Worst Day of My Life

Have I reminded you lately that the Phillies won the 2008 World Series? They really did. And even better than just winning a World Series - they won one that is going to be talked about a lot. It included a game with a 50 hour rain delay. ESPN will be showing video of the rain soaked Cole & Company for the rest of my life. I'm still giddy.

The Phils winning the Series was fantastic. Not the greatest day ever, but fantastic nonetheless. I actually do not have an answer for the favorite day of my life. I encourage the Song of the Summer's most faithful players to enter suggestions. However, I do have an answer to what was the worst day of my life. Or more correctly, the worst day of my life that makes for a good & funny story.

I was in my junior year at the University of Delaware. For months, one of my roommates had been pestering me about going skydiving with him. I was in. I was young; given my youth, you may correctly infer that I was an idiot. I knew other idiots. We went off for a great time. Reddog, K-Pan, Coffee (the experienced one), and I headed towards Lancaster, PA to jump out of an airplane.

We were not interested in a tandem jump. NO. We wanted to take our first step towards obtaining our skydiving license*. We took a class. We signed waivers. We were put into a Cessna with all its seats (except the pilot's) ripped out. We were brave. The testosterone flowed. The jumpmaster opened the door. I was coaxed out the door and soon found myself using the strut of the aircraft as a pull up bar at 3000 feet. The bravery was long gone.

*I'm still on step one.

I know what you are thinking, but I was supposed to be hanging from that strut. It was part of the plan. We were all doing a static line jump where my only responsibility was to depart the aircraft. The static line attached to me would handle pulling out the parachute. The jumpmaster gave me the thumbs up which meant I was to let go of the strut. I too showed him a finger, but in my zeal this caused me to start my free fall.

The chute opened just fine. This is not that kind of story. What didn't work so well, was the steering. We had all been instructed that we were not conditioned to steer in 3-Dimensions*. I understood and respected this advice and was fully prepared to follow all the instructions that were to come out of the one-way radio strapped to my chest.

*That car you drive doesn't reallly change it's vertical state - I hope.

At first this informational system worked great. Using the groud based instructions, I found a nice line to the airfield and settled in for a relaxing float towards Earth. Around 500 feet I thought I had a problem:

I think I'm headed directly for a parked plane!

No instructions came from the radio man & we had been warned that our brains would trick us. "Do what the guy on the other end of that radio says." So I did nothing. At about 100 feet off the ground I fully re-entered my vector computational comfort zone & I was headed directly for that parked plane. My momentary glee over knowing I am capable of personal 3-D spacial relations was highly tempered by my fear of that large, immovable bundle of aluminum & steel.

Still no communications from that one-way radio. I couldn't wait any longer. I decided not to hit that plane, so I turned right. You pick up speed when you turn while under canopy. So now I'm going faster & I was about to reacquaint myself with the Earth's crust. And so I did.

My feet come immediately out from under me and my bum slammed down hard onto a taxi-way. I slide across that taxi-way and another 40 feet on the infield grass. I wanted to get up. I was happy that my legs worked just fine, which was important because I was hopping mad. Coffee does a great job of keeping me away from the delinquent radio man. And after about an hour the adrenaline started to wear off. I know how long it took, because that's when the pain set in.

I had broken my ass. My coccyx bone. And now I couldn't step forward three inches without shooting pain. Fortunately we had a nice bumpy, back road, 1.5 hour drive to campus. It hurt. I hurt. I bought an 8lb bag of ice and settled down on chair. In about 3 hours and 27 minutes, I would feel even worse.

That is when Joe Carter hit a three-run tater off Mitch Williams to defeat the Phillies in the 1993 World Series. Me. A broken ass. And a World Series defeat. Saturday, October 23, 1993 is a day I'll never forget. And probably the one day I have been asked to retell more than any other.

I didn't break my ass in October of 2008. Phils: when you make it back again, I promise not to jump out of any planes. That formula is working better for us.

Boondoggles in the Age of Mercantilism

I'm in New Orleans (actually Belle Chase, LA). On Friday I'll be flying to Delaware*. Given the quantity of good food, live music, and the magic that is Delaware in December; you might think that I'm on a boondoggle. Why would you say that?

*Of course I'm not flying directly to DE. I'll be touching down in Baltimore and making my way north via I-95. Could someone please make the New Castle County Airport a commercially viable airport? That's all** I want for Christmas.

**I actually want quite a bit more. Like everyone else I lied a little when I made the grandiose statement.

You said it, because people love to say Boondoggle. Please take a minute to say it out loud. Did you say it more than once? Of course you did. It must be one of ten most satisfying words/phrases* to say out loud. Do you know what a boondoggle is? I've never bothered to look up a definition of the word in a proper reference compendium. My connotation is that a boondoggle is when someone takes a business trip for primarily personal reasons.

