Post Scripts

I was shooting hoops with my daughter, half court, at the local gym. I had my Nano on, with huge airport tarmac-type headphones. The computer download jack still attached to the iPod, by mistake. I was looking in her direction while chasing my runaway ball into midcourt. Without paying much attention to anything around me or being able to hear anything, I bent down to grab the ball. As I came up, my head turned toward the other side of the court and my eyes were greeted by an up close wall of real basketball playing guys walking abreast in my direction to get to the drinking fountain. It was The Right Stuff On Growth Hormone kind of moment and my heart jolted. I was old and goofball, sprouting multiple tech wires, and a girl. They were your basic combination of XXL cotton tees and sweat. I was so puny. They were so huge. I said to my daughter, "Can you imagine what it must be like to stand on the court with an NBA team?" She pretended not to know me.

It will be harder than you might think to watch the bichons frises scamper their carnival-midway-prize coats around the show ring at the Westminster Kennel Club show, and not giggle.

Someone in the house has, as soon as lights are out upstairs, taken to immitating the muted singing voices from Charlie Brown's Christmas's Christmastime is Here. Its funny. And weird.

There is a blog, started today, that has been created solely to help a best man plan a bachelor party.