Memo To Cell Phone Users

WE CAN HEAR YOU! YOU ARE TALKING OUT LOUD! I thought I'd capitalize everything just so I would seem as loud as most cell phone users who have personal conversations just about anywhere they go. Here are some segments of cell phone conversations I've overheard in the last 24 hours; At Dunkin' Donuts today: "Well don't scare her. Did she shave her head? Where was the clot? How big was the incision? Ok, I've got to go I'm going to order my coffee now. Bye." In front of the tanning studio next to my gym last night a young woman was talking loudly: "Don't try to blame this on me! I didn't know you were almost married! Engaged! No, I'm not even going to go there! I feel sorry for your fiance. She seems nice and she doesn't even know about you." Aaaaah! Young love gone awry. It brings a tear to my eye. It's a big shock that the brain box who didn't know her boyfriend was engaged was standing in front of a tanning studio eh? I swear I could do an entire blog on overheard cell phone conversations. At Dunkin' Donuts I was about to order a jelly donut until Ms. Discrete in line behind me started talking about cutting open heads to get blood clots. Every day I'm tempted to pull out my cell phone and start faking conversations just to watch people listen. "Ring, ring!" "Hello? Yeah, it's me. Hi Paris. No, I didn't say anything. Does Paris know? Good. Yes, I still have the video. No, I promise I won't do anything with it. That bitch Nicole called, but I wouldn't talk to her. She's still blaming you. No, Paris, you know I wouldn't make that kind of video with anyone but you. I swear she's lying. What? You're engaged?!!? I feel sorry for your fiance! He seems nice and he doesn't even know about you. Click."

Dr. Doolittle

(I'm running this post again because my friend Gooby reminded me of the e-mail Christmas card he sent last year. It illustrates my point perfectly.) I love animals as much as the next person, but what drives me crazy is the people who insist on treating their animals like they're children. Especially you couples without children who take your pet to the photo studio and get a family portrait taken as if the pet is your child. We all tell you this Christmas card is adorable, but what we're really thinking is, "Wow! That is pathetic. That poor dog. How does he put up with these morons?" If you ever put your pet in clothing someone should call the police. And why do people talk to their pets as if they're small children? "Oh! There's my little smoochy poochy! Who wants a cookie? Who wants it?" First of all, your pet can't understand you, and second of all, if they can understand you, they think you're a moron!

Celebrity Sex Tapes

When I become famous (well, more famous) I am never going to be filmed having sex. That is unless it's tastefully done and is integral to the plot of the movie. The list of celebrities who just can't seem to get enough of being on camera just gets longer and longer every day. Pamela and Tommy Lee, Tonya Harding, Paris Hilton, and now Colin Farrell. Colin Farrell is now suing a former "love interest" to prevent her from selling copies of a videotape of them have sex a few years ago. Now I'm as proud of my expertise in the bedroom as anyone, and if anyone is going to make money off of my skills it's going to be me. My best guess is that if Colin wants so badly to prevent the release of this tape then he must not be very good in it. If you paint a masterpiece, why hide it? The best conclusion I can draw from this is that if you are famous and you don't want everyone with an internet connection to see you having sex, then don't film it! Duh! Apparently being famous does not make you smart.

The Wedding Crashers vs. Congress

I heard something today that just drove me nuts. By now everyone knows the plot of the movie, Wedding Crashers. Two guys fake identities and crash weddings so they can meet women. In one, or more, of the scenes the guys claim to have earned a Purple Heart for sustaining an injury in war, just so they can impress girls. On the Wedding Crashers official website as part of a wedding crashers kit, there was a fake Purple Heart you could print out to wear to weddings. Needless to say, anyone old enough to be a veteran or a member of congress does not have a sense of humor and was predictably outraged by this display of disrespect. Either that, or they're overly concerned about women sleeping with men they barely know. Congress is now hastily trying to make a law against pretending to have a Purple Heart medal. Look, if any woman is so dimwitted that she'll sleep with a guy because he has a paper Purple Heart, then she deserves to be deceived. Besides, what harm is there really? She gets the thrill of thinking she's sleeping with a war hero and the guy gets to sleep with her. Everyone goes home happy. Case closed.

