The bigger the tree, the better the Christmas

Glen,

Thank you again for your help with our Christmas tree issue.  Attached is a video and two pictures which we hope will prove to others that a bigger tree does not always make a better Christmas.  This is especially true when the tree is not for your own house, but for your parents house as an unexpected gift. As you said, "our heart was in the right place", but unfortunately our measurements were off.

As children, my brothers and I always wanted to get the biggest tree on the lot.  Last week we saw an opportunity, and took it.

After tightly wrapping the 15 footer and shoving it through the door, we navigated it down the hall and stood this beast up in the corner of their living room.  We then cut the ropes and watched the branches slam down in all directions.

It was at this point that we realized we were now guests in this trees room.  When my father saw it his only words were "Get this out before your Mother gets home".

It was like trying to adopt a wild animal... it just belonged outside. There was nothing comfortable or cozy about having the forest in the living room no matter how much I tried to convince everyone we can house break it.

My heart and wallet both cried as we came to the inevitable realization that this tree needed to be returned to the wild.  Unfortunately the tree did not agree, so we had to negotiate with it the old fashioned way.

Thank you again for your understanding and help through this life lesson.  Unfortunately our little girls are too young to learn from our mistakes, so please keep this story handy if you see them show up without us one day saying "the bigger the tree, the better the Christmas".

You will see us around often with our little girls, and we will be sure to say HI.

Please use the pictures and video as you wish.

Merry Christmas.

My Grandpa Rocky

About 70 years ago a stork dropped off a terrific baby boy.

At the age of 1 he mumbled his first word..."Fugetaboutit".

At age 2 he surprised his parents when he paid cash for his first custom tailored white on white suit.

At age 8 he was running the tri-state bachi and softball tournaments, and prided himself on knowing every Italian restaurant on the south shore.

Ages 10 - 22 I could tell you about, but I'd have to kill you.

When someone said "I know a guy", it was him. This was the guy who could get boxes of the coolest Christmas toys no-one could get their hands on. Casinos welcomed him with double cheek kisses. When I got married he showed up to our house with a massive box of fancy china, no explanation of how he got it, or where it came from. We ate in restaurants with no menus where you could literally order anything, and it was always perfect. He knew everyone, and they all loved him.

You are probably thinking Sopranos? Yeah, your close, but he was cooler.

About 70 years ago a stork dropped of a terrific little baby boy. There was only one name fitting for this child. You knew him as Rocky. We knew him as Grandpa.

Grandpa was the most kind person you could meet. He was the type of person who loved watching the three stooges, and would go out of his way to adopt stray kittens. The only thing larger than his personality or smile, was his heart.

He had the patience of a champion. I remember making him watch me play a computer game because I wanted to show him how "great the graphics were". 25 minutes into watching me play he finally asked "what are graphics"?

It wasn't until later in life when I truly understood how magical he made our childhood. For years Santa would visit our house by landing on the roof and jumping on the deck to wish us a Merry Christmas. It was unbelievable that every year Grandpa was in the bathroom and missed seeing him! I never got to tell him how special that was.

I wish I could give him one last hug.

Grandpa will be missed.... but forgotten? Fugetaboutit.

Older, Wiser, Fatter

Getting older, there are a few truths I have come to accept. Here is a short list:
1. The sun rises in the east
2. Teen super-stars crash in their mid 20's
3. If its not on my google calendar, its probably not happening
4. Little Asian women can't drive (im not racist.. love the Asians.. just a fact).

Beyond this list I have many others in the on-deck circle, but not fully proven yet. That was until today at 2:37pm.

For years I insisted old and fat is just lack of motivation. Eat your veggies, go to the gym, take the stairs... basics. See, I enjoy working out and this fat thing was never going to happen to me.

"5. My pants from HS would fit me forever"

It started two years ago after I got married. Walking into work, Eve greeted me at the front desk and wanted to see my ring. It was my grandfathers ring, and I insisted it remained unchanged, which Eve noticed and said - "...its a little big on you, but when you get older and fatter it will fit, so don't change it". WTF? Fatter? Does she know nothing of my life plan? She cursed me.

A few weeks later I had to get my suit altered because my feet turned blue when I buttoned it up. There is no covering up with tailors.. see.. it is their job to make you fit into your clothes when you get fat, so he came out and set it straight when I stood up on the box. "heey... you are getting fat". That night I signed up for pillates with my wife.

So here we are two years later and I'm still fighting the good fight. Eating well, working out, and getting fatter. I systematically started moving my pants that no longer fit into my car with the understanding that one day I would either drive to the tailor to get them re-fit, or bring them back upstairs when thinner days prevail.

THEN I FOUND THIS.

Enter Reality- SLAP.

If Tyson can't beat it, how the hell can anyone?

Reality list addition:
5. Older = Fatter.

*UPDATE 12/19/08
Voodootikigod was nice enough to add this little pic. Thanks.

Versace… put it on my tab.

The Versace mansion was just how I had pictured. The night was a perfect 70 degrees with a light breeze off the ocean and zero humidity. But what made this night different than all other nights? Why did we sit on pillows, drink wine, buy white shoes and party like rockstars? It was Danny’s wedding!

Walking through the front door we were immediately greeted with glasses of wine and food flown in directly from heaven. The little Cuban man on the right was making real Cuban cigars for the crowd of 300+, and the crowd loved it. Looking directly up you could see the stars, and the four floors of party people lining the stairways.

