I am always amazed when I take my recyclables to Construction Junction that there are so many people who live in Pittsburgh who prefer to take their recyclables there, rather than putting them out for curbside trash pick-up. Why do we do this? Is it because we think or fear that the blue garbage trucks that come around once every two weeks to our homes do anything different with the blue bags of recyclables than the blue garbage trucks that go to Construction Junction to empty the dumpsters there, which are often overflowing with recyclables? What is the difference? And yet so many of us do it. Including me.

This afternoon I watched the first two episodes of the new season of "The Hills" on MTV. I miss Lauren Conrad. And why is Spencer beginning to look like John Travolta in "Urban Cowboy?"

Like many residents of Florida, Sidney is a friend of the manatee.

JIM: Have you heard this? Congress is going to pass a law that gives every American a $500 savings account when they are born.

DAVE: Every American needs health care when they are born. Not a savings account with $500.

JIM: But I read that they tried this in Great Britain and some of the accounts actually increased in value over time. Some of them even got to be worth $600.

DAVE: Are you being serious? The integrity of my blog depends on it.

JIM: That is what I read.

One of the politicians quoted also said that these saving accounts would continue to help stimulate the economy. Since the money in the accounts would not be available to be withdrawn until each child reached 18 years of age and could only be used for very specific purposes (such as education or retirement), I'm not sure I understand that comment. Then again, most people would say that there are a lot of things I don't understand.

JIM: My wife's friend's mother passed away on Sunday. The only reason we found out about it was because my wife's mom read the obituary in the paper. But, since few people read newspapers these days and newspapers, especially local ones, will become pretty much extinct in the not-too-distant future, how are people going to find out about this kind of stuff from now on?

DAVE: You make a good point. With the internet people do not go to their newspapers for the kind of stuff that they used to. I don't know how that information will get disseminated in the future, other than word of mouth.

DAVE: It's ironic that you raised that issue about obituaries today. I'm not kidding, just yesterday I was thinking about the friends in my life. I don't belong to a "social group," per se. I have individual friends who are usually themselves members of their own social groups. Many of my friends don't know each other, or have never met. They only know about them as I refer to them in conversation. And on top of that, many of my friendships are conducted primarily through email, along with the occasional phone call or meeting up. Sound familiar, Jim? So, anyway, I was wondering (for whatever reason), if I were to die, how would people find out about it in a timely manner (i.e., to attend a funeral)? Don't ask me why I was thinking about this yesterday. It wasn't morbid, just idle curiosity. Something to think about while I'm walking dogs around Point Breeze on a lovely Fall afternoon. Someone (I don't even know who this would be) would have to access my laptop and get the email addresses of my friends to contact them. I don't have all of my friends' phone numbers in my cell phone because there are friends with whom I never talk on the phone. It's all email. Anyway, that's what I was thinking about yesterday.

"So, Dan Onorato is running for governor. That's great. But who is going to watch over the Boy Mayor in Pittsburgh?"

Friends don't let friends do this to their dogs.

DAVE: Who do you like in today's 163rd game? I'm taking the Twins.

JIM: After your latest bile-spewing diatribe against the once-beloved Jim Leyland, I am not surprised.

Ok, maybe "bile-spewing diatribe" and "once-beloved" are both a little exaggerated. After your recent criticism of the Tigers manager, I am not surprised.

And yeah, go Twins. I say that Joe Mauer, the guy who should be AL MVP but won't be because he doesn't play in NY or Boston, will come up big.

Sidney has been in Florida for less than 24 hours, and he has already hunted down and killed one of the many little geckos that scurry about all over the place. In addition to all of his other fine qualities, that dog is a hunter. And Florida geckos are his prey of choice.

DAVE: I'm beginning to think that Jim Leyland is not the manager that he once was.

JIM: None of us are the person who we once were.

DAVE: True. But in many ways, I'm a better person than I was in the early 90s. It doesn't look like Leyland is.

JIM: How could anyone be after smoking as many cigarettes as he has?

JIM: And by the way, I knew you in the early 90s and I thought you were a perfectly fine person.

DAVE: That's very kind of you to say. But there was room for improvement.

JIM: Well, duh. There always is.