*I don't have a top ten list put together, but when I do I guarantee that Mercantilistic Idealisms will be on that list. Why? I'm so happy that you asked.

Mercantilistic Idealisms: One of my favorite high school compatriots, Stan Brunson, used this as his stock answer to any geopolitical question that might come up in Economics, Political Science, World Studies, and sometime even Physics. I think Stan enjoyed the confused look on our Physics teacher's face when he'd answer a question about free body diagrams with "Mercantilistic Idealisms".

Mind you, I don't think this answer was ever correct - even when were studying mercantilism during Political Science class. The key to the entire answer wasn't to get it right - it was generally to lighten the mood and get a laugh. If Stan was answering Mercantilistic Idealisms, then the chances were good that no one knew the answer. It was straight deflection & a bit more polite and engaging than "We don't know already; can we move the class along?"

If you want to try this at home, the delivery is also highly important. The first thing you need to be is 6'7". The second step is to lean back in your combo desk/seat with your hands behind your head and your feet halfway across the aisle. The third step is confidently answer "Mercantilistic Idealisms" and grin like you might have just said the most important thing of the decade.

By the way, I think I made up the part about Physics class. But I want to believe (it really isn't inconceivable) that he may have used this answer in Physics class. Stan may have also only used this answer about five times in four years of high school and I may have been the only other one that found it funny. But I still do.

It is my contention that the number of boondoggles actually taken are at least a factor of ten less than the number of times you hear the accusation of a boondoggle. (Remember this post is about boondoggles.*) I don't have sound math behind that number, but I know people love to accuse others of being on boondoggles. I think it is primarily because people really like to say the word.

*That sentence made me think about Arlo Guthrie's 'Alice's Restaurant' and now I'd just like to take a second to wish you a belated Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you had a meal & then a second meal that just couldn't be beat.

However, I don't want you to stop. I like saying boondoggle as much as next guy. Go ahead - accuse me of being on a boondoggle all you want. Just don't be surprised when I answer your question about the purpose of my trip with: Mercantilistic Idealisms.

Eight Nights without Air Conditioning

It's August. I live in Houston. And I've just spent eight straight nights sleeping without air conditioning. How did I do it? I left Houston. Problem mostly solved. The first four nights were spent in Wilmington, DE. Delaware may not get national pub about it, but August in Delaware is usually a hot & humid affair. I caught four great evenings - starting on August 24th. It was down right chilly for August standards. I was crashing at Toad's condo and I was happy to see the windows open. Sleeping with windows open has not been a reality for quite a while down here in Texas.

Of course, I was pretty darn giddy to be back in Delaware. But I was leaving Houston just when it became cool for a minute to be from Delaware. I didn't get to answer one Joe Biden question. Oh well. I had bigger fish to fry - and I did. I got to see Brad & Denise's new (to them) home; eat ribs out the new Turner smoker; caught up with my cousin JamesT; ate some Korean bulgogi in Newark, DE; and finally got to reconnect a bit of Wilmington.

But that was all before I Wednesday night. That is when I got to attend a proper Wednesday Night Crew (WNC) outing at the WNC International headquarters: the Washington Street Ale House. I was joined by el P, Bugs, Agent J, the Admiral, and the official hairstylist* of the Song of the Summer. How could life have been nicer? I was in Wilmington, DE; enjoying a Dogfish 90-minute** Pale Ale; and hanging out with some good friends. It was 11pm & I had a flight to catch at 7am in Philly - so I was now ready for bed.

*It should be noted that I don't actually use the official hairstylist of the SoS to cut my hair. She's much to expensive and talented for that trivial of an endeavor. However, if you need a proper quaff near the 19806 zip code, let me know.

**90-minute is simply my favorite beer. Delaware's little Dogfish Brewery has been getting pretty darn big. I know that their 60-minute Pale Ale is on draft all over the place here in Houston. But 90-minute is harder to come by. It'll be available in a 4-pack at your favorite place to buy beer (I suspect). And the 90-minute is the official beer of the WNC. But that's a tale for another time.

That is always when the Big Fizz* will say, "Let's get cheesesteaks. Mike doesn't have access to cheesesteaks. Let's go" So up I-95 North I went with Jayesh & Fizz. Straight to Pat's "King of the Cheesesteak". Turns out; the kid living in Texas is the best one for directions. Turns out I was also the only one waking up at 5am. And after the cheese whiz goodness, I was starting to stare at 1am.

*The Big Fizz is the most nickname-able of all my friends. Maybe of anyone ever**. His real name is Larry, but you'll hardly ever hear that. He's known as Toad & The Big Fizz*** primarily. But you'll also hear him called Two Hands, Mom-mom little fat boy, Lil Thome, and a few others. But I stick with Toad & Fizz and have no reason for skipping between the two. It just happens.