Greeting our friends and family as we made our way through, we reached the pool area where the legendary DJ SUSS serenaded us with rump shaker.

Bars lined the place, and everyone was going crazy. An hour in, and 15 drinks deep, it was time for Jon and I to explore the rest of the open mansion.

It wasn’t long before we found ourselves lost and confused somewhere in Versace’s house. Donning my glass of gin and Cuban cigar, we tried to find our way out of the maze of corridors. We followed the music, and found a room which overlooked the pool party area… it was Versace’s bedroom. This is the same place people like Madonna or Princess Dianna would stay when they were in town. OK- Now this was f’in cool. We were chilling in Versace’s room, overlooking my friend’s ridiculous party.

This was too good for me to not mess up, so we decided to get out. As we passed by the overlooking balcony I took a last wave to the party down below….. and smacked my drink into the door. The lime fell out of the glass, onto Versace’s bed, then hit the rug. “OK, no big deal” I thought as I leaned down to pick up the lime with my cigar hand; and then biggest chunk of ash fell off! In slow motion it floated down to the bed, then crashed into the floor. In a state of panic, I spastically tried to clean it up. Do I rub the ash in? Do I blow on it? Do I ask for a paper towel? I tried to rub the ash into the carpet… and made a huge skid mark…wonderful.

Normally I wouldn’t condone blowing anything in Versace’s bedroom, but every man has his price, and I am quite certain mine is about as much as this rug cost. Dropping to my knees I began to blow Versace’s rug in a hyperventilating frenzy.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the battle was lost. I ruined Versace’s room.

Luckily, our accident didn’t get any attention, so we continued our tour of the house and took pictures of some real random shit

And our partying continued as planned into the night…

We stayed out well past my bedtime, and tor up South Beach like never before. But all things to come to an end and around 4am it was time to go home. After all, this was just the pre-party for the wedding the next night at the Setai!

Ice Cream

Family trips are those times you can always look back on for good memories. I think the greatest part is no matter how bad things got, looking back everything just seams funny. This story is no exception.

We were traveling with two families who we had spent every new years with since I was born. The seven of us kids were all boys, and everywhere we went, we raised some hell. There was a great dynamic, and just the right balance of personalities to make any situation a recipe for a great time.

This summer trip we were traveling through Maine, just chilling out and walking around town. As soon as we spotted the local ice-cream store, we needed to go. The idea was met with resistance from the parental units, so we began our campaign. It started with a chant “ICE-CREAM, ICE-CREAM”. This was usually followed by one of us refusing to walk as if our legs didn’t work, and then further guerrilla tactics if need be. One way or another, the seven of us were going to get our ice-cream


Surrendering to inevitable defeat, the parents took us in. My bro and I both wanted banana splits, which was apparently way too unexciting for my Dad. My Dads defeat was not going to be as graceful as we had planned.

As the as ice-cream arrived, it hit the table we hear the word SHARE. There was only one banana split. Our victory dance came to a quick halt as this horrible parental strategy became our reality. For those who do not know, first rule of brother sharing is : The first person who gets it makes the rules. This usually includes eating while debating what the rules should be, and then releasing the rest when full. I got it first.

As I thought (and ate) my way through the meaning of sharing, FatScott began to yell. A few more scoops into it, FatScotts yelling got louder and awakened the Father’s inner pistoffness. I tactfully took one last bite and gently slide the ice-cream down to my brother before my Dad could get involved. I’m not sure who greased up the table, but that ice-cream moved a bit faster than I had planned, and landed in my brothers’ lap.

Without looking back at my Dad, I knew shit was about to go down. The table went quiet and I saw him get up out of the corner of my eye. It was on. I knew he was coming for me. The question of fight or flight was quickly answered, and off I went.

I darted straight down the main street in-between traffic on the double yellow line. There was a peer at the end of the street just far enough away to be my safe haven. About 15 seconds through my sprint-for-life, I looked back to see how the family was cleaning up. CRAP! I WAS BEING CHASED BY DAD! THIS WAS NOT IN THE PLAN! A few feet behind my Dad, my Mom! My little legs were carrying me through the last minutes of my life. Sprinting past the cars and people, everything went into slow-motion as I took in the last of my pain free existence. Remember the famous Wally World sprint? Imagine the same thing just Rusty was being chased by Clark.



I had underestimated my Dad’s land speed as he was catching up. The peer, my original targeted safe haven, was now looking more like a runway. A 15 foot jump into the ocean at its end was a sure way to lose him. He may have owned the land, but my swimming was Olympic-like.

Dad had gotten to within arms reach and I still had 20 feet to go. Mom was closing in fast behind him. I had resorted to evasive maneuvers. With Mom inbound, this could get messy… I had no idea which one of us she was backing up!



Yes! Mom was one of ours!!

Dad had chosen to not engage, and I did not have to dive into the ocean. I’m not sure how my Mom defused the situation, but it all ended as quickly as it had began.

Little did I know, this was also my 15 minutes of fame and I didn’t even get to enjoy it! Walking back to the ice-cream store everyone in town (including the traffic which pulled over to watch) slowly returned back to normal. The war was over… and so was vacation. With peace restored no words were spoken. I think it was understood that after a vacation event like this one, it was end game. We got in the car and went directly home.

I think it’s a funny story only because of how loving my Mom and Dad truly are. I owe them everything. From vacations at the beach and driving down to Florida, to building water-guns and peddle carts, every single minute together is worth.
Happy Points for years of swimming lessons at camp = +230