Cleveland: More beautiful than Spain

I am leaving heaven today, but I'll be back in a few weeks.

Now, some friends I have from California may not believe that my own personal Valhalla — Cleveland, Ohio — is as majestic as I say it is. My suggestion to them: Go there in the summer.

Every night I spent in Cleveland got to be a running joke because I'd behold the twilight and remark, "Oh my god. This is beautiful. This is more beautiful than Spain."

I wasn't exaggerating. The twilight in Cleveland puts a godlike glow on the many trees there, and the sky remains lit until about 9:45 p.m. The sun will officially go down at 9:04 p.m. today, but it really doesn't go down until another 40 minutes of wonder.

The weather was absolutely gorgeous each day I was here, and this land has two key natural things that Southern California does not have — clear, fresh air and fertile ground that needs no artificial watering.

For me, Cleveland also has a support system of family and friends that makes me identify Cleveland as home. My Wolfpack, which dates back to grade school, reunited, and that was especially impressive because a critical Pack member traveled all the way in from North Carolina.

I also played six (yes, six) rounds of golf. That's 108 holes. I played Sleepy Hollow, Astorhurst, Ironwood, Fox Meadow, Creekwood and Ridge Top. All of those courses are beautiful. They're all carved out around trees that have been around for centuries, and I hadn't played Astorhurst and Ridge Top since I was a kid. It simply felt right to be out there.

But beyond that, the big reason I was in Cleveland and, in total, will be there for more than a month this summer is the relationships. I have my mom and brother and cousins, who are like brothers, plus an extended family that felt good to see. 

Yesterday, on the Fourth of July, I went to Chippewa Lake, where the Stevens family now has three cottages at the circle. My idea is that I should buy a fourth one, and then we'll be allowed to tear them all down and build a hotel.

Chippewa always will hold a lot of memories for me, and with all these cottages now, many family members will be there much more now. Things evolve, and I — and perhaps many in the Snooze Button Generation
— look to the past with nostalgia, whether it be the Apple IIe, dial-up Internet or blowing off firecrackers at age 10.

Sometimes it's nice to look back to the past to enhance the present. Hopefully, that's what I was doing in Cleveland, which is growing and thriving and the most beautiful place I've ever been during the summer.

  

A 'perfect' Father's Day

"It's a perfect day. The Indians won."

My dad used to say that whenever anyone asked him how he was, and when it happened to be one of the approximate 80 times a year when the Cleveland Indians shined bright like a diamond. I realize, mathematically, that approximately 22 percent of my dad's days were perfect.

Today, the Tribe did win in extra innings against Boston, and the girls and I tore it up on Father's Day. We actually blew it out this entire weekend (their first without school!). Sophie had her first round with the Long Beach Golf Academy on Friday night and had a blast with her peers, then we had a rip-roaring birthday party for Chloe on Saturday. Today, we went to both a water park and played nine holes on a par-3 course. Winning!

My goal with the girls and golf is to play every Father's Day for the next 40 years. I would like us to take a picture every year and see how we progress. The interesting thing about the above picture is that I said we should each hold our favorite clubs. Sophie chose driver. Chloe had her 7-iron, and I grabbed my putter. ... We would be perfect in a scramble.

I shot lights out with the girls at Heartwell Golf Course, where the average length of a hole is 125 yards. I only had two bad shots. I missed a 3-foot putt on the first hole and had a bad chip on another hole for my only bogeys of the day. I birdied one hole to finish with a 1-over 28. Unfortunately, the par-3 course is extremely short and plays into my strengths, but I still am bragging about my score.

I expect Father's Day to always bring up various emotions because my dad is no longer here. For God's sakes, I am living for him. I am trying to do everything I can to be the best dad I can be. Indeed, life is short, and I'm trying to have as much fun with my girls as he had with me and my family.

The one thing that I am taking to the next level is my parenting, which is evolving. My big push now is to give the girls appropriate independence, even though that is difficult for me because I only have them 50 percent of the time. My gut says I should smother them, but I'm pretty sure that's not the best plan.

Recently, I have presented the girls with various "adventures" that they have loved and gained some sort of "ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride" feelings. The big one they like to do nowadays is to take their bikes or scooters to the corner store and purchase Gatorades and/or Vitamin Water.

Man, I love my girls, and they love me back. It is quite fulfilling to watch them becoming fierce. I love in the way I do, like my dad did, and like his dad, Coach Stevens, did. We play a lot of games. We compete. We love each other.

"You can't raise (girls) to be scared of life," Royal Tenenbaum said. "You got to brew some recklessness into them."

Why I'm a teacher

Teachers are the easiest people in the world to make fun of, mmkay. I personally have had some doozies for teachers, despite going to a prestigious high school and claiming to be a kind-hearted individual.

One horrible teacher that comes to mind was an extremely unhealthy Spanish teacher, who happened to be Caucasian. Each day, he would start class by violently coughing for five minutes, then he would say, "Just pull out something to work on. OK?" He's got to be dead by now.

Another thing I'll never forget was in seventh grade when my math grade was a 96 percent, and I got a B plus. I went to the teacher and said, "My percentage was 96. Isn't that an A?"

She responded, "Well, yes. But an A is very special, and you just didn't have that special quality to get an A." I asked, "Did anyone get an A?" She said, "Well, yes, Melissa. Just Melissa." I later asked Melissa her percentage. She said 91. Honestly, I can't believe I still remember this episode, but I actually did learn from it.

So, I have been writing this blog for five years, and I've never written about why I'm a high-school teacher. When people ask me why I'm a teacher, I typically play the "noble profession" card. It is true that I have a chance at positively influencing a student, and I believe that typically happens by giving that student attention, being a good listener and not judging.

Officially, I try to help a student's writing and reading levels and help them put out an award-winning Yearbook, and that does happen. But, unofficially, I just try to model being a real person, be in the moment and have fun.

The best thing about being a teacher: the students. The worst thing about being a teacher: other teachers.

