Leaving For NYC

Sorry, I’m a lackadaisical blogger lately. I have lots of stuff in mind that I want to write about and intend to write about, I just haven’t had the time to do so. You understand, don’t you? Nod head yes.

I will say this now though...

I'm all for things that are different, out of the ordinary and stand out from the crowd. But if I ever catch someone painting their beautiful Brooklyn Brownstone an awful shade of putrid pink, I’ll shoot you on site. No questions asked. Just know, you had it coming to you.

FYI...it’s called a BROWNstone for a reason. And it's a historical part of NYC. Just leave it brown, jackass. It’s the equivalent of painting over or covering up an interior exposed brick wall in your apartment! People who do this sort of thing are the same type of people who can’t appreciate a Monet painting. To them, Monet just looks like a paint-by-numbers page pulled out of their 5-year-old kid's watercolor book. I’m not saying you have to love Monet or even like Monet, but have some respect. The same rule applies to a Brownstone. I don’t care if you love it or hate it, but it deserves a little respect. Painting it pink – not so respectful. It just makes me cringe.

Go ahead and clean things up and make your living space more modern, but for the love of God, please PLEASE leave the architectural character intact. It's what makes NYC, NYC. I can feel my Grandfather rolling over in his grave at just the mere thought of painting over a Brownstone or an interior exposed brick wall. And don't even get me started on carpeting over wooden floors that can easily be brought back to life with a little TLC.

Ok, I'm done ranting and I promise not to get my panties all in a bunch next time. And yes, I do realize that I sound flaming gay in this post. I swear I'm not. I just come from a family of architects and it pains me to see "crimes" committed against beautiful architecture, especially in the city I heart so much.

British Invasion, Part 7: Gotta go to Mo's!

British Invasion, Part 7: Gotta go to Mo's!

It all began one day last March with an incredibly moving comment left on my blog by a young woman in England named Emma grieving the loss of her fiance to DMD. E-mails, instant messages, and webcam conversations ensued, and we quickly became the best of friends. Soon after, Emma met Gary and I became friends with him as well. Not long after, Emma and Gary began making plans to visit me here in Philadelphia. This is part 7 in a series chronicling their visit...

What would a trip to America be like without a visit to...Walmart! Yes, my friends insisted that they would not leave the country until they had been to Walmart, so that was our destination today. They found a few bargains there, but they seemed to enjoy Modell's Sporting Goods even more. Now, when they return home, they'll be able to start a sports fashion trend with their Phillies gear. That, and they'll be singing that catchy "Gotta go to Mo's!" jingle in an English accent!

Our final stop was for lunch at Wendy's. In America, we have the fast-food holy trinity of McDonald's, Burger King, and Wendy's. Apparently not so in the U.K., where there are no Wendy's. Let's just say my English mates enjoyed their BIG meals!

Then, it was time for my friends to pack their bags. I couldn't let them leave without sampling one more Philadelphia delicacy: the Italian hoagie, so I ordered a couple for the road.

Saying goodbye was not easy. The past week was the greatest week of my life. Although I was home, it felt like a vacation. Now, it's time for life to return to normal. But there's always next year, right Emma and Gary?

British Invasion, Part 6: Tuesday in the Park

British Invasion, Part 6: Tuesday in the Park

It all began one day last March with an incredibly moving comment left on my blog by a young woman in England named Emma grieving the loss of her fiance to DMD. E-mails, instant messages, and webcam conversations ensued, and we quickly became the best of friends. Soon after, Emma met Gary and I became friends with him as well. Not long after, Emma and Gary began making plans to visit me here in Philadelphia. This is part 6 in a series chronicling their visit...



Few places offer better views of the Philadelphia skyline than Fairmount Park's Belmont Plateau, so today's tour began there. We then got back in the van and crossed the Schuylkill River and headed to one of my favorite spots in the entire city, the picturesque Fairmount Waterworks, which was the first municipal waterworks in the country when it opened in the early 19th century. For lunch, we ate at the posh Waterworks Restaurant and Lounge.

We were all stuffed after lunch, but there's always room for, uh, well Dunkin' Donuts. Looks like I've created a monster, as my friends wanted more iced coffee! The food fest continued later, as Emma and Gary treated us to Chinese food for dinner.

Is it possible to be exhausted from eating? If so, I am!

British Invasion, Part 5: It's Comcastic!

British Invasion, Part 5: It's Comcastic!

