Some Gifts Keep on Giving

Today officially ends all aspects of holiday gift giving. Chanukah and Christmas are done. The menorah lights have dimmed and soon the bright lights across the rooftops and trees of many houses will as well.

Then and only then can we make a final assessment of how we did with something we all covet - presents! Let's face it, in the end, that's all we care about anyway. At least 25% of the people at these holiday family gatherings we don't want to see more than once a year. The holiday food isn't healthy and usually launches a series of weight loss resolutions. So, in the end, all you really have are the presents.

Before you spend any time going through what hopefully is a large collection, the answer to whether or not you're satified with the 2010 version of your holiday gifts has already been determined. The retailers already know. Because at least 30% of everything bought before December 25th is going right back to the store. (There's a reason why they always ask if you want a gift receipt).

But why do we return so much every single year? Are we a nation of unsatisfactory gift-givers? Do we not know anyone's sweater size? Poor gift choices do not lean towards young or old, male or female. Additionally, it's not because we're unaware of what anyone wants. It's not because of someone's expensive tastes that the majority of us can never truly satisfy. It's not even because we've been married to the same person for 20 years and still don't know their life's hobbies or passions.

The truth of the matter is that the majority of what we buy is crap. We're not to blame. We don't control product design or distribution. We're just a society that loves to spend money or use our credit cards for inferior products. For most of us, the prospect of buying something new is enough. We don't focus on how long it will last because as soon as it wears out or breaks, we can do what we love all over again - - go shopping!

So all this got me thinking, which remains a very dangerous pursuit for both myself and those around me. I racked by brain thinking of products and brands that I've bought or received over the years that I've remained loyal to that had a high level of quality, durability, and longevity - - three critical components to any product purchase. With that said, I was able to come up with only a few stalwarts.

HONDA - I just leased my second Honda Accord and if I count my wife's (3) Pilots, it is now my 5th Honda vehicle. Unlike other cars I've leased, I actually get remorseful and go through a period of separation anxiety when the lease expires. Honda doesn't have the status of a BMW or Mercedes. It doesn't drive like a Porsche or Ferrari. And yet it strikes the same chord everytime I bring home a new one: pride of ownership with never one ounce of trouble. Lexus has become famous for the December to Remember commercials where one spouse surprises another with a new car in a huge gift box or one wrapped with a red bow. Nice commercial. It's just the wrong car.

NORTH FACE - If you've ever owned anything by North Face, you know it does what it says - it keeps you warm. I don't care if it's a windbreaker, a ski jacket, or a fleece. You put one of these babies on, and you may as well be sitting on a yule log. The jackets seem to never wear out, and the majority of us have more than one for every 20 degree change in the temperature. That's what I call loyalty.

APPLE - Go into any Apple retail store and look at the customers. They range from 8 to 80 and they all have the same look on their faces-- Amazement. These customers have already been exposed to Star Trek, the Jetsons, the Twilight Zone, James Bond, the Transformers, and stories from Kurt Vonnegut. All the gadgets we learned about seem to be some precursor to Apple. Computers that can make movies. Laptops that weigh a few pounds. Handheld devices that hold pictures, video, music and contain front facing cameras. Now we're all superheroes from another planet, and we love every minute of it.

COACH - I have spent too much time and money in Coach. If there's a woman in your life, you really have no choice. But the truth is that when you bring one of their bags or wallets home, it's a guaranteed winner. Now there are more expensive places to buy products like theirs and you don't have to look too hard. Not that Coach is so inexpensive. But Coach is durable, upscale, and lasts across many different seasons. These are feats not easily matched. More importantly, Coach provides men with something they rarely get from women - predictability.

NEW BALANCE - Like me, several people suffer from wide arches and need shoes that will accommodate. New Balance has been there for runners, tennis players, weekend athletes and more for years by providing reasonably priced wide width sneakers that provide support throughout any athletic endeavor. And when they go through the normal lifecycle, we tend to repeat our behavior, and buy another pair, just like the one before.

WALL STREET JOURNAL - Every year, I gift a subscription to the Wall Street Journal for my Father. He loves it, and so do I. The paper has recently changed ownership and the format with it, but the content is still interesting, informative, and original. Some will remain devoted to the New York Times, and that's OK too. But the WSJ continues to rack up Pulitzer Prizes in journalism and for good measure. It remains one of the few daily newspapers that have increased their circulation in the face of declining readership across the industry.

Hopefully, you were lucky enough to receive a present this year from one of these manufacturers.

If you did, it will be one less trip to the mall and standing in long lines to make an exchange.

Float This

Now that Thanksgiving is over, I have to make a confession. I love the food and football, but absolutely hate the parade. I have nothing against Macy's. I won't change my shopping habits to a retailer that doesn't support parades and fireworks. But this float fest needs an upgrade and fast. And to something significanly more meaningful.

They can keep the giant Turkey and the marching bands. Everything else must go. I don't want to see any more Disney characters and especially no more floats that exist for the sheer purpose of promoting a show on the collection of NBC Universal television networks. We also need to eliminate the shameless promotion of Broadway shows which clearly have no connection to the foundation of Thanksgiving. Unless, Andrew Lloyd Weber decides to write a love story about Pilgrims.

So what's the best redux for this parade of helium induced stars? Make it a year in review. Thanksgiving takes place at the end of the year, so it's a perfect time to reflect, and I couldn't think of a better alternative then to commemorate with large floats.

After the oversized Turkey, I think we should lead with a float filled with doctors, nurses, surgeons and other healthcare professionals. The aerial will be an inflated tongue depressor and on the side it would display "ObamaCare" in large neon lettering. To be completely authentic, the float would have to deflate somewhere near the end of the route.

Next up...a General Motors float. Several members of the corporate team will be perched near the top of this car-shaped balloon, and they'll be throwing cash at the onlookers. This will reprsent the return of the loan they received from the taxpayers, and everyone lucky enough to attend will get the refund they deserve.

Rounding the corner now is a well appointed tea cup. No, not the one from Alice in Wonderland. This one will be filled with all the Tea Party candidates that won in the latest election. For added symbolism, several of these politicians will dump tea overboard just like they did in Boston years ago.

Wait, what's that I see next? Yes, it's a giant Apple! In 2010, Apple helped reinvent the speed and efficiency in which we do many basic tasks. Steve Jobs would be in the lead position, and he'd show everyone how he's keeping the balloon inflated by using an app on his iPad.

Parades can't be all about fun and games. So we'd need one float the combines all the gut-wrenching stories of the year. This one won't be easy, but stay with me on this. It's an enormous Toyota Camry. The float intermittently accelerates without warning, shaking violently along it's path. This gives the impression of an earthquake and we quickly see that the vehicle is filled with several people from Haiti. They jump out of the car with Red Cross cans, so the attendees can donate the money that they failed to give the first time. At the rear of the car, near the gas tank, are the letters, BP. So to complete this mess, gas is leaking onto the ground. (I can dream, can't I?)

We would only allow 1 celebrity float, but this one will only contain only the shamed, not the celebrated. Tiger Woods will be the captain and he'll be seated next to Mel Gibson who will be seen wearing a yarlmacha. Lindsay Lohan stands behind him, and she'll cry consistently for the entire parade.

The last few floats will highlight some of this year's more newsworthy industries. The first will be the largest balloon in the parade - a giant Jet Blue aircraft. The base will contain a slide, and the bombastic flight attendant, Steven Slater. He'll periodically slide down while holding a gin and tonic in each hand. In the rear of the motor car, a group of people will jump in and out of a large screening machine so we can all see whether or not they're hiding their car keys. Following quickly behind will be our last float of the day. It's an enlarged prison cell. Our two dozen prisoners are all men. Some are wearing expensive navy pinstripe suits, others, neatly pressed khakis and polo shirts. No one will be recognizable except Madoff's sons. The sides of the float will simply say, "Wall Street."

Now that's what I call a parade.

Beatles for Sale

The Beatles have come to America once again, and this time they arrive courtesy of iTunes. The bickering is over, the lawsuits have been settled, and in the words of Ringo Starr, "I'm glad I no longer have to answer questions about when the Beatles are coming to iTunes."

This isn't the first time the Beatles' music has been released in a different format. Their complete history includes vinyl, 8-track, cassette tape, and CD's. Each new version came with it's own fanfare and with higher sound quality. And for this benefit, no one complained about the gradual increase in price despite the fact that many of us had already owned these songs in other formats.

Now we're at a true purchasing crossroads. Do we digitally download Beatles music on iTunes so we can add the same songs to our collection that we already own in countless other formats? The public spoke quickly on this one. Apple just reported than in the first two weeks, over 2 million Beatles songs were purchased on iTunes. It's truly an amazing feat for a band whose music is over 40 years old.

I'm proud to say that I made a small contribution to the cause by purchasing 4 songs - - two from Revolver and two from Rubber Soul. But when I received my bill, something hit me that I didn't realize before. Each song had a premium price of $1.29, the top of the scale for Apple. On the surface, this price structure is in line with other new releases in ther store. However, there was one major difference.

The song length.

