN showing the Mets had tied it up again and were deep into extra innings by the time our ballpark pretzels and dipping sauces were served. They didn't blow the game until after we got back to the hotel and took advantage of La Quinta's free wifi to follow the progress.

That was a lot of excitment for Day One. I'll return with the rest of our adventures.

Clemens is not fighting like a caged wombat

Crazy week here, and I'm going to see if I can avoid getting hurt while hitting the slopes with the youth group this weekend. So let's jump right into the Deezo Friday Five.

1) Costco. Costco rocks! I’m renaming the store Costco BSE! for Best Store Ever! My son bought his iPod in 2005. It died this week. I brought it back to Costco, and they gave me store credit to go buy a new one. He replaced a 20-gig black-and-white version with an 80-gig model with the full-color screen and video – for about $70 less than the first one. And I ate some awesome samples, too.

2) I finally got my hands on the Topps limited edition Mets team set from the end of last year. The Mr. Met card and coaches cards alone make this a worthy addition. But there is some disappointment.

At 55 cards, I was hoping to see everybody in there. But there are 31 cards of players and coaches – and the mascot – then the rest are pretty much the same players on personal highlights and “classic combos.”

Glavine’s 300^th win and Maine’s near-no-no aren’t included, but Jorge Sosa’s brilliant performance against the Tigers is there – put with a photo that obviously wasn’t from that game.

But I’m bummed because the set is missing most of the bullpen. No Pedro Feliciano, no Scott Schoenweis, no Guillermo Mota. Mr. Met has a card, Guillermo Mota doesn't. Granted, there were games where I would rather have seen Mr. Met on the mound than Mota. But in a card set, I want to see all the players, even the bad ones.

3) This week I described both Hillary Clinton and a local union as fighting like caged wombats. Then my wife pointed out that wombats are actually cuddly furballs that might lick your hand if provoked. I really need to start watching Animal Planet some more.

Greg

Me

4) People keep telling me I look like Greg Grunberg, who plays Matt Parkman on “Heroes.” I don’t see the resemblance. Decide for yourself.

5) It is wrong to take pleasure in another person's problems -- unless that person is Roger Clemens.

Pausing to reflect and give thanks -- and take note of the turkeys

I think it’s a shame that Thanksgiving has become something of an afterthought for many people, lost in the crush of shopping and football.

I’ve always liked it. I’m thankful the Lord has blessed me in many, many ways and I don’t say “thank you” enough. I have my health, my family, a career I enjoy, a wonderful church, friends, blogger buddies and, of course, the Mets.

So let’s take a moment one again to reflect on all that was good this year – as well as the turkeys who get in the way.

I’m thankful: That we all got to enjoy a monumentally exciting 2006 baseball season with the Mets finishing in first place for only the fifth time. Wow, was that fun! And I think we’re the favorites to finish on top again in 2007.

Turkeys: Baseball writers who deemed Carlos Beltran only the fourth most-valuable player in the National League. I realize that writers are infatuated with homers for batters and wins for pitchers, and typically just look to the leader board in those categories to cast their votes. But fourth? Excellent blogger Greg Prince of Faith and Fear in Flushing posted on the Crane Pool Forum that he wonders if anyone has ever:
*Won a Gold Glove
*Won a Silver Slugger
*Started in the All-Star Game
*Tied his franchise's record for home runs in a season
*Broke his franchise's record for runs scored in a season
*Played on the team with the sport's best record
...and finished as low as fourth in the MVP voting. Alas, like the no-hitter, and MVP award continues to be elusive for Mets, even when they deserve it. And I’m also angry that Willie Randolph was denied the manager of the year award, too.

I’m thankful for: Costco. Or to be specific, the warehouse store’s liberal returns policy. As you might remember, my beloved 20-gig iPod went muerto last April, plunging me into depression and desperation and without the receipt demanded by Hewlett Packard to use the warranty. My clever Mom told me to go to Costco and see if they could produce the needed document. Once I arrived, the clerks said the just return the dead iPod to them and they would give me store credit to buy a new one. Needless to say, I’m the proud owner of a new 30-gig pod and sing the praises of Costco whenever appropriate – and sometimes when it’s not!

Turkey: Yankee hack Tom Verducci. Speaking of being plunged into depression, Verducci couldn’t believe that his beloved Yankees were unceremoniously dumped from the postseason by the Tigers. Verducci then wrote that “baseball is giving us an October with almost no drama, no moments for posterity and no storyline.” And worse, “If the 2006 baseball playoffs were a sitcom or talk show --- hate to break it to you, folks, but we're sitting through the Arsenio Hall of postseasons -- it would have been cancelled long ago." Apparently, if the Yankees are not involved, Tommy declares the postseason boring.

