My Wife is a Football Widow

After the Broncos won their second Super Bowl, I decided to cut my loyal fan addiction to team sports. I just didn't feel the payoff was worth the emotional investment. Two months ago I fractured my shoulder playing in the waves at Venice Beach. All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and watch tv.

Well, Football is my best friend. Week in and week out I was treated to the amazing collaboration of pure artistic beauty, and bone crunching violence, all in the glow of our new 52" LCD HD cosmic miracle machine. My son Adrian wanders down and joins me from time to time, and we enjoy some great father son football conversations, as well as some commercial rumbles.

I fell back in love with this sport, head over heals. There's been no shortage of affair time, as the schedule is offered up on Saturday, Sunday, Sunday Night, Monday Night, and sometimes Wednesday and even Thursday nights! I pick the team I want to win based on different things, old loyalties, Broncos and Giants, then religious beliefs, The Saints, tell me a miracle wasn't involved in their last win. Then there is the better looking home uniforms against the drab white thing the visitors get to wear. It's all much more fun than the neuritic "My Team" addiction based on geographical location.

So my shoulder is getting a bit stronger, although still hurts like a fucker if I move my arm in just the wrong way during the commercial rumbles. The season and my excuse for giving in to the obsession so fully is quickly coming to a close, but it's not over till the bare chested golden god, and the the big honkered muse of the Universe sing and windmill! Meanwhile My Wife is left to wonder if I will ever really return, especially since I have two full seasons of Boston Legal in the wings. At least my life insurance is paid up.

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Guess What?

The dude got up, took a shower, had French toast, and made it to school on time.

Little sick Dagny

Dagny can't believe someone hasn't come up with cure for the common cold yet.

a new do

it was a great Friday morn. all went splendidly.

tan legs and a tee shirt is all I need

not even close

I will remain calm, I will remain calm, I will remain calm.

up and at 'em!

but not out the door yet.

Cookie Good!

Grandy sent cookies. Dagny didn't want to give me any, but I was too quick! they're like a soft chocolate bar wrapped in a cookie. Mmmmmmmmmm good!!!

Miss Dagny in her new tee shirt.

I'm not sure if it was "don't" or "stop it" but I'm pretty sure it was a one or two word reply to me taking this photo.

Another tasty morning.

This morning was easy going and enjoyable. Adrian was in good spirits, and we arrived at AM school with a few minutes to spare.

Day 2

Adrian had some complications, the main one being loss of sleep due to a large bump on his head from the day before. I was a little restless, but did not lose my cool. He stayed home, I went to work, and Trrish let him make the decision to go or not to go to real school at noon. He went. I think he's very cool!

Day 2

Dagny is actually enjoying her classes, and doing the absurd amount of work they dish out in high school, even on day 2 (really day 3 for her.)
She amazes me with how fully beautiful she can look at 7:30 AM.
I'm sure she won't talk to me once she finds out about this little project.

Dagny is up and ready to drive.

First Day of Torture

Well it's that time of year, when the beauty of sleeping late is brought to an abrupt halt, and thoughts turn to "COME ON, WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!!!"
But not this year, not if I can help it. I actually started this mode of thinking middle of last year, and I call it; "if we're late, we're late." It works out sooooo much better for everyone. Now I basically deal with getting one of my two children to school, and I do it three times a week. And it is a bit a of a unique situation. Adrian is almost 11 years old, and is starting 5th grade. He has been splitting his school day between the public school in Boulder, and a small private school/miracle dedicated to teaching children with Dyslexia how to learn in a world where the public school system will not even say the word Dyslexia. The basic reason we keep him in the public school system is for the social contact, and music, art, and PE. He goes to the public school in the AM, and that is by design, because Adrian knows quite well that he, like his parents, doesn't always function well before noon. So with this schedule, I don't care if he has some, or many mornings, where he needs more time to get it together for "school." My main concern, is that he has it together by 12:00, when real school kicks in. And it is my experience that he has that procedure down 98% of the time, an A++ in my book. Now to be fair, my wife Trrish doesn't have it that easy, because she manages our 15 year old Daughter, going into 10th grade, and she does that every day that said Daughter can't get it together in time to take the public bus. Which I'm guessing is going to go up in percentage to 100% this year, because she has her driver's permit. Now Trrish can handle this quite well most of the time, but the other part of the puzzle is the two days I don't take Adrian. On those days, if Trrish chooses to drive, or be driven by Miss Dagny, then she has to deal with double trouble, and that can stress even the Mother Theresa types out there. And one last point, Trrish has more of a problem blowing off the public school requirements of getting Adrian there on time. So that is just another heaping of stress for her. So, I know what some may be thinking, why don't I either switch with her, or just take Adrian all 5 days, that's easy, because I need 2 days a week where I'm only responsible for getting myself to work. Call it mental health maintenance, or just sheer selfishness if you want, but I need it. I actually didn't mean to go into all that, I just wanted to start my daily record of a school year with my 5th and 10th grade kiddies. Part of my plan is to include a photo each day, and I'm already behind on that one, so I'm going to add the two most recent photos I have, and then try to get back on track.
Today everything went perfectly with Adrian's first day. We had pancakes at McDs, got to both schools on time, and even fit in some football in-between. I tried to interest Adrian in a new game of football where you sit on the lawn furniture and throw the ball back and forth over the table, but he wouldn't go for it, so we played under the trees, and it turned out to be us against the trees, and I have to say, it was good!

How I wound up being ozzie.

It’s has very little to do with the music of Ozzy Osbourne, but I will say I was, and still am a complete and total fan of the first Black Sabbath album, or at least the first half of it. I remember rising from a grave during a little skit we did as young teenagers back in the day, “what is this that stands before me…” but I digress. It has everything to do with The Osbournes. Yes, Trrish, the kids, and myself were totally hooked on that show, to the point where I’d walk around the house shouting things like, “Sharon, I can’t find my fucking shoes.” Of course I used my best Ozzy impersonation, and not a bad one if I say so myself.

Then one fine night in 2002, backstage in the green room at Madison Square Garden, after a Who show, I couldn’t find Trrish, so I just started doing my little Ozzy bit, and someone turned and pointed, and said “hey Ozzy, how’s it going?” Well I thought that was pretty cool, and continued my search for Trrish in my Ozziesque way. Later that night, a group of us wound up singing songs with Rabbit Bundrick, keboard player for the Who, in the hotel lounge, and proceeded to close the lounge, and move the party off into the streets of Manhattan, where a group of us, now known as The Psycho D 11, sang Who songs, ate pizza, and drank beer until the sun came up. I recorded a number of those amazing moments on video, and in the credits of the finished product, I put something like “an ozzie and sharyon production. Changed the Ozzy to ozzie (lower case o) as more of a Tribute to Ozzy.


So not long after that I found myself in London, and was introduced to a few mates as ozzie, and the first time I heard this line, “ozzie, would you like a cup of tea?” flow out of the mouth of a beautiful young British woman, I knew right there I was on the road to ditching the name me Mum gave me. So it’s now 2009, and I just returned from a three and a half week party in Australia, where I don’t believe anyone referred to me as anything but ozzie, and it was a thing of beauty. Somewhere along the road I changed my email to iamozzie, and the rest, as they say is history.
Love,
ozzie
ps
This explanation goes out to my amazing friend Gina, who I never kissed at the Rod Stewart concert, back in 8th grade. 36 years later, I still can’t believe it.