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Though the home team won, the night was perfect and the company was good, last night’s Yankee vs. Red Sox game was a snoozer. Objectively speaking it wasn’t a particularly interesting game to watch. I do prefer a pitching duel or even a hitting barrage by both teams.

Not that I’ve attended hundreds of games between these non-rival rivals but, this was the most civil Yankee vs. Red Sox game I ever seen. The few incidents that did occur were minor. There were no really lewd remarks by fans of either side, and the usually drunk New Englanders stayed home. Not even the Yankee fans jeered at those wearing Red Sox clothes.

I admit that I like reading about the Red Sox. It’s not because I am a fan--far from it--but because the writers, newspaper communists and bloggers all have that combination of hope and impending gloom. They seen this script too many times already—a good start, followed by a summer fade and maybe a feeble run at the end of the season.

Cheese fries from Yankee Stadium are good, but I think it’s because the fries themselves are quite tasty, and not because the cheese is anything special. First of all, the cheese is a weird shade of orange. It doesn’t look like cheese—even Velveeta looks more appetizing, and looks like it glow in the dark. Then, the cheese is never warm enough. I think if you breathed on the cheese, that would make it warmer. Or that the workers assume the cheese gets warmed up by the fries, or that one flickering sterno can heat up the entire can in 2 seconds.

I have this image that this orange cheese comes from this huge gallon sized steel can.
The label is mostly dark brown, and on the front is a picture of the cheese in a white bowl. The nutritional information table reveals that this can of cheese serves approximately 112 people, has 80 calories per serving, and has no vitamins at all except 2% of the daily value of Calcium. The cans are packed six to a case in a perforated cardboard box with dark brown lettering.

The one redeeming quality of the Yankee Stadium cheese is that it’s salty, and that it is good with a cold beer.

I called my brother Mike today because I forgot how to make San Diego style fish tacos. He called me back a few hours later and told me that he kicked ass on his Dental Admission Test (DAT). On the one hand I felt bad because I forgot that he was taking them today, but was of course ecstatic that he scored well.

We’re strangely close though eleven years apart and on opposite Coasts, and I am not ashamed to say that I am quite proud of him right now. He did better than me in high school and college—and I didn’t do too badly, though in my defense I barely studied, especially when compared to my nerdy hall mates and my brother Mike. I have no doubt that he’ll do well in dental school either.

I’m glad that I don’t have to take any more school exams, but there are certain people in my life that I feel constantly test me. I’m not saying this in a bad way mind you, and it’s not that they are testing my friendship, my parenting skills or my behavior in a WWJD? sort of way, but at times I do feel that I’m taking an exam that doesn’t end. As is generally the case, my “exam” is easy when I know what’s being asked, but difficult when I am just clueless as to the subject matter.

I have friends who “grade” themselves in life. The grading isn’t always objective—some of it is just “am I keeping up with the Jones’?” but I do concur that we should be grading ourselves constantly. So, looking back over this weekend, I know I let some friends down and deserve an “F,” but I give myself an A for tonight’s fish tacos.

We saw Madonna on Sunday night and the concert was fun but too short. She was playing for approximately 90 minutes, and the crowd was burning up and into the groove. But then the show ended and it was just over. No encore. I was so deflated because I was waiting for some of my Madonna favorite songs like, “Open Your Heart,” “Borderline” and “Ray of Light.” Instead, she sang John Lennon’s “Imagine.” I admit I was singing along but it was boring and trite.

These feelings stayed with me on Sunday night and Monday morning. But after some thought I’m just mildly disappointed now. My benchmark for musical concerts is Bruce Springsteen, who plays for 3+ hours. However, I will admit that moving around the stage with an overbite isn’t nearly as tiring as all the dancing that Madonna still does well.

June 17’s are not kind to the Capios. On 6/17/03, my pregnant wife became sequestered for what became a 115 day vacation at Cornell Hospital. Of course, it was for the best—she had a trouble free pregnancy and the twins are pretty cool.

On 6/17/04, the storms killed our electricity to our well pump. So we had no water since Friday morning. It’s finally back up, after visits by two plumbers, one electrician, Con Edison and spending approximately $1,000.