This is just another example of Congress having way too little to do. The next time I go to H&R Block to get my taxes done and the accountant says "Would you like $3.00 of your return to be donated to the re-election fund?" you can bet your left arm (my apologies to those who are reading this with only one arm) that I will immediately shout, "Yes! Send the government as much money as they need because I'm pretty sure that someone somewhere is selling fake Boy Scout merit badges and I need Ted Kennedy to put a stop to it!" I rest easier at night knowing that congress isn't wasting their time on such frivolous topics as the war on terrorism, global warming, gasoline that's worth more per gallon than human blood or perhaps fixing the social security system so I won't have to retire on the nickels I make from the Google ads on my other web page. Apparently our elected officials just can't find enough important things to work on. If that is the case and we really do pay their salaries, then I'd love to see Hillary Clinton over here mowing my lawn in her down time. (By the way, the picture above is the original wedding crashers on which the movie is based. From left to right, Tom, Gooby, Chuck, and me)

The Freak Show At Arby's

Damn! It's getting scary going out for lunch lately, and I didn't even find a finger in my chili! I work across the street from an Arby's and occasionally I walk over to pick up some lunch. The other day I walked over and got in line, wondering why in the world anyone would wait in line for Arby's food? Not having an answer to that question either way, I continued to wait. Then I asked myself, why in the world anyone would wait in line at Arby's with these people? The collection of miscreants and straight line family tree people was astounding. I thought that the carnival must be in town. First off I noticed the counter girl, Fatira. I've got to think that if you start life with the word "fat" as the first part of your name, you're in for a bumpy ride. Maybe it was just my impatience, but I think Fatira was asleep on her feet. Her eyelids were at half-mast as she moved behind the counter as if she was underwater. I also noticed that she had her pants "sagging." Sagging is that oh so stylish teen trend of wearing your pants beneath your ass with a belt wrapped around your legs to keep them up. Maybe it was the pants that slowed her down. Next to me was a cell phone person. Yep, one of the ones who's wearing the earpiece with the little wrap around microphone. When he got to the counter I'm sure Fatira wasn't sure if he was taking her order or she his. If you're so freakin' important that you need to talk hands-free every minute of your day then I think you're too important to be waiting in line at Arby's. Shouldn't one of your Secret Service guards be getting your lunch for you? Then behind me was a guy who actually was in line to return his fries because they weren't fresh enough! He turned them in and waited to get a new box of fries! They're sticks of fried cardboard to start with! Who promised this guy they would be fresh? This guy was certainly not the sharpest pencil in the box, but he was damn happy with his second set of fries. I'm pretty sure that Fatira just went behind the counter, counted to 10 and brought his first box of fries back to him. Needless to say, I went back for lunch there the next day. This is all just stuff I thought in 5 minutes at Arby's. I wonder what wonderful things the other customers where thinking about me?

The Big Red Button

Is it just me, or does everyone else have an irresistible urge to push a big, red, button anytime you see one? I was at the hospital the other night because one of my mini-me's had broken his finger in a dramatic kick-ball accident. While I'm waiting at the triage desk, I spot a big, red button on the wall behind the desk. The sign under it read, "Ventilation System Shut Down." I suppose that's there in case they suddenly discover they've got someone with Mad Cow disease and they need to quarantine the place ASAP. I swear it was all I could do to restrain myself from walking over there to push it just to see what would happen. I imagined blaring warning sirens going off and big, steel doors slamming down over all the exits as they sucked the air out of the room. I still wanted to push it though. I remember back in high school I worked at a big store, and one time I was in the warehouse, which wasn't where I worked, and I saw a big, red button on the wall. So I pushed it. A large section of the wall suddenly opened up. So I ran away. I imagine that when I visit the White House I'll probably be in the Oval Office chatting with the President about the relative merits of interns, when suddenly my head would swivel violently, having noticed the big, red button on the President's desk. It would probably be too late for the President to stop me as I said, "Hey, what does this do?" as I simultaneously pushed it. I think this is a genetically programmed urge because while at a restaurant once, one of my little guys couldn't resist the urge to push the bar on the emergency exit door despite the sign which said, "Do not push. A loud alarm will sound." Is it just me, or does anyone else have this or similar urges?

