Give the practical birthday gift

When it comes to my kids' birthdays, I really enjoy the idea of having a celebration and buying gifts. In fact in their younger years (and I still have one in that range) there are typically more than one opportunity for a party and, of course, getting gifts. There's the "family" celebration... consisting of mom, dad, and the siblings enjoying a nice dinner, followed by a cake, that song, and the presentation of a few gifts. Then there is the "friends" celebration, consisting of a well-orchestrated party, usually at a venue designed for them to enjoy games and festivities followed, of course, by cake, that song… again, and more gifts. It’s the kind of things childhood memories are made of.

However, when it comes to adult birthdays, I tend to be far less enthused about all the pomp and circumstance of the celebration and my choice of gifts transition from the “wants” of childhood to the more practical “needs” of adulthood. So where is all this going?

I was recently in a discussion with a friend of mine and I asked what his plans were for the weekend. “I’m going to Chicago.” My friend travels quite a bit for work so it was my assumption this was another one of those trips… long on work, short on fun. After further inquiry I learned he was taking his significant other (read: live together but still too nervous to actually get married) to Chicago to celebrate her birthday. I know it’s a violation of the unwritten gift-discussion protocol, but I had to know… so I asked: “How much is that costing you?” He explained he got a really good deal on a package that included airfare, hotel, meal vouchers, show tickets and a couple of gift cards… $600. They’re DINKs (Dual Income No Kids) so money’s not an issue for them. But still…

The instant I heard this panic set in. My mind started to scheme a way to keep my wife from finding out there are guys out there who would spend this kind of money, and maybe even more importantly, give up an entire weekend, just for a birthday. What excuse could I offer to her for this completely irrational behavior? How could I get her to understand that practical, reasonably priced gifts, like the $39 pancake griddle I bought here last year from Target was MUCH better than that gift my friend had given.

I know, I would just be honest and share my logic with her. In guy world, the measure of love when it comes to gift giving is practicality. The more the gift fills a “need” instead of a “want” the greater the display of love and devotion. It might work. We have four kids. My wife makes breakfast for us every Sunday morning… a tradition she started many years ago. About two months before her birthday the pancake griddle broke, leaving her to deal with the arduous task of cooking pancakes for six in fry pans. This doubled the time it took her to cook breakfast and, quite honestly, the pancakes just didn’t taste as good (which led to the withholding of accolades from the family units about how good breakfast tasted). I could see the angst on her face every Sunday. It was painful to see each time I came into the kitchen to refill my coffee mug. The gift of a pancake griddle would surely score a victory on so many levels. Mom=happier. Kids=happier. Dad=Hero. See, it was an easy decision.

To instill my ethic of practical gift buying, I took the kids with me to Target to pick out this culinary device of family pleasure. As we perused the selection, they locked in on the Black & Decker Family Sized Griddle. It was entirely too large for the counter space we have to work with (read: too expensive). If I was going to be that extravigant, I'd might as well just take her on a trip to Chicago! I tried to convince the kids that the Kitchen Selectives electric griddle would suffice and would be a much more practical purchase (read: cheaper). I told them it was much more in-line with what mom would like. Debate ensued. They argued “but the larger model has a warming tray underneath to keep the pancakes hot until they are ready to be eaten. Did the old griddle have that feature? No. Did the kids ever complain about eating cold pancakes? No. Conclusion: Unnecessary feature (and expense). In the end, I lost out and mom got the $39 pancake griddle for her birthday. Now, every Sunday morning, I see her face beaming with confidence and joy as she cooks breakfast for her loving brood. She would have never been able to draw this kind of perpetual bliss from some dumb old trip to Chicago.

Hammer time.

I was recently in the airport on my way to Baltimore. I was dropped off about an hour in advance, which is a little tighter than I usually like to run things, but it just started out to be one of those days. It was a Wednesday and at that hour of the morning I did not think the airport would be all that busy. Boy, was I wrong. The cars trying to maneuver in to drop people off were all jockeying for the best position. I don't get this... the person they are going to drop off is probably going to walk a half mile once they get inside the airport terminal. So stop inching your way in for the curbside spot. Just stop the car and get 'em unloaded for crying out loud.

