'I Get High On Baby Hugs'

Don't think I'd attend one of this guy's concerts if I happened to be in L.A., but this video is awesome.

My favorite line:
"I'm a stay-at-home dad;
"And I don't take drugs.
"I'm a stay-at-home dad;
"I get high on baby hugs."

Here's the link: Stay At Home Dad rap

Brush With Biden

Last August, during a Rays road trip to Boston, I popped into the Borders bookstore at the busy corner of Washington and School streets around lunchtime. One of the things I love about downtown Boston at lunchtime in the later summer or early fall is the bustle. There's a lot of energy, and not the mechanical, got-to-get-where-I'm-going-RIGHT-NOW kind of directed energy you find at, say, Sixth Avenue and 42nd Street in New York. Boston, especially the old, winding streets bisected by the Freedom Trail, is more like a visit to an outdoor art festival, where the pedestrians wander casually from stall to stall, poking their heads in to see what's cooking.

So, I popped into the Borders on my way to Quincy Market, where I like to cruise the half-mile-long food court and decide between the fresh, boiled lobster and the North End pizza joint (no Sbarro's at Quincy Market). The Borders in the heart of that pedestrian district off Washington Street is larger than most. Not as big, perhaps, as the Borders next to the Water Tower on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, but huge, nonetheless. I browsed my way back to the history section, taking my time; I wouldn't need to be at Fenway Park until three o'clock.

At the back of the store, where the history books are kept, a line of suit-clad bibliophiles stretched from the rear entrance, where a table and chair were set up for what clearly was a book-signing event. The line actually blocked the aisle I wanted to browse, so I remember being a little annoyed. But I found another aisle and tried to ignore the suits.

Then, the line began to move. The author was there. Now, it wasn't a big line. Maybe 30 or 40 people, tops. It didn't take long for the aisle I originally wanted to browse to become accessible again. As I rounded the end of the aisle, I glanced over to see who was signing a book that day. Sitting there, framed by the rear entrance (this old building apparently used to be a bank; next to the rear entrance is an old, round vault door) was Senator (and, at the time, presidential candidate) Joe Biden of Delaware.

My first thought, after taking in the two or three suit-clad security guards (Secret Service?) and the eight or ten suit-clad staff members who milled around so casually was this: This guy's running for president, and the most he can pull to a book signing is 30 or 40 people? There's no way he's getting the nomination. My second reaction was to call Mama Bird back home. She thought Biden was an interesting candidate and considered supporting him early in the campaign. She thought it was cool.

I guess I must've missed the big moment of that particular book signing. I kind of wish I had seen him speak. Especially now that he's been named Barack Obama's running mate.

And as for that, how about the timing of the mass text message announcement? The story I read this morning said it was released by the campaign after the news leaked late Friday night to some news outlet. So, out the texts went, right around ... 3 a.m. I'd like to think it was planned that way all along. Kind of a not-so-subtle way of saying, Take that, Clinton folks!

So, here it all comes: Democratic convention, McCain VP announcement, Republican convention, debates, debates, debates. After all those years of covering sports for a living, politics became my "sports." This is gonna be good.

I've Think I've Forgotten How To Write

Well, it's official. I have no idea how to write. And now that I mention it, I wonder if I ever really knew how.

Right now, I'm at my laptop in the nursery/writing cave. I sit at a half-sized card table ($34.95 at Target; much cheaper than office space or the monthly on-line fees at Barnes&Noble). The table is pushed up against the window. The crib sits behind me to my left. Directly behind me against the opposite wall is the table/dresser where we change our kids' dirty diapers. The blinds are half-open. Through the slats of the blinds I can see the top of the front-yard palm tree blowing around in the baby breezes produced by Tropical Storm Fay on the other side of the state.

To my left are two stacks of books. They include Stephen King's On Writing; the Complete Idiot's Guide to Creative Writing; the Modern Library Writer's Workshop by Stephen Koch; a Writer's Guide to Character Traits; Joseph Campbell's The Hero With a Thousand Faces; Gary Mormino's Land of Sunshine, State of Dreams (a social history of Florida); and a fantasy football magazine (my draft is Saturday; I inherited a team in a neighborhood keeper league and already have Peyton Manning at QB). To my right is Edith Hamilton's Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes, an absolute gold mine for story ideas, plots, characters and themes. Also to my right is an open, spiral-bound notebook that contains the outline of a novel based on college life in the early 1990s and notes for several short stories. A capped rollerball pen (Uni-ball Vision Elite) sits on top of the open notebook.

Quite a literary little setup I've got here, eh? Nothing to keep me from, as some writer somewhere (Raymond Carver, maybe?) once wrote, "opening a vein and letting the story bleed out of me."

OK. So, why don't I write? Either I forgot (or never knew) how, or I'm lazy.

Or, hey. Why not both?

