This is the smaller of our two cats, Ms. Gatsby, rooting for the Colts a few short minutes ago.
OH noes!!!
Sorry, Ms. Gatsby. Maybe next year.
Archive for December, 2007
Showered before going to bed Sunday night. Woke up early and showered again Monday morning. Wife and I had a lot of ground to cover and a short time to get where we needed to go. Apparently, at some point during Sunday night’s adventure, I agreed to honor the groom by participating in the ceremony — meaning that I had to arrive at the synagogue a few minutes earlier than anticipated and receive instruction from the rabbi.
Readying for Armageddon
Had a few gifts yet to wrap (or more precisely, a few gift cards to inscribe and envelope), so we took care of that first. Packed an overnight bag and a change of clothes for after the wedding. Loaded the car and programmed our destination into the GPS.
Waited for wife to complete her preparations …
And waited …
And waited …
And called the groom to warn him that this very scene will haunt him for the rest of his life. (Not really, but probably should have …)
Finally got on the road with about 15 minutes of play time according to the trusty, all-knowing Garmin. Swore at a few old ladies clogging up the local byways en route. Arrived at the synagogue with exactly 15 minutes to learn my role.
The X-mas Eve Wedding
When I arrived in my suit, two of my guy cousins and the quiet guy from the night before were waiting for me. It was explained that we would be the chuppah holders. Apparently, the Jewish tradition calls for a small tent under which the vows are exchanged, called a “chuppah.”
It requires four men (or women?) to hold its posts. I was one-quarter of the equation.
The ceremony was short and sweet. I briefly considered starting a second career as a professional chuppah holder, given my natural aptitude for the task and my frame’s ideal proportions for pole-holding.
I decided against it.
Now, I have a general rule against eating in mall restaurants. Food courts, sit-downs, buffets … all bad news in my experience. The reception luncheon was to be held at an Italian place called Maggiano’s in the Beachwood mall. For non-Clevelanders, the Beachwood mall (now called Beachwood Place) is supposed to be a fancy mall. You know, Nordstrom’s and Coach and shit.
It’s still just a mall, and I’d never heard of this Maggiano’s before — so my expectations were low.
Wow. We had a freakin’ 10-course meal. And everything was fantastic. Call it a Jewish-Christmas miracle. Or a Hanukkah miracle. It was one of the best wedding reception meals I’ve ever had. And I’ve already admitted bias against mallstaurants.
We’re talking three appetizers, five main courses, numerous side-dishes and two desserts (the tiramisu was a killer). And the bar was open. And top-shelf. THIS is how you do it.
I’d already polished off a few cold Miller Lites when my wife announced that she expected me to drive to my dad’s house in Warren for our Christmas Eve fish-fest. No problem. Then she and my mom returned from the bar with matching dirty martinis.
After I stopped drinking, however, the atmosphere changed a bit. The crowd started to get to me, and by that, I mean the dozen or so children between the ages of 3 and 14 started to get on my nerves.
After three hours of eating and waiting in line at the bar for twin martinis behind grenadine-and-caffeine-addled youngsters ordering Shirley Temples, I’d had about enough. And we had another dinner to eat and another hour’s drive to get there.
After her martinis and Irish-creamed coffee, my wife fell asleep about as soon as we got back to her car. I woke her up a few blocks before we reached my dad’s house and our traditional Feast of Seven Fishes.
The Fish
Safely changed into my regular holiday clothes, I immediately located the cooler of Labatt Blue and Blue Light and dove in. We’d arrived a little late to exchange gifts with my dad and stepmom, and the rest of the family started showing up shortly after we rolled in.
We chatted with all my Italian aunts and uncles and cousins and generally had a great time. My cousins’ husbands all enjoy the fact that I enjoy beer and occasional cigarettes (outside in the garage) both enthusiastically and unapologetically.
We ate and drank and ate and chatted. It was a great time. I’m working on recruiting my cousin Christina’s husband Jimmy for my rock band. I don’t know if he can play, but he’s cool as hell and creative.
Everybody left in groups. It was after nine before we finally had our customary Christmas Eve chat and gift exchange with my dad and stepmom. I took in some new pimped-out Under Armour, which is awesome.
By the time we went to bed, I’d done justice to the cooler of Canadian beer. I’d killed-off the remaining Blue and left only a few Lights. It was a good day.