Having no A/C, as we did before we remodeled our house isn’t a big deal. You sweat during some hot summer nights, but when you open the windows, you can hear nature and rustling leaves. I actually find it quite relaxing.

Having no electricity, as long as it is for only a few hours isn’t a big deal. We have flashlights, lanterns and lots of candles that have been given to us throughout the years as Christmas gifts. The house looks mysterious, enchanting and (gulp!) romantic.

Having no satellite TV is not annoying. I still have almost 20 books that I have to start reading. We also plenty of DVD’s that need to be watched, including the second season of Three’s Company and the third of Cheers!

Having no high speed internet access is annoying, but using dial up every now and then is fine. I get much too much spam anyhow, and you can still IM. Hehe.

Having no food in the refrigerator doesn’t bug me either. I am about 8lbs heavier than last summer so skipping a meal won’t kill me. But if Mirry does make me do a food run, I get to drive my car, hopefully with the top down blasting 80’s music.

Having no phone isn’t a big deal either. No telemarketers will bug me exactly at dinner time. How does that always happen? And my mom can’t nag me about something. Hehe.

But having no water just sucks. No showers, no toilets for the adults, and limited cleanings for the twins. Yikes! (A side note: when Mirry and I were dating for approximately two months, I invited her to my parents house for Thanksgiving. I didn’t shower for three days. Why did she marry me?) Anyhow, I am not the most compulsive hand washer, but even I need to wash my hands every now and then.

Anyhow, I propose that June 17 be taken off the calendar. If that doesn’t work, how about making it like February 29th, so we only have this day every four years?

My in-laws left yesterday morning--back home to Florida. So no more weekday golfing, fishing and day games for me in the near future. I’m sad on the one hand, but I did miss doing things with the kids.

One thing they noted while caring for MJ and CA over the last three weeks was that they don’t like peas. That surprised me. I’ve not found them to be picky. So, naturally for their lunch, I reached for the “dreaded” jar of peas.

Of course, I had a few tricks up my sleeve. I didn’t gorge them with Cheerios and formula in the morning as we normally do. Instead of singing Korean songs to them, I cranked up my iTunes and sang 80’s music to them. Cheese goes with peas! But then again, who wouldn’t like to hear “You’re the Inspiration,” “Kyrie,” and “Only the Lonely” during lunch?

During my niece’s first birthday party, which was held at an all you can eat Japanese buffet, I mentioned to my relatives on my mom’s side, the Siazons, that I would be willing to host this year’s Christmas party.

The last three have been held at Chinese buffets in Jersey City, South Plainfield and Fords, New Jersey, and quite frankly they have sucked. Please note that I am not complaining about the food. My cousins and I have all expressed disdain for what is becoming a Siazon tradition. Even my father does not like this and has pleaded futilely with my mom to host it at her house.

The response from my aunts was surprisingly universal. Out came, “Oh, it’s too much trouble with the twins,” and “It’s a hassle to cook and clean up.” I pleaded for about 10 seconds, and told them, “I don’t care if we have to cook and clean. We can order in if you want. I just want Christmas to be in a home. Going to a Chinese buffet is NOT a 2000 year old Christmas tradition. ”

They sat in silence but stood firm. My mother said that they, whoever “they” are, already found a place in Parsippany NJ. It ended with me telling them that I was going to boycott the Christmas party (again). I know that my cousins and I are being selfish in some regards, and I know it is a grey rainy June morning, but I am not looking forward to Christmas this year.

As the “Freddy C” anchored in the False Hook Channel, I dropped my line into the water, scanned the horizon and was momentarily taken aback by my surroundings. My expectations for today were low when I was home loading the car. It was hot, humid and no hint of wind—not ideal fishing conditions. The drive down further depressed me. There was more traffic than I expected--welcome to the Jersey shore! I made it with time to spare but a friend of a friend was lost, delaying the entire boat for 15 minutes longer.

But it was now dusk, and a lot more comfortable with the ocean breeze blowing inland. To my back was Sandy Hook itself. Fishermen were scattered along the coastline casting into the surf, which was just audible under the clanging bell buoys. Through the haze you could see the silhouette of two guys lounging in a boat approximately sixty yards away. Both stood up suddenly—one of their rods was bent. Fish on!