Carol doesn't vie for a position. She wheels up, stops, and I have about thirty seconds to unload, hug, say goodbye, and she's on her way. Very efficient... as it should be. The curbside baggage handler station was lined 10 deep. Where did all these people come from? The line for the security check point was a hundred deep and moving at a pace that allowed me to believe TSA was not prepared for this rush of travelers either. Don't these people know we're in a recession? Shouldn't they be home, curled up in the fetal position, worried about their 401k's and job security?

The time was ticking away on the large clock, prominently displayed over the security check point. I kept looking at the time on my cell phone, as if it were going to be different than the time on the wall clock. It wasn't. I was going to be late. Maybe even miss my flight. I could hear the TSA agents barking the usual orders "Remove all liquids and gels from your carry-on and put them in a one quart clear plastic bag." "Remove your shoes." "Remove your coat." "Take your laptop out of the case." My God... have these people never traveled before? It was then I realized there should be two lines. One for those who know how to get through a security check point, and one for those who think those warnings about the liquids and gels somehow don't apply to them.

I finally got up for enough to get my stuff on the roller table in preparation for the X-ray. I felt some relief. I was almost there. Only fifty minutes to my boarding time and the walk to my gate would take ten. It was going to work out after all. Then... the X-ray machine ground to a halt. I heard the screener say the lone word I did not want to hear... "Supervisor." Actually, she had to say it three times before she got one's attention. The supervisor approached and the screener pointed to something on the screen and they talked in a low voice. It was the bag ahead of mine that was causing concern... but nonetheless, the X-ray machine was not putting my bags through.

I passed through the personal X-ray scanner and waiting patiently. The TSA agent and her supervisor were still having a pow-wow. Then she turned the screen in our direction and said to the guy in front of me... "Sir, are these hammers inside this suitcase?" He replied "Yes." The TSA agent said "You can't take hammers on the airplane." The guy became angry and started arguing with the TSA agent, as if she was someone going to, on the spot, make an exception to the TSA's prohibited items list. All the while, I could hear the voice of Bill Engvall saying "Here's your sign." Come on... hammers!?! Three of them to be exact. Just Taser the dude, drag his carcass out of the way and get that X-ray belt rolling again, I have a plane to catch.

I made my plane... barely. When I got to my destination hotel, I was emptying out my suitcase and came along a stash of lotions, conditioners, and shampoos... like six bottles of the stuff... that my wife had absconded from the Embassy Suites on our trip to Oklahoma City the previous week. Thankfully, the TSA agents were hammering out bigger problems and my bag sailed right through.

You can't cheat death... but you can profit from it.

Funny the things you stumble upon when you're doing Internet-based research. Some of it is valuable... some of it is disturbing.

I never had this problem when I was a kid. If I needed to know something about the White House, I went to the library and plopped down at a table with the Encyclopedia Britannica. That was so 1970's. Now, just about anything you want to know is just a few key strokes away on Google.

Take, for example, the research I was conducting recently on mortality rates in the airline industry. The first page of the search results contained everything I needed to know. But, just out of morbid curiosity (pardon my pun), I went to the second page of the search results. I now wish I hadn't done that.

There I found a site called You Bet Their Life. It is a site dedicated to a game that "provides cold, hard cash for cold, hard stiffs." I envisioned that you actually bet on which month of the year that someone is going to die... sort of like a horse race. "I'll bet $2 on Aunt Edna in the seventh." If she wins (or loses... depending on your perspective), then someone stands to make some moolah.

Imagine if there was a link to another page for tips on how to improve your chances of your "prospect" winning. (It took me a long time to come up with the word "prospect." I could not think of a really good term to use for that person whose death you are gambling on). Since you are prospecting on their death... I guess that makes them a "prospect."

Ok... the list for how to improve your prospect's chances of dying... and thus, you winning.

