Last gasp?

I doubt I can resuscitate this thing, but anything's possible.

Sub-Zero Memories

5.  Going sledding in Delaware park with my family.  Sat there shivering... Dad notices the only thing I wore under my winter coat was a flimsy t-shirt... Dad says, "Jesus.  Are you stupid or something?" as he takes off his own sweater and puts it on me.

4.  Getting a ride home in my friends' cold mini-van and convulsing to the point that it felt my guts were being wrenched.  

3. Walking, sans gloves, with my brother to buy milk from a vending machine, circa 1977, and coming home crying.  This prompts my mother to rush me to the sink, running water over my hands and rubbing to re-vive my frozen digits.

2.  Being stranded in Buffalo General hospital during a snow storm eight years ago.  Cars are buried under a couple feet of snow.  While watching everyone dig their cars out, I get an epiphany - I turn to my brother and say, "Dude, we can take the subway home and walk to my apartment."  Probably the only time I found that subway handy.

1.  Walking home in 5th grade with a wad of Bazooka Joe chewing gum in my mouth.  I blew a sizable bubble... it falls from my lips - I watch the bubble fall and shatter on the sidewalk into a thousand pieces as if it were a light bulb.

Nothing more life-affirming than winter.

Another Attempt to Get Back in the Saddle

Funny thing about taking a hiatus from something like blogging... you never know quite how to begin again. It's not like there is any shortage of material. Fletch-monster still does and says crazy sh*t. O-Dog is still handsome and sensitive. Serpico is doing all that baby sh*t that makes people go awwww. Then there are all the ongoings in the nation and the world that can raise an eyebrow and cause a blogger to go ape-sh*t, writing a 1,500 diatribe about some shoeless Muslim newshound throwing his Hush Puppies at Dubya. Nope. I'm also not going off on that well-coiffed public servant from Illinois any more press.

I'll keep it simple.

I had one of those instances that usually have me scratching my head, thinking "Why didn't I think of that first?" Only this time, I did think of it first.

Directions:

1. Purchase a child's t-shirt
2. Purchase package of iron-on transfers
3. Download this graphic

Print on your inkjet printer and apply to the garment, following instructions

4.Throw the shirt on the young 'un.
5. Spend 48 minutes trying to explain to the missus why you don't think it's inappropriate.

Or you can skip the last step and just print one for yourself.

Optional step - Take digital picture and send it to yours truly...

Holy Sh*t. Has it been a year?

Man, how do I break the shackles of writer's block?  

• The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog?  
  
• Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet?

I guess ultimately it doesn't matter.  

Trifecta

Mrs. P pumped out another boy a couple of weeks ago. Atta-girl!

You can see here that the Fletchmonster isn't a big fan of that 'new baby smell.'

Yeah... everything's rosey here, as the Sarge gets acquainted with his brothers. He came out of the chute at 7 lbs. 15 oz., though I'm not sure why anybody cares. I might care if I was a woman, though, and had to push out something that sizeable out of my cooch. Goddamn.

I always have to remember not to look down after the baby comes out. For those gentlemen who've never had the pleasure... What do you get when you cross your wife's 'chocha' with a Jackson Pollock painting?

Heh.

Heh-heh.

Heh.


All kidding aside, I'm proud of the Mrs.

That looks painful as f*ck to go through, and she's gone through it willingly three times. Of course, she comes from Irish stock... All they need to birth is some Bailey's, a pot of warm water, tree bark, a rope and a couple of dishrags (á la Christy Brown's mother), though Mrs. P's a bit Americanized so they had to throw in an epidural.

Well, then, I'm off to go play hockey tonight... and to have a toast to the O-Dog, the Fletchmonster and the Sarge.... to the advent of the daddy stitch....

and to Jackson Pollock.