I'm going to go take another gander at journalismjobs.com. I haven't sent out any resume packages to be ignored during the past couple of days.

Is this writer's block? I never knew it really existed. Eh. It's not so bad. It's kind of like trying to mow the lawn with an unsharpened mower blade. You know you've got the right tool, it's just a matter of honing it.

Mimi's Garden

A little boy named Jay lived in Florida. He had blond hair and blue eyes and was two years old. Jay loved to swim in the pool with his Mommy and go for bicycle rides with his Daddy. He liked to chase his cats, Murphy and Luna, all around the house. And he loved to tickle his baby brother, Chris, on the chin.

Jay especially loved to visit Mimi and Granddaddy at their big, white farm house in North Carolina. Mimi always had new toys for Jay to play with, like a talking drum and a little guitar that played real music. Granddaddy would sit in the parlor and play his real guitar and sing while Jay played with his new toys.

One time, after Granddaddy finished singing, Jay left his toys and looked through the glass of the front door at Mimi’s garden. There were so many flowers! Jay wanted to go outside and see the flowers up close. Jay ran to the kitchen and found Mimi, who was just slipping on her garden gloves.

“Mimi?” Jay said. “Go outside? Flowers outside?”

“Of course we can, little Jay Bird” Mimi said. “Do you want to see the flowers?”

“Yes, I want flowers,” Jay said, and reached for Mimi’s hand. “C’mon, Mimi.”

“Wait, Jay,” Mimi said, pulling off her gloves. “We have to find the magic net.”

Jay, who had turned to run back to the front door, stopped and looked back at Mimi.

“Magic net?” he said.

“Yes,” said Mimi. “It’s the net we use to catch butterflies!”

“I want … I want … I want butterflies!” said Jay, waving his arms. “Catch butterflies?”

“Yes,” said Mimi. “But we have to use a special, magic net, so we don’t hurt them.”

Mimi went to the back porch to get the net. Jay was waiting at the front door when she came.

“I want magic net,” said Jay as he reached for the net.

“Here you go, Jay Bird,” Mimi said. “I’ll carry the butterfly bucket, and we can go catch butterflies together.”

Out they went, onto the front porch, into the front yard and down to the ring of flowers that encircled the lawn. Jay saw yellow daffodils and purple crocus and lots of other pink and gold and orange flowers but he did not know their names. Then he saw a giant yellow flower, taller than all the rest, hanging from the end of a long, green stalk.

“Sunflower!” Jay said.

“That’s right,” Mimi said. “And look! There’s a pretty blue butterfly fluttering in for a landing!”

“Blue butterfly?” Jay said. “I get him.”

Jay ran to the sunflower and swung the net as hard as he could at the butterfly. But the blue butterfly flew away from the net. Jay swung again and again. Each time, the butterfly flew just far away enough to stay out of Jay’s net. Each time Jay missed, the butterfly fluttered back to the face of the sunflower and landed safely. Jay began to get frustrated.

“Jay Bird, do you want Mimi to help?” Mimi said.

“Yes, thank you,” Jay said. “Mimi help?”

So, Mimi and Jay held the net together. They snuck up to the sunflower on tiptoe. Mimi helped Jay move the net very slowly over the butterfly. When the butterfly tried to fly away, it fluttered right into the magic net! Mimi pulled the net closed, and the butterfly was caught.

“I got it!” Jay said.

“Let’s put him in the butterfly bucket and get a closer look,” Mimi said.

Mimi opened the clear plastic lid of the butterfly bucket and held the net over the top. The butterfly dropped down into the bucket and Mimi plopped the lid back on.

“Look, Jay Bird,” Mimi said. “You can see the blue butterfly through the top. It’s a magnifying glass, so he looks bigger than real life.”

“Magnifying glass?” Jay said, and looked inside the bucket.

The butterfly gripped the side of the bucket with its legs. It had two blue wings with black spots and black lines on them. It had two eyes and two long sticks, antennae, coming out of its head. It opened and closed its wings very slowly. Jay looked up at Mimi and smiled.

“Big blue butterfly.” Jay said. “I caught him!”

“Yes,” Mimi said. “You caught him. “But now it’s time to let him go. He needs to go back to his sunflower and eat his supper.”

“Eat supper, right,” Jay said.

Mimi smiled and opened the bucket’s lid. The butterfly hesitated, then fluttered out of the bucket and back toward the ring of flowers.

“Bye bye, butterfly!” Jay said. “I eat supper, too?”

“Yes, it’s supper time for Jay Birds, too,” Mimi said.

They climbed the steps and went back inside to tell Mommy, Daddy and Granddaddy all about the big blue butterfly who lived in Mimi’s garden.

A Good Start To The 'Debates'

Mama Bird and I took in most of the Rick Warren question and answer sessions with Barack Obama and John McCain. We concluded that the format was superb. It allowed both candidates to take center stage without the annoying red lights and interruptions from the Wolf Blitzers of the pundit world.