The average length of a new release typically hovers between 3 and 4 minutes for a pop song and slightly longer for Rap, Rock, and Jazz. The Beatles are a completely different animal, er, insect. All of their early works, and a majority of the latter portion spanned no more than two minutes and change. That's extremely short by today's standards and even shorter when compared with contemporary bands of their era. Essentially, the Beatles have the highest cost per minute in the entire iTunes store. Just a small sample shows just how short their songs were:

Please Please Me 2:00
Love Me Do 2:21
Do You Want to Know a Secret 1:57
Hard Day's Night 2:33
Help 2:18
Nowegian Wood 2:04
Eleanor Rigby 2:06
Good Day Sunshine 2:09
Blackbird 2:18

They're all great songs, but are they really worth $1.29? iTunes gives you a :30 preview for each song, so essentially you get 25% of these songs for free anyway. So are they really worth full price? Apple also has an interesting policy for songs on the upper echelon of time. A song can run just under 10 minutes and the price would still be $1.29. That's a lot more music for your money. If the song runs over double digits, it's available on the album only. It's hard to argue with that policy. Especially when you consider the length of old songs from YES and Genesis which could be as long a full album sides.

But these bands qualified as progressive rock which doesn't compare well with classic rock groups. So when you research alternate bands of high regard, you realize one glaring difference - they are a much better value. It doesn't matter if you choose the Who, Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, the Doors, or Lynard Skynard. They all have a better cost per minute. In fact, it's dramatic. Assuming you purchase the highest quality of these songs, the same $1.29 could buy you:

Sympathy for the Devil 6:17
Light my Fire 6:58
Riders of the Storm 7:08
Layla 7:08
Can't Always Get What You Want 7:28
Stairway to Heaven 8:02
Won't Get Fooled Again 8:34
Free Bird 9:09

I'm all for Apple and the Beatles making money. In fact, they do this better than most. But the individual songs are extremely overpriced. Like everything else, you should get what you pay for. In the case of the Beatles, you pay a massive premium for the digital version of the songs you already own.

The Beatles are for sale on iTunes, but the songs aren't.

Band Aid

What ever happened to cool sounding rock bands? The 80's were filled with them. Their names were edgy, fierce, and intimidating. And their monikers spanned the gamut from poisonous insects, rodents, and even serious mental conditions. Let's see. There was Megadeath which implied a fate somehow worse than death. There were bleak scenarios like Black Sabbath and Quiet Riot, repulsive creatures like Scorpions and Ratt, and vivid depravity from Twisted Sister.

Those were the days.

Unfortunately, many of these bands have either physically died or publicly died out, and with them their beloved names that made us proud to be fans. Sprint ahead twenty years, and rock band names have gone inexpicably soft. "Fall Out Boy?" That just sends chills down my spine. What about "The Plain White T's"? Is that supposed to impress me? They sound like a Gap ad, or maybe something from a Target circular. "Kings of Leon"? "Muse"? That's about as exciting as The Wiggles. It's almost as if these bands were purposely going for a "G" rating. And even when they make an effort to be cutting edge, they still can't get it right. "My Chemical Romance?" First of all, there is certainly no room for the word, "romance" in a rock band's name. I know what they're trying to say, but wouldn't it have sounded much cooler if they went with "Addiction?"

This trend of soft euphemism needs to end now. It's time for us to take back the naming rights of these musicians, and restore their manhood. So the first order of business is to begin with a theme that universally makes us all stand at attention just at the mere thought -- Medical Illness. Yes, you heard me. Nothing wakes us up faster than a bad diagnosis. These terms have been in our collective vernacular for years, and always associated with dread. Now, using them for rock names will give them all a new, higher purpose.

We don't have to start with the most deplorable. We can pick something mild, then slowly work our way up. Something like, "Influenza." Now that's a cool band! Their first single? "Temperature Rising." Next, we rathcet it up a notch to something like, "Syphillis." Doesn't that just grab you? Their first release? "Scratch Tracks." Rolling Stone would eventually put them on the cover with a feature article called, "Syphillis spreads across America."

Let's also not forget about medical equipment, as the industry is filled with great prospects. And the DJ says...... "that was the latest from "The Catheters" catch them in your town for their "Going Down the Tubes Tour." Then there's my personal favorite, "The Defribillators" who'll be opening up this Summer for "The Stents." And when we run out of equipment, we could move on to the medication.

Just once, I'd like to like to look at Billboard's top 10 list and see hit songs from Prozac, Xanax, Coumadin, Prilosec, Xyrtec, Percocet, Vicadin, Immodium, Viagra, and Celebrex. Every band would sound mean and not weak like what you see on today's charts. I would love to just hear one of my friends say, "I'm looking forward to the next release from Viagra."

All right, now back to the diseases. Something that would cover what rock and roll fans know so much about - - Smoking and Drinking. So I'd start off with something like, "Emphysema." They would feature a memorable remake of "Every Breath You Take." For the alcoholics, we's have "Cirrhosis", also made famous by a cover tune - - "I Drink Alone."

All medical rock bands would have their own satellite radio station. And we'd call it "Blue Cross." Although it would probably be tough on the DJ after awhile, and maybe even a little depressing; especially after a long, commercial free block. So, just to keep him free from any suicidal thoughts, we'd make sure that songs from "The Cure" would always be on hand.

Long live Rock and Roll, even if they're in failing health.

The Salesman Dies Again

It's not every day that a YouTube video becomes universally viral across a specific profession, but the creators of "Joy of a Salesman" have managed to capture the attention of salespeople everywhere.

If you haven't been fortunate enough to see this six minute masterpiece, the premise is simple. An older sales manager is reviewing the performance of his top salesperson in a 1-on-1 meeting. As the manager slowly picks him apart, the salesperson defends himself as if on truth serum; attacking his adversary with accusations of highway robbery in relation to his commission plan. I'm clearly not doing the piece justice, but every commissioned salesperson in the country will relate to some portion of this.

And that's exactly what makes this so interesting. Sales can cross over into many different business sectors, and with the rapid addition of new technologies, these jobs are growing by leaps and bounds each day. The goal of salespeople is universal. Make money. Make money for the company and make money for themselves. It sounds simple on the surface, but to truly be successful, many need to fight, scrape, and claw for every available dollar. If you happen to lose a fight (and there will be many), the expectation is to quickly dust yourself off, stitch up your chin, and move on to the next battle.

If their mission is successful, and a majority of them are, the expectation is to be rewarded accordingly. If they exceed quotas, most feel that their compensation should rise in lock step. But it rarely does. Companies like cost certainty and a few things always seem to get in the way. When they inevitably do, the salespeople are left in the courtroom alone, and defending themselves without counsel.

So, the obvious thought is that "Joy of a Salesman" was created by a disgruntled employee in a specific industry who has clearly voiced chagrin through comedic animation. However, a quick check of the user comments from this video reveals something dramatic. This compensation issue exists across all of corporate America, and in fields as similar as day and night.

An assorted list of names cited include the following:

AT&T
Blue Cross
Carmax
Clear Channel
Comcast
Cumulus Broadcasting
Enterprise Rent-a-Car
Geico
Prudential Securities
Verizon

It's truly stunning. Just glance at the list for a moment. It covers telecommunications, transportation, finance, cable, radio, car insurance and health insurance. Quite a list. Many have no clear relationship with the other, yet employees in these respective fields felt an equal sting from the same parody. Patterns like these speak volumes.

Perhaps we really do need a different compensation system for our country's salespeople. Daniel Pink, author of a new book called, "Drive", suggests that employees are inherently motivated by 3 intrinsic factors unrelated to money - - Autonomy, Mastery, and Purpose. He may be onto something.

Maybe one day some consulting firm will figure this all out and make videos like "Joy of a Salesman" a thing of the past. But until then, let's have a little compassion for these salesmen.

They don't always have to die. Sometimes they could just be wounded.

It's My Party, and I'll Cry if I Want To

Election Day is almost here, and thank the Lord. Although I can't blatantly shun the advertising revenue that comes with it, I think we've all had enough of empty promises and false accusations.

Whether your preference is Democrat, Repulican, or perhaps Tea, one thing is certain. Don't expect seismic change after all the votes have been tallied. But it doesn't mean it can't be entertaining. After all, how often do we get the ex-CEO of Ebay and the wife of the CEO of the World Wrestling Federation running for office at exactly the same time?

However, just once, it would be nice to watch a commercial that actually communicated something with a value proposition. In every ad, one candidate promises lower property taxes, honing in on an area where the incumbent has failed. Someone else touts their ability to create jobs even in a quicksand economy. And then there's my personal favorite which revolves around some form of mudslinging dealing with illegal activity from misappropriated funds that were used for leisurely airline travel related to "state business."

Somehow, I feel like I've seen this movie before. And I didn't like it the first time around. I also know that when I get inside the voting booth, before I press the electronic button, I'll inevitably get that sinking feeling in my stomach. The kind you get when you first realize that you've lost your wallet. It creeps up on you as you cast your ballot and come to the conclusion that your vote has no chance of affecting change.

Change is not inevitable because the distribution system of candidates derives from the bottom of the gene pool and from the immoral depths of humanity. The real talent is smart enough to realize politics is a losing proposition. If we want real change in this country, there are a few simple steps that need to be taken.

First, let's stop calling these political groups, "parties." Very few politicians have ever created a party-like atmosphere, with the obvious exception of Bill Clinton. But the rest of these public servants have taken on the serious role of fighting for the people. We're not here to party, we'd just like to be able to pay our mortgage each month.

Next, if your total net worth is above 1.5 million dollars, you're automatically disqualified to run for office. What do these people really know about what it's like to struggle to cover your expenses, save for college, fight your health insurer, and put away enough for retirement? How could they represent the masses if their personal wealth is in the top 1% of the population? We need real people in these positons. Teachers, policemen, firemen, and nurses. These critical role players already know how to educate, protect, and heal. As far as I'm concerned, it's as simple as that. Most people in these fields are eligible for an early pension, so they would have plenty of time on their hands to campaign without taking an extended break from their responsibilities.