**Maybe that title should go to Idi Amin or Shaq; but aren't most of those titles/nicknames self-prescribed for shameless self-promotion. That cannot count. But I did get Toad, Idi Amin, & Shaq into the same thought - and that's got to count for something.

***If you ever get a chance to greet Big Fizz, the proper way to greet him is to say "Big Fizz" and then follow that immediately with a louder "Big Fizz". Like this: "Big Fizz, BIG FIZZ!" You'd be surprised how much fun this is.

And I did wake up at 5am. OK. I didn't. I got up at 5:20am -- and now I was late. Getting showered and throwing the PJs into the suitcase took me to a little before 5:40am. I was about 20+ minutes to the Philly airport. I needed to drop off the rental* car. Somehow I made it through security and onto my Continental flight.

*Never rent a car from Thrifty in Philadelphia. They are not "on airport" as they claim. They are nice 10 minute ride away. I didn't need that.

I don't recall taxi-ing or take off or a beverage service. I woke up on the descent. The girl next to me had just spilled hand lotion on my pants. Maybe it was turbulence. I don't know. All I knew is that she had a look of horror. I'm assuming she thought I'd take my pants off and throw them at her. I didn't. That didn't even occur to me at the time. I scooped the lotion and now possessed moisturized hands & pants - in a good way.

I needed 'em. I was off to Houston; to stay for about 4 hours. Then I went straight back to the airport bound for Denver & my next four nights of air conditioner free sleeping. Dry Denver. Moisturized pants were key. If you haven't been, Denver, CO is a great town. It seems there are few people that share this opinion, but as far as I know it didn't become a cool place to live until about 14 months ago. That's when my friend Katie Gaston moved there. I'd never been to Denver before: mainly because there was never a Katie there before. So I believe it may have just become relevant.

Katie & I & Katie's carnival of WNC-Denver* groupies tripped up to Steamboat Springs for a couple of nights of camping and soaking in hot tubs. The exact joint was Strawberry Park Hot Springs. The epitome of luxury camping. I was a luxuriously priced anyhow. My share for two nights was $70 -- and there were six of us! But the campsites were great. Really fantastic.

*Katie is straight kicking my butt by starting a wildly popular branch of the WNC in Denver. Good form Post Master General.

However, I had been lead to believe I was car camping. So had Katie. We were car camping, except the car was a solid 1/4 mile hike up an 80° gradient. (It may have also been only about 5%.) That may not have been that big a deal, except we had the car packed with about the same amount of stuff I had when I moved into my freshman dorm room*. It was car camping. You are supposed to bring luxuries. We did.

*My freshman door room number was 000. How cool is that? Answer: its cool. The best part is that the school's directory could not comprehend a 000 room number. So my name was listed in the directory with the number for the pay phone in Cannon Hall. I was incognito. If you can get your hands on 91/92 UoD campus directory you'll find "Mike Lennon / Cannon Hall". That's right. I owned Cannon Hall. I wouldn't mind having it back - I could walk to the ACE Delaware office.

However, there was a considerable payoff: lake sized, natural hot springs. Lake might be a bit on the embellished side of things, but the pools were big. And they were oh so nice. Plenty of temperature settings to choose from. There were hot water falls. It was a pretty fantastic experience. And the upshot to camping there, is that you were only a 5 minute stroll from camp to the pools. On top of that, campers were allowed to hang out in the pools until midnight. It didn't stink. It didn't stink one bit.

And we enjoyed those hot springs until about 3pm on Sunday when Katie & I took the 3+ hour drive back towards Denver and the Red Rocks amphitheater. We took a little brief stop to admire the Continental Divide*. And then we found our way to Morrison, CO. Parked the Golf and walked up the 836 steps to get into the amphitheater. Red Rocks is a must see venue - that's my official stance anyhow. When Katie moved to Denver, I decreed that I would make it to a show this summer. We settled** on Gov't Mule.

*This was my second trip to Denver, but I did not get the Rockies properly the first time. So this was actually my first time ever in the American Rockies. It wasn't my first time in the Rockies though. Somehow I made it to the Canadian Rockies before I saw the home grown version.

**Other contenders were Willie Nelson, Yonder Mountain, and Mark Knopfler.

Gov't Mule put on an insane concert. This being Warren Haynes that much was expected. But this being Red Rocks, Mule was up for having a lot of fun. So I got to hear great Gov't Mule tunes {"Soul Shine", "Beautifully Broken"} and they played ridiculous covers: The Beatles "Dear Prudence", Black Sabbath "War Pigs", Doors "When the Music's Over", and Buffalo Springfield's "For What its Worth". It all added up to a show that was easily worthy of being one's first Red Rocks experience. Oh, and Umphrey's McGee kicked some serious fanny as well.

That's where I've been. Now I'm headed off to bed in air conditioned bliss. Good night Denver. Good night Delaware. See you soon.