After the excitement of Saturday faded in a Miller Lite haze, neither my wife nor I had any trouble falling asleep. Staying asleep, however, proved to be much more difficult. I was laying on my back, staring at the ceiling when she got up to use the bathroom. It was 5 a.m., and neither of us was going to try to go back to sleep.
Breakfast
I brewed a pot of coffee, and we sat in the living room and watched the remaining 90 or so minutes of the 120 we began watching before bedtime. It was a bit of a disappointment after our expectations were raised with vintage They Might Be Giants, Smiths, Clash and Cure videos in the first half-hour.
“I bet B.E.’s open,” she said. (“B.E.” = Bob Evans)
“You want pancakes,” I guessed.
“I want strawberry pancakes and sausage,” she corrected.
I braced myself for the Sunday morning B.E. crowd, waiting for a table and began looking forward to picking up an actual newspaper and reading the Sunday Sports section over my coffee.
Here’s a hint:
If you must go to Bob Evans on a Sunday morning, go before 7 a.m. No waiting!
She had her pancakes and sausage. I had my coffee. Didn’t get to the newspaper, but was satisfied that I didn’t have to stand in line for a table. It was an even trade.
On the way back from B.E., her cell phone rang. It was my engaged cousin’s homosexual ex-husband, who was planning a (literally) last-minute “Gentlemen’s Evening” for the soon-to-be-groom, his homosexual brother and any other male family members adventurous enough to participate.
“Will you go?” she asked.
“After the Browns game,” I said. “It’ll be over around four-thirty.”
“Six-thirty at Brasa,” she said.
“OK.”
The Browns
Watched the Browns lose to Cincinnati on TV.
I should let that stand, but I want to add something:
I have an old, trusted friend who is very close to the team. He told me about a month before the season started that Derek Anderson might be the dumbest player on the roster — maybe even the dumbest player in the entire NFL.
He was not kidding.
The Gentlemen’s Evening
Let me be completely honest about something. I’ve been wanting to try Brasa since it opened. $35 for all you can eat of 16 different grilled meats, served by well-dressed skewer and machete wielding meat-couriers (6 beef cuts and an assortment of chicken, turkey, pork, sausage, lamb and ribs).
A real carnivore’s dream.
My nutshell review: Go once, just so you can witness the parade of servers who I think try to overwhelm diners with the dizzying pace at which they deliver their fleshy cargo. The actual taste is not that good, but what do you expect for $35?
As far as the crowd goes, it’s just me, the aforementioned three and a friend of the groom’s named Alan. None of my other “regular guy” cousins showed up. They were all invited as well.
Now, I wasn’t expecting a trip to an actual gentleman’s club, given the crowd I was with on this particular evening. And since I was the only person drinking alcohol at dinner, I assumed that the rest of the fellas were just planning to head home when the meat orgy at Brasa ended.
As Charlie Murphy might say …
“WRONG!”
On the way into the parking lot, it became clear that this group intended to see naked women dance. Live and in-person, on a Sunday night at 8:30.
“You’re coming with us aren’t you?”
“You need a token hetero guy to do this, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m in. No problem. I brought cash.”
The first club we walked to was closed. Somebody made the decision to head to Christie’s Cabaret, formerly Tiffany’s. Something clicked in my head. Flats. West Bank. I can get there, and more importantly, I can get home from there.
It took us a few minutes to get situated, five guys around two tables with a clear view of the stage. The cocktail waitress came, my chance for salvation in an amber bottle with a blue label.
“A Miller Lite please.”
The rest were still drinking soda. Diet soda. I don’t know about anybody else, but I’ve always held pretty fast to the general rule that I don’t go into strip clubs sober. It’s something that started a dozen or so years ago, even before I started hanging out with a dancer.
I made sure to tip the chubby waitress especially well to ensure the supply kept coming. It worked.
The club itself seemed pretty clean in the dark. I inspected my chair before I laid my overcoat over its back, let alone sat down. The stage was large, at the bottom of an impressive staircase, which the dancers would descend when the house DJ announced their names.
There must be some house rule about race when it comes to the two dancers who share the stage at any given time, as it seemed like there was always one white and one black dancer on stage — from the time we arrived until the end.
Shortly after my first beer arrived, a tall, short-haired blond with a running start vaulted into my lap.
“Ummphh. Whoaa!”
“I’m Jessica.”
“Hi,” I said, and introduced myself. “You could’ve hurt me there, you know.”
