Tomorrow's Newspaper Today

Today is the day I've been waiting for, for 30 years. Ever since Doc told Marty where we're going we don't roads, and that he was going 30 years into the future because it's a nice round number.

Now that the day is finally here, let's look at the newspaper from that day:

Ok, so the Cubs will not be sweeping the World Series in 5 games, and hopefully not winning at all.
And I don't have the hoverboard I was promised.
And you can't rehydrate a pizza.
But I did think this was pretty cool. The device that took Griff's picture on the steps is pretty similar to what a drone is in the real 2015.

As we pass this momentous date in history, we are reminded now that even the future is history, now.

Kliq920: Then and Now

We went back 15 years later (with a lot more gray hair and pounds) to create this picture in front of our old stomping grounds. 8 of the original 11 were there, with 2 others added.

Ready for the World

Chase turns 6 today. This has been a monumental year for him. He has learned how to read, how to ride a bike (that technically came when he was still 4) and how to swim. He played soccer (and scored a goal) and t-ball. He went to his first (and second) Mets game, and his first Knicks game. He went to kindergarten and in just a couple weeks he'll start first grade.
Every day he goes over to his friend's house to play. He gets himself dressed in the morning, he feeds himself dinner and he wipes his own ass.
He's becoming independent, which is great for him, but he still needs his mommy and daddy, which is great for us.
At the NJ State Fair earlier this year we bought both kids an unlimited ride bracelet and let them just go nuts. At a certain point we split up so Chase could go on some rides that Julian wasn't big enough to ride yet. One of them was a roller coaster that most adults would consider tame, but it was definitely daunting to a 5-year old. Chase was a little nervous but begged to go on it, loved it and rode it again, and again and again.
They had one of those cameras to take your picture on the coaster, but we never buy them because they're never any good. But this one we bought.
If a picture is meant to be a moment in time captured, to help you remember what you were doing, how you felt and who you were in that instant, then this one was certainly worth $10.
There's Chase at the front of the roller coaster, hands up, bravely ready to grab what comes next. There's Chase, eyes closed, a little afraid of what he might see when he gets there.

The Incredible Shrinking Backpack

I guess Mrs. Poop put Chase's doggy backpack into the dryer.

first day of preschool

last day of preschool

But of course the doggy backpack is too immature for our kindergartner so this is what he will be sporting this year, and because of the cost, until high school.

Blogging is So Yesterday

It turns out blogs are for old people. Young kids don't have the patience for blogs, most of them can barely make it all the way through a 140-character tweet.
A new study has found that young people are losing interest in long-form blogging, as their communication habits have become increasingly brief, and mobile. Tech experts say it doesn't mean blogging is going away. Rather, it's gone the way of the telephone and e-mail -- still useful, just not sexy.
The study, released Wednesday by the Pew Internet & American Life Project, found that 14 percent of Internet youths, ages 12 to 17, now say they blog, compared with just over a quarter who did so in 2006. And only about half in that age group say they comment on friends' blogs, down from three-quarters who did so four years ago.
Pew found a similar drop in blogging among 18- to 29-year-olds.
Overall, Pew estimates that roughly one in 10 online adults maintain a blog -- a number that has remained consistent since 2005, when blogs became a more mainstream activity. In the U.S., that would mean there are more than 30 million adults who blog.
The Pew study found, for instance, that the percentage of Internet users age 30 and older who maintain a blog increased from 7 percent in 2007 to 11 percent in 2009.
So why are young people less interested in blogging?
The explosion of social networking is one obvious answer. The Pew survey found that nearly three-quarters of 12- to 17-year-olds who have access to the Internet use social networking sites, such as Facebook. That compares with 55 percent four years ago.
More young people are also accessing the Internet from their mobile phones, only increasing the need for brevity. The survey found, for instance, that half of 18- to 29-year-olds had done so.

Growing Old

Earlier this season, I saw a trivia question during a baseball game that asked which pitcher holds the AL rookie record for strikeouts.
I immediately knew the answer was Herb Score, set in 1955.
When Dwight Gooden broke Score's Major League record in 1984, 1955 seemed like old-time baseball to me.
But by the time Chase is as old as I was when that happened, 1984 will be as far away to him, as 1955 was to me.
Damn, I'm old.

It Was a Very Good Year

In 2007...

The Mets collapse down the stretch, the biggest collapse in baseball history, and miss the playoffs.

The Knicks become a laughingstock, lose a sexual harrassment suit and refuse to fire the man responsible.

Syracuse misses the tournament in basketball and goes 2-10 in football.

Michael Vick kills dogs.

Steroids ruin 15 - 20 years of baseball.

And yet it was a great year because of the birth of my son. I guess having a child puts those things in perspective. Compared to how much I love Chase none of those other things really matters all that much.

Growing Old

It happens to all of us. We start out as cute little babies and we turn into awkward, gangling douchebags. Yes, even I started out as a cute kid. My mom has the pictures to prove it.

Remember Knut? The polar bear who captured your heart when he was abandoned by his whore of a mother?