Color Blind

You know how they say that people see in color but dogs see in black and white? I'm not sure who "they" are, but if this is true, I have a whole other level to add to this theory. A sort of evolutionary ladder of color sensitivity if you will. It goes like this: Dogs see in black and white. Men see the primary colors: red, blue, green, yellow, black, and white. Women see another whole spectrum of colors that are undetectable to men. These colors include: Mauve, fuscia, magenta, teal, periwinkle, and many others that I'm sure I haven't heard of. Once when looking for paint for my house I made the mistake of thinking I was looking at white paint. It turns out it was eggshell. In fact, I was stunned to find out that there are two different colors of teal, teal-blue, and teal-green. They were pointed out to me and for the life of me I couldn't tell the difference. If Martha Stewart is responsible for these I'd like to see her sent back to prison. Her and that stupid poncho look she started. Morning, noon, or night now, summer or winter, you see women wearing ponchos. What the hell is a poncho but a blanket with a hole in it. No sleeves, no hood. What a total rip off. The poncho makers are making a fortune by selling half made coats. And of course the ponchos come in most of those colors that men don't recognize. You know who I actually think is responsible for this other spectrum of colors? The people who make bridesmaids dresses. Have you ever heard of a bridesmaids dress in a normal color? In fact, female camouflage is probably just an entire outfit of fuscia. If a women was dressed head to toe in that color there is no way a man could spot her even in the same room. Just to illustrate my point, I want you to know that I ran spell-check on this and it didn't recognize the words fuscia, teal, or ponchos.

When Athletes Attack!

The title may sound like a Fox sweeps month special, but sadly it’s becoming a fairly regular occurrence. Whether you are a member of the media, a fan, or an opposing player it seems that you take your life in your hands when you attend a sporting event. From Kenny Rogers, to the Pistons-Pacers, to Frankie Francisco warming up by throwing chairs from the bullpen, to just about any Mike Tyson public appearance, the threat from these so-called entertainers has become all too real.
If you live in a city where professional sports are played I have to think that the terror warning level rises to red on a game night. Forget the Taliban. At this point we’re looking for an attack from them. With athletes, the scary part is that you’re not expecting an attack and then bam! You get hit by a chair, or a camera, or a discarded syringe. You could be walking down the aisle in the supermarket, bump your cart into somebody parked in the cereal aisle deciding between Quisp and Lucky Charms and suddenly Barry Bonds is throwing frozen pig knuckles at your head.
Ever since that German dude went Jason Voorhees on Monica Seles about 10 years ago, athletes have complained about how scary the fans are. The athletes and stadium security are now so uptight that you can’t just get liquored up, rip off your shirt, hop the wall and run around the field during a game anymore. What is funnier than seeing that guy elude stadium security for 5 minutes before they finally tackle him? If I run a team, the first thing I do is hire a guy to fake that routine every week. I might even work out routines for the athletes to catch him occasionally. Thanks to the athletes’ paranoia there’s no streaking and no chicks running on the field to kiss people. It’s almost like the athletes think sports are there for them to enjoy.
Yes, I know women will just cite this as another example that testosterone=crazy, but then again, that opinion comes from people who wax their nether regions. (Not that we don’t appreciate it, but what’s good for the goose should damn well stay that way)
Here are my suggestions for a peaceful resolution to this quagmire: 1) Institute the death penalty for steroid users. (Yeah right Mr. Selig, 10 games is really scaring people)
2) Mandate marijuana use for all professional athletes. These guys need to mellow way out. They’re doing it anyway, so why make it difficult?
3) Increase fan alcohol consumption at sporting events. No one gets in with a BAC under.10. If the fans are too drunk, there is no way we can accurately hit an athlete with a thrown beer. We may also be too blotto to care about the outcome of the event.
4) Make me commissioner of everything because I apparently didn’t get the nod for that empty Supreme Court seat.

Gooby's Mom in a Bikini

The rest of the Golden Boys and I still like to delude ourselves that we're not aging. That we're still the young, handsome, studs that we always were. We're not completely psychotic however. We can look in the mirror and see that the hands of time have been slapping us a bit. I realize that I no longer have the body of an 18 year old. That's only because my wife found out about her and made me stop dating so much. One person who may be a bit delusional regarding the aging process is Gooby's Mom, J.M., as we call her. After a bit of beer soaked golf yesterday in temperatures that would make Satan say, "Damn that's hot," Gooby and I headed to his Mom's house for a dip in her spacious inground pool. We open the fence to the pool and what do we see? A 60 year old woman floating around in a red bikini. (I have to begin to tread very carefully here) Now for a 60 year old woman, Gooby's Mom looks great, but she is still a 60 year old woman. In a bikini. Talking to her son. Why Gooby didn't run screaming on his way to gouge out his eyes with a curtain rod is beyond me. If Gooby doesn't have some Oedipal issues from a lifetime of seeing his Mom in a bikini then nobody does.