When they mention people like "Joe the Plumber", they'll actually know Joe, the plumber. In fact, he's probably their plumber. When they speak of people's frustrations with government, they'll communicate from real life experiences. This group wouldn't be identified as a "Party." We'd just call them, "Town Hall." But I know what you're thinking. Where would they come up with the money to fund a campaign? Simple.

It would emanate from the same weatlhy elite that donates to our current roster of underachieving politicians. Self interested corporations, Hollywood celebrities and the like would still donate to the same degree, under the same restrictions; only now they're assured to be supporting a candidate that would actually put the collective interest of the people first.

What would happen to the Democrats, the Republicans, the Tea Parties? They'd lose their labels, and their charlatan identities. Then we'd have a society that we could all be proud of on Election Day.

Have fun in the voting booth.

Shalloween

Another Halloween is fast approaching, and I look forward to a year like this one. For the second time in as many years, it takes place on a weekend where I can trick or treat with the kids and survey all the great costumes in the neighborhood.

What I love the most is the joy I see on the kids' faces as they traverse from house to house in search of some unique piece of candy that the world has never seen before. More than any other holiday, religious or otherwise, Halloween is truly about the children.

This is precisely why I have an issue when the adults take it too seriously. I'm not talking about getting dressed up for a Halloween party, or those Munsters and Addams Family nutjobs that turn their houses into a Wes Craven movie set. I'm referring to those adults that spend hours at the costume shop in hot pursuit of the perfect outfit.

The ideal costume is different depending on which sociological and psychological category you fall into.

SEXY SINGLES

If a woman wants to dress up, she has no choice but to wear something out of an Elliot Spitzer sex fantasy. It's not just the nurses I'm talking about. There's the sexy cop, the hot clown, the smoking cowgirl. Even the Toy Story costumes are off the charts. Fortunately, for the Halloween industry, the single woman has no problem playing a stripper in disguise. In fact, they hope that just the right costume at the
right party will lead to getting lucky or at the very least lead to the distribution of a few phone numbers to an Indiana Jones, a character from Twilight, or a gangster.


And that's only if the men wear more traditional costumes. Just this weekend, I saw a host of equally explicit male choices in the cop and doctor categories. Let's see, in law enforcement there was a choice from "The Department of Erections". On the medical side, there were two gynecologists - - "Dr. Seymour Bush" and "Dr. Howie Feltersnatch." Classy stuff. I stood and waited for a few minutes to see the kind of person that would wear these outfits, but I suspect that they only come out after midnight, and break into the store.

MIRROR IMAGE

There's a second group of Halloweeners that feel compelled to project their true selves in the form of a costume. For some reason, they surmise that you don't really know them and this is a golden opportunity to reveal their "true selves" Typically, these are not of the flattering variety, like a man who always wanted to be an astronaut but didn't tell anyone, or a woman who once gave up her dream to become a nun. No, these usually involve the Grim Reaper, a circus ringleader with a menacing whip, or some form of Jason or Freddy Krueger. Are these normal people dressed as killers, or are they really killers dressed as killers? And I don't need to go into any great detail about the witches.

TRANSFORMERS

This last category is the most tolerable of the three. These are people that may or may not be OK with who they are, but just want to take a day off and be someone else. Some people gravitate towards celebrities they idolize or demonize, or they possibly select something reflective of their childhood innocence like a fairy or a Disney princess. Men could be pilots or cowboys and both are pretty acceptable to me. After all, without a good variety of internships in this country, it's possible that many of these guys could have changed their vocation if they were only exposed to the field at an early age. So I say let the surgeons, policemen, and ballet dancers have their fun. It just may lead to second careers.

No matter which category you fall into, just make sure you leave some candy for the kids.

Bored Games

Thinking back to my own childhood, I remember how the names Parker Brothers and Milton Bradley were responsible for bringing the family together. I used to look forward to SORRY, Connect 4, Yahtzee, or Uno. I'd make fun of my brother when I'd send his blue piece back to START with a well timed SORRY card, trick my Mom with a diagonal play in the middle of Connect 4, and enjoyed the thrill of pulling victory from my Father with a Draw 4 card in Uno. They were simple games for all ages and an excuse for the family to spend quality time before the era of DVRs and iPods.

So when I became a Father, I was excited to pass these board games onto my kids. I went to Target and Toys R Us and even bought the updated versions so there wouldn't be any missing pieces like I had with my own. And for a few years, I was able to continue the tradition that was passed on to me by my parents.

My kids used to look forward to weekends when I had time to play these games. But recently there's been a dramatic change. I was home last weekend and needed to watch my 9 year-old for about an hour. My wife set up a stack of games on the kitchen table and suggested we play a few while she ran an errand. Without hesitation, my daughter said, "I don't want to play any of these! They're boring!"

Boring?! I've been playing some version of these games for over 35 years, and my daughter is bored at 9?

I'm 42, and I still look forward to kicking butt in Monopoly. I will concede that the electronic versions of some of these games are far superior to tokens and cardboard, but that's what gave them their special charm. But in the age of Blackberry's, iPads, and Garmins, I didn't want so sound like an old bastard. So I let it go.

I managed to get over it until I saw my kids watching a new channel from Discovery Kids called, The HUB. It's not that they were watching their usual fare of cartoons and kids reality shows. This was something new. A game show. And not just any game show. It was actually called "Family Game Night." Hosted by a former reporter from E!, the show revolved around competing families who were engaged in life size versions of the classic board games. The channel is even partly owned by Hasbro!

To make matters worse, they used all the classics - - Scrabble, Operation, Yahtzee, Sorry, Connect 4, Boggle, and even Twister. Both kids couldn't keep their eyes off the screen. What kind of crap is this? They don't want to play these games with me, but they're willing to watch other people play them on TV? Maybe it was the cash prizes they dole out. Would I have to start paying them to roll the Yahtzee die?

I sat there wondering what would be next. Would they stop reading books with me and soon watch the Kindle Channel? Would they throw out their dolls and play with virtual ones on the computer?

Look,I'm all for game shows, but predominantly when they're educational, and my kids can actually learn something. When networks like The HUB begin to take away the simplicity of childhood, I have to draw the line. Although, it is a losing cause. I sat for awhile and decided to strike back. It came in the version of an idea for a network pitch.

It's called The Daddy Channel. Programs include "Taking Your Kids for Ice Cream", "Driving to Soccer Practice", and "Giving Out an Allowance." They could watch other kids living their lives and spending time with their Fathers, while I sit in the other room and watch sports on TV.

I think this could be a ratings hit. Now if I could only get Nickelodeon to listen.

Know Your Audience

When you blog on Google, they offer a feature where you can track pageviews for each of your individual entries. Now, I don't know how accurate these "stats" are, but who am I to argue with Google? I'd rather pick a battle with Facebook, especially since "The Social Network" was released into theaters, making them look like selfish bastards.

After studying the most pertinent data, I came to several very important conclusions. First, my viewing audience is only slightly larger than a jury at the high end, as big as the band members of Green Day on the low end. So, I don't think I'll be selling advertising any time in the future, unless the client was looking for a very small, targeted, private audience who all live in the same neighborhood. The second point of interest was seeing which of the blogs was most popular with my loyal audience.

The three most popular topics were (are you sitting down?), Pets, Celebrities, and Garage Sales. On the surface, this shouldn't be that surprising. After all, who doesn't love their dog, celebrity sightings or the sheer excitement of negotiating the price of items that by all rights should be taking center stage at the garbage dump? I have to admit. It was a little disappointing. I thought some of the other blogs would have peaked a little more interest. I've written about politics, children, health related issues, and even movies, but somehow they haven't seemed to strike the right chord.

I asked a few friends who also blog on a regular basis, and they told me that the problem is that I don't focus on a single topic. In essence, I'm a jack of all trades, but a master of nothing. And that does have a certain element of truth. But I never wanted to be a one trick pony and put myself to sleep by writing about the same thing every week. However, it seems in the world of blogging, diversification isn't the most prudent advice.

I also noticed that I have a following in Denmark, Canada, and China. I've always wanted to go international, but I wish I knew what the attraction was. Could it be that the Danish of Copenhagen like to read about dogs? Perhaps the Canadians like to break from hockey and read about celebrities or maybe the Chinese are fascinated by the archaic concept of selling old merchandise from our garages. Whatever the reason, it's nice to know that blogging has no borders.

So, it looks like I have a decision to make. If I want more readers, I'll have to stick to a single subject. I'll also have to focus on the lowest common denominator which will preclude me from discussing anything that I'm passionate about. I need to leave politics to the cable news pundits, allow Rotten Tomatoes to monopolize reviews and comments about film, and give Disney and Nickelodeon exclusivity on telling children's stories. Conversely, I could roll the dice and continue writing about what interests me, even at the expense of readership.

After giving this some thought, I chose the latter. If you can't write about what really interests you, then what's the point of writing at all? I know this may disappoint Denmark and Canada, but I think they'll get over it. So expect more commentary on traditional subjects, but from a slightly different angle. And your vantage point will always be from the front of the line, rather than in back.

I'm curious to see how many views this post receives, although my expectations are low.

After all, who really wants to read a blog about blogs?

The Dark Side of Comedy

There has always been a fine line between comedy and tragedy and that line was agressively crossed recently with the death of comic, Greg Giraldo. Giraldo, most recognized as a visceral comedian from multiple celebrity roasts, fell into a coma after accidentally overdosing on pharmaceutical medication.

This isn't the first case of celebrity abuse of prescription drugs. Heath Ledger suffered a similar fate as he was fighting depression from everyday life or as a result of detoxing evil from his body after his role as the Joker.

