2 Places, 1 Time

Jason Bay is a major league baseball player.

A highly paid major league baseball player.

Last year he signed a four-year deal with the New York Mets for a guaranteed $66 million.  (Could be up to $80 mil for five years.)

Jason Bay is also a dad.

Three times.

He became a dad for the third time just a few weeks ago.

I know this because it made the news.

Not so much the birth part.

But the... “Jason Bay, the New York Mets’ starting left fielder, has gone on paternity leave and will miss at least Tuesday night’s game against the San Francisco Giants” part.

It turned out that he missed two games.

Two of 162.

But this was an excused absence.

He was on “paternity leave”.

That’s a new policy where a major league dad can get up to three days of “guilt free” leave.   The team can replace the player’s roster position for those days.

So everyone wins.

Except the team.

The Mets lost both games while Bay was gone.

Mets Manager Terry Collins doesn’t sound like a big fan of the new policy.

“Twenty-five years ago nobody left,” according to Collins. “Yada yada yada, blah blah blah... I’m sure the wives are happier.”

Well he didn’t say the yada part.

Or the blah part.

But it was pretty clear to this cub journalist where Collins sits on the new school vs old school fence.

Now as someone who was at the birth of all three of my children.

And wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I can understand where Bay was coming from.

And Texas pitcher Colby Lewis.

And Washington shortstop Ian Desmond.

And any of the future players who will take advantage of this new policy.

But as someone who can’t afford for any of my fantasy baseball players to miss any more games, I can understand where Collins is coming from too.

The bottom line is, as hard as you try, you can’t be in two places at once.

It doesn’t work.

I’ve tried.

And so have my kids.

A few weeks ago my daughter had tryouts for her high school dance team.

High school dance!

Is there anything bigger than that to a 14-year old incoming freshman?

Apparently there is.

On the same day as those tryouts my daughter had qualified for the State Championships of her Science Olympiad.

That’s a competition with categories like “Disease Detectives” and “Microbe Mission” and “Ornithology”.

Words I can’t even pronounce.

Or spell without spell check.

But my daughter can.

And she qualified in three different events.

And as much as she LOVES dance, she said the decision was easy.

It was her responsibility to help her team.

And in doing so, she ended up winning a gold medal.

And in doing so she missed her second day of tryouts for dance.

And in doing so she made the freshman dance team.

Instead of the JV or maybe even Varsity.

Now sometimes you can use a little creativity to be in two places at one time.

For example, last week my son had his first middle school dance.

A big deal.

Even if he wouldn’t admit it.

On that same night, someone had given us tickets to see our local major league baseball team.

Also a big deal.

So I quickly did the math and figured out that we could get to the stadium when it opened up.

See about an hour of batting practice.

Grab a hot dog.

Or two.

Watch an inning.

Or two.

And then get down to school for the last hour of the dance.

Which is exactly what we did.

Best of both worlds.

It probably helped the cause that my son caught a ball during that batting practice.

But these two places/one time dilemmas are not unique.

In fact, we’ve got a big one coming up next week.

You see Wednesday is my daughter’s graduation from middle school.

Bring your kleenex box.

Our schedule was set up perfectly so we could all attend.

Enter Mother Nature.

You see my son’s baseball team was supposed to play eight games last week, including a major tournament.

But rain washed away five of those games.

Well the first of those rain outs has been rescheduled.

For... Wednesday. 

Of course.

The same day as my daughter’s graduation.

Take a guess where my 12-year old son wants to be ... his sister’s middle school graduation or hitting third in his baseball game?

If you said graduation.

You are wrong!

I asked my daughter how she felt about this.

And the girl who picked helping her science team over helping her dance career.

Said he should go play.

“It’s not like it’s my high school graduation.”

Fair point, I think.

So after some thinking and a couple of Bud Lights Limes.

The plan is now in place.

And it's the perfect plan.

For now.

Batter up.

Goodbye World!

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

And I feel fine.

Well it’s not quite the end of the world.

