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The things I can't say

There are many things I could tell you about from this last week.

New York
My 32 hours in New York did not change my perception of the city, although after riding on a double-decker bus tour, the city is pretty to me again. Travel has not changed much since my last trip in November of 2007. Much of what was covered at the conference was pretty well covered three years ago, but it is nice to review.

New Job
My current work is new for the people who hired me, but something I have been doing on and off for several years now. It is nice to have a variety of topics to choose from and the resources of the editorial staff from this publication. I have made a good impression since starting here in February. The metrics are double what they were and we have already done as many of these things as they had done over the last two years.

New Location
It is official. I no longer live in a cramped apartment in the people’s republic of Ann Arbor. My luxurious penthouse in Berkley is now home. It’s good to be back on this side of town.

New News
Well - here is the problem. I have no news. In fact I am thinking that it might be time to change up the Everywhere Man blog to something more reflective of these days. I wouldn’t throw it away - to many great stories here. But don’t be surprised if there is a new site to go to after the holiday.

5072.30 Miles South East of Dutch Harbor

The Green Hornet and I agree that Mike Rowe can do no wrong. Watching The Deadliest Catch these past few weeks The Green Hornet as decided, rightly so, that we should only give our location in miles from Dutch Harbor - Just like Mike.

If we were to write a movie Mike Rowe would narrate and give the location of ever scene in distance to Dutch Harbor or how Dirty a Job it was to do.

5072.30 miles South East of Dutch Harbor tensions are high on the Oakshire. Tempers flare as we fight for the remote control to fast forward past commercials.

Things Own You

Today was filled with packing and throwing things away again. There may be one more day left before I say goodbye to Ann Arbor for good.

While I wrapped my family heirloom full collection of 1973 Looney-Toons collectable glass from Hardee’s in tissue paper my mind drifted back to childhood. During the 70’s I lived in Oakland County, mom drove her VW, there were little used bookshops and art stores on Woodward, and things were good. Decades later I find irony in how little has changed as I drive a VW, stop at book stores, art shops and deli’s along Woodward and have now returned to Oakland County. There are no Hardee’s to collect glasses from, but that is little consequence.

There are two other family heirlooms in my possession. At times I am at odds with how I feel about them. One is a table that seats 45 people when all of the leafs are inserted. This separates into pieces that I can carry on my own. It’s size demands that a friend with a truck or van assist me. The second is a desk. The desk is older than the dinning room table. It was my great grandmothers. It may well have custom made for her as it is tiny for me to sit at. Designed before the age of computers, it has no holes in the back. A rugged well-made bit of furniture, it fit easily into the trunk of any American car of the era. It fit into the back of my hatch back for the last several moves as well. But Jenna wants nothing to do with it.

As wonderful as those cherished memories are, rekindled with each use or packing, I find that the responsibility of ownership is often a burden. I am nearly responsible enough to keep plants. If this continues I may be ready for a pet of my own one day. If that works, I might be ready for a real relationship. Moving would be much easier to throw things away and continue the disposable lifestyle. Instead I must take care things do not break while packing and have people help me move yet again.

For some time I have not wanted to own anything that I could not move on my own or toss out. That time has passed.

The Road to the White House

John

Barry

We helped a woman move her organ for Fathers Day

The Silver Fox is a cowboy out west this week, so there were no Fathers Day plans.

The Green Hornet and I pretty much stayed close to Berkley (my new home) the whole time. It is a small and very friendly community. During evening strolls every person who passes greets me with hellos and good evenings. I am not accustomed to just how nice they are. But it is a great place to be.

After another trip to the people’s republic of Ann Arbor I was reminded again of why I no longer fit in there. Just pulling into the old apartment complex I nearly got hit, as always. People there just look at there feet or completely ignore you rather than even smile.

Jenna, loaded with nearly the last of the good stuff, drove a leisurely 70 mph at 47 mpg. I listened to my public radio and the long trip. It’s hard to believe I actually miss being in the car for more than my 15 minute each way daily commute. But that is what Jenna was made for, the long haul.

I unloaded the girl, watch the Tigers win another, almost loosing it in the 9th. The Green Hornet grilled some great big burgers. After we walked up to Clark’s Ice Cream on 12 miles because we had heard good things. For your conversion purposes in the future, a small is really a large, and a medium is really a super-duper extra large. Plus, it tastes great.