1. Serve them bacon three meals a day.

2. Ask them to help you re-create how Benjamin Franklin discovered electricity.

3. Tell them raw hamburger is the new sushi.

4. Offer to take them on vacation with you... help them get on the airplane... then you get IN the airplane.

5. Take them to Spain for the running of the bulls and when it's ready to start, ask them to go across the street and buy you a Latte.

(Want to add to the list? Post your suggestion in the comment box at the end of this rant.)

It may seem cold and calculated to bet on someone's death, but from a purely financial perspective, it makes better business sense than playing the lottery. The chances of winning the PowerBall jackpot is 1 in 195 million. The chances that someone will die is 1 in 1 (a guaranteed payoff). If you have a life insurance policy on yourself, you're already playing the game (you sicko!) Unfortunately, winning that game means you're on the shuttle bus to the marble orchard.

The dog days of summer

I found my life's mission... on a bumper sticker. That sounds like the making of a good country song. If I were talented enough to write lyrics, I'm sure it would be a hit. Sounds like a good song for Toby Keith to sing. He's always doing those songs with quirky names... Beer for my horses... Who's your daddy?... I wanna talk about me. I'm not knocking him. I like his music. He'd be the perfect crooner for my song.

About the bumper sticker. It read: I want to be the person my dog thinks I am. After I read it, I spent the next several miles of my journey thinking about how unconditional the love of a dog is. Only a dog is like that. Cats are not like that. Cats have attitude. Cats only seem to be happy to see you when you're standing at the can opener and the blades are grinding open a can of Little Friskies. It is only then that a cat nuzzles up against your shins as if to say 'I love you so much.' Let the cat finish its bowl of jellied delight... and you're back to being a nobody.

A dog on the other hand, always loves you. A dog never judges. A dog never gets angry at you if you're gone all day. A dog is always happy to see you... tail wagging bliss. You don't get that kind of reaction from a hamster, a hermit crab or a gold fish.

Have you ever seen that movie called Like Father Like Son, starring Dudley Moore and Kirk Cameron. The plot of the movie is that some strange potion causes the father and son to switch places and they live for a while in each other's bodies.

Imagine if you scored some of that potion and could switch the bodies of your teenage son and your dog. When you arrived home after a long day of work, your son would be at the front door... overjoyed to see you... giving you all his love and attention... as your dog sat on the couch... Ipod buds in his ears... texting on his Iphone.

How to impress a client

I was thumbing through my August issue of Entrepreneur magazine when I came across an ad that made me think: How desperate do you have to be if you would actually use this product?

Here’s what the ad said:

“Want to impress a new client? No problem. Steal the Time can help you pretend to be ridiculously rich and successful. Pay a monthly or yearly membership fee and you’re all set to lease luxury timepieces for a fraction of their retail cost.”

I went to the website to see if this was legit. It appears it is. I could rent a Girard-Perregaux Le Chaux-De-Fonds for a mere $279 per week or $820 per month. I paused to imagine how impressed my new client would be when I showed up for my appointment wearing this handsome timepiece and my Wal-Mart suit.

Wait… I couldn’t wear a suit. Suits have long sleeves and if I were going to spend that kind of dinero on a watch… excuse me… timepiece... then I would want to make sure my client would be able to see me sporting it. So my plan is I’ll rent this sucker and then wear it with a short sleeve shirt and tie. I can only imagine how impressive I would look. I’ll be sure when I’m talking to my client that I point to my watch and announce the time like a town crier. Surely my client will notice… and surely they will be duly impressed.

I’ve got it all figured it. I just hope they don’t ask me to pronounce the name of the “timepiece” for I will then surely show I am a product of West Virginia public skoolin.’

Common courtesy has died, R.I.P.

When I got my first "real" job as a management trainee at Bank One, I had a great boss who taught me so much about customer service. One of the lessons had to do with being responsive to customer inquiries and requests, be that an internal customer (employee) or an external customer. She taught me that I should return phone messages within 24 hours, 48 hours at the latest. She would explain: "When people call, they have a question that needs answered or a problem that needs to be solved. You want to be known as the 'go-to' person for answers. It will increase your value to the organization and earn you respect."

