It’s Me

Frustrated Man Image courtesy of imagerymajestic at

Frustrated Man Image courtesy of imagerymajestic at

I’ve had better weekends.

It wasn’t the weather. It wasn’t the plans. It wasn’t the company.

It was me. I’d like to blame someone or something else. Yet, what good would that do?

Everybody and everything got on my nerves.

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Back Here at Home There’s Nothin’ to Do

Picture courtesy of

Picture courtesy of Vacation, All I ever wanted, Vacation, Had to get away THE GO-GO’S  It’s that time of year, isn’t it? It’s time to get away from the routine, the drudgery, the house. So, what type of vacation destination do you prefer? Beach? Mountains? City?While I enjoy all types of vacations, these days my wife and I have one thing in mind when we plan our vacation: How will the kids like it? Sound familiar?

It’s all about them. Sigh.

That doesn’t have to be a bad thing. There are plenty of family fun things to do. Notice I said family fun not just kid fun. Full disclosure – I hate cotton candy.

So, where shall we go?  Let’s see: we are a family of four. The two children are boys ages 6.5 and 9. They are energetic, curious, and high-spirited.

There are plenty of places promising family fun. Yet, I am drawing a blank. I could Google vacation spots for families. Nah. Too impersonal. I like real recommendations.

I’ve got an idea. I am going to turn to WordPress. That’s right – WordPress is going to lead me on a vacation.

WordPress has sent me two tour guides who are taking me down South. They tell me they have the perfect places for my family and me to visit.

Let’s see what they have to say.

Please, join my family and I. Who knows these destination might be right for your crew as well.

Click here to learn about and visit our first destination: Destination
Number One
 and  here for our second destination: Destination Number Two


Stay on My Bald Head

A difficult picture for me in multiple ways.

A difficult picture for me in multiple ways.

I’m folliclely challenged. It doesn’t hurt to say it. Too much.It’s not like being follicely challenged came as a surprise when I hit my 40’s.

Oh no. I didn’t spend the years prior with a thick and full head of hair. I had few options upon my trips to the barber. Shampoo costs were minimal.


When I was a senior in college, my roommates played a prank on me. One night I pulled down the sheets of my bed and saw multiple advertisements for Rogaine stuffed into a paper bag.

Ahh, college.

Anyway, those pricks played this prank for a reason. My hairline was already heading south. Yup, there was no hair swaying when my head bopped to the music.

For further confirmation of where my hair line was headed, I could look at my older brother. My second oldest brother and I bare a resemblance. I can look at him and see where my hair is headed. I love him anyway.

My parents felt bad about this. My mother would lament, “My father died with a full head of hair. I always learned that if your maternal grandfather had hair that his grandsons would have his hair.”

As you can imagine, that did not make me feel better. At all. My parents actually sprung for Rogaine for me. I delicately massaged into my hair every night. I prayed I would be like Karl Malone.

For six months, I put the Rogaine in regularly. Waiting, hoping. At the end of six months with little progress, my excitement waned. I applied the Rogaine on a less regular basis till I eventually just stop. Alas, there was little progress.

As my 20’s progressed, I became interested and eventually an adherent to my religion – Judaism. There are many reasons why the religion appealed to me. The biggest one is belief in G-d and his role in the world.

Yes, I was content with my new found faith. You want to know the best benefit? The yarmulke. You see as part of the religion, men are supposed to keep their heads covered.

So, following my religion meant covering my bald spot. Isn’t life beautiful? There is a G-d, and he is good!

As the years have gone by, my bald spot has turned into a bald head. Yet, I have not upgraded the size of my yarmulke. However, G-d gave again. He really is good.

How so you may be wondering? Well, shaving one’s head became fashionable. I was halfway (okay, maybe 2/3) to a shaved head naturally. I simply had to sit in the barber’s chair and instruct him/her to shave off the sides.

That’s it. My disappointment over baldness would fall away like the remaining hairs that surround the barber’s chair. I would be hip and cool.