I don’t think.

Unless you believe Harold Camping.

He’s the 89-year old civil engineer who predicted that May 21, 2011 is "the day of judgment.”

First of all, who is Harold Camping?

And second of all, who is his publicist.

I’ve been writing this here blog.

Brilliantly I might add.

For the last 17 months and I don’t have a book deal.

I don’t have a movie deal.

I don’t even have a job.

This guy predicts the end of the world and everybody is talking about it.

He claims to have figured out the news from “numerological calculations” revealed by reading the Bible.

Well Harold, since you are so good with numbers.

Could you please help my eighth grade daughter with her math homework.

I can’t figure that stuff out.

Camping says there is going to be "a huge earthquake that’s going to make the big earthquake in Japan seem like a Sunday school picnic.”

Huh?

Harry -- you’re gonna have to work with me here.

You see I’m from the Jewish side of the tracks.

And I don’t get the joke.

“Sunday school picnic?”

Do earthquakes not happen on Sunday?

At picnics?

Don’t get it.

Sorry.

But I may be one of the only ones.

This big news is not only being covered by the David Lettermans of the world.

But cbsnews.com even had a 360 word story on it.

But in that story they may have uncovered a little hole in Camping’s tent.

The last line of the article read like this:

The end of the world has been predicted more than 100 times in the last 100 years. In fact, Harold Camping predicted the end once before - in 1994. This time he says he's certain.

Oh, THIS time he’s certain.

Hey, THIS time he could be right.

The line at the local self-serve yogurt store was extra long this afternoon.

Maybe,  just maybe, we were all treating it like it was our final meal on death row.

Or....

Maybe we all just like frozen yogurt.

But either way, when I got there, the line was 25 in front of me.

And when I got to the front, it was 25 behind me.

They were charging 30 cents an ounce.

Like they always do.

But with the world coming to an end, they could’ve jacked it up a lot higher, don’t you think?

Haven’t they learned anything from the gas companies?

Well no matter the price, nothing was going to stop us from that cool, delicious treat.

When I was done I had mixed together about eight flavors.

Threw on about six toppings.

And walked out of the place for under $5.

Such a deal.

Now what I really love about the place is the service.

The self-service.

When you walk in, they hand you little sample cups.

So I took about six of them.

And filled them to the top.

In my world, that drops the price to about 24 cents an ounce.

The family of five right in front of me was mom, dad and three kids under five.

Just looking to enjoy a special moment.

Before the world comes to an end.

Well seconds after the eldest child filled her cup with the key lime/cheesecake mix, disaster struck.

No, not the end of the world.

That’s tomorrow.

Today’s disaster was the cup slipping out of the little girl’s hand and falling three feet to the floor.

Yogurt was flying everywhere.

To the poor parents, it was a tragedy.

To me, it was hilarious.

I laughed so hard.

On the inside.

Hey, if that’s my final memory before the world explodes.

I’m good.

Of course there is nothing funny about the end of the world.

But here goes.

One of my closest friends has been searching for love.

In all of the wrong places.

For many years now.

He’s found more heartache and heartbreak than a Garth Brooks song.

Exhibit A -- the time he called a girl he’d been dating for several months.

She answered the phone and said, “Hey.  I just got home and I need to check my answering machine.”

“Can I call you back?”

That was 19 years ago.

Or the time he went to dinner with a blind date.

Before they could order, her phone rang.

She said I gotta take this call.

The next thing he saw was her getting into a getaway car and screeching away from the restaurant.

Or the girl that he spoke to at a party for more than hour.

And when he asked for her number, she said...

“Oh, that won’t be happening.”

His love life has been more chaotic than... a Sunday school picnic.

Until now.

About three weeks ago, he met Mrs. Right.

Well, it may be too early to give her that moniker.

But for the purpose of this blog, let’s pretend she is Mrs. Right.

(Deep down, he thinks so.)

He already has a pet name for her.

Although he won’t tell me what it is.

Good move.