That lesson has always stuck with me. I have extended that rule to e-mails as well (e-mail did not exist back in the day of my first real job). When people send you an e-mail or leave you a voice message... reply or return the call. It's not a hard concept. Even if you don't know the answer, reply and tell them you don't know the answer but you'll look into it and commit to a date/time when they should hear back from you.

I recall a time when I submitted a request to my boss to do something... not once... but twice. He never extended the courtesy to even acknowledge the receipt of the request, much less give me an answer. After a lengthy waiting period, I implemented the plan I had submitted to him. When he learned I had taken action without his approval he became angry and I got into trouble. I explained that I had submitted several requests to him. He acknowledged recieving each of them and told me that by not replying, that was his way of telling me "no" to my request. I thought to myself... "You have got to be kidding me?!" To ignore me is to say no? That may be among the poorest examples of communications and leadership I had witnessed. I learned a lot about him that day. I never trusted him again and eventually I left the company because I could not work for a person I did not trust or respect.

Extend some common courtesy. If someone contacts you and requests the answer to a question, an approval to take some action, or a request for help. Reply! It's not that hard to do. It will increase your value and earn you respect.

If you had the good fortune to win a good fortune

Who among us hasn't dreamed about winning that massive PowerBall lottery and having our picture and name printed on the front page of the PowerBall website and in our local newspaper?

You would be the envy of your friends and neighbors... friends soon to be lost... and neighbors soon to be gone. For surely if you were to win millions of dollars you could afford better friends and a house in a nicer neighborhood. Life would be complete with all the luxuries... new cars... a boat or two... a country club membership... vacations on a whim. Ah yes, life would be good.

Would it? To say life would be so much better is to say that your current life is really that bad. Is it? Sure some things could be better in every person's life, but is it so bad that you would be willing to throw it all away and start over. If you were to be 'blessed' with the good fortune to win a good fortune, your life would change significantly and not necessarily for the better.

How do you think your friends would feel about you becoming an instant gazillionaire? Think they would be happy or jealous? As you tell them about your new house, your new car, your new boat (or two), and your vacations on a whim do you think they are going to be happy or jealous?

I had a friend once tell me that if he won the PowerBall the first thing he would do is share his winnings with all his closest friends. Besides wondering if I had treated him well enough to be on that list, I was also curious as to why he would be so generous. His explanation made a lot of sense. He believed that if he won the lottery he would find himself alienated and isolated from his friends because he would now have money to buy anything he wanted and do anything he wanted (like golf every day). But his poor friends (literal use of the word poor) would have to still drag themselves out of bed and schlep off to work every day, leaving the rich guy all alone. If his friends were equally as wealthy, they'd be in a position to quit their jobs and do fun things together. Once he explained it, it made sense. I now treat him much better... and remind him twice a week to buy his lottery tickets.

I buy lottery tickets once in a while but I'm not very good at remembering to do so. Once, when I was about 19 years old I dreamed I won the lottery. When I woke up I remembered the numbers and wrote them down. I played the lottery with religious conviction for about a year. When I didn't win, I started losing interest and my money seemed to be needed for more important things. Then, one evening I was watching the news and they flashed the winning lottery numbers on the screen. Five of the six numbers were my dream numbers. But I hadn't played them. It was a $100,000 mistake. I remember thinking at the time about all the things I could have done with that kind of money... a car... beer... a vacation... a HUGE party for my friends. If I were to come into that kind of money today (30 years later) the list would surely be different... paying off debt... kids' college education... saving for retirement... and donations to charity would be on the list now.

When people think about what they would do with lottery winnings, their minds go to the most pleasant of places. This is natural, I guess. I have done the same. However, there is that dark side of wealth too. The 'money is the root of all evil' point of view. The 'money can't buy you happiness' perspective. It is true that new found wealth can, in many cases, create many problems, especially if the recipient is immature or bored.

Statistically speaking, you're more likely to get struck by lightening than to win the lottery. So in that regard, you should not worry about how winning millions of dollars will change your life.