On the way home we saw a petite mom and her middle school son try to move an old organ into their home. The Honda Pilot was backed up to the porch as close as they could get it in the tall uncut lawn. So The Green Hornet and I walked up and moved it up a few steps into the front room. From the looks of things, single mom in a new house with yippee dogs. She was so thankful that she wouldn’t let us leave until The Green Hornet told her his favorite type of beer, she would find us and bring a six-pack.

Thunderstorms are passing through the area again. Cable and electric flickered during the worst of it. But this hamlet is now my home and I like it very much.

Gotta Like Boobs - A Lot!

I am at a point in my life where I am no longer concerned with who knows this small fun fact about me: I love boobs.

Yes, several readers are ladies, and I am sorry to offend you. But after “looking with out looking at them” daily, hourly, every few moments, I have to believe that some of you already know that many men and I like them.

There are moments in the reflections of the elevator or bending over to pick something up that the tightly packed and prepared packages are perked and peeked at.

It does not matter the size, the age or the fitness - they always catch my eye.

Cleavage is great. With the advent of so many new bra technologies the ladies have made great advances in the way they look.

So I guess rather than prove my perversions more than I already have - I will simple end by saying thank you. Thank you for sharing, for prepping, for whatever you do to make yourselves so presentable. I have noticed. I have taken quick catches and long looks. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

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The Cup

The next morning Judas and I felt pretty bad. The place was a wreck from the party the night before and no one had cleaned up from dinner.

As we start to clean, our heads throbbing, Judas turns to me and says, “Check out The Cup.”

There it was on the table, all silver and pretty. What was at the bottom? Wine? Champagne? They must have even passes it around to one another.

“You know what would be cool? If wee took The Cup around to people and let them pose with it” says Judas.

“They’re going to pose with it? Then what?”

He thinks for a moment “Pose with it. Touch it. We say a few nice things. People want to see The Cup.”

“Well,” I say “if we are going to do this right, I am going to change my title… to Sir Stanley.”

“Sounds good” Judas says “give me a hand with this.”

And that is how I got to see the Stanley Cup at work this afternoon. If I cared for hockey I would have had a chance to get my photo with it. But to see it live was enough.

To think of all the famous people who have touched it makes me want to get a bottle of Purel.

Why do NYC & Tokyo bear the unfair burden of Monster Attacks?

Why do NYC & Tokyo bear the unfair burden of Monster Attacks? Other cites face fire, tornado, sheer wind, the plague and other Godly wrath. Is there a monster version of catnip dusted over these metropolises?

There are a few arguments I could make - A certain televangelist would say that the sins of these citizens have turned them into Sodom and Gomorrah. I image that we could blame Bush, as he is the international scapegoat for anything gone wrong since November of 2000. Yes, there is the argument for banning nuclear testing in the 50’s or “global warming” effects.

Why do you think NYC & Tokyo bear the unfair burden of Monster Attacks? Best answer wins!

High School

Being a senior in high school is like nothing else in life. It is one of the few times you will think you know everything and be undisputedly on top.

So what do seniors value? What are the priorities of these few elite?

First and foremost there is prom. Prom can be a magical experience shared between two best friends. It can be a fumbling exploration of two strangers. More important these days are the parade of fashion and style. The pageantry of expensive dresses one would only wear once to shine above all the rest has got to be priority number one.

After the prom is the immortal senior photo. Here you will be haunted for decades for what you decided to wear that one-day at the photo studio. It will be a lasting mark generations can turn to in their yearbook and point to in fond memory. It can also be a milestone of where you were in life, who your friends were, what choices you made, and what really happened at the prom.

Comcast still Sucks

Two things happened this weekend. I will start with the obvious… I have Internet connection again.

Comcast still sucks and I have a new respect and love foe WOW! While the Comcast bot made you all think that Comcast cares, in actuality, Comcast Sucks! I dropped off the box at their inconvenient office. The person there took the box with out saying a “hello” or “welcome” and scanned it. She noted the account was closed and told be that I owed them money. I didn’t. They owed me for eight days of service. I told her that and she laughed. When I asked for a receipt she said she couldn’t give me one.