My friend’s search for a lifelong companion has been a steady topic in our inner circle.

For as long as I can remember.

He once offered us five figures, before the decimal point, to find him a mate.

So when he told me a few days ago that this could be the one.

I got real excited.

And then...

... I giggled.

Seriously.

Come on, how great would it be if the man who can’t find love.

Finds love.

The woman of his dreams.

And then the world comes to an end.

Take that answering machine girl.

And you too restaurant getaway car girl.

You too Harry.

Coffee Talk

I walked into my local Starbucks a few days ago.

As I do frequently.

Way too frequently.

Thankfully I have about 25 Starbucks to choose from.

Within 10 feet of where I live.

So I have managed to avoid “The Norm Treatment.”

You know, I walk in.

The barista yells “Norrrrrrrrrrrrm”.

And a cup of my favorite beverage comes flying at me without putting in an order.

Sure, it would be nice to walk in and have them make my drink without having to ask.

But that would feel like an addiction.

I think denial is a much healthier way to live.

I usually get the same exact drink.

Large  (no made up words like “Venti” for me).

Sugar-Free Vanilla (I gotta watch my figure).

Americano.

With half hot water.

And half steamed soy.

I usually like it in the PM.

Instead of the AM.

And if it’s late enough in the day, I get it half-caff.

Why not, it’s my drink.

This concoction usually rings up at around four bucks.

I say usually because the price is different almost every time I order.

Its as inconsistent as airport security.

Sometimes they make you take off your belt.

Sometimes they don’t.

I don’t get it.

Well at Starbucks, sometimes they charge for the flavor.

Sometimes they don’t.

Sometimes they charge for the soy.

Sometimes they don’t.

Or maybe, just maybe, my order is so confusing I have figured out a way to beat the man.

One thing I do love about Starbucks is their policy of having to read your drink order out loud.

So everyone can hear it.

Usually it goes a little something like this....

We have a ..... Venti ... Soy Americano... um.. Misto ... with half...

Giggle giggle giggle.

At which point I say, is there Sugar-Free Vanilla in there?

They really love me.

Well thanks to my frequent drinker status at Starbucks, they sent me a gold card.

That gives me big time perks.

No pun intended.

I get free flavor.

And free soy.

And after every 15 orders, they send me a coupon for a free drink.

Anything I want.

My high is a $7 latte.  For free.

I don’t even remember drinking it.

But I sure did love ordering it.

I think my gold card says that I have reached Average Addiction Status.

They call me an ASS for short.

But either way, all of my discounts make quite the difference,.

Dropping my daily habit to about three bucks a day.

Cheaper than meth, right?

I try not to go to the same Starbucks two days in a row.

For good reason.

I visited the drive-thru a couple of days ago and made my order.

To which the barista responded, “hey, I remember you.”

Ouch.

I was humiliated.

No less than four billion people go to that Starbucks every day.

And she remembered ME.

I think it’s time for a little detox.

Or maybe a little more rotation in my venues.

The nice thing about where I live is that if you are looking for a Starbucks, you have a lot of choices.

If you don’t want to wait in line at the real Starbucks.

You can walk 100 yards to the grocery store.

And get your coffee at the mini-Starbucks.

I’ve done that more than from time-to-time.

A few days ago I was cruising through my old neighborhood when I stopped by my old grocery store.

While I was waiting in line to order, I noticed a picture of the barista that usually works there.

As I took a closer look at the picture, I noticed there were dates next to her name.

As in birth date.

And death date.

It turns out she was diagnosed with cancer a few months back.

And a few months later, she was gone.

Just like that.

My mouth literally fell open.

I couldn’t believe it.

It’s not like we were close.

She might’ve known my drink.

But she certainly didn’t know my name.

Turns out she was 62.

Never would’ve guessed that.

I found out she was working a full shift at Starbucks.

And then a full shift at the department store.

Across the street.

Every day.

Just to make ends meet.

I didn’t know that either.

I just knew her as the person who made my drink.