The Escapist Fantasy

We all have an escapist fantasy. Our wish to get away, to soothe our soul, to just for once think only of ourselves on those days when the rest of the world has forgotten to recognize and appreciate our personal greatness. It may be a day when months of work towards a particular goal are kicked aside by a higher up, who on a whim decides to take things in a new direction. It could be a day when everything seems to be coming up roses and then you get home to find a cold, cruel message informing you that your husband, wife, significant other has decided they need space or have found someone else. Or perhaps you've had that stressful day at work, it's finally the end of a Friday and you're looking forward to returning to your oasis at home and being embraced by the love of your family only to be greeted by screaming, yelling, and arguing. Life is sometimes imperfect and sometimes we all accept the invitation to the personal pity party and think to ourselves, "What if I just dropped it all and walked away?" Here's how my escapist fantasy goes:

It's been one of those days, weeks or even a month when the world has forgotten their obligation to fall fawning at my feet. I've had it. Fortunately for me there are two things happening that will allow me to finally just take care of myself, to have no demands on me more complicated than what to have for lunch. I just had my quarterly bonus from work direct deposited in conjunction with my regular paycheck. I have more money at my disposal at this moment than I've ever had. Tomorrow I have to travel to somewhere perpetually warm and sunny for a work function. I close out the bank account. It may not be a fortune, but it's more money than I've ever seen in my hands. This should take care of me for a couple months if I'm smart about it.

I get on the plane as scheduled and step off far away from my stress. I still stay in the hotel provided by work and attend all my meetings for the week. Why not? The hotel and my meals are paid for. Then comes Friday. The week of work meetings is done. Now it's time. I pack my suitcase and tell my roommate I'll see him down at breakfast. After breakfast I gather my suitcase, all the clothes I may own for a while, and instead of boarding the shuttle to the airport I walk past without a word or look in anyone's direction, and I keep walking until my feet find sand and my ears are filled with the sound of waves crashing upon the shore. I set my suitcase and my ass down upon the sun kissed beach. I slip off my black dress shoes and socks, setting aside the symbol of the life I've just left behind. "Even my toes wanted freedom from their workaday bondage," I think to myself as I dig my feet into the warm sand. I imagine that I can find a room to stay in above a beachside restaurant where I will work as a bartender pouring drinks and dispensing wisdom in exchange for my room and food. No paycheck, no social security number needed. Aside from that my time is spent enjoying the story of each person I meet as I soak in the sun, the sound of the waves and caw of the seagulls forever my soundtrack.

So what's your escapist fantasy? Where do you daydream of when it feels like the world is playing kick the can with your life?

P.S. If I don't post again for a while, you'll know why. "Wastin' away again in Margaritaville..."

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY !!!

I know Valentine's Day is months away, but it's never too early to start advertising and decorating for the next holiday is it? When I become President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first I intend to pass a law that limits how early advertising and holiday decorating can be done. Each year the holiday toy commercials and in store decorations force themselves into our lives earlier and earlier. There is absolutely no reason for advertisers and stores to begin Christmas preparations before Labor Day.

I love Halloween as much as the next guy, but I don't want to start thinking about it in JUly the way my local supermarket seems to. The local Halloween costume store is already open! And yes, Christmas is a big holiday for those that celebrate it, but there is absolutely no reason Christmas should be able to steamroll over virtually every other holiday that occurs in the previous four months. Those other holidays all have merit and earned their way onto the calendar, so let's not forget them. My new holiday Phil Law will simply state, "There can be no advertising or in store decorating for a holiday until the holiday immediately preceding it has concluded."

This way all the advertisers will have August to sell us our end of summer products such as rakes, leaf bags, sweaters, and beer and nachos to celebrate the beginning of the American football season. Then, as soon as Labor Day is over they are allowed to focus on Columbus Day. That's right, it's always important to celebrate the explorer who was the third guy to find North America but took credit for being first. The dimwit was heading for India and ran into a landmass about 6000 miles long from top to bottom. That was some shrewd sailing. The only way he could have missed hitting it was if he tied Leonardo DeCaprio to the front of his ship and found the nearest iceberg. He didn't even find a way around it! His trip was a total failure when you look at the goal he had when he set out. Yup, he definitely deserves a holiday. Then, only after Columbus Day can stores put Halloween costumes on their shelves. It's never too early to start worshipping Satan.

Of course after we're done with our evil, pagan holiday can we move onto to planning for the holiday that celebrates what we really worship, eating. Honestly, Thanksgiving is a holiday all about eating a giant meal. Who really, sincerely thinks about what they're thankful for on that day? I mean besides the thought, "I'm thankful I got one of the turkey legs this year." If I'm going to have a holiday centered on a really good meal, I am not going to eat turkey and stuffing. If turkey and stuffing are such a treat then why the hell don't we eat them the rest of the year? Why aren't there restaurant chains serving them year round? If there's going to be a holiday that's centered on a big meal, why not pizza and wings? When I'm President or Sexiest Man alive, whichever comes first, I am definitely declaring a pizza and wings holiday. Phil Day I think we'll call it.

