The Last Blog in America

Volunteering for Trouble

2012-01-24T20:50:00.000-05:00

Got to be the shoes.

TodayI’d like to tell you how my renegade wife got dismissed from her volunteerjob.

Kimand my son sometimes work a concession stand at the KFC Yum! Center to raisemoney for his high school band. Volunteers are supposed to wear a white shirt,black pants and black shoes. Note there is no mention of neon pink.

Mywife, the rebel band mom, showed up for volunteer duty wearing black shoes witha small, but pronounced pink stripe across the bottom. Although this may betrendy, it’s apparently very distracting to the paying public. (I still haven’tfigured out why the paying public has such an obsession with people’s feet).Because of this, the supervisor of volunteers asked my wife to leave the booth whileit was inspected. Aggravated but committed, Kim returned later, coveredthe pink stripe and dished out concessions.

Thisis proof positive that my wife is a better person than me. If I had beenin the same situation, the supervisor likely would have gotten anearful as he saw my pink feet beat a path out of there.

Thankfully,there is a happy ending to this sad shoe story. Several days later, Kim wore thesame shoes to the grocery store where a woman stopped her to applaud her boldchoice in footwear. That’s one nice lady, but she’ll never make it as avolunteer.

Questionable Customer Service

2012-01-12T21:19:00.001-05:00

Sometimespeople ask you a question when they really don’t care to hear the answer.

Letme explain. I’m not much of a customer survey kind of guy. But when a FifthThird Bank representative recently called me, I couldn’t wait to give her myopinion about “dormancy fees” charged on my checking account.

Shelistened dutifully, typing every answer without a hint of emotion. If I hadtold her I’d rather do business with al-Qaeda than Fifth Third, she would haverecorded it without so much as blinking an eye.

Iscored Fifth Third as low as possible on the survey. She seemed neithersurprised nor alarmed. Then came the payoff question like a big softball rightover the plate: “Did Fifth Third solve my problem?” Despite several calls tocustomer service, calls to the branch, talking to a supervisor and repeatede-mails, they had never even come close. When I informed her of this, she typedin my response and went to the next question on her list. I guess she’s just theperson who records problems. Someone who I haven't met yet must fix them.

Itseems odd to me though that you’d go to the trouble of calling me for myopinion without having the ability – or intention– of addressing my concerns.

Ridiculous Fees? You Can Bank On It

2012-01-01T20:06:00.000-05:00

Ifyou don’t spend your money, then your bank might just take it away from you. Atleast that’s the case with me and Fifth Third Bank.

Ihave a checking account at Fifth Third that I don’t regularly use. I onlyopened the account at Fifth Third’s suggestion. I figured it couldn’t hurt tohave another checking account in addition to my primary one. I was wrong.

Irecently discovered Fifth Third has been deducting a $5 “dormant account” feefrom this account for months without my knowledge. I would have discovered thissooner, but I get only quarterly statements.

I calledFifth Third, asking them to waive the fees. They refused. When I complained andthreatened to close the account, their customer service expert told me, “I wascosting them money anyway.” Back in the early days of our relationship, FifthThird used to court my money, Now, like a scorned lover, it isn’t welcome thereanymore.

Noproblem. My money knows when it’s time to move on. It prefers a partner withold-fashioned values anyway.

Inthe meantime, let this be a lesson to all of you. You have to watch your moneyclosely or you’ll lose it … even when it’s in the bank.

Fans Got Taste of Own Medicine?

2011-12-21T21:07:00.001-05:00

When I recently heard University of Kentucky fans taking umbrage at their welcome to Bloomington’s Assembly Hall I couldn’t help but chuckle since I experienced exactly the same thing … only at the University of Kentucky.

As memory serves me, Kentucky had lost seven of its last eight football games to Louisville, including four straight. Louisville was coming into Commonwealth Stadium ranked among the nation’s elite under first-year head coach Steve Kragthorpe. The UK natives were restless. They smelled blood in the water. They were right.

The insults started as soon as I turned off Versailles Road toward Commonwealth and continued for the next four hours until I merged onto I-64 West finally headed safely home. I was called every profanity imaginable. Even women and children weren’t spared, particularly as we drove past the frat houses to the parking lot.

Granted, there must have been some reasonable UK fans in Commonwealth that day. I just never came across them. I’ve traveled to games all across the country, including college football meccas Tennessee and Ohio State, and have never been treated any worse. In fact, my lasting memory of that day is of rushing from the stadium after a last-second Kentucky win while rabid UK fans followed, cursing at my sister.

After that day, I’ve made every effort to treat visitors to U of L’s games especially well. People shouldn’t be verbally assaulted simply for following their favorite teams. However, if Kentucky fans got a little of their own medicine in Bloomington (and I really question that based on my own experiences at Assembly Hall), then so be it.

Can-Do Reality Television

2011-12-14T21:01:00.000-05:00

Inthe early days of reality television, it seemed the gimmick was mostly aboutdrinking too much and provoking people to fight with show such as “Cops,” TheReal World,” “Big Brother” and even more recently, “The Jersey Shore.”

“Ican do that,” I would say to myself. Infact, that’s pretty much how I spent college.

AsI got a little older, reality television started to evolve. It became more aboutadult themes, such as home renovation, with shows like “This Old House,” “TradingSpaces,” “Flip This House,” “Flipping Out,” and “Designed to Sell,” “While YouWere Out,” “Take Home Handyman” and “Over Your Head.”

“Ican do that,” I would say to myself. At the very least, I could be theboneheaded husband who needs to be bailed out. I’ve been doing that for yearswith my dad.

Realitytelevision then tackled food with shows like “Iron Chef,” “Top Chef,”“Chopped,” “The Next Food Network Star,” “Take Home Chef,” “Dinner Impossible”and “Best in Smoke.”

“Ican do that,” I would say to myself. No one can question my authority oneating. Just give me a Weber grill, a secret ingredient and 20 minutes.

Ofcourse, with all that eating, reality television was bound to discover weightloss with shows like “The Biggest Loser,” “Celebrity Fit Club,” “ExtremeMakeover: Weight Loss,” “FoodRevolution” and “Heavy.”

“Ican do that,” I would say to myself. I once lost more than 60 pounds beforefinding a lot of it back. Point me toward the Lean Cuisine and a $250,000 prize.

Onceeverybody got fit, reality television found something for them to wear withfashion shows such as “Project Runway,” “AmbushMakeover,” and “What Not to Wear.”

“Ican do that,” I would say to myself. Noone looks more outdated than me. Check out the black socks and sweatpants.

Lately,reality TV seems to be mostly about going into The Bayou and wrestlingalligators, wild hogs and various other beasts with shows such as “SwampBrothers,” “Swamp People,” “American Hoggers” and “Billy the Exterminator.”

Ican do … oh, never mind, I better stick with the partying, painting, eating,exercising and shopping.

Fleeting Black Friday Friendships

2011-11-29T20:31:00.001-05:00

Thespirit of goodwill to your fellow man envelopes the holiday season … until itdoesn’t anymore. At least that was the case on a chilly Thursday night / Fridaymorning as my 14-year-old son, Trent, and I braved the crowds for Black Friday,which is traditionally the biggest and busiest shopping day of the year.

Takethe chipper employee outside the Target store as an example. He greeted us warmlyon a cold night, promising a safe, fun time. He thanked us for coming and said howimportant we are to him. Then, without a hint of irony or humor, he addedsomething like this, “Plus, we’ve got the police here and a lot of plastichandcuffs and if you step out of line in the least, we won’t hesitate to throwyour butts in jail.”

Withthe admonition over and a two-hour wait ahead, Trent and I chatted with theolder gentlemen in front of us and his presumed granddaughter. The man tooksuch a liking to us that when he went for coffee he returned with a couple ofcups for us, too, complete with sugar and cream. I was struck by his generosity

Ashort time later, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated by the liquid warmth, Trentand I hit the store with gusto, getting everything on our Black Friday list andthen some. We left satisfied … and without plastic handcuffs. I thought of theman who had given us the coffee earlier, wondering aloud what happened to him.

“Oh,he reached for a cart, and I darted by him,” Trent said. “I mean I appreciatedthe coffee, but …”

Facing the Bridge Dilemma

2011-11-08T21:28:00.000-05:00

I’vebecome an activist. No, I haven’t joined the Occupy Wall Street movement.Instead, my dissent is directed at the Sherman Minton. In other words, I’m notworried about brokers. I’m worried about broken bridges.

An angry southern Indiana commuter

Havingyour life disrupted for months will do that to you, particularly when there’sno end in sight and seemingly no one cares about it as much as you do. Whilethe Occupy Wall Street crowd has captured the country’s imagination, those ofus concerned about the Sherman Minton bridge toil away in relative obscurity.

Asa PR guy, I set out to change this. I figured the Sherman Minton movementneeded an iconic image to energize it … a modern-day southern Indianaequivalent of the couple kissing in Times Square on VJ day. With my mission athand, I grabbed cardboard from an old Coke case, a couple of Sharpies, adigital camera and my adventurous 14-year-old son. I carefully stenciled mymessage across the cardboard: “Will Work 4 Bridge.” I put on my suit, as ifgoing to work, which isn’t so easy these days. Then we sought out the perfectbackdrop, scouting multiple locations. My son shot several pictures of me withmy sign, including some at the base of the bridge near the river and others alittle closer to the inaction. Like all good counter-culture types, we operatedin stealth mode, attracting very little attention.

Thefruit if our labor is shown here. I think we’ve done a pretty fair job ofcapturing the frustration of my family and many fellow Hoosiers. Now, we’lljust have to wait for the celebrities and CNN to join us.

GameStop is a Battlefield

2011-10-30T20:52:00.001-04:00

Earlierthis week, I reluctantly went to a local GameStop at midnight and waited withmy brothers in arms for the release of a first-person shooter videogame calledBattlefield 3. No, I’m no fanboy, as the kids say, but my 14-year-old son is.

Mymission was to get Battlefield 3 for him.

Sothere I stood, on a weekday night, far past my bedtime, waiting in line andswapping stories with everyone from wannabe soldiers in fake camouflage andArmy helmets to real-life soldiers getting ready to be deployed to Afghanistan.

“Haveyou gotten Batman Arkham City yet?” my amped-up neighbor asks me, pointing to abox featuring a modern-day Batman with blood on his hands. Before I can answer,he adds, “It’s bad ass.” And that was the least of his expletives.

Forme, Adam West was batman. He certainly didn’t have blood on his hands. However,hoping not to be discovered as a poser, I reply, “Not yet.”

Itmust have worked because my neighbor keeps talking … and talking. “You gonnaplay tonight?” he asks. Once again, he doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m noteven going to play the story mode,” he says, “I’m going to collect some dog tags.”

Afraidto disclose that the last videogame I played was on an Atari, I listen intentlyand nod. He goes on to discuss the merits of other blood and guts video games, breezingeasily across genres, from soldiers to superheroes and from cowboys to aliens.

Mycover is safe.

Ican hear two other guys – since there are only two girls in the whole store –arguing the merits of PlayStation 3 vs. Xbox.

Finally,it’s time to pick up my game. I show my ID as required, second-guessing whetherthis is appropriate for a 14-year-old. Before I decide, the clerk hands me mygame and says cheerfully, “See you for Skyrim.”

That’sThe Elder Scrolls V: Skryim for the uninitiated. It will be released later thisyear.

Inod in agreement to maintain my new found street cred, while secretly hopingI’m nowhere near GameStop when that one drops. Nevertheless, for a minute, Ithink I might want to try one of these new fangled videogames. Then the momentpasses and I yearn for Space Invaders.

Doing My Home Work

2011-10-20T21:05:00.003-04:00

By my count, it’s been 35 days of captivity in southern Indiana since the abrupt closing of the Sherman Minton bridge.

Thanks to an understanding employer, I’ve been fortunate to spend most of that time telecommuting rather than sitting in traffic. As a result, I’ve taken a crash course in the pros and cons of working from home. They include the following:

Pros

No longer have to shower, shave, brush my teeth or even change my clothes … at least until they invent a smellaphone.
Saved enough money on Diet Cokes alone to start a college fund, not to mention savings on gas, lunch and dry cleaning.
Caught up on the lost episodes of “Matlock” and “In the Heat of the Night.”
Private parking space.
NO MORE BRIDGE TRAFFIC!

Cons

Always have to answer home telephone in a professional manner, rather than with my Arnold Schwarzenegger voice.
Onslaught of Medicare advertisements during daytime television (except for the Anthem ads, of course, which are lovely, and I’m not just saying that because I know the people who put them together).
Trying to determine if fridge leftovers “are still good.”
Miss arguing (I mean discussing) sports with the guy in the lunchroom.
Attack of the telemarketers. (Where’s Tom Mabe when you need him?)

So it looks like a wash. However, based on my sophisticated weighting system, I’d say the pros outweigh the cons. Did I mention the bridges?

How about you? Have you ever worked from home? What pros and cons are on your list?

Welcome to the Bennett Book Club

2011-09-26T23:06:00.002-04:00

I just finished two books on my recent trip to California.As is my habit, both books included behind-the-scenes glimpses of mediabehemoths. The first was “Morning Miracle,” which is Dave Kindred’s candid lookat life at The Washington Post as it adapted – or didn’t adapt – to new media.The second was “They Call Me Baba Booey,” which is Gary Dell’abate’sautobiography, including his role as producer of The Howard Stern Show.

Kindred, a sports reporter, doesn’t apologize for his loveaffair for newspapers, he relishes in it. Nevertheless, he pulls no punches in“Morning Miracle” when discussing the financial and creative conflicts at thevenerable Washington Post. Kindred does one of writing’s toughest jobs …reporting on reporters. He clearly gained the trust of his subjects, allowinghim to show divisions within the paper as it faced the pressures of decliningrevenues and online competition.

Kindred also demonstrates a keen business sense and anoutstanding feel for corporate culture. His story could really be about anycompany facing change. Kindred is there as long-time reporters and editorsreluctantly accept one of The Post’s generous severance packages with no ideawhat they’ll do next. Meanwhile, turmoil is occurring within management’sranks, too, including the awkward transition of power within a family-ownedbusiness.

In “They Call Me Baby Booey,” Dell’abate’s biggestchallenges occur at home, as he struggles being the son of a mother with mentalillness. Like Stern’s “Private Parts” before it, Dell’abate’s book is asurprisingly tender portrait of his family life. He candidly discusses hisbrother’s death from AIDS, his mother’s mental health problems and his father’sdeath.

As for his professional life, Dell’abate’s success is reallya tribute to persistence. He takes multiple internships in college and joinsthe Stern show on a trial basis with a modest salary only after tiring of hisjob as assistant traffic reporter on the Don Imus’ show.

Dell’abate covers some key Stern show moments, including hisill-advised videotape to an ex girlfriend and wayward first pitch at a Mets’game. The paperback also includes a new chapter in which Dell’abate chronicleshis work on a USO show with the volatile Artie Lange. I would have enjoyed evenmore Stern back-story, but it was a good read nevertheless.

A Bridge Over Troubled Waters

2011-09-10T20:04:00.000-04:00

Theregion along the Ohio River known as Kentuckiana is about to become dividedinto Kentucky and Indiana.

Threebridges connect the communities. One is pretty much for local access only.Another has just been closed aftera crack was found in it. It could be closed formonths. That leaves only one major, cloggedartery connecting the two states.

This isbad news for people in both communities, but particularly for people like meand my wife who live in southern Indiana and work in Kentucky. We can expect ourcommutes to more than double, if not worse. I’m lucky enough to have anemployer that will be patient with me. Others aren’t as fortunate.

The sadpart is this problem could have been avoided. It’s not like a natural disastersuddenly destroyed a bridge without warning. Instead, this problem has resultedover decades of use. Planners should have laid out alternatives years ago. Tothe extent that they’ve tried, they’ve been rebuffed by “not in our backyard”special interests threatening lawsuits. Hopefully, this serves as a wake-upcall.

It’s timeto put pettiness aside and move forward. Bridges won’t be built overnight.Severing these communities economically is not an option. What would Kentuckydo without the contributions of Indiana workers? What would Indiana do withoutthe taxes of Kentucky workers who choose their state as a bedroom community?

The factthat we’re in this predicament is a failure of the leadership of both states.They have urged us to think regionally, but haven’t provided us with thenecessary infrastructure to support that strategy. That’s got to change,starting now.

Unfortunately,it could be too little too late. Many Indiana residents may be forced toreconsider their living and/or work arrangements. As for me, I guess I’ll be inthe market for a personal submarine, a jet pack or a hang glider.

Travel Gone to the Dogs

2011-09-03T19:19:00.000-04:00

Travel has gone to the dogs.

I recently took a flight to southern California and therewere not one, but two dogs on board. They might have been terrific travelingcompanions for their owners, but not so much for a guy like me, who is allergicto dogs. In other words, my ideal seatmate doesn’t drink from a toilet. So Itook the furthest seat away, clutching Benadryl, just in case.

That strategy worked fine and I miraculously arrived at mydestination four hours later without bloodshot eyes and a runny nose. I got myluggage, rented a car and negotiated the busy highways around Los Angeles forabout an hour before arriving at my hotel. Weary from the trip, I checked in,got my key and headed up the elevator to my room. When the doors opened, Istarted to exit, only to feel a presence in my path. So I excused myself … to adog.

When I finally got around the dog and to my room, I checkedmy Twitter feed to see what I had missed back home. I was surprised to learnthat the minor league baseball team in my hometown was hosting a night for some very important visitors … dogs. (I bet you don’t have much chance of beating aLabrador retriever to a foul ball).

It was then that it hit me. Dogs lead pretty rich livesthese days, compared to my pet goldfish. They are flying, staying in hotels andattending baseball games. I liked it better when they stayed in their own backyards.But I guess I’m doggone old fashioned.

Pure Pipe

2011-08-16T20:33:00.003-04:00

The news that former Miami University and University of Louisville Head Coach Howard Schellenberger is retiring from coaching gives me an opportunity to dust off my favorite Schellenberger story one more time.

I was a sports reporter at the University of Louisville’s student newspaper when Schellenberger arrived on campus. He was a larger than life guy with the shock of gray hair, the moustache, the pipe and the national championship ring.

I was excited to meet Schellenberger, but also a bit wary. Schellenberger was old school, having studied at the foot of legendary Alabama coach Paul “Bear” Bryant. I knew players were dropping like flies at his first practices. With this backdrop, my editor and I headed over to the Shelby Campus for a media day. I should say here that my editor was the antithesis of Schellenberger. He was a young, bohemian kind of guy with a ear ring, which wasn’t all that common back in those days.