The most disturbing part of Giraldo's passing was that he represented an additional entry into the book of comedians that died prematurely. Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, Sam Kinison, and George Carlin immediately come to mind. All these men, and it's almost always men, suffered from a similar poison of some inner demons whose antidote was always comedy.

But somewhere in between their movies, shows, specials, and sitcoms, these comics found plenty of time for alcohol, cocaine, pain killers, anti-depressants, and in the case of Sam Kinison, fast cars. The same people who were harbingers of the comedic art form, the ones who split our sides and hurt our stomachs from their humor, were humorless actually inside.

Could it be that comedy attracts the depressed and the self-destructive? The season finale of "Louie", starring comedian, Louis C.K. actually explores the very subject. He plays a comic, divorced with two kids. He hires a babysitter, and goes out by himself. He wanders off to a few bars, strikes out with the ladies, and eventually finds himself in front of his mainstay comedy club. He asks if he could jump on stage for a five minute set, where he goes on to speak about divorce and how it's akin to being let out of prison after many years and having to assimilate back into society. Once again, pain meets comedy.

It's been well documented that a good portion of the psychiatric profession is filled with people who still can't solve their own problems, and through analyzing others, they go through a period of self exploration. Maybe being a comedian provides a similar catharsis for the troubled and self-deprecating.

Of course, this doesn't apply to all comedians. In fact, for Jewish comics, the profession serves as a mystical fountain of youth. Joan Rivers, Don Rickles, Robert Klein, and Jackie Mason are all going strong and performing regularly. Rivers and Rickles were the focus of successful documentaries, Klein just completed another HBO special and Jackie Mason is making yet another comeback. In the Jewish culture, laughter has always been a function of coping. Tell a joke, and you'll feel better.

Similarly, not every Irish and Italian stand-up is on the brink of suicide either. But it is an alarming trend that has had a long history. The court jester, the clown, is great fun for a short time. However, when the costume and make-up come off, we see faces that are unrecognizable; decidedly different personas.
And in some respects we don't laugh with them or at them.

Comedy and tragedy will continue to intersect. So the next time you're at a comedy club, watching a series of young comedians, lend your support. Because to most of them, life isn't purely a laughing matter.

Garage Sale

I hate garage sales. To me, they're all just a slight upgrade from the junkyard in the front of Fred Sanford's house. In fact, every time I see a garage sale I hear the Sanford and Son theme song playing in my head and I look for Lamont's truck. Needless to say, I wasn't thrilled this morning when I found out that multiple houses on my block would be hosting several of their own.

Didn't EBAY render garage sales extinct? Instead of the junk sitting on your front lawn, you simply put pictures on the computer and let the games begin. You don't have to worry about negotiating, and unlike the haggling that's built into the bazaar like atmosphere of a garage sale, the final price usually settles higher, and not lower than the original price. I guess not everyone is computer savvy and there is something nice about not worrying about delivery, as these crazed bargain hunters will haul your trash away for you.

I purposely slept late hoping to snooze through the junk tsumani block party. And just when I thought I was out of the woods, my kids arrive home from dance class, see the neighbors' sales, and their brains begin moving at the speed of light. It's that instant epiphany where the mind races and kids see dollar signs under their eyelids. So now that they agreed upon a sale of their own, it was time to take inventory.

I didn't want any part of this. A garage sale? Coming from my garage? Now I'd have to contend with all those professional garage sales people. You know who I mean. Those people that drive around with special Garmins that are programmed to find every garage sale within a 50 mile radius looking for that one lamp that matches the paisley couch they bought in 1965. Or that Mom with young kids that negotiates every toy down to a nickel even if when you originally bought them, you paid more than a nickel just for the tax. Did I really need this on a Saturday. Or did I?

My basement is filled with Fisher Price toys, baby dolls, plastic food, Dora action figures, and a series of other items that were taken out of the playing rotation years ago. And my attic was filled with old DVDs that we've held onto despite the fact that we don't have an active DVD player in the entire house. Maybe this wasn't a bad idea after all. Maybe I would even help. I immediately snapped into salesman mode and began pitching the kids of what to throw in the junk pile based on how much they could make. I won a few and lost a few. How was I supposed to know that their first drum and tambourine actually had sentimental value? But none of that mattered. The end game is what counted and I was about to unload some very garage sale worthy items.

The kids worked like pros, using all the classic sales tactics like buy one, get one free and bulk discounts. Some of the day's highlights included selling a DVD box set of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" to a man who had never even heard of the show and the sale of two Cinderella chairs to a woman in a minivan while the car was still moving.

They generated $100 net for the day minus a 10% commission to our young next door neighbor who didn't have any "junk" of her own to sell, but was willing to help with the labor intensive set up. Our shoppers were all very cordial and we even met one nice family where we exchanged phone numbers for a future get together.

I asked my young entrepreneurs what they planned to do with the money, and they quickly responded that they would both like a new bean bag chair for their rooms. It seemed like a perfect choice as a reward for a hard day's work. I just had one thought on my mind.

How long would it be before they're hawking two bean bag chairs in an upcoming garage sale?

This Won't Hurt A Bit

The scorecard has gone final. I've now officially had three surgeries in three years. At this pace, if I live into my 90's, I'm certain to run out of body parts to fix. Maybe by then I'll upgrade to stem cell therapy.

The more fascinating aspect of these last physically tumultuous years is the growing number of friends, family, and co-workers who have just been in an operating room or patiently waiting for one to open up. My oldest friend had his gall bladder removed. A college buddy had a heart valve replaced. One of my co-workers just had her rotator cuff repaired, and another is scheduled for a knee replacement next week. An even younger co-worker is still recovering from surgery for a herniated disc in his back. An ex co-worker recently had a hernia repair and my neighbor is scheduled for an October repair of his pelvic floor and dual adductors.

I fully understand that as I reluctantly enter middle age, I'm bound to know a few people in need of a surgical fix. And this is well before the next decade when plastic surgery will be both in vogue and the primary discussion of most dinner conversations. So it's not the sheer number of people getting their names on the surgical docket that amazes me, it's the ease and the sheer willingness to do so. Finding a surgeon isn't like picking out a house or a dog. This is some serious crap.

Our approach may have slight variations, but the protocol is the same. We seek referrals from our friends, family and other medical professionals. Some of us even pick a surgeon by geography. Could you imagine that? Select the hands that will cut you open by the proximity to your house! "Yup, I decided to go with Dr.Sharp because he lives on my cull-de-dac." What are we nuts? I don't even select a vet that way.

Regardless of the doctor we ultimately choose, when it comes to the discovery period of the procedure, we all ask the same basic questions. How long is the surgery? What's the recovery time like? What's your success ratio? And maybe, just maybe, we ask about how many procedures they've actually performed. And they share their answers with enough bravado and confidence that we accept the data for what it is. Wait a minute. Just what is it exactly? It's just statistics based on other patients and information collected from a head nurse. How do these surgeons really know unless they've experienced the procedure themselves?

I think it's time we make this a requirement of any surgeon. Before they get a degree and a license to practice, these docs have to go through at least one procedure they perform. Now I know what you're thinking. It would be unnecessary surgery and with some disciplines like cardiac and brain surgery, it may be just a bit too extreme. So let's be fair. We'll only apply these rules to orthopedics- hips, knees, shoulders, elbows, hands, feet and fingers. Most of these people will probably need one of these body parts repaired at some point anyway, so why not some real life experience that they can draw from and give patients what they really need - an honest answer.

In every surgery I've had, I tell the physical therapists afterwards what the surgeon predicts for recovery with respect to time and pain. The response is always the same. "That's what we're here for. To tell you like it really is." These physical therapists are on the front lines every day and see people at their absolute worst. So when they give you a prognosis, you tend to listen. But this would all be unnecessary if the surgeon gave you the real deal up front. Just once, I'd like to hear one of them say, "It hurts like a sonofabitch for weeks, for several nights you may cry or plan my murder, and Percoset will be your best friend and constipation your worst enemy. You'll have a very attractive scar which will forever remind you of the butcher job I did; kind of like my signature saying I was here."

It's probably never going to happen. Medical schools will never change and these docs will continue predicting your outcome and recovery based on other patients' history and not those of the actual surgeon. In the meantime, we're all stuck with rhetoric of just how easy everything will be.

Just once, I'd like to see them give it a try.

7-11 Near 9/11

Real estate is once again the focal point of every news organization. But this time, it has nothing to do with interest only mortgages, faulty credit default swaps, predator lending or foreclosing. It does, however, coincide with one of the oldest real estate mantras in the business.

Location, location, location.

Developers desire to build a mosque in close proximity to the site of the World Trade Center, and as expected, this has created a public relations eruption of volcanic proportions. For the mass media, this story is rife with both political and religious controversy. When a story is fueled by these two incendiary topics, it's akin to throwing a match into a pool of gasoline. So I thought the safest route to take was none at all. As New Yorkers, and as Americans, you're either on one side or the other and I'm opting out of the discussion.

However, I do question one thing. Of all the possibilities, and I mean anything that's humanly plausible, was a mosque the best we could come up with? Was there even anything else on the list? A second choice? Nobody ever talks about what was rejected.

A mosque or....a pet shop?

Or how about a mosque or a Cheesecake Factory? When it comes to downtown New York, you're bound to have naysayers no matter what you choose. But then it hit me. The one thing that we can all agree on as neutral territory. Something which crosses all classes, and serves as all things to all people. And at a universally acceptable price point.

A 7-11.