Things We Thought

These are just some thoughts we had while out at bars last night:

1. If you look in the mirror and you still have a mullet hairstyle, you're too old. Stay home and watch "Murder She Wrote" re-runs.

2. Men should not wear teal tank tops out to a bar.

3. Women need to pay more attention to guys who look as good as we do.

4. If you're wearing a baseball hat and you're not on a team, we all know you're balding. Take it off. You're not fooling anyone.

5. Ladies, if you're wearing something that makes you ask your date, husband, or friend, "Does this make me look fat?", it probably does make you look fat, but no one will tell you the truth, so change again before you go out.

6. He has to be kidding. This can't really be a felony offense.

7. As much as we like the whole trend of women wearing low-slung jeans so you can show us the top of your thong, not all of you should try that look. (Refer to #5)

8. I still hate cell phone people even when I'm drinking, but it's cool when I do it.

9. If you go to the bar wearing a softball jersey with the bars name on it, that doesn't mean you're king of the place. Stop acting like a jackass.

10. "Oh yeah, we could score with any of these women if we really wanted to." This thought actually occurs to us 24/7 no matter where we are. Of course in 10 years when we're still going out wearing the then equivalent of a mullet and teal tank top we will still be thinking this.

Charlie and The Chocolate Factory

Remember the original Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory movie? It starts out showing Charlie doing his newspaper route. His mother works like a dog doing other people's laundry 16 hours a day. They have the 4 grandparents, who are bedridden, to take care of. They are so bad off that they're thrilled the day that Charlie bought a loaf of bread for them to eat. Charlie brings home the Golden Ticket and suddenly Grandpa Joe, who hasn't left the bed in 25 years, is dancing and singing. This old guy was supposedly too lame to work, but if a few free candy bars are on the line he turns into Michael Jackson? If I'm Charlie and his Mom, I probably would have flown into a rage and killed him right there. I hope they get that part right in the new movie.

The Morning After

Well, I survived the first night with The Golden Boys. At least I think I did. It's all a blur. I could be dead, but I think heaven would look a little less like Gooby's house. Then again , I suppose that assuming I would go to heaven is a bit presumptious of me. Although I can't imagine heaven would be any cleaner or more tastefully decorated than Gooby's house. Gooby's not gay, (that I know of) but he definitely could score some dudes if he wanted to. The Queer Eye For The Straight Guy guys would have very little to do here. (Incidentally, Thom, the Queer Eye interior decorator is Gooby's second cousin. Really!) Honestly, I had wanted to commit two misdemeanors at different points yesterday, but Gooby chickened out. Today I am not missing an opportunity whether Gooby's on board or not. When I pulled up to Gooby's house at 11:30 a.m. yesterday he was on his porch with a beer in his hand and I don't think he went without one for the next 15 hours. We're not alcoholics or anything, but we enjoy a good adult beverage when we get together. Golden Boys Tom and Chuck are not with us. Tom is at Niagara Falls with his family today. I'm sure we'll see the video on his lap-top later if he doesn't drop it over the falls. (I'm also sure that right now he's saying to a female tour guide, "If you want to see the 8th wonder of the world why don't you give me a call later?")*. Golden Boy Chuck is also absent. Either he's on a nuclear submarine under the polar ice cap, or his wife wouldn't let him come. Interpret that any way you want.

*This line was Gooby's idea

Just A Memo

For the next few days I will be engaged in my annual fun fest with the Golden Boys. I cannot be held responsible for anything posted after this and I cannot in fact guarantee it will be me writing. I will try to keep posting stuff as it happens, but I can't make any promises.