Schellenberger held court for the assembled masses before opening the floor for questions. My editor threw up his hand. Schellenberger pointed at him. In his trademark gravelly voice, he uttered, “Uhh, yes, ma’am.” Undeterred, my editor asked his question, ignoring the coach’s apparent slight.

Nevertheless, the moment was pure Schellenberger. At least that’s how I remember it, although my memory may have been dulled by holding back laughter.

Maybe He Amazed

2011-08-07T19:35:00.005-04:00

I went to Cincinnati with one Paul McCartney manic and returned with three.

No, I didn’t pick anybody up along the way. Instead, Sir Paul won over a couple of new converts through the sheer force of his performance.

My 14-year-old son is a fledgling bassist who is a huge fan of The Beatles in general and McCartney specifically. Kim and I went to Cincinnati for his benefit, but ended up benefitting, too.

It was simply one of the best concerts we’ve ever seen. Despite being 69 years old, McCartney played joyfully for nearly three hours, ala Bruce Springsteen. He covered a lot of ground from The Beatles to Wings to his solo career. All the while, he interacted with the audience and displayed a keen sense of humor.

For instance, McCartney opened with “Hello, Goodbye” and said it was good to be back, even though he last played Cincinnati 18 years ago. The kindly and talkative older gentleman in front of me claimed to have seen McCartney even before that, in 1964, for a mere $5 when the The Beatles played at Cincinnati Gardens.

I enjoyed more Wings songs than I thought I would, including “Nineteen Hundred and Eighthy Five,” “Jet,” “Band on the Run,” and the pyrotechnic-filled “Live and Let Die.” Of McCartney’s solo stuff, “Maybe I’m Amazed” took the prize. Of the Beatles stuff, I loved “Day in the Life,” which transitioned into “Give Peace a Chance,” “Lady Madonna,” and “Golden Slumbers / Carry That Weight / The End,” which closed the show.

The set included tributes to John Lennon, George Harrison and Jimi Hendrix. (Sorry, Ringo, I guess you have to die first).

Somewhere between “Hello” and “The End,” McCartney signed a fan’s shoulder. She left immediately after the show to make it permanent with a tattoo. I wouldn’t go that far for Sir Paul, but at least I understand why she did.

Social Media Giants Should Cash Out

2011-08-02T20:03:00.011-04:00

The latest headline says Twitter is now valued at $8 billion. Here’s my advice to the founders of it and its fellow social media giant, Facebook. Sell! Sell now! Don’t wait another day! Follow the parable provided by Steve Miller and “take the money and run.”

I have several reasons for this opinion.

First, at least as far as I can tell, neither company has developed a reliable revenue stream. The services they offer are free to users and I’m sure they’ll remain that way. Facebook has a few ads. Twitter has promoted Tweets. But neither can expand its corporate presence much without alienating its base. People who use Facebook and Twitter, me included, don’t want the experience marred by marketing. So where is the operating revenue of these companies going to come from? After all, being influential and cool doesn’t pay the bills.

Second, the estimated value of these companies is outrageous as evidenced by the $8 billion estimated value of Twitter alone.

Third, the nature of technology is transient. When was the last time you logged onto to your computer via Prodigy or AOL? How’s that MySpace page working out for you? Unlike a package goods company like Coca-Cola, things get outdated pretty quickly on the Web. Sure, some tech companies have made it to Blue Chip status, but they’ve done it, in part, through diversification. Google is into everything, including maps and phones. Twitter and Facebook are standalone communities.

I congratulate the founders of these companies for holding onto their creations for this long. If I were them, I would have cashed in long ago when the companies were worth far less than they are today.

Why not cash in? I guess it’s tough to let go of a company you founded, nurtured and grew well beyond anyone’s expectations. But if I were these guys, I’d swallow my pride and get out while the getting is good. I can think of billions of reasons to do so. I’d let Microsoft, Google or one of my many other suitors worry about finding a revenue stream. Meanwhile, I’d be on the beach with a margarita, planning my next start-up or pursuing a life of leisure and philanthropy.

Appreciation for the Brickyard

2011-07-30T22:08:00.027-04:00

After my agony at the Kentucky Speedway a few weeks ago, I’ve gained a new appreciation for the Brickyard 400 at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway (IMS).

They say attendance is down at the Brickyard. They say the racing isn’t up to par.

I’ve been to every Brickyard 400. If people are losing interest, you couldn’t tell it by me. My section is always packed with familiar faces, meaning people must be renewing their tickets year after year.

I’ll grant you IMS isn’t ideal for NASCAR. Since the track is 2.5 miles long, you see only a small piece of it. For that reason, I’d much prefer to watch a race at a smaller facility where you can see more -- or all -- of the track, like Kentucky.
However, in other ways, IMS has it in spades over Kentucky … at least based on Kentucky’s inaugural race. IMS has hosted big events for like a century, and it shows. The traffic flow is well planned, publicized, marked and managed.

Kentucky banned coolers at its race, saying it had no time to check them. IMS methodically checks coolers without causing delays.

Tradition is a mismatch. IMS is the track of the Andrettis and A.J. Foyt. You feel like you’re part of something bigger by being there. Furthermore, the crowd is a fascinating mix of sinners and saints. There might have been a nice atmosphere outside the Kentucky Speedway, but I wouldn’t know it, since I spent all my time in the car.

The Brickyard is the one day of the year I actually like listening to Bob & Tom on the radio as they preview the race while I drive to the track. On the way to Kentucky, I listened to the veins popping in my head.

And even the weather cooperates at Indianapolis. Although it’s always hot, the race has never been cancelled by rain.

So while I’d rather watch a Kentucky race, I’d much rather go to Indy.

Mr. Hand Wouldn’t Approve

2011-07-27T21:54:00.004-04:00

In my favorite scene from my favorite movie, a surfer/stoner dude defies authority by having a pizza delivered to his high school history classroom. Now, I know how Jeff Spicoli from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” must’ve felt.

My family recently spent several days on vacation at a somewhat upscale resort in Fort Lauderdale. The rooms were affordable enough, but everything else cost a tanned arm and leg. Having tired of $10 cheeseburgers, I concocted a solution. Channeling my inner Spicoli, I logged onto the Internet and ordered a couple $9 pizzas from Papa John’s.

I waited with trepidation, just like Spicoli must have. In my mind, chances were better of getting a pizza delivered to history class than to this resort. But to my surprise, the front desk called after the obligatory 20 minutes passed. I had a visitor in the lobby, they said.

As I strode across mosaic tile and past a couple of very proper concierges, a pizza guy waved for my attention. “Doug?” he inquired.

“Right here, dude,” I replied.

It was my Spicoli moment, only better. In the movie, Mr. Hand takes Spicoli’s pizza away and gives it to his classmates, whereas I got to literally taste victory.

Now if only I could save a girl from drowning and blow the reward money getting Van Halen to play my birthday party.

You've Been Served

2011-07-20T22:12:00.003-04:00

Ever have a server so professional that he suggested three different tasty dishes for you at three different restaurants?

That was my unusual experience during a recent vacation in south Florida. On my family’s first day in Key Largo, we ate at Mrs. Mac’s Kitchen. That’s where I first met Carlos. I asked about fish tacos. Instead, he suggested a blackened fish sandwich, beans and rice, and key lime pie. All three were winners.

The next day, after snorkeling, we went for a bite to eat on another part of the island at a place called Sharkey’s Pub and Galley Restaurant. I was shocked to be greeted by – you guessed it – none other than Carlos.

Could my eyes be deceiving me? No. It seems Carlos works at both restaurants and goes to college to boot.

“You should get the fish tacos here,” he said, uncannily recalling the previous day’s conversation. I readily obliged. They were another winner.

When I mentioned the delicious dessert from the previous day, Carlos said The Fish House makes a mean key lime pie, too. Not one to break a streak, I naturally had to give it a try. I went to the Fish House and discovered yet another winner.

It fact, the only thing missing there was …. well, Carlos.

Traffic Time Could've Been Better Spent

2011-07-12T21:07:00.002-04:00

Following is a list of the Top Ten things I could have done Saturday rather than wait in traffic for five hours outside the Kentucky Speedway.

10). Dethrone the national Donkey Kong champion.
9). Read the Unabomer’s manifesto.
8). Catch up on the Twilight trilogy.
7). Learn to play harmonica like a folk singer.
6). Eat more hotdogs than the Nathan’s guy.
5). Review all the software agreements I previously skipped.
4). Become conversant in Klingon.
3). Take the SAT for University of Kentucky basketball recruits.
2). Discover a new flavor of Snapple.
1). Design a better parking plan for the Kentucky Speedway.

That’s what I could have done rather than wait in traffic. How about you? I’m eager to hear what you could have accomplished.

Stalled by Speedway Traffic

2011-07-10T16:02:00.011-04:00

If you’re thinking about going to next year’s NASCAR race at the Kentucky Speedway, then you ought to be leaving right about now. That’s the lesson I learned yesterday as I crawled in traffic for more than four hours.

Sure, the racing was good for the inaugural race at Kentucky … at least for the half I saw. The track looked great, too.

But getting there was a nightmare.

I know for an event like this that you better leave early and expect to park far away and walk a lot. But Kentucky Speedway obviously has problems other tracks don’t. For starters, it simply doesn’t have enough roads or parking lots. That problem won’t be solved overnight, but other problems can be fixed through better management.

Having been to many of these races all across the country, here are a few of the random thoughts that occurred to me between four-wheeling through gullies and dodging wayward canines … and a lot of waiting.

· Lack of direction. I never saw anyone directing traffic anywhere until I was almost directly upon the track. By then, it was too little, too late. Far before that, people began fending for themselves, leading to absolute confusion and chaos. To restore order, there should have been people along the route providing critical information, such as distance remaining to the track, lots, etc.

· Looking for a sign. There was a lack of signs both inside and outside the track, making everything from finding a parking lot to finding your seat absolute guesswork. If I were track owner Bruton Smith, I would name the grandstands something other than “5C” and have them marked with big signs, like other venues.

· Capitalism in the countryside. One of the most frustrating things about getting to the track is there seemed to be fields everywhere suitable for parking, but unoccupied. For every track I’ve visited, “unsanctioned” lots are as important as the sanctioned ones. I’ve parked at churches, elementary schools, golf ranges and many front yards. Maybe the speedway’s neighbors didn’t realize how willing and how much people would pay to park in proximity to the track. To paraphrase President Reagan – the king of capitalism – “Mr. Landowner, Open up Those Fields!”

· There’s bound to be another way. Actually, there is. Lanes coming from the speedway were deserted. They should have been converted to one way before and after the race, like they do in Darlington. Some people did this anyway, driving the wrong way in the emergency lanes. I’m far too law-abiding for that, even though the likelihood of getting caught would have been nil (see my first point).

I will tip my hat, however, to the many shuttles to and from the track. If not for them, I wouldn’t have seen any of the race. And I did see enough to know that Kyle Busch won. He negotiated the traffic far better than I could.

Free Throw Line Not Always Charitable

2011-07-06T20:29:00.003-04:00

Basketball players today are a combination of athletes and acrobats. They leap, twist and contort in ways their predecessors could never have imagined. But there’s one thing they can’t do: Shoot free throws. It’s a shame, too. While high flying acrobatics are fun to watch, free throw shooting is frequently the margin between defeat and victory.

Take the last games of Kentucky’s famed basketball programs as examples. Louisville lost its NCAA opener by one point to Morehead State. In that game, Louisville shot only 7 of 16 from the free throw line for a paltry for 44 percent. It’s easy to see how U of L could have advanced simply by making a few more free throws.

The same could be said for the University of Kentucky. UK fell a bucket shy of making the national championship game. In its loss to Connecticut, UK shot only 4 of 12 from the free throw for an anemic 33 percent. I think it’s fair to say Kentucky could have won the national title if not for poor free throw shooting. This is old hat to UK Head Coach John Calipari, having already lost a title due to poor free throw shooting.

The most frustrating part of this is free throw shooting is really the only thing in sports that can be replicated in practice almost exactly as it occurs in a game. The shooter will always be 15 foot from the basket, which is always 10-feet high. There are no other variables, such as defenders in the way. Given this, it would seem a player could improve his free throw stroke with nothing more than a basketball, a goal and a commitment. Nevertheless, the line continues to confound otherwise good players.

Consider Louisville’s Stephen VanTreese. Van Treese is the kind of player coaches love. He is a 6-foot-9 bottle of energy who hustles, rebounds, plays defense and kicks in a few garbage baskets. He also shoots only 31 percent from the free throw line. As a result, he has to sit at the end of close games, when he could be most useful.

Peyton Siva, Louisville’s point guard, shoots free throws at more than double Van Treese’s average. However, his 68 percent (63 in conference) isn’t good enough for someone who is always handling the ball in late game situations. In fact, I doubt there is anyone on Louisville’s team who could have stepped up and knocked down two free throws with two seconds left the way UConn freshman Shabazz Napier did against UK.

Free throw shooting won’t get you on SportsCenter. It will only win you games … and championships.

Thought Provoking Exhibit

2011-06-20T20:32:00.017-04:00

I’m no art connoisseur so it was with bit of skepticism that that I recently greeted Thornton Dial’s “Hard Truths” exhibit at the Indianapolis Museum of Art.

Dial is a folk artist who grew up in Alabama, turning things like paint cans, wire, rusty car parts and straw into art.

Dial’s collection is certainly thought provoking. In fact, here are just of the few of the thoughts I had as I toured the collection.

· Is gluing a Barbie to canvass actually art?
· Is that a goat?
· Is that sanitary?
· I’m glad I ate before this.
· I knew a guy who had stuff like this in his front yard. People thought he was crazy.
· Why would you do that to Mickey Mouse?
· This is kind of scaring me.

Amidst these thoughts, however, I did manage to find a couple of works that appealed to me. The PR guy in me loved the piece about Morley Safer of 60 Minutes fame. Dial apparently felt persecuted by Safer in a piece on the news magazine. (Imagine that). He responded with a piece called “Strange Fruit: Channel 42,” which shows a figure, presumably Dial, hanging from a TV antenna. Sure beats a letter to the editor.

I also appreciate a piece that featured bright flowers blooming against a stark background. The colors popped compared to the rest of collection, which consisted of mostly dark themes like Sept. 11 and racism, portrayed through anguished faces.

The remaining sculptures, drawings, etc. made you think ... even if you just were thinking about keeping the lights on when you got home or how you should have made that guy an offer for the concoction in his front yard.

Turned Off by the Radio

2011-06-13T21:04:00.002-04:00

Trying to save a $70 diagnostic fee, I dropped by Advanced Auto Parts recently to get a reading on my Explorer’s “service engine soon” light.

I shut down the truck hurriedly, hoping to get in and out. A crusty older lady, who had probably been servicing cars since the Model T, was willing to help. She grabbed the computer, walked to the car and motioned for the vehicle’s keys.

As luck with have it, this no nonsense lady happened to start my truck – and its radio -- just in time to hear some of the raunchiest moments in the history of the “Bob and Tom Show.” “It’s a little saucy,” I said, hoping to break the awkward silence. She said nothing, raised an eyebrow and turned the knob to silence the offending noise.

“It’s your EGR valve,” she said.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“Now, you can get back to your radio,” she said, walking away in mild disgust.

I apparently had lost her respect, but at least I saved $70. And it could have been worse. At least I wasn’t listening to Howard Stern.

My Own Social Network

2011-06-07T21:45:00.002-04:00

Ever since watching “The Social Network,” I’ve been kicking myself for not going to Harvard, befriending some computer nerds and ending up with a small part of a billion dollar start-up technology company.

Unfortunately, there were several holes in this plan, including the fact that I wasn’t smart enough for Harvard. But even at the University of Louisville, I managed to meet my fair share of computer nerds. I used to congregate every day for lunch with a number of them from the university’s Speed School of Engineering.

I was taking a basic programming class at the time. All those 1s and 0s were far beyond the comprehension of a lowly communications major. So I’d seek out the Speed guys and buy them lunch while they knocked out my homework.

Alas, I was not to launch the globe’s biggest social networking site. None of geeky friends did either. But I did manage to pass Basic Programming.

At the time, that seemed like enough.

Not So Best Wishes

2011-05-29T21:38:00.002-04:00

My son, Trent, is graduating from eighth grade. Part of the pageantry of wrapping up his final middle school year is the signing of yearbooks.

One of Trent’s teachers penned the following ditty in his book: “Trent, you are not as annoying as most people think.”

Trent assured me the teacher was only kidding. He got a big kick out of it.

But even if the teacher was serious, this would rank only as the second worst yearbook signing by a teacher I’ve ever seen. The undisputed award for “Worst Yearbook Signing by at Teacher” occurred way back when I was in high school. I had an acquaintance who was a bit of a ne’er-do-well in school. He unwisely asked a teacher who was one of his regular targets to sign his yearbook. The teacher was short, and not so sweet.

“Good luck,” he wrote. “You’re going to need it.”

Unlike my son’s teacher, I’m sure he wasn’t kidding.

Facebook Hate Shouldn't Be Taken Lightly

2011-05-24T20:59:00.006-04:00

Dr. Drew Pinsky is among those supporting a 13-year-old girl who was recently suspended from school for posting on Facebook that she wished Osama Bin Laden would have killed her teacher. I’m not nearly as sympathetic.

Specifically, the girl wrote, “I wished Osama bin Laden had killed (my teacher) instead of the 3,000 people in the Twin Towers.” The school suspended the girl for five days. “I’m so sorry this has been so hurtful for you,” Pinsky told the girl.

I feel sorry for the teacher. Wishing death upon someone is no joking matter, particularly in today’s environment where teens have not only threatened people at their schools, but have acted on those threats. The girl’s mother admits the post was wrong, but quickly follows up with criticism of school officials for addressing this with her daughter at school, particularly since it happened away from school grounds.

I’m thankful someone is watching these things. The days of dismissing hateful language as idle teenage chitchat are long since past. In fact, warning signs have too often been ignored. I think five days suspension is actually pretty light. If it were up to me, I would have expelled the girl and notified police.

And, if this were my daughter, she would be at home trying to make things right instead of making a spectacle of herself on TV. As for Dr. Drew, I wonder if he would be so sympathetic if the teacher were his wife.