I’m thankful for: My pastor, the Rev. Paul Krupinski. Paul is a magnificent spiritual leader and has a knack for knowing when I’m down and knowing exactly what to do or say. But check this out – he’s a huge baseball fan! He’s a Cubs guy, which is OK since they’re not exactly a threat to anyone. But he formed a computer fantasy league what plays games based on stats from the previous year and a couple Hall-of-Famers we can add to the rosters. One Sunday before the service, Pastor Paul came over and said the next round of stats was available and on his desk. “I’ll get them after church,” I promised. “If you get them now, you can look at them during the service,” he responded. I’m never going to find a better pastor than that!

Turkey: Kenny “Bleeping” Rogers. We Mets fans know that Rogers can do spectacularly horrific things in the postseason. So it sure seemed suspicious when The Gambler started moving down Yankees and Athletics in the Division Series and ALCS like he was the second coming of Christy Mathewson. Then a Fox camera picked captured the image of a mysterious smudge on his palm during Game Two of the World Series, and ESPN produced photos from other games with similar smudges. Manager Jim Leyland didn’t want to send Rogers back out in front of the Busch Stadium fans – not exactly known for being bullies – and the Tigers didn’t win another game.

I’m thankful for: Speaking of the World Series, my folks presented me with an awesome early Christmas present, a ticket to Game One at Comerica Park. Sure, it would have been better to have the Mets there. But attending a World Series game – any World Series game – is a treat of a lifetime. I’ve been blessed to see Game Six in 1997, too.

Turkey: Guillermo Mota. It’s one thing when Yankees are accused of taking steroids. We expect such things. But it’s another when an active Met gets a 50-day unpaid vacation for testing positive. Now we lose the moral high ground as well as a decent pitcher for the first month and a half of the season

I’m thankful: That I had the opportunity to meet Buck O’Neil at the Negro Leagues Museum during a business trip to Kansas City in February. Buck, as everybody knows, passed away in October and was a beloved ambassador for baseball. O’Neil fell one vote shy of being inducted into the Hall of Fame, yet still made it to Cooperstown for the induction ceremony in August.

Turkey: Braden “Bleeping” Looper. Looper’s lucked into two World Series rings, and Mike Piazza has none. That’s fair. Loops lost his closer’s job to Ugeth Urbina when pitching for the Fish in 2003. This year, he was caught on camera mocking the Jose Reyes chant in the Cardinals’ post-game celebration after the birds got past the Mets in the NLCS. One might suggest to Looper that perhaps the Mets would have been in the postseason last year when Looper was on the team had he not blown eight saves.

I’m thankful for: Audio Adrenaline. My favorite Christian rock band is disbanding this year because singer Mark Stuart is having vocal problems. But I salute the band for helping me grow in my faith since I discovered its music in 2001. The song “Hands and Feet” has been an inspiration for me as I try to spread His word, and time and again I was able to use Audio A songs to illustrate lessons for the middle school youth group I lead.

I’m especially thankful for: You! And other readers who find this corner of the blogosphere. I’m humbled that people come to check out this space. I appreciate all the people who read and post comments. I hope to make it worth your while. I’m grateful to the other bloggers who include me in their links.

Have a wondeful, wonderful holiday!

Confessions of a fireworks fanatic

My backyard show is not this big, but I can dream!

I’m not sure if it still this way today, but fireworks were illegal when I was growing up in Massapequa Park.

Of course, that didn’t mean they were not everywhere. People choosing to break such laws only had to buy them from a car trunk in Chinatown.

We frowned on such things. So there was much horror when we arrived in Michigan and discovered in our first July here that fireworks are quite legal. You can find them in every supermarket or in tents set up in every gas station parking lot.

I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked, given the state’s love affair with hunting, the Detroit Lions and other dangerous and otherwise frowned on activities.

I openly feared the fireworks. I thought just walking past the massive displays at the Meijer stores was risking blowing off a limb.

I felt this way for every one of my first 13 years in the state.

Then three years ago, I’m not sure what came over me. Maybe it was a mini-midlife crisis, or being despondent that the Mets being out of race at that point.

What ever it was, I somehow managed to slip one of the $12 packages of fireworks into my shopping cart. And with relatives shaking their heads in disbelief, we set them off in the backyard that Independence Day.

We weren’t especially good at it. I’d set the firework on a piece of wood, touch the fuse with a barbecue lighter and run like hell for cover, admiring the sparks from a safe distance before dousing the smoldering shell with a garden hose. My relatives were forced to sit on the deck choking back smoke.

We finished the day with limbs and eyes intact. And the monster is out of the cage.

Only certain kinds of fireworks are legal here, mostly the colorful stuff that can’t leave the ground. No bottle rockets or serious explosives like M-80s. And they all have names that make me suspect that people with only a fleeting knowledge of English came up with them – names like “Whistling Gator,” “Peach Flowers in Spring,” “Fireworks Friendships” and “Piccolo Pete.”