DAVE: I suppose you're right.

Does this ever happen to you?

Like most people, I have a routine for my alarm clocks that get me up in the morning. I set a soft alarm on my cell phone that goes off for about 30 seconds from across the room as a sort of "warning" that the real alarm is going to go off in 30 minutes. And then, half an hour later, the really loud, obnoxious alarm clock next to my bed goes off to do the dirty work of waking me up and getting me out of bed. So, last night (seeing as it's the weekend) I set the alarm on my phone but not the alarm on the clock next to my bed. This morning, when the alarm on my phone went off across the room, here I was banging on the snooze button on the alarm clock next to my bed trying to get it to turn off. It took me a few hits on the clock before I was awake enough to realize what was going on.

Go Steelers.

My parents left with Sidney for Florida this morning. Last year at this time, when they left, I was not in good shape, and as my posts from last October recall, I deteriorated rapidly after their departure, going through a period of depression that was one of my worst. But this year is a completely different year. I had a good summer, one in which I felt better and more like myself and got stronger as the warm months went on. I am doing really well, and I was ready for their impending departure. In recent weeks, my parents had started to get a little on my nerves (as I'm sure I was getting on theirs), and I was spending less and less time at their house. I was really only going over their to spend time with Sidney. So, on my last night with my parents until I go down to Florida at Christmas, I endured their litany of last minute instructions on how to take care of their house while they're gone, as if I don't know the routine by now. Saying goodbye to my mother and father went well, and I felt comfortable with it. But I struggled to say goodbye to Sidney. I was playing with him, trying to find a way to express my love and affection for him that he would understand. But he's a dog, and he was distracted by the packing of the car by my parents and his toys. After several attempts, I finally cajoled Sidney to give me one of his patented, very gentle, soft licks on my nose. At that point, the tears started to come. I couldn't help myself. But I took great comfort in knowing that my tears were tears of goodbye, rather than tears of extreme sadness and depression. Sidney is a very special dog and a very important part of my life, both now and in the future when someday he will live with me again. A lot has happened to me in the last year, but I am in a much better place than I was then, and I am confident that I will not suffer the severe depressive episode that I experienced last Fall.

By the way, I drove to Youngstown, Ohio two years ago today to meet a young, spirited, happy dachshund and try to determine whether I wanted to adopt him. Like it was ever in question. Sidney (formerly Seth, formerly Oscar) came home with me that day.

Did you hear that the founder of the Gap clothing chain recently passed away? Apparently, he was laid to rest in his favorite suit made from premium denim. Black, of course.

The temperatures around here have plummeted, it rains everyday, and the stink bugs seem to have disappeared. But a couple of nights ago, I did see a black woolly caterpillar in my parents' backyard while I was playing with Sidney. It was the first woolly caterpillar I have seen in years. Years, I tell you. What does that mean, again, according to legend? A bad winter? Super.


But, dear readers, I feel compelled to tell you that I have been feeling very good lately. Great, even, at times. I haven't felt this good in two years, and I am really enjoying life these days. Thank god for medication and keeping busy.

I did not sleep well last night. I was tossing and turning. And I dreamt that God spoke to me. He told me that I had to build an ark. I'm really not very good with tools.

JIM: Stink bugs are everywhere.

DAVE: But how do they get inside? I understand how spiders get inside. They're small and creepy-crawly. But stink bugs have that armored plate on their backs.

JIM: All I can tell you is that stink bugs are everywhere.

DAVE: Do you know why they are called stink bugs?

JIM: Because it stinks that there are so many of them and they are everywhere?

DAVE: Very funny.

JIM: I don't know what else to tell you. Here, lmgtfy:

http://network.nationalpost.com/np/blogs/posted/archive/2009/09/24/gasp-stink-bugs-invading-pennsylvania.aspx

DAVE: Uh . . . what does "lmgtfy" stand for?

JIM: Sorry. See if this helps:

http://lmgtfy.com

DAVE: AHHH. I should have been able to figure that out. How crazy. A site that Googles Google.

How do these freaking so-called "stink bugs" get into my condo? My windows are closed, and yet there they are.

Or Jennifer Antkowiak.