It all began one day last March with an incredibly moving comment left on my blog by a young woman in England named Emma grieving the loss of her fiance to DMD. E-mails, instant messages, and webcam conversations ensued, and we quickly became the best of friends. Soon after, Emma met Gary and I became friends with him as well. Not long after, Emma and Gary began making plans to visit me here in Philadelphia. This is part 5 in a series chronicling their visit...



Can you believe that's a giant high-definition video wall in the lobby of the newly-opened Comcast Center? That was the first stop on our tour of Center City Philadelphia today. Called the "Comcast Experience," the wall measures 83 feet wide by 25 feet high.

After experiencing that, we made our way down John F. Kennedy Blvd. to LOVE Park, where Emma and Gary got a photo with Bender from "Futurama". Crossing the street, we went through the courtyard at City Hall, the largest masonry building in the world, which took 30 years to build!

Next we made a quick detour at Dunkin' Donuts. There's one on pratically every block in America, but apparently none in the U.K., so my friends just had to try one of DD's iced coffee concoctions.

Then we went to the Loew's Hotel, formerly the PSFS bank headquarters. and took an elevator up to the 33rd floor, where we caught a breathtaking view of the city.

Our final destination on this day was the historic Reading Terminal Market, where I introduced Emma and Gary to that famous Philadelphia delicacy, the cheesesteak, at Spataro's It was love at first bite. Even I, cheesesteak connosieur that I am, have to admit it was one of the finest sandwiches I have ever consumed.

Before signing off for the night, I'd like to give a shout goes out to Brad over at PhillySkyline.com for his assistance in putting together today's itinerary.

The Perfect Apology

I’m good at saying sorry. I’m bad at forgiving. The ability to give forgiveness. It’s perhaps my biggest fault, this I know. I don’t forgive easily and I rarely forget. I hold grudges. And I’ve done it far too often and far too long. In the past I have held stupid, pointless, meaningless little grudges that seemed so petty once I stepped back and really thought about it. I’ve allowed someone’s actions and words to eat away at me. That certainly isn’t healthy. You can’t heal and move forward with a happy life if you consume yourself with past wounds. Wounds I’ve allowed to sit and fester. And even when time begins healing them all on their own, somehow I have a way of picking at the newly formed protective scab and reopening the cut. It then begins to bleed and gnaw away at me all over again. Why do I punish myself like that? Or the better question is...why do I allow others the power over me so I can punish myself like that? If I had just forgiven them long ago, we wouldn’t even be indulging in this topic. I wouldn’t be pointing out my biggest character flaw. I wouldn’t be standing naked on this (virtual) stage proclaiming that the naughty F-word to me is really "forgiveness". I wouldn’t be telling the world something that I rather they not know about me, but surely will discover themselves if they get to know me well enough. Yes, it’s true. I suck at forgiving.

We all know it’s important to forgive in life, but of course there are always exceptions to every situation, like toxic relationships. I think in those cases, forgiveness is next to impossible. You just need to separate yourself as far as possible from them, cut them out of your life if possible. Although sometimes forgiveness needs to be given just for your own peace of mind. You need that emotional weight lifted off of you in order to trudge thru the rest of life. For me, the key is to separate myself from the types of people that don’t add to my life, but rather take away from it. I choose to surround myself with positive people that are understanding and supportive in times of need, rather than those that take advantage of my momentarily lack of strength and pounce on my weakness as if I were prey being thrown into a hungry lion pit. If I sound bitter in saying that, it’s only because I’ve experienced it firsthand and on more than one occasion.

Lately, I find myself constantly being reminded about the lessons Dr. Randy Pausch, my CMU professor, has taught me. He has really made an impact on me, not as much with the lessons he has taught me from a book, but life lessons themselves. It’s those small bits of advice and those short 3 minute stories that make you stop taking notes and actually look up and take note of what he’s really saying. He has a way of driving a message home that makes me want to be a better man, to be like him. He once spoke on forgiveness, saying...

An apology has three parts:
1. I'm sorry.
2. It was my fault.
3. How do I make it right?
So many people skip that last part, but that's how you can tell sincerity.

