Rules According to Kevin

We all have standards and personal rules we live by. Some folks are stricter than others, some live by the rule that there should be no rules. I fall somewhere in between, with what I feel is a happy balance. Some of my rules though, have an unusual twist. Let me share:) Ever notice how some folks can say and do what they please, and don't really care if they step on someone's feelings, but when you call them on it, they feel persecuted? Those people don't realize they have feeling, until you hurt them. So I feel rule 1. Slightly hurt their feelings in return., is a good rule. Let me explain. You have helped them get in touch with their feelings, AND, if they have some form of religious upbringing, 'forgiveness' is an essential part of being devout. So you are helping them to cultivate the act of 'forgiveness'. It should be viewed as a public service. Rule 2. If it's not broke, don't fix it. This is an old one, but carries a great amount of wisdom. If your plumbing doesn't need fixed, trust me, DO NOT mess with it! Rule 3. Spanking a child is not a crime. It's not a crime, if the intent was to correct a blatant wrongdoing, and was not done to inflict pain, other than the butt. There should also be an explanation why the punishment is given, and not enforced in a moment of rage. Otherwise, a paddling does no harm, and may prevent a jail sentence in the future. Rule 4. If it belongs to me, ask before using it. Chances are, I will let you, unless you just take liberties with my stuff, then it becomes a possession issue. Rule 5. If you're born in the state of Nebraska, and happened to be reared by Cornhusker fearing parents, the Saturday football game should be watched, listened to, or attended, unless of course, there's an emergency. Every effort should be made though, to take in some form of the game, and interruptions are inexcusable, unless there's an injury or death, or something like the house catching fire. If the house catches fire early enough in the game, maybe a relative or neighbor will let you watch the remainder at their house. Rule 6. There is no sympathy if you've been warned ahead of time. There's also no sympathy if I've been through it while you stood by watching, and then you didn't pay attention to my mistakes, and made the same mistake I made. Rule 7. Don't try to sell me on the latest gimmick. Refer to Rule 2. Rule 8. I've learned this one the hard way. It's a rule my wife pointed out, and has served me well over the years. When someone shows you how they really are, believe them. Don't think that you're something special, and they will treat you differently. Rule 9. There is ALWAYS somebody smarter, tougher, better looking, and richer. The sooner you come to grips with this fact, the smoother your life will be. Rule 10. If we're not friends in 3-D world, we're not going to be friends on Facebook, Myspace, or any other social network. Friends should shake hands, not point and click.