Think about the marketing. Come to the 7-11 near 9/11. It flows beautifully. These convenience chains typically have foreign ownership, many from regions near the Middle East. There won't be praying (unless you ate the Beef Jerky), and no fear of racial epithets. Just Slurpies and an occasional Big Gulp. And that sure is easier to swallow than the heated battle between politics and religion. Also,the cops love 7-11, so customers will always have a sense of security walking around the neighborhood.

Alright, maybe it's too abstract. Maybe we shouldn't make 9/11 real estate about 7-11 food. So how about a Barnes and Noble? But not just any Barnes and Noble. This one would only carry specific books - - those on the historical relationship between the U.S. and the Middle East. Books that explain the meaning of the Koran, and others that provide justification for Israel. Most importantly, it would carry books that honor those workers, policemen, and firefighters that fought heroically that fateful day. When looking back on 9/11 with a historical eye, it would be nice to be fully armed and educated.

As long as we're brainstorming, let's not rule out a hospital. Wouldn't that be great? A medical facility near the site for 9-11. The WTC Memorial Hospital. We all know how the boys on Wall Street like to live hard. Between drinking, snorting coke, or popping Vicadin, there's certain to be a dearth of prospects stopping by on their lunch breaks for unexplained chest pain. All the favorite hospitals of New York Magazine are all located in midtown and above, so a downtown hospital that people can trust would be unique and necessary.

Now if you just can't break free from the concept of having a religious entity in the area, one that could provide a certain catharsis for all that transpired there a decade ago, may I suggest a temple that would connect with both national and international congregations. A place where everyone prays to one God without fear of loathing or reprisal.

An Apple Store.

It even looks like a temple, with a big Apple on the front. It brings smiling faces from all over the world, who all speak a common language - Mackintosh. As we traverse through the store, we'll be singing praises to the Apple God - Steve Jobs. And we'll pray. We'll pray that the next iPad has a video camera, or that Verizon will finally win a contract for the iPhone. No political strife, no religious controversy. Just people from all walks of life discussing the future. Discussing the future without forgetting about how these products, through pictures, and old video never let us forget the past. This Apple Store could even run promotions where a percentage of the proceeds go to the victims' families from 9-11 who never got the help they needed.

Now that's a mosque we can all agree on.

No Demi-Glaze

This country loves celebrities. England has their royalty in Buckingham Palace and we have ours in Beverly Hills. For most of us these deities remain at a distance on You Tube or the Boob Tube, but every so often, we actually come face to face with one of these celebs and maybe even have the opportunity to speak with them. And just as the right moment presents itself.....we say something completely stupid.

"I love your movies." "I have all your songs on my iPod." "Will you marry me?" Our brains go numb, our synapses no longer connect and we speak like we just completed the first grade.

Our family has always been different. Not necessarily better, just different. When my wife and I attended an after party for a Tom Selleck movie, we cornered Mr. Selleck near a decorative fruit table. My wife grabbed a grapefruit and asked if he'd sign it. Tom, respectfully declined and said, "if I signed a grapefruit for you, I'd have to sign a grapefruit for everyone." At an ABC party in the early 90's, I spotted Donald Trump. His wife at the time was Marla Maples and I knew just what to say to get his attention. "Mr. Trump, I saw your wife last night." Both he and his bodyguard looked at me with venom. With a slight hesitation, I finished, "in the Will Rogers Follies. Her performance was great." The Donald relaxed and needless to say it was a quick conversation.

So when I was told that my kids had an opportunity to meet Demi Lovato of Disney fame, I couldn't really impart any celebrity approaching wisdom. I just set the stage for them. "You'll be in a posh manhattan hotel, and she'll be in the process of being interviewed by the press to promote Camp Rock 2. She'll probably have time for a quick hello, maybe a picture and then your brief brush with fame will be over." Now for those parents out there, especially those with daughters, you already know that meeting a Disney Channel star is a big deal. Demi Lovato plays with the Jonas Brothers and is the second coming of Miley Cyrus.

My girls needed to bring their A games. They began researching and discovered that Demi Lovato was teased so badly in school that she was forced to be home schooled. As a result, she's now heavily involved with an anti-bullying charity. They went out and bought a teddy bear, placed it in a pink box with a note that saying they'd love to bring the message to their schools. And just in case she thought it was a good idea, they prepared their email addresses.

The big day arrived last week. They went to the hotel, received special access and waited patiently for Demi Lovato to make a quick appearance. My wife and I came armed as well with cameras, sharpies, and pictures. But we had no idea what to expect. They could scream, they could cry, they could be shy. What would they say to their idol when it was crunch time?

The big moment arrived. Demi was escorted by a Disney employee. She first introduced herself to me and my wife, and we thanked her for making the time to meet our girls. My wife commented on how different her hair looked, clearly admitting that she watched Demi as much as her kids did on the Disney Channel. Now Demi moved on to the kids. Just her and them.

They introduced themselves and asked if they could give her a present. She graciously accepted and the kids explained that it was in honor of her work with her charity. Next came the perfunctory picture where she allowed three different shots. Clearly busy, Demi looked like she was ready to move on. Then they did something unexpected.

They asked if they could sing Demi one of her songs. Now this could have many different repercussions. First, she could say that she didn't have time. Or maybe she had the time, but my kids will sing off key. Or foget the lyrics. Demi agreed. My oldest daughter went first and jumped right into ""This is Me" from Camp Rock. The lyrics were perfect, the notes were perfect. Demi smiled separately at both my wife and I. My daughter finished and Demi told her how good she was. Several members of the Disney staff applauded. A true professional, Demi turned to my younger daughter and asked if she wanted to give it a try. A little more reserved, and slightly shy, she also got through the song with flying colors.

At the end of the day, I asked my kids if they ever thought they'd be singing in front of one of their heroes. They were still in shock. But little did they know what they accomplished; meeting a celebrity and engaging her for a few minutes. They performed much better than their parents would have at their age or maybe at any age.

In a stressful situation, they performed like champs. And for that, they're my heroes.

A Cure for Charities

The economy stinks, but people are still buying iPads. The stock market is in a holding pattern, however, hotels are booked and vacation travel has exploded. Home furnishing retail is getting crushed, but upscale restaurants are crowded again.

Uncertain times can definitely cause changes in our buying patterns, but the one area nobody talks about is charity. Are we giving as much as we used to? Do we just wait for another disaster to strike similar to New Orleans or Haiti, so we can simply text our donations to the Red Cross?

Some of us still have our favorite charities and give if our finances allow. Then there's the other contingency that walks, runs, bikes, skips, jump ropes, or rollerblades to raise money for a worthy cause that's personal to them. Through email blasts, many of these people can reach hundreds of friends at once asking each one to "sponsor" them and pay a few bucks by the mile. So it wasn't until recently that I realized that they may be leaving significant money on the table.

First of all, walking and running are certainly tests of endurance and in turn, the participants ask us to pay for their efforts. Again, a great concept, but so mundane that the maximum money raised is capped before you get to the starting gate.

Let's forget about all this child's play and go for the real deal. Like lion taming. Man, wouldn't that be a cash cow? You finish a walk, you get 5 bucks per mile. But you pull a Ziefield and Roy, and hell, I'd pay $100 a minute. If you don't survive, we'd just create another charity for you - - "Finding a Cure for Lion Taming." Sky diving is another good one. If you get on your bike and ride 100 miles, the best case scenario is $5 a mile. But if you jumped out of an airplane at 15,000 feet, people would pledge a couple of grand and you'd get prominent placement on You Tube.

Alright, maybe these are a little too dangerous. So how about putting people in uncomfortable situations for cash. And it would vary by individual. If someone doesn't like to speak in public, you offer to pay $500 for a half hour speech, and money goes up if the audience increases. People who avoid the dentist because they've seen Dustin Hoffman in "Marathon Man" or for any other reason, would receive several hundred for a cleaning and a grand for root canal. People who are afraid of heights get higher jackpots depending on the size of the building. The crown at the Statue or Liberty is worth $250, but the observation deck at the Empire State building or Seattle's Space Needle would begin at $1500.

With this strategy we accomplish two things. First, more money for the charity. Next, you help people conquer their fears and work on self improvement. In a sense, it's like double charity.

The tag lines for fundraising would sound more interesting too. "Speed Racing for Sinusitus", "Bungee Jumping for Brochitis", "Shark Swimming for Syphilis.". Marketing these charities would be much easier, as these names just roll right off the tongue. But I don't expect any drastic changes in the near future. So we'll still be paying for people to walk or ride bicycles. And the charities will continue being underfunded.

But as soon as they come out with" Russian Roulette for Rheumatoid Arthritis", I suspect that we'll all start donating monthly with direct deposit accounts.

No Return, No Receipt

The other day I took a good look at my wallet and realized that it resembled George Castanza's personal monstrosity from Seinfeld. You know the type. Overstuffed, overweight, and seemingly in need of a Weight Watchers program.

To be completely honest, my wallet doesn't binge and has a certain element of self control. It limits itself to just two credit cards, one bank card, and a few other frivolous additions like Triple A, office security, and health insurance. Everything else has been removed, including photos and business cards (thank you Blackberry). So figuring out why your wallet is heavy enough to use in a traditional stoning wasn't easy.

This lasted for years, until one day I opened the billfold and realized that beyond the paltry few dollars that sat there like a failed decoy was a swarm of those small slips of paper that multipy with blinding speed - receipts. And what a wide variety I had! Bank, taxi, restaurant, credit cards, and parking receipts were all duly represented and completely necessary. But there were several others that never should have seen the light of day.

For one, I don't need a receipt for every time I order lunch. Some restaurants like Au Bon Pain actually post that if you don't get a receipt from the cashier, your lunch is free. Well, they've never missed one yet. So I dutifully throw them in. Then sometime near tax season after holding it stupidly for seven months, I reminisce about the grilled chicken sandwhich I had on ciabatta bread.