“I’d like to hurt you,” she purred. “You wanna dance?”
She was, of course, a knockout. I would describe her body and the schoolgirl getup she was barely wearing, but it just wouldn’t further the story at this point.
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “This guy sitting next to me is getting married tomorrow–”
“On Christmas Eve?” she asked, nonplussed.
“He’s Jewish. It’s cool. Dance for him. I’ll buy.”
“I’ll just sit here with you until the next song starts,” she said.
“You mean on me, right?”
My leg was asleep. She was gorgeous, and she made good on her promise to hurt me. Mercifully, she jumped onto the groom as discussed shortly thereafter.
Another beer arrived, as did another beautiful girl.
This one daintily seated her elfish-costumed self on one of my knees and immediately looked straight into my eyes. She was tiny, clearly Italian with big brown eyes and thick black hair, curled and styled exquisitely.
“There’s nothing to you,” I said. “You’re tiny.”
“I’m almost 100 pounds,” she protested. “I’m Lilly.”
“Hello, Lilly. I’m Tony.”
I felt a little too much like a stereotypical drunken, lecherous Santa Claus with this bit of a girl on my knee.
“Would you like a dance?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said. “I’m not taking dances tonight, but my friend here is getting married tomorrow–”
“On Christmas Eve?” she asked, incredulous.
“For real. He’s Jewish. It’s cool. How about you dance for him after Jessica over there finishes punishing him? I’ll pay for it.”
“I like you,” she said. “Can I wait here?”
“No problem.”
We chatted until the groom’s lap cleared. When she left, I barely noticed. She was very, very small.
Another beer arrived, so I took the opportunity to look around to see what the rest of my crew was up to. The groom was busy with Lilly. The two gays were taking turns getting lapdances from a very big African-American girl. Think Mo’Nique. The groom’s quiet friend was still being quiet, but had Jessica, who had moved on to dish out more pain, in his lap.
I finished the beer and ordered another. Before it arrived, a tall, stacked brown-haired girl-next-door-type planted herself in my lap. I fully intended to pass this one off to the groom as well. After all, giving beats receiving all the time, right?
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Aren’t you going to ask how I’m doing?”
“I’ll play. How you doin’?”
She leans in very close to my ear.
“I’m OK, but I’d be doing a whole lot better if I was topless right now and grinding on you.”
Winner. I’d bought a couple dances for the groom. Now was my turn. This girl’s shtick was good. She sold me.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Britney.”
“Whatcha got, Britney?”
Cue the music: “Crazy Bitch” by Buckcherry
It took just over three minutes for Britney to rub most of her body glitter and perfume onto my cashmere sweater, impressive in that my chair kept sliding backwards (damn casters). My last beer arrived sometime during that span.
When I finished it, I bid the rest of the guys a good night, and ended up dropping off the ex-husband/best man at his car.
When I arrived home, still pretty early (before 11 p.m.), I crawled into bed with my wife.
“You smell like beer and cheap stripper perfume,” she said. “How was dinner?”
Cognitive dissonance – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Published December 29, 2007 cool stuff from the interweb 3 CommentsI live in this. Perpetually, I think.
Cognitive dissonance – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Cognitive dissonance is a psychological term describing the uncomfortable tension that may result from having two conflicting thoughts at the same time, or from engaging in behavior that conflicts with one’s beliefs.
The holiday festivities probably technically began the moment I left work Friday for vacation. For our purposes, however, it’s going to be better to jump straight into Saturday.
The Mall
Got up especially early and started the coffee. Wife and I had a precious few gifts left to buy before Christmas Eve.
Took a ride out to Great Northern, which was a mob scene as expected. The mall parking lot was absolutely, completely full. Which led to me dropping off my wife in front of [insert store name here] and circling the grid until she emerged.
I managed to NOT get into a fight in a department store for the fourth consecutive year, and I barely even grazed that old woman in the parking lot … That’s not to say that I didn’t want to strangle a few strangers, however.
Most disturbing trend noticed during this annual trip to holiday hell:
Parents who bring their children to stores during this time of year to pick out their own gifts.
What gives? I can’t stand kids. The fact that most parents have had the good sense to leave their loud, phlegm-spewing asses at home has been the saving grace in this orgy of conspicuous consumerism — until now. That may sound harsh. I don’t care. Leave the brats at home next year. It only gets worse from here.