To my left was a large dark green expanse with lights scattered about. Flanking both sides of it were two bridges, the Raritan and Verrazano. “It,” I deduced was Staten Island, and it even looks majestic tonight. You could barely make out the Manhattan skyline behind the Verrazano but it was there. To the right, you could see Coney Island’s Parachute Jump and the Rockaway Bay Bridge.

Now I wanted to see a striped bass, preferably on my line. The action picked up and several people started reeling in fish. One of my friends, Greg, caught a striper, his first, and his largest fish ever. I was happy for him, but determined to get one for myself. I left my friends on the crowded starboard side, which housed the Staten Island, Manhattan and Brooklyn view.

Only a handful of us were on the port side of the Freddy C and about 10 minutes passed when the frenzy started again. One, two, then three people were now reeling in fish. I was irritated until I got a bite. I fought off the urge to start reeling for a second by cranking down the drag. Then I set the hook.

I started reeling as fast as I could, but the fish was spunky and swam into another guy’s line. We were tangled but close to the boat. The deckhand netted the fish with two people seeking to claim it. The deckhand pulled out the hook and my red bead was just above the hook. I was elated inside and the deckhand asked the now disgruntled man, “Is this your rig?” His reply was truthful (don’t feel sorry for him—he ended up winning the $500 pool).

As I carried my fish to the cooler where my friends on the starboard side, a few celebratory beers cans were thrown into my face. I took the one offered by Greg who said while toasting, “Now we can enjoy ourselves.” Though my hands were clammy and now fishy, the lukewarm beer was simply refreshing.

I baited my line again but as we later discovered, the major action was over. A few fish were caught every now and then, but nothing like the past hour. At least my brother got one.

Near home while crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge, I noticed an illuminated commuter train streaming right above the Hudson River, and an orange crescent moon dangling over Irvington. I glanced quickly to the south, feebly looking for Sandy Hook and wondered when I would catch my next morone saxatilis.

Why are professional golfers in this age of technology, charged with keeping their own scores? I understand honor and integrity is part of golf, but is addition part of golf’s test also? I’m not for coddling athletes but other athletes don’t have to track their own scores.

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In football, they should outlaw spiking the ball to stop the clock. I’m talking specifically about when the QB hikes the ball and throws the pigskin on the ground before he drops back. I know this rule change may cause one of my teams a victory in the future, but I can live with that. I understand that teams are maximize under the given rules, but that “play” is just plain stupid and does not jive with intentional grounding rules which are also vague at times.

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In hoops you get to advance the ball in certain time out situations. You should have to inbounds the ball wherever the player with the ball is when time is called. At least the NBA changed the rules for calling time out when one is falling out of bounds.

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Baseball started inter league play. Yawn. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to it, and understand this is marketing MLB style, but it’s just not a big deal. Though the American League has the DH, which I don’t like, the leagues play the same game—baseball.

Maybe when the New York and Chicago teams play their city rivals that is exciting but is anyone THAT excited to see two last place teams, the Expos and Royals, play (besides Lynn, the biggest Expos fan)?

How about that historic match up of the Padres and Red Sox? Fish tacos wins over baked beans every time IMHO. Pedro vs. Wells may have been intriguing, but that is mostly because of Wells’ previous association with the Bronx Bombers.

My Lakers got lucky again thanks to Kobe’s 3 pointer with 2.1 seconds to go. But the Pistons should have fouled Shaq on the inbounds. What were they thinking? I guess they were shocked that he even touched the ball. I know I was. Phil Jackson is a great coach—under rated even, if that is possible for someone with his credentials.

But I don’t believe the hype--the Lakers are not that good (though I still think they will win the Finals) and the Pistons are not that bad. If this Piston team stays together, the Pacers, Nets and other rising East teams are going to have to get better next year.

I wish Hudson Hills golf course, which is only 2.9 miles from Camp Capio was a lot farther away. This isn’t sour grapes because I play badly on the front nine. I was 17 over but three of my shots worth six strokes including penalties were due to unfamiliarity with the course. I recovered and shot a more normal (for me) 8 over on the back side.