The downside to being a high-school teacher is the misery of my colleagues. I am unsure the percentage of miserable teachers out there, but by my standards, it's at least half. How do I know this? Well, it's because they complain about the students.

The whole reason I'm in a classroom is because I like these peculiar, finding-their-way, I-don't-know-how-to-read kids. The buck stops with me. When I get a student who is basically illiterate, yet somehow is enrolled in an "AP English language" class, I love it. The kid has so many other skills to compensate for reading and writing that I got to give some sort of thumbs up to that.

Being a teacher means being an active behavioral psychologist. Humans act in patterns, and you got to finesse those patterns to teach. Nothing is more important than the first week of school. You set it all up there, and if you falter then, you can be doomed.

You also have to play to the audience while still being you. My mentor once told me, "You were born to do this." He then had student-teachers observe me every other day for two years in the hopes of them understanding how to handle their profession. Yeah, teaching also is a funky thing, and it makes me think of this awesome article by Malcolm Gladwell, comparing teachers to NFL quarterbacks.

At my current school, there is no mentor system, and people never really observe. The teachers blame the administration, but in reality, the teachers likely suck. Oh well. The students exclusively know what's up. And that's good enough for me.

So why am I a teacher? I can think of no other profession that can help me feel so good about myself, so fulfilled, so worthwhile.

I like to think of myself as the "dad you wish you had." I may come from a social class in which being a high-school teacher may not be considered a success. But with my value system, I believe it is. Yes, teachers are historically underpaid. But there are the perks of the off time and the rewards of actually doing something that matters.

If I had to do it all over again, would I do anything different? ... I don't think so. The best teachers I've run across haven't been exclusively teachers. The all-your-life teachers seem to have no frame of reference for how the world works. Would I want my daughters in their classes? ... Not really.

Making a run of it as some type of writer was a fun jaunt for me, and I got a staff job at age 22. I like that storyline, and I'm at peace with doing this profession and ... living in the moment. Am I fulfilled doing this job? To a certain degree, yes. Do I feel I need to do anything else? Who knows? Maybe this summer, I'll finally start "The Snooze Button Generation: The Novel."

Sterling's repugnant behavior: No surprise to me

After covering the Clippers for seven seasons, 2001-2008, for the Los Angeles Newspaper Group, I have some insights on the train wreck of the individual that is Donald T. Sterling.

This week, "The Donald" went berserk in an interview with Anderson Cooper and verbally assaulted Magic Johnson and the entire black community. Presumably, he did the interview to apologize to the black community, America and the world, but he made everything much worse.

His words and behavior with Anderson Cooper were 100 percent consistent with the Sterling I knew during my seven years writing about the Clippers.

"Honesty is the best policy" is a good aphorism when you are a respectable individual, but when you're egotistical, racist and delusional, it's time to clam up. During my stint covering the Clippers, Sterling was shielded well from me and most media. In essence, he was well-shielded until this year, and keeping him out of the media was the only way his franchise could function.

For the longest time, the mainstays in the Clipper organization were DTS, CEO Andy Roeser, general manager Elgin Baylor and pr director Joe Safety. Safety left this June, and DTS and Roeser were forced out this year. Baylor is a slightly different story, as he left in 2008, the year I coincidentally moved off the beat. In a way, when Mike Dunleavy became coach/general manager, and thus getting Elgin out, it was a major step in getting the wheels in motion to Sterling's collapse.

Elgin Baylor is one of the most upstanding individuals I have ever met, and the "off-the-record" stories he told me made me realize that I was in the presence of secular godliness. Yet he seemed like a normal, down-to-earth guy with his personality. One story he told me that comes to mind is when he played tennis with the Kennedy's in Cape Cod. Another story was his friendship with Neil Armstrong.

Elgin was a celebrity in the '60s when access was only granted to a few. It was before the paparazzi infiltrated the elite, and well before the Internet, Twitter and "The Real Housewives of New Jersey Shore." Because of Elgin's past, demeanor and overall dignity, I liked the guy.

As a general manager, Elgin wasn't the best, but that was because his hands were tied because DTS ran a discount team for years. Once the NBA's collective bargaining agreement hit, though, it forced teams to spend a certain amount on players, and the Clippers were forced to no longer be the Wal-Mart of the league. Eventually, it wasn't easy, but the Clippers finally gave lucrative contracts to players with Elgin even being voted the NBA's executive of the year in 2006.

That year, Sterling got a taste of winning a little bit in the playoffs with Dunleavy coaching, and in essence, Dunleavy soon took on a role beyond a mere coach that involved personnel decisions. I assumed that Dunleavy was going directly to Sterling on decisions, and, despite the majority of his life as a bush-league penny-pitcher, Sterling actually bought into Dunleavy's moves.

Dunleavy officially took over general manger duties in 2008 when Elgin was replaced after 22 years as the Clippers' general manager. This was the first step to Sterling being a shielded pariah to an international a-hole phenomenal pariah that has surfaced the past few weeks.

Perhaps it was just a matter of time before Sterling came crashing down somehow. In a way, it is a testament to the professionalism of Elgin, Joe Safety and Andy Roeser that they kept the Clipper machine sailing so long with Sterling always being a wacko. Each had been with the organization for at least 20 years, and that length of stay for three guys in those positions in professional sports is unheard of (especially for a general manager on a perpetually losing team!).

So with Baylor out, the functioning dysfunction of the Clippers for more than two decades was unhinging. Dunleavy only lasted about a year-and-a-half in his role as general manager/coach, and the Clippers actually were on the path to becoming a serious contender. But, apparently, that business model never could compute with Sterling and the Clippers, and when the team looks its brightest with two superstars in Chris Paul and Blake Griffin and a revered championship coach with Doc Rivers, the majority of the world agrees that Sterling must go....

Actually, I realize that these past two blogs are much different for the Snooze Button Generation (TM). With Sterling acting the fool for the entire world to see, it brought back memories of my foray into the NBA.

