Something reminded me yesterday of the classic skit the late Chris Farley did with Paul McCartney on Saturday Night Live in the early ’90s. Do you remember Farley’s petrified “Do you remember when you were in the Beatles” nervous interviewer guy? It’s awesome . . .

Anyway, whatever the trigger was, it flashed me back to one of the worst Nervous Chris Farley moments I foisted upon myself back in the former day. There weren’t many, or else I couldn’t have done the sports writer thing for so long, interviewing some of that world’s biggest personalities. But I remember this one frozen moment, because as soon as it happened, I nearly dropped the phone to punch myself in the head and pull my hair, cursing my hopeless stupidity. nervous

The object of my vapors? Another sports columnist — turned best-selling author — Mitch Albom. Go figure.

I know, I can’t figure it. But although this was maybe 10 years ago, I do remember Albom was in the middle of a hectic book tour, which was bringing him to Norfolk in a few days, and his people were squeezing me in for a few minutes on the phone from some radio studio somewhere before he went on the air.

So I felt rushed, on top of already being on edge because I was an admitted fan-boy. Albom’s sports columns in Detroit were hardly everybody’s cup of chai — cloying and homerish were two constant criticisms in the biz. Still, he was acclaimed enough to also constantly win best metro sports columnist in the annual Associated Press Sports Editors contest. And I was in his tank, on board with his conversational style and his creative approaches. Few in major markets seemed to be going at columns in fresh ways like Albom. Never mind my later indifference to his formulaic but huge-selling books, although I thought “Tuesdays with Morrie” worked pretty well. The point was, I wanted to write columns like he did and wasn’t necessarily succeeding.

I had my list of questions about his latest book and his career, and I guess it was going OK for a couple of minutes despite my discomfort. But then it struck me as a good idea to stray off-topic and express my admiration for his sports writing, which is where my inner Farley reared its head. I immediately heard myself babbling as I tried to make a connection, columnist to columnist, that really wasn’t there. Words unspooled from my mouth like paper towels off a spindle. Somehow, as I tried to right the ship, I went to my long-ago memory of a series of great pieces Albom had written on the Iditarod dog-sled race in Alaska. But the best I could do was, “Uh, so, do you remember when, uh, you wrote that series on the Iditarod in Alaska? It was awesome . . . ”

I give Albom, pressed for time as he was, credit to this day for not calling me an imbecile and slamming down the phone for injecting such nonsense into his day: “Um, no. Why would I ever remember flying in a bush plane for days over Alaskan tundra following sled dogs . . . ”

“Sure,” I think he helpfully responded, but I can’t be sure of what words came next or for how long we “talked” from there, because my mind was busy plotting which window ledge I was going to leap from.

Whatever I eventually wound up writing, Albom saw it when he came to the Naro in Norfolk for his book-signing. Because I truly have no shame, I dropped by at the end of the signing to say hello.  And rushed but gracious again, Albom said something along the lines of, “Wow, you have a big audience. Lots of people have brought your column here tonight.”

Thanking him, I wandered off knowing Albom had just patted me on the arm — McCartney consoling the crestfallen Farley — and said, “No, Tom, you did fine.”


Take it Easy, I’m back …

Evidently, nothing happened in history, and I had no random thoughts, over the last two weeks of radio silence.

What can I say, I got busy, and it snowed and stuff.

But I just checked in with my historic history sources and discovered that on this day in 1936, the first inductees to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, N.Y. were elected. (They were announced Feb. 2. Nitpicking.)cooper


I am no hall of fame scholar, but I do know that the myth created and perpetuated by the founders and keepers of the baseball shrine – in the then-economically impaired village of Cooperstown, for crying out loud – is a monument to American enterprise, ingenuity and imagination.

That is to say, you do realize the tale of Civil War stalwart Abner Doubleday somehow inventing baseball in the bucolic meadows of Cooperstown is as tall as it is fanciful as it is fake.

Nonetheless, the notion of the privately founded and operated hall took. The first players were elected in 1936 and the building was dedicated June 12, 1939, when four classes – 11 players in all – were inducted.

Those first five in 1936? Ty Cobb. Walter Johnson. Christy Mathewson. Babe Ruth. Honus Wagner. Ruth was the only one of the five who played into the ‘30s; his last game was May 30, 1935.

Ruth died 13 years later, at age 53.