So with the usual restraint, we now have a multi-media show that involves the iPod hooked up to speakers booming out patriotic songs – kind of. Do you know what Grand Funk Railroad, Neil Diamond, Def Leppard, and Night Ranger all have in common? Yes! All have songs with “America” in the title! And now my neighbors know that, too!

I was figuring it’s just a matter of time before Kiss asks be to be the pyrotechnic director for it's next tour. But my wife has kept me reigned in. I’m only allowed to touch the massive boxes at Costco.

Living without my iPod

Apparently I’m famous in the local Costco now.

This sordid tale begins last Thursday night when my 20-gig iPod died.

It had been acting up for the last couple months, freezing up and not connecting with the iTunes program. I’ve been making quick fixes after begrudgingly reading the owner’s manual at my wife’s insistence.

Then Thursday night the little screen turned pitch black. I was plunged into mourning.

I admit it. I’ve become too close to my iPod, a proud member of the cult in our newsroom. My family has relented, throwing an iPod-themed birthday party where new accessories were bestowed, such as the speaker set that allows me to spread iPod-induced joy around the house.

My son is a cult member. He dressed as an iPod for Halloween.

Life without the iPod is just inconceivable, and by early the next morning I realized drastic action was needed.

Our local mall has an Apple store, and I thought surely the people there could resuscitate it. I was there when the doors opened at 10:30 a.m. and ran to the first clerk I spotted, waving my darkened pod and calling for help.

She kind of rolled her eyes and told me to sign in and a "genius" would be out to help me.

Apparently that’s what they call their tech support people. I suppose it’s better than being on Best Buy’s Geek Squad.

Sure enough, the store has a bar that looks like a trendy saloon without the booze. I hopped up on a stool and out came a kid with spiky hair who might have been all of 22. I sensed some attitude.

What he said: "OK, who’s my first victim of the day?"

What he was probably thinking: "Belly up, geezers. Who can’t figure out how to turn on their computer?"

Me, emotionally: "It’s dead."

What he said, looking at the black screen: "Yeah, it is."

What he was probably thinking: "Thank goodness — the world will be spared a dose of Flock of Seagulls and whatever other kind of crap this guy has crammed on there. I bet he’s got all the Twisted Sister CDs on here. I’d be doing a public service by stomping in the thing."

My helpful friend slipped the iPod from its plastic case, then discovered it’s an HP+iPod — I had no idea there was a difference — and said he couldn’t do anything with it, and that I’d have to contact Hewlett Packard.

Can’t say I was thrilled with that prospect, because tech support over the phone is next to impossible.

Even Tug is a member of the iPod cult.

But Monday I found the phone number buried deep, deep, deep on the HP Website and spoke to a guy named Carlos who confirmed that a pitch black screen is a "very bad thing." He took my information and referred me to HP’s warranty department, which e-mailed back that unless I had a receipt, I was pretty much out of luck.

Naturally, that receipt is looooong gone, like a Carlos Delgado blast.

I was glumly contemplating life without the iPod — unthinkable! — as I saved up for a new one, since $300 is not something I can justify tossing around. I even jumped around the iTunes program on the computer, listening to songs that used to be on my iPod.

And the clerk was wrong, by the way. I do not have every single Twisted Sister song on there. There are a couple tracks here and there that just didn’t hold up over time that I had to delete. At least five of them. Maybe six. So there.

My clever mother suggested checking with Costco, the glorious warehouse store where the iPod was obtained. She said the store probably saves such information on its computer. It was worth a shot.

I headed right over, told the clerk about my issue and she went right to the computer and confirmed that I did indeed purchase an iPod last March.

"Do you have the manual, the installation disk and the wires and stuff?" she asked.

"Sure, everything but the box," I replied. "But all HP wants is a receipt."

"No, bring all those things back here and you can return it."

Say what? I was confused. Did she mean that they would send the deadPod to HP for me?

No. She said I could bring the remains back to Costco and they would give me a new one.

"Hold on," I said. "You know it’s dead. El iPodo es muerto. Are you saying that you would take it back and give me money to buy a new one?"

"No, we’ll give you store credit, since you don’t have the receipt. But yes, you could get a new one with store credit."

Suddenly it sunk in. The sad, un-iPodless portion of my life was going to be short. Emotion took over.

"Yes!" "I apparently said while jumping with fists pumped in the air. If I had a glove in my hand, it would have gone Orosco. "I love this store!"

I was back at the counter in less than an hour, the departedPod and all its possessions gathered in a Ziploc bag. A new, gleaming 30-gig iPod was there in sight.

"We were all talking about you," the bemused clerk said with a smile. "We’ve never seen anybody so enthusiastic about a return before."

I guess they’ve never seen someone forcibly detached from their iPod.

Today, the sun came up, bunnies frolicked on the lawn in the morning dew, and Twisted Sister was once again heard bouncing through the speakers as I drove to work. It is a good day.