My friend Michelle has been getting after me to get a current posting up here. She evidently thinks that I have some profound words of wisdom or exciting anecdotes to pass along. Sorry Micky, but I don't. 

     I could babble on and on about my 4-months-old son's newest facial expressions or his "oohs" and "ahhs". I could share with you how he smiles when I come in close to steal a kiss. (It's not really "stealing" though, since I always give them back.) He IS the cutest kid ever, and with personality to spare! I tell my wife that we almost have an obligation to society to have at least a few more.

     If you ever choose to spend a Friday morning in Family Court, it really is amazing to hear the stories that unfold. Parents who live in $650,000.00 houses but are behind in their child support. Parents who are convinced that every dime that they pay in child support gets spent on anything and everything BUT the child.

     One morning, having returned home after spending the day in Court I told my son that if Mommy and Daddy ever do get a divorce, he can have all of Daddy's money and Daddy will go live in a refridgerator box. He "coo-d" when I said it, so he must have agreed with the plan.

     Of course, if you've seen my wedding picture that I have posted on this web site, you'd know how big of a fool I'd be to let my wife get away. She is my "oops-eraser". Every bad decision, dumb mistake, and wrong road that I've traveled down lead me to her. She single-handedly erased all of those bad choices. Truth be told, it was a bar fight that lead me to her, but that's a story for another time. (On the advice of my attorney!)   

     I met my wife in a dive bar in downtown Detroit. For those of you familiar with Detroit hang-outs, it was The Post. The Post is a long, narrow, smoky bar where everything is covered with grafitti (the walls, the stalls, the bar, the ceiling). Everything, that is, except the pool table felt. Whether by some unwritten rule or simply tradition, the pool table felt remains as green today as it was the day it was first laid.

     If you're in the front of The Post, you need to know that you have to go to the bathroom about 20 minutes before you actually have to go. Because it will take you that long to make your way through the crowd to the back, where the bathrooms are located. Then again, you might just want to hold it since there are no doors on the bathrooms...anywhere.

     Aside from grafitti and door-less bathrooms, The Post is known for a few things: very attractive Canadian girls, die-hard Red Wings fans, and the bartenders ordering dozens of pizzas around 2:00 a.m. and tossing them out to the crowd.

     For me, though, it will always be the place that I met Giovanni's Mom.