Obama? Smooth, thoughtful, considered in his responses. McCain? Decisive and surprisingly poignant.

A couple of things stood out, and both came during the McCain hour. First, I hadn't heard that a $7,000 tax credit for each child was a part of his platform. That's huge. Possibly even mind-changingly huge. He might not know much about the economy, and his archaic stances on most social issues are either pandering to his Republican base or an alarming display of just how out of touch he is with what's actually happening in U.S. society.

But that $14,000 Mama Bird and I would receive (assuming it passed through Congress) would be ... well, huge. It would go a long way toward paying daycare expenses, something the current $2,500 credit barely effects.

The other thing was McCain's story about a Vietnamese prison guard loosening torture ropes on McCain's body, then, at Christmas, using a foot to draw a cross in the dirt in front of McCain during a rare moment outdoors. I'm not a Christian, but that story was a stirring example of two human beings connecting in even an outrageously inhuman circumstance.

Still, though, McCain got me going when he started talking about irresponsible government spending over the past eight years. The most irresponsible expense we as a nation bear at the moment is the Iraq war. He supports it, therefore he supports spending billions of dollars a week in that enterprise. Bottom line? An extra $9,000 in tax savings would be nice, but the Bird and the Mouse would be much better served in the long run by not having to foot the bill for today's political mistakes. Like Iraq.

Oh, and the big number for the evening was 14. That was how many times I counted McCain using his favorite rhetorical crutch: "My friends ..."

One Month Ago Today ...

Everything changed. I am now a man of leisure, thanks to the incompetence of the caretakers of the venerable industry that once produced and inspired men like William Randolph Hearst and women like Katherine Graham.

Newspapers aren't dying. They're dead. Everything that's happening now is decomposition.

And thank God for that, right? If not for the self-destruction of the newspaper industry, what an author (to paraphrase Nero, of all people), the world would have lost in me.

That's right. It's time. If Ace Atkins and Tim Dorsey can do it, so can I.

So, if you ever knew me or are related to me or ran across me even for a moment over the past 39 years, watch out. You're fair game. Who knows? I might make you immortal in prose. Doug Fernandes? I'm pointing right at you.

That goes especially for you, Sebring. See? I knew those two years of purgatory would some day pay off. What a gold mine that town will be as I explore the boundaries (self-imposed?) of what I have always (rather arrogantly) believed to be a prodigious artistic talent.

Here we go. Let the rejections begin!

Former Sportswriter

(Note: This was the final entry for my previous blog, Future Former Sportswriter. I now begin the exciting post-journalism phase of my career with a whole new blog, Hallucinogenic Toreador, named for a Salvador Dali painting that was created the year I was born. It also was the name of my column when I wrote for the USF student daily, the Oracle.)

I was laid off on Monday, 12 days after "surviving" Black Wednesday. My friend Scott Carter was laid off that day. I sat by my phone all that day, waiting for the call. Every time it rang, my heart leaped into my throat. By about 3:30, Mama Bird and I figured we were safe.

It was the second day at home for the new Little Mouse in the family. He's 100 percent healthy after a mind-numbing, eight-day stay in the NICU at University Community Hospital. Jaundice complications, breathing issues, etc. He was by far the biggest and healthiest baby in the NICU, which is packed with tiny, tiny preemies. He and big brother Bird are unbelievable. Mama Bird is good, too.

Me? I'm out of a job for the first time since 1984 and out of newspapers for the first time since 1986.

I've just gone over the entries I wrote a couple of months ago. They were, I think, right on the money. Except for this: After "surviving" Black Wednesday, they called me as I was on my way to work after a two-week absence (baby stuff) on Monday morning. I didn't even get out of my neighborhood before the cell phone rang. It was an assistant managing editor informing me that I needed to meet him and the managing editor in HR at 11 a.m. I said, "I'll be derned, I thought they were done with all that." He said something to the effect of, "No, we wanted to wait until your baby was out of the hospital." What he meant to say, of course, was that they didn't want it said of them that they laid off a long-time employee of good standing while his second child was in the NICU at University Community Hospital.

So, off I went after my swift kick in the gut. But first, a quick U-turn for home to break the news to Mama Bird. Heartbreak.

All that survivor's guilt I was feeling about Scott getting the ax? Now, it's empathy. The difference is, at least I had a plan (however far-fetched) before I thought I was in the clear. So, we reverted back to the plan in order to help absorb the shock.

That's still happening, by the way. Absorbing the shock, I mean. I'm typing on my brand-new laptop, a necessary new element to the plan; nothing like spending $1,000 at Best Buy to create a little peace of mind.

Anyway, the name of this blog obviously no longer applies. I'll figure something out about that later. Meanwhile, I need to get going on my unemployment application. Maybe if Scott and I pool our resources, we'll be able to afford tickets to a Rays game some weekend.