There was a letter at my new address from Comcast Sucks. They were informing me that I had requested and address change and that it had taken place. If I did not request this I should inform them right away. This does not make sense to me. If someone were to impersonate me at a new address - how could I get this letter from Comcast Sucks if I am still at my old address and thought the cable went out.

WOW! Really has a good service. The person who installed this location was a decent guy. My new roommate asked questions such as “do you always have this kind of cable in the van? Or are there different types?” With this line of questioning we have determined that the Comcast Sucks installation team are idiots and just wanted to pass off putting in the totally brand new hook up - which involves extra work.

Did you notice what the second this for this weekend is? I have a roommate now. It’s the first time I’ve lived with anyone since 1998. That ended with me cleaning the toilet with her toothbrush for a week before telling her I did that and continuously asking for her to stop her cat from peeing on my bed.

This roommate is the mayor. He knows everyone, everyone likes him, respects him, and keeps in touch with him from the days in the fraternity. This should be a great influence on me.

He has a cat that has taken well to me. She is very playful and sweet.

My drive is now going to be about 20 minutes each way. A huge difference from the hour plus I have been doing in different directions since August of 2006.

Good weekend. Great start to the summer. Now I just need to meet some nice girls and the Tigers need to start winning.

Comcast SUCKS!

You will not hear from me for a week or so. I am moving. Opposite of what is advertised as simple and easy, Comcast is really bad at helping people move.

Nearly three weeks prior to my initial date of transferring my cable from one location to the next I called and spent a good half hour talking the Comcast person through my relocation. Things I stressed a) this new location has NEVER had cable before b) the date I would like this done c) what I will need in the transfer d) how much it will cost.

After that call I did not get the initial date I wanted - rather it was a full week later. Aside from that, it would be free, I could use my current box, and that the correct installation person for a new install would be sent. So I stayed with Comcast, not a dish or other provider.

Fast-forward several weeks. I get a confirmation call that Comcast will be there. It is automated - so I call back to get a live person. She tells me it will not be free. There is a $20 fee. But the correct person for a new installation (I did stress this) would be there.

Next day I get a text from roommate. I call him. The person they sent was not ready. He didn’t know it was a new installation. He was not ready. But next week, he could be back with the correct stuff. Oh yeah, by the way, the installation fee is more like $80 and my current box would need to be returned.

Rather than consider this a miscommunication, because the chances of one of these points be incorrectly exchanged would be that, I say that Comcast lies. After paying nearly $200 a month for several years, you should treat me better. Much, much better.

I will give them this… they did disconnect my current apartment on time. They sure got that right.

So as the new cable company I have decided to switch to will be at the new house next week, and the old cable company who are a pack of liars has disconnected my apartment I am leaving, I may not be able to post much here for a while.

Why would a company treat customers badly?

Indiana Jones and the Heartbreak

I make great efforts to not know about certain movies. People will point and laugh/hoot when I cover my eyes or look away from a movie preview.

Such was the case of the new Indiana Jones movie. I didn’t watch or read a thing. My guess at plots and character are too good to enjoy a movie if I know too much.

The rule of thumb on Indy movies… Odd numbers good, even numbers bad. This is the opposite of Star Trek and does not apply to Spiderman… once again proving what a big nerd I really am.

Things I like about the new Indiana Jones: Indy, Mutt, action, ants, and a few islands of wit and interest.

Things I don’t like: Lack of plot, the stretch on the suspension of disbelief, and the over use of blue screen animation.

Here is what works: your villain is a counter balance to the good guy; you have to have a great villain to make your good guy look great. Hitler and the Nazi’s are the most villainies group of the 20th century making Indiana look great. When you bring in the “B” list bad guy Indy looks old and inept.

Here is what people relate to: a goal for the hero that is relatable. Christian treasure and lore is much more intriguing than rocks and the supernatural. Good Christian treasure to find would be the Ark of the Covenant, the cup of Christ, or the one female descendant of Jesus. Rocks and cross-pollinated fantasy just don’t cut it here.

If you are an Indiana Jones fan who has seen every move and his young television adventures like me… save yourself the heartache and skip this one all together.

