XXX: Father's Day Weekend - Maggie's Recital

Greetings all and Happy Belated Father's Day to everyone out there. It was a very busy weekend and there is so much to update. I also had a fabulous interchange earlier in the week, with a reader of this update (who by the way isn't even on the mailing list), which I will have to share at another time; perhaps when I do another installment of the "mailbag."

But today, we have way too much to cover, after an incredibly eventful weekend that included two huge events. One was my Father's Day gift (from my wonderful wife and children), which was a trip to Mamaroneck, NY, and Winged Foot Golf Course, about 30 miles north of New York City, for the final round of the US Open. While I had been to the PGA Championship (albeit abbreviated) and the Ryder Cup, this ended up being a much more memorable day because of what by now are well-documented events. As you can imagine, I could elaborate ad nauseum, but one week after writing 1200 words about boxing I will proceed instead to the main event of the weekend, which was Maggie's very first dance recital.

Maggie was a student at the West Side Dance Studio, having recently completed her first year there as a member of the "10 AM Thursday 4-5 class" with 7 fellow 4 and 5 year old girls. The West Side Dance Studio has students from the ages of 2 1/2 to "way too old to be on stage wearing that." I will elaborate shortly.

I remember my sisters taking tap-dancing at the YWCA and remember being dragged, er, attending their recitals while my father looked at me with a "don't complain or else" sort of glare, and my mother trying to convince me that this was pay-back for the girls being dragged to 12 years of basketball games (clearly the girls got the short straw there). The recitals lasted no more than an hour in real-time (which is approximately 27 years to a 10-year old boy) and featured about 4 classes doing their little routine in little pink leotards and bows in their hair. This sketchy memory formed the basis of my expectation prior to the West Side Dance Studio Lollapalooza on Saturday.

On Thursday, Maggie had her dress rehearsal. This went over like a lead balloon. After refusing to wear the (horrendously ugly) costume for her number, she sat in the seats and watched her class rehearse. Maggie is steadfast, to put it mildly (in much the same way that it would be mild to say that rabid pit bulls raised in junkyards are not family-friendly). So, it did not look as if we would be attending the Lollapalooza on Saturday (which was gravely disappointing to Jimmy and me).

On Friday, the director of the West Side Dance Studio (I still don't know what it is the West Side of, but I like typing the full name), called Regis and wanted to make sure Maggie was ok. Regis explained that Maggie did not like how the costume felt and didn't want to wear it. I thought it was because Maggie knew it was the ugliest thing ever stitched together and has impeccable taste, like her father. Nevertheless, the director said "just have her wear the leotard that she wears every week and maybe she'll go on stage." Well, Maggie agreed, though the XX chromosone kicked in and she asked for a new leotard (black) so it would match better than the (purple) one she had before. Oh, and new shoes too.

Anyway, with her new black leotard on, Maggie agreed to go to the recital. We were still nervous that she would back out, and me even more so after seeing the scale of the Lollapalooza. The West Side Dance Studio has several classes, all if which would be on display. And the auditorium held 1500 - and most of the seats were filled. The stage was huge, as big or bigger than any stage you would normally see in a high school. All of this together was not good for the father with a nervous stomach. There would be 40 routines (yes, forty), and Maggie's class would go on 20th and 29th. Ugh.

In the meantime, I had to sit through a number of different ages and body shapes performing assorted "dances." As a rule, if the girls were under the age of 10, it was cute and endearing. North of that age, it ranged from awkward to "you should not be in public in that outfit." On the latter, I'm referring to one number featuring five women who biologically could have had grandchildren, if not great-grandchildren (had this been Alabama) in the recital.

There was one class of 2 1/2 year-olds that performed, at which time Regis said "can you imagine Annie doing this?" to which I thought "I can imagine Annie riding a tricycle up a ramp and through a ring of fire, but not this in a million years."

After suffering through all of that, it was time for Maggie's class to come out. And all 8 of them did, gingerly to center stage, with Maggie on the far left of the line, beaming. She performed the whole routine with a huge smile, occasionally brushing her hair from her face in the certain way that she does (head tilting back, dramatically). They wrapped up, and exited in a line stage right, waving to the crowd as they left. Maggie was smiling from ear to ear, Regis was crying, Jimmy was clapping furiously, I was high-fiving strangers, and Annie was eating a cheeseburger.

Maggie's group did another number, and she did just as well, with just as big a smile. Needless to say, her parents were incredibly proud. After the show, we made a trip to Maggie Moo's and the kids had Cotton Candy ice cream to celebrate. They crashed pretty hard that night, despite the high quantities of fructose in their bloodstream. At one point, I went in to check on them. Maggie was sleeping peacefully, in her leotard. Annie, was sleeping as well, wearing yellow-tinted sunglasses, you know, in case the lights popped on in the middle of the night. I tucked Jimmy in shortly thereafter, proud of him for sucking it up and sitting through the recital. He said "Dad, I'm so proud of Maggie." I think his room must have been exceptionally dusty because my eyes started watering.