Sure... think about it once in a while... then get back to enjoying the life you already have and be thankful you're not burdened with all the problems that excessive money brings.

http://www.richgasaway.com/
http://www.fireleadership.blogspot.com/
RBG3100@aol.com

For a relative who has everything... give them a miracle gadget.

If you are like me, you have at least one relative that when it comes time to buy a birthday or Christmas present you just dread the mere thought of it because they truly-without exaggeration-have everything. Whether it is because they have lived long enough to acquire all of life’s necessities, have amassed enough personal wealth that they want for nothing or because they live a simple life devoid of frills and luxuries that many others would term necessities… there’s just nothing they need.

I was standing in a gas station convenience mart recently in Oklahoma waiting for my youngest to take care of some business (of the #2 variety). I was meandering up and down the aisles checking out the usual fare… corn nuts, Twinkies, Skittles and… what’s this? No way!

I cannot believe my eyes. Finally! The gift I have been searching for; a gift for the person who has everything. God works in mysterious ways. When you are in a position to be least expecting of a miracle… one is bestowed upon you. This gift was, indeed, a gift that had to come from heaven for no mere mortal could have mustered the intelligence, the creativity, the sheer brilliance required to invent such a device.

This was the kind of rare find that you come across once in a lifetime. I instantly thought I have to have this… In fact, I want a dozen of them. I’ll send them to all my friends. I’ll become an instant hit… and hero. Maybe I’ll even tell them I invented it. No, that would be sacrilegious. The credit would have to go to God for this one.

Unfortunately, there was only one. I could understand why. Surely they sell out of them as quickly as they are stocked, for who could be without one? As I approached the register with my prize find, guilt overwhelmed me. What was I doing? How could I buy this and deny the privilege of its ownership to someone truly much needier than my relative who already has everything. So I put it back on the shelf… but not before I took a picture of it first for I knew that no one… not even my most loving family nor my most loyal friends would believe I ever came across this miraculous creation.

If you must have one, you’ll have to search it out on your own. I have taken an oath of silence that I will never reveal where it was enshrined.

(Scroll down to the next post to see the picture.)

The miracle gadget... found in an Oklahoma gas mart.

Yes, it's a gun egg fryer. Put the metal jig in the frying pan and pour the raw egg into the mold. When it is done cooking, you have a .45 caliber breakfast ready to eat. The back of the package says it can also be used for pancakes (good cross marketing idea). Make one of your kids gun shaped eggs... the other kid gun shaped pancakes... and they can have a shoot-out at the breakfast table. Ok... maybe not.

Hang up the phone and drive!

Just hang up the phone and drive! Yes, you live a busy life in a very busy world. You're rushing here and rushing there... Jimmy to baseball practice... Susie to gymnastics... and Joey to the scout meeting. There's dinner to cook, laundry to be done, the house to be cleaned, the yard to be mowed, the garage to be cleaned out, the vacation to plan and those phone calls that need to be made to coordinate the hundred other things you have straining your time. So you learn to multitask. There's only one problem. Multitasking while you are driving a vehicle is very dangerous... even if you think you're good at it.

There aren't many aspects of my life where I could say, with confidence, that I possess expert knowledge. However, if there is one field I feel I have studied extensively it's situation awareness and making decisions under stressful conditions. I've spoken on the topic a few times (even won an international research award) and written about it a few times. I even have written a book and made a video on the topic. Ok... I hope you're convinced I know a little about it.

The human brain is a wonderful creation. It has been estimated that an average person's brain has more capacity than any computer yet invented. Your brain, much like a computer, has two types of memory, the memory that stores the things you are currently working on. In a computer that's called RAM. In your brain that's called short-term or working memory. There is also a second memory for things you don't need to use right away so they're stored away for safe keeping. In a computer that location is called the hard drive. In your brain it's called your long-term memory.

Your short term memory has a limited capacity while your long term memory is much more expansive. The challenge comes when you are doing multiple things that require the use of your short term memory... like driving a car and talking on your cell phone. Back to the computer example. If you try to run two programs at the same time and their collective needs exceed the capacity of your computer's short term memory, you're going to see some undesirable things happen, like stuttering visuals or audios or the computer freezing up completely. You don't see this so much these days with modern computers that have multiple processors (two brains). But in the days of old when software was being developed faster than people were buying new computers to keep up with it, freezing and stuttering were common.

