I was impressed, for a moment

Something strange happened the other day. As you may have guessed from my rantings, I am on the moderate-to-left of the political spectrum, depending on the issue. But through work, I had the chance to meet my (current) state's governor, who is a conservative Republican.

No, he's not the governor of the State of Confusion. Quiet back there in the Peanut Gallery.

Where was I? Oh, yes, shaking hands with the governor. (As I said to the folks on Facebook, no, that's not a euphemism.)

He was shorter than I expected, actually.

Here's the thing. No matter what I felt about him before he walked into the lobby of the building (where we had our photo op set up) and no matter what I felt about him after he went on his way (into the meeting room for his event)...
In that one moment when he strode into the room with his staffers and bodyguards...

I was impressed.

I think over on Facebook I compared it to being in a professional sports locker room for the first time.

The first time I covered the Pittsburgh Penguins, I was dazzled. Wow! There's Mario Lemieux! There's Jaromir Jagr! Ron Francis! Etc. The second time, it was like, excuse me Mario, I'll just get out of your way because I have to interview Tomas Sandstrom and I'm on deadline. It's a job and you're kind of used to it.

Right up until the moment the governor walked through the doors, I was like, "whatever." This is the guy whose budget decisions threatened my wife's job and many of her friends'. Once he was gone, it was like, well, on a professional level, glad that's over with.

But that photo op... he had an aura. I think it's the aura of the office. The governor is supposed to be a "big man," and while he certainly is barrel-chested and stocky, he's not particularly tall - when I think big, I'm thinking offensive lineman. He's really not much bigger than my best friend, who's about 6-foot, 250-something (and jealous, as he, too is a conservative Republican).

I think it's kind of a (low-rent) version of what people say about meeting the President - you salute the rank, not the man. (Though I wonder if this is still true.) I mean, this is the governor.

I thought after all I've been fortunate enough to have seen and done in my journalism career, and particularly given my political leanings and the fact that I'd worked for a couple of days with his advance team (so it was a job, not a celebration), I wouldn't have been so caught up. And frankly, by the time I shook his hand, some of the magic had gone - particularly because he seemed very nice, in contrast to his reputation.

But in the moment... huh. Nice to know I can still be impressed. Much like faith, I'll take my amazement where I can find it.

You can't take it with you... right?

During this year, as my wife has been on (mostly) unpaid maternity leave and our finances have been stretched to the max, I have often thought about the near-decade I spent in Business journalism.

One of the lessons financial experts stress to people, particularly young(ish) people, is to save as much as you can for retirement. Work hard, live frugally and put the maximum amount away.

I understand it, but that doesn't exactly mean I buy into it.

Here's the thing: The average person lives to be what, about 80-something? Now, admittedly, I'm playing the medical history crapshoot, so I guess I could live longer, or die young. But, hey.

So, I'm expected to work 46 years (from age 21 to 67), all while scrimping and saving, so I can enjoy the last 10 to 15 or so years of my life?

That makes no sense to me.

When I'm a senior citizen, my knees are shot, Emma (hopefully) has grown up, gotten a job, moved out (it's Jersey, you never know) and made us grandparents, then I'm supposed to finally enjoy life?

As much as I love Scandinavia... when my time comes, put me in my Raiders jersey and call it a day.

Not a chance. I mean, it's not like they're going to bury me in a coffin lined with $20 bills, or with all my worldly possessions, Viking-style. Like I keep telling Marisa, as long as, at the end of the day, when they sell all my stuff and pay all my bills, if I end up on the plus side, it all worked out.

Don't get me wrong. I'm saving for retirement and planning for the worst-case scenarios (I have extra life insurance!). When I finally leave the office for the last time, I don't need a gold watch or nice memo. I just want to leave vertical.

But I'm not skipping out on 40 years of family trips or buying nice things for Emma and Marisa (and yeah, me, too) for two-thirds of my life, just so I can really go wild in the last fifth or so.

A gold coffin might work for Michael Jackson, but not for me. Eh, I don't like gloves, either.

Someone once asked me how I wanted to be buried. I said, skip the suit, put me in my best Oakland Raiders jersey, forget the fancy funeral and just throw a nice party. Or maybe just cremate me, and scatter my ashes over somebody I really, really don't like. Like the Denver Broncos bench. In mid-game.