He makes a very good point. And I think the reason why I have trouble forgiving is because I do not feel someone’s sincerity. Sincerity to me is huge! I just don’t know how you can have any type of relationship with anyone without it. I think because I question people’s sincerity, I also find myself second guessing them. Are they really sorry? Do they really care? Or are they just saying this because it’s a formality? If an apology isn’t truly heartfelt, then it’s probably best not to even bother saying sorry, or at least that is how I feel. It’s like when you’re a kid and you accidently knock another kid on his butt at the playground. Your Mom tells you to apologize for hurting him. You say sorry, but you don’t really mean it. You say it because it’s the right thing to do. You’re told to do it. It’s a formality. Sure it’s insincere and not heartfelt, but at that age, it doesn’t really matter because we are merely miniature robots running around and running into one another. We have yet to develop compassion for another human being. So we have yet to experience sincerity.

I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character and I can usually see right thru a person as to whether or not their words are heartfelt and sincere. With that said, sometimes I don’t think you need those 3 parts to a good apology – I’m sorry, it was my fault, how do I make it right. As long as you are sincere in how you apologize, that’s all that really matters. Because if you are sincere in asking for forgiveness, it most likely will be given. How could it not be? Think about it. If you are sincere in saying sorry, then it goes without saying that you are also admitting fault and wanting to make it right. I don’t think we should ever PROMISE to never hurt someone again because that is not realistic. We can do our best to not hurt them and promise we will never hurt them intentionally, but to promise you’ll never mess up again is promising perfection. And who is perfect? Who is without flaw? God knows I am flawed and far from perfect. But I am willing to admit when I mess up. I am willing to do whatever it takes to right my wrong. Like I said, I am good at saying sorry, but learning to forgive is still a work in progress for me. My inability, or rather ability, to forgive was tested this weekend when she said...

"...the forecast said tomorrow was a perfect day for apologizing, groveling and making out at the winery."

Tell me, how am I supposed to stay angry and upset with a girl that apologizes like that and looks the way she does? It’s nearly impossible...and she knows it. Yeah, I’m a sucker for a pretty girl with a sweet and silly inside. And because I don’t question her sincerity for even a split second, I forgive her completely. I’ve even forgot! I guess there is hope for me afterall. I DO have the ability to forgive and forget. She’s just made it easier for me to realize and do just that.

British Invasion, Part 4: Meet, Greet...and Eat

British Invasion, Part 4: Meet, Greet...and Eat

It all began one day last March with an incredibly moving comment left on my blog by a young woman in England named Emma grieving the loss of her fiance to DMD. E-mails, instant messages, and webcam conversations ensued, and we quickly became the best of friends. Soon after, Emma met Gary and I became friends with him as well. Not long after, Emma and Gary began making plans to visit me here in Philadelphia. This is part 4 in a series chronicling their visit...

My friends were only away for one day, but I truly missed them. So I was more than happy to take a ride to central New Jersey to pick up Emma and Gary at the train station after their New York expedition.

For the rest of the day, we, uh, ate! First, we stopped at my aunt and uncle's, where we had drinks and ate some delicious appetizers -- and I autographed their copies of my book, with the assistance of my lovely English secretary! When we got home, the food fest was on, as friends and family came to meet my English friends and to have a hamburger and hot dog in their honor.

This visit is going fast. It will be over before I know it. But I'm having a great time and I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts...

British Invasion, Part 3: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

British Invasion, Part 3: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

It all began one day last March with an incredibly moving comment left on my blog by a young woman in England named Emma grieving the loss of her fiance to DMD. E-mails, instant messages, and webcam conversations ensued, and we quickly became the best of friends. Soon after, Emma met Gary and I became friends with him as well. Not long after, Emma and Gary began making plans to visit me here in Philadelphia. This is part 3 in a series chronicling their visit...



When I first began exchanging e-mails with Emma and I told her about my love of sports, she expressed a desire to see a "proper" baseball "match" one day -- and to eat a hot dog while doing so. I promised her that if she ever made her way to Philadelphia, I would take her to a game and get her that hot dog. Well, she did, and tonight, I did!

With a clear sky, pleasant breeze, low humidity and temperature near 80 degrees, you couldn't ask for a better night for baseball -- except for a Phillies win! On the Sound of Philadelphia Celebration night, the game began on a sour note when old Phils' nemesis Vladimir Guerrero stepped to the plate in the top of the first and impaled the hometown team with a two-run homerun. It didn't get much better, as the Phillies offense could not muster much against Angels' pitcher Ervin Santana and the Angels hammered the Phillies' pitchers all night. It wasn't pretty.