My Useless Superpower

2011-05-18T22:21:00.009-04:00

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a pretty useless superpower. I am generally able to tell a person which celebrity they most look like. I, for example, look a lot like Tom Cruise if he had let himself go. (It’s the nose).

Granted, if Earth were threatened by aliens, you’d probably want Superman. But if you were people watching over a few drinks, you might find my power to be more entertaining than the Man of Steel.

Like most superheroes, I can’t renounce my powers, even if I wanted. They recently surfaced unexpectedly as I was reading about the Arnold Schwarzenegger love child. As soon as I saw Arnold’s mistress, I knew her doppelganger. She is a carbon copy for the crazy mother from the Miami Housewives series.

Take a look for yourselves. Arnold's girl is on the left. The housewife mom is on the right. Once you see the uncanny resemblance as I do, I doubt you mere mortals will ever challenge Tubby Tom Cruise again.

Looking Good on the Diamond

2011-05-10T20:08:00.003-04:00

It was hard to convince my 8-year-old son, Clark, to get sports goggles. Now, it’s hard to get him to take them off … ever.

The other night I caught him wearing them in bed while reading a book, as if a stray line drive might rocket through his bedroom at any moment. He wears them when we go out to eat. I’m surprised he doesn’t wear them in the bathtub.

Recently, Clark insisted on wearing his entire Little League Reds uniform to a Reds’ baseball game, complete with goggles. Three people mistook him for Chris Sabo.

In addition to sharing Sabo’s fashion sense, Clark plays third base, just like him. If fact, I’d figure he was going for Sabo’s look, if only he’d ever heard of him.

Or maybe Clark wants to look like giant horsefly.

Who knows what goes through the mind of an 8-year-old boy? But I do know this much: If a food fight ever unexpectedly breaks out at Applebee’s, he’s ready.

Remembering a Man Who Found the Loopholes

2011-05-03T20:42:00.002-04:00

I think I can best describe the life of my grandpa Morris, who died Monday, through a single story. He was so cantankerous that he picked up smoking in his 90s as a protest against authorities at his senior living facility.

Let me explain.

Like a lot of people his age, grandpa wasn’t thrilled with being moved to a senior living facility even though he was in his 90s and in desperate need of help. So when he got there, he resisted. This manifested itself in a variety of ways, including securing the code to the automatic door and sneaking outside when people weren’t looking.

As a result, administrators rightfully cracked down on his privileges, including limiting his trips outside the facility. At about this same time, grandpa probably jotted down a grievance in one of his many notepads. He noticed smokers were allowed to leave the facility regularly for 15-minute smoke breaks, while he wasn’t.

So, to level the playing field, he reached the only logical conclusion: Despite being a nonsmoker his entire life, he must pick up smoking immediately.

Can you believe it worked? To his credit, he had discovered a loophole and was soon outside with the others, puffing away. For my mom, this meant now bringing him cigarettes along with his beloved chocolates.

This was the life of my grandpa, a man who stubbornly gamed the system until the very end. God bless him.

Young Earns Passing Marks

2011-04-26T19:31:00.005-04:00

You’ve got to love serendipity.

Through pure happenstance, 9th District U.S. Rep. Todd Young, R-Ind., happened to be holding a town hall meeting at Ivy Tech Community College last week while I was teaching an introductory speech class there. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took my class over to watch his speech.

It was my first time to meet Young. The freshman Republican was very gracious, taking time to meet my students before the presentation and mentioning them several times during it. He even managed to poke a little good-natured fun at me, saying I should give the students extra credit for attending. (Don’t worry congressman. I will.)

Young’s presentation was straight from the GOP playbook, but solid. He talked for around an hour about the country’s mounting debt, saying Congress has an obligation to act. He repeatedly warned of entitlements, which he called “autopilot” spending.

Young made a compelling case – even if I didn’t agree with everything he said.

From a public speaking standout, Young delivered. He was relaxed, had his sleeves rolled up, and spoke without a podium. He didn’t sugarcoat anything and answered questions respectfully, but unflinchingly. He’d definitely pass my class.

Bullying the Bully

2011-04-20T18:08:00.003-04:00

University of Kentucky fans are outraged that ESPN commentator Bob Knight dare insult their beloved head coach basketball coach, John Calipari. Count me among those who couldn’t care less.

Calipari has been needlessly jabbing away at University of Louisville head coach Rick Pitino for months. His passive-aggressive assault has included the following:

• Calipari said he was rooting for U of L late in the season since his team had “spanked” them earlier in the year.

• Calipari said UK’s Eric Bledsoe was not as highly touted as U of L’s Peyton Siva, but was drafted early (while Siva was not, presumably because of superior coaching).

• Calipari said UK would not lose its assistant coaches (like Louisville has) because its jobs are destination positions (unlike Louisville).

I’ve added the material in parenthesis to give you an idea of what the slippery one really meant since he won’t come right out and say it.

Pitino didn’t respond to any of these barbs because he’s too classy. As we all know, Knight has no such filter.

Knight apparently didn’t get it all right, but I’d argue the context is close. Regardless, it’s hard for me to feel sorry for the bully who gets bullied. Or as my mom always says, “don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

A Fundamental Lesson in Base Running

2011-04-18T22:31:00.002-04:00

The very first day of Clark’s Little League practice this year, the coach put away the gloves and bats and worked exclusively on base running. He painstakingly explained the difference between rounding the base toward second and safely overrunning the base by turning to the right. This was a tough lesson for kids who were more eager to hit than run.

Although it tested his patience, the coach stayed at it until the kids started to pick it up. That’s because the fundamentals are important to learn in baseball … even for a Major Leaguer, as I discovered earlier this week at Cincinnati’s Great American Ballpark.

In the bottom of the ninth inning of a one-run game against the Pirates, the Reds’ Jay Bruce beat out an infield single. Bruce initially overran the bag safely, turning to the right, as Little Leaguers are taught to do. However, the ball was overthrown, and Bruce moved ever so slightly into fair territory to ponder taking an extra base. The second baseman chased down the overthrown ball and tagged Bruce out. It was a key out in a game the Reds went on to lose.

Although this was an unusual play, there was no need to explain what had just happened to my 8-year-old son. He had seen it many times before … from the first day of practice, in fact. As it turns out, fundamentals are as fundamental for Major Leaguers as Little Leaguers.

Responding to a Crisis

2011-04-16T12:18:00.004-04:00

There was an interesting discussion at an International Association of Business Communicators (IABC) meeting in Louisville, Ky., this week regarding crisis communications. Two veteran TV journalists who have moved to the public relations realm were on the panel. They had very different perspectives when it comes to on-camera appearances during a crisis.

Nel Taylor, the communications lead for a home health care business, says she has a policy of never doing on-camera interviews with a negative story. She says she cooperates and communicates, issues statements, takes responsibility, etc., but declines requests to go on camera. She said her company is spread all over the country and it would be unfair to ask employees to shoulder that responsibility. There is more downside to doing these interviews than upside, she said. TV journalists have so many deadlines it’s difficult for them to take time with a nuanced story, she said. Plus, the medium lends itself to a storytelling style that pits “good guys” against “bad guys.”

Mark Hebert was a hard-hitting statehouse reporter. He is now the PR lead for the University of Louisville. Hebert noted that a public university is different from a private institution in structure and scope. U of L doesn’t get a lot of national media (outside of sports). He knows or has worked with most of the TV reporters who contact him. Furthermore, Hebert spends about 25 percent of his time pitching positive stories. Reporters wouldn’t be receptive to him if he wouldn’t go on camera during a crisis, he said. Plus, reporters can always “ambush” a public person like the president of a university anyway.

They both took an optimistic outlook on social media. Hebert said he treats bloggers just like other journalists, as long as they behave like them. Taylor conceded that news moves faster in this environment, but so can the response.

Classic Rock Strikes a Chord

2011-04-10T12:01:00.004-04:00

I came of age in the 80s. The sound track of my life was hair bands, southern rock, pop and punk. I didn’t care for whatever came before and cared even less about the next big thing – rap, which seemed like nothing but noise to me.

It’s funny how things change … and remain the same.

I still loves me some classic rock, but my 14-year-old son loves it even more. In the age of Lady Gaga, he prefers Pink Floyd. He likes Styx and is an especially big fan of the Beatles. He has nearly all their albums. I mean CDs. I mean MP3s.

Of course, I knew of The Beatles, but didn’t like them very much. They seemed too soft to me. I couldn’t get into the whole peacenik thing. Same thing was true for my wife, who preferred her British rock from The Rolling Stones. So only recently have we both acquired an appreciation for The Beatles, courtesy of our teenage son. Imagine that. He’s also introduced us to the Electric Light Orchestra.

We have a few raps albums, too. I mean CDs. I mean MP3s. Believe or not, those belong to me. Somewhere over the years, I’ve inexplicably acquired a taste for it. I think I sometimes share the rappers’ world view of being put upon.

Maybe someday I’ll even introduce Trent to Eminem.

Johnson's Success Part of NASCAR's Ills

2011-03-23T11:49:00.008-04:00

I’ve gotten a lot of enjoyment out of NASCAR racing over the years. I’ve been to races at six different tracks, eaten bologna sandwiches with Jeff Gordon and ran into Dale Earnhardt coming out of a bathroom. In other words, Sundays were pretty much devoted to racing. However, over the last few years, I’ve begun to lose interest. I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but I’ve got some ideas. Following are a few of them.

No more overweight drivers. The overweight driver is Everyman. People complained that race car drivers weren’t “real athletes.” Drivers responded with a commitment to fitness, making big drivers a thing of the past. The last one I remember is Jimmy Spencer. Sure, Tony Stewart flirts with it, but won’t fully commit.

No real characters. Drivers today are entirely too polished. I think it started with Gordon, who was trained as much as a pitchman as a driver. Guys like Dale Earnhardt would tell you like it was. Today, every accident is simply “a racin’ thing.” The only time I got passionate last season is when Gordon and Johnson got a little chippy with each other, which leads me to my next point.

Too much Jimmy Johnson. Sports get boring when the same person or team always wins. Parity is one of the reasons the NFL is so exciting. In contrast, look at women’s basketball. UConn won another title? Yawn. Johnson isn’t doing NASCAR any favors by winning five straight championships.

Not enough Dale Earnhardt Jr. There is an army of people eager for Dale Earnhardt to assume his father’s crown, including me. Unfortunately, he hasn’t been able to do it, even after moving to NASCAR’s most successful team.

Races are too long. I can mow and trim the lawn, wash and wax two cars, shop for groceries, grill hamburgers, take a nap and still wake up in time for the last 111 laps.

Too many races. In addition to Sprint Cup races, there are truck races and Nationwide races competing for racing fans’ attention. It dilutes the sport. Think about it. There’s a reason networks aren’t scurrying to televise minor league baseball and developmental basketball. No wonder I lose interest in racing as soon as football season starts. By that time, Johnson is usually picking up his billionth trophy anyway.

“If the race were to end right now” graphic. I know this one is petty, but the race ISN’T going to end right now. It never does. See above.

The Chase. It takes a mathematician to figure out the many subtleties of the NASCAR points system, now marketed as “The Chase.” Here’s a tip: Simplify it. If math were entertaining, it wouldn’t take so long for me to balance my checkbook.

So these are the reasons I’ve begun to lose interest in NASCAR, leaving only one last question to be answered. If I go cold turkey, what will I do with my Sundays? I’m thinking PGA Golf. Sure, it’s long, but at least there are some overweight guys.

Lost Focus

2011-03-17T21:35:00.011-04:00

Put this together to demonstrate what happened to me at about 4 p.m. today when Morehead State beat Louisville.

Defending the American Worker

2011-03-16T18:44:00.011-04:00

From what I’ve seen over the years, the national news has been more likely to defend flag burners than flag wavers. That’s why I have been so pleasantly surprised by the outright patriotism on display lately at ABC News.

ABC News has been crusading for American workers through a series called “Made in America.” It took The Smithsonian to task for selling souvenirs made overseas. It renovated a home exclusively with American-made products for little extra cost. It questioned the garment industry about why more American-made fabrics aren’t used. It even named the American worker its “Person of the Week.”

At first glance, this might seem unremarkable. As someone told me on Twitter, “everyone knows that junk is made in China.” Certainly it’s true that some people see buying American as an antiquated concept. They view the “buy American” crowd as bigots, not patriots. They see them as out of touch with the realities of a global economy.

ABC News takes the contrarian view, waving the flag for the American worker. It says we could create 200,000 U.S. jobs by simply spending an extra $64 each year on U.S. products. This is as remarkable for the messenger as it is for message. You’d expect Fox to advocate for American products, but probably not ABC.

ABC promises to continue the American-made crusade. Here’s hoping a future segment will focus on the buying habits of members of Congress. Many years ago I was told a story of a long-time congressman who was visiting a union hall in his district. The congressman drove a foreign-made car, which he knew wouldn’t be popular with the awaiting automakers. Instead of face their wrath, he parked the car several blocks from the hall and walked to the appearance with his aides. By the way, he lost the next election.

To see ABC’s “Made in America” segments for yourself, go to http://abcnews.go.com/WN/MadeInAmerica/

Like Father, Like Son

2011-03-08T17:22:00.006-05:00

My 8-year-old son Clark was playing his weekly basketball game at the YMCA Youth League when the official called a rarely called foul on him. “I didn’t do anything,” he protested. Unfortunately, this reaction came as no surprise to my wife, Kim. She’s heard this before – and much worse – from the young man’s father.

Clark is my regular companion for the University of Louisville games. He’s apparently picked up more than just the player’s names and a hunger for pizza and ice cream. He’s also taken notice of my disdain for poor officiating. As a U of L fan, I’ve seen my share of officiating blunders over the years … only to be followed by an apology from the Big East. There was the fake fair catch against Rutgers, for starters. When these things happen, I rarely suffer quietly.

I’ve tried to explain to Clark that fans are passionate. They can’t help but see slights to their favorite teams … both real and imagined. I thought he understood this, until he went all Bobby Knight during his youth league game.

In the interest of sportsmanship, it’s clear I’m going to have to clean up my act, which would be much easier if only those $%*&#@ officials weren’t always cheating us.

Cheerleader's Premature Act Shows Pattern

2011-03-01T09:18:00.005-05:00

By now, you've probably heard about the Louisville cheerleader who nearly cost his team a big basketball game by flinging the ball into the air to celebrate a game that wasn’t quite over. His premature party resulted in a technical foul, allowing Pittsburgh a chance to tie the game with a desperation three-pointer. Thankfully – for us Cardinal fans and one very nervous cheerleader – the shot was wayward.

What you probably don’t know, is that this isn’t the first time the cheerleader has acted so precipitously. Through my crack research, I’ve uncovered the following information about other times he has jumped the gun.

• On election night in 2000 he exchanged a high five with Al Gore to celebrate Gore being elected president.

• While in the military, he helped hang a "Mission Accomplished" banner on a certain battleship.

• He twice sent cards to John Calapari congratulating him on his Final Four appearances.

• He blamed Rick Pitino for this year’s loss to Marquette.

• He tried to book Charlie Sheen to speak to his church group regarding his remarkable personal transformation.

• He is a power user on MySpace.

• He remains bullish on AOL stock.

• He bought tickets to see Conan O’Brien host “The Tonight Show.”

• He can’t wait for Destiny’s Child’s next tour.

Of course, I kid. I probably shouldn’t be so hard on the guy. Rumor has it that after his gaffe he rode home in the rain on his Segway.

Tough Weekend Technically Speaking

2011-02-19T17:07:00.005-05:00

It’s been a tough weekend in the Big East – technically speaking.

At least four different coaches and a player picked up technical fouls on Saturday. Jamie Dixon and Steve Lavin both got them in St. Johns’ upset of Pittsburgh. St. John’s guard D. J. Kennedy threw one in for good measure.

Not to be outdone, West Virginia Coach Bob Huggins and Notre Dame Coach Mike Brey both picked up technicals in the Mountaineers upset of the Irish. And Louisville’s Preston Knowles and Connecticut’s Kemba Walker both got technical fouls on Friday night during the Cardinals victory over the Huskies. Just what in the name of Bob Knight is going on here?

If you ask me, this recent rash of technical fouls actually started on Feb. 9 when Louisville’s Kyle Kuric was called for “taunting” after glaring at a Notre Dame defender following a monster slam dunk. This drew outrage because it was so out of character for Kuric -- perhaps Louisville’s softest spoken player. If Kuric were guilty, then what about all his jersey popping, muscle flexing, finger-waving Big East brethren?

Rather than show restraint -- or admit a mistake -- Big East officials naturally overreacted. They have been handing out technical fouls like tattoos in the NBA ever since.

The crackdown leaves one confused about exactly what results in a technical foul and what doesn’t. To the casual viewer, it’s not always clear. On Friday, the officials were kind of enough to say into a national TV microphone that Knowles got his foul for encouraging a “bull sh@t” chant. Other times it remains a mystery.

But don’t worry. I’ve got your answers right here. Based on what I’ve seen, the following will definitely result in a technical: glaring (Kuric), enjoying a profane chant (Knowles), raising three fingers after a three-pointer (Marquette’s Darius Johnson-Odom) and generally throwing a hissy fit from the bench, unless, of course, your name happens to be Jim Boeheim (Dixon, Lavin, Huggins and Brey).

So how’s a boy to celebrate or to protest? Once again, based on my unscientific viewing, there are plenty of things a player can still do with impunity, including popping his jersey, flexing his muscles, blowing kisses, screaming at no one in particular and pounding his chest. I even saw a guy get away with slapping the ball after a timeout.

But no glaring … definitely no glaring.

* * *

Friday’s Louisville game also showed why players are so often tempted to abandon the fundamental play in favor of the spectacular one. U of L guard Peyton Siva stole the ball from his UConn counterpart and sped down the court for a sure, easy layup. Instead, Siva climbed the ladder and threw down a nasty 360-degree dunk. What was his reward for taking this unnecessary risk? Only every SportsCenter highlight for the next 24 hours.

Job Change Opens New Doors

2011-02-10T19:15:00.003-05:00

For four years, I walked past the 21c Hotel in downtown Louisville, Ky., twice a day on my way to and from work. And almost every day, I exchanged some sort of mild pleasantry with the hotel’s doormen … a nod, a wave or a “hey.”

Our relationship wasn’t always this comfortable. In the beginning, it was downright awkward. A 21c doorman once mistook me for a hotel guest and tried to open the door for me. The suit and tie must’ve thrown him. I felt so badly that I nearly went into the hotel just to accommodate him. Instead, I passed clumsily by.