Then finally at midnight on Thanksgiving should we be able to begin the Christmas season. It could be a national event. All the family and friends who get together for the Thanksgiving meal could stay up like on New Years Eve and at midnight cable channels can begin airing "It's A Wonderful Life." Every house in the neighborhood could turn on their Christmas lights at midnight. The first t.v. ads for Fondle Me Elmo could air during that first "Wonderful Life" commercial break. Stores could open at midnight with special sales. Dick Clark could host a "Ringing In The Holidays" t.v. special that airs live, showing cities across the world lighting their city Christmas tree and shooting off fireworks.

That's how to have a holiday season. With advertising and store displays started in August, Christmas has become almost tiresome by the time it arrives. The day itself is an anti-climax after the four month build-up. With my plan each holiday will get it's due and Christmas will still have the fanfare it deserves. Yes, I realize how ethnocentric this post is in regards to the penultimate Christian holiday, but that is just another example of how it dominates our culture at the expense of other holidays and religions. Don't worry, I'm working on my post about how Ramadan is way too commercialized as well. And don't even get me started on Yom Kippur.

My Twit Face

Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter have become part of modern life. All three are a wonderful way to connect with and communicate with friends and family. Technology has made the world smaller and in some cases brought the past back to us. Not all of this is good however.

I'm on one of these social networks and have found countless old friends whom I have lost touch with. I've kept in touch with family. And I've have had the creepy older brother of a friend send me a "friend hug" and countless drinks. Ugh. That's the problem with these social networking sites. Sure, you can find long lost friends and all, but they can also find you. I have people I wouldn't say Hi to if I bumped into them in a foreign country, and yet they're want to know my result on the 'What movie character would you be?' survey. I have a woman I haven't spoken to since I was 13 years old sending me flowers, blenders, and farm animals daily.

Then there's the status updates. I'll put one up if I actually do something that's somewhat out of the ordinary or if I think of something funny or original to say, but really do all these people care if I'm frustrated that it rained on my weekend, or what I cooked for dinner, or what my most recent workout consisted of, or what the hell my mood is at 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon? I don't care about these things about myself, and I'm pretty sure no one else cares about the minutiae of my day. Have we become such an insipid, needy society that we can't do anything without needing validation from someone? And does no one have any personal boundaries anymore? Just because people spill their guts on Dr. Phil doesn't mean that I need to know the same things about you just because the anonymity of the internet hides my horrified look and snide comment from you. If you're getting divorced, have a family member dying, or just found out your best friend is gay and in love with you, does it really help you if "5 people liked this"?

I am not a friend whore. Some people have literally hundreds of "friends" that they've never met or even sent an e-mail to. Never heard their voice, and yet these same anonymous friends get to see pictures of their family and know what's going on virtually every hour of their lives. I guess you can never have too many friends. That being said, I'm on Facebook as Fill Taylor. That's right, with an F. There are literally hundreds spelled the other way, so the differentiation makes me easier to find. Feel free to "friend" me. I look forward to hearing about your day.

One Last Golden Boys Story: The Walk

Our most sacred and enduring ritual is The Walk. We grew up in suburbia. Everytown, USA. Identical houses and identical yards as far as the eye could see. A corner store we could walk to. Four guys in four consecutive houses. All about the same age from average middle class families. Our ritual, when the weather was willing, and sometimes when it wasn't, was The Walk. The "walk around the block." In the beginning it was rarely spoken or suggested, it just sort of happened. Any time of day or night it could happen. After we finished swimming or building a fort, or when we got older, after a night out on the town. We would just walk and talk. Some days we would try to fathom the mysteries of our world and some days we just laughed at each other for reasons we wouldn't remember the next day. We knew every foot of that walk like the back of our hands. We knew who lived in every house, all 56 of them. 58 after they added the two down at the end. It was the best neighborhood in the world as far as we knew, and we felt like we were the kings of it.

The Walk is still our ritual, but it's changed. None of us lives in the old neighborhood anymore and our reasons for visiting it are almost gone. In our eyes though, the old neighborhood is unchanged. A time capsule of our childhood. As adult men now, we still go back to the neighborhood and take The Walk. We walk down the middle of the street at night and we point to every house and talk about the memory of a childhood friend, or the time it caught fire, or what tragedy befell the old folks, who weren't so old when we rang their doorbell and ran. For three of the four of us, the neighborhood doesn't belong to us anymore. Our parents have passed away or divorced and sold our childhood homes. But still we walk. This year when one of our parents passed away, three of us returned to the neighborhood after calling hours and took The Walk. We still try to get together once a year. Again this year, we still drove to the old neighborhood, parked the car at the corner store and walked by our childhood, wondering where it went. Someday when the first of us passes away, I imagine the others will take The Walk, carrying our friend's casket around the block, for one last walk.