Another item that comes with a needless receipt is any store that sells greeting cards. I don't know about you, but I've never returned a greeting card. What would you even say? "I'm sorry, my wife read it, and was hoping for something more apologetic." Or how about returning a condolence card because the family decided to resusitate? Better yet, you bring back an anniversary card because the couple got divorced. Look, people don't return greeting cards! If it doesn't work out, we'll just repackage them for someone else who stayed married or actually croaked.

The pharmacy is by far the worst. Do we really need a receipt for condoms? Well, for one thing, they'd never come back used. Or what's another guy going to say? "I'm sorry, they were too big." Or how about a return because of non-use. Who would admit to that? Toilet paper is another item that doesn't need proof of purchase. Eventually, it will be used. And if you had Mexican for dinner, you may use more than expected.

Sometimes we get receipts for services that we can never return. Like a haircut. Can you ever return a haircut? "I'm sorry, I didn't like it. I'd like my hair back please." A massage is another classic non-receipt scenario. You can't get reimbursed five minutes later if your muscles tighten up while you're sitting in traffic during a fit of road rage.

Only once was I originally disappointed for not getting a receipt. A New York City tailor in midtown would take my suits, chalk them up, give you a few hangers, and ask you to return in 5 days. "No receipt?," I asked. With a heavy Italian accent he replied, "No. I remember suits."

The scary thing is....he did.

Dog Fight

For as long as I can remember, my kids were afraid of dogs. And in this case, size didn't matter. If it barked, they would jump up into my arms or speed away like Lance Armstrong. So imagine my surprise when they began begging for one. Their most recent canine campaign was run as well as Obama's Presidential bid, and had me looking around for David Axelrod.

They wrote letters and made speeches. They even made campaign promises they couldn't keep like permanently perfect behavior. But it didn't matter to me. They weren't getting my vote. Now don't get me wrong. I love dogs... just other people's. There's something nice about a pet you can play with at someone else's house, at someone's else's expense. You don't feed it, you don't go for walks. Basically, you rent. No stress, no mess.

My resistance held strong for several years until a cold day in February when I agreed to "research" different breeds at a local dog specialty shop. This place had over 50 available dogs, all sizes and shapes, and their playpens gave my kids the opportunity to test drive a few. Now, we all know that this wasn't the brightest move. How do you bring a kid to a candy store and then say we're just looking.

We saw about a dozen dogs that day, and they settled on a Yorkshire Terrier/Toy Poodle mix. Hypoallergenic, no shedding, good with children, and she'll look like a puppy forever. At least that was the sales pitch. When I told my friends what I'd done, the critiques ranged from "sucker" to "schmuck," and some just went into blatant hysterics. The interesting part was that several of them actually owned dogs themselves. The main theme of their commentary can be best summarized as "Dude, you just dropped down a notch." Dropped down? I just bought my kids a dog. I should be a hero with statues built in my honor, or at least have naming rights to a highway. But they did have a point.

Before the kids, I was #1 in my house. After two children, I dropped to #3, which still warrants more attention than let's say...television. But only when Hannah Montana isn't on. And just when I settled into my bronze medal position, I bring home a puppy and instantly move into 4th place. Using my best sports analogy, in 4th place you don't make the playoffs and the fans quickly lose interest.

It's now 6 months later and I thought the novelty would wear off. It hasn't. I hoped that with time, I'd move back into my 3rd place position. I didn't. And just when I thought I'd hit bottom, the vet reminded us it was time for our puppy to get spayed. Surgery? Even I felt bad. Nursing a small dog with even smaller stitches back to good health beats everything - a full house, a royal flush, or a hole in one. Because let's face it. No one wants to see their puppy in pain and wearing a funnel on its head.

So I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to be #4 in the house for some time and it's O.K. I'm not planning on having any more children, so at least my position should be solidified.

Unless my daughter asks for a second dog.

The Nursing Home Tour

I didn't have the opportunity to see the recent tour with James Taylor and Carole King. However, I heard that Sweet Baby James may have less hair than he did in 1975 and the Tapestry Queen may look a little more gray around the noggin, but their voices were as strong and as clear as ever. More importantly, the songs didn't age. The work of two sixty-somethings held up admirably for over 30 years, and sounded much like they did on the 8-track tapes you originally heard them on.

So then I started thinking about today's young "artists" and projected them some 40 years out and doing their own reunion tours. What the hell will Lady Gaga look like then? Will she still wear her underwear in public with the flab of her belly hanging out like jello? Yikes. When she sings, "oo-la, oo-ga-ga", it may look and sound like early onset Alzheimers. The Black-Eyed Peas will be another doozy. I have a feeling that Will I. Am will most likely be referred to as Bill. And can you still call yourself, "Fergie" if you're a senior citizen and not royalty? When they croon "tonight's gonna be a good night", it will probably be foreboding that they both may get through the night without wetting the bed.

If Eminem lets himself go to the tune of 200 pounds with a pot belly and a hoodie to cover the flab, will he still refer to himself as "Slim Shady?" I doubt it. And when Kanye West sings "Paranoid" at 71, he'll most likely sound like a guy who needs immediate testing for dementia. Nobody wants to see that. And nobody will want to hear old men rapping or singing through a voice distortion box either. Their music is frozen in time with the same likelihood of thawing out as Walt Disney.

I would be remiss not to mention the long term potential of the Disney Channel clan. As much as they would like to have the longevity of a cartoon, these people will age just like the rest of us. You think Miley Cyrus can still sing "Best of Both Worlds" into her 60's? It's just a hunch, but I think Hannah Montana's double life secret will probably be out of the bag by then. And the Jonas Brothers may still sing about the "Year 3000," but I doubt they'll live to see it, albeit they'll be closer than they ever were.

Disney music, much like the rest of the top 40, isn't built for the long run. They just wait for someone to age, and then clone another teenager to replace them and take a premium position. The singer-songwriters from the 70's were built from a different stock. James Taylor, Carole King, Billy Joel, Elton John, and Stevie Wonder, all continue to sell out shows and play music that doesn't even seem like there's a hair out of place. It's a true testament of how music has evolved from high quality writing for the long term to a culture of custom made American Idols and single hits for iTunes.

So the next time an artist from the 1970's moves through your neighborhood, bite the bullet and pay the exhorbitant ticket price. They're a dying breed that won't be seen again.

Toy Story Equals Toy Storage

I'm convinced that my kids were the last to see "Toy Story" and "Toy Story 2." My two holdouts finally joined the rest of the country and watched both films on the Disney Channel double feature last weekend.

So I asked them what they thought, assuming that they'd talk about how great the animation was, or that they had a crush on Woody and Buzz Lightyear. Instead, I got something unexpected.

They both said that they felt bad for the toys, and have made a collective decision to never throw any of them away.

Great. Just what I need. I've been trying to take back closet and basement space for the last few years to no avail, and now I have to contend with Pixar? You can't beat Pixar. They're even stronger than Disney. Their stories always have powerful morals that affect both kids and adults alike. "Ratatouille" showed that even the harshest critics can be tamed by vivid childhood memories. 'Wall-E' demonstrated the importance of maintaining a clean environment and a healthy, active lifestyle. Most recently, "Up" showed us all that true love lasts forever and conquers all obstacles. So what kind of match am I going to be for "Toy Story 3?"

A committment to never throw away any toys. What are they nuts? Do I really need to keep the Piglet and Winnie the Pooh stuffed animals now that they idolize Hannah Montana and iCarly? And what about that oversized Bam-Bam looking baseball bat they used to hit their first wiffle ball? And that slinky? It always worked better on the steps in the commercial than it ever did on mine. I'll have to get a bigger house with more storage space and higher real estate taxes just so their High School Musical dolls will have a permanent place to rehearse.

I don't know how Pixar does it. To make us become emotionally attached to characters like robots, rats, a crotchety old man, and a Mr. Potato Head is quite an achievement. And it's expensive to the consumer.

In advance of my daughter's birthday, I bought her the complete set of action figures from "Toy Story 3." When I swiped my credit card, I thought of the joy this will give her in advance of the new film's release. Then I froze and came to a frightening realization.

Now I'll be holding onto these new toys forever. My problem is multiplying and it's purely self-inflicted. I'm hoping that one day Pixar makes a film about a Garbage Man with a clear message that it's good to throw things away in large plastic Hefty bags or recyclable cans.

Maybe I should start writing the script.

When Fish are Held Hostage

When it comes to politics, I am most certainly an agnostic.

I'm not left or right of center, and sometimes, I'm not even in the center at all. With that said, I have no faith in our elected officials. But it doesn't mean I don't root for them. Not necessarily with bumper stickers and a tailgate party, however I would like to see the home team win once in awhile. And I don't mean a healthcare bill or a conversion to a flat tax. I'm talking about a crisis. We don't seem to win many of those. Some of these destructive events are self inflicted, others materialize through bad advice, and more often than not a crisis is inherited.

Our last one-term Democratic President had several he could call his own. First, their was a severe oil crisis, with significant shortages for us to fill our Oldsmobiles. In an effort to properly ration, we had to refuel based on the odd or even numbers on our license plates. If that wasn't enough for our humanitarian peanut farmer, he also had to deal with an Iranian Ayatollah with a penchant for taking hostages. The American Embassy in Iran was captured, and thus one of the lowest points in American morale was born. The longer these Americans remained under siege without a formidable plan for an end date, the President and his reputation were also held hostage. And it went on for a total of 444 days.