From then on, I employed several tactics to make sure this didn’t happen again. I walked faster past the hotel. I walked farther from the hotel. I even averted eye contact for awhile. After all, 21c is a pretty fancy hotel and the doormen could spend their time much better with actual tipping guests instead of some guy just passing through.

However, as the trips added up, the doormen eventually accepted me as a civilian in no need of entrance assistance. I walked closer to the hotel and slowed my pace. We exchanged twice daily greetings. The door remained hinged.

I changed jobs and hadn’t thought of this routine again until Friday night when my wife and I decided to stay the night at 21c. As I headed toward the hotel, I saw one of the regulars manning the door. Even though I hadn’t walked past the hotel in more than six months, I could see a faint glimmer of recognition in his eyes. To complicate matters, he knew me as nothing more than a passerby. Yet here I was clearly seeking entry. Time froze. The doorman gathered himself. He smiled and opened the door.

I was finally an actual paying guest in need of his services. It was a moment that was four years – and twice daily – in the making.

He Knows a Guy

2011-01-18T18:50:00.001-05:00

My dad knows a guy.

Whether you need concrete poured, a wall painted, a tree chopped, a leak fixed or eyeglasses repaired, my dad knows a guy. He always knows a guy.

It’s a wonderful luxury to know the guy who knows the guys.

There’s only one problem. My dad also changes guys … rapidly and without much warning. Sometimes you’re still calling the old guy, only to discover that he’s already moved on to a new guy. Talk about awkward.

You see, even though dad knows a guy, he is always on the lookout for another guy who does it better or cheaper or both. Plus, if the first guy happens to be traveling on vacation, it’s always good to have a backup guy.

Often you’re left scratching your head, wondering why dad changed guys. After all, it’s never some calamity that leads to the change. Rather, he just seems to know when to do it, like a baseball manager knows when to change pitchers. When you meet the new guy, you usually agree that he made the right call.

Sometimes the status quo is the right call. For example, dad has been through multiple ophthalmologists, but still has the same dentist.

By the way, it’s good to be dad’s guy. Since dad has developed a reputation for knowing the right guy, his guy stays pretty busy.

Even in these connected times, it’s surprisingly difficult to find honest people who do quality work at a fair price. So whether it’s taking a dent out of a car door or sharpening a lawnmower blade, I rest easy knowing my dad knows a guy.

Odds and Ends

2011-01-11T21:06:00.002-05:00

Several subjects have garnered my attention lately. On their own, they didn’t warrant a full-fledged blog post. Nevertheless, I just couldn’t let them pass without further comment. So here goes nothing ... or a little bit of something.

News Item: A Navy commander lost his command for previously broadcasting raunchy videos featuring homophobic and sexist comments and inappropriate images. The videos were intended to be a lighthearted way to boost the ship’s morale.

Comment: When did Michael Scott join the military?

News Item: Connecticut football Head Coach Randy Edsall recently accepted the same position at the University of Maryland.

Comment: Wonder if Edsall interviewed in a hoodie? Seriously, this guy has got to step up his wardrobe, as do a host of other college coaches. I hate to say it, but I’m looking at you too Charlie Strong. Take a page from the great Howard Schellenberger, who always wears a suit and a tie on the sidelines, even in a rain or snowstorm.

News Item: After missing two straight weeks for the holidays, the local recyclers left early this week, saying their trucks were too full.

Comment: Time for another Dale Moss story.

News Item: The ferry from Jeffersonville to Louisville for University of Louisville basketball games has been cancelled due to a lack of interest.

Comment: Please come back. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.

News Item: In just one week on Facebook, my 13-year-old son accumulated far more followers than I could ever think of getting.

Comment: At least he’s not on Twitter.

A Maiden Voyage to the KFC Yum Center

2011-01-04T19:47:00.002-05:00

You’ve got to give my dad credit. When he goes in, he goes all in.

Dad has been threatening to go the KFC Yum Center for some time now to see the beautiful new home of our beloved University of Louisville Cardinals. My sister recently called his bluff, offering him a ticket and a ride with my brother-in-law to see U of L play their archrival, the University of Kentucky Wildcats.

That’s a hot ticket with two ranked and storied teams fighting for state supremacy. So hot it would easily have brought several hundred dollars or more on the street. Nevertheless, I figured dad would take a pass.

Did I mention dad doesn’t love crowds? This explains why he generally eats dinner at Cracker Barrel around 3 p.m. In fact, I used to joke that the only thing that could possibly lure him out with the masses was the boat show.

To everyone’s surprise, dad said he would like to go, joking that he might as well take it all in at once. In other words, the guy who doesn’t love crowds would see U of L play UK in a new arena before one of the most rollicking crowds of all time. Aside from a monster truck trip to accommodate his grandson, dad probably hadn’t attended a sporting event since Vince Gibson was the Cardinals’ football coach.

I’d believe it when I saw it … and yet I saw it with my own eyes. There he was about 15 minutes before tipoff with my brother-in-law at the KFC Yum Center ready to root them on. He even claims to have had a wonderful time, despite the lopsided score. He raved about the amenities at the KFC Yum Center.

Maybe he’ll even make it out there again sometime … after a 3 p.m. pregame meal at Cracker Barrel, of course.

False Pride

2010-12-09T20:30:00.001-05:00

It’s amazing what the University of Kentucky and its fans take pride in these days.

First, it was NBA draft day, which UK Head Coach John Calipari called, “the biggest day in Kentucky basketball history.” I guess draft day is better than the NCAA tournament because it doesn’t have to be vacated.

Then, this week, Kentucky recorded an even greater achievement when it played on a blue basketball court in Freedom Hall. No less than UK mouthpiece Jimmy Dykes declared it another monumental moment in Wildcat history.

If you believe the story, the Kentucky State Fair Board took it upon itself to spend more than $10,000 in taxpayer dollars to refurbish the former University of Louisville basketball floor in Wildcat logos and colors. Kentucky fans were downright giddy, despite the fact that their archrival doesn’t even play there anymore.

To me, playing in Freedom Hall is a lot like getting a nice pair of hand-me-down pants. They look and feel great, but you still got them only because someone else doesn’t want them anymore.

But what do I know? Instead of being at 54-year-old Freedom Hall on Wednesday, I was at one of the nation’s newest and nicest arenas where the fans concern themselves with such insignificant things as winning basketball games.

No Place Like Downtown

2010-12-05T17:02:00.002-05:00

Ed Manassah was right.

Manassah, the former publisher of Kentucky’s largest newspaper, The Courier-Journal, served as visionary and head cheerleader for building the University of Louisville’s basketball arena downtown instead of alternative sites near the Louisville Water Company or at the Kentucky Fair and Exposition Center. For having this vision, Manassah was criticized more than a bad basketball team. When Manassah’s newspaper crusaded for the downtown site, people accused him of sacrificing his journalistic integrity. Others suggested there must be some kind of nefarious hidden agenda at work.

Manassah was undeterred by those criticisms as well as concerns about cost and parking. He said a downtown arena would add sizzle to Louisville’s riverfront, while bolstering downtown businesses. As a result of his steady leadership – and that of Jim Host and others -- the downtown arena gained momentum and became a reality.

Today, I drive by the magnificent new arena at least twice daily. I’ve had the pleasure of attending several basketball games there. I’ve ridden a boat from southern Indiana to these games. I’ve felt downtown abuzz both before and afterward. Clearly, the downtown arena has benefitted both states.

In fact, it’s hard to imagine it anywhere else. After all, you can’t take a boat to the Water Company or revitalize a Central Business District from the fairgrounds. Furthermore, because of its location at the community’s doorstep, the arena is like a 720,000-square-foot welcome mat to the city and its university.

Maybe that’s why you so rarely hear from opponents of the downtown arena these days. If you did, even they’d probably admit that Manassah was right.

Baba Booey Strikes Again

2010-11-21T15:52:00.002-05:00

Baba Booey, also known as Gary Dell’Abate from the Howard Stern Show, threw out perhaps the worst first pitch in the history of baseball earlier this year at a New York Mets game, beaning the umpire in the process. Having finally lived that down, Dell’Abate literally struck again recently, hitting an audience member with a baseball while trying to redeem himself on The Jimmy Kimmel show.

To make matters worse, Robin Quivers, Stern’s sidekick, threw a perfect strike on Kimmel’s show just a few nights later in a dress and high heels.

For his part, Dell’Abate blamed Kimmel – a friend of the Stern show -- for unexpectedly springing the baseball bit on him. That blame was misplaced. Kimmel really did Dell’Abate a favor. After all, even with a best-selling book, Dell’Abate was lucky to get booked on Kimmel’s show. He isn’t exactly a household name outside the Stern universe. By breaking out the baseball, Kimmel managed to make Dell’Abate’s appearance not only interesting, but memorable, probably selling him a few books in the process.

Of course, Stern had a field day with the dell’abacle on his Sirius radio show. And that was before Quivers upstaged her Stern show cohort… so it’s only going to get worse.

Among other things, Stern said Dell’Abate should have refused to throw the pitch I respectfully disagree. In that case, Baba Booey would have come across as a baba bad sport. By participating in the bit, Dell'Abate came across as a good guy with a bad arm. There are worse things that could be said about him. And at this point, it’s more important for Dell’Abate to be pitching books than baseballs.

An Artful Documentary

2010-11-19T17:55:00.003-05:00

If asked to name my top five favorite film genres, documentaries wouldn’t make the list. Yet, for some odd reason, I always seem to find them when channel surfing and seldom seem to leave them. Such was the case with the oddly named “Dad’s in Heaven with Nixon.” I happened to run across this documentary on Showtime one morning when getting ready for work. Next thing I knew, I was running late.

The first time I watched it I thought it was about a dysfunctional father’s struggle with a bipolar disorder and how it affected his family. The second time I watched it I thought it was about a man who overcame disability to become an artist of some renown. Or maybe it was about a mother’s love. Come to think of it, it was really about all three.

I know this sounds disjointed. By all rights, it should have been, if not for the efforts of filmmaker Tom Murray. He’s probably the only person in the world who could have pulled it all together. For him, it was a labor of love. After all, the dysfunctional father and heroic mother are his parents; the disabled artist is his brother.

Murray tells the story of his father’s fall from grace, including anger, alcohol and financial troubles as well as the birth of a disabled son. Through most of it, Thomas E. Murray II refuses to acknowledge his problems. One day, after a chance meeting with the filmmaker, he swims out into the ocean and never returns. He was apparently overcome by the tides, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he committed suicide. The specter of this unpredictable man was so powerful that it remains over his family decades later.

Meanwhile, Christopher, who is said to suffer from autism as a result of not getting enough oxygen to his brain during birth, exceeds all expectations, thanks primarily to the loving and unwavering efforts of his mother. Christopher teaches himself to sketch following his father’s death. He turns out to be quite good … so good that his artwork, consisting mostly of multidimensional cityscapes, gains acclaim. There’s even a waiting list to purchase his work, although he sketches at his own pace.

Tom Murray tells this story artfully through home movies, interviews with family members and a well-chosen soundtrack. You can’t help but wonder how he maintained such distance while peeling back something so raw and personal. At times, you even think he’s pushing his own family members too hard for a response. No matter how he accomplished it, Murray created a film that is melancholy and hopeful at that same time.

Even when the documentary was over, I couldn’t stop thinking about this family and its struggles, past and future. There are clearly obstacles ahead for them with an aging matriarch and a son who, although talented, still faces many of challenges. How could they maintain stability? What would happen next?

That kind resonance is the mark of a good story. I always seem to find them …even when I’m not looking for them.

Perseverance Pays off for Burke

2010-11-08T21:32:00.004-05:00

In 2009, before the University of Louisville football team had been fully infected by Kragfluenza, I followed the Cardinals to Lexington for a game against archrival Kentucky. For awhile, it looked like a storybook day for Louisville and its quarterback, Justin Burke.

Burke, who grew up in Lexington not far from the stadium, completed 15 or 28 passes for 245 yards. He had a lot of friends and family members in the stands. I know. I think I exchanged high-fives with all of them after nearly every completion.

Unfortunately, the celebration eventually ended. Louisville led until late when Trent Guy fumbled a punt, resulting in a Kentucky touchdown and a 31-27 Wildcats’ win. Nevertheless, it seemed Burke, an N.C. State transfer, had firmly established himself as Louisville’s quarterback. Like the win, that wasn’t to be either.

Burke played just two more games before being injured and replaced in the lineup by Adam Froman. That could have been the end of his story … and his career. It seemed like it would be until Saturday afternoon. That’s when Burke replaced an injured Froman in the lineup against Syracuse, leading visiting Louisville to its most important win of the season. I suspected Burke might rise to the occasion, based solely on the obviously flawed sample of a single game in Lexington in 2009.

It’s unclear who will play quarterback for Louisville this weekend as the Cardinals host another Big East foe, South Florida, with bowl eligibility at stake. If Froman is healthy, I suspect he’ll once again replace Burke … just like he did in 2009.

But no matter what happens, Burke will always have Syracuse. I’m happy for him. His success shows that perseverance pays off. My only regret is I couldn’t be there at Syracuse exchanging high-fives with his family members.

Smooth Sailing to UL Game

2010-11-05T18:23:00.003-04:00

On my recent trip to a basketball game at the University of Louisville’s new downtown arena, the only traffic I encountered was barge traffic.

My son, Trent, and I avoided the regular bumper-to-bumper by boarding a boat called The Spirit of Jefferson in Jeffersonville, Ind., and taking it across the Ohio River to U of L’s beautiful new arena. Around 15 minutes later, we were dropped off just three blocks from the KFC Yum! Center. Following the game, we walked back to the river, boarded the boat again and were returned safely to the sunny side of Louisville.

The roundtrip cost $10 per person, which is really a bargain. We easily could have spent that on parking alone. But the real selling point is the aggravation you save. Once you’re back to the car, it’s smooth sailing all the way home.

A tip of the Cardinal cap to Jeffersonville Mayor Tom Galligan for envisioning this innovative transportation alternative. Galligan will evaluate the program after six games to see if it’s successful. If so, it will continue the rest of the season. Here’s hoping that happens. I’ve been told around 2,500 U of L basketball season ticketholders live in southern Indiana. Surely, many will want to get on board with this, so to speak.

Galligan, of course, hopes boat riders will linger in Jeffersonville before or after the games and support its attractions. I, for one, have no problem repaying Galligan’s kindness with hot wings and cold beer.

In the meantime, there are a few tweaks that would make the trip even better. Primarily, the boat’s management needs to communicate more with passengers. They should make announcements as the boat departs and arrives, direct you to the arena, tell you when to return, etc. It wouldn’t hurt to wish the Cards well while they’re at it. In other words, just make the trip a little more hospitable.

I’m sure they will refine things over time. After all, this was just the maiden voyage … and a darn fine one.

The Great Charcoal Caper

2010-10-24T12:36:00.004-04:00

In a battle between cheapness and self consciousness, cheapness won out.

Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, my employer treated us all to a good old-fashioned cookout. After the cookout, there must have been some charcoal leftover because on Monday a few bags showed up for sale in the company cafeteria.

“How silly,” I thought to myself. “What kind of a goofball would buy a bag of charcoal at work?”

I continued to think this every time I went to the cafeteria for the next several days … until curiosity finally got the better of me and I checked the price. It was $5.50 for a 20-pound bag of Royal Oak hickory charcoal. I did the math. Good charcoal; pretty good price. I began to ponder the unthinkable.

“Nah, I can’t do that,” I thought. “Too embarrassing.”

Nevertheless, I subconsciously began to formulate a plan for the great charcoal caper. Maybe I could hit the cafeteria when it wasn’t too busy, pay for the charcoal, head straight to the door and escape relatively unnoticed.

I tried to dismiss the idea, but it kept gnawing at me. Then it happened. I found myself in a relatively deserted cafeteria. Impulses took over. I grabbed the 20-pounder and headed for the cash register. The perky clerk said, “You’re my first charcoal.” I worried that streamers and balloons might fall from the ceiling at any moment.

I felt like a pariah as I headed down the hall of a Fortune 500 company with a 20-pound bag of charcoal slug over my shoulder. Most people refused to make eye contact with such an oddity. To the few who did, I muttered something about a cookout.

I made it to the car with most of my dignity in tack … and a darn good deal on a much-needed bag of charcoal. That’s because the clerk actually charged me only $4 for the bag, probably because so few people would shoulder such embarrassment. Here’s the worst part: I’m thinking about going back for another bag.

My Qs for George W.

2010-10-19T20:38:00.006-04:00

As a political junky, I’ve always wanted to meet a president of the United States (or POTUS, as we politicos call them). For the longest time, I placed my hopes on either Sen. Richard Lugar or Rep. Lee Hamilton. Both are smart guys who I interviewed during my time as a reporter in southern Indiana. Same goes for Sen. Evan Bayh.

Any of them would probably have made a good president, but time has run out on all but Bayh and he seems to be in self-imposed exile.

As a result, meeting a president remains on my bucket list. Now, I’ve got my chance.

Former President George W. Bush is holding a contest in connection with the release of his upcoming memoir called “Decision Points.” He is inviting people to submit five questions to him on his Facebook page. 100 of those people will be invited to submit videos. One person will be selected from the videos to interview president number 43.

I should be that guy. After all, I know the protocols. For starters, I know former presidents are still addressed as “Mr. President.” I also voted for George W. Bush and I’m pretty sure I can actually pass a security clearance.

So, without further adieu, here are my five Qs for W:

1) How does the president make sure his advisors aren’t just telling him what he wants to hear?
2) What, if anything, can be done to curb partisanship?
3) How does one remain positive amidst criticism?
4) What is the best way for a former president to continue to serve his or her country?
5) What's the best advice your parents ever gave you?

If you want to submit your own questions, here’s a tip. You must first “like” Bush’s page to comment. However, based on the tone of some of the questions being asked, I’m thinking some of those people don’t really “like” him.

By comparison, my questions are a little softball. Don’t judge me for that. I told you. I want to meet a president.

One last thing: If I’m on your Christmas list, consider buying “Decision Points” for me. At least I can read about a president, even if I don’t get to meet one.

Partying Is Part of Louisville Tradition

2010-10-14T20:11:00.006-04:00

Going to a University of Louisville football game has always been more about the party than the football. That’s probably not going to change anytime soon, no matter how much first-year Head Coach Charlie Strong wishes it would.