As you drive a car, your brain receives messages that are processed using the short term memory. There are visual cues like stop lights and other calls. There are sounds like your motor, other cars, and sirens. You physically feel things happening, like when the car speeds up or slows down or makes a turn. There are smells, like burning oil or overheated breaks. There is the sixth sense, intuition, that gives you certain feelings about things that may happen, like your ability to predict when someone is going to cut in front of you before they even start to and you just know it's going to happen. All of these things consume working memory.

As you talk on your telephone, your brain receives messages that are also processed using your short term memory. Your brain processes the things that are talked about and forms mental images of your conversations. You think about what is being said to you and what you are going to say in return. Your emotions are stirred by what is said. All of these things also consumes your working memory.

It doesn't take long for you to be overloaded or for your brain to give priority to the telephone conversation and your driving goes on 'autopilot.' The good thing about your brain is it remembers its lessons well and can draw on information quickly from the long-term memory when needed. Red light... brain tells you to stop... even if you're not consciously thinking about it. That's a good thing.

The problem is when you're talking on your phone you may not be capturing the cues and clues necessary for your brain to know 'automatically' what to do. Your brain cannot know, for example, the light is red if you're not looking in that direction.

The problem gets even worse in newer drivers because they have not developed their expertise at driving to those automatic responses that adults can develop with experience are missing. Even when they are paying attention, novice drivers are not as perceptive at capturing the subtle cues and clues. The things they are supposed to be looking for are not obvious and they don't know how to look seek that information yet. Or they may find it, but not know what it means.

I like to play a game with my teenager where I predict what other drivers are going to do before they even do it... a lane change... turning without a signal... a nose pick. It can be a fun game. My kids think my clairvoyant. I'm not... I'm just perceptive. I see things they don't. My intuition is well-developed and I can sense things that are going to happen. In Star Wars terms... I use the force.

Talking on your cell phone as you drive can be as dangerous as drinking while you drive. Both dull your senses in their own unique way. You've seen people driving like they're drunk... all over the road. And then you see they're not drunk, they're just talking on their cell phones.

Fortunately, most people know it's dangerous to drink and drive. Unfortunately, there are an estimated 1oo million people to talk on their cell phones while they drive... and we have the accident statistics that demonstrates the consequences too. So... hang up the phone and drive.

How to enjoy a baseball game...

I went to the Minnesota Twins game yesterday with my three sons. We had a great time. However, if there's one thing I don't like about attending professional sporting events it's the cost of food and beverages. Cha-Ching!

So I asked the kids to eat at home before we went. This way we would not have to eat expensive (not to mention not-so-healthy) ballpark food. Everyone had a full meal and off to the game we went. It seemed like a sensible plan.

As we entered the Metrodome I could smell the sweet aroma of Dome Dogs and popcorn in the air. For those who may not know, the Metrodome is an indoor facility. Some would say because of that it's not a 'real' baseball stadium. I agree, but that's a topic for another day. An indoor stadium is great when the weather is bad. On the downside, those aromatic fragrances of ballpark culinary delights are mercilessly distributed throughout the entire building through the air handling system. It's cruel I tell you... just cruel.

I am proud to report all four of us resisted caving in to the sweet smelling assault-which is saying a lot. My stomach was growling like a rabid wolverine eyeing up fresh road kill.

Once we got to our seats... out into the area of the park that is open and expansive... the smells diminished and our senses were now consumed by all the things going on around us. The players warming up on the field... the mascot (TC) doing antics on a four-wheeler... the JumboTron TV showing baseball bloopers... an educational promo for ALS research (the disease that killed Lou Gehrig and now bears his name)... the ceremonial first pitch... the National Anthem... and "PLAY BALL!" Game on. We had been successfully distracted.

Then... WHAM! without any warning at all...

"Beer here! Get your beer here! Ice cold beer here!"

"Peanuts, popcorn, cracker jacks! They're a baseball tradition."