Cooperstown has become a must-visit for youth travel-baseball teams with its Cooperstown Dreams Park tournaments. I never took a team there, kind of missed that wave. In fact, I have visited the hall I think just twice; as a kid with my family and then on a road trip for work, just passing through.

I recall them as pleasant visits, obviously not for everyone. Cooperstown was pretty. The ghost of Abner Doubleday did not appear, rattling a musket and a hickory bat.

They built it in Cooperstown, and I’ll be damned, people still come.

That’s about it.

  • Jackson Browne tonight. He was Running on Empty a couple of weeks ago and had to cancel. His singer-songwriter bro Glenn Frey died in the meantime, springing a Fountain of Sorrow around These Days. Browne is no Pretender, he sings strong and clear. We’ll Take it Easy and enjoy what could be a poignant evening.
  • One part of me cannot believe the election season has barely even begun, and that we won’t go to the damn polls for Presidential keeps for 10 more months. Another part of me watches in stunned wonder as the most surreal political theater we could ever hope to see (please God, no more) unspools before our eyes 24/7. Pray for ‘Merica.
  • As a rule I avoid all Super Bowl build-up chatter, which I admit is harder and harder to accomplish. I prided myself on that even as I wound down my fulltime sports writing career. The onslaught and inanity of most of it just became wearying. But I’ve somehow managed to pick up on an apparent “controversy” revolving around whether people like Panthers quarterback Cam Newton, one of the most freak of nature athletes you will ever see. Newton is big into self-celebration and speaking his mind often immaturely, which naturally rubs a major segment of sports fans (re the old schoolers) really wrong. But here’s the thing: he’s a tremendous leader. Just tremendous. And he’s grown into a phenomenal NFL quarterback. Carolina will take apart Denver and its noble, fume-sucking Peyton Manning in the Super Bowl. Could be ugly. But speaking of Newton, this commercial he made a couple of years ago remains one of my all-time favorites. He approaches it with a fun twinkle, and little Nate is just the best. Take a look and listen.


True: The Green Bay Packers beat the Kansas City Chiefs on this day in 1967 to win the championship of professional football.

False: The game was officially dubbed the first “Super Bowl.”

Well, false — with a caveat.

The first two title games between the NFL and upstart AFL – the leagues’ merger was announced in 1966 – were officially “The AFL-NFL World Championship Game.” Ugh. Writers and fans were calling it the Super Bowl, though. That was Chiefs’ owner Lamar Hunt’s play on the old Super Ball.

Retroactively in 1969, the ’67 and ’68 games were designated Super Bowls 1 and II.

The Packers of Vince Lombardi won them both – 35-10 over Kansas City and 33-14 over the Oakland Raiders. The Packers received the unheard-of sum of $15,000 per man for wining.

Last year, the New England Patriots received a winner’s share of $97,000 per man.

Tonight, that first game comes full circle. Oddly, it was broadcast live by NBC and CBS, but both networks erased their tapes. But NFL Films doggedly, according to Wikipedia, “searched its enormous archives of footage and were able to locate all 145 plays from Super Bowl I from more than a couple dozen disparate sources.”

The plays were put in order, and NBC Sports radio descriptions were laid over the action.

The NFL Network will show the result of that project tonight.

Very cool.

  • Also this day, in 1929? Martin Luther King Jr. was born, of course. Thirty-nine years old when he died – two months before 43-year old Bobby Kennedy. 1968. What a disastrous time for our fellow Americans.
  • Listen, just don’t look at the IRA statement. Remember, you’re in it for the long haul . . . the long haul . . . the long haul. (Except what if your long haul is actually kind of short now? Um, get professional advice quickly then!) Things will bounce back. Of course they will . . .
  • If Yogi Berra truly came up with “It’s like déjà vu all over again,” well, he’s just a genius. Just a damn genius. I hope he trademarked that and his other wisdom.
  • You know what the hot new lead-in to a video clip is from the cable news peeps? “Take a listen!” I’m sorry, this curdles my biscuits. I know, “listen” can be used as a noun. It just sets off my jargon alarm. Hate the jargon. Don’t use the jargon. Stop it now. That is all.






Stars . . . crossed

The tortured, iconic marriage of Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio began on this day in 1954 in San Francisco city hall.