Strong recently urged U of L’s fans to not only get to the games at Papa John’s Cardinal stadium, but to get their butts into their seats, rather than lingering while tailgating. I agree that would be terrific. I also know why it’s probably not going to happen.

I’ll sum it up like this: For Louisville fans, the party has always been more dependable than the football.

UL football fans are used to disappointment. They have been bounced from the Missouri Valley Conference to being an independent to a member of Conference USA. The administration even talked about dropping football. Tickets were given away.

I can remember when Louisville’s schedule was littered with the likes of Drake, William and Mary, Army, Western Kentucky and Murray State. There were no natural rivals on the schedule. UL’s most hated rival, Kentucky, wouldn’t even play them.

Louisville landed their dream coach in Howard Schellenberger, only to lose him to Oklahoma. Even he couldn’t keep the Cardinals at the top. To illustrate how bad it was, I used to buy drinks in plastic cups at the stadium that listed UL’s bowl appearances. As best I can remember, there were only two: an ancient Sun Bowl and an Independence Bowl.

For the sake of my digestive system, I don’t even want to discuss the Ron Cooper and Steve Kragthorpe years.

Through all the uncertainty and losing and lackluster opponents, people have needed a reason to go to the games. They found one. It was the party. Generation after generation, they went for the party until it became a lasting part of the culture.

How do you get excited for a game against Drake? Six letters: P-A-R-T-A-Y.

That tradition has endured despite a terrific new stadium, Bobby Petrino, budding NFL players, a string of victories over Kentucky, a BCS conference and an Orange Bowl victory.

Strong doesn’t understand this because he comes from Florida. When was the last time the Gators bragged about their Sun Bowl appearance?

I don’t think Louisville fans even consciously realize this either. It’s just the way it is for them. And likely the way it’s going to remain.

Aging Blues Men Are National Treasures

2010-10-13T18:51:00.009-04:00

Every time I see a Blues great like BB King or Buddy Guy, I worry that it might be the last time I ever see them. After all, they aren’t getting any younger. King is 85; Guy 74. Both are national treasures, able to sell out concert venues, despite their advancing age and the fact that their music, the Blues, isn’t really played on the radio anymore, outside of satellite.

A live show from either is a treat. Imagine what you’d pay to see Elvis Presley today. King and Guy are kings of the blues, just like Presley was king of rock’n’roll.

Affected by age and a variety of ailments, King now plays while sitting in a chair on stage. Nevertheless, he tours relentlessly all over the world. His voice remains strong, even if he’s lost a stroke or two on his legendary guitar, Lucille. He is a master storyteller. You never get tired of hearing his stories, even if you’ve heard them before.

Like King, Guy tours like his livelihood depended on it. Me and my wife caught him recently at Horseshoe in southern Indiana. I believe it was Guy's third show in three days in three different cities, but it didn’t show. Guy complained about his voice, but it didn’t seem to be lacking. Physically, he was as spry as performers half his age.

Guy channeled everybody from Jimmy Hendricks to Eric Clapton. He used his entire body as an instrument, playing his guitar against his chest, over his head, behind his back and between his legs. He then moved into the audience … the equivalent of a 74-year-old stage diving.

Along the way, he held the audience in the palm of his hand, separately praising and chastising them, all while keeping a wide smile on his face. He talked about the way the Blues is more suggestive than explicit, unlike today’s hip hop. He even sang a bluesy "Happy Birthday" to a fan.

Guy also played a little from another Blues great, the late John Lee Hooker. One of Kim’s greatest regrets is having never seen Hooker in concert. Muddy Waters also is gone. But you can see Guy and King … at least for now. Better appreciate

Television Critic and Chief

2010-10-10T22:41:00.005-04:00

In an recent interview, President Obama called Fox News “destructive” because of its “point of view.” Of course, Obama forgot to mention that there’s a network with an even more caustic “point of view” just down the dial in MSNBC. Why the selective memory? I guess having a “point of view” is OK with the president, just as long as that “point of view” happens to be his own.

The inconvenient truth is our country depends on the many points of view generated by a free press. Obama should know this. Wasn’t he the guy who was inspired by the book Team of Rivals? Heck, even Obama’s secretary of state has been known to throw a barb or two his way, back when they were opponents.

He apparently got past that, but he draws the line at Fox News.

Of course, I’m not suggesting Fox News doesn’t have a point of view. It does. But if Fox’s Sean Hannity is a weapon for the GOP, then Keith Olbermann is the Democratic equivalent of a weapon of mass destruction. At least Hannity has a worthy adversary in Alan Colmes. There is no such counterbalance on MSNBC. In fact, if you ever see a conservative on MSNBC, it’s because he or she is some kind of wingnut.

Olbermann and Rachel Maddow are a daily duo of destruction. They never met a Republican idea – or heck, even a Republican –they liked. MSNBC’s agenda is to ridicule rather than inform. It is plug-and-play television. With George W. Bush gone and a Democrat controlled Congress in place, I’m surprised they can find anyone to demonize anymore. Thank goodness for Sarah Palin. She’s an easy target, if not an elected official.

It’s OK – even admirable -- for media outlets to have a point of view. It is part of a vibrant Democracy. George W. Bush dealt with it and so should Obama – even if he doesn’t agree with it. After all, he’s commander and chief, not chief TV critic.

The Curious Case of Jimmy Johnson

2010-09-23T22:34:00.003-04:00

I was watching a NASCAR race on television recently when former Dallas Cowboys' coach Jimmy Johnson appeared during the commercial break wearing a driver's suit and promoting a male enhancement product called Extenze. Talk about a guy who must be -- excuse the expression -- hard up for money.

Can you imagine the agent who had the cojones to pitch male enhancement to Jimmy Johnson? “I've got an offer here for you, coach. It's going to be really big."

That's certainly a game changer when it comes to your personal brand. With this spot, Johnson has essentially gone from a coach who won championships in both the NCAA and NFL to a guy who has some issues south of the border. Ditto for Johnson's former NFL colleague, Mike Ditka, who previously pitched Levitra, an impotence drug.

I yearn for the good old days when sports personalities appeared in beer ads screaming "less filling" and "tastes great." If Dick Butkus had problems below the belt, he sure didn't bother to share it with us.

The Extenze commercial is the second curious decision Johnson has made lately. Johnson also has been taking part in this season’s "Survivor." Let's hope his stay in Nicaragua is not too short.

Who Will Fill the Boss’ Seat on The Office?

2010-09-05T10:57:00.002-04:00

There is a rumor that Harvey Keitel is being courted to replace the departing Steve Carell as boss of “The Office.” I have a few better ideas.

Whoever replaces Carell has to be a blustery, clueless, loveable lug … or at least able to play one on TV. With that mind, I have come up with the following short list.

Matthew Broderick tops my list. He has a dry sense of humor like Carell and was talking directly into cameras before talking directly into cameras was cool with “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” He’d probably take the gig if for no other reason than being tired of playing second fiddle to his wife, actress Sarah Jessica Parker of “Sex in the City” fame.

Ted Danson played a lovable letch on “Cheers” and he’s terrific in the unscripted “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” He seems to work well in an ensemble cast. While I never really watched “Becker,” I guess somebody did.

Brad Garrett played the perpetually put upon brother on “Everybody Loves Raymond.” It’s easy to imagine HR guy Toby as Garrett’s new Raymond-like foil.

Janeane Garofalo would mix things up as the female boss on the office. She’s a comedienne with an understated wit and I’ve never seen her in anything bad.

The actor who played “PC” in the popular “Mac-PC” commercials. I hear he’s funny and he wouldn’t even have to change his wardrobe.

If I were swinging for the fences, I’d call Jim Carrey or Ben Stiller.

However, Keitel wouldn’t be my pick even if I were choosing only from the cast of “The Usual Suspects.” In that case, I’d go with Ray Liotta. I saw him on a cooking segment with Martha Stewart once and he looked as clueless as Michael Scott.

Obama Speech Not Without Flaws

2010-09-01T20:55:00.001-04:00

I watched President Obama’s speech on Iraq last night for my speech class so I might as well share my impressions. Obama is obviously an accomplished speaker and he struck the right tone. There were a few solid lines, but the speech was not without its flaws.

The setting was right: in the Oval Office surrounded by family pictures and wearing a power tie and an American flag lapel pin. There were strong lines, such as, “Our combat mission is ending, but our commitment to Iraq’s future is not.” He also made news for the press corps with a pledge to be out of Afganstain by next year.

With all that said, I have two main criticisms. First, Obama tried to cover too much. Second, he sometimes sounded more like a candidate than the president.

Obama’s speech had three main topics: Iraq, Afghanistan and the economy. It was natural to tie together the first two topics since both are Middle East hotspots. However, the speech unraveled when Obama turned to the economy. The president tried to convince us that forwarding his domestic agenda is somehow a way to honor the troops.

This leads me to my second criticism. Although subtle, Obama was too partisan for my liking, particularly for a speech of this nature. There was no need to rehash his disagreements with Bush or remind us of his campaign pledge. He also set expectations for continuing violence, saying, “As we speak, Al-Qaeda continues to plot against us. “ I’m sure this is the president’s way of trying to insulate himself against future criticism from the opposition party.

Obama was at his best when he eschewed politics for more universal themes. He spoke of his grandfather’s use of the GI Bill and talked about the last combat battalion leaving Iraq on the very road in which it had entered the country, but this time “no shots were fired.” He said they had “fought in a faraway place for people they never knew.”

Good stuff, but it could have been better if it had been a little more focused and a little less partisan.

Conflicted on Cardinals

2010-08-16T19:01:00.006-04:00

With Steve Kragthorpe and three seasons of ineptitude fading into the rearview mirror, I want to be optimistic about this year’s University of Louisville football team. I really do. But I’m finding myself somewhat conflicted.

Take the quarterback position as a prime example. Louisville returns three quarterbacks who won games last year in Justin Burke, Adam Froman and Will Stein. (That’s no small feat for a team that won all of four games.) All three showed flashes of being good quarterbacks last year. Burke looked downright unstoppable through most of the opener, which was a near upset of arch rival Kentucky. Froman proved to be a good, hardnosed leader. Stein’s size is questioned, but his toughness is beyond reproach.

Based on offensive coordinator Mike Sanford’s description of his spread offense, none of the returning quarterbacks seem ideally suited for it. Sanford recently talked about the importance of dual treat quarterback. He even mentioned running some option. That might point toward some involvement from true freshman Dominique Brown. From my perspective, you better not count on the option being an important part of your offense unless you’re jersey says “Navy” on the front or “Tebow” on the back. To make matters worse, Louisville couldn’t keep its quarterbacks healthy last year, even without running the option.

On the plus side, Louisville’s running back corps looks so solid behind Victor Anderson and Bilal Powell that Head Coach Charlie Strong moved the team’s second leading rusher from last season, Darius Ashley, to defense. Let’s hope Powell proves Strong right by hitting the hole with authority this season instead of more dancing like in the past. Both runners will have a big and experienced line to run behind.

No matter how leery I am of the offense, I am much more concerned about the Cardinals’ defense. Defensive coordinator Vance Bedford recently said only two players have nailed down starting positions, Greg Scruggs and Brandon Heath. He added that the Cards are so undersized on the defensive front that opposing offenses will just run the ball at them until they can stop it. As a result, most of the buzz around the defense surrounds two players who have yet to even join the team in USC transfer Jordan Campbell and former Michigan signee Demar Dorsey. One or both may not make it to campus.

I want to believe that better coaching alone could result in an extra win or two for the Cards this season. Strong has done and said all the right things since coming to Louisville. Yet, for all his competence to this point, the former Florida defensive coordinator has never called the shots. Sanford has more head coaching experience than he does. Maybe that’s why Strong has so readily handed over the offensive play calling over to him.

This strikes me as a little odd. We know Strong can be a top-notch defensive coordinator. You’d think he’d be eager to show off his offensive chops. Yet, he turns his offense over to someone else. That’s like a CEO who doesn’t want to serve on his company’s board of directors. We saw too much of this kind of delegating under Kragthorpe.

Despite these nagging doubts, I can imagine a scenario in which a leader emerges at quarterback, the defense makes up for its lack of size with quickness, and Strong shows everyone why he should have been a head coach five years ago. I can also imagine a scenario under which none of that happens and history repeats itself.

As I said, I’m conflicted.

Reagan Library Has Hits, Misses

2010-08-08T15:37:00.003-04:00

On a recent business trip, I had the opportunity to visit the Ronald Reagan presidential library in Simi Valley, Calif., with my family. I saw a lot of things, but the most memorable by far was one of the simplest. It was the quote on Reagan’s tombstone, which read:

“I know in my heart that man is good, that what is right will always eventually triumph, and there is purpose and worth to each and every life.”

The quote was pure Reagan. It captured Reagan’s unbridled optimism. It was "The Great Communicator” at his best.

I wish the same could be said for the rest of the library. Don't get me wrong, the library does a lot of things right. The setting is beautiful. The food is good. And the exhibits are so approachable that even children enjoy them. However, aside from the tombstone, I was provided with little insight into what made Reagan into Reagan.

Much of the museum’s wow factor is more about the office of president, than specific to nation’s 40th president. For instance, the library’s centerpiece is a retired Air Force One. I’m not talking about a section either. I'm talking about the whole darned plane in all its glory. How they got that thing in there still puzzles me.

Additionally, the museum displays a retired presidential helicopter, Marine One, a retired fighter jet, a presidential motorcade and a model of the White House. It’s all cool stuff for someone like me with a great curiosity about the office. But -- like the out-of-place display of vintage motorcycles -- gives little insight into Reagan himself.

A couple of exceptions were an exhibit devoted to the Cold War that highlighted Reagan's belief in “peace through strength” and a piece of the Berlin Wall, which came down, in no small part, thanks to his leadership. The most jolting exhibit is the suit coat Reagan wore on the day he was shot, complete with bullet hole. The accompanying text tells visitors not only about the shooting, but Reagan's demeanor afterward, including the fact that he prayed for his attacker and cracked wise that he hoped the doctors were Republicans.

In contrast, I saw little to nothing about Reagan’s upbringing, his days as an actor, his stint as governor of California or even his family, friends and colleagues. As a result, I left having enjoyed a wonderful view, a good burrito and a great keepsake photo of my family on the doorstep of Air Force One, but without an understanding of the forces that shaped one of the nation’s greatest presidents.

I did note several signs about a renovation that will mark what would have been Reagan's 100th year, as well as a lot of signs warning about rattlesnakes. Hopefully this means some of this is being rectified -- at least the content, if not the snakes.

No Shame at UK

2010-08-04T22:24:00.004-04:00

With the University of Kentucky waist deep in NCAA trouble in the 1980s, Sports Illustrated published a famous cover. It featured a supposed Kentucky basketball player with his head hung low under the headline “Kentucky’s Shame.”

The same headline couldn’t be published today. Under John Calipari, Kentucky clearly has no shame. Let me give you a couple of examples:

2011 recruiting: Anthony Davis, perhaps the top prospect in the nation in his class, has yet to sign with Kentucky, but there has already been a report of a rumor that he was paid $200,000 to do so.

2010: recruiting: Terrence Jones, a top prospect on the West Coast, called a press conference announcing his decision to go to the University of Washington, only to change his mind following a talk with Calipari.

2009 recruiting: Questions abound about the signing of Kentucky’s Eric Bledsoe, including the remarkable resurrection of his grades and allegations that his high school coach paid for his rent.

2009 recruiting: Big Blue deity John Wall was suspended for a couple games and ordered to pay back $800 given to him by an agent.

I don’t even want to talk about Marcus Teague.

The point is Calipari always works the margins. Where other coaches see trouble, he sees opportunities. When Tyreke Evans was implicated in a drive-by shooting, other coaches backed off. Calipari sped ahead. When Wall was cited for breaking and entering, others retreated. Calipari charged in.These kinds of shenanigans have resulted in Calipari-coached teams vacating NCAA Final Four appearances at both UMass and Memphis. He probably would have had to do the same thing at Kentucky, if only he had made the Final Four.

If any of us got a speeding ticket, we’d probably slow down … at least for a few days. That’s not the case with Calipari. He’s been warned and all but handcuffed, but he’s still flying past all the warning signs.

Let’s sum it up another way:

If Kentucky were BP, it would be drilling new wells in the Gulf of Mexico.

If Kentucky were a prisoner, it would be stealing from its cellmate.

If Kentucky were Bill Clinton, it would be celebrating its impeachment acquittal at dinner with Monica Lewinsky.

If Kentucky were a basketball team, it would be, well, Kentucky.

No shame.

Along for the Ride to the Whitehouse

2010-07-31T21:37:00.004-04:00

Just finished reading the book Game Change. It was like reliving the 2008 presidential campaign, but this time with an all-access pass. As most Americans, I already knew about most of the campaign’s high and low points, including the Rev. Wright controversy, the Edwards affair and the unexpected emergence of Sarah Palin as a candidate for vice president.

I didn’t know the stories behind these stories. This book shares them all, as well as the tremendous toll it took on the candidates.

The star players in the unfolding drama are Barack Obama and the Clintons. You get an inside look at the discipline of Obama’s campaign and the growing frustrations of the Clintons as they try desperately, and unsuccessfully, to sidetrack it.

My favorite stories though involved the bit players. I was fascinated by the arrogance that led to Edwards’ downfall. Similarly, the story of the unraveling of Sarah Palin was so well told it made me feel uncomfortable, yet I couldn’t stop reading it. The fact that she remains on the national stage today indicates she had more moxie than the authors knew.

On balance, however, I thought the book was pretty even-handed. If the authors had biases, they did a good job of hiding them. That said, I’ll never agree that Obama pummeled McCain in those debates as badly as the pundits said.

You often hear the presidential campaign called the “Road to the Whitehouse.” If that’s the case, then Game Change lets you ride shotgun.

Refudiate This

2010-07-20T21:50:00.006-04:00

I’m no fan of Sarah Palin, but I am beginning to be convinced that she is indeed receiving hostile treatment from the media.

Today was a good example. The headlines screamed “Sarah Palin Compares Herself to Shakespeare.” When I saw the headline, I was shocked. I figured Palin must have gotten a hold of some bad bear meat or something … until I read a little further.

As it turns out, Palin had accidentally invented a word on her Twitter account. She said “refudiate” when she really meant “repudiate.” That’s not such an egregious sin in this world of 140 characters. I’ve been a professional writer for more than 20 years, and yet I’m sure my Twitter feed wouldn’t withstand a full-blown investigation by the grammar police.

