My Life As A Hobby

    It’s funny how our brain connects things.  For example, I was recently  reading an article by a dog expert who suggested that using “high value treats” helps with canine training. For my pups Reese and Roscoe, this means small chunks of hot dogs. And every time I cut them a coney, my mind drifts back to a time when a hot dog was a high value treat for me.  Let me clarify.  It couldn’t be just any hot dog - it had to be a Pete’s Famous hot dog.  For decades it was a  Birmingham culinary institution. This little crack of heaven was mashed between two buildings downtown.  It was only about 7 feet wide and 20 feet long. But size didn’t matter. Because for 63 years, droves of people walked underneath that iconic neon sign and pressed against that counter in three deep rows just to place their hot dog order with the owner, Gus Koutroulakis.    Ah, Gus. To call him a cook is like calling Michelangelo a wall painter. This man was a true artist - a coneyologyst if there is such a word.

  Question: How is it possible to drink a gallon of water in a day and only go to the bathroom once?  Answer: When it’s 104 degrees and you are walking around in Disney World.  I did it last week - and now I know what a roast feels like when it’s in the oven.  The only real relief you got from the heat was when you walked past a restaurant or shop with an open door and felt a fleeting gust of air conditioning.  Everywhere you looked people were hugging walls to get a tiny sliver of shade. They reminded me of people in the movies who somehow got stuck on a ledge of a skyscraper.   Add a sleepy 3 year old in a stroller, a couple of whiny 10 year olds, a wife on a electric scooter who is an absolute terror, and a son who loses his credit card, then you have my day at Epcot.   I made the mistake of leaving my sneakers at home. So I walked the  parks in a pair of Keen sandals.  Honestly, I doubt it made any difference.  If you are on your feet for over 8 hours,  I don’t care if you'

   This is me with Dad when we took a golf trip to TPC Sawgrass. One of the great memories of my life.  For me, it’s fitting that the  final round of the U.S. Open is almost always on Father’s Day. That’s because every year when golf season begins, I think of my dad who taught me how to play this maddening game. I still don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for introducing me to a sport that is so humbling , so frustrating, and just so difficult. But he did. It had to happen; you see, my dad didn’t do anything else. He didn’t hunt or fish, and he was certainly not a handyman. My mom used to say that if she saw Dad with a screwdriver in his hands, she would stop what she was doing and go follow him because he was about to break something.   But the man could play golf.  He learned the game as a kid at a 9 hole course in North Birmingham.  And he developed a passion for the sport that was unrivaled. I can remember sitting with him in the clubhouse in the middle of February unt

  Here’s a conversation I had with Siri today: Me: “Hey Siri, what’s the 7 day weather forecast for Orlando, Florida?” Siri: “For the next week in Orlando you can expect scattered thunderstorms with highs hovering around 94, and lows ranging from 76 to 79.” Me: “So, with the rain - the humidity will make it even more miserable, right?” Siri: “Yes, that is correct.” Me:  “Siri, does that mean when I’m at Walt Disney World, with all the crowds and the concrete absorbing the heat, I could be at risk for a heatstroke?” Siri:  “What the hell are you going to Disney in June for?”  Siri asks a good question.  I’m wondering why I’m going to Disney at all. Many of you have read my prior blog post called A Disney Disaster.  This is the follow up.  Now as grandparents, we have been asked to accompany my son and grandkids to the land of the mouse. My physical stamina and emotional well being will be tested to the max. Think Battan Death March with mouse ears.  I’ve been to this par

Last weekend, we went back in time about 50 years.  We drove to Oxford, Alabama and saw Herman’s Hermits live and in person.   I know many of you under the age of 50 are saying, “Who or what are Herman’s Hermits?” Well, you sassy young readers, just go Google them. Herman’s Hermits were a major force in the British Invasion; not as big as the Beatles mind you, but in the mid-60s they were probably on the same level as the Rolling Stones. Although their flame burned brightly for a relatively short period of time, it did burn bright.   The facts speak for themselves. Between 1964-1967 Herman’s Hermits sold over 40 million records. In 1965 they placed more songs in the top 10 than the Beatles. They even did The Ed Sullivan Show 3 times, complete with screams that rivaled the lads from Liverpool.   I personally remember several appearances at the Shower of Stars concerts in my home town of Birmingham.  “Herman” was a young lad whose given name is Peter Noone. He was the lead singer of th

There’s no denying that music packs a powerful emotional punch.  If you listen to the theme from Rocky or Rudy and don’t get inspired to do something, check your heart to see if you have one.  I can’t hear “Taps” played without feeling a sense of loss.  And if you’ve ever listened to Bocephus belt out “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” after a break up, well, you just thought you felt bad.   That’s why I shouldn’t have been surprised last night.  There, in front of 22,000 people, the first song of the concert brought tears to my eyes.   This was not some b-list entertainer. It would take more than that to turn my waterworks on.  No, this concert was Paul McCartney - that’s SIR Paul McCartney, former Beatle and cultural icon.  I was at a personal bucket list event. Sir Paul’s music has accompanied me all through my life. And when he walked on stage and  began his 2 hour journey with me by belting out “Can’t Buy Me Love”,  I  cried. I’m not ashamed to say it.  They were tears of joy and o