It ended in October after 10 months of emotional and physical abuse of the actress by the retired baseball star. Monroe filed for divorce, yet DiMaggio remained loyal — obsessed, really — the rest of her life, which ended in August of 1962. Which of course also is an entirely different story. I believe the term star-crossed was invented for people like Monroe and DiMaggio . . .

  • Speaking of which, Portsmouth. The dysfunction just keeps on giving to the news media. The sheriff chases down the mayor over an expired inspection sticker. The mayor won’t stop. What’s described as a “low-speed pursuit” ensues. TV news cameras somehow are there to capture it all. Amazing. And on and on . . .
  • Chip Kelly, hired by the San Francisco 49ers. I admit I’m surprised, and I predict a bad experience for the Niners and their fans. For however much of an offensive mastermind he supposedly is, and that is highly debatable after his flameout in Philly, Kelly seems a zero in the people skills/leadership department. Does he command a locker room and the grown men on a roster, or is he an eccentric whose eccentricities wear out professionals? I think he’s the latter. Good luck, SF.
  • This week’s games: New England beats Kansas City in the first AFC Division playoff game, although I am hardly in with both feet on that one, and on Sunday, Denver beats visiting Pittsburgh. In the NFC, Arizona wins at home over Green Bay, and Carolina takes out  the Seattle Seahawks. I have spoken.
  • Here’s a bit of what I’ve learned this week: new ways in which marine biologists can track the whereabouts of sea creatures to reduce bycatch — accidental catches that damage gear and animals — and keep open more fishing grounds, thus helping the fisherman’s economy; that the ranks of women in physics, while still small, are ever-expanding (much like the universe. Um, is the universe expanding?); and that the fabulous Gus Tebell in the 1930s was the head coach of football, basketball AND baseball, at the same time, at the University of Virginia (!). It’s good I’m still learning via writing jobs, ‘cause I’m not reading as much as I need to be.
  • Old dogs are just challenges, man. Suffice to say my boy Ollie’s continence just isn’t what it used to be. But then again, neither is . . . ah, never mind.
  • The good news is 10 was the Powerball, and 10 is my number, baby!
  • The bad news is 10 wasn’t my Powerball number. I’ll NEVER win that damn lottery . . .













Triskaideka . . . whatever

Douglas Wilder, the grandson of slaves, on Jan. 13, 1990 became the first African American to be sworn in as an elected governor when he took the oath of office in Richmond. It was only 26 years ago. The grandson of slaves. Think on that . . .

  • The NFL after 21 years has taken Los Angeles off the market as a bargaining chip that has extorted many a new stadium from many a pressured city, under threat of the local team moving. St. Louis is left holding the bag for the second time by the NFL; the football Cardinals moved to Arizona in 1988. With his Rams the first NFL team to move since the Houston Oilers in ’97, the Missouri governor is threatening legal action, but my vast lawyering expertise tells me nothing will come of it. Bottom line is the NFL needs to be in L.A. and so next season it will be, with the San Diego Chargers weighing an option to join the Rams there as well. Next stop, a full-time team in London. Ain’t nothing can stop the NFL.
  • If I lost nothing in translation, Barcelona soccer star Lionel Messi was named the world’s best player for the fifth time the other day. The Ballon d’Or, they call the trophy. What I know about international soccer would fill a soccer “boot,” maybe, but I do know I somehow got to see the amazing Messi play last summer in Spain with the amazing D. It was, um, amazing. Checking that unlikely bucket-list box, and remembering the sights and sounds of the roaring and famous Camp Nou stadium — and of our five-mile midnight walk back to the hotel because the damn trenes were shut down. That’s right, we laugh about it now . . .
  • Tried to buy a Powerball ticket yesterday, learned it was $2, but I only had $1. (Don’t ask.) I’ve re-cashed up and might waste that $2 today on the 10-cascillion odds of hitting the right numbahs, because of the peer pressure, you understand.
  • Faded on Obama’s last State of the Union address, despite best intentions. Did he mention ISIS?
  • It disappoints me tremendously that a car has been blatantly illegally parked in front of my house for three days — because evidently no police officer has been down the street to ticket said illegally parked car, even though we have been assured patrols have stepped up because of some nearby vehicle vandalism. The devil, you say . . .
  • Love Modern Family, but sadly, I think that shark is more than half-jumped. What can you do? Even the deepest comedy pools run dry. Why The Face?