On one hand, writing about pro basketball for seven years was fun, quirky, a learning experience and sometimes inspiring. At the time, I cared about what I was doing a lot — it was my job. Looking back, I don't regret having that occupation, but I eventually felt empty with the job. It was like having cotton candy for dinner.

Sterling scandal destined — without Safety net

Today is the brightest day in Los Angeles Clippers’ history.

For the entire 30-year history of the L.A. Clippers, Donald T. Sterling has owned the team and has had numerous off-court troubles and on-court humiliations to make nearly all in Clipper nation wish he would just go away. Today, that vocal majority finally gets its wish – kind of – as Sterling was issued a lifetime ban from the NBA for his ridiculously racist and hateful words.

For seven years of my life, I covered the Clippers as the beat writer for the Long Beach Press-Telegram, Los Angeles Daily News and their chain of newspapers called the Los Angeles Newspaper Group.

Today, some people have asked me if I have any insights into the Sterling situation or any inside information on how this could happen. My answer:

Oh yes I do, and let me tell you what's up!

Of course, this situation is all about Sterling’s gross racism and the TMZ recording that has outraged pretty much anyone who’s heard it. But on another level, this is a public-relations disaster that stems from changes within the Clipper organization — notably, the resignation of long-time public relations guru Joe Safety in June.

Before I reveal some of the behind-the-scenes things I saw working close to Sterling for seven years, I must be honest of what my relationship with the Clippers is now. Although there may be a few in the organization that I still do know, I have not attended a Clippers game since I stopped covering the team in 2008. So, yes, there is a definite gap in my coverage of the team, but, strangely, I believe my perspective gives more insight to why and how Sterling made his remarks and how he got banned by the NBA today.

I consider myself a bit of an intellectual (or, smirk, at least a pseudo-intellectual), and I tried to cover the Clippers with a thoughtful approach and still keep some sort of world view in the NBA land of constant injuries, game stories and watching media members eat dinner — like members of cattle.

During my first year covering the team, I wanted to do an interview and story on Sterling. However, I was politely explained by the team’s public relations director, Joe Safety, that Sterling does not speak to the media. Really? Never? I pushed a little bit to get that interview, but eventually, I acquiesced and focused on other issues on the Clipper beat.

A year or two after that, I again went through the same song and dance with Safety about interviewing Sterling, and I never got an interview. Even with this difference of opinion about the merits of interviewing Sterling, I must point out that I loved – and still love – Joe Safety. With the exception of towing the company line with no Sterling interviews, he was exceptionally accommodating in all other regards. I had many lengthy talks with him and Elgin Baylor and the key Clipper personnel in my tenure covering the Clippers, and I consider Safety a friend (even though I have completely left the NBA world behind and haven't spoken to him in a few years).

I went through long stretches with letting the “no Sterling interview” policy stand without confrontations and one day, wrote this article that Safety objected to. If anything, I thought the story was too kind to Sterling. Without interviewing Sterling, I used words like “enigmatic” and “misunderstood” to describe him. With the scandal entrenching Sterling now, perhaps those words should have been “racist” and “revolting.” Presumably, he was like this all the time but simply was shielded from the media.

The bottom line for me bringing up all of this, and even writing about the Clippers, is to point out that it is no coincidence that Sterling’s scandal is happening in the first year without Joe Safety in the organization. Safety resigned in June, and I argue that no one understood Sterling better than Safety. If that’s an exaggeration, then it’s safe to say that no one in the p.r. world understood Sterling better.

Like a ruler gone mad with power, Sterling became less hidden during the Clippers’ recent successes with superstars Chris Paul and Blake Griffin. He was always a smug, smirking a-hole at the old Clipper games, but usually, his wife since 1955, Shelly, was by his side.

Nowadays, he amped that image up beyond belief as the Clippers became the best NBA team in L.A. and the 80-year-old found himself a 31-year-old mistress and brought her to games. I have always found Sterling to be absolutely obsessed with his image, and in a season in which the Clippers and Lakers swapped identities, he could not deal with that change and went even more bonkers.

I imagine Sterling always had mistresses, but he never brought them front and center to Clipper games. So now, without the perpetual Safety shield, he is finally hit with a scandal that is going to kill him (perhaps literally).

Of course, it should be pointed out that Sterling is being brought down by a taped conversation, and that may have nothing to do with his dealings with the media. That is true to an extent, but with modern media and without Safety's p.r. wizardry, it may have been just a matter of time before the Sterling bomb exploded like it has done with this episode.

I am not saying that the Clippers’ current media staff has any blame whatsoever with the Sterling scandal, but Safety truly was a Sterling maestro to prevent this time bomb from exploding for the 20 years he worked with the Clippers. He also was the media director for the New York Yankees when George Steinbrenner was at the helm. He also was with the Pittsburgh Pirates for their “We Are Family” era in the 1970s. The guy is legit, and through the years and through the constant lawbreaking and horrific incidents connected to Sterling, the Sterling Clipper ship still sailed.

Now, that ship has sailed. I imagine there will be a lot of legal wrangling before this situation is even close to having a resolution. However, I do know that for the first time in his life, Sterling needs to accept responsibility for his words and actions. I certainly don't expect that. And, maybe, for the first time in his life, he should try something new … face the media.

The death of answering machine art

Hello?

Hello?

Hello? (angry) You're going to have to talk louder!

(long pause)

I'm not here right now, so if you'd like to leave a message, that would be great! Get back to you soon. BEEP!

Aaaah, one byproduct of the infiltration of iPhones and other smart phones into the world is the death of funny answering machine messages. I remember, not so long ago, when some budding artists would create extensive hilarious answering-machine messages. My parents even had one with a laugh track on it as they pretended to tickle Santa Claus. I love painting. I love sculpture. I used to not mind wacky answering machine greetings. What happened?