Since I’m not a conversional national political figure, I get by with it. No such luck for Palin. The media pounced on her misstatement, sensing a Dan Qualye “potatoe” moment. Palin’s response was self-effacing. She joked that “Shakespeare liked to coin new words, too.”

Somehow this was interpreted by headline writers at CNN and others as Palin “comparing herself to Shakespeare.” That might be factually accurate, but it certainly didn’t capture the context. If you glanced at the headline alone, you would have thought – as I did – that Palin had lost it when she was actually just being playful.

Palin clearly wasn’t seriously comparing her mastery of the language to Shakespeare. In fact, she really was suggesting just the opposite.

Ironically, Palin’s gaffe may actually have helped her image with people like me who bothered to read the whole story. It humanized her. I, for one, appreciate the fact that she’s willing to post her thoughts – warts and all – without a bevy of speechwriters sanitizing them.

If you don’t agree, then I invite you to refudiate me.

Not So Fast Food

2010-07-13T20:23:00.006-04:00

I’m ashamed to say I’ve spent so much time in the drive-thru lane at fast food restaurants that I’ve caught onto the rhythms of them. I’ve learned some subtle, yet surefire cues that a transaction in front of you has gone horribly awry. I’m sharing these tips with you in hopes you can spot them, too. Armed with this information, you can successfully shift into neutral and turn up the radio. Or, if you see several of these traps in the same trip, you may want to commit the most egregious offense of all in fast food land, and speed away without your order.

So, without further adieu, here are 10 tips that your fast-food jaunt is becoming a journey, along with a forecast of expected delays.

Tip 1: The person in front of you has extended his or her head out the car window. This is a sign communication has broken down. Add two minutes.

Tip 2: Person in front of you gets his or her food from the window, but refuses to pull away. This is a burger bookkeeper. It requires a honking horn and a delay of three minutes.

Tip 3: The person in front of you has extended his or her arm out the window. This is not as serious as Tip 1 by itself, resulting in a delay of only about a minute. However, when accompanied by an extended head, can be a serious situation. Add five minutes.

Tip 4: Person in front of you is on his or her cell phone. This is the rare occasion where stupid meets incompetence. Add six minutes.

Tip 5: There is a Buick LeSabre or Crown Victoria in front of you. This person may be one of the first of the billions served. Add seven minutes.

Tip 6: There are now multiple heads and arms out both the driver’s and passenger’s windows. Add eight minutes.

Tip 7: Attendant asks you to repeat your order or repeats your order back to you incorrectly. Count on a loss of nine minutes … and one cheeseburger.

Tip 8: Same as tip 7, but in an accent you’ve never heard before. Prepare for a loss of two cheeseburgers and 12 minutes.

Tip 9: The person in front of you makes it to the window, gets his or her food and then promptly returns it to the attendant. This is the most serious situation you will encounter without requiring police intervention. Call your loved ones and expect a 15-minute delay.

Tip 10: The back-up lights of the vehicle in front of you are activated. Prepare for impact, a police report and a delay of an hour or better.

The Power of a Good Story

2010-07-08T21:38:00.001-04:00

As a former journalist and current public relations practitioner, I consider myself, above all else, to be a good storyteller. As such, I appreciate a well-told story. I heard one the other night from the guy sitting next to me at the B.B. King concert.

The guy told me he always remembered one person from his grade school above all others. Her name was Tammy. On those rare occasions whenever he ran into someone from grade school, the conversation always turned to Tammy.

Fast forward many years. I’m guessing he’s been married and divorced by then. He pops into a party. He’s not at his best. He’s been hitting it a hard lick all weekend. To his surprise, he runs into no one other than the oft mentioned Tammy. They reconnect.

“The rest,” he says, motioning to his wife, “is history.”

Maybe it was the open bar, but that seemed like a good story to me. It was simple, yet powerful.

Separated at Birth?

2010-06-20T19:22:00.009-04:00

Am I the only one to notice the physical similarities between Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan, above right, and lefty TV personality Rachel Maddow, above left (of course)? To me, Kagan looks like a grown-up version of Maddow. In fact, given Maddow's politics, it's easy to imagine she would want to grow up to be just like Kagan.

To be fair, I know very little about Kagan. I know a little more about Maddow -- at least as much as any person can learn in the time it takes to turn the channel. If Kagan is confirmed, I hope she's more reasoned on the court than Maddow is on her show. Otherwise, Supreme Court hearings would be absolutely unwatchable.

Beware: Intern May Turn Tables

2010-06-14T21:44:00.001-04:00

I’ve always tried to treat interns at the companies where I’ve worked well. I figured they might end up being my boss some day. While that hasn’t happened yet, I’ve seen my former interns become colleagues and more over the years.

I once wrote a law school recommendation for an intern who later became an attorney. She now gives me free legal counsel. Another former intern became a bit of a job search specialist. She helped me land an interview when I really needed one. I later helped her get a job at the company where I worked. She became a solid contributor there.

Last week, I had occasion to run into another former intern in my first month on a new job. Except this time, the ex-intern didn’t remember me so fondly. He said I had been a little tough on him when he was a student reporter. He’s now an executive speechwriter. He may have been chiding me a little, but there was probably a bit of truth there, too.

Sure enough, I can be demanding of interns. But I’ve always tried to give them worthwhile work, while explaining the importance of even the most menial tasks.

If I erred on one, then shame on me. I’ve always disliked people who couldn’t treat others well, regardless of their standing. You never forget people who brought you under their wings … and those who treated you like something on the bottom their shoes.

So treat your interns well. After all, you never know when they’ll give you free legal advice, get you a job interview or chide you on your new job.

Honest Feedback Is Hard to Get

2010-05-06T09:52:00.004-04:00

One of the most frustrating things about interviewing for a job is getting honest feedback on your performance from the people who interviewed you. I suppose people are too afraid of being sued to give you their true impressions. As a result, you’re usually left scrambling for the smallest clue of what might have gone awry.

Was my breath too minty or not minty enough? Was my handshake too firm or too wimpy? Was my power tie too powerful? Did a reference suddenly remember a time when I pushed him off a swing set? It’s anybody guess.

A friend told me about a time when he was passed over for a job. He called the hiring manager seeking some feedback. In a rare burst of openness, the manager told my friend that he seemed disinterested in the position. My friend took the criticism to heart. After that, he amped up the energy before every interview. The strange thing is I always thought this friend was pretty dynamic. I don’t know how anyone could experience him otherwise. Nevertheless, I’ve lived vicariously through his experience. As a result, I always go into an interview with the “Doug-o-meter” turned toward high. I figure this is what hiring managers are expecting, particularly from a PR guy.

One can express enthusiasm during an interview in many different ways. I shake hands firmly, look the interviewer in the eye, share stories about my experiences, ask questions and take notes. I even laugh when something is funny.

But is that laugh too hearty or not hearty enough? Thanks to the lawyers, we’ll probably never know for sure.

Accentuating the Positive

2010-04-26T19:54:00.001-04:00

I was on the telephone the other day with a self-described “fast talking New Yorker” who couldn’t resist poking a little fun at my Kentucky accent.

“What accent?” I replied.

I was only half kidding. Despite being a born and bred Kentuckian, I never considered myself to have a particularly thick draw. I do confess to a little southern twang, but it’s nothing like the saucy sounds of my good friend from Louisana.

Nevertheless, from a New Yorker’s perspective, talking to me must be just like talking to “Larry the Cable Guy.” While I don’t have a corny catch phrase like “Git-R-Done,” I do have plenty of southern idioms. By far the worst is the long “i” sound. If I were Mick Jagger, the Rolling Stones’ classic would be called “Tiiiiiime is on my Siiiiiide.

What’s a boy from a southern border state to do? Perhaps I could change my standard greeting to “hello” or “hey” from “hiiiiii.” Or maybe I could eliminate the number “five” from all addresses and telephone numbers.

That probably wouldn’t work. After all, an accent is like a bad golf swing. You can’t fix it no matter how hard you try.

I guess I’ll just have to live with it. While New Yorkers probably won’t like it, something tells me I’ll be just fiiiiiine.

What Marquis Really Meant

2010-04-22T20:27:00.002-04:00

Today, Marquis Teague, a highly prized basketball recruit from Indianapolis, spurned my beloved Louisville Cardinals for our archrival, the villainous Kentucky Wildcats. Some say this happened only after Teague received a phone call on Kentucky’s behalf from none other than NBA superstar Lebron James.

Following are some of Teague’s actual comments along with my interpretation of what he really meant.

Marquis said: “It's been real tough. It's tough to tell coach Pitino no."

Marquis meant: “It’s even harder to tell Ben Franklin no.”

Marquis said: “I had people from Louisville and Kentucky saying things about each other’s school. It was pretty crazy, I really didn't think it would get like that.”

Marquis meant: “I was surprised UK fans could operate computers.”

Marquis said: “I heard that … the LeBron thing and I was like 'Dang I didn't even know he called me so how did anyone else know.' But that would have been pretty cool if he had called.”

Marquis meant: “UK’s compliance department has asked me not to talk about that.”

Marquis said: “I’ll tell him (Pitino) thank you for recruiting me and I love you and your family. I would have loved to have played for you, but I had to do what was best for me.”

Marquis meant: “Have you seen my blue Porsche?”

Marquis said: “I told Coach Calipari yesterday that I wanted to commit to him. I haven't talked to him today yet. I just said I wanted to be a Wildcat. It’s what I was comfortable with.”

Marquis meant: “Wonder if Cal needs his MasterCard back?”

Marquis said: “You see what Derrick Rose, Tyreke Evans and John Wall did and Brandon Knight is a great point guard coming in. … He has had some great point guards.”

Marquis meant: “I don’t care much for that coaching stuff.”

Marquis said: “It has been really hard the past few days, a lot of phone calls and a lot of things that were going on. It was neck-and-neck and I really didn't want to tell either one of them no. But now I am glad it's over."

Marquis meant: “They can’t get my phone records, can they? Maybe I shouldn’t have said that Lebron James stuff.”

Marquis said: “My dad liked Louisville a lot, but my mother liked Kentucky a lot.”

Marquis meant: “My dad is a good man; my mama is loco.”

Marquis said: “I almost committed to Louisville twice but that just shows what coach Cal can do. It means coach Cal is a great coach and a great man to change my mind like that.”

Marquis meant: It’s time for me to go. Lebron James is waiting for me on my private yacht, the U.S.S. Rupp.”

Channeling Financial Advice

2010-04-08T20:21:00.004-04:00

I was driving home from work one play surfing the a.m. radio dial when I came across such a mishmash of messages that I stopped in my tracks. A talk show host named Dave Ramsey was talking about everything from mutual funds to Jesus Christ. On the one hand, he was chastising callers for falling to their impulses. On the other, he was encouraging them to do better.

I listened to Ramsey for the next two weeks as sort of a goof. It was like an audio train wreck that I couldn’t turn away from. In retrospect, I think there was a pretty good reason I was drawn to Ramsey’s show.

Ramsey talked about living within your means, including driving used cars and eating rice and beans. He also talked about paying cash, tearing up your credit cards and building up an emergency fund. He talked about having the right kinds of insurance at the right price. It was commonsense stuff. As Ramsey would be the first to admit, it’s the kind of advice you’ve probably heard from your grandmother or read in best-selling books like The Millionaire Next Door. But Ramsey has an interesting “rags to riches” history and a compelling way of telling the story.

At the time I was listening to this, I was doing pretty well. I had a job I liked making decent money. Nevertheless, his message resonated with me. It wasn’t a goof anymore. I started worrying about things like an emergency fund.

I tried to get things in order. All the while, the program served as a daily booster shot. When people called in with the wrong priorities, I shared Ramsey’s frustrations. When people called in with success stories, I was motivated to join them as debt free.

Later, I lost my job. As it turned out, I needed Ramsey’s message even when I didn’t know it. Having that emergency fund paid off in spades. Boy was I happy that I found that quirky little program.

In the years since, I’ve lost touch with Ramsey’s show. But now, having lost a second job, I’m thankful I never lost touch with his message.

Sending Your Boss Undercover

2010-04-01T17:48:00.003-04:00

Want to know how to get your boss on Oprah? Send him undercover.

The CEO stars of the CBS hit show “Undercover Boss” appeared before a fawning Oprah Winfrey today. I’ve had more than a passing interest in this show since several PR people told me their companies were approached about doing it and took a pass. I bet they’re kicking themselves today.

With a couple of exceptions, the show has placed its participants in an overwhelmingly positive light. It has humanized participating companies by telling their stories through the perspective of their dedicated employees, including single parents, caretakers and students. As importantly, the employees’ interactions with their “undercover bosses” have been touching. The bosses have created programs for them, added benefits, and doled out scholarships, raises and promotions.

Having your CEO shown as devoted, caring and fair is no small thing, particularly in this environment of bailouts where corporate leaders have generally been portrayed as cutthroat, greedy and out of touch.

That’s the good news. There’s been some bad news, too.

In the Hooter’s episode, for instance, a restaurant manager degraded his waitresses. The CEO admonished him, but not nearly enough for my tastes. Additionally, the CEOs generally bumble around at their tasks like George Bush with a grocery scanner … but that’s before the big, heartfelt conclusion.

Sure, “Undercover Boss” is over produced. Of course, the skeptic in me wonders how the CEOs would’ve behaved in the same situations if the cameras weren’t around. Nevertheless, if presented with the opportunity, I’d like to think I would have advised my boss to shave his moustache and go undercover. Then I would have collected a big bonus after he appeared on Oprah.

Moving Mountains

2010-03-24T20:32:00.002-04:00

I just returned from Bristol Motor Speedway in Bristol, Tenn. Returning from Bristol is the easy part. Getting there is another matter.

Bristol is in the mountains of eastern Tennessee. You won’t find much parking near the track. Even if there was more, you wouldn’t want to park there. You’d be trapped for days, snowed in behind more than 100,000 NASCAR fans.

As a result, the only way to get to the track is to walk … and walk … and walk some more. The countryside is rugged. The best thing I can compare it to is being a horse in a steeplechase. My friend Kenny and I walked across fields, over mountains, through barbed wire fences and over gates. There was a creek, too, but we didn’t have to jump it … at least not this time.

The whole way the track is on the horizon, but never gets any closer, no matter how far you walk. Tickets to the event should be printed with the following admonishment: Warning, track is further than it appears.

Perhaps appropriately, considering you’re trekking to a half-mile bullring, it’s a circuitous route. I sometimes thought I should drop a trail of breadcrumbs (or Fritos), just in case I got lost and couldn’t find my way back.

Of course, if you enjoy short track racing like I do, then Bristol is the place to be … even if you have to move mountains to get there.

Good Friends in Tough Times

2010-03-08T20:23:00.002-05:00

In my last blog post, I wrote about the lows of being laid off, but it hasn’t been all despair. In fact, I’ve been buoyed by the outpouring of support I have received since being laid off by Humana just two weeks ago. The support has come from all quarters, including people I would have expected and some I would not have.

I sincerely appreciate each and every gesture. It’s not easy for people to come forward in such a difficult time. As a matter of fact, many people don’t reach out. They don’t know what to say. Or, even worse, they know they should say something, but fear doing it. It’s as if they think the layoff virus will spread like monkey pox.

That’s why being laid off is so isolating. Life seems like it’s divided between the “haves” (those who have a job) and the “have nots” (those who don’t).Thankfully, most of my coworkers didn’t get caught up in that. They just reacted. And with great compassion, I might add.

For the rest of you, here’s my list of things people need to hear from you after they’ve lost their jobs.

You're sorry for what happened to them.
You think they’re a good worker and you’re happy to recommend them.
You will be looking out for opportunities for them.

That’s it … except one last thing.

You recently won the lottery and would like to commission them to write your memoirs at an exorbitant salary, starting in the morning.

Since I haven’t heard that last one yet, I’ll focus my energies on finding my next gig, knowing that I have a lot of terrific people supporting me.

Two Bombs in One Day

2010-03-01T19:56:00.001-05:00

Ever had a day so bad that even a homeless guy insulted you? That’s the kind of day I had a couple of weeks ago. It was the mother of all bad days.

I went to work knowing cuts were expected. The pending layoffs were the worst kept secret in the history of corporate America. I did not know, however, that I would be part of it. That, as it happens, was a much better kept secret.

It became clearer about the time that my senior vice president called me for a meeting. The meeting was originally scheduled on my floor. That was a mistake, he said over the telephone. Instead, it would be held in human resources. No mistaking that. A few minutes later, an HR person I had never met was talking to me about severance pay and employee assistance programs.

After a few more minutes passed, I was on the street headed toward my car with a folder stuffed with documents and a head full of fog. I barely noticed as a homeless person approached me. He asked if I could spare some money to get him something to eat. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, wanting to be anywhere but there.

“F you,” he replied.

It was a perfect ending to a perfect day.

Have Pen, Will Travel

2010-02-19T09:45:00.004-05:00

I just got word that I am being laid off as part of cost-cutting measures at Humana, one of the nation's largest health insurers. I knew "admin" costs were being cut. I just didn't know that I was admin costs.

Plan to stay based in my hometown of Louisville, Ky. After all, the Cardinals are having a hard enough time, even with my support. However, I will travel as needed. Plus, with technology like it is, shouldn't I be able to work in my basement in my PJs?

I have more than 10 years experience as a PR pro in the utility and health care industries, as well as a lowly paid, but highly enjoyable stint in government service. I've worked in internal, external and provider communications. Before that, I worked for many years as a reporter and editor. (Don't worry, I've been deprogrammed). I still freelance when I'm particularly hungry.

I'm open to all opportunities. Or, as the headline says, "have pen, will travel."

Thanks for the look.

Hatman Returns

2010-02-15T20:53:00.004-05:00

One of my favorite Christmas gifts this year was a hat given to me by my sister and my brother-in-law. It’s the kind of hat that looks like you ought to be wearing it while lounging on the beach with an ugly Hawaiian shirt and a strong tropical drink. A friend of mine used to call a hat like this a “go to hell” hat. I’m really not sure why. Maybe it’s because when you wear this kind of hat you are basically telling the fashionistas to go to hell.

Anyway, the last time I saw a chapeau so grand it was a decade ago at a University of Louisville football game. At first, the wearer slipped in relatively unnoticed. That didn’t last long. The hat quickly garnered my attention and admiration. From then on, every time hatman slipped up and down the aisle – whether going to the bathroom or the beer line – I shouted, “Nice hat.”