Sick of The Golden Boys?

What does everyone think? I'm tiring of the subject after two weeks. I do have plenty more stories and a few pics, but like I said, I'm sure this is more fun for me than you. How about voting in the comments? Golden Boys? New posts?

Highway To Hell (A Golden Boy Road Trip)

Yes, the Golden Boys do occasionally leave New York to wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting denizens of other locales. A few brief, but memorable, moments occurred during just such a road trip when we set sail for Golden Boy Tom's nuptials in the windy city of Chicago. Tom was already in Chicago with his betrothed, while Gooby, Chuck, myself, and auxiliary Golden Boy Ozzy packed ourselves into a Ford Probe for the 12 hour drive.

First off, let me say that there should be a Golden Boys soundtrack because so many songs are associated with specific moments that we all remember. Those of you on the wrong side of 30 would enjoy our music. One such musical moment occurred spontaneously during the trip to Chicago. As we all cruised along, mocking me for not driving fast enough, the 1980's mega-hit "The Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats, came on the radio. Without a word, our bodies began to bob back and forth in uncanny unison to the music as we all spontaneously burst into singing the words loudly together.("You can dance if you want to. You can leave your friends behind, 'cuz your friends don't dance and if they don't dance then they're no friends of mine") The passengers in other cars going by us laughed and pointed.

Shortly after that we stopped at a rest stop in Ohio. Two things happened in fairly quick succession shortly after we sat down to eat. Auxiliary Golden Boy Ozzy inadvertently introduced a full-fledged, habit wearing nun to the phrase "knob job" and Chuck was filmed sitting helplessly on the commode. That's one thing about being a Golden Boy. You're guard has to be up at all times. Especially if you're naked. Whether it be showering, sleeping, or using the toilet, there is always an excellent chance another Golden Boy will film or photograph you and then send it by e-mail to everyone he knows.

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 band from the 80's 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" and we would sing them for anyone who asked. (I'm on the far left in the top picture and the far right in the bottom picture)

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. He's the one with the hip tattoo in the post below) 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 graduation 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. I was unable to travel to Connecticut for Chuck's wedding, but 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. The pics in this post are actually freeze frame images taken from Chuck's wedding video. Needless to say that Mrs. Chuck was none too pleased with the prominence of my cardboard participation. I apparently have also met a lot of women online through Gooby's web cam.

A Golden Boy Wedding

As hard as it might be to believe based on our group nickname , all of the Golden Boys are heterosexual and occasionally someone agrees to marry one of us. As you might imagine, when you put the four of us in tuxedos with an open bar and loud music, very entertaining things are bound to happen. The first thing that usually happens is that the dance floor suddenly looks like a Taylor Hicks convention with all of us pretending that we can dance. That's where the American Idol resemblance stops however because none of us can sing very well. Of course that doesn't stop us from singing. We usually continue to do so loudly and in unison almost constantly throughout the reception. Dates, wives and bridesmaids are quickly forgotten as we revel in our big day together. On more than one occasion the beautiful bride, who dreamed of this day her whole life, is usually quite upset that she, her $1000 dress, and the reason for the day has been completely upstaged by The Golden Boys. Considering the fact that she's getting to marry a Golden Boy, it's a sacrifice worth making.

One especially memorable Golden Boy wedding reception was Gooby's. Fortunately his bride that day had been riding shotgun with The Golden Boys the longest and knew what to expect. (In the rest of this story I am going to remove the name of the Golden Boy to protect his identity. Golden Boy X we'll call him.) Shortly after the reception began Golden Boy X 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 very drunk. So drunk that he threw up under the gift table and was shortly thereafter was found napping under said gift table. Needless to say, the bridesmaid was so impressed that she didn't talk to him the rest of the night. Tom and I did not immediately comprehend the plight of our comatose friend because it was likely that at this time Tom and I, who were both not hitting on our bridesmaids, were slow dancing with each other until a pair of dateless divorced women(Can you say 'Cougar' boys and girls? Good, I knew you could!) decided they'd like to dance with us. Aren't there always Cougars prowling weddings?

At about 1 a.m., following the reception, during which I'm sure no one took their Cougar to a coatroom or a car, 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. We did rouse Golden Boy X, and now conscious and 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.

