He Knew He Was Right

I saw this sign today. It kind of made me chuckle, and kind of made me think back to my Rapture post a few weeks back. I immediately Tweeted my picture of it, and then, when looking at it on Twitter, noticed the "share on your web page" button, and thought, why not? (I also wanted to test the functionality of that button...) Anyway, I had a few pints here, a nice Irish pub right by the Poughkeepsie train station, where an old friend from school and I had decided to meet. He was completing a 110-mile bike ride. I was running some errands, and then wandered over here, and shook hands with my old friend.

I had something of a Seinfeldian streak of vomit-free years going that was ruined in October 2004. The cause? Well, there was a great little fish store near my apartment in Westbury, and, during this period, I had developed a taste for clams, usually broiling them, but always dousing them in lemon juice or tabasco sauce. Good stuff. But it only takes one bad clam... During that same month, the Yankees had jumped out to a three-game lead in the ALCS. With eight innings of Game 4 in the books, the good guys were a Mo save from the World Series. But it only takes one bad inning... The blown save was followed by a Red Sox win in Game 5. I honestly don't know if it was nerves or the clams, but I hurled before Game 6. More than once, I believe. An off-site meeting was on the docket for the next day. I remember getting sick in the office before leaving for the meeting, but I toughed it out and went, though I didn't mask my condition well: I was told that I looked greener than ...

Found this in my "Drafts" folder, an expansion of a suddenly not-so-recent FB comment... When the time of The Rapture came and went, social media sites were loaded with comments, tweets, etc, including one by yours truly. I played it from the perspective of one who was taken, as unlikely as that may seem to some. In response to a comment asking what it was like, I offered some thoughts, silly and perhaps hopeful. Here, I expand on that. Where do I begin? The skiing consists of constant perfect bluebird powder days, with no lift lines, wind holds, and especially no snowboarders. Each day starts with a fat breakfast, followed by an easy trip to the slopes--it's ski-in/ski-out, of course. A pint or two at apres sk i is followed by a requisite soak in the hot tub. Hey, even up here, muscles get achy after a proper day of skiing. A nice dinner and then a few more pints round out the day. In golf, I haven’t missed a fairway yet, nor a green in regulation, and suddenly m...