Most voice-mail greetings nowadays either are just the phone number or an extremely terse machine. If you're actually still doing the funny answering machine, we either hate you or ... you're freaking hilarious.

Of course, the answering machine has been critical to a lot in pop culture. Jon Favreau's ridiculous messages to his ex-girlfriend in "Swingers" come to mind as does the Replacement's Song "Answering Machine."

But to me, the creme de la creme of answering machines used in pop culture has to be the episode of "Seinfeld" in which George Costanza's recording uses the theme song from "The Greatest American Hero."

Believe it or not, George is not home.
Please leave a message at the beep.

As I ponder what happened to funny and lame answering machine greetings, I believe that they were simply turned into apps. Maybe goofy-ass messages have turned into a tomcat who mimics what you say. Maybe "The Jerky Boys" have transformed into Angry Birds. Perhaps one of the Crank Yankers is the Flappy Bird.

I must be out, or I'd pick up the phone.
Where could I be?
Believe or not, I'm not home.

Abracadabra! Sophie turns 9

Due to the death of the American neighborhood, I look forward to my daughter's birthday parties like Cleveland sports fans look forward to next year. I seriously love these parties because of the fun involved and having a bunch of people around.

Growing up with the XMan and my mom, my home became a meeting place for my friends, and, quite frankly, I love being social. I remember riding my bike to friend's homes as early as second grade, and it never crossed anybody's minds that I was young. It was normal.

Nowadays, that is unheard of where I live. My neighborhood is safe. It's kind of suburban, but it's in Los Angeles County. So I believe my neighborhood can only be so suburban in L.A. Let's say I live in a place called "suburban chic."

Anyway, my daughter Sophie just turned 9, and there is no way she is ready to ride her bike over to a friend's house on her own. It is no knock on her whatsoever. She has no desire to do that, and it's just not what happens in our world. We live in a different time, a different place. And for God's sakes, before we go anywhere, we better look at Google maps.

Enter: The Birthday Party.

Finally, here's a way to socialize in which Sophie, Chloe, and I all get to see friends, have our cake — and eat it too. Last year, a few friends went to Knott's Berry Farm. In the previous year, we went to a bounce house warehouse. And this year ... we hired a magician!

With nearly 20 kids in attendance, this guy had us mesmerized. He also took his act to the next level when he did the most creative hand shadow act in the world. The party and our glorious Lord of the Rings pinball machine were awesome as is, and — abracadabra — the magic man made it even better.

My friend, Dave, and I were so shocked by the magic at one point during the show that we took a selfie.

My daughter Sophie is now 9, and I must reflect on what that means. I definitely remember being that age in 1982, when Michael Jackson's "Thriller" came out and when "E.T." ruled the box office. Now, both Sophie and I are huge fans of "Frozen," and the circle of life — with pop culture sprinkled into our worlds — continues.

What impresses me most about my daughter, Sophie, is her ability to adapt and grow. She had a lot thrust upon her during her early years, and now at age 9, I think she may be out of the woods for major life changes for quite some time. It is time thrive, and that is what she is doing.

Will she ever ride her bike to a friend's house and play Nintendo there? I don't think so. It's a different time. As far as thinking her childhood will fully replicate mine, I'll let it go. ... The cold never bothered me anyway.

'We are all shattered'

It is official. Every Feb. 16, the Snooze Button Generation and all of its subsidiaries will reflect on the world's absence of Fred "XMan" Stevens — or at least do something connected to the absence of the XMan.

It now has been three years since the XMan mysteriously departed the planet, and I have somehow composed blogs titled "XMan's Death Ends Blog," "The Father of Garfield Heights" and "Two Years."

See, until the XMan passed away, I never understood the concept of unabashed, no-doubt-about-it pain. I had never experienced a profound loss. I guess I had never truly grown up.

With a backhand slap from strange odds and things I did not consider possible, the XMan vanished. So much difficulty in life surfaces when a major trauma happens that I must say I am proud of my mom, myself, my brother and extended family for surviving through this loss.

And, now, it is time to get metaphysical — or in my way, Polish metaphysical.

I'm no different than a majority of the members of the Snooze Button Generation. All of my grandparents were blue collar. My parents were white collar. For me, it was predetermined that I would go to college. I feel fortunate that I could embark on two enjoyable and fulfilling professions — journalism and education — and feel content financially. And I have a feeling that most in the Snooze Button Generation have some similarities with that tale.

I created this blog, the Snooze Button Generation, mostly because I feel a lot of people in the ballpark of my age can look back at how pop culture has progressed in our lifetime and have a wry smile about it. I mean, seriously, is it wrong to be nostalgic when it comes to the Apple IIc or Apple IIe? What about missing the wonderful sounds of dial-up Internet? Or what about simply reminiscing about the Humpty Dance or understanding why Ol' Dirty Bastard was never Young Dirty Bastard?

This blog is all about pop culture, nostalgia and us looking at ourselves and having a chuckle. I never envisioned something like the XMan's ridiculous and painful death could derail the blog. How could fate have done such a thing?

But what I am realizing now is that there is a pretty darn good chance that any random member of the Snooze Button Generation has his own version of the XMan's death (and if you don't, consider yourself lucky!). We all have experienced our own personal tsunami. I'm 40 now. My main friends are roughly at that age, give or take five years. We've all had our major pain. It's just a matter of time when it came — or when it comes.

And, now, back to my own personal pain ...

I moved out of my home in 2008, even though my daughters were only 3 and 1. I knew I had to do that to give them the best life possible — and give myself a chance at some sort of happiness. My girls have been the focus of my life, and I am proud that they are two advanced, charming and healthy 8 and 6 year olds.

Not so long ago, families were intact. The surface was intact. ... I was married. My parents visited every January, and I had a brilliant idea that having a child would help my marriage. My cousin, Meathooks or Know-It-All or whatever goofy nickname we call him (pictured above in the XMan's tuxedo), bonded with my parents with his super-fabulous wife in Cleveland while I lived all the way in California. I pretended that they were surrogate versions of me. Through it all, we all loved each other's company, and no so long ago, we created a holiday commune.