Stifle, Edith!

, images All in the Family, the best and most impactful situation comedy ever, debuted on CBS on this date in 1971..

  • Archie, Edith, Gloria and Meathead Mike, to say nothing of George and Louise Jefferson, remain indelible American characters from Norman Lear’s landmark program that masterfully blended comedy, drama, farce, poignancy and controversy the likes of which the country had never seen. The shows were most often performed like plays on one-set stages, usually the Bunkers’ living room, from which Archie would pontificate from his arm chair and long-suffering wife Edith would patiently abide beside him. I don’t know if it’s still running anywhere regularly, but the show holds up amazingly. Here’s evidence, the great clip of Archie doing an everyman’s response to a TV editorial on gun control. Enjoy.
  • So much elite talent on display during last night’s college championship football game won 45-40 by Alabama over Clemson. The speed all over the field was stunning. Clemson quarterback Deshaun Watson impressed along the lines of what Michael Vick did in that ’99 championship game against Florida State in New Orleans, also in a losing effort. Jaw-dropping stuff. Many, many NFL players on those two rosters.
  •  The game matched the hype. But can’t it start earlier, please? Yeah, I know it can’t . . .
  • So what I think is, Lady Gaga was trying to lift Leonardo DiCaprio’s wallet, is what I think. Check out the casual brushing across the back. Am I right?
  • gettyimages-504599674Many tweeps criticizing Ciara for the “inappropriate” dress in which she sang the national anthem before Monday night’s  game. Really? In a sport where cheerleaders are encouraged to pop out all over? Please.




  • Bill Foster, the former Duke basketball coach from the ’70s who died this week, grew up one town over from me outside Philly. I had no idea. He somehow must not have been on my parents’ radar; they alerted me to pretty much anybody who was close to famous way back in that day. For instance, they went to high school with Carter Merbreier, ”Captain Noah” in the long-running syndicated kids’ show. They were proud of that.captnoahark

Bet you never heard of Carter or the Captain. That’s OK. If Kangaroo wasn’t your last name, I’m not sure how relevant your kids’ captaincy really was.

Monday ramble

Today in 1908, President Roosevelt — affectionately known as Teddy — declared the Grand Canyon a national monument. The big, gaping chasm still awaits my first glimpse, other than as seen from a plane at 30,000 feet. I gotta do something about filling that hole in my travel resume . . .

  • Picked all four NFL winners over the weekend, to some fun but absolutely no profit. If I heard this right, it’s the first time all four visiting teams won on wild-card weekend. Of course, Seattle had to rally like crazy and then lucked out when Minnesota Vikings kicker Blair Walsh gagged a 27-yarder at the wire after kicking three earlier field goals in the sub-zero chill. The drama (and pressure) of sports, man. It gets in your head, no matter if you’re an All-Pro (as Walsh was as a rookie in 2012) or what. Walsh is a fourth-year kicker out of Georgia. He’s been there before. But still . . . His irony is that the Vikings wouldn’t have been in position to win Sunday without him, and then they ultimately couldn’t win with him. Life’s a bitch. He’ll bounce back, I reckon, but the thud of a season going bust like that is consuming and surreal.
  • Favorite meme I saw re Walsh’s kick:
    harvey 1