I do not like Tom Bergeron.

JIM: Well, it seems our conversation about boxer briefs is kind of timely.

I went to the gym this morning for a run and then showered after. When I went to get dressed after showering, I started to put on my nice, clean pair of boxer briefs and suddenly, to my horror, realized that they were way too small. Turns out, my wife did laundry and put the clothes away yesterday and ended up putting a pair of my 9-year-old son's underwear in my drawer. When I was getting clothes together to go to the gym, I just grabbed the pair on top and didn't notice they were not mine. When it comes to boxer briefs, mine and my son's do look very much alike without close inspection.

This never would have happened with my old, trusty tighty whiteys.

DAVE: That's a very funny (and timely) story. I didn't know they made boxer briefs for the young ones, but I guess there's no reason why they wouldn't. You wife does your laundry and puts your clothes away. It sounds so foreign to me.

JIM: She does the laundry (she actually doesn't ALLOW me to do laundry!) and I usually put the clothes away. But, now that both kids are in school full time, I guess she is finding that she has lots of free time during the day and needed something to do.

Absolutely gorgeous day today in Pittsburgh. Perfect day. Truly. And how did I celebrate such a wonderful day? Not unlike a woman, I went out and bought a new pair of shoes. I needed a pair of shoes that was more comfortable than the shoes that I regularly wear. And this is what I came home with (actually, I wore them right out of the store, and I have them on right now). They are very un-Dave. I love them.

DAVE: Do you really like boxer briefs? I'm wearing a pair right now.

JIM: That's more than I needed to know.

I wear whatever my wife buys me and I learn to like it.

DAVE: Really? Your wife buys your underwear?

JIM: You don't know much about wives, do you?

DAVE: Some things. But obviously not everything. Dude, you should be able to pick out and buy your own underwear.

JIM: That's not going to happen.

DAVE: Maybe it's best if I stay single, then.

JIM: I've come to realize that what's going to happen is going to happen when it comes to things like that. You really don't have as much control over it as it seems like you should.

Although Tom Brady and Ben Roethlisberger are both among the best quarterbacks in the NFL, there are many things that are different about the two. For instance, Ben Roethlisberger did not emerge from the off-season with a new personal logo that he wears on a hat every time that he does an interview.

False alarm. It looks like summer may have returned today. I was a little worried last week.

What happened to summer? I'm wearing corduroys and a turtleneck right now.

As I've been saying for the last year, Willie Parker is done. He's a great guy and has been a very productive running back for the Steelers, but the lifespan of a running back in the NFL is short, and his time has come and gone. Even without him, the Steelers will find a way to win, just as they did last year, and just as they did last night. Ben Roethlisberger is the man.

I've decided that I like boxer briefs. There, I admit it.

Different shades of white.

DAVE: I have tried changing the settings on Facebook, but when I log on, my home page is always filled with a news feed of what every one of my friends has done/is doing. You may have to take a look at it, old buddy, old pal. Next time you're here. To see my new lamps.

FF: I'll help you. Facebook virgin.

JIM: My mom told me tonight that she has a bunch of boxes of my old stuff that I have to go through. Maybe she reads your blog...

DAVE: Hilarious. I went through a box of baseball and football cards tonight. Just took the boxes of cards out of an old moving box and put them into a nice, new plastic container. As I've said, I have no idea what I'm going to do with all of these baseball cards.

JIM: My friend Grant used to own a baseball card shop.

DAVE: I remember Grant. How did the shop go?

JIM: He did OK, but closed it after a few years. It would be too long of a story to tell. Let's just say that it involved a woman and leave it at that.

JIM: I meant to tell you this yesterday and I forgot.

My grandmother's maiden name (on my mother's side) is Eisenberg.

DAVE: That's ironic. Maybe you two are distantly related.

I recently discovered that there is a pizza place located within walking distance (and driving distance) from my condo that specializes in big, New York style slices in various combinations of toppings. And they're opened late. I do not think that it would be an exaggeration to say that this discovery has changed my life.