Fast forward to today. Xman is gone. My marriage has been long gone, and Know-It-All's marriage has ended as well. In a strangely tender moment, playing Scrabble with Know-It-All and my mom this past Christmas break, I listened to Know-It-All explain how his divorce blindsided him, how he has had difficult times functioning and how he is in his own personal tsunami that he did not think was possible. I looked at my mom, thought about my own development and simply said, "We are all shattered."

We continue to evolve through the pain, just like the Snooze Button Generation, and maybe the unique XMan pain I have experienced is somehow something universal I never thought was possible.

Yeah, I'm writing about nostalgia and what I term "Polish metaphysics." Maybe all I need to say is: "You can tear a building down, but you can't erase a memory."
 

Four kids rock Christmas

If you ever need any type of cheering up, I suggest spending Christmas with four kids, ages 4 to 8.

Two weeks ago, my girls and I traveled to Cleveland for Christmas, and watching Christmas through eyes of these youngsters is simply fun and full of love.

It was the first time Sophie and Chloe were in Cleveland for Christmas together, although Sophie was there once on Christmas before Chloe was born. Spending time with Grandma was excellent for all, and the girls especially liked their time with Jack (7) and Ellie (5).

Highlights abounded from our Cleveland trip. Some of mine were watching the girls play in the snow, devouring my mom's holiday feasts, having a schvitz and, of course, Christmas morning. The scene was so gleeful on Christmas morning that I created my own holiday tradition — prancing.

When we traveled back to California, I got to see my good friend from Portland, Matt, and go to a kids birthday party in San Diego in a whirlwind of less than 48 hours. Then, bam, I was off to New York City.

I lived in the city from 1995-1998. But I hadn't been back since 2002. I repeatedly pointed out changes in the city, and my favorite conversations annoyingly began with, "Back in 1998..."

I did a handful of things I used to love when I lived there and saw firsthand that Max Fish's bar and the Tic-Tac-Toe chicken in Chinatown were gone.

A couple of the highlights, of many, included seeing "Stomp" and "Wicked" and being pelted by snow. A blizzard came during the stay, and, apparently, New York City hit its lowest temperature in three years. Brrr. I weathered the cold and have adjusted to life without Max Fish.

Silver balls: It's Christmas time in the city

"The dead are coming!"

"Mr. Frodo is not going anywhere without me."

"Get a hold of yourself!"

These phrases have been bouncing around my household of late as I have obtained a 2003 Lord of the Rings pinball machine. To have a pinball machine of this magnitude in my home fulfills some sort of childhood dream, and it has been a pinball-filled holiday season for me and the girls.

In lieu of Christmas cards, I now simply write this blog, figuring that those who would like to connect with me can easily do it by reading this. In other words, I am a bit lazy when it comes to Christmas cards and holiday family photos, and I prefer the Snooze Button Generation platform.

Actually, I plan on having an SBG entry every year from now on around Christmastime, but I have only done it in 2012 and 2009. It might be nice for me to count my blessings and wish good cheer to all, but instead, I must recount the happenings of Nov. 23, 2013, to explain how Lord of the Rings pinball is in my home. I have verbally told this story to a handful of friends, but now, it is my Christmas card.

Something magical was floating in the air on the glorious Saturday, November 23. I felt excellent, had a quality espresso at Portfolio Coffeehouse and figured I'd take my car to a tire specialist to have a pesky slow leak fixed. When I took in the car, I asked how much it would cost, and the answer was "nothing." I made sure that was the case, and the man said, "No worries. We got this." ... Wow!

I successfully had sushi at a place aptly called "I Luv Sushi" in Lakewood, Calif. As I finished the sushi with my girlfriend, I made a random suggestion by saying, "Hey, do you want to play pinball across the street?" Because Cal Bowl, an enormous bowling alley with an arcade, was extremely close, we went there, although she was not enthused.

Again, a day of success continued. Only three pinball machines were in the place, and the first one we encountered, The Simpsons, had a free credit on it. We played that credit.

We then moved over to a superior game, Lord of the Rings, which had a sign on that read: "For Sale, $600.00."

The game functioned, and I texted my friend, Skydog, who recently bought a machine. His Adams Family machine was way more expensive. I quickly went to ebay.com and found that Lord of the Rings goes for much higher than a mere $600.

So I asked a man, who wore a shirt that said "Ron" on it, if he were firm on the $600. Ron replied, "What are you thinking?" I said, "How about $500?" He said, "We have a deal."

Pinball plays a minor role in my life. I loved to play in college. My mom has an old machine, Top Hand, at her Polish mansion. And, now, it is back in my house and life, big time.

I am sure that my glee for "Lord of the Rings" will wear off soon, but right now, I am loving this machine. However, when a machine is marked down so drastically in price, there are reasons for that. I have put a few hundred bucks of fixes into it, and, luckily, I have discovered a kind and semi-retired pinball fix-it man. He is ready in a moment's notice to help me if problems arise with the machine.

The 2009 documentary "Special When Lit" examines a subculture of folks who love pinball. I like it, but I am not as hardcore as the geeky enthusiasts in the movie. I can't explain exactly why I love pinball. I think because it is so tactile, and it brings back memories to when I played World Cup, Twilight Zone, Addams Family, The Shadow and many more in college.

My pinball fix-it man explained to me that pinball machines are absolutely impractical. They can have problems daily, and they probably only bring in about $30 each week to arcades or wherever they are.

Yes, pinball is a dying pastime in America. But I have a slight piece of Americana in my home, and this one is modern enough to have multiball.

Happy holidays. Merry Christmas. And, guess what? The extra ball is lit!

Subway: It tastes like air

The XMan would have turned 66 today, but he is gone. This is the third birthday he has missed because of his unexpected and ridiculous death. This remains a gaping loss in my life.