I’m upset because even though the course was empty on a hot humid Tuesday, they would not let me go out by myself. I had to wait for almost 50 minutes until I was allowed to go out. They didn’t even warn me that the greens were recently aerated when I first checked in. At least the guy I played with was very nice.

I’m upset because I (as have others) have waited for a long time for this course. It was supposed to open way back in 2000. It many ways the course still needs work. Grass would be nice, as would a few directional flags, and rakes in the bunkers. Could they make the fairways and greens harder? I watched several shots of my shots hit the center of the green and then roll off despite using a lofted iron or wedge. I watched two balls bounce off the fairway, through the rough and out of bounds.

I’m upset because they went over budget and the course is poorly designed. There are challenges to the landscape with protected wetlands and formidable hills. You could probably made a great 14 hole golf course. But the layout now has too many oddly laid out and non descript holes. None of the holes “wow” me. Many holes on the back nine are simply dangerous because they are too close and run parallel in opposite directions (OK, it’s slicers like me that make the course dangerous, but still the design is terrible.) They also don’t allow walking on this course.

I’m upset because the par 5’s are just terrible. You have no idea where to drive the ball on the second (aim for the right side hills) and 10th holes (fade it around the large dead tree). The 7th hole is scenic from the tee but a disaster from the fairway. Just use your 190 yard club for the first shot of the 15th hole, then bust out your 270 yard club for the second shot, which by the way is uphill.

I’m upset because the clubhouse is underwhelming , unless “modern asymmetrical institutional” is IN, and I don’t know about it yet. At least they are taking off the lead paint off that “inconspicuous” water tower. Excuse me, but are those power lines functional? There is no driving range—only a net. WTF? The net at Cha’s house is better!

I’m upset because they charge too much. I know golf is expensive but $65 on weekdays and $75 on weekends is too much. It cost me $5.25 for a Gatorade and a hot dog. Am I in Yankee Stadium? This course does not compete with similarly priced semi-private courses. I’d rather play Mohansic or any other of the Westchester county course twice for the same amount of money I’d pay to play at Hudson Hills.

I’m upset because I believed in the hype. I’m upset because some of my friends have not played Hudson Hills and want to check it out. So, I’ll probably have to re-live playing on the worst premium golf course I’ve ever played on.

My replacement baby bike trailer is here (way to go REI!) and fully assembled though not without problems. There was an un-cut bolt, which interfered with the spokes of the left wheel. DOI!

My bolt cutter solved that problem though, and the bike trailer is ready to go. The cool thing is that the trailer is very conspicuous—it is yellow and purple! Los Angeles Laker colors! Wahoo!

However, both kids are not 100%--thanks to slight fevers and diarrhea. Plus, while it is just gorgeous outside right now. It ain’t going to last. Tomorrow is supposed to be colder and wetter. GRRRRRR!

CA's first trip to a baseball game at Yankee Stadium was almost as shaky as Jose Contreras’ last outing, which didn’t last one inning. Before we departed Camp C, CA was well fed, rested, and clean. There was no traffic to the stadium, and the weather was picture perfect. I got my preferred parking spot—right near the exit.

We weren’t able to find her a baseball hat that she liked. All were too big, which isn’t surprising since she has the C head. Several scalpers approached us, but we were already at the box office. We contemplated bleacher seats but CA didn’t want melanoma so we got semi-shaded seats in section 8. We entered the stadium a few minutes early to avoid lines. We ran right to the beer lady who laughed so hard when I asked for a nipple for the beer bottle that she almost spilled it.

People around us thankfully gave us space and CA had her own seat. CA started out blazing, “singing” along during the national anthem. I was watching her closely and she stood up in her seat but was facing backwards—not the best way to see a game unless Contreras is pitching.

As I started shelling peanuts and drinking beer, that must have pushed CA's hunger button. So I placed her on my lap and alternately fed her formula and pretzel. CA settled down and seemed sated, until the top of the fifth inning when she barfed all over me. The barf hit me better than major leaguers hit Contreras. Miraculously, she didn’t barf on anyone else. I had plenty of baby wipes to clean both of us, and CA settled down to watch the rest of what turned out to be a decent game.

She was tired by the end of the day but she gutted it out. Note to George: pay CA $32 million instead of Contreras to “watch” the Yankees.