The final score was 7-2. Normally, I would have been less than pleased about that. But my English mates had a great time and that was really all I cared about. "Hey, at least you got to see how the game is played," I told them.

"Yeah, the Angels showed how the game is played!" said my nurse.

All in all, though, it was a fun evening. And, of course, Emma got her hot dog!

With my friends headed to New York City tomorrow, Winheld's World will take a break. See you Sunday...

British Invasion, Part 2: Shop (and Eat) 'Til We Drop

British Invasion, Part 2: Shop (and Eat) 'Til We Drop

It all began one day last March with an incredibly moving comment left on my blog by a young woman in England named Emma grieving the loss of her fiance to DMD. E-mails, instant messages, and webcam conversations ensued, and we quickly became the best of friends. Soon after, Emma met Gary and I became friends with him as well. Not long after, Emma and Gary began making plans to visit me here in Philadelphia. This is part 2 in a series chronicling their visit...



When I got up this morning, Emma and Gary had already been up for five hours! So they were more than ready for our first expedition -- to the King of Prussia Mall. To give you an idea of how much I love shopping malls, it took visitors from 4,000 miles away to get me to go to the largest mall on the east coast.

As I was a King of Prussia mall virgin, we met up with my friend Kimi, the "queen" of King of Prussia, who knows everything there is to know about that mall. We sent Kimi, Emma and Kimi's nurse on their merry way, and Gary, my nurse and I went shopping for manly stuff -- electronics, sporting goods stores, etc.

We all reconvened a few hours later at The Cheesecake Factory. This was also first visit for me, and I'm afraid it might not be the last! At least I won't have to cross an ocean to get there. Emma, a self-professed cheesecake lover, on the other hand, will! Let's just say that we all ate well. My English mates couldn't believe the portion size of our meals. The only negative part of the day was that the unfinished slice of chocolate cheesecake that I took with me melted on the ride. Thank you, Philadelphia in the summertime!

British Invasion, Part 1: The Big Day

British Invasion, Part 1: The Big Day

It all began one day last March with an incredibly moving comment left on my blog by a young woman in England named Emma grieving the loss of her fiance to DMD. E-mails, instant messages, and webcam conversations ensued, and we quickly became the best of friends. Soon after, Emma met Gary and I became friends with him as well. Not long after, Emma and Gary began making plans to visit me here in Philadelphia. This is part 1 in a series chronicling their visit...

I woke up this morning, excited that after 10 months of anticipation, I was finally going to the airport to pick up my friends. It was a good thing I got there early because the short-term parking lot closest to the international terminal could not accommodate my van's raised roof. We had to park two terminals down!

As I sat there in the international arrivals area, I started getting nervous. I had known Emma and Gary for many months and talked face-to-face with them via webcam, but would it be awkward when I actually met them in person? When they emerged through the sliding glass doors and Gary waved at me, I felt relief and excitement. My nurse and I went over to greet them and it wasn't awkward at all. We started talking and it was like we had picked up right where we had left off. As we headed for the van, they recounted being detained by customs over a box of strawberries!

We took the long way home to avoid traffic and to show off some of my favorite places in the city, like the boathouses along Kelly Drive. As we drove along, my friends munched on authentic Philly soft pretzels. I even remembered to bring mustard!

"These pretzels are fantastic!" Emma exclaimed. "We don't have anything like them in England." Indeed. Neither does the rest of the United States!

When we got back to my house, my friends were exhausted. It was 5 p.m. in Philadelphia, but 10 p.m. in England, after all. I was amazed that they were able to stay up at all, but they made it until about 8 p.m. I hope they sleep well because we have a busy day ahead of us!

Slings And Lampshades Are Sexy

I can’t say the last few weeks of my life haven’t been eventful. Actually the last few weeks of my life have been filled with tiny tragedies, nothing earth-shattering or life changing like the loss of a loved one, but a handful of small little setbacks nevertheless. Perhaps it’s just a string of bad luck that is running thru my family? It shouldn’t be a shocker because the whole country has fallen on hard times with a struggling job market, a bad economy and the daily surge in gas prices. It’s no wonder people are having problems. They say when it rains it pours. And there have been times in the past where that quote has rang true. However, I can’t say the last few weeks have been horrible! They just haven’t been peachy.

Don't worry, he's not dead.
He's just overly dramatic when it comes to
photographing him when he's sick.