Today, I am not doing anything too spectacular to commemorate the XMan's birthday. However, I did recycle 24 bags from Subway that my daughters have received with kids' meals from the sandwich chain. I cannot explained why I collected these bags, except that the bags insisted they were "reusable." I failed to reuse any of them.

Strangely, I have not gone to Subway in at least one year. I simply do not like the place anymore. Wha' happened?

I remember when Subway opened in Garfield Heights, Ohio, and it was an exotic and tasty locale. I would go there with my pals Jason, Kevin, Alex, Doug and a few other sandwich hipsters, and we'd revel in Subway's fresh ingredients. I typically got a Spicy Italian, while Jason got the Tuna. I was even in the Sub Club. If I would eat 10 subs, I would receive a free one. Subway, you were generous!

Nowadays, I practically prefer anything to Subway. The store just popped up in way too many places, and I somehow had a couple subs that tasted like nothing and/or air. How does that happen?

Due to extensive Internet research, I have discovered that Subway has by far the most stores of any fast-food chain in the United States. There are 24,722 Subways, compared to the second most 14,098 McDonald's. Taco Bell seems like it's everywhere, but there are only 5,674. By my calculations, there are 20,000 too many Subways in America.

Many mysteries exist in life and with Subway. What the heck is going on with this place? You got too many types of bread, man. And I still can't explain why Laila Ali was on a bag my daughters received when they got a sub. I guess she's a role model or something. But I truly don't want to promote boxing with my daughters.

My newly developed hatred for Subway has even surpassed my dislike for McDonald's. At least McDonald's is conventionally known as evil, but Subway slowly became evil, kind of like Grimace.

It's real awkward being around Subway nowadays because I caught him taking $20 out of my wallet when I went to the bathroom. OK, that didn't happen. But that's the vibe I get from this Subway character.

'The Sopranos' named best TV show of all-time

The Snooze Button Generation released its list of the top 10 TV shows of all-time today with "The Sopranos" edging out "Taxi" and "Seinfeld" for the top position.

"Obviously, these lists are uber-subjective," said Joe Stevens, Snooze Button Generation CEO and founder. "In the end, I looked at all the evidence in front of me and went with my favorite 10 shows."

Stevens went on to say that many shows people often like he never watched. Some of those include "Six Feet Under," "Breaking Bad," "Game of Thrones" and "Friends."

"I never watched 'Friends' because it hit home too hard, and I was looking for more of an escape," Stevens said. "The actors were extremely authentic and insightful, and because none of them were good looking, the show was a harsh reality of what life could be like in the mean streets of Midtown Manhattan."

Various lists exist of the top TV shows of all-time, including this one, and Stevens only watches two shows regularly now (both made this list). He conjectures that the entire Snooze Button Generation watches far less television now as that entertainment has been replaced by Words With Friends.

1. The Sopranos (1999-2007)

When James Gandolfini passed away this summer, it brought back memories of his incredible show. There has never been a more real portrayal of an American family on TV than in "The Sopranos."

2. Taxi (1978-1983)

This is the only entrant on the list that Stevens saw only in reruns. In high school, he often watched reruns with his parents before going to bed, and he found all the characters, especially Jim Ignatowski, fascinating.

3. Seinfeld (1989-1998)

Perhaps no other show says "1990s" more than "Seinfeld." The show is an institution that has many phrases (No soup for you! comes to mind) in the American lexicon.

4. Cheers (1982-1993)

Back in the day, the Thursday night of TV for many members of the SBG consisted of "The Cosby Show," "Family Ties," "Cheers" and "Night Court." Nowadays, "Cheers" definitely holds up better than any of those, and it was probably the best at the time, too.

5. Top Chef (2006-present)

The only reality TV show on the list, "Top Chef" continues to go strong and be fresh. Will it have the staying power to be on such a list in 10 years? Hmm.

6. Saturday Night Live (1975-present)

This is an American staple that, with "Top Chef," is the only show Stevens still watches regularly. The current show is good, but the new girl doing the news does not appear to get the jokes she is reading. Where's Norm MacDonald when you need him?

7. Curb Your Enthusiasm (2000-2011)

Another season may be filmed next year, but no news on that yet. Larry David's character has a handful of similarities to Stevens' deceased father, the XMan.

8. Late Night with David Letterman (1982-1993)

This show used to seem so different and cutting edge before the move to CBS. Nowadays, all these years later, watching Letterman somehow feels bizarre and foreign.

9. The Office (2005-2013)

"That's what she said!"

10. The Simpsons (1989-present)

Although Stevens hasn't watched the show in years, it seemed deserving of this list as it edged out "Entourage," "Sex and the City" and "Project Runway" for the final spot.

Tapatio man celebrates Halloween

One thing I must praise Tova about is her uncanny ability to create Halloween costumes.

Growing up, I had a moderate interest in Halloween. I went trick or treating every year with my grandfather, who dressed like an ape and gladly accepted Halloween candy throughout his senior years. That was fun, but as the years went on, I became apathetic to Halloween and costumes.

But this Tova totally is into the holiday.

For our first costume, we went as the Tapatio Man and a taco. I had been pondering who in the world Tapatio was, and Tova developed our costumes that included her as a Taco, which also happened to be what the World's Most Dependable man repeatedly called her when he met her.

Year two arrived. Because of Tova's national ranking in Monopoly (she is ranked No. 7), we went as the Monopoly man and a silver top hat. I involuntarily talked about the benefits of capitalism during my stint as the Monopoly man, AKA Rich "Uncle" Pennybags.

This year, as we will be attending a kid's party as well, we are Tigger and Pooh.

You may be saying. What is the point of this blog? Are you merely bragging about these kick-ass Halloween costumes? And, well, the answer is yes.

Happy Halloween!

My life as David Lee Roth

I sometimes feel like David Lee Roth, constantly surrounded by California girls. Earlier this week, my mom finished a stay in California, so she joined Sophie and Chloe in my manly household. Mathematically, there was only a 25 percent chance of being a male in that scenario.