Now Knut has grown up (he's 5 months now) and he's not quite as cute as he used to be. He's twice as big (up to 37 pounds), he's got sharp teeth and his fur is no longer pure snow white in color. Plus he has acne and his palms get sweaty around female polar bears.

Growing Old

Be wary of birthdays that end in 9 because one beginning with a new number is right around the corner.
This year I turn 29, and a few months after that I’ll become a daddy.
I’ve already started to think like a dad a little bit.
I see a guy in my neighborhood walking his dog with one hand and holding onto his little girl with the other, as she is learning to roller skate.
I talked to a friend the other day about the beauty of baseball. He mentions that baseball is a game best enjoyed by fathers and sons. The first thought that comes to mind is not that of my own father, even though he’s part of the reason why I love baseball so much. The ball rolling through Buckner’s legs is a much bigger part, but thanks anyway dad. The first thought that comes to my mind is of someday taking my own son to Shea Stadium, I mean CitiField.
Buying him a hot dog, teaching him how to score; explaining the subtleties like the difference between a stolen base and a defensive indifference; or a wild pitch versus a passed ball.
Maybe I’ll have a little girl. And I’ll have to comb her hair. Buy her pink clothes. I hope Mrs. Poop can deal with the puberty related issues like training bras and menstruation.
I can’t wait to teach my kid to love my dog. To refer to a lick on the face as a kiss. To watch with wonder as our super dog flies through his hoop. To refer to him as “my big brother Diesel.” I wonder if “woof” will be the baby’s first word.
When I walk around the neighborhood I check out houses and think to myself “that would be a nice yard for kids to play in.”
But sometimes I worry. What if my kid were in that classroom in Virginia Tech. You spend your whole life saving for college and some dickwad ends your kid’s dreams and his life.
And I don’t have to worry about that for at least another 14 years. Even if our child inherits my precocious intelligence I doubt Mrs. Poop will let him/her go to college before age 14. Maybe we’ll all be living in bulletproof bubbles by then. Or colleges we be abolished because of the impending threat and everyone will have class on the internet.
You know you’re in love when someone else’s happiness is more important than your own. When not only do you sit through a concert by a children’s singer, but you enjoy watching the kids dance and jump around.
And someday I’ll be watching with pride as it’s my kid buzzing like a bumblebee at the Laurie Berkner concert.
Or my kid will be going to the first day of school.
Or striking out with two men on in the bottom of the 6th in Little League, or the Pony Tail league.
And going off to college.
And getting married.
And eventually my kid will be having kids.
I’ll be a grandfather.
I’m growing old.

Growing Old

Some events this weekend have made me come to believe that I am growing up and maturing, which reminded me of my second favorite Outkast song (spottieottie doesn't make sense in this context) which reminded me of the season and foliage we saw while driving, which inspired this post. Enjoy!

"trees bright and green turn yellow brown
autumn leaves must fall down
growin old"

Bill is engaged. For some reason this hurts more than my own, probably because the number of single friends I have is dwindling rapidly.

Bill's sister, who as a toddler ran into our apartment, yelled "Billy!" and gave him a huge hug is fully grown and like 5-foot-5, but Alison insists she's only 10.

I actually reached an agreement with Jeff, in which we were able to watch the Mets-Cardinals and Penn State-Michigan games in a mutually advantageous fashion.

I am actually going to give Jeff credit. Before the PSU game he said he was taking the under because it seemed "like a 17-10 game." And indeed it was. Good job, Horse. Oh wait, Horse is dead.

I didn't curse at the Mets until I was sure no kids were around.

I didn't make fun of Matt's blazer. At least not to his face.

I really was screaming in excitement for the cocktail shaker, not Magglio Ordonez' walkoff home run.

I only ate 3 pieces of cake.

I drank coffee. Ok, it wasn't coffee it was beer. But it was in a coffee pot.

But the biggest sign that I am growing up:
I avoided a potential reprise of the infamous "Rudy Galindo is straight" incident. I was talking with Alison's dad about the 1969-1970 sports scene in New York. We discussed the Knicks and Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals. He described Willis limping onto the court. I said he made 2 baskets and didn't score again. He said "no, 3 baskets." Of course, I was right and he scored only 2 baskets (scroll way down). But I didn't press the issue because I'm more mature than that now.


But I do have some growing to do.
After the Mets lost, double barreled beer pong action broke out. Alison claimed she was better than me so I challenged her to a 1-on-1 best of 3. If she won once, I'd admit forever she was better than me. If I won all 3, she had to admit I'm better than her, and let me play with Bill any time she is his partner. I tried to intimidate Alison in Game 1 by overfilling my cups and hoping I would win quickly and spread it out. That didn't happen. She got me down to 1 cup before I beat her. Then I knew I had to get tough so I stepped up the trash talking. I dominated Game 2, but faced another stern test in Game 3. We were down to cup v. cup but once again I came through. But I was so focused I forgot one thing. It was Alison's engagement party. All her family was there. And I was screaming at her. So now they all hate me, despite my protestations that Title IX says beer pong is a gender equity game and men and women compete evenly. Anyway, I guess I'm not that mature yet. But there's still 10 months to the wedding.