Happy Cab Service

OK, one more Keith story, and I promise I'll stop. At least the stories won't be directly pointed to Keith, but his name may arise from time to time. Prior to being married, I had a love for cars, ... still do, but not as much as Keith. Since we were so much like brothers, there was a built in form of competition between us, just as with the case of any siblings. Keith had a hot car, (the Chevelle mentioned earlier) and I felt the need to purchase one also. Up to this point, my inner hippie prevailed, and I only drove a VW Beetle. It had its quirks, but I loved that car, and drove it into the ground. So I had the opportunity to purchase a 1975 Firebird from a relative. My first experience with somewhat of a muscle car. A couple of lessons learned here. First, don't buy used vehicles from relatives, unless you know the history of the car, and are aware of the things that may need fixed. Second, make sure you have enough money to fix said problems. So I bought the car, and it came with a set of new back tires. They were low profile and wide, just what a muscle car should be equipped with. The following weekend, I had plans to take the tires and get them mounted on my slotted mag rims - I know what you're thinking, way to cool! Instead of putting them in the garage, in my grandfather's way, I put them next to the garage between the privacy fence. There was about three feet between the garage and fence, with the eaves hanging over the six foot fence, there was hardly enough room to walk, and definitely not visible, unless you were in the yard snooping around. So Saturday arrives, and first thing on my weekend agenda is to have my tires mounted. I walk around to the side of the garage, and they're no longer there! Yes, they've been stolen. And no, I did not call the police. What's the point, they're not going to find two tires in all of Omaha. So I went about my day, mad as hell. Later that day, while doing yard work, I saw a blue pickup with side boards, drive down the alley, and pull into a garage where there happened to be a Happy Cab service. About an hour later, the truck pulls out of the garage with all kinds of tires and rims piled high, and there on top are my two tires! So then did I call the police? No, they were not going to exact my revenge and take away the rage I was experiencing. Who in the world could actually help me with my predicament? That evening, I had plans to go out partying, I mean socializing with Keith and a few of my buddies. I related my story to them, and as the evening wore on, and the influence of fermented barley took hold, it became apparent that Keith would be the perfect person to help me do something stupid, daring, bold, malicious, and unsanitary. We arrived back at our house about two in the morning, and before clocking out for the evening, we decided to stroll down the alley. In our mind altered state, we hailed a cab, and viola! There was a Happy Cab at our service. Being a safety conscious person, Keith thought he should check the tire pressure with his tire gauge, before this cab carried unwary passengers. Since it was dark, he mistaken his pocket knife for a tire gauge, and unfortunately, this cab had four flat tires. Sorry, no fares tonight. I thought I would see if the cab was locked, because I had witnessed theft in the neighborhood, and I wanted to make sure to keep the honest people honest. Because of carelessness on their part, the door was left unlocked, so I opened it. After opening it, I was distracted by the fact my bladder had expanded to ridiculous proportions, and I felt the need to relieve the pressure that was exerted on my abdomen. I had a momentary lapse of where, and what I was doing, (must have been from excessive 'socializing') and mistakenly began to use the Happy Cab's bathroom. Whoops, Happy Cabs don't have bathrooms! I didn't figure this out until I finished, and was looking for the lever on the urinal. Sorry about the dash and the front seat. One good thing came from this whole experience. I was no longer upset about losing my tires. Thanks to Keith for listening to me, and being the loving, caring, person he is, helped me through this trying time in my life.

Last Meal

I don't know what it is that draws me to a kitchen, but I like to spend extraordinary amounts of time in one. Cooking is not only a necessity if you like more than a sandwich, but for me, it's another creative outlet, and a way to make family and friends happy. Preparing food can also be an art form. Some dishes are so beautiful, you don't want to stick a fork in it. But you do anyway. The artist (chef or cook) considers complete devouring of their creation, a compliment to their display. So today I was preparing the peppers for our annual camping trip/family reunion, and thinking to myself just how much I love Italian sausage and peppers! Of course, every Italian's sausage and peppers are better than the next guy's, but I must truly say, "I like mine better than any I've ever had". And I've killed off my fair share of sazitsas! So the longer I'm standing in front of the stove, occasionally stirring my little pan of bell pepper ecstasy, I got to thinking, "This is quite possibly my favorite meal"! I think if I were on death row, this would be the last meal I request. One small technicality though ... I would have to be the one to prepare the sausages and make the peppers. I would make sure they would allow me enough time to make my family's world renown sausage, and my great grandmother's peppers, and teach someone to carry on the dish. Plus, I would have to make enough to feed the guards and executioners. I have a hard time cooking for 1 or 2 people. OK, everybody's fat and happy, let's get on with it.

The Dark Ages

Let's get back to Keith. There's a couple of more stories that cannot be left unspoken. You and I made it through the prepubescent years with badly self inflicted injuries, but they patched us up, and sent us back out into the world, to see what else we could maim, destroy, mastermind plans, and torment those who may have been slightly younger, smaller, and weak minded. So we finally make it to our teenage years. I blazed the trail for us, and was eager for you to join in the next level of stupidity, and sometimes illegal acts. You finally reached the age to drive, and you hung up the beloved dirt bike (the preferred mode of transportation and the daily frustration of taking apart and reattaching the hand brake), and you got a Chevelle for your first car. Probably not the wisest choice for someone with your level of fearlessness, for this car had some 'get up and go'! I remember you loved to race, and seemed to have a measure of success. So one day, you were invited to hang out with me and my friends at the ballpark down in Papillion, and you volunteered to drive. While in Papillion, we all engaged in some underage, illegal activity, which involved consumption. Since you were fairly new at this mischief, it didn't take long for you to feel the effects. So you wisely? gave me the keys, and I drove us around, in your car for the rest of the evening. Illegal activities are sometimes followed by 'Big Mac attacks'. So we found ourselves cruising Dodge St., and going through a drive-thru for fast food nourishment. After pulling back out on Dodge, we were immediately stopped at a red light, and next to a new Nissan Z. You encouraged me to give it a little gas to try to entice our neighbor in the next lane, to a friendly little race. I believe some rather unkind words were exchanged between yourself, and the driver of the Z. Your next action, though antagonistic, was one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed! After you were finished with the niceties, you threw a half eaten Whopper at the driver's window. He saw it coming, so quickly moved his head back to avoid two all beef patties, ketchup, mustard, pickle, all on a sesame seed bun, upside his head. His girlfriend, who happened to be in the passenger seat, wasn't as fortunate, and took the full brunt of your fastball, right in the face! The light turned green, and I floored it! There's one more story I'm going to relate, but that will be the next chapter.