As I live a charmed life, I've often felt that the worst part of my life is Wednesday morning teacher meetings, in which I take the girls to school well before it starts and then teachers pretend to care about their jobs. What annoys me, and some other teachers, is that I actually do care about my job, and each week, I ask myself if the pretending will ever stop.

Anyway, with Grandma in the mix, she took the girls to school as it started for those horrific meetings, and she did a lot in terms of overall support for my household. Thank you, Grandma! We all miss you already!

What I realize is that I have had a gender reversal of fortune with my daughters. I grew up with a brother and predominantly male cousins and male friends. My mom loved sports, too, so our household was male beyond all get out. In my current world, it's filled with feminine energy. We sometimes actually talk about our emotions.

Why do I have all these thoughts now about the ladies in my life? Well, maybe Grandma's visit helped me see that being a single dad doesn't mean my life isn't necessarily "me and the girls vs. the world." We have Grandma's support and a lot of support from family and friends. ... The only rub is that nowadays, I sometimes need some "man time."

Do I yearn to smoke cigars, drink brandy and play poker? Well, I just played poker the other day, and successfully finished in 13th place of 14 players. I'm not a big fan of cigars or brandy, but I remain a fantasy-golf addicted, Chewbacca collecting, Nintendo playing Polack.

Winning.

The James Brown Mexifest comes back!

I am officially old now as I turned 40 yesterday and celebrated the milestone with a "James Brown Mexifest."

Back in 1991, I founded the Mexifest with my pals Ryan Kenealy and Mark Schofield. The plan was simple: Eat Mexican food, and listen to the Godfather of Soul. Obviously, that is a recipe for a rip-roaring party.

Every year in Columbus, we had the Mexifest. Eventually, the party was passed on to a worthy compadre Chuck Hootman, who kept it going for a while and even got bands to play. One of the highlights of the event was hearing people in a bar talk about going to the Mexifest, even though I had no clue who the people were.

Yesterday, on my 40th birthday, my mom was in town, and my girlfriend put together a rip-roaring time. We got a taco guy and a karaoke machine. Because of my seasoned party management skills, I feel great today.

Despite my penchant for epiphanies and conspiracy theories, I have no major announcements about the meaning of turning 40. I have to accept 40, just like all aging, and I continue to cultivate salt and pepper hair. I enjoy the simple things in life - being with family and friends, having a good IPA, translating Russian literature and playing high-stakes baccarat.

I am hoping that the turning of 40 makes the James Brown Mexifest an annual event again, and there are more entries like this one about the Mexifest on the interweb.

Bohemian Like You

For five and half days this summer, I went on a Bohemian adventure, traveling to a place called Portland, Oregon, and tasting quite a few of well-crafted beers.

I've always been fond of Portland because of its idyllic urban planning and the idealism of many of its residents. I'm a dreamer, at heart, and it's nice to kick back there and have antiquated conversations about indie rock and conspiracies.

Another major reason I like Portland is the Polish Falcon himself, Matt Kalinowski, who is not only Polish, but a close friend who I have known for years. He puts up with my constant psychobabble for days on end, and we like to compete in various games of skill and chance, including Ms. Pac-Man.

I proudly got the high score on Ms. Pac-Man. However, Matt beat me 11-7 in pool during my stay there. He went berserk on the final day by winning five consecutive games to recover from a 7-6 deficit. All I could feel about those five games was this: Ouch!

I often return from Portland with major, deep insights on life and this time around, realize that the city's Rose Test Garden is absolutely gorgeous. I think that simple things, good IPA's, healthy food and having the arts in my life all make me happy. I saw some music with Matt, and his roommate, Ben, turned me onto Shakespeare in the Park. My main cultural push in Long Beach is fantasy golf, and it would be nice to have more of the arts in my life. Why not?

Of course, many Portlanders may not have known what to make of me. Although I may conform slightly in Oregon, I refuse to dress scuzzy and involuntarily snicker every time I smell someone wearing patchouli. I cannot explain my patchouli snickering because I have no anti-hippie sentiment. Perhaps it just makes me feel like a hip teenager — and I like that.

River burns; Sophie and Chloe thrive

One of the highlights of my life is my annual two-week summer trip to my own personal nirvana, Cleveland.

Why is Cleveland so spectacular? Well, besides its vibrant economy and championship sports teams, I have a lot of important family and friends there, and I feel most at home there.

My itinerary was so jam-packed of goodness that I must list some of the highlights of what I did.

July 1 — Sophie, Chloe and I arrive in Cleveland. We examine the best Top Hand (pinball) scores in the history of the game. I somehow scored more than 8,000 about 15 years ago. I try my best to do better than that on the trip, and the best I score is 5,982.

July 2 — Daytime: The World's Most Dependable Man and I haul four children ages 8 and under to downtown Cleveland. Ultimately, the grit of the city is not as kid-friendly as I had hoped. Evening: Chloe has her sixth birthday party on her actual birthday with many key family and friends and a defeated piñata.

July 3 —By this time, I had tried various Great Lakes beers. Burning River, most likely, is my favorite, although Commodore Perry is in the running.

July 4 — Sophie and Chloe witness their first-ever Fourth of July parade at Chippewa Lake. I scold my girlfriend for using the term "white trash." Chloe goes "tubing" on Uncle Ed's boat. We then spend the rest of the day in Westlake at Fred and Judi's. There are fireworks at night, but the real fireworks come when J.T., Neal and I throw Fred into his newly purchased pool.

July 5 — I finally get some lone time to check out some cool Cleveland stuff. I beeline to the House of Horrors, where three ladies were held captive as slaves for many years. I remark how close it is to my high school, St. Ignatius, and the glorious Great Lakes Brewery. I, obviously, go to Great Lakes and another brewery across the street. I even meet up with my friend Doug at the world-famous Harbor Inn.