"Snow cones! Get your kids an tasty snow cone."

"Dome Dogs! Can't enjoy a baseball game without a Dome Dog!"

My mind started to play tricks on me. I wondered... was the beer REALLY that cold? Cracker Jacks. I remember having cracker jacks at Forbes Field in Pittsburgh when I was a kid. I bet my kids would enjoy a tasty snow cone and I would become an instant hero for buying them one. It is true... a Dome Dog would make watching the baseball game more enjoyable.

WAIT!!!!

What was I thinking? A Dome Dog would make the game more enjoyable? They are ground pig lips and knuckles-and other things we do not speak of-pressed into a sausage casing and packed with so many preservatives that you can, quite literally, eat them right out of the package with no concern for consequences.

I had successfully talked myself off the ledge. After all, we had just eaten a complete meal before we came. No one, including me, was hungry. And then came the most dreaded words a parent can hear: "Dad, can I have..." In this case, it was cotton candy.

"How much?" I asked. I don't really know why I asked the question. Reflex I guess, because I had every intention of buying it. I guess I just needed to know if a $5 bill was going to cover it or if I would have to part with a $10 bill. "Four dollars" came the response.

For a fleeting moment I thought to myself. "Four dollar! That's an outrage. You can't be looking at any more than $.25 worth of product and another $.03 for the plastic bag it's wrapped in. It doesn't even come on a paper stick for goodness sakes!" I didn't say a word. I just passed the $5 bill down the row to the vendor and back came one bag of blue spun sugar and a wrinkled dollar bill. The kids were quick to hand me the dollar... but not so quick to do the same with the spun sugar. I had to actually ASK to have some.

Ok, we've got that out of our system. Let's watch some baseball.

Quickly I came to learn that buying the cotton candy would be a HUGE mistake. It revealed my vulnerable under belly-the side of me that my kids are so perceptively able to see and exploit. Dad was willing to open up his wallet and let go of a few of his musty bills.

I swear the vendors must have some sort of secret hand gestures they use, like the ones third base coaches use when they are trying to tell the batter how to hit the ball. Only in this case, the vendor signals to let the other vendors know there is a vulnerable dad in the crowd. There had to be signals. Every one of those vendors were barking their sales pitches directly to my kids, making eye contact and smiling. It was a disgusting display of salesmanship. I thought to myself, "I bet all of you sell used cars when you're not at the ballpark."

Next up... sunflower seeds. "How much?" Just $3 for a bag. Not bad. I like sunflower seeds and these were 'Jumbo' sunflower seeds-definitely a bargain. This one was not a hard sale. Down the aisle went more of my hard-earned money and back came the bag of seeds. The seeds may have been Jumbo, but the bag sure wasn't. We each got a couple of handfuls.

Ok, we got that out of our system... Let's watch some baseball.

As the sunflower seed vendor walked away, my suspicions were confirmed. I watched him run his right hand down his left sleeve. He pulled on his right ear. Then he put his left hand on the top of his head and finally he reached down and scratched his right knee. To the untrained eye, someone might have thought he was swatting a fly or he had an itch. I knew better. It was a signal. It was definitely a signal!

When the dust settled on the afternoon, we had bought cotton candy, sunflower seeds, soda pop (several times), ice cream, snow cones, and Cracker Jacks. We even bought preserved lips and knuckles pressed into sausage casings. Oh, excuse me... Dome Dogs.

But I resisted paying $6.25 for a beer. That was an outrageous price and I refused to pay it. I now regret that decision. When I got home and did the inventory of my treasury notes, I realized I had parted with over 40 of them so the youngins would not starve at the ballpark. And I denied myself perhaps the greatest ballpark experience of all-washing down my lips and knuckles with an 'Ice Cold Beer Here.'

The Twins won, 4-3 and amongst all the eating that was going on we managed to watch some if it happen.

There's a deer on my street!

I was standing in my driveway in the middle of the day and I heard the clopity-clop of hooves that sounded like horses. As I turned to look, there was a whole herd of deer walking up the middle of the street. This is not uncommon to see in my neighborhood, but I am usually in the house looking out the window at them-not standing in the driveway just fifteen feet away.