Confessions of a Little League Dad

Aaaaah! It's that time of year again. I'm in training and I can't wait for the season to begin. This is the year my boys finally reach my goals and make me proud. I'm working out every day. I've got to bulk up just to make sure I'm bigger than my kids coach in case I need to kick his ass for not making my boy the no. 1 pitcher on the team. I've been practicing for this all winter. Yelling at my three boys if they don't tag up before leaving the dinner table. Making them go back down the stairs and start again if they don't hustle all the way to the bathroom. If my wife misses a call and blames the boy who retaliated in a fight I shout, "Are you blind? How could you miss that? He hit him outside the strike zone!!!" I have to be prepared. Those 15 year old umpires need to know who's in charge of the game. There is absolutely no way I'm going to let one of those punks keep me, uh, I mean my kids from the goals that I've set for them. Then there's the equipment. Nothing but the best for my boys. I've spared no expense in helping my boys live out my lost dreams. My kids are so well equipped there's major league players with my sons names on their gloves. I've also got to get my equipment ready. Team hat? Check! Team shirt? Check? Major league stat book? Check! Last but not least, bulletproof vest? Double check! Hey, you never know. Some of these little league parents can be real a-holes.

Life Lessons From The Golden Boys

Here is my equivalent of "All I Ever Needed To Know I Learned In Kindergarten." These are things that I've learned in the company of my friends over the years:

1. More often than not, a group of shirtless men walking through an affluent Chicago neighborhood will result in a call to the police by someone.

2. If you wake up to find people eating whipped cream and strawberries off of your body, lie very still until they're done.

3. The wedding receptions are much more fun than the rest of the marriage.

4. If you drink alcohol you are not responsible for your own actions. They are.

5. If something bad happens to you when you're sleeping, naked, or drunk, it's your own fault for getting that way in the first place.

6. There is nothing you can do that is too stupid.

All in all though, if there are "The 5 People You Meet in Heaven," I want the first three to be the rest of the Golden Boys. After that I choose Stephen King and whomever leaves the most comments on my blog.

Touch of Gray

Do you know what I think is a load of crap? When women say that gray hair is attractive or makes a man look distinguished. It makes us look old. If you're desperately clinging to the last vestiges of your youth you do not want to look distinguished. If gray hair is so great, why do women spend more money on hair dye than they do on make-up? I now have a single gray pubic hair. How distinguished is that ladies? How sexy will it be a few years from now when my scrotum looks like Albert Einstein's head? Unless you're Bill Clinton or Anna Nicole's deceased billionaire husband, I doubt that your gray hair is going to attract very many women, unless they have gray hair themselves, and who would want to date someone like that?

One Golden Boy Short

I'm sure all of you are wondering what we do when one of our Golden Boys is missing from one of our functions. That's easy. We replace him. There are two ways we replace a Golden Boy. One is with our back-up Golden Boy, Ozzy. (No, not the singer, but another of our friends with a nickname) The other way we replace a Golden Boy is with a cardboard cut-out. Gooby is very technically inclined and using pictures of me from 8th grade and one from high school he created two life size card board cut-outs of my head and shoulders. By all reports my card board cut-outs have had a lot more fun than I have on some Golden Boy weekends. If you watch Chuck's wedding video there I am, from the shoulders up, dancing with bridesmaids, sitting at the head table and hanging out at the bar. I apparently have also met a lot of women online through Gooby's web cam.

A Random, But Infamous Golden Boy Moment.

At Gooby's wedding Chuck was despondent over the fact that the bridesmaid he was paired up with didn't want to hook up with him, so he coped with this the way anyone would. He got so drunk that he threw up under the gift table at the wedding reception and I think later passed out there as well. Needless to say, the bridesmaid was so impressed that she didn't talk to him the rest of the night. This may have been at the same time that Tom and I, who were both not hitting on our bridesmaids, were slow dancing with each other until a pair of similarly dateless divorced women decided they'd like to dance with us. Later in the evening the Golden Boys decided to help Gooby and the future ex-Mrs. Gooby bring all their presents and flowers back to the new bride's parents' home. Chuck, feeling badly about his performance at the reception, decided to apologize by vomiting in the bride's parents' bathroom. That night may be why Gooby is now divorced.