In just the last few weeks, 3 surgeries have occurred in my family. My 4-year-old niece, my 88-year-old Grandma and let’s not forget my 1-year-old beloved Bulldog have all gone under the knife. My niece recovered in less than a day, my Grandma needed 2 days and my puppy...well I’ve been nursing him back to health for an entire month now. During this time, my Mom managed to wreck her car. And out in California, my sister nearly went into premature labor, 3 months early! She is now "sentenced" to strict bed rest for the remaining of her pregnancy. Gee, sounds like fun, fun, FUN! Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I smashed my body into a metal pole last Thursday night while racing my crotch rocket. So like I said, life hasn’t been peachy, nor has it been a bowlful of cherries.

So the good news is that obviously I didn’t die since I’m here to tell the tale. However, I did dislocate my shoulder and tore every ligament possible surrounding it. Dislocating it wasn’t the painful part, "relocating" it back to its proper position was! If I was a girl, I think I would have actually cried - it hurt that bad.

You can see why I drove my Mom crazy growing up. She was always on me about flying off skateboard ramps without pads on and basically just doing things that made her extremely nervous for my safety. But it's fun! What's the point of being young if you can't live a little? Ok, well I'm not exactly 10 anymore, but I'm not ready to pull up a rocking chair and retire just yet. Is it bad that I once had a girl that wouldn't date me anymore because she feared I would end up killing myself racing? I guess she had a point because I nearly did die in a motorcycle accident a couple years ago, but that still hasn’t stopped me from riding and racing. I say you only live once so you might as well make the most of it. I’m going to have fun and die with a smile on my face.

I guess I kind of deserved the injury. I was getting impatient waiting to race, so to entertain myself, I decided to fly around a parking lot that had a couple strategically placed light poles. I would cut around one of them and sort of slide/drift my bike - hard to explain. On one of the laps I had too much speed going into the turn and didn't lean the bike hard enough, which meant it was about to slam sideways into the metal pole! I couldn't let my precious bike take a hit like that, especially after I did tons of custom carbon fiber body work to it. So I did what any perfectly insane, crotch rocket loving, human being would do. I threw my body into the pole instead and absorbed the 40mph hit. Hey, it protected the bike from getting even a scratch! I say mission accomplished.

I didn't hear anything snap, crackle, pop like a bowl of Rice Krispies, but it was pretty loud out so I’m not sure I would have heard anything. It didn't even hurt that much at first, just sort of knocked the wind out of me. Being the stubborn person that I am, I sucked it up that evening and never went to the hospital. I didn’t see it as an emergency since there weren’t any bones protruding from my skin, although I couldn’t lift my arm. I’ve had stingers before and I was hoping this one would go away by morning. The next day I started to wonder if I had cracked my collar bone or had more serious injuries. After much nagging from a few female co-workers, I checked myself into the hospital after work and later was sent home in a sling.

I’m told slings are sexy, true or false? Or at least that is what she told me to make me feel better. I look like a total dork with it on. And just look at my poor puppy! He has to wear a lampshade (AKA e-collar) on his head. The two of us together is just pathetic. We look like a couple of battled war heroes. I’m beginning to think we need a babysitter to watch over us. I suppose we could turn this to my advantage and use the pity to pick up girls. Although that seems really slimy to pimp my puppy and myself out. Besides, I think that pick up method of "arm in a sling" was already used by Ted Bundy. Yeah, that’s not the type of first impression I want to make.

Father's Day Feast

Father's Day Feast

Last year, my father and I began an annual tradition of spending Father's Day together. Instead of throwing our money away at the casinos in Atlantic City, as we did last year, we stayed closer to home and went out to lunch at a restaurant specializing in Russian cuisine. It was only fitting, in that my father has introduced me to all kinds of foods over the years.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at home in front of the TV, watching the Phillies -- something else that my father introduced me to many years ago. Unfortunately, they literally threw the game away, thanks to a fielding error by Tom Gordon and lost to the St. Louis Cardinals, 7-6. Just as Father's Day is an annual tradition, so too is losing in Philadelphia!

Don't Be THAT Girl

Enough said.

Like Old Times

Like Old Times

Not unlike many other people, the beginning of college was an awkward time for me. I wasn't sure what people would think of me. I found out on the first day of my first class (physics) as an undergraduate at Temple University (physics), when a pretty girl came right up to me and introduced herself. Not exactly something that happened to me every day! Her name was Krysta and it turned out that she was a student in the same department as I was. What impressed me most was that she didn't even seem to notice my wheelchair.