For the last year, I have been thinking – really thinking about it. I was going to shave my head. I decided when it got warm, I was going to go for it.

So, back in May, I strolled into the barber shop ready to go for it.

Except I couldn’t do it. I was reluctant to join the club. Not quite an early adopter here.

Instead, I got an extremely short hair cut. Baby steps, I suppose.

I actually like the look. However, I’d still prefer hair. Some things you never get over.

I digress.

A problem has arisen. My yarmulke keeps falling off my head. You see I normally clip the yarmulke to my hair. But now my hair is so short that the clips are not secure.

This is making for a dilemma. My yarmulke is flying off with any dramatic movement. Playing baseball – with my son? Forget about it. The yarmulke falls to the ground more often than a baby does when learning how to walk.

I just wish yarmulkes came with suction cups or velcro. Then, I could move about freely  without worry of my yarmulke flying off my head all frisbee like.

Ahh, what to do? I have neither answer nor clue. I think I need G-d to step in again and answer another prayer.

Sandals, Soirées, and Scotch

I recently attended a soirée. That’s right I attended a soirée.

Perfect for a soirée.

Perfect for a soirée.

Before writing this blog post, I was not even sure how to spell soirée. One ‘e’ or two ‘e’s at the end?

Did it have one of those little accent dashes (by the way, I just looked it up and the dash is called The accent aigu ´ (acute accent).

For your information, soirée is a French word and according to the merriam-webster dictionary, it means a party or reception held in the evening.

I don’t know about you but what soirée means to me is fancy.

How did I end up at this fancy party, I mean soirée, you may be wondering? I just wanted to drink. No, really.

J.O.: I am going to a scotch tasting.

L.B. That’s cool.

J.O. Yeah, I’m one of the sponsors. It’s a fundraiser.

L.B. Nice of you.

J.O. Thank you. Do you and S (Ms. MMK) want to come along?

L.B. Let me get back to you.

Three days later the plans were made. I like scotch, and Ms. MMK would stay with the children.  By the way, note there was no mention of the word soirée.

I have been to scotch tastings before. They are quite pleasant. Yes, thank you I would like to try that and that and that and that.  It’s like going to smorgasbord with only one thing on the menu: Scotch.

My wife got home. Tag, you’re it. And I left.

When I finally arrived, 35 minutes after J.O. told me the event was to begin, he greeted me, and we strolled onto the grounds where the event was being held.  The grounds and the house were spectacular. No need for kids to double up in that house.

I was surprised.

L.B. I thought the event began at 7:00.

J.O. It did, sort of. Actually, we just finished setting up and people are still coming.

L.B. Looks pretty fancy.

J.O. Yeah, I know. It’s a soirée.

L.B. Oh a soirée. Very fancy.

I was expecting a bunch of guys hanging out at someone’s house sipping scotch.  Instead, there were tables and chairs, a band, a bar, a tent, wait staff, and food all set out on a perfectly manicured lawn.

J.O. and I took a seat. He was drinking a mojito, and I was sipping water.  We started talking about mutual friends who I was hoping to see at the event.

L.B. So is RL coming?

J.O. He said he wasn’t wearing a tie.

L.B. A tie? I’m not even wearing socks or shoes.  (I looked down at my feet). I’m wearing sandals, I haven’t shaved today, and I’m wearing the same jeans that I wore yesterday.

We both laughed. But I felt self-conscious. I looked around and saw people dressed in various degrees of fanciness. However, I also saw people in shorts. Shooooooh, I wasn’t the only one who was dressed casually. Now, that would be embarrassing.

Two hours later I was driving home, “I don’t know how many other people were in jeans RL, but I was definitely not the only one.”

One of my mother’s pieces of wisdom ran through my head: Wherever you go, there will always be people more dressed than you and people less dressed than you.

So, jeans, half-beards, and sandals – check.  I’m ready to soirée.