  • I didn’t see this, but former Vikings coach Bud Grant, who’s 88, doffed his jacket and went to midfield for the ceremonial coin toss in a polo shirt. That’s awesome, assuming he isn’t dead today from that whole macho exhibition. Grant famously never let his teams use sideline heaters. Back in the day, coaches usually didn’t allow water breaks even in summer practices, either. Nutty. I’m thinking Teddy Roosevelt wouldn’t let his riding party bring canteens on their moose hunts or whatever. I’ll have to look that up.
  • David Bowie, dead at 69. I wasn’t a big fan, even though he was huuuge in Philly when I was growing up, but I did appreciate his longevity, the respect he enjoyed from his peers and followers, and his flaming independence. There is a vocals-only recording out there of Bowie and Freddie Mercury making “Under Pressure” — actually, it’s right here. It’s pretty impressive, I gotta say. The weirdest “Little Drummer Boy” duet tandem in history (Bowie and Bing Crosby in 1977, which also actually is pretty good) can commence its heavenly encore. Hmm, maybe I liked David Bowie more than I knew.
  • Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globes. Meh. Oy vey with the award shows. So tedious and self-important. And anyway, when did they become extreme celebrity roasts of very questionable taste? Talk about jumped sharks . . .
  • Seriously, Jordan Spieth, who only won a record $22 million on the PGA Tour last year, is Tiger Woods without the crazy father and Supreme Being complex. When Spieth doesn’t win a tournament – hell, when he simply mishits a shot slightly or misses a putt – it is stunning. The 22-year-old Texan rolled to an eight-shot victory Sunday in Maui over a field of last year’s tournament winners. It’s unbelievable to think, but incredible talents like Rory McIlroy, Jason Day and Dustin Johnson are in danger of becoming to Spieth what Ernie Els (and others) was to Woods – great foils dwarfed by a daunting shadow.
  • It’s taken me a while to come around on this, but I’m with you people now. Sean Penn is just a loon. An annoying one at that.
  • Tonight, Alabama beats Clemson. Nick Saban, winner of four previous college football championships, gets his one for the thumb. Ring, that is. Saban once made a Miami Dolphin cry. He’s a baaaad man.






Friday comin’ down . . .

On Jan. 8, 1963, Da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa,” which was already about 450 years old, went on public display in the United States (in Washington, D.C.) for the first time. That  was something to smile about, right?


  • China and its dysfunctional economy, which I guess is contributing to the Wall Street tank, is starting to piss me off.  Alas, a billion Chinese don’t care about the bottom line of my 401(k).
  •  Speaking of tanking — no, not the 76ers – how’s that Chipotle stock working out for you? Oy vey, Chipotle.
  • TrumpTrumpTrumpTrump . . . Driving last night, I caught some of the candidate’s appearance/rally/performance in Vermont on the radio. The WWE or Maury – is there still a Maury? — in their prime wished they staged such spectacle. As usual, not a word about policy or anything related to being president. Just protesters being bum-rushed out of the building and Trump taunting them to many hoots and hollers. Watching slack-jawed, the media swoon as an inexplicable American phenomenon rolls on.
  • Finished Making a Murderer(!) Thank you for not spoiling my binge, and there will be no spoilers here from me. I can say, without offense, that it is a fascinating look through the criminal-justice window.
  • Jackson Browne, tonight in Virginia Beach. No, he didn’t die after the 1980s, smart guy. He’s a master musician and songwriter, tours a lot, still in very fine voice. Saw him a couple of years ago, a solo show, at Christopher Newport. He’s not mailing anything in.
  • I would expect Bishop Sullivan High to almost instantly create a powerhouse football program, which evidently is its intent by hiring coach Chris Scott away from Ocean Lakes High. Absent zoning restrictions, good players will flock there from across the area for Scott’s expertise and, more paramount to parents and kids, his recruiting connections. And the school offers financial aid. If football’s what you’re about, Sullivan will be the place to go, and quickly.
  • Heard Andrea Mitchell, who has worked for years around the world’s most powerful people, go all fan-girl while interviewing retired soccer player Abby Wambach via remote earlier at lunch. What is it about sports figures that quickens the hearts of even grizzled – no offense, Andrea – news vets? Do not get.
  • Next movie up: “The Big Short.” Didn’t read the Michael Lewis book, though, and my friend Brendan suggests my life is less than it should be because of it.
  • Odd, and completely infantile, dustup online and even on Morning Joe about ODU coach Jeff Jones, unbeknownst, vigorously tucking in on camera and then shaking hands with somebody with the said hand with which he tucked. Come on, you people. The 24/7, cameras-everywhere, everybody-has-a-hot-or-snarky-take culture strikes again.
  • Good luck to Debbie Harmison White, the communications senior associate athletic director at Old Dominion, who announced her retirement this coming June. Thirty-six years in the books. Quite the career. Thanks for the personal friendship and professional courtesies. Best wishes from here.



Thursday Thoughts


A year ago, two Al-Qaeda terrorists killed 11 people and injured 11 others in the Charlie Hedbo attack in Paris. Pray for peace. And on that note . . .