I don't remember a whole lot from that physics class, but I do remember all of the conversations I had with Krysta about the Philadelphia Flyers. We stayed friendly after that semester, but soon after graduation, we lost touch.

When I was writing my book, I was able to reconnect with Krysta, who had moved across the country, and interview her. We've stayed in touch since. Today, after nearly eight years, we met in person, and it was just like old times, only without any annoying professors interrupting us because it was time for class to start!

I know I had a wonderful time. I just hope it isn't another eight years before we meet again because I'll be seriously old by then!

Grood

Grood. Grood? Grood! What the...

I’m usually cool, calm and collected when meeting a girl. It is rare that a girl rattles me and I become tongue tied or trip over myself, but as much as I hate to admit it, it has happened before. I’m told I can be quite the charmer. Although I can also be quite the idiot. I’m usually pretty smooth. And it was going smoothly until I closed with "grood". Any idea what "grood" is? Apparently it’s the made-up gibberish that comes from my mouth when I clumsily try to say "great" and "good" at the same time. It is combined to give you "grood". So much for my smooth talking ways.

Yes, I know what I MEANT to say. Don't taunt me, Google.

I couldn’t recover from it. It came out loud and clear. Grood – she heard it. There was no mistaking what I said. Usually when I make a total jackass out of myself, I don’t try to cover it up. Instead I draw more attention to it by making fun of myself. Afterall, what else can you do? Everyone knows you just did something stupid. And everyone accidently does stupid things from time to time. It’s what makes us human. It’s what makes us real. So why not just embrace your stupidity and laugh at yourself? Besides, they are going to be laughing at you anyway so you might as well join them.

There was a movie called "Mean Girls" that stared Lindsey Lohan. In the film, she was invited to a party by a boy she had a crush on. During the awkward encounter, she accidently said "grool" (a combination of great and cool) in response to his invite. Needless to say, she felt like dying. However, that was just a movie. It didn’t really happen. It was all scripted and she was just a high school kid. Sadly in my case, my life isn’t scripted and I’m not some dingy high school girl. I’m a grown man with an unscripted life who managed to curb his random rambling, but can’t seem to escape painful pitiful moments. According to UrbanDictionary.com "grood" is actually a slang word. They claim it’s a mixture of both "great" and "good" used by the Cheerleader in Teen Girl Squad. (Ah, who?) It’s seems to have originated from a spelling mistake. Oh great. We already know I can’t spell, but what’s even worse is that I can’t even speak properly now!

I’m definitely a guy that tries not to take himself or life too seriously. I have no problem being the target of playful teasing. I’m always a good sport about it and I can take what I dish out. I like to laugh and I like to be surrounded by people that make me laugh. I find the more I laugh on a daily basis, the better I feel, the happier I am. There’s no doubt that laugher is a great ice-breaker, but if the ice is already broken and "assanity" (another word I just made-up that means the state of being an ass) ensues, then what? Is that a deal breaker? I’m not the type of guy to use a line to pick up a girl, but I do believe in a good closure. So if I close the conversation with the word "grood", is that a deal breaker? Let’s face it, it’s the last thing she will remember me by – the guy that says "grood". Ugh. Humiliation.

As soon as "grood" passed my lips, inside I immediately yelled at myself..."You stupid idiot! You just blew it!" For whatever reason, I froze. Instead of making fun of myself and poking fun at an embarrassing situation, I just stood there like a total moron to further humiliate myself. I couldn’t believe I just said what I did. I bit my bottom lip and closed my eyes for a second, like I was absorbing a good swift kick to the nuts. Outside it may be 90+ degrees in the sun, but inside, my body felt like it just reached a sweltering 150. When she turns and walks away, I WILL be kicking myself, hard and repeatedly.

However, to my surprise, she paused for a moment. She didn’t turn and walk or run away. She too bit her bottom lip, but unlike me, she didn’t do it to cope with the humiliation. She did it to hold back a giggle that was on the verge of busting loose. Her lip biting quickly parted to form a sweet little smile. Was that the look of compassion on her face? I was waiting for her to be a smartass and say "it was grood meeting you", but she didn’t say that. Instead she gave me a playful slap on my arm and slid her hand down towards mine before pulling the pen from between my fingers. "Here, let me give you my number. Just in case."