The Nipple Ring Open

The title got your attention didn't it? The 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. Sadly, I have yet to figure out how to post our own vidoes here. Maybe next year. 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 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. Prior to the Nipple Ring Open 2000 we all spent a fair amount of time drinking and putting on temporary tattoos. The picture above is from 4 years ago. (me, Tom, Gooby) The picture below is Gooby, Auxilliary Golden Boy Ozzy, and me prior to the 2000 Nipple Ring Open. As you can see, I was a little more conservative than the others in my tattoo placement. Then again, the choice of temporary tattoos that year was intended to mock me because I've got a real tattoo somewhere you can't see.

Golden Boy Flip

Yes, I'm Flip. The story behind my nickname is no story at all. If you say my first name, Philip, really fast, it sounds like you're saying Flip. At least I think that's the story. It's entirely possible that they have another reason for calling me that and I have no idea. We all respond to our nicknames as if they're our real names when we're with each other, and it would sound strange if any of us referred to the other by our given name. Do you think it's time to change my blog name to 'The Flip Factor'? Nah, just doesn't roll off the tongue the same.

It will be hard for me to come up with some funny stories to sort of capture me in a snapshot as I did the others. I'm sure there are stories the others could tell you that are very funny, but I may not remember them because I was probably drunk at the time. I'm not saying I drink a lot, it's just that we're all usually getting drunk when we're together. I'm sure that I have often been a source of endless amusement for my friends. In the late 80's I had a pair of parachute pants that I'm sure the rest of The Golden Boys are still laughing about. Believe me, I had the ass to pull off that look. Still do if you frankly. When I first posted this post I had included an embarrassing picture of myself from that time in my life when I did love my parachute pants, but later I impulsively deleted it out of embarrassment. Trust me though, there are plenty of pictures of The Golden Boys coming soon.

Like I said, it's hard for me to think of what's funny about me, although after reading my blog for awhile I'm sure you have your ideas. Oh yeah, I'm also easily the best looking of all of us. Then again, that's like being the most smartest member of the Bush family. Who can choose? In the coming days I'll share some stories that tell you about what happens when you mix a lot of beer and four men who have never grown up. And thank you again for allowing me to indulge in my little trip down memory lane. Remember the movie previews for The Hangover? Yeah, I'm pretty sure they stole my stories.

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 in high school 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.

Golden Boy Gooby

(This is the second post in my annual homage to my lifelong friends. To read the intro, scroll down to the previous post)
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, Chuck 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 early 80'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, only Gooby is a lot hairier. Three 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.

The Golden Boys (from the Best of Phil DVD)

I apologize to my long-time readers who will recognize this and several other posts from the next two weeks. Not all of my posts from the next two weeks will be repeats, but at this time of year I always pay tribute to my friends. This series of posts will undoubtedly be funnier to my friends and I than any of you, but some bits of my annual pilgrimage may be worth a chuckle for everyone else.

First, let me explain who The Golden Boys are. In our minds we are The Golden Boys. At least that's how we think of ourselves. Not because of any special qualities we have, or because of any of us has led a particularly charmed life. We are four fairly normal, middle-aged men who have been together our entire lives. We can't remember a time when we didn't know each other. We want to think we're special. Like all men our age, we still believe that if we had the time to train we could become professional athletes or crime fighting super-heroes. Despite a sprinkle of gray hair beginning to show or abs that aren't as defined as we'd like to imagine, we still fantasize that we can turn the ladies heads. We'd dubbed ourselves The Golden Boys when we were just barely past puberty. The name "The Golden Boys" was borrowed from a skit on a show called Fridays back around 1980. In the skit, there were two guys with gaudy blonde wigs and some sort of professional wrestler costumes accented by a gold bikini. The motto of The Golden Boys that was uttered by the pair in unison at the conclusion of each skit was, "We're young. We're tough, and we're good looking!" So needless to say, my friends and I adopted the name Golden Boys for ourselves and we began to shout the motto whenever we were together. We still do when we're drinking.

My "Golden Boys" include Tom, Gooby, Chuck, and myself. We all grew up on the same street in four consecutive houses. We have known each other since we were in diapers and will no doubt know each other when we're in diapers again. Once a year for the past 15 years or so we all try to make it back to our hometown for a weekend of drunken revelry and pining for the glory days of our youth. The weekend is typically one of the highlights of my year. This year I'm not sure if the weekend will happen, but I still want to tip my cap to my future pallbearers. Over the next two weeks I'll introduce you to each of the Golden Boys, except Tom, who has asked to be left out, and regale you with tales of our past indiscretions. After reading some of my stories last year a fellow blogger commented that we were "like the kids from Stand By Me, but on crack." I guess that's as good a description as any. I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I do. By the way, we have a secret handshake that we still use.