Hatman originally accepted my compliment begrudgingly. Believe it or not, he might have actually thought I was making fun of him. I guess it eventually became second nature to him though. After all, he never stopped wearing the hat. In fact, I’d like to think he actually started to have some fun with it, at least until the incident.

For better or worse, “nice hat” was gaining momentum. Originally a chorus of only one, it was building to a regal refrain as others joined in, broadcasting hatman’s every movement. It seemed mostly good-spirited until the last game of the year. As I recall, Louisville was taking a horrendous beating. Hatman was returning from his regular bathroom/beer run. For some inexplicable reason, the crowd’s pent-up frustration was seemingly unleashed at that very moment onto the hat. Vulgarities were hurled. Debris was tossed. It was uglier than a Hawaiian shirt.

In the aftermath of such a riotous display, the hat was, unfortunately, never seen again. That is until it – or a damn-fine facsimile -- showed up 10 years later in my gift box on Christmas Eve. This was kismet. I proudly put the hat on. My sister snapped a photo. I couldn’t wait to load the photo to Facebook. Before 24 hours had passed, I heard from my good friend Kenny, who has shared U of L football tickets with me since the dinosaurs roamed the earth.

He had only two words for such an auspicious occasion: “Nice hat.”

Remembering Uncle Bill

2010-01-24T18:40:00.000-05:00

When I think of my great uncle, Bill Webb, who died this weekend after a lengthy illness, two images come to mind. The first is of him in a boat at Nolin Lake and the second is of him walking along the streets in Camp Taylor.

Bill loved to fish and was a great fisherman. He was one of the early adaptors of what we call “the little green worm,” which is a lethal weapon to bass to this day. He fished with my dad quite a bit. He’d also fish by himself. He had his own routines.

Once, when I was very young, Uncle Bill invited me to join him on a fishing trip. I’m sure it cramped his style a little bit to have a kid along, but you wouldn’t know it. He was very patient . . . until I started catching more fish than him, courtesy of the little green worm.

At that point, Uncle Bill decided I should take my own fish off the hook. Maybe he was trying to teach me, but I think he was trying to catch up. Either way, Bill was as proud of my fish as I was. He couldn’t wait to get home to show my dad our catch and needle him about how his boy had thrived under the tutelage of “a real fisherman.” I never caught a bigger fish to this day.

My second memory of Uncle Bill is of him walking the streets of Camp Taylor like the community’s unofficial mayor. Bill had a heart attack when he was younger and would walk the perimeter of Audubon Park Country Club for exercise, picking up wayward golf balls as he went. As best I know, Uncle Bill didn’t play golf. On his walkabout, Bill would always pass our front porch, hollering “hey, Dougo,” whenever he saw me or my dad.

I suspect once Uncle Bill is laid to rest this week Aunt Norma will find a basement full of golf balls . . . and a few packs of little green worms.

Pizza Monger Meets Pizza Mogul

2009-12-26T21:38:00.003-05:00

On a recent fateful night at Freedom Hall in Louisville, Ky., the pizza monger finally met the pizza mogul. In retrospect, it probably had to happen sooner or later.

My 7-year-year old son, Clark, is the pizza monger. Whenever we go to University of Louisville basketball games, Clark’s first stop is at the Papa John’s pizza booth. He always orders a pepperoni personal pan pizza. (These are available only at the games, by the way, from what I can tell). Then – and only then – can the fandom begin.

At a recent game, we followed our regular routine: Enter, get personal pizza, find seats. But this game was to be anything but normal. We had just settled in when I looked up and saw the pizza mogul – none other than Papa John’s founder John Schnatter– standing along the rail near my seats. For those of you who don’t know, Schantter is a native of Jeffersonville, Ind., near Louisville, and is a benefactor of the University of Louisville.

As a U of L grad myself and a lifelong Louisville native, I’ve seen “Papa John” around a few times, but never so close. Not being the shy, retiring type, I immediately called out with the catchphrase from Papa’s latest commercial: “Papa John is in the House!” Having heard this probably a billion times, Papa John gave me the requisite lukewarm nod.

Then something extraordinary happened. Papa spotted Clark with his ballgame staple, a Papa John’s pizza. Obviously liking what he saw, the pizza mogul rushed to the pizza monger and requested a high-five. Palms were slapped. Papa John returned to his post. After a couple minutes, Clark looked at me and said nonchalantly, “Daddy, that was the guy on the box.”

As it turned out, Papa John was at Freedom Hall to film a commercial for the pizza chain that will air during March Madness. At halftime, he even hit a half-court shot. To celebrate, he said everyone in the house would get a free pizza with their ticket stub.

A couple days later, we saw Papa John again, except this time it was only on the box.

Like a Diamond, Good Slogan Lasts Forever

2009-12-15T21:06:00.019-05:00

Quick. Can you name the tagline for Coca-Cola? How about for Pepsi? They’re two of the most recognizable brands in the word. They spend a lot of money on advertising. Surely, you can name their taglines, right?

Not so much, according to Steve Cone of Epsilon, who recently spoke to Humana’s marketing team about good marketing. Cone travels the country offering a $50 bill to anyone who can name the soda giants’ taglines. That $50 is still in his wallet.

These examples show that the biggest companies don’t always make the most of their marketing dollars, he said. In fact, Cone contends that bigger the company; the more likely it is that they are needlessly draining their marketing budgets.

If you’ve got a good tagline, stick with it, he said. Coke and Pepsi are two companies that are probably best known for earlier taglines. Have you had a Coke and a smile? Did you join the Pepsi generation?

Good taglines are simple, Cone said, reflecting a company’s values with an attitude. You do know that what happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas, right? The slogan is actually “Vegas: What Happens Here, Stays Here,” but you get the picture.

Jingles work well, Cone said. He also likes personalizing the brand with a celebrity or a character, especially a character. After all, “Tony the Tiger” never gets caught like Tiger Woods. Finally, integrate your marketing campaign across all platforms.

Follow these tips and perhaps everyone will know your tagline, even if you don’t advertise on the Super Bowl.

By the way, Coca-Cola’s current slogan is “Open Happiness,” while Pepsi boasts that it “Refreshes the Word.” Keep those in mind just in case you run into Steve Cone. You can thank me for the $50 later.

Industry’s Death Has Been Greatly Exaggerated

2009-12-11T21:52:00.009-05:00

Had the privilege of attending a luncheon with Courier-Journal president and publisher Arnold Garson recently, and he said, in true Mark Twain fashion, that reports of the newspaper industry’s death have been greatly exaggerated.

Newspapers are too good at publicizing their own problems, he said, while television news rarely reports on its own loss of viewers.

Newspapers remain a profitable industry, he said. Garson said papers that have gone broke have fallen into two main categories: Second tier papers that were artificially propped up for years by “joint operating agreements” and newspapers that unwisely took on too much debt. As other industries recover, so will newspapers, he said.

Garson conceded that newspapers must react to the times, starting with regular price increases, just like other businesses.

He is bullish on print, but can envision a day when a few editions each week are delivered electronically. The biggest obstacle to this is developing an electronic reader that interfaces well with the newspaper format, he said.

In closing, Garson said the C-J will publish his obituary and the obituaries of all of us who had gathered to listen to him, but not its own.

My Cup Runneth Over

2009-12-09T20:03:00.002-05:00

When I was a cub reporter, I learned one of my first lessons about brand management. I had written about a fire in the small southern Indiana town where I worked. I said the fire moved quickly after spreading to some “Styrofoam cups.”

Several weeks later I got a letter from the good folks at Styrofoam. (Those were the days before e-mail). They were more worried about damage to their brand than damage to the house. They informed me, ever so firmly, that Styrofoam doesn’t make cups. They recommended the alternative “plastic foam” in place of Styrofoam.

I didn’t print a retraction. However, more than 20 years later, I’m probably the only guy you know who calls those things “plastic foam” cups.

Styrofoam may not exist anymore for all I know. Or they may have branched out into cups by now. But I can’t take that chance. Even as I write “Styrofoam cup” in this post, I fear some Internet robot may find the phrase. A letter of admonishment won’t be far behind.

The point is this: You’ve got to be passionate for protecting your brand, even if it’s only with some cub reporter at some small newspaper in southern Indiana. After all, those cub reporters eventually become reporters at much larger papers. They may even become a PR guy.

Putting a Steak in the Ground

2009-12-03T21:51:00.017-05:00

In my last blog post, I talked about the Brett Favre Steakhouse in Green Bay, Wisc. While I don’t know anything about the place or its finances, I can’t help but wonder if it represents a cautionary tale for us as investors.

Chances are the steakhouse was once considered a “can’t miss” investment. I imagine the pitch went something like this, “This is a sure thing. We’re talking about a restaurant named after the most beloved athlete on the community’s most beloved team. We’ll just fill the place with Packers memorabilia and the food will fly out there.”

I bet it did, too. The place was probably buzzing with excitement, including an occasional visit by Favre himself. It probably felt like it would never end.

But nothing is forever. Favre waffled on his retirement, then clashed with management. By the time he signed with the New York Jets, I bet the crowds in Green Bay were already thinning out. “Don’t worry,” backers probably said. “Brent has a lot of goodwill in this town.”

Judging by what I saw on my recent visit, they slapped a couple Jets photos on the wall and proceeded as if nothing had really changed. What they hadn’t banked on was Favre signing earlier this year with the Packers’ most hated rival, the Minnesota Vikings. No way to spin that one, which is probably why I didn’t see Favre in purple on the wall.

Favre went from beloved to persona non grata. An idea that seemed inspired now seems shortsighted.

Sure, Brett Favre’s Steakhouse still serves a pretty mean Brett Favre signature steak. The restaurant is far from deserted from what I saw, even on a weekday. But I can’t help but wonder if it’s far from its heyday, too. After all, there’s not much of a chance of Brett dropping by these days. Even if he did, I’m not sure he’d bolster sales very much.

I imagine entrepreneurs pitching a new idea now. “It’s this theme restaurant,” they’re probably saying. “It’s going to be huge. Aaron Rodgers is on board.”

Tales from the Road ... and the Airplane

2009-11-20T23:05:00.011-05:00

I just got back from a whirlwind business trip to Green Bay and Chicago. My travels were eventful as always, including the following:

My luggage took a different flight than me. Thank you, American Airlines.

Drank my first Spotted Cow beer. Thank you, Debbie Henry.

Spent $17 on an official cheesehead hat. I guess that’s a lot of money for a big block of inedible cheese. However, my son was insistent. In case you’re wondering, he’s a bigger fan of cheesy hats than the Green Bay Packers.

Won $60 at a casino on an Indian reservation. I took a tip from the great Kenny Rogers by knowing when to walk away … if only he had walked away from that plastic surgeon.

The good folks at the Swissotel locked me out of my room after promising me a late checkout. To paraphrase Jerry Seinfeld, anyone can take a reservation; the key is keeping the reservation. Usually when I can’t open a hotel room it’s my own fault. Maybe science will eventually unlock the room key-cell phone conundrum.

Escaped a close call from a woman with a dog on an airplane. I’m allergic to dogs, although I’m not sure this lady would even recognize her traveling companion as a dog, based on the ongoing conversation between the two of them.

Not so lucky when it came to the puking woman just one row ahead of me. Thankfully, I narrowly avoided a sympathy barf.

At the AHIP conference, I saw a woman’s presentation interrupted by her own cell phone. It wasn’t even a cool ringtone. I chalked it up to karma since presenters are always telling audience members to turn off their phones.

Enjoyed two dinners at Brett Favre’s steakhouse in Green Bay. The restaurant is still in Green Bay even though Favre isn’t. He now plays for the Minnesota Vikings … the Packers most hated rival. The food was good, but the merchandise wasn’t moving. I did hear about some bozo paying $17 for a cheesehead. That’s enough to make you want to puke on an airplane.

From Cheese Plate to Cheesehead

2009-11-05T19:22:00.003-05:00

We all know men are from Mars and women are from Venus. That point was dramatically driven home to me the other day when I asked people of different sexes about the very best place to stay in Green Bay, Wisc.

A young female professional who is very familiar with the area recommended a place “owned by a Catholic college that is cute, quaint and has a nice brunch.”

The male, also a professional, went another direction. He recommended the Hilton Garden Inn. Not so cute, not so quaint, but located directly across the parking lot from Lambeau Field, home of the Green Bay Packers.

“They have the Green Bay Packers Hall of Fame there,” he explained. “If you’re anything like me, you’ll want to check it out.”

So much for that nice brunch.

Keeping Tab on Some Old Brands

2009-10-22T21:11:00.004-04:00

Many of the brands of my youth are gone, lost presumably to changing tastes and perhaps a better informed public.

I used to wash my hair with a shampoo called Body on Tap. It was made with actual beer, which was supposed to be good for your hair. I haven’t seen Body on Tap for years. If it were still around, you’d probably have to keep it locked up in a liquor cabinet. The FDA also might frown upon beer being promoted as a cure for a bad hair day.

Tab, the original diet soda, is still around, but not as popular as it once was. As it turns out, people apparently prefer diet sodas that don’t taste like cough syrup and include warnings about dying lab rats on the side. Imagine that.

I loved Fun Dip, which is basically what you get when you empty a jillion Pixie Sticks into a mountain of sugary dust and then shovel it in with a spoon, also made of sugar. To the best of my knowledge, the packaging wasn’t made of sugar, but it should have been.

We weren’t much for moderation in those days. Charles Chips used to arrive at my doorstep in the equivalent of an oil drum. Charles Chips might still be around somewhere, but I’m certain they don’t come in oil drums anymore.

The bottom line is we’ve probably gotten too smart for suspect additives, mountains of unrefined sugar, gargantuan sizes and alcohol-infused household products. Or maybe the lawyers just smartened up. Either way, these are positive developments.

Nevertheless, I can’t help an occasional yearning for one of the most heinous -- yet delicious -- salty snacks of my youth. It was called Bacums. As I recall, Bacums were basically bacon-flavored potato chips. Each chip looked like a miniature slice of bacon. If they were around today, you’d probably confuse Bacums for dog treats. But if Bacums are for dogs, then slap a collar on me and call me Spike. I loved Bacums. I ate them every day. At my high school, you couldn’t find a warm vegetable for a hundred miles, but you could always find a bag of Bacums.

I don’t remember ever giving up Bacums. Luckily, the changing snack food market saved me from self. But I won’t lie. If I could find one last bag of Bacums, I’d eat them right now, washing them down with a Tab, of course, just for old-time’s sake.

Let’s Shake On It

2009-10-12T19:13:00.002-04:00

It seems like an epidemic is breaking out. It’s not H1N1, although it may be closely related. It’s a condition I’ll call handshakeicitis.

There have always been a few suffers … those who turn to Purell at slightest possibility of an open palm. But their ranks are growing rapidly since the swine flu if my experiences are any indication. In the last few weeks alone, I’ve met two victims.

First, I approached my son’s teacher at a recent open house, extending a friendly hand. She ducked aside as if I had brandished a gun. “I can’t shake your hand,” she explained. “My allergies are acting up.”

A few days later, I ran into an acquaintance at a restaurant. My hand sprung into action like a GI Joe with karate action. Once again, handshakeinteruptus. Just like the teacher, he said he was under the weather and didn’t want to spread germs.

If that’s the case, I should be thankful. But I can’t help but wonder if these people are protecting themselves from me instead of me from them!

I’m not unsympathetic. After all, I’m a hypochondriac from way back. WebMD used to be among my favorite Web sites. I don’t even want to talk about the great diabetes scare of the 80s. Yet, when it comes to handshakes, I forge fearlessly ahead. The extravert prevails over the germaphobe, hands down, so to speak.

Whether it’s fair or not, I can’t help but feel rejected by those unrequited handshakes. It leaves me hollow, like a guy with a bad pickup line on Ladies Night.

Dr. Keith Ablow of Fox News says it OK to shake hands, even with the swine flu threat. He says we need human touch now more than ever. So follow my lead. Get a grip! Don’t be afraid of a hearty handshake.

How About a Digital Debate?

2009-09-23T19:17:00.006-04:00

Some of my recent Facebook comments have been rubbed out quicker than one of Tony Soprano’s enemies. Can a defriending be far behind?

Perhaps a generational gap is to blame. Many of my Facebook friends are younger than me. They’re probably surprised to see a 40-year-old in their digital sandbox.

For the most part, that’s fine. I live vicariously through their party people weekends while posting updates about my wife, kids and Louisville sports. But when the conversation occasionally veers into politics, things get a little sticky. For starters, I think their embarrassed to know someone who didn’t actually vote for Barack Obama.

I should take a timeout here and tell you that I’m the kind of guy who is very passionate about his views. I’ve always been that way. In my peer group, you either debated or got run over. We argued about everything … sports, girls, clothes, etc. We drank beers, argued, ate, argued, went home, stewed and did it all over again the next day.

This was probably great training for a career in public relations. If someone said something you didn’t like, you picked it apart. You couldn’t delete their comments.

Facebook isn’t like that. In the digital world, if you don’t like something someone says, then you just zap it away. I found that out the hard way while commenting about things like the health care and other current events.

I prefer the old way. If you don’t agree with me, let’s go toe to toe. When it’s over, you’ll send me a virtual margarita. I’ll send you a smiley face. And we’ll do it again tomorrow.

Enter at Your Own Risk

2009-09-10T19:17:00.004-04:00

I was in a pretty sketchy convenience store the other day when it occurred to me that most of these places have a few major things in common. So in the interest of public safety, here are my top 10 signs that you’re in a shady convenience store:

10). Police won’t stop there … even for free doughnuts.
9). Always someone on a bicycle hanging suspiciously around a pay phone.
8).You can’t find USA Today, but you can find three fetish magazines.
7). More handmade signs than a lemonade stand.
6). The clerk is staring at you through bars like an inmate on death row.
5). Three words: Lotto. Lotto. Lotto.
4). A fellow customer is actually enjoying one of those hot dogs off the rollers.
3). They have one of those measuring sticks at the door to identify the perpetrator … and they actually use it.
2). Police tape. (See number 3).
1). One brand of milk; five brands of rolling paper.

If you see three or more of these 10, then it’s probably a good idea to move on down the road. You can thank me later.

A Weekend for the Birds

2009-08-31T18:56:00.003-04:00

I like birds, but I’m starting to think they don’t like me.

I’ve had a few dust ups with our feathery friends over the years, but nothing as ugly as this past weekend. It started during a visit to the Newport Aquarium in Northern Kentucky. Oddly for an aquarium, one of my favorite exhibits was an aviary. We purchased some nectar to feed the birds. Many birds happily partook of our sweet offering.