So now, another President is traveling quickly down the One Term Highway. He, like his predecessor, has a crisis he can call all his own. Although this is a domestic issue, it is ironic that it once again involves oil. BP's runaway spill in the Gulf of Mexico has fully blossomed into another elongated political morass without a plan or near term solution.

Our hostages have been replaced by fish that have either been rendered deceased or on the brink. Marine life cycles in the region have been disrupted, jobs have been lost, and we have another President long on rhetoric about penalties and punishment, but short on a cogent stop gap measure. I think we've seen this movie before, and we all know the ending. Approval ratings plummet and national morale sinks into the cesspool.

But I'm still rooting for a win. I hope that someone, somewhere can help put an end to the flow of poison that continues to kill life and jobs on a daily basis in the Gulf.

If the fish could talk, they'd be rooting too.

From Grand Slams to Garbage Cans

Before having both hernia and hip surgery, I was an athlete. Not professional, of course, but I held my own in several different sports.

I'd stick handle around opponents in both ice and roller hockey. At shortstop, I would take a relay throw with my back to the plate, and still manage to nail the guy at home. The summers were filled with tennis consisting of bouncing around the court and getting to difficult balls, not to win the point, but merely to keep the volley going. And occasionally, I would drive a softball in the gap between the center fielder and right fielder.

Those were the days.

These days I'm relegated to watching these sports on television which even in HD, fails to deliver the same rush. My recent retirement from competitive sports has also forced me to stay home a lot more, officially replacing athletic endeavors with household activities. And quite frankly, when it comes to many of these chores, I just don't have the same prowess or dexterity.

Every Monday and Thursday, I engage in a game called, "Taking Out the Garbage." This event requires both strength and agility as you have to navigate around parked cars in the garage and the driveway. I've never fully mastered the art of avoiding a scratch or two on the cars, and I consistently knock over cans and spill the recyclables. I am, however, very good the next day while bringing the empty cans back into the garage and in excellent time. With a little work, there is some hope for me here.

The next challenge is a cyclical game known as "The Laundry." I'm pretty good with the separation of colors and whites, but my performance falls off dramatically when I keep clothes in the dryer for too long. When completed, my clothes either fit a midget, or I create a hot towel that would rival anything you would receive in first class. Carrying a full basket up the stairs also poses problems as I inevitably litter the floor behind me with someone's socks or underwear. My family says that I should practice more, but I suspect they have ulterior motives.

Fortunately, I'm not horrible at everything. I improve considerably when it comes to an intense and strategic game called, "Unloading the Dishwasher." I think the prospect of eating a complete meal with my hands keeps me motivated to keep the flow of clean plates and silverware moving, and most of the time I manage to put away the wine glasses without a fatal accident. However, I have been known to turn a few drinking glasses into terrorist weapons.

Without question, my most interesting weekly activity is a scavenger hunt game known as "Food Shopping." First of all, it gets me out of the house. I get a list, so I do have a specific goal to strive for. My equipment can either be a shopping cart or basket depending on how big the list. Keeping my competitive juices flowing, I try to complete the task in record time, without forgetting a single item. To insure that I don't get too cocky, my wife includes at least one mysterious item that doesn't fit neatly into any particular aisle. After all, how am I supposed to know where they keep the low fat, vitamin-enhanced salsa?

The doctors say I need a new hip, which doesn't mean a hip transplant, but a science fiction version of a ball and socket. They also say that the surgery will never bring me back to playing all the real sports I used to know and love. But I have found one positive. By having TSA security at the airport periodically check on my surgeon's work through an X-ray machine, I should be able to save money on a few follow-up doctor's appointments.

Next week I get to play a new game called, "Walking the Puppy." If you avoid stepping on your dog's land mines, you're a winner.

Real Estate Houdinis

In one of my favorite movies, "The Usual Suspects," a crime has been committed. The police have caught a key eyewitness who claims that the culprit was a notoriously evil criminal named Kaiser Soze. In the end, after being released, we discover that this "eyewitness" was actually the Kaiser Soze.

Flash forward several years, and I'm now reading Michael Lewis' latest mind bending expose, "The Big Short." Here, he goes into specific detail about subprime mortgages, credit default swaps, interest only loans, and how these financial instruments led to the downfall of Wall Street's most prominent investment banks. Not to mention all the foreclosures that spread into certain markets like water from a leaky roof.

As Lewis accurately lays blame on several different parties, I realize that one particular group was left devoid of any responsibility. An insidious group that has made a reputation for repeated profitability in any economic climate.

Real Estate Agents.

To some, they fall somewhere between car salesmen and Al Qaeda when it comes to job approval. They're the starting gates of every real estate transaction and they represent the first check point on consumer credit, down payments, and complete assessment of customer credibility. Like a game of poker where certain card combinations rank higher than others, they also have a specific hierarchy with potential customers.

Cash customers beat those who need a mortgage. A buyer without the contingency of selling another home first ranks higher than those buyers that do. Likewise, a higher household income is better than one that isn't. But like great con men, they couldn't resist rigging the game in their favor.

When hesitant buyers questioned their affordability in paying for a house that seemed beyond their reach, they were told, "don't worry, I have a guy who can help." They have a guy? Was he in Good Fellas? No, this "guy" was either an internal finance expert or a friend the broker had at a local bank. It's here where the prospective buyers first discovered products like interest only loans, adjustable rate mortgages, and even options to pay any amount they wanted each month.

Don't tell me that these modern day robber barrons couldn't do the math. You don't need an A+ in calculus to realize that a family making 100K per year, putting no money down, couldn't possibly afford a multi-million dollar home. They knew it, but they didn't care. If the buyer was forced to sell in less than five years, it's perfect? They'll just resell the house and make more commission. Real Estate and Wall Street have one thing in common. Volatility is good.

Yes, you could point to the fact that the buyers should have known better. But real estate agents are supposed to be experts in their field, so as "consultants" many trusted their financial acumen.

So what can be done about it now? It's not too late. These so-called brokers have had fixed commission rates for years regardless of the neighborhood they sell the house in, the home's price, and the total number of days on the market. The government should impose a fine dating back to the beginning of this mess which is probably sometime from 2005-2008. Each brokerage agency should be required to return 2% of all commissions earned during this period. Individual brokers will be charged back for all commission checks and the proceeds will go into a fund for educational programs on how mortgages really work. This way, no one will be fooled again.

Kaiser Soze is amongst us once again. This time, let's not let him get away.

The Case of the Missing Bookcase

I've always loved mysteries. My first exposure to the genre was reading Hardy Boys novels which were equivalent to Harry Potter of the era. I carefully dissected each caper in the hopes of solving the crime before they did. I didn't always succeed. But when I finished each one, there was a sense of accomplishment. So I proudly displayed the completed novel in my bookcase alongside several others so I could easily reference how many books I'd actually read. The goal was to fill up the bookcase and start a new one.

I don't know when the first bookcase came into vogue, but I'm sure if Moses could have made a paperback version of the Ten Commandments it would have started around then. Let's just say it took awhile longer before Ikea made it both commonplace and affordable. But did you ever stop and think why we even needed bookshelves in the first place? If we desired a place to store our best sellers, paperbacks, and text books, why not just shove them into boxes and store them in an attic or basement? If we wanted to get rid of them altogether, Ebay offers cash and a local library offers a tax write-off. But that doesn't work for most people. Because without a bookcase, we can't really prove to anyone that we definitively finished any books beyond Curious George and Dr. Seuss. This, of course assumes that you actually have moved beyond Green Eggs and Ham.

The real truth is that a bookcase holds more than just books. It also holds the key to a few critical psychological components. First, the bookshelf tells the complete story of our lives. It displays the books we were forced to read in high school (with or without accompanying Cliffs Notes). Some feature the college textbooks that we refer back to every now and then. They contain NY Times bestsellers that were made into classic films, books on self-help, leadership, naming a baby, biographies of great historical figures, and saving for retirment. The bookcase lazily leans against the wall, but in the foreground displays our intellectual pursuits over various stages of our adulthood. But like any well developed novel, this only tells half the story.

The second facet of a bookcase is not meant for us at all. It's for the benefit of everyone else. Doctors use them to prove that they actually know something about medicine, or worst comes to worst if dumbfounded, they actually have a refernce tool. And how could lawyers not prove they know something about the law, when the law itself it plastered all over the office in various bookcases? The same rules apply to any home office, den, study, or any other room where books are displayed. If you listen carefully, you could hear every bookcase shout, "Hey you, look what I've read!"

This all brings us to the latest chapter in book display - - the age of digital technology. It began with Amazon's Kindle, was reinforced by Barnes and Nobles' Nook, and seemed to zenith with Apple's new iPad. It's hard to imagine, but could all these high tech gadgets soon make the next generation's bookcase extinct? It's happened before.

The music industry was first to take a hit. Back in the days of the British Invasion, summer beach music, and Classic Rock, artistic album covers were on display in every household. Many of them were worthy of framing. Soon, these collections gave way to much smaller CDs which were stored in less visible racks as the CDs were turned on their sides. And with digital music distribution, any semblance of an album cover has disappeard and replaced by a still image you can't even touch. How could books not be next?

What we're reading has become far less important that how we're reading it. The plot of the latest Grisham novel is not nearly as fun as reading it on the beach in a digital format without any worry of sand getting caught between the pages.

So will our children be the first generation to not use a bookcase? Probably not fully. But with a new group of readers enamored with portability, don't expect to see their bookcases completely filled. It will however, provide a perfect space for a charger that will connect to a wall outlet and insure that our eReaders will always be brightly lit.

As for what we're reading, well, that will remain a mystery.