The Big Dead Thing
My wife and I returned home from our expedition to the mall, and I went down to the basement to flip a load of laundry as soon as we got in. I was down there for about five minutes and realized that I needed to piss.
“No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just use the bathroom down here that probably hasn’t seen any action since September.”
So I make my way into the tiny, confined space that holds a commode, some pipes and very little else and turn on the light. I turn around and unzip my pants.
“Aaarrrrrgggghhhh!!!” (think the sound that Howard Dean made at the end of his famous melt-down speech in 2004.)
Blood streaked the seat, outside and inside of the toilet, and floating there in the bowl was a large, obviously dead rodent. It hadn’t been there long.
“Anthony, are you OK?” she called down.
“No. Don’t come down here.”
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“No. You don’t want to see this.”
“That’s it! You better be dying. I’m coming down.”
“I’m OK,” I insisted. “Just give me a minute.”
So in my flight from the bathroom, I forgot to zip my pants, which was definitely a very good thing. I still had to pee, which was not. At the bottom of the steps, I gave my wife a very brief rundown of what I saw, and begged her not to look. Then I went to the upstairs bathroom.
We disposed of the carcass when I returned. She did most of the work. She seems pretty convinced that it somehow made its way through the sewer pipes into our cellar toilet, where it attracted the attention of one or both of our cats. It was a short, messy confrontation.
120 Minutes
Traumatized twice-over (first the kids, then the rodent), I made a conscious decision to start drinking heavily. I also needed to be over-stimulated (read: DISTRACTED), so I busted-out the guitar, had the TV going and was surfing the web — all at the same time.
My poor wife sat with me and pretended to feel my pain, enjoy my singing and relish having me home for the next ten days.
Also, late in the evening, I figured out that VH1 Classic has a 120 Minutes approximate that plays some cool older stuff. Not a bad way to finish what turned into a surreal first day of vacation.
So it’s been an awfully busy few days. Here’s a teaser for what I’m going to be writing about over the next few days. I fully expect this is going to be a four-part update, with each entry covering a day … you know, to keep it simple.
Saturday
The Mall
The Big Dead Thing
120 Minutes
Sunday
Breakfast
The Browns
The Gentlemen’s Evening
Monday
Readying for Armageddon
The X-mas Eve Wedding
The Fish
Tuesday
The Village
The 15-Pound Prime Rib
The Ride Back
Scene Best Of Cleveland – Best Strip Club – Christie’s Cabaret (2007)
Published December 24, 2007 cool stuff from the interweb , hometown hell , personal Leave a CommentMerry Christmas to me and the crew from my cousin’s wedding, which is tomorrow.
Cleveland – Best Of – Best Strip Club – Christie’s Cabaret (2007)
Perched near the river on the Flats’ still-breathing West Bank, Christie’s Cabaret rises from the chaos like a Mario Bros. castle: The place you worked so hard to get to all night, the place where the glory of saving a Princess — or at least paying her rent — will be yours at last.
More Fun with Google: Step 1 – Give Me Your Number
Published December 20, 2007 personal , things your parents should have told you but didn't Leave a CommentSo ya’ll know how this works, I check my stats every month or so to see what kinds of things lead people to this here website. Usually, the results are mildly entertaining. Sometimes, they’re downright hilarious. And still other times, they’re sort of telling in a creepy way.
Without belaboring this simple concept any further, here goes:
miller lite christmas cards – Kudos for properly misspelling Miller Lite. Demerits, however, for failing to capitalize three out of four (and I’m not telling which three). To answer your question, I don’t know if Miller Brewing Company actually makes Christmas cards, but Northland Poster Collective does. They also sell really cool posters (framed or unframed). On a related note: Sara, you rock!
I want Tony Montana to call my phone – I have never understood women. I admit it. How exactly do you expect me to call you if I don’t have those digits? And seriously, how am I even supposed to remember you? Would you mind narrowing it down a bit for me? I’m sure you’d like to meet my “little friend” as well. Sure … it could be arranged.
sausage smoking cheerleaders – Please, please, please, PLEASE let me know if you ever find what you’re looking for. I don’t care what it costs; I’ll pay.
Pittsburgh pizza reviews – You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for somebody to ask my opinion on pizza in the ‘Burgh. So let’s talk:
1) Villa Reale – Smithfield St. Dahntahn – You simply cannot go wrong with the pie at this place. Their crust is great, which means the pizza is great. That said, I always order a white pizza with roasted red peppers and onions. No matter what I say later in this post, this is the best pizza in town.