So they asked if I wanted to be buried with anything. And I said, sure: A crowbar, flashlight and shovel.

Just in case they're wrong.

But seriously, we had a choice: M could stay home with Em for a year and we could skin the bank account to the bone, or she could go back in a few months and we could carry a little less credit-card debt. Like our rabbi told us, nobody ever says, "Boy, I wish I'd gone back to work sooner so I could have spent less time at home with the kids."

A twit tweets

You may have noticed the new Twitter feed at the top of the page.

Yes, I joined Twitter.

No, I'm not yet sure why.

Maybe it's because I get several compliments on my Facebook status updates.

Maybe it's because I like to blather on about exactly what's on my mind at any given moment.

Consider it an experiment. We'll see how she runs.

A confession

I realized today that I forgot to vote yesterday in the municipal election!

I was all set to do it, and just somehow forgot.

This upsets me, because anyone who knows me or follows my blog knows how important voting is to me.

I know you could say it was just for mayor of my little home-township, but still.

My apologies. I feel like I just let one of my most important duties as an American slip away.

It's been a very busy week at work, and I have a very important appointment this week, so I have a lot on my mind. But still. Not an excuse. There were signs everywhere and I got the sample ballot and everything.

Just very upsetting.

Badmunkee.

Random Raider coincidence of the day

I posted this over at Raiderfans.net, but perhaps you'll find it interesting, too. It's celebrity and all that.

Beat writer Jerry McDonald reports a quarterback named Danny Southwick is on a tryout basis at the Raiders' current minicamp.

Just a camp arm, no doubt, a 27-year-old former AF2 quarterback who wound up at Occidental in 2007, his fourth or fifth college.

So, a few years back, the Raiders had around a camp arm named Bret Engemann, out of BYU? He was around in '03-05 in camp and on the PS, plus a couple of assignments to NFL Europe.

So here's the random coincidence.

Danny Southwick is the son of a woman named Shawn Southwick, who is talk-show host Larry King's latest wife. (Number seven, if you're counting; married since 1997 - he is now 75, she 49).

Her maiden name is Engemann, and she is Bret's sister.

So apparently, the Raiders' tradition of favoring NFL(ish) bloodlines extends even to fifth-string quarterbacks!

(Bret Engemann, now 31, is retired from football and a marketing executive, if you're curious.)

Maybe, as keeper of the S&B Report roster (formerly the unofficial Raiderfans.net roster), I'm the only one who finds this interesting.



Or maybe not.

Inappropriate commercial thoughts

Perhaps you've heard me rant about the commercials they play on the News Radio I listen to on the way to work.

Like the ones with slogans that just don't make sense.

You know, the life insurance that pays "even if you don't die!" Um, I'd like to buy that one.

And just who the heck is Patricia McCann and why do I care what she endorses?

Anyway, the latest commercial to get me laughing in that "wrong" way is for the DUX bed, which apparently lasts forever.


The commercial stars Boomer Esiason, who tells the story of how some woman named Toula (presumably not this one) bought a DUX bed umpteen years ago, and despite her kids jumping on it, has never had to replace it.

Boomer then points out he and Toula have something else in common...

And my inappropriate instinct is to respond:

"No Super Bowl rings."

It's apparently really that he also is a longtime DUX bed owner.


I don't know if this Boomer owns a DUX bed, but she's got zero Super Bowl rings, too.

A strange "sad day"

Three famous people died today, in fairly rapid succession.


Harry Kalas, the voice of the Philadelphia Phillies and NFL Films (post-John Facenda), died in the press box before a game today at age 73.


Mark "The Bird" Fidrych, the eccentric 1976 American League Rookie of the Year, died on his farm in an apparent accident at 54.


And... Marilyn Chambers, the 1970s-era porn star, died in California at 56.

An odd combination, in terms of cultural trivia. Like the late Bob Clark's directing credits.

Condolences to their loved ones, of course.

Random bit of trivia: When my father was in college, he worked for a television station, and the arch-rival station's anchor was... John Facenda.

Technology 1, Ace 0

I managed to wipe out my Facebook page while trying to create one for work.

So if you were my friend, check and see if you still are. If you aren't, and you haven't gotten a friend request, go send me one.