I felt at peace with the wildlife, like a regular John James Audubon. That is, until one of the birds rewarded my goodwill by relieving himself on my t-shirt. I thought it was “number one.” My son, Trent, who is more knowledgeable about these things due to countless hours watching Animal Planet, cheered me up by telling me it was more than likely “number two.”

That’s right. This bird didn’t bite the hand that fed him. He pooped in it.

It was traumatic, particularly facing a two-hour drive home with a bird-soiled shirt. However, I wasn’t about to let it ruin my weekend. I recovered quickly enough to stop off for some ice cream. By the next morning, all was forgotten as I went about my weekly routine, mowing the lawn, cutting the weeds and washing two cars.

After washing the cars, I went inside and cleaned up a little. By the time I returned – no more than five minutes later – birds had hit them both, negating an entire afternoon of hard labor in a single selfish moment.

I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the same birds. After all, the birds in Newport seemed safely incarcerated within some netting. But perhaps one of them called out a hit on me, like a mafia kingpin tapping into a criminal network from his jail cell.

Why would these birds target me so vicousouly? I scoured my memory banks for the answer. If anything, I’ve been pretty good to birds over the years. If I see one in the road, I always drive around it. I don’t eat much chicken. I even taught a paraquet named Amos how to say “Pretty Boy,” undoubtedly making him the envy of his flock. Amos would have lived longer too, if he hadn’t eaten so damned many cigarettes, but that’s another story.

Anyway, between these bittersweet memories of Amos, I finally stumbled upon something.
When I was much younger, I owned a muscle car with t-tops. Once, when visiting a drive-through establishment, a bird with aim like Peyton Manning pooped on my wife’s head. I laughed uncontrollably – not only for the rest of the day, but for months afterward.

So maybe it wasn’t the birds that got me after all … but karma.

You Never Forget Your First Beanball

2009-07-20T21:11:00.002-04:00

Even at 6 years old, Clark is a lot tougher than his old man. He proved that over the weekend.

Clark got hit in the eye with a baseball during warm-ups for his Little League All-Star game, resulting in a first-class shiner. A lesser man – his dad, for instance – might have packed it in right there. Clark not only played in the game, but got a couple hits.

I speak from experience on this. My Little League career ended at about Clark’s age when a manchild nicknamed Froggie beaned me in the head with a fastball. I continued to play after that, but spent most of my time in the batter box trembling with fear. Because of Froggie, I was much more worried about getting hit than getting a hit.

After getting hit, Clark wasn’t too eager to mix it up again, either. Something about the thud of a hardball against soft flesh will do that to you. But Clark did play. In fact, in true Hollywood fashion, he darned near had the game-winning hit. Unfortunately, the lead runner was sent back to third. We lost in extra innings. The storybook finish will have to wait for another day.

I’d like to think it might still happen, however. Perhaps on some cool October evening many years from now with the Reds leading 3-2 and just one out from clinching the World Series, Clark will be called in from the bullpen to save the day. With 45,000 people watching anxiously from the stands and millions more on national television, Clark will wind up, muster all his strength and promptly drill Froggie’s offspring right in the head.

That kid has one coming.

An Izzo Elevator Encounter

2009-07-10T21:58:00.005-04:00

As it turns out, Tom Izzo apparently felt as badly about his Michigan State Spartans knocking my Louisville Cardinals from the Final Four chase as I did. At least that’s what he told me in the elevator of Cleveland’s Renaissance Hotel.

I was in town to promote the National Senior Games. He was in town to attend the LeBron James King City Classic basketball tournament, featuring the best high school players in the nation.

As fate would have it, we ended up on the same elevator at the same time, along with Illinois Head Coach Bruce Weber.

The last time I saw Izzo was at a distance. He was patrolling the sidelines in Indianapolis as his underdog Spartans easily dismantled my beloved Louisville Cardinals, depriving me of the joy of a Final Four appearance. This time, the personal space between us was much more intimate. We were in a cramped elevator instead of the Lucas Oil Stadium. Because of the man next to me, I would never see T-Will in a Louisville uniform again. I couldn’t possibly let the moment pass without letting him know just exactly how I felt.

“Coach,” I started. “Why did you have to beat my Cardinals like that?”

“Well,” he replied sheepishly. “Um, I’m sorry about that.”

Witnessing this, Weber chimed in instantly with “I’m not!”

Apparently that Big Ten blood runs pretty thick.

Regardless, I left the elevator feeling better, knowing Izzo didn’t really want to beat the Cardinals like that. And at least he didn’t take the UK job.

There’s one postscript to this story. On my return trip, I ended up right behind West Virginia Coach Bob Huggins in the airport security line. Huggins is a hated Louisville rival way from way back in his days at Cincinnati. I thought about giving him the business too, but held my tongue. After all, we beat West Virginia.

Take My Advice: Kick Wedding Planner to the Curb

2009-07-07T19:55:00.005-04:00

My wedding planner was organized, detail oriented and determined to squeeze every last dollar from the ceremony. She also happened to be my wife, Kim.

Kim didn’t have a whole lot of help either, particularly from me. I was living in another city at the time. Even if I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have been much help. After all, I’m the kind of guy who thinks a daffodil is a type of pickle.

Under these circumstances, I really admire what Kim was able to accomplish. While working full time, she was able to plan a simple, but beautiful ceremony. At the reception, the food was hot and the beer was cold. The floor was filled with people dancing the electric slide.
Most importantly, it didn’t cost as much as a house – or even a sports car.

Today, more than 15 years after I was married, planning your own wedding is becoming a real rarity. Most people turn to outside consultants to plan and execute their “big day.” It’s a great convenience, but it also comes with a price tag.

I question the wisdom of this approach. After all, money is one of the main stressors in a relationship. Isn’t it more important to start your relationship on solid footing than to throw a good party … even if it means doing the Macarena in a union hall?

Following is my advice to those with impending nuptials.

Call in favors from friends and family: the cousin who is a photographer or the uncle who has a timeshare at Gulf Shores.
If you find yourself shopping for a gown in a place that has its own reality show, then turn around and run for the exits.
Keep the ceremony short and sweet. Your wedding is not as entertaining as a Hollywood blockbuster and shouldn’t last as long.
Go with the finger-foods instead of the sit-down dinner. No one is expecting your reception to be featured on The Food Network.
Cut the big-man table a break and start service before you arrive.
I can’t stress this enough: no beer can pyramids in mixed company.
Be realistic when it comes to your honeymoon. Pictures of the two of you on a private island are nice, but you can’t live in them.

On last thing, in this economy, it might be time to kick the wedding planner to the curb. Trust me, it can be done. I’ve done it … or at least my wife did.

Tourist in Your Own Hometown

2009-06-26T19:15:00.005-04:00

Despite the corny “Possibility City” advertising campaign, I love my hometown of Louisville, Ky. I was born and raised here. I went to college here. I’ve worked at two Fortune 500 companies here, and yet I still apparently look like a tourist.

That was the unfortunate feedback I received during a recent family lunch outing in Louisville’s east end. We were at Logan’s Roadhouse, which is a place we don’t typically frequent. As a result, we spent a little extra time with the menu.

That fact, coupled with what must have been overly casual attire for a Sunday afternoon, spelled just one thing to our waitress: T-O-U-R-I-S-T.

“Where you from?” she said.

“Um, from across the bridge,” I felt like saying.

Instead, curiosity got the better of me. I began to query the waitress about why she so readily identified us as tourists. She danced around the issue delicately, perhaps fearing loss of tip. She pointed to the menu confusion. I sensed something deeper.

I was placing my bet on Kim’s colorful ensemble. She, in turn, was quick to blame my golf shirt, which, by the way, she happened to pick out. Or maybe it was Trent’s chronically unkempt hair. Or perhaps the corndog that Clark ordered. We’ll probably never know for sure.

Either way, maybe Louisville really is “Possibility City.” If you wear the wrong thing, it’s quite possible you’ll be mistaken for a tourist.

Ugly Banter Would Jeopardize Game Show Appearance

2009-06-16T20:46:00.012-04:00

I watch Jeopardy several times a week, matching wits against my wife and son. Despite the fact that I once bombed at an actual Jeopardy audition, these battles have convinced me that I would fare pretty well on the actual show. In fact, the only part of the show that concerns me is the required banter with host Alex Trebek between the first and second rounds.

It seems to me these stories need to be equal parts humor and intellect. Very few contestants actually get it right. Their stories are either too obscure or too dry, like, “Alex, I once celebrated New Year’s Eve twice when I crossed the International dateline.”

As lame as these stories are, I must admit I probably don’t have anything better. Many of my best stories are far too bawdy for national television.

“So Doug, tell us a little bit about yourself.”
“Well, Alex, I once hit my uncle in the gut with a golf ball shortly after his hernia surgery.”
“Ouch. That’s sounds painful.”
“I told him I had a bad slice.”

Or how about this gem?

“Doug, I understand you’ve been interested in finance from a very young age.”
“Yes, Alex. Funny you mentioned that. When we were teenagers, my friend Kenny and I used to tie strings around quarters to get free games at the arcade.”
“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
“Well, uh, don’t put that on the show.”

Something tells me these stories just wouldn’t make the cut.

In fact, most of my stories are so completely devoid of sophistication that I might tank the game on purpose, just to avoid returning as champion. After all, another day would mean another story. In a worst case scenario, I’d need five day’s worth of witty banter. That’s a lot of pressure. I could even get called back for the Tournament of Champions … and yet more stories like this:

“Doug, it says here that you once ordered in French at a Mexican restaurant in Italy.”
“No, Alex, I didn’t. You must have me confused with the other contestant. However, I did once celebrate New Year’s Eve with a grown man in a diaper.”

Don’t DARE Go There

2009-06-03T20:30:00.003-04:00

New Year’s Eve has been a lot more subdued at my house since D.A.R.E. moved in.

D.A.R.E. is short for Drug Abuse Resistance Education. It’s a police officer-led classroom program that teaches kids about the dangers of drugs and alcohol. Both my children have been through the D.A.R.E. program. They are fully indoctrinated.

That’s a good thing, of course, unless you’re planning to order a drink with dinner, as I discovered during a recent family outing.

The purpose of the evening was to celebrate the end of our dispute with State Farm. Feeling celebratory, I ordered a Blue Moon. The festive mood soon vanished, however, as I found myself facing charges of being a drug user.

It went something like this.

The waiter delivers a refreshing Blue Moon, complete with an orange slice. I take a satisfying sip.
Clark, my 6-year-old son, intervenes. “Daddy, do you know what that is?” he asks.
Eager to hear the reply, I say, “No, what is it?”
Clark says defiantly, “That’s drugs.”

I immediately imagine Clark telling his kindergarten teacher how his dad does drugs, followed shortly thereafter with a visit from social services. Trying to head this off, I explain to Clark that alcohol isn’t really a drug and dad doesn’t really drink much anyway.

I’m in the clear until the second DARE junior officer, Trent, my 12-year-old, weighs in with, “Dad, you drank a martini (really a margarita) at the Great Wolfe Lodge and you also had a drink on New Year’s Eve.” At this point, I realize Trent must be keeping a spreadsheet of my alcohol use, which we’ll be discussing in future therapy sessions.

Kim, my wife, who ordered a sweet tea, seems delighted with the whole conversation.

Finally, I’m able to change the subject and finish dinner without further incident. I even managed to slip in a second beer, which is important since I probably won’t be able to order another one for months. After all, it’s all being thoroughly documented.

My only saving grace through this episode is that I don’t smoke, meaning the kids will have to save that lecture for their grandmother.

Even with such inquisitions, I think the D.A.R.E. officers are doing a great job. I congratulate them. I just hope they’re available to watch the kids on New Year’s Eve.

You Can’t Flip the Switch on Fame

2009-05-27T19:51:00.000-04:00

Don’t ask for something you don’t want, you just might get it. I thought of that old adage this week as I watched the travails of Jon and Kate Gosselin, who appear on a TLC reality show featuring their eight children.

“Jon and Kate plus Eight” is a cute show with a cute title featuring a cute couple and their cute kids. But things aren’t so cute lately. In fact, they are downright ugly. In case you haven’t been in a supermarket checkout line, here’s the rundown:

· Jon may or may not have been canoodling with a 22-year-old woman
· Kate may or may not have been cozy with her bodyguard
· The couple may or may not have been perpetrating this cute little fraud on all of us for months

Most of it was painfully laid open before our very eyes earlier this week. As they suffered, TLC racked up its biggest ratings ever.

I feel a lot of sympathy for the Gosselin children, but very little for the couple, despite their rants against the paparazzi and their cries for privacy. After all, from the fertility treatments to the reality TV show, this is the life they chose.

In better times, they parlayed their celebrity into free trips, access to sporting events, tummy tucks, hair plugs, a bigger house and book tours. Now, Jon, in particular, seems like he wishes it would all just go away.

But fame isn’t like that. You can’t put the toothpaste back into the tube. Like it or not, Jon’s life will forever be defined by “Jon and Kate plus Eight,” just as Omarosa will forever be a sore loser and Steve O will always be a jackass.

On the latest episode of “Jon and Kate plus Eight,” Kate tries to maintain some semblance of normalcy by planning a birthday party for the couple’s sextuplets. In one particularly poignant moment she spots the paparazzi following them to a party store. Children shouldn’t know about paparazzi, she says. Ironically, she says this into a camera – one of a group of cameras that have been documenting her family’s life for the past four years.

Kate is right, of course. Five-year-old children shouldn’t be stalked by paparazzi. Mine weren’t. But then again, I never turned their lives into a television show.

Hanging up His Hooks?

2009-05-18T21:15:00.002-04:00

For most of my dad’s life, he has been defined by one thing above all else: His uncanny ability to stalk and catch black bass.

If black bass had their own vocabulary, then my dad could read and write it fluently. He understands where bass live, what they eat and how they think. For all I know, he spawns like a fish. He used to drink like a fish, too, but that was another time.

I know the stories of my dad’s fishing exploits are true because I’ve seen the videos … countless hours of videos.

Dad, of course, takes great pride in his reputation as an extraordinary fisherman. He also takes great pride in the tools of his trade, including his truck and boat. Both are black and spotless. On occasion, he even dresses like the boat, replete with matching black clothes and logos, looking like a combination of Johnny Cash and Dale Earnhardt.

So it was with great surprise that I learned that dad sold both this week. It was all gone suddenly in one fell swoop to a guy from Bardstown, Ky. I heard talk about scaling back, but didn’t take it seriously. In retrospect, I should have. Dad can be impulsive, like the time he bought a car at a yard sale or sold a house out of the blue.

But this decision isn’t impulsive, he said. As it turns out, fishing is a lot of hard work, especially if you tackle it like he does. Unfortunately, I can’t be of much help either. You see, the fishing gene apparently skips a generation.

Dad says he’ll keep fishing. He’ll simply leave the upkeep to his younger friends. There will be more fish to catch and more videos to film.

Dad won’t look back. He never does. There’s already discussion of a new car in the garage to polish.

For my part, I’m having a harder time letting go. It’s too much to process all at once. Among other things, I’m starting to wonder if the guy from Bardstown with the black truck and boat will now be the one watching my kids!

I Got a Caffeine Monkey on my Back

2009-05-07T21:45:00.006-04:00

My name is Doug Bennett and I’m addicted to Diet Coke. For most of my life, this hasn’t presented much of a problem. But things have changed. I now find myself scouring downtown streets for just a few drops of the good stuff.

Let me explain.

When I first started working at Humana, we had a refrigerator stocked full of free drinks, including Diet Cokes. From now on, I will refer to this time as the golden years. Oh sure, there were a few hiccups. I can recall a few times when the lovely administrative assistants in government relations couldn’t stock them as quickly as I could drink them. But for the most part, we had a virtual endless oasis of brown nectar right at our fingertips.

Unfortunately, like GM and Chrysler before it, our refrigerator fell victim to the ailing economy. Juice and water survived. Diet Coke got the pink slip.

My world came crashing down around me. I felt confused, vulnerable and sleepy. Not to mention the fact that I’d need thousands of quarters to quench my thirst.

Even with a pocket full of change, finding a new supplier proved difficult. The soda machines in my building exclusively carry Cokes in plastic bottles. I prefer canned Cokes, which is a quirk I hadn’t really noticed until the refrigerator ran dry.

As a result, I was forced into the streets, broken and thirsty with a big caffeine monkey on my back. After a few days of emptiness and lukewarm bottles, I found a snack shop in the lobby of a building across the street that carries Diet Cokes in the can.

I wish this was a happy ending. But, like the government relations aides before them, the snack shop people can’t seem to keep pace with my ravenous consumption. On bad days, I turn the corner to find empty slots where Diet Cokes ought to be. The entrepreneur in me wonders how they could possibly let such a golden opportunity slip away.

Anyway, things might be finally looking up. One coworker is willing to sell me Diet Cokes at a discount to finance her wedding. Additionally, I hear the building is moving to canned sodas as part of its greening initiative. And who knows? If the automobile industry can recover, maybe the refrigerator can, too. In the meantime, I’ll see you on the mean streets.

Great Wolf Rates High

2009-04-28T19:10:00.008-04:00

Several weeks ago, I went with the family to the Great Wolf Lodge, just outside of Cincinnati. With apologies to Roger Ebert, I’d give it four out of five puking kids.

Great Wolf is a hotel with an indoor water park, featuring attractions for all ages. It is costly, but a big hit with kids. Kid-friendly touches include a room within a room, complete with bunk beds and a television. A role-playing game with a wizard’s theme is another great diversion.

But the main event is definitely the water park. At any given moment, Kim and 6-year-old Clark played basketball in one of a half-dozen pools, while 12-year-old Trent and I nearly lost our lunch on one of the park’s mondo water slides.

This brings me to the innovative puke-scale rating. Not surprisingly, pizza doesn’t mix well with undulating waves and death-defying slides. On four different occasions, teenage lifeguards shut down Great Wolf’s wave pool to clean out offending organisms.

In case you’re wondering, the lifeguard who spots the lost lunch must remove it. No one could be blamed for literally looking the other way. Not these guys and gals. They took their jobs seriously, donning protective gloves and removing regurgitated remnants.

During one such cleaning, we returned to our room. Apparently determined not to be outdone, Clark complained of a stomach ache. Thankfully, the moment passed.

That’s why I can give Great Wolf only four puking kids. It nearly earned a rare five-puke rating, but it wasn’t to be on this trip.