Farewell!

Last night, as you know, was the last baseball game played at Rosenblatt stadium. My daughter had been mentioning it for a couple of weeks in advance, that it would be fun to attend. I had my reservations. First, I didn't really want to spend money that we should be saving, or applying to bills, or buying consumables. Second, I didn't want to battle the crowds and search for parking half of the game. And finally, the Royals aren't leaving Omaha, just leaving Rosenblatt, so I can still go see a game whenever my other obligations mentioned previously, are met. At the last minute, a friend called with four free tickets. So the game was a 'go'! I phoned another friend, and him, myself, and my kids ventured out to the ball park. Amazingly enough, we found parking rather quickly, and didn't have to walk all that far. Plus, it was public land, so parking was no charge. I immediately thought, "I need to remember this parking space for next time". Ooops, there isn't going to be a 'next time'. So we get in the gates, get our drinking privileges wrist band, turn, and get into the $1 beer line. It happened to be $1 beer night. So far, very 'econo'. Then the traffic jam! We arrived a little late, probably the end of the first inning, and it took us until the bottom of the fourth inning to get to our seats. "Forget about going to the bathroom kids"! We were enjoying the game, but my interest was directed to the surrounding people, and observing their reaction to the reality that was setting in. 'We're at the last baseball game to ever be played at Rosenblatt'! It was a night of reminiscence, awkward elation over the Royals actually winning, and sadness pulling at the heart strings. The 'diamond on the hill', which has been an iconic Omaha landmark, was soon to go down in history, only to be remembered in Cooperstown, NY, at the Baseball Hall of Fame, and the moments etched into our memories of great baseball games, and baseball players. I know it's just a game, but baseball is an American pasttime, and when that pasttime has been welcoming folks from across the country for 60 years, it's definitely going to change the complexion of Omaha and the way others now view the entrance to our city. It's going to appear we're missing a tooth or something that obvious. Following the game, on the big screen, they had commentary from baseball players who came through Omaha, they had long time season ticket holders, grounds crew members who've worked there from the age of 14 on, and, of course, Steve Rosenblatt, the son of Johnny. Fireworks followed, but prior to that, I turn to my children, and they're both crying. Now keep in mind, we haven't visited Rosenblatt all that regularly, but apparently, just enough to have a lasting effect on my children. They've been to the zoo next door quite a bit, and it was always brought to our attention from our kids, 'There's Rosenblatt stadium where they play baseball', with a sense of pride in their voice. I guess, what would seem to have been a landmark of permanence in their lives, is becoming a harsh reality that it won't be there anymore. Thus the emotional moment. The fireworks were a hit as usual, then ... it was over. The crowd, as it was exiting, just seemed to shuffle along, nobody in a hurry to leave, soaking in the final moments of nostalgia. People had smiles on their faces, but the smile just held back the tears welling up in their eyes. I witnessed that on several people. The mascots were standing at the entrance, accommodating all who wanted their picture taken. We took advantage of their availability, and the kids hugged Casey as I snapped a picture. Then we walked away. As we're heading to the car, my friend and I expressed our gratitude for actually making the effort to go. I thought, "I'm ashamed that I was not even considering going to the game". It was a wonderful evening. I was happy, sad, but most of all, proud to be a part of the whole experience of partaking in the making of Omaha history.