Barry Gibb Show

Fade

It was my typical Saturday morning starting with the regular breakfast at the diner. It took a few minutes to get the hostesses attention just to be seated. Then I had to flag down the waitress just to get a menu and place an order. The place was slow at this time of morning, part of why I go there at that time. It was a curious situation.

The next stop on my Saturday morning is the bakery that has great coffee. I go there nearly every day. This morning was a bit busy, but all of the staff there knows me. I got in line to pour my coffee right behind the two ladies I had opened the door for. But before I could step up to the pot, a tall witchy woman stepped in front of me and took her sweet time with a sample, mixing the right amount of cream and sugar before stepping away. She never even acknowledged I was there. Approaching the counter to pay she slid right in front of me again, this time with an order for four loaves of bread. I was there a while.

Later in the day I stood at the deli counter as three women cut in front of me before I could get salads for the barbeque. In my car I tried to back out of my space when a grey truck pulled up right behind me a stopped. The driver chatted with his girl, pulled out a camera and began to snap photos of another car. I honked. I revved my engine. They did not care. I lay on the horn and they finally look up to see me. “Hello” I wave with my finger, please move.

I blame these stuck up hypocritical hippie mothers who are so self-righteous that they cannot think of anyone else while wearing their summer furs over running suits in the Peoples Republic of Ann Arbor.

I blame these self-absorbed college students who live a reckless youth unknowing what privilege and advantage they hold.

I blame others and not myself. I am too nice of a person to speak up.

Driving home it occurs to me that I am too large of a person to ignore. Maybe so large that people look away? There are days when I don’t speak to anyone. My weekends of isolation are broken as I mumble my Monday morning hello’s at work or grumble the first words across a cell phone to friends.

Perhaps I am beginning to fade away. A single person of my age and gender blends into the background of suburban lifestyles easily overlooked and forgotten. What seems a short time ago you could not help but notice me. I was energetic and obnoxious. In these later years I do not offend and bite my tongue from ever speaking so I do not have to face the memory of misspeaking in my elderly years.

Outside of my circle

She bares the burden of a beautiful face. Her hair is a white blond that children get in long sunny summers but cut in a 50’s bob for her final project in cosmetology.

We are both a little drunk. I kiss her. We kiss for a while. I make my way down her neck and help unbutton her top. Her white bra is brilliant against her tanned skin.

Further down what I find makes me pause. It has been some time and I want to force myself to move on and make the moment about me.

Surrounded by perfect soft skin and whips of baby hair in the center of her six pack is a red blotch of torn and rebuilt tissue.

“What is this?”

She sizes me up in seconds. Maybe she already had at the bar. “It’s nothing.” She takes my hand in hers and presses it against her breast.

The tone of her voice was not convincing. It was something. It may have been everything. Is tonight just another night for her to forget about? My heart is in the way again.

“Really. What is this?”

She moves backward on the couch and places her petite feet on my lap. I take off her cruelly designed yet fashionable shoes and rub her feet. It stirs a deep sigh and warm moan before she starts her tale.

She met a boy, no, young man in his twenties who was unsettled. She thought they were in love, but what does a sixteen year old know about love? He wanted her to be with him, move in with him, to be his prize and object of desire. But this was months before she figured that out.

By the time she wanted to break things off he was hooked. Still unsettled. They had not seen each other for weeks until one night he shows up at her window on the tree limb he used to climb to get past her father. He got in the window. Her father came to the room with his gun and fired twice. A month later she came out of the comma the ward of her aunt.

“So to answer your question,” she looked straight into my eyes “Yeah. I did size you up at the bar.”

“What did you see?”

“A nice guy who can look past the damage to see the goods.”

Dating a pedophile

Normally I am a big hearted and understanding guy.

It takes a lot to put yourself out there, go on blind dates and still feel good about yourself after a stranger has made clear and distinct judgments about your whole life from spending just 60 - 90 minutes with you.

I am drawing the line. Putting in your profile that you are a pedophile is just going to draw in the wrong crowd…


Okay, I just got it, we have a date on Friday. I’ll let you know if she touches me in the swimsuit area or puts me on a leash. Wink! Wink! (see you are not sure which is the good thing, that's the joke.)

An open letter to Baby Henry

Dear Baby Henry:

Welcome to a world of endless wonder and opportunity! It is great to have you here. We have been waiting.