2a) Vincent’s – Mansfield at 121 or vice-versa in Greentree – Again, good crust = good pizza. Vincent’s gets high marks for its fancy pizzas, like the Italian steak pizza. It’s like a hoagie, only not. I always see the seafood pizza on the menu, but can’t seem to pull the trigger. Anybody ever had it? Let me know … should I?
2b) Mineo’s – somewhere in Mt. Lebanon – Nothing too fancy about this great pie. The formula for a great pizza once again, in case you missed it: better crust = better pizza. It really is that simple. Mineo’s crust is as good as any I’ve ever had — in Cleveland, Youngstown or Pittsburgh.
So there you have it. I rated the top three pizzas I’ve tried in my three months in town. Let me know if you have any other suggestions.
kardiac kids song – One more lost soul searching Google for something near and dear to my heart. Once again, props to this person for correctly misspelling it, too. Yet, I just can’t get past the lack of capitalization here. If you’re going to take the time to properly misspell a proper noun, you might as well capitalize it too. Maybe I’m missing the point here. Please advise.
YouTube – The Shins – Phantom Limb
Published December 19, 2007 cool stuff from the interweb , music Leave a CommentHoliday Newsletter from Tony and Wife
Published December 19, 2007 personal , things your parents should have told you but didn't 2 CommentsHi all –
In recent years we’ve been getting an increasing number of these “family updates” along with traditional Christmas cards from certain family and friends, who shall remain nameless for obvious reasons. Maybe you’ve been getting them, too.
Instead of railing against the unauthorized (and in some cases, unconscionable) use of pirated word processing software for the purpose of recording the most mundane minutia of folks’ daily lives (honestly, wife and I are SO happy to hear about your family trip to the Food Court at the Podunk Village Mall, really, we are!), we’ve made the Asti-fueled decision this year to embrace it.
At this point, I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to type next (or for that matter, whether or not I’m going to just start making up stuff that makes us sound much cooler than we actually are), but in keeping with the established form, we’re going to proceed more-or-less chronologically. Likewise, despite the fact that this is obviously a personal account, the rest of this misguided missive is going to be written in third-person – again in keeping with the established form.
January – February:
Brrrr. It’s freakin’ cold in Cleveland! Rang in the New Year with Joe and Kate and David and Sharon; it was the Montana’s turn to host. We had a great dinner, at Viva Barcelona, even though it took a while to get seated. This year started just like many years before it – with the Cleveland Browns’ season finished before the New Year began, Tony mostly hung out on the couch when he wasn’t at work or blowing snow out of the driveway, alternately mumbling to himself about Indians Spring Training and plucking around on his guitar. One would think that after 20 years, Tony’d have accumulated some semblance of skill with the instrument. Not so! Elsewhere, wife maintained her amazing ascent in the Akron legal community. She strikes fear in the hearts of opposing council and receives regular fan mail from clients and former classmates. It’s really neat.
Valentine’s Day 2007 will be forever remembered for the 20+ inches of snow that Mother Nature saw fit to dump on Northeast Ohio and ruin the totally, unbelievably romantic dinner-date plans that Tony made for them. By the time Tony finished his snow removal duties for the neighborhood, he had icicles hanging from both eyebrows. Wife took photos from inside the house, which were exchanged and circulated between neighbors for days. The couple finished their special day with a hair-raising trip in Tony’s Jeep to the Chinese Buffett, three blocks away, where they witnessed a dine-and-dash. Tony chased the perpetrators through the darkness and blinding snow, accompanied by a five-foot tall Asian lady, but alas, the tweakers slipped away. Tony spent the rest of the evening convalescing on the couch, polishing off a number of Miller Lites.
March – April:
Brrrr. It’s still freakin’ cold in Cleveland. Spent Tony’s 33rd birthday at St. Pat’s in Leetonia for the feast of its patron saint. Tony wonders why they only eat corned beef once a year. Tony’s pal Kyle visited for the Mid-American Conference basketball tournament. The two spent a snowy week downtown, and Tony cashed in on Kyle’s celebrity to score free Miller Lites. Wife and her brother, “Chunx,” attended the championship game to root for the Akron Zips, who lost a heartbreaker to Miami of Ohio. To Tony’s delight and dismay, baseball season started at the end of the month with one series completely snowed-out and another moved to Milwaukee because the weather is apparently better up there.