Happy Father's Day to me.

Sunday at Winged Foot

Q: So where were you when Phil Mickelson displayed the most epic choke in US Open history?

We were on the right side of the 18th fairway, about 50 yds behind where Monty duffed his 2nd shot.

Olgivy's drive was clutch on 18 - best one we saw there.

Mickelson's 2nd shot was incredible. I saw it come off the club, and start cutting around the tree, but he cut it too much, and I saw it go into the tree, heard it hit wood, then saw it come flying out. It rolled back down the matted down path and stopped about 20 yards in front of where he was. We charged the fairway after he hit his third, so I saw the rest of his meltdown from the fairway behind the marshals.

We were bad luck for Mickelson - we hopped holes to stay in front of him, so we were at 7 when he bogeyed there, and at 13 when he bogeyed there. Olgivy almost chipped in at 13 and Stricker almost had an ace.

Another highlight - we were in between the 9th and 1st fairways when Ian Poulter (clad in all pink) shanked his drive and hit a dude in the back - the victim was about 10 yards from us and the ball came over by us. So we were right there for Poulter's 2nd.

Oligivy, the champion everyone will forget, was great with the crowd, (as was Vijay which surprised me) so he ended up with pockets of fans.

We followed Darren Clarke in the morning (he was also great with the crowd, which is good because he was about three time zones from contention) , the only golfer we really followed (way before the leaders went off). He's lost weight - needs to put it back on. Shot of the day was on 16, not Clarke but the crazy dude he was playing with, Carmelo Villegas, who was wearing toothpaste colored pants, matching shoes, and weighing in at about 135. His forearms though were unbelievable - ripped. Anyway, he was behind about 5 trees on the right side of the 16th fairway, with a shot that if any one of us tried, we would have killed someone or ourselves. He put it on the front of the green. When we got up to the green, he birdied and the crowd there applauded politely. I told the guy standing next to me - if you saw where he was after his drive, you would realize that's one of the best birdies you will ever see. As you guys well know, that is the strange thing about being out there on the course.

Another favorite part - watching Furyk and Fluff interact. Those guys have fun together.

Two classics in case I forget to include in an update

I missed Maggie's bedtime Monday night because of work. This was disappointing to her, as she told Regis "Daddy didn't kiss me to bed last night"

I was able to "kiss her to bed" last night so all was right with the world again.



This morning Regis told me this story, brought to you in IM-speak:

"jimmy this morning...are you going to do anything special for me since it's my last day of school?"
I said "um, what did you have in mind?" He replied"i dunno, a toy, or ice cream or out to lunch"

I said "if we went out to lunch, where would you want to go?" and he said..."um, i like Thursdays" and i said what? "you know, ruby thursdays"

XXIX: Trip to Madison Square Garden

Warning: The following update will be interesting to only 50% of the readers. Remember that the readers (not recipients) total 2 (my mom, and me); it will soon be clear that this will be one of those updates that I write so I remember the event.

Last night, I boarded the train and headed into Manhattan, to Penn Station to meet my friend Steve Buckley, Notre Dame Class of 1997, Manhattan resident, and world's most beautiful man. "Buck," who I've known since my first day at ND, and I were going to go to Madison Square Garden, self-defined as "The World's Most Famous Arena" and home of New York Knicks, New York Rangers, famous concerts, and world-renowned boxing matches. The Garden, or "MSG" is located between 31st and 33rd streets on 7th avenue and sits on top of Penn Station, which is one of the two train stations in Manhattan (the other is Grand Central Station). It was my first trip to "MSG" - a place that in past days I had considered an unholy place because of my dislike, no loathing, no utter hatred of the Knicks. However, MSG has been the home of wonderful events, such as Reggie Miller's 25 points in the fourth quarter of Game 5 of the 1994 conference finals, and Reggie's 8 points in 16 seconds in Game 1 of the 1995 conference semifinals. It has also hosted the first televised basketball game in 1940, JFK's birthday celebration in 1962 (yes the one where Marilyn Monroe sang to him), and most importantly was the site of the inaugural Wrestlemania in 1985, who could forget that.

On this night, we were here to watch Tom Zbikowski, Notre Dame football player, make his professional boxing debut. His fight was part of several fights to precede the main event, which was a bout between a Puerto Rican guy and an Italian guy from Jersey. This was my first trip to a live boxing match, in addition to my first trip to the Garden. The Garden is one of those places you have to see, and though it holds almost 20,000 it was very quaint. It's shaped like an egg on the inside with a shallow, almost flat roof. Our seats were situated at the equivalent of center court, and we could look directly into the tunnel that led into the locker rooms. So, we got to watch the different fighters come out before the match. Remember, boxing is a sport of idiots - why else would you stand half-naked in a roped-in square and try to knock the tar out of the other half-naked person? Well, besides the money. It is also a spectacle in which you accentuate how much of an idiot you are by proceeding toward the ring to crazy music, in wildly strange garb (one guy wore a mask, another a sombrero). In that regard, our seats were excellent. And yes, I actually paid money to be there.