I watched the movie "Adventureland" last night. Not usually my kind of movie, but someone had recommended it to me a while back, and it was filmed in Pittsburgh and at Kennywood Park. And there really wasn't much else that interested me at my neighborhood Blockbuster. I was surprised to find that the main character was played by an actor named Jesse Eisenberg, who looks remarkably like my friend Jim, especially when he was in college. Even his facial expressions and mannerisms. Google him.

We must be getting close to the official start of the Steelers' season.

I saw "Crazy Steve" today. You know, the man who has been walking around the streets of Pittsburgh's East End for many years. His hair used to be blond, but it turned completely gray in recent years. He doesn't walk as quickly as he used to. But who does? Well, today when I saw him, he was hunched over, and he was walking with a slight limp. I don't know why he has been walking the streets of Pittsburgh for all these years. But now he looks worn down by it all. The energy he possessed is seemingly gone. And his gaze is downward at the sidewalk rather than straight at the path ahead.

DAVE: My mother made me go through three boxes of my old stuff last night. It was painful. Now, I've got a bunch of books and nowhere to put them.


JIM: All of my books are in boxes in the garage.


DAVE: Are you one of those families with a garage that you use for storage while the cars sit in the driveway?


JIM: Isn't everyone?

It is funny you ask that question, because the day we moved into our house (12 years ago?), I wanted to park my car in the garage, just for a minute, because I knew that it would never fit in there again. But I wasn't allowed to.

And, to this day, I have never parked a car in my garage. And I most likely never will.


DAVE: Very funny. Was there ever a time when Kathy wasn't in charge?


JIM: 1992.

Good-bye. And thank you.

When I joined Facebook yesterday, right away I was shown an extensive list of people who the website suggested as potential friends, with which I'm sure you veteran Facebook users are already familiar. Anyway, one of those suggested friends was my Aunt Betty, who passed away last year. That was weird and a little bit eerie and kind of sad. I guess after someone dies, there is no one to remove profiles from networking sites like Facebook.

Maybe it was yesterday's cool temperatures and dark clouds in the afternoon. Maybe it was the realization that football season is almost upon us. Maybe it was the change in the energy around the East End because of the recent return of so many of the students who reside there. Maybe it was the start of classes for many high school and college students today. But all of those things combined foretold of the impending arrival of Fall. And a sense of renewal. Of beginning. And so, with only these things to blame for my behavior, I did something today that I vowed that I would never do. Something that represents so much of what I hate about the ubiquitous presence of technology in our lives. Something that three friends had previously invited me to do. I joined Facebook.

Hell freezing over is sure to follow.

JIM: My wife got me tickets for my birthday for all of us to go see the Phillies-Braves on August 30. It was supposed to be a Sunday afternoon game, but I told her right away that it would probably end up getting changed by ESPN and the kids' first day of school is the next day.

We found out yesterday that ESPN picked up the game and the time was changed to 8:05. She doesn't want to go now because we don't want the kids out that late the night before their first day of school. I looked to see if we could exchange the tickets for another game, but every home game the rest of the season that we could possibly go to is either sold out or only has standing room only tickets left.

Looks like the compromise is that we are still going to go to the game, but I have to leave by 10:00 at the latest. Bummer.


DAVE: The Pirates never have their Sunday afternoon games changed to night games for ESPN. Although inconvenient, you are experiencing what it's like to have winning baseball. Damn you.


JIM: Don't hate me because my team is beautiful.


DAVE: Nice retort.


JIM: My pleasure. I don't often get accused of retorting.

DAVE: So, Sassy, I've been going through all of my clothing. I mean, all of it, and giving a lot of things that I don't wear or that I don't like to Goodwill. It's been a pretty big purge for someone who doesn't like to do that sort of thing. But it feels good. Anyway, I came across an old pair of jeans in the bottom of a drawer in my dresser. They fit me. The only thing is that they are "faded" jeans. Not acid-washed, or anything like that. Just purchased faded. I don't know if these are what they call "in style", so I need to have you tell me whether I can wear them or not. I think they are fine, if you are not attempting to be dressed in the latest trends, but I need your opinion. If they're not "in" enough right now, then I'll fold them up and put them back in the drawer. Eventually, they will be in fashion again. Someday.

FF: This is f-ing hilarious. I can't wait to see your Bon Jovi jeans. That's what I call [FF's boyfriend's] faded jeans.