I had to chuckle as I thought about those days when I used to deer hunt. I would spend weeks before the season started going through the woods looking for the best place to make my stand. I'd look for deer paths, rubs, and scrapes. I had religiously read all articles and advice in my monthly issue of North American Whitetail Deer Hunter magazine.

I recall one opening day. I enthusiastically woke up at some God forsaken hour of the morning to ensure I would be in the woods and arrive at my stand well before the first whisper of day light graced the horizon.

As I stood there, I employed all my senses... watching... listening... and smelling. I don't exactly know what I was supposed to be smelling but I figured that since I had to breath anyhow, I might as well try to smell something. Then I heard it coming... from a distance... the faint sound of rustling leaves. My heart was pounding. I became hyper vigilant as my eyes strained to see through the moonlight-illuminated brush. My mind played tricks on me as I thought I saw a deer moving. Did I? No, it was just a cluster of dead leaves on a branch blowing in the early morning breeze.

The rustling sound intensified, telling me this trophy buck was getting closer and closer. The seconds passed like minutes. The anticipation was excruciatingly painful. How big would he be? How many points would the rack have? Would I get a clear shot? Then he came clearly into view.

It was a squirrel. A squirrel!! Noooooo! I waited all this time in anticipation of a huge trophy buck... with visions of my kill gracing the cover of a magazine. I wasn't anticipating being confronted by a squirrel. I went from exceedingly excited to exceedingly disappointed-and ANGRY! I was duped by a forest rat. Now what? My adrenalin was dumped. I left my stand and just wandered through the woods for the rest of the day.

I never saw another deer that day. I don't know if it was because of my aimless wandering or if it was because I shot every squirrel I could lay my cross hairs on. Ok, that was a slight exaggeration. I didn't shoot EVERY squirrel I saw. I ran out of ammunition after 16. (I trapped and stabbed four more after that.)

I never went deer hunting again. The following spring I sold my entire collection of North American Whitetail Deer Hunter magazine (27 issues) in a garage sale for $2.00.

And that... officer... is why I shot this deer from my driveway.

Cabbage...Coon's Tails... and Code Brown

Cabbage and Coon's Tails... are those good things or bad things when you're fishing. I have no idea. I went fishing yesterday with my good friend and confidant, Ken Olson. In addition to being a career firefighter, Ken is also the owner of Just Add Water (JAW) Baits and he is a professional fishing guide. (http://www.jawbaits.com/ if you want to learn more.)

Anyhow, we're out on the water and I'm having a great time. It is a little overcasted, a little breezy, and a little cool. Perfect fishing weather. Ken's cell phone rings and I'm listening in on the conversation. It's kind of hard not to listen in when you're only 15' apart. He's obviously talking to another angler because he's describing where we are fishing in terms I am entirely unfamiliar with. "We came across several patches of coon's tail and there's very little cabbage in it. Huh?!? Did I miss something? Coon's tails and cabbage. To me that sounds like something a Cajun chef would cook up in a pot.

Every vocation has its lingo, a language of its own. I remember when I was a newer EMT (oops... there I go using lingo... Emergency Medical Technician for you lay readers) and we were at the station when another crew came back from an emergency call. A member of that crew told us their patient was a "Code Brown." I had studied hard to become an EMT. Code Brown. Code Brown. I don't remember what a Code Brown is. I remember Code Blue and Code Red. I'm drawing a blank here. No Code Brown.

So after the other crew left, I quietly approached my partner and asked sheepishly and with some embarrassment "What is a Code Brown and what should I do if I have a patient who is experiencing a Code Brown?"

My partner told me to get a pen and paper to write it down so I would not forget what he was about to tell me. Fortunately for me, I was always prepared and had both a pen and a note pad in the shirt pocket of my uniform. "Go! Ready!" I said enthusiastically.

He leaned toward me and in a soft, reassuring voice said "Code Brown means the patient pooped their pants. If you have a patient with that condition, turn the vent fan on high, roll down all the windows, and drive fast to the hospital."