FLAME

FLAME is our version of Spinal Tap. Or perhaps more appropriately, Milli Vanilli. Flame is The Golden Boys air band. I'm not sure how it started, but one summer day with too much time and too much beer we found ourselves hanging around someone's house with a bunch of musical instruments that none of us could play. Needless to say, we did what anyone would in that situation. We walked around our neighborhood pretending we were a band. We took publicity photos. We even put on a fake performance in a drive thru car wash at the end of the street. About 10 years later we also had a reunion tour during Golden Boys weekend and again made matching shirts to commemorate the occasion. We again proudly wore our matching shirts out in public and explained to anyone who asked that we were a famous one hit wonder 80's band that was re-uniting for one more tour. We would feign stunned amazement that they didn't remember our one hit that made it to #17 on the billboard charts. We really did have a song we made up, or at least we had a few lines we made up that we would pretend were from our "song."

The Nipple Ring Open

The title got your attention didn't it? The 1990 Nipple Ring Open was the first of the official Golden Boy weekend functions. We were all out of college and Chuck had gone off to the Navy. He was back for a week after boot camp and of course could think of nothing better do to than to spend time with The Golden Boys. As I said in Chuck's write up, The Golden Boys were, I believe, more responsible for raising him to be the man he became than his own family was. Apparently we did a very poor job of instilling our values in him. He runs off to join the Navy and comes home with...a nipple ring. As his mentors and role models you can imagine how disappointed in him we were. Of course you can also imagine how much abuse we heaped upon him, including a fair bit of painful tugging on his ring. The Nipple Ring Open was an informal golf tournament we played amongst ourselves and videotaped a large part of our idiocy. (Damn! I'm eating a grilled cheese sandwich as I write this and I just burned my throat.) I'm not sure if Chuck still has the nipple ring, but I wouldn't bet against it. About 10 years later we had the 10th Anniversary Nipple Ring Open and we all wore matching shirts that we had specially made and which said, "The Golden Boys: Nipple Ring Open 2000." We only realized later, as we all sat in McDonald's in our matching Nipple Ring shirts, how gay we must have looked. The sun was hot, the beer was cold, and the golf was bad.

Supreme Court Phil

Well, there's another job opening on capitol hill. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor has resigned. I'd like to apply. The problem is, unless you're a kiss-ass Circuit Court judge you've got absolutely no shot. That is so not fair. I'm pretty sure they might even require me to have a law degree. I think more government jobs should be like jury duty. You just open up your mailbox one day, and it's like, "Oh my God! I've got to go sit on the Supreme Court next week!" I also think that the laws of this country should be in the hands of the regular people that they apply to. The Supreme Court decides on laws regarding racial equality, reproductive rights and gay marriages. First off, each Supreme Court Justice makes well into six figures, and they were able to afford to go to law school in the first place, so there is little chance they have ever had any kind of discrimination or bias levied against them whatsoever. They are all so old that any of the medical procedures that they debate in regards to reproductive rights and stem cell research didn't even exist when these geriatric, prune eating, tight asses had the chance to reproduce. As old as they are though, I think it is cool that the men feel comfortable cross-dressing. Even if I was offered the job I'd be a little reluctant to wear a black dress 40 hours a week. Apparently they are all very proud that they graduated high school, but they seem to have lost their caps. If I am made a Supreme Court Justice the first thing I'd do is to revise the uniform. Jeans, sneakers, and a nice "Check out my Washington Monument" t-shirt would be acceptable. Then I'd go to work on the laws. I'd of course implement laws against the cell phone people. Then I'd make it a law that we will not do the daylight savings time thing anymore. Why? Is there a good reason for that? Did you know that there's two states that don't do it at all. I'd also make it a law that if one person has been killed in a shark attack then that beach stays closed for a week. Yes, I'm talking to all of you in Florida. Last week one person gets eaten and you open the beach the very next day. A couple days later another swimmer is attacked. Then a couple days later another swimmer is bitten. One swimmer bitten might be called a fluke occurrence, but if two are bitten in one week I'm starting to see a pattern. After two people were bitten in one week, why was anyone still willing to go swimming in the same ocean? After three people were bitten in about 10 days I've got to think that somewhere underwater some shark has put up an "All You Can Eat Buffet" sign and is charging his friends admission. They say that fish is brain food for people, but I don't think people are brain food for sharks. At least not the people these sharks are eating. They are definitely not very smart. Then again, why make a law? This seems like natural selection at its' finest. If you dopes want to go swimming go right ahead, just make sure you vote for Phil for Supreme Court Justice before you go.