Grr.

Best thing of the day!

Owwie-zowie!

So after successful navigating a car trip back from Philadelphia through the not-quite-giant storm (to see the Flyers beat up on the Maple Leafs - thanks, honey!) I managed to fall down in my front yard this morning chasing Norton.

I twisted my back, so I've spent most of the day either on the couch or in bed.

So, feeling lazy, I thought maybe I'd post the coolest thing I'd seen recently, this a capella tribute to the "Star Wars" movies and John Williams' movie theme music.


Only to discover there is, as usual, more to the YouTube than meets the eye.

I don't remember where I first saw this thing (one of the blogs I read, I'm sure), but I thought it was awesome.


Turns out the guy, Corey Vidal, is just lip-synching, and the real song is by these guys, Moosebutter, who apparently gave the dude the go-ahead, never dreaming it would become an Internet sensation.

For more on the story, try this video news report:

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year 2009 to all of my readers!

As a former colleague once said, "May the coming year be rich in all that is good." Even though the next year was far from a good one, I always appreciated the sentiment.

It's been an interesting 2008 that we're wrapping up, to say the least. Even leaving out some of the sordid details, I did manage to get married, go on a honeymoon, essentially lose one job and find another, plus help a friend in serious need.

And that was just the second half of the year - and leaving out even more events!

As I mentioned to Marisa, we've managed to meet, go on our first date, get engaged, move in together, buy a house, sell another one, get married, go on our honeymoon and more... Next, in 2009, we can celebrate two years since our first date!

Don't let anyone tell you I'm not decisive when I know what I want.

Meanwhile, have a safe, healthy and happy 2009! And keep reading!

Don't forget to vote!

What are you sitting there for? Go out and vote!

This is important, folks!

I mean it. I regard voting as one of the most important rights/privileges Americans have. Making an informed choice is a civic responsibility, and one of the joys of being a journalist is knowing I have in some small way contributed to people being informed when they choose.

End of sermon.

Worst job of the day

Today, on the way to work, I saw an NJDOT crew picking up dead deer off the side of the highway.

They had a whole truckfull of roadkill.

I had a buddy who once spent a summer with PennDOT holding one of those "stop/slow" signs. Said it was great - in the sun all day, making union wage, turning his wrist every few minutes.

Of course, that's the state where the DOT infamously paved over a dead deer.

Here in Jersey, a couple of poor schmucks had to sling 'em into the back of a truck all morning.

Tasty.

Strange thing of the day

Just go read this.

I don't even know what to say. But it's awesome.

Thought for the day

Only a vegetarian would get stopped for speeding on the way to a farmers' market.

Thought for the Day

Because it's been too long since I've posted anything and, well, after a darn good weekend - including Marisa's birthday - this week pretty much already sucks and it's barely Tuesday.

Thought for the Day:

The other day, Sarah Palin told Katie Couric, in the course of butchering her interview that, in essence, she was qualified in foreign affairs because Alaska is in between Russia and Canada.

Which, I keep telling people, is like me saying I'm qualified to treat a sprained ankle because my next-door neighbor is an athletic trainer.

(That probably wasn't worth the effort, was it? But I forgot my other Thought for the Day and I'm too depressed for a real post.)

An open letter to...

... The folks sitting at my table at a recent wedding I attended...

I've got to hand it to you: I have never seen anyone ask for a doggie bag at a wedding before.

Much less one for each course.

Much less tell the waiters the people who'd left the wedding were still there, so you could wrap up their desserts.

I should've taken a picture. Then I could've put it in the dictionary under "tacky."

Let me repeat, for those whose jaws are slacked in disbelief (much like mine at the wedding):

• They got a box for their appetizers they didn't finish.

• They got a box for their main courses, too.

• They tossed in their desserts.

• Then lied, so more desserts would be brought to the table.

• Then tossed them into the boxes, too.

Well-dressed, slightly wrong side of middle-aged people.

Yeah, we on the other side of the table, we were snickering at you.

Although I'll say this: At my wedding, since we're picking up the tab, for the love of munkee, if you don't finish your food, get it boxed and take it home. Every crumb. To paraphrase the words of Gunnery Sgt. Hartman, "We're paying for it. You eat it!"