DAVE: They will be fashionable again. And I'll be ready for it.

FF: Yes, and will you peg them?

DAVE: Hilarious. I never did that. These aren't jeans that come up high on the waist. And they're not some sassy brand. They're Gap.

Pittsburgh sure is becoming a bona fide tourist destination lately. Of course, there is the recent opening of the Rivers Casino slot machine and entertainment emporium. And now there's word that country singer Toby Keith is going to open up one of his chain restaurants at the SouthSide Works, adding Pittsburgh to other great travel destinations such as Las Vegas, Oklahoma City, Kansas City, and Mesa, Arizona. Keith's "I Love This Bar and Grill" is expected to open on the riverfront in late 2010. The 15,000-square-foot restaurant will feature live music, HDTV monitors for watching sporting events, and Southern-style cooking, including its signature fried bologna sandwich and deep-fried Twinkees. There also will be a guitar-shaped bar and VIP rooms. The signature fried bologna sandwich and VIP rooms.

I can't wait.

I recently pulled an "old" pair of jeans out of my closet and wore them. Pants have a tendency to fall in and out of favor with me. I don't know why. But for some reason this pair hadn't seen action in a while. When I put them on, I found a small plastic bag in the pocket. When Sidney was living with me, I would carry little plastic bags in the pockets of my pants and my jackets so that I would always be prepared when Sidney did his business on a walk.

Over the last few days, I have been going through clothing that I don't wear anymore and getting a pile ready for Goodwill. Today I was going through the pockets of a very old light jacket before adding it to the pile. In one of the pockets, I found a balled up piece of paper towel. I knew immediately what it was. When I had my previous dog Fritz over ten years ago, I used to carry balled up pieces of paper towel in my pockets. I guess I hadn't worn that jacket since Fritz was still alive.

It seems that ESPN is now covering Ultimate Fighting. Is Ultimate Fighting really a sport?

The Pirates managed to not lose a game last night. Mercifully, they had the night off.

The purported solution to so many of our region's and our state's financial problems finally opened yesterday. Slot machines will save us all.

I know Health Care Reform is a confusing and complex issue, truly I do. But please believe me when I tell you that no matter what Republicans, Conservatives, or anyone else says or tells you, Health Care Reform is not the same thing as Socialized Medicine. It's really not. Not even close. No sirree. If Americans had a better understanding of what Socialized Medicine really is, it would be obvious to them how dramatically different it is from what Health Care Reform is proposing.

I had a very nice lunch yesterday with my old friend Michelle. We went to a new French bistro in the Shadyside area called Paris66. Also there was Joanne (Mrs. Fred) Rogers. Having grown up attending the same church in Squirrel Hill as Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, it's always nice to see Mrs. Rogers around the neighborhood.

As long as guns of any kind are so readily available in this country (which will probably be forever, given the power, resources, and political influence of the NRA), none of us are truly ever safe. We just teach ourselves not to think about it. But sometimes I do think about it. And it scares and angers me.

Very weird night. I went to the Pirate game with my father and almost saw a no-hitter pitched against the Pirates. Three yinzers and I had a bit of a disagreement in an elevator after the game, and they wanted me to fight them. And there was a terrible shooting in the Pittsburgh area.

Man, those are some wild pants. Is that the kind of thing that you're supposed to wear when you go to the Zoo these days? With your male friend?

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

First Sonni Abatta left town for Orlando. And now a whole bunch of the Pirates are gone. This has not been a good summer for Pittsburgh.

Farewell, Jack Wilson. You and your tremendous defensive play will be missed.

Yesterday I saw a man riding a motorcycle with a cigarette in his mouth. I'm trying to figure out how that compares with the man wearing sandals and using the weed whacker.

With the trade of Adam LaRoche yesterday to the Boston Red Sox, my father no longer has anyone to swear at when he watches Pirate games.

Two things:

There was the rare Sid Bream reference made during Saturday night's Pirate game telecast. I always enjoy a good Sid Bream reference.

Today I learned that in women's softball, the infielders are still called baseman. Like third baseman. I thought that was interesting.