Golden Boy Gooby

I have probably known Gooby since he was about 2 days old. I'm one year and one day older than him. Our parents lived 2 houses apart and were always friends. That being the case, I'm fairly certain that when his Mom came home from the hospital with the new baby, my Mom scooped me up and went over to visit Mother Gooby and her new offspring. Of course the most obvious question is, how did he get the nickname Gooby? That started when we were all about 10 or 11 years old. At the end of our street was a police station. Each winter the snow plows would create huge mountains of snow on the edges of the parking lot when they cleared it. As boys, Gooby, Tom and I would play a reverse King of the Hill kind of game. We'd climb to the top of one of these snow piles and one of us would expectorate a big, green goober upon the top of the hill. Then as soon as someone said, "GO!" we would battle to push each other onto the top of the mountain. Gooby, as a 10 year old had the physical build of a newborn deer, all spindly bones and no muscle mass whatsoever. Needless to say, he lost our pre-pubescent manhood contest more often than not and ended up with a frozen goober stuck to his parka. And so a nickname was born. Apparently a few years later, his father, who was not pleased that the nickname had stuck (pun intended) declared to someone, "I will not have a son of mine called Gooby!" Shaking in fear from this proclamation issued by an authority figure, we responded by promptly nicknaming Gooby's father "Colt" for his resemblance to Lee Majors' character in the ground breaking 70's action adventure series The Fall Guy. (As you can see, our little group was fond of nicknaming almost everyone. Yes, I have a nickname too, and I'll get to that eventually.) As I mentioned, Gooby grew up with a body that most closely resembled whichever of the Olsen twins had the eating disorder. Then in high school and college a funny thing happened. Gooby started eating a lot of protein and working out. Now his physique resembles that of The Thing from the Fantastic Four movie previews, only Gooby is a lot hairier. Two years ago during Golden Boy weekend we went to his mother's house to swim in her pool and drink her beer. While we were there his 60 year old mother came home to find three 30-something men swimming in her pool and drinking her beer. One of the three men asked his mother if she would shave his back for him. Gooby then let his mother lather him up and attempt to shave his back with a razor. That was like trying to take down a forest with a lawnmower. Overall, Gooby is the quintessential nice guy and the glue that holds the Golden Boys together. Whenever any of us has anything serious going on in our personal lives, tragedies, triumphs or elective surgeries, we confide in Gooby, even though we know he tells the other three everything when we're not there.

Golden Boy Chuck

The first thing I have to explain about Chuck is that "Chuck" is not his real name. His real name is Ken, but one day when we were kids, my older brother looked at him and said, "You don't look like a Ken. You look like someone who should be named Chuckie Huddleburger." And so his name has since been Chuck, whether he liked it or not. He should consider himself lucky to be nicknamed Chuck. My brother also nicknamed Chuck's older brother "Aper" due to his resemblance to an ape. The other member of our foursome is nicknamed "Gooby," so I think Chuck realized that as far as nicknames go, he got off easy. That apparently is about the only way Chuck got off. He has always had an uncanny ability to avoid hooking up with women no matter how hard he tried. At one point, as an adult heterosexual male in his 20's he went over 2 years without convincing anyone to have sex with him! He is not a candidate for Extreme Makeover. He has an actual personality and the verbal ability to express himself. He also has rosy, red cheeks. Year round. Whether it's hot or cold. When we were younger, Chuck was always the tag along little brother to the older three of us. He was the youngest by a year or two and was moderately vertically challenged, but definitely not dwarf-like. Unfortunately for him, these traits also made him the group scapegoat for practical jokes. If there is any justice in the world, Chuck will one day own a billion dollar corporation, hire the rest of the Golden Boys, and then fire us just out of spite for the abuse we heaped upon him when we were younger. He had three older brothers of his own, but he wisely chose us three as his role models. One of our first tasks as Chuck's mentors was to get rid of his hopelessly outdated hairstyle that we referred to as "The Wave." This hairstyle was so 1950's corny, that one winter we memorialized it with a 10 foot tall snow sculpture of his head on his front lawn.

Just A Memo

Since I won't be taking a laptop with me for the long holiday weekend this will be the last post until July 4th or 5th. Hopefully this break won't cause me to lose a significant portion of my readership. Have a great weekend all, I'll talk to you again on Monday!