July 6 — Jack turns 7, and we bowl and celebrate his age.

July 7 — The Stevens family celebrates Ed and Amy's 25th anniversary at Medina Country Club. Afterward, my mom, Fred, Uncle Bob and I play at Medina C.C. The girls enjoy a day at Chippewa in which Sophie goes "tubing."

July 8 — Sophie and Chloe see their first Cleveland Indians game. It rains for nearly the entire game, yet it is played. The Tribe, who I predict will win another World Series in 2048, lose in extra innings to the Detroit Tigers. However, the Tribe does not allow ace pitcher Max Scherzer improve to 14-0. He stays at 13-0, which is still the best start in Major League Baseball since 1986.

July 9 — Sophie, Chloe, Jake and Ellie and I visit The World's Most Dependable Man in Cleveland Heights to slip 'n' slide. It is awesome!

July 10 — We hit up Geauga Lake's Wild Water Kingdom. This is doubly awesome! Unfortunately, a tornado warning closes down the park only about two hours into our fun. Bummer. We then go to Kim and Ron's, where they have an at-home movie theater. The kids watch "Annie."

July 11 — Afternoon: Grandma and I play "The Buzzard's Nest," five holes of golf at Hinckley Hills Golf Course, with Sophie and Chloe with us. Both of the girls actually drive the golf carts. Night: Three-fourths of the original wolf pack unite as I meet up with Jeff and Cato. Dave cannot make the commute for a full reunion because North Carolina is slightly too far.   

July 12 — Fred, Carlos, Neal and I play Sleepy Hollow. I have one of the worst rounds of the last year. Oh well, I try to impress the boys with my new-found golf skills, and I try too hard. It happens.

July 13 — Day: We fish in Hudson. Jack and Carlos actually catch a fish. Evening: Grandma treats Sophie, Chloe, Jack and Ellie in a group of 10 to "The Lion King" at the State Theatre.

July 14 — The girls, Grandma and I visit the XMan's grave site. We conclude the trip by having fun at Fred and Judi's with the kids having fun in the pool.

What does all of this mean? Well, I enjoyed my childhood in Cleveland, and I want to give my girls a taste of what I had. Of course, they got a full-blown, mega-awesome childhood out here in Long Beach, California, with me. But a Tribe game for the first time? A water park? Chippewa Lake, and hardcore Grandma time? This is so good for them — and me. We're talking about the girls spending time with people who I, and them now, deeply love. Yeah, man, deeply love.

As a side note, some of the important adults in our lives were going through difficult times in Cleveland, and, most likely, that was hard on everyone who knows them. But I subscribe to many philosophies, and one key one is that my girls are my happy pills. Spending time with them in Cleveland likely will be a highlight of my life for the next 10 years, and after those 10 years, the Tribe only will be 25 years away from their championship.

Who am I to blow against the wind?

How am I supposed to feel on Father's Day? Sadness is a conventional answer. But others might say happiness because I will be with Sophie and Chloe today, and they are my happy pills. As a human being, my feelings are much more complex than that.

Miraculously, this is my third Father's Day without the XMan, and I majorly miss him. I've heard that time heals all wounds, and I have accepted the fact that he is gone. However, the XMan's death was my personal "tsunami," and anyone who's had a true profound loss may have an inkling of the overwhelming involuntary feelings one might have on, say, Father's Day.

One thing that tears me up is my newfound addiction to golf and the fact that I can't play with him. I guess every round I play, and every stroke I take, is a homage to him. I've advanced enough in the sport to play bogey golf, and there are a handful of things I do on the course that he did exactly.

One of those things is to frequently say the phrase, "Roll your buns off." I also harpoon the flag stick off the green, if anyone takes it out and leaves it on the green. I also make a crude comparison if I ever see a player putting with a golf glove.

So what is going on is that I am spending my third Father's Day without a father, even though he would be only 65 today. Obviously, the possibility of this occurring three years ago never entered my thoughts because the idea of it would be outrageous.

I spent 12 years going to Catholic school and numerous masses, and like approximately 95 percent of the people I know in my demographic, I don't go to Church now and can't accept the Catholic church's antiquated social positions. I have no clear-cut answer of what I believe in regards to spirituality, but I do live by my Jesuit high school's motto: "Men for others."

The XMan is with me everyday. If you want to call that spirituality, that is fine, and I understand that all of us have deal with things we don't want to. I am only one of 7 billion people on this planet. Who am I to blow against the wind?

Walk like a fireman. Eat like a chick.

During my Cousin Steve's yearly visit to California, we discovered a mantra that we plan to follow forever: "Walk like a fireman. Eat like a chick."

Raging fires are something that I rarely encounter, but if I did, my reaction would be, "Holy crap! We got to get a hose and put out that sucker!"

However, if you've ever seen real-life firemen, they do not run to the fire. They calmly walk, then they do their jobs. Hmm. Yeah, it's true. It's smart to stay calm in all situations, even though it can be hard.

An aside about firemen is this: I am certain that there is no profession that is universally liked by females more than firefighter. To women, fireman are "the hottest guys out there, no doubt." I am unsure what profession men think has the most attractive ladies, but they might pick models or actresses or something way more superficial than firefighter. That may once again prove how un-classy many dudes are.

Anyway, to "walk like a fireman" is only half the equation (equation is yet another word with all the vowels in order, although facetious has them all in order and starts with a consonant!), to "eat like a chick" is the second half of Steve and my secret to success.

Many guys eat like drunken, cannibalistic cows. They overeat meat. They have a disregard to vegetables. There is even a show titled "Man vs. Food."

No, no, that type of diet will doom us as a male race. Steve and I have discovered that we must "eat like a chick." Many a time, I have found myself at a fancy restaurant, in which I order bloody meat. The girl, in turn, orders a sensible salad.

Steve and I are adjusting to our newly found mantra. We are walking like firemen, and we are eating like chicks.