There were about 7 fights last night, starting around 8:00, and of course, the one I was there for would be 6th. The title bout brought with it many Puerto Rican fans, who were "lubricated" to use Buck's term (i.e. they were drunk) and ready for Sunday's Puerto Rico day parade in Manhattan, during which the police are paid triple time and native Manhattanites like Buck wait patiently for Monday. Tommy Z had brought several thousand ND fans out of the woodwork, and the rest of the fights featured competitors from various ethnic groups such that the Garden was a 17,000 person melting pot certain to have the NYPD on edge. It bears mentioning that Buck and I were sitting behind 10 Puerto Ricans who were in a particularly festive mood, so we had great seats for the boxing and any other rioting that was sure to ensue (mental note, delete that last sentence before I send this out to Mom).

Most of the fights were pretty boring, featuring two guys, both weighing less than me, of varying ethnicities beating each other up until one guy looked dizzy and the ref stopped the fight. The fans corresponding to those ethnicities would wave flags and chant while the bouts occurred. Think "World Cup" but with savage beatings in the ring, not the stands, and all in a more contained space.

At 10:30, Buck and I were starting to get bored, but were saved when an Irish middleweight named John Duddy was announced as the next fighter. He entered the arena, led by a bagpiper, and the crowd reacted as if the free money was being given away. The fight lasted 7 rounds and for its duration the energy was electric in the arena - my first glimpse of what the Garden could be like. It resembled the scene in Braveheart, before the two sides go charging into each other, with chanting and cheering so loud and sustained that the PA announcer, who previously had been deafening, was relegated to white noise. This chaos was soon accentuated when, during a break in the action, the big screen showed a picture of Zbikowski warming up "backstage." The crowd fervantly responded. Tom was wearing gold gloves and a shirt with something written in Polish, probably something that when translated can't be shared with polite company.

After the Duddy fight, it was time. Zbikowski's opponent, who we will call "Victim Number 1," came into the ring wearing an Ohio State jersey, and he was greeted with a chorus of boos. Then, soon after, the Notre Dame Victory March began blaring, and several members of the football team lined the tunnel, all wearing "Fight Like a Champion Today" t-shirts. Zbikowski emerged clad in a silver hooded robe. Craziness became bedlam. One of the Puerto Ricans in front of me turned and said "Ten bucks on the black guy," and betraying my Ford family roots, I declined to accept the wager. I said "I don’t want your money, save it for your train ride home." He said "what, no pride?" to which I said, "trust me, Zbikowski is going to destroy the guy, keep the ten." The bell rang and they came out. A flurry of punches, some dancing, then another flurry, this time sending Victim Number 1 to the mat. The Puerto Ricans were screaming, pointing at Buck and me, and the guy who had offered to bet turned to me and looked as if he had seen the ghost of a dead relative. Victim Number 1 got up, the ref signaled to start fighting again, and three punches later, he was back on the mat. Zbikowski is one mean Polish guy. The ref, combining this with the fact that Victim Number 1 now answered "Orange" to the question "Do you know where you are", stopped the fight. With that, the fight was over. It lasted 49 seconds. The Puerto Rican turned and tried to hand me a ten dollar bill.

We left before the title fight, but upon reading the news this morning, it seems the Puerto Rican boxer won last night, which is good for the Garden...I liked the place, and I'm certain it would not have survived had that outcome been different.

For those of you who have grown to expect stories about the kids or Regis, tune in next time. This was my guys night for the year ...so we'll be back on topic next time.

Until then...

Real Life Conversation

Our DVD player was fried over the weekend as a result of a power surge, or one of the girls jammed cookies in it, one of the two ... investigation still pending.

We called the 800 number featured on the machine, and were forwarded to an electronics store that is approximately a mile from our house. Regis took the machine in to have it examined.

Regis: "Here it is, it won't power up"
Electronics guy: "I can fix it"
Regis: "How much, because if it's too much, we'll just buy a new one."
Electronics guy: "It breaks my heart when people say that, because I'm in the business of fixing things. That's what I do. It's my livelihood. And new DVD players cost more than labor, you know?"
Regis: "Well, ok...how much"
Electronics guy: "Well, with parts, labor....you're looking at 80 bucks, minimum....yeah, just buy a new one."

Great. We're infamous

Morristown is a Town in Morris County, New Jersey, United States. As of the United States 2000 Census, the town population was 18,544.

Morris County is a county located in the U.S. state of New Jersey, about 25 mi (40 km) west of New York City. As of the United States 2000 Census, the population was 470,212.

So Regis calls to get an appointment at the car detailer in Morristown to get our car, well, detailed. On the phone, the guy is asking for information and asks for an address. After hearing it, he says "hey, I was at your house on Valentine's Day."

Regis says "what?"

He responds, "I'm a volunteer firemen in your township"

(See link: http://watsonadventure.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_watsonadventure_archive.html )

Swell.