Is it possible she found my "assanity" endearing? I didn’t have to ask for her number. She just gave it, offered it out there as if I didn’t just say the word "grood". Perhaps my embarrassed flush cheeks made me cuter to her? Or maybe she just found pity upon my stupid mouth. Whatever the case may be, I know that women tell their girlfriends everything! So it’s only a matter of minutes before she gets a hold of one of them and cracks up about this. The ridiculing will mostly likely open up with..."Hey, I met this really grood guy today." Or "Hey, I met the biggest jackass today." I'm sure people will not let me live this down so I might as well embrace my stupid mouth.

I like to think my mistakes and flaws give me character - make me unique, adorable and loveable. But some may now argue that they only make me borderline retarded. Mama says think before speaking. I should take her advice and avoid being another social casualty. Although this time, it still managed to work out rather grood.

In Memorium

In Memorium

My life would not be what it is if not for my family and friends, so it was with great sadness to learn a few weeks ago of the passing of my great-uncle, Francis Winheld. Tonight, I attended a memorial service commemorating his life. Gregarious and full of life, my uncle cared about the important things -- his family and friends, his faith and his community. He also knew how to cook a tasty pot of mussels, a fond childhood memory of mine from summers spent at the Jersey Shore.

Having dealt with various health issues, he gave back by visiting hospital patients going through similar ordeals, including yours truly. I guess you might even say that my uncle and I were cardiac buddies! When I had my defibrillator implanted three years ago, I didn't know anyone else with one -- except for my uncle. Not long after the surgery, he hopped a plane from California and was with me as I celebrated my 27th birthday.

Just a few months ago, he surprised me at my book signing. Above is a picture from that day of my uncle, my aunt, and me. That was the last time I ever saw my uncle. If he had not made the trip I would not have had the opportunity to see him. Amazing how life works.

A Similar Path Once Taken

Since I continue to hate my writing as of late, I’m not going to write today. Instead, let’s take a journey back in time to a post I wrote roughly 2 years ago. The topic of being deliriously happy and not settling until you find that came up again today. So it made me rethink some things and take a look back in the old Bloggy archive at my own words. It was then that I stumped across this...

3/13/06 - Staying Open To Being Deliriously Happy

I think it’s a worthy read. Something to take a second look at. To reflect back upon and think about your own life as it stands right now.

If I were SATC’s Carrie Bradshaw, I would be looking for..."Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love." Maybe that is a bit much to ask for, or maybe not. And maybe it’s a bit much to ask to get swept away, to levitate, to sing with rapture and dance like a dervish. Then again, maybe it’s not?

I’m just looking for a girl that would be the best part of my every day. That it’s impossible to wipe the smile off my face at just the mention of her name, the very thought of her. That I’ve become deliriously happy and my confidence grows when she’s near me. Do you think that’s too much to ask for?

I’m No Hemingway, But...

In college, I read "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare", not an easy task. And upon completion, I can't say I'm a fan of the great Shakespeare. I was never asked to study Hemingway. So perhaps the reason he isn’t a favorite of mine either is because I am ignorant to most of his work. However, despite that fact, I am aware that Ernest Hemingway is considered the most influential writer of the last century. So it comes as no surprise that his words continue to be quoted even today. He also continues to inspire writers both young and old.

It’s not a fancy quote. It lacks luster and shine. It’s not even that poetic, but yet conveys the message perfectly.

"My aim is to put down on paper, what I see and what I feel, in the best and simplest way." - Ernest Hemingway

It’s how I write, or at least strive to. And I couldn’t have said it better.

Pretty And Not So Pretty

This weekend we learned a few things. Pittsburgh Penguin hockey fans won't go down without a fight...or at least won't go down without thousands of fans cheering so loudly that they lose their voices the next day. With my team down 3-1 in the Stanley Cup Finals, we head back to Detroit tonight in a must-win situation against the Red Wings. I hate to say it, but it doesn't look good if you are a Pens fan. I'm going to keep hope alive, but I'm also going to prepare my boo-hoo hanky just in case.

This weekend we also learned that it doesn't tickle to fall off your sportbike. Well, I already found that out a couple years ago when I totalled my Ninja after being struck by a drunk driver. But for my buddy Rob, he got an unwelcome reminder about how unforgiving asphalt really is. (And no Mom, that is NOT my back. So you can relax now.)

I give you road rash...or what I have nicknamed "Rob rash".