I got a tattoo. I know, I know. It's permanent. But I've been considering a tattoo incorporating my children's names or something since before Michael was even born. It's on my right bicep, and along with the names are olive branches to honor our Italian heritage. I got it done at New Addiction here in Kalamazoo by Chris. He's a great artist, and he really helped me develop the final look of the tattoo. It hurt A LOT, especially the underside of my arm, but it was well worth it. I LOVE IT!

So this is the underside. It goes all the way around, but it doesn't connect. Tony, I listened to your advice. Now my soul won't be trapped in my body for all eternity.

He's just a beautiful kid, and he makes me so proud!

Michael's #15, and although he spent more time watching the big clock than playing the game, he got a few touches on the puck and had an assist to #17. Isn't that just like a dad? Only his first game, and already I'm keeping stats.

That's my boy! Last Sunday was Michael's first game, and I can't tell you how much fun I had watching him. Doesn't he look like a hockey player?

They call the thing Rodeo

Today I covered a bull riding show in Battle Creek. I know it may surprise many of you -- it shocked the hell out of me -- but it was awesome.
It's not the gory bull- fighting traditionally seen in Spain or Mexico, but a quite humane competition between the riders and bulls, who are athletes in their own right.
Sure there is some uncomfortable cinching of genitals to get the bulls a little more riled than usual, but I guarantee the riders come away with more discomfort and injury than the bull ever will.
I got to talk with some of the bull riders, the bull fighters (NOT rodeo clowns!), the judges and even get right up next to the bulls. They are HUGE! It's a lot easier to appreciate 2,000 pounds of bovine when it's staring you in the face only a few inches away.
The Ring of Fear is aptly named as ten participants enter a 40-foot diameter ring in the dirt and one bull has his way with them. The last man or woman (yes, there was a woman in the ring) left in the ring wins $500. Huh. That just doesn't seem like enough.
Cowboy Poker involves gambling but no cards. The bull came out of the chute and immediately floored two of the guys at the table. The other two sat motionless and the bull even passed close enough to brush the back of both men's heads with a horn. Eventually, one guy was tossed a few feet and the last guy seated took home $100.
Mutton Bustin' is one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I guess it has something to do with small children, between the ages of 4 and 6, clinging to the backs of sheep that are running at full speed.
If you ever get the chance to go to a bull riding show, I urge you to do so.
It's odd how you can find yourself enjoying something you never thought you had an interest in... Kind of like asparagus or Brussels sprouts.

From my brother, Tony, second from the right:
"I thought this was pretty cool. Because the place where I work is one of the largest military R&D firms in the state, U.S. Sen. Debbie Stabenow (D-Mich.) came to visit. She was discussing the possability of further funding one of our projects, and looking at a few of the other things we are working on. I found it to be an interesting experience, and thought I would share the picture with you."
Please note, the picture above Sen. Stabenow's head is of Michael and Anthony. Even cooler.

It's in the genes!

Michael is half-way through his first year of KOHA learn-to-skate and beginning hockey.
Man, I almost cry every time I see him on skates. It's awesome!
I am trying to get some pictures to post, so keep checking.
He's #15 on the Sharp Shop team. He picked his own number, so be sure to give a shout-out to 15 when you see him.
Anthony is well on his way to starting next year, and I already have started apologizing to anyone who might be his coach next fall. The kid is going to be a terror!
Yea, Schirripa boys! Ice hockey will never be the same.

An old friend

Well, she's not old, but it's been a while since I've seen her.
Jessica and I worked together at the Kalamazoo Gazette a few years ago before going on to a stint with the Shreveport (La.) Times.
She has a new Web site, and if you like photography, it's worth checking out.
I think she's very talented, but who am I, really?
Have a very blessed and merry Christmas.

I gotta try this!

A friend at work e-mailed this story to me. I have no idea how true it is, but it's worth the read anyway.

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know.

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it.

A man answered, saying "Hello?"

I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?"

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right f**in number!" and the phone was slammed down on me.

I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits. After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're an asshole!" and hung up.

I wrote his number down with the word 'asshole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an asshole!"

It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic "asshole calling" would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from the Verizon. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our caller ID program?"

He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone.

I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an asshole!"

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me.

I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window which included his phone number, so I wrote down the number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial) I thought that I'd better call the BMW asshole, too.

I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"

"Yes, it is", he said.

"Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.

"Yes, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, in Vaucluse. It's a yellow house, and the car's parked right out in front."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"My name is Don Hansen," he said.

"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"

"I'm home every evening after five."

"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"

"Yes?"

"Don, you're an asshole!" Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call. Then I came up with an idea.

I called Asshole #1. "Hello." "You're an asshole!" (But I didn't hang up.)

"Are you still there?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Stop calling me," he screamed.

"Make me," I said.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Don Hansen."

"Yeah? Where do you live?"

"Asshole, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, a yellow house, with my black Beamer parked in front."

He said,"I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers."

I said,"Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole," and hung up.

Then I called Asshole #2.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hello, asshole," I said.

He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."

"You'll what?" I said.

"I'll kick your ass," he exclaimed.

I answered, "Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse.

I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray. I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a news crew.

Now I feel much better. Anger management really works.