April was another big month for wife at work. In addition to continuing her unbeaten litigation streak, the folks who run the 24-hour fitness center adjacent to her office installed their I-MAX theater surround sound system, so not only did she continue to receive fan mail, but also had a soundtrack of her own. Particularly poignant were the scores from Napoleon Dynamite and Stomp the Yard. Tony continued to drink Miller Lite with a variety of characters from his office in a variety of watering holes about town and finally put down the guitar for the summer and bought a new set of golf clubs.
May – June:
Wife and her sidekick, Deb, attended a series of golf lessons in preparation for the coming season, despite the fact that “Brrrr! It’s still cold in Cleveland!” Tony set off for negotiations with Republic in Pittsburgh, where he continued his personal vendetta against Miller Lite for the entire month. He was frequently overheard yelling “Watch me turn this beer into air! It’s a magic trick!” in a certain pizza shop downtown.
Having returned triumphantly from Pittsburgh (though without a contract), Tony started his golf season in earnest, with frequent work-related trips to the hills of Southwestern Pennsylvania – the highlight of every golf season, of course, being the annual trip back to Leetonia for the Ruritan Golf Outing. Wife had her own team this year, which likely prevented Tony’s team from a third-consecutive last-place finish. For that, he will be forever thankful. Tony’s college roommate, Alvy, visited with his girlfriend and their Yorkie in tow. Alvy named the dog, “Dinner” because he said it would fit on his grill. She carried the dog in a purse-like powder blue “doggie bag.” Daisy and Ms. Gatsby, the giant Montana felines, ran and hid in fear of 5-pound Dinner.
July – August:
The Montana’s descended on Pittsburgh for a day and went to a Neko Case show (if you don’t know Neko, you should). Met our new friends, Jeff and Sara, for dinner. Had a great time before trundling through the Theater District in search of Neko. Both Tony and wife played a lot more golf for the rest of the month. Miller Lite was consumed and grass was cut.
Marathon bargaining session in Pittsburgh finally resulted in a contract with Republic, just in time for Tony to attend both Browns preseason games and play in one last golf outing in 2007. Whew … he was worried he might have to spend a significant portion of the football season in Pittsburgh … Almost time to pull out that guitar again. The legend of the wife and her sidekick, Deb, continues to grow. They cannot be stopped. Tony suspects they are drinking a lot of Miller Lite as well. Wife confirms they are drinking but will say no more.
September – October:
WTF?!? Just when Tony thought he was out, they pulled him back in! He was offered (and accepted) a real-live job – in Pittsburgh. Thank God the Browns seem to be playing better these days. He moved into the ironically named Quality Suites in Greentree for the foreseeable future mid-September and works downtown. It sure didn’t take long for him to find several local beer distributors. He’s also branched-out from Miller Lite to several other brews. They celebrated six years of marriage back at Viva Barcelona as the month ended, but this time their table was waiting when they arrived.
Wife maintains her all-star status in all aspects of her existence. Tony commutes most weekends and is grateful for his iPod, which he swears makes the 150-mile trip much less horrible than it would be otherwise. They also rooted for the Indians throughout the playoffs, and Tony swears that he’s not disappointed with the way the season ended. His relentless recounting of stories from the glory days of Youngstown to more-or-less captive audiences wins him many friends at the office and hotel and all but ensures that wife will have the sympathy of an entire city when she finally arrives in Pittsburgh.
November – December:
The Browns continue to beat teams not named the Steelers, and wife’s still working in Akron while living in Cleveland. Working in Pittsburgh during the football season has given Tony an entirely new perspective on what it means to be a Cleveland football fan. Fortunately, his new friends and coworkers seem to find most of his in-season antics more endearing than offensive. The holiday season began with a low-key Thanksgiving and another “first” for Tony – a Black Friday “doorburster” sale at 5 a.m. on the day after. Yikes.
Tonight, while scribbling Christmas cards to all the wonderful old and new friends and family they’ve accumulated between the two of them over the years, they finally popped open the bottle of sparkling wine they’d been saving to celebrate something, anything, when it occurred to them that throughout their lives, they’ve been extremely lucky to have been surrounded by amazing people – the kind of people who’d suffer through an update like this, just because they sent it.
“Sounds like something to celebrate,” he said. “Let’s open the Asti.”
“We’re out of Miller Lite, aren’t we?” she observed.