Warn notice!

A "warn notice" is a business term involving a company making public upcoming facility closings and/or layoffs, due to a federal law.

Today, here, it's not so much one of those as just a catchy term (punning on the just-debuted for Season 2 Burn Notice?) to warn you that I've got some real posts coming.

When I have time. Which, 19 days to the wedding, isn't that often.

But, before too long, and hopefully before the wedding, you'll see:

• A post on the movie I am involved in.
• A survey I got tagged for.
• And a small rant on some people I encountered at a wedding recently.

Life on the Rim... it's fan-tastic!

A random thought

I know, I've been very busy lately. It's crunch time in Wedding World.

But today, as we near our Independence Day, I had a sort of random thought, so I figured I'd share - tell me if you agree or think I'm a nut.

The other day at the office, I saw some book full of birthday wishes for George W. Bush - it was an "art" project, so the letters were from ordinary folks, some supportive, some not.

And I was just remembering back to how, when Dubya ran back in 2000, he and his supporters talked a lot about how he was a man of the people, a regular Joe, an everyman. The right man for the White House, evidently, after years of Clinton/Gore... I don't know what, snobbery, or what have you.

These days, it's been popular in the '08 race to call Barack Obama an "elitist." To claim he's out of touch with regular folks, or something.

Let me ask you: Do we really want eight more years of an "average" guy like Dubya running the country?

I don't know about you, but I really don't want, and never wanted, an "ordinary" man running the country.

I want an extraordinary man - or woman - in the White House.

President of the United States is not a job for the weak, or the dumb, or the foolish. For the average. Much less the below-average.

President of the United States is a job for a man - or woman - of intelligence, wisdom, education...

In short, the kind of person who's probably too smart to get into national politics.

But really. When did being part of the nation's elite - intellectually, charismatically, educationally - become a reason to disqualify someone from taking on what is probably the single most important job in the world?

(Outside of the head coaching job for the Oakland Raiders, of course.)

I'm thinking that disqualification probably occurred somewhere around the time, as one of those letter writers in the book put it, when lying about sex became worse than lying about war.

If not then, then definitely when, as Brad Whitford said on Bill Maher's show, getting shot in the ass three times in Vietnam became less manly than being a male cheerleader.

While I'm on a rare political rant, let me add one more topic:

No, it wasn't very politically savvy of Gen. Wesley Clark to question whether John McCain's service in Vietnam qualified him to be president or not.

But that doesn't mean he's wrong. (In fairness, doesn't mean he's right, either.)

McCain's courage is unquestionable. His service to his country is admirable. His survival of years as a POW is remarkable.

You all know how I feel about Vietnam veterans, and American troops in general.

But when we're debating what qualifies anyone to be the most powerful man in the world, besides owning the Oakland Raiders, anything should be opinion to discussion.

McCain was a combat aviator in time of war.

That single fact alone probably elevates his ability to lead the nation above 95% of the population.

But does it make him the single most qualified person? Not on its own. There are many men and women who have similar military qualifications.

McCain was a POW who never broke under years of strain.

That probably elevates his ability to lead the nation above 98% of the population.

But again, does it make him the single most qualified person? Not on its own.

Wesley Clark, if looked at in a non-soundbite way, has a valid point. Serving as a junior officer in a time of war does not necessarily, on its own, make you a leader of men.

It makes you a hero.

But not every hero is fit to be president. And it does the nation a disservice for anyone to wrap themselves in the flag as a platform unto itself.

To McCain's credit, I don't believe he's done that.

But the whole controversy is one more sign that the political process itself is a vicious cycle that often keeps us from putting the best candidates in the best position to succeed, often keeps us from focusing on the real issues rather than the soundbites, the substance rather than the style.

We'll never, to use a military slogan, be all we can be, as a nation, if people's instinct is to rant over one sentence in a paragraph worth of remarks, and react in a knee-jerk, partisan way, rather than holding an intelligent discourse on the issue.

All right, enough ranting for now. Talk amongst yourselves. Share your opinions in the comments. Maybe I'm wrong. But at least I've (hopefully) got you talking.

Do you know what day it is?

Happy Friday the 13th!

Hey, you didn't think I'd let the day pass without a little tribute to my favorite horror movie series,did you?