It seems that you are the first girl in many generations. Uncle Kyle, Uncle Matt and I find this very fitting. As you are the perfect genetic blend of the two smartest and funniest people I know, I am confidant that you will already understand why we find this fitting.

Your timing could not have been better actually. We are starting out this new century of ours and could really use your help. About 100 years ago planes were just starting to fly, Lincoln was put on the penny and we were still a good 12 years away from women’s suffrage being recognized in the 19th Amendment. But this century is off to a really good start. The things we face today are much more inclusive in the decision-making process and survival of the fittest really has thinned out a lot of the idiots.

Your mom and dad left for the hospital on a cool spring like evening in the middle of watching Curtis Granderson and the Detroit Tigers beat the Boston Red Sox 10 to 9. It was a really important win in a series of losses. But they never gave up, and neither should you.

Here is the game plan. Over the next 18 years we need you to study hard even if it comes easy to you. Next, you have to go to college. I know, I know, but it’s a subsection of the 28th Amendment, your dad can explain.

After you go to college, you have to spend a year in another country. You may not want to leave the greatest country in the world, but it will help you appreciate things more. It also looks great on a resume.

A great career and the third best man you will ever meet in your life (after your dad, grandpa and me) will find you and love you like no one else ever could.

Next, you have a daughter of your own. It will be magical and beautiful. And she will know that you love her even if you do get mad that she is nearly a week over-due.

Since I have your life planned and set before you here, the only thing left for you to do is enjoy as much of it as you can.

All our hopes and dreams are with you…

Paul

P.S. Watch out for the black cat, it still has claws and the orange one bites.

If songs were put to PowerPoint

No more Mr. Nice Guy

After being a "nice guy" for some time I have decided to make a change and follow this rule:


http://view.break.com/493085 - Watch more free videos

He was a hairy bear, he was a scary bear...

The Haunted House of Ludington

I booked the room because the place had character. It’s the white castle of the north woods, who wouldn’t want to stay there. Reviews on Yahoo are mixed - older travelers found the place to be accommodating and decent. Younger travelers talked as if the pace should be blown up.




What really clinched the deal for me was that the place was haunted. Phil would be there alone on Friday night. Let’s test to see if the place is really haunted! The photos look like the winter resort from The Shining.

Now I love Phil, everyone who has ever met him does. But I could not resist the chance at scaring my big brother in a haunted hotel.

The House of Ludington was built in 1865. We stayed in the west wing built in 1910 (Red would have been 4 years old) in a suite. After I arrived, mid-day, and walked up the stairs to the first floor, down the dark halls that rose and drooped between the floor joists and into the room, I felt really bad for my brother. This place was pretty scary on a normal afternoon.

Here are some videos from You Tube that will prove it.

Can you see the face in this first video?



Follow the light that scurries across the floor. The video will not show it, but there is no way that light can come from an outside source.



Watch carefully as the “spirit” darts past the camera.



In all honesty - The House of Ludington in Escanaba is a fine place to stay. It does have character and charm that is no longer found in chain hotels. Ed the owner has a nice place and good sense of humor. Next time you are going through the UP, The house of Lundington is the only place to stay.

Red’s Scrapbook

We were fortunate to see this scrapbook. You see he died over 30 years ago and the things he owned and collected (which were too numerous to discuss) were often misplaced or went missing. A neighbor discovered this book in a collapsed barn years ago and passed it along to the man in yesterday’s video.

Glued to the pages of the old science book are the trinkets and text that chronicled the days Red transitioned from a small northern town to a small college town in the southern peninsula.

Consider that the Mackinac Bridge and I-75 were thirty years away from being built. Keep in mind that the newly named Wrigley Field he bought tickets to was only 13 years old, had just that year added a second deck, and was still home to the Chicago Bears outside of the baseball season.

This was truly a different time in America. His collection of memories pasted and pressed for decades makes me wonder what things I hold on to in my life will tell my tale? I refuse to hold on to everything, just the important things. Keep only those photos and stories that reflect what is significant and central to me.

What will you keep?

Induction of Red Erickson

Red Erickson induction into UP Sports Hall of Fame 2008 from psquared on Vimeo.