Are Pharmacies on Drugs?

If you're in the mood to lose a quick $100, look no further than your nearest pharmacy. Duane Reade, CVS, Walgreens, Rite Aid.....it's all the same. It's not that we buy more than we used to. It's that many of the products we buy are no longer one trick ponies. They're now almost all hybrids because the industry has been masterful at reinventing themselves for decades in pursuit of profits.

Moving to Aisle 1, we find ourselves immersed with different kinds of toothpaste. At it's core, the product has been designed to clean teeth and gums with fluoride. As I kid, I had a few choices. Crest, Colgate, AIM, and Sensodyne for those sensitive types. Today, according to the box, our toothpaste could fend off everything including the Tooth Fairy. Toothpaste has breath strips, whitening power, enamel protection, lethal peroxide,and Listerine. Some will even give you a root canal. The real question is, did we really need this? Were mouths everywhere craving for more from their tootpaste? Of course not. But Proctor and Gamble, and Johnson and Johnson have caused us to live in fear. Fear that by not giving your bicuspids the very best, it could one day cause your teeth to fall out.

A stroll into Aisle 2 carries products for all your shaving needs. When I first started shaving, I used a standard razor that basically did its job, but occasionally made me look like I was attacked by Freddy from Nightmare on Elm Street. A few years later, one blade became two, then three, and soon there will be five. This isn't a razor, it's a weapon. It should require a license. And when you're done, you can't trust soap to clean your face, so the invention of face wash was born. It's not soap, or after shave, it's a gel that costs a nifty $6 per bottle.


Aisle 3 gets even more challenging. This is where we find shampoo, which may as well have it's own store dedicated to it. Growing up, Head and Shoulders was the shampoo of choice because the packaged goods companies forced us to view dandruff as the equivalent to the plague. But that's not enough any more. Modern shampoo can shine, create fullness, preserve color, moisturize, strengthen roots, and do everything but trim your bangs. Did someone ask for this when I wasn't looking? When it comes to shampoo, all I really want is something that makes me look like a took a shower.

It's the same in every other aisle. Garbage bags have odor guard which seems counterintuitive to garbage itself. Pens no longer have ink, they use gel and have check fraud protection. Mouthwash kills germs, bacteria, braces, halitosis, stuck dental floss, your tongue, or anything else that's in your mouth. Condoms practically have sex for you. All this leads us to one place.

Dropping at least $100 into the hand of the cashier.

The consumer product manufacturers need to constantly evolve, or their profit margins will be compromised. So they position us as inadequate unless we use products which keep us at the peak of possible hygiene. And just in case, you've managed to resist many of these overpriced, hybrid products, they give it one more shot by teasing you with gum on the way out. But this isn't your father's gum. This pack whitens, brightens, refreshes, and squirts. It can all be yours for a mere $2 per pack. For gum?

At the pharmacy, the house always wins.

Hooray for Hollywood?

Hollywood cheats.

And they get away with it each week. Every Monday morning, our collective news media reports on grosses for movies that screened over the past weekend. We get dazzled by eye-popping numbers for a film's opening, or total gross figures for a James Cameron film that rivals the GDP of certain foreign nations. Some even make comparisons to classic films that were released decades before.

But numbers can lie. Especially when it comes to ticket sales. At one time, our parents bought their way into a double feature and possibly a newsreel with just a few sheckles from their pockets. Today, a family of four needs a credit card, and that's not just to get the points. In addition, the U.S. now boasts over 3,000 screens that include multiplexes, IMAX and 3-D theaters. Up until the mid-seventies a single film played in a solitary theatre. I wouldn't exactly call box office analysis a fair fight.

In turn, despite an extended recession, 2009 was a record year for Hollywood ticket sales. To make things more interesting, they accomplished this by releasing fewer films than the prior year. Without a dramatic rise in prices, how could this feat be accomplished? A slight of hand? Parlor trick? Creative accounting? Not quite. The studios actually executed on a sound business principle that successful companies have been using for years.

Find a product with universal appeal...then completely monopolize the distribution system.

The fact is, we love movies. They distract us from our mundane little lives. We escape reality for ninety minutes and even more importantly, we escape the house. Most of us don't even care if the reviews are good. If there's something playing less than a few miles away, we're in. In other words, Hollywood has us right where they want us. You see, even 60 inch LCD televisions and digital downloads on mobile devices are no rivals for the personal and social experience provided by a state of the art movie theater.

So, the studios take a shortcut. They release films about popular super heroes. They conservatively produce sequels to movies that weren't good the first time around. They attract young audiences with digitally animated animals in some sort of predicament, and a new wave of sexy vampires. A majority of these films fall into a specific category - - crap.

It wasn't always like this. Hollywood had a very long winning streak right through the 70's. The comparison is even more blatant when you compare some of those films with current Academy Award winners. Let's face it. How many times can you watch Crash, Chicago, No Country for Old Men, Slumdog Millonaire or The Hurt Locker? I'd be generous by saying once. From 1970-1979, the Academy awarded statuettes to films like The Godfather, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, Rocky, The Sting, and Annie Hall. All these movies were quoteable, enduring, seen more than once, and in short, well crafted.

As long as we tolerate mediocrity and voluntarily fill the theatres for the senseless drivel that emanates from Tinsel Town, we will continue to get what we deserve - - C+ material. Perhaps we all need a new hobby. Something novel.

Like actually reading one.

Children: The Smartest People in the Room

At five years old, on the morning of Yom Kippur, my daughter was asked to apologize for anything she may have done wrong over the last twelve months. Always the pensive defendant, she paused slightly and replied, "I'd like to apologize for always being right."

Damn. Using the tactic of reverse logic, she managed to elevate her good standing. I couldn't think of any retort. I suspect God didn't either. Now, this certainly isn't the first time I've pointed out the intelligence of my eldest child. In fact, my wife and I have been doing it for years. But we're far from unique.

All parents are prone to showcasing their children once in awhile. We marvel at their first steps; the first vestige of uttered words. They put a knot in their shoelaces and we alert the media. They begin to read and we prepare to inform the Guiness Book of World Records. If these exploits occur at a markedly early age, we even label them as "gifted"

So, with all these little geniuses running around, you would think that we must be breeders of highly functional human beings and living in a world of universally successful, intellectual people. And then...they grow up.

Something horrible happens, as if a science experiment has suddenly gone awry. When the metamorphosis is complete, we're instantly overrun with cashiers who can't make correct change, surgeons that operate on the wrong leg, politicians and other public figures who think that they can be unfaithful to their spouses without being exposed, and customer service representatives who don't focus on customers or service.

For years, we've heard the expression "from the mouths of babes." The translation being that kids speak their minds with complete honesty and no remorse. It's a refreshing tactic that disappears in adulthood where we strive to be politically correct, we tolerate mediocrity in lieu of calling someone out, and we provide tenure for teachers that should righfully be unemployed.

It's really amazing if you think about it. As children, we all learned how to walk, talk, read and become self-sufficient. As adults, many of these same children should be denied a driver's license, shouldn't be allowed to procreate, or even hold a job. And we deal with scandals like Enron, the dissolution of banks, the lack of healthcare, and the Prius. It's not too impressive from a crew that was once labeled as brilliant for being so precocious in elementary school.

Maybe Tom Hanks had the right idea in "Big." Let the children run the company. They're the smartest people in the room.

Still Believing in Miracles

Thirty years ago, I came home from school on a Friday in February, and my father asked me if I wanted to watch the Winter Olympics. At age eleven, I was interested in two things - - girls and baseball. As far as I could tell, the 1980 Olympic games didn't offer either of these pursuits.

But my father was persuasive. He explained that the Men's US Hockey team would be playing against Russia, the fierciest team in the world; a world which was much different than it is today. The Olympics were carried on tape delay which wouldn't garner much interest now. However, before the advent of the internet, ESPN, and a myriad other ways to obtain sports scores, these games were as good as live. It was also a turbulent time for our embattled nation. The Iran hostage crisis was very much in full swing in the Middle East, and the Cold War with Russia was intensifying. The mood in the United States was somber.

Whether I realized or not, this was more than just a hockey game. This was also a time when professional American hockey players didn't participate in the Olympics. The same rules didn't apply to Russia, so it truly was a group of well disciplined college boys against highly skilled, highly intimidating adversaries.

My father told me how our odds weren't great, but he was getting a positive vibe about this hockey team. And so we watched. We watched the U.S. stay close in the first period and eventually chase the most notable goalie in the world from the Russian crease. The tension mounted in the third period as the score was tied, only to be broken by our captain's wrist which sailed past the back-up Russian goalie. As the final seconds ticked off the clock, Al Michaels asked us all if we believed in miracles. It wasn't exactly the parting of the Red Sea, but for modern sports, it was damn close. This wasn't a hockey game at all. It was a catalyst for feeling positive about America again.

It's now 2010, and our Olympic hockey team is back in the final round, hoping for a gold medal. The Cold War is over, but we still have issues with the Middle East. Our economy is under siege, and the job market is shrinking. People can't afford first homes nor the ones they're currently in. Our politics are divisive and our President's shine has come off his wagon. The country is somber once again.

A win on Sunday will pale in comparison to 1980. The current roster is filled with professional players from the NHL. We won't have a political score to settle with our opponent. We won't be asked about our beliefs in modern day miracles. But a win may feel like one anyway. It's been nine years since 9/11, the last time our country was truly united. We haven't had much to rally around since, so a gold medal will bring us back together again, even if just for a brief moment.

It's been thirty years since our last victory, but our Olympic hockey team still has the power to make us proud to be Americans.

USA.....USA.....