  • One and half more episodes of Making a Murderer to get through on Netflix before I can get up to speed on what’s going on with that case. And also get back to getting more sleep.
  • I’m not crazy about Jimmy Fallon’s gushing, Labrador-puppy style as Tonight Show host, but I enjoy pretty much every clip from his show that strays into my attention span. He’s an incredible mimic, as we know, the latest evidence being this effort as Mick Jagger last night. (The other guy in this clip is Billy Joel.)
  • Which reminds me, I have made no effort beyond his first week to see what Steven Colbert is doing on CBS. That surprises me because I thought I was a big fan. But there’s that sleep goal I mentioned above. And I just don’t make the effort to dig up clips of what he’s doing over there.
  • Congratulations to Ken Griffey Jr. and Mike Piazza for being voted into baseball’s Hall of Fame. Griffey got a record 99.3 percent of the vote. Deservedly. The two sluggers got out of the ‘roid era relatively unscathed, although there was always chatter about Piazza for various reasons. Supposedly he also enjoyed show tunes. That’s a joke. Here’s another “joke.” Piazza was drafted in the 62nd round – 62nd! – of the 1988 draft out of Miami-Dade College, as a favor from Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda to Piazza’s father, his childhood buddy outside Philadelphia. Lasorda is Piazza’s godfather. Piazza was the 1,390th player selected out of 1,433. He turned into the best-hitting catcher of all time -.308 average, 427 home runs. Great story.
  • I got to see Ken Griffey and Ken Griffey Jr. play outfield together live one time, in Seattle in 1990. I think it’s cool just tossing a lacrosse ball back and forth out front with my college kid. We won’t be in the majors for quite a while yet. Some forms of life take place on extremely different planes, don’t they?
  • Well, coach Sean Payton’s staying with the Saints. I thought he would. No soup for you, Iggles.
  • You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to pick all four visiting teams to win this weekend’s NFL wildcard playoff games. Chiefs beat the Texans; Steelers win at Cincinnati; Seahawks take out the Vikings; Packers come to FedEx Field to beat Washington. Hey, how wrong can I be?
  • Whew, I got a Powerball reprieve. Was out last night, but forgot to purchase my winning ticket. But none of you losers won! It’s up to $675 million for Saturday. I am shopping for islands as we speak.
  • Throwback Thursday! Send me embarrassing high-school photos for me to laugh at during lunch. Thanks!







The Daily (or when I think of it) Ramble


Tuesday, the first week of January 2016. Hard to believe, just in general. My disconnected thoughts o’ the morning:

* Good on Virginia Tech, knocking off those U.Va. hoopsters in Blacksburg. As always, it’s just damn hard to win on the road in college buckets. Anybody ever tell you that?

* Didn’t see it, though. Nor the Kansas-Oklahoma 3-OT palooza. Why? I get to that . . .

* I thought “Concussion” was pretty good. It’s a talker for sure. Will Smith isn’t holding on to the side of any jets during takeoff, if you get me. But I thought he was believable, and the true story compelling.

* As for the Star Wars, saw it with the kids. Entertaining enough, I suppose. The kids had to brief me on the whos and whats of the series, but that was fine. The world can have the Star Wars. I am at peace with my disinterest.

* Just started Making a Murderer on Netflix. Watched the first two of the 10 episodes last night. (a-ha!) It’s all the rage. If you spoil it for me, I may murder you.

* I am disheartened on the regular by some of the writing that comes out of college sports-publicity offices. 101 Class: The team as a unit is an “it,” not a “they.” As in “Midwestern State won its third game in a row.” And don’t get me started on dangling modifiers.

* My baby girl in San Francisco just moved into a new house in the famous Haight. The “Grateful Dead House,” as noted on Google Maps, is down the street. There’s something Smithsonian about that to me.

* The Eagles fire their coach Chip Kelly, who by all accounts has the people skills of a prune, but he’s an innovative football wonk (it appears). Bill Belichick seems to answer to that same description. Is Kelly another Belichick? There are GMs and owners who will still want to pay large money to find out, as in the second shoe has yet to drop on Kelly. What a country.

* Our little band’s fantasy golf season starts this week, to continue through the fall. Make your jokes. But it’s a lot of fun for people (like we five) who pay attention to the PGA Tour, the small weekly wager focuses our interest, and  I enjoy recapping and razzing the weekly “drama” for the boyz in my Monday flounder-mail. So there.

* Bonus points to you if you get that above passing reference to fan mail from some “flounder.”

* Didn’t do the Movember thing. But Dry January sounds like a good idea.

* Have a great day D. XO