I saw a man yesterday wearing leather sandals and using a weed whacker. That just doesn't seem like a good idea. How tough is it to put on a pair of sneakers?

Although I was late getting out of bed today, I did feel better than I did yesterday. And I am hopeful that I will feel even better tomorrow. I don't know what caused things to go kerplooey yesterday. I've thought about the possible triggers, and I haven't really come up with much. Sometimes I feel as though I know some of the triggers, and other times I feel as though I have no idea.

I have been feeling pretty good in recent weeks, and therefore, haven't mentioned my depression on the blog in a while. Unfortunately, that streak has come to an end. I am just not feeling right today. I don't know what it is, but I was off from the moment I woke up this morning, and I just haven't been able to shake it. I have been feeling a little sluggish recently, sleeping later on days that I don't have anything scheduled. But today just hasn't been a good one for me. I don't know what will happen from here, but it is demoralizing to have been feeling good only to have it come crashing down around me without any warning.

Dave: Do you put your lips on Rohan's stomach and make farting noises?

Focker: I usually do that in the neck area. I act like a biting lion or tiger usually on the stomach which tickles him.

Freedom!

Dave: So, Farah Fawcett died. She was the sex symbol from my youth.

Jim: It's funny. I was just thinking that exact same thought a few minutes ago before I read your email.

Dave: We're the same age.

Jim: Yeah. OLD.

Did you happen to see President Obama last night on ABC, answering questions and talking about health care reform? I was very impressed with him. Not only does he seem to have an excellent grasp on the problems facing the health care situation in this country, but he is calm and cool, very articulate, and obviously very intelligent. And best of all, from his first day in office, his approach to the issues facing this country has been pro-active. There hasn't been a president who is this pro-active in my lifetime. Rather than waiting for problems to arise and having to react to them, he is trying to tackle them before they become crises. It's a smart approach to virtually anything, and it saves money in the long run. If the American auto companies had been pro-active in their business strategies, they might not have found themselves in the trouble they're in. I believe in President Obama. I think he knows what he's doing, and I agree with virtually everything he does. And that never happens. I can always find something wrong. But he's the real deal. He made promises to the American people while he was campaigning, and so far, he has lived up to those promises. One thing is for sure, he is really trying. Instead of sitting back and spending his summer in someplace like Crawford, Texas, he's out there everyday, working, pushing forward, talking to people, trying to make this country better than it is, and trying to make the future better than the path that it's currently on. Did I mention that I am really impressed with this man?

Jim: I just had to go through all my clothes a couple weeks ago and throw out a bunch of old t-shirts. I tried to tell my wife that when I go places, I don't buy souvenirs or take a lot of photos and that my t-shirts are my souvenirs and that they don't take up nearly as much space as her boxes and photo albums of old pictures. That didn't fly.


Dave: I don't buy souvenirs or take photos, either. I don't even own a camera. Not even on my phone. I depend on others for my small collection of photos. I am eventually going to have to tackle my vast collection of baseball cards that is stored in my parents' attic. Going through them will be a nightmare, but I suppose I will try to sell them somehow. There are only a few of them that I want anymore. I don't even begin to know how to sell them. EBay? A dealer?


Jim: You are asking the wrong person. But if you figure it out, please let me know.

And if you see my t-shirt from the opening of Camden Yards at your local Goodwill, grab it and save it for me until I see you again and can get if from you.


Dave: Do you have a bunch of baseball cards stored somewhere, too? I remember when I was growing up, my father told me to save my cards because they would be worth something someday. But he never told me what I was supposed to do when that day came.

Post number 400 . . .

I reluctantly watched the movie "Marley and Me" last night with my parents. I had very low expectations, but it turned out to be an okay film. The thing that struck me was that the filmmakers were able to show how the life of a dog can be so intertwined with the life of a young couple that grows over the years into a family, with all of the highs and lows that come with that growth. Of course, Marley grew older as the movie progressed, inevitably becoming sick and having to be put down. The film did a good job, I thought, of showing how a family reacts when one of its pivotal members gets sick and dies, even if that member is the family pet. By the end of the movie, both my father and my mother were reaching for tissues to wipe their eyes. I myself felt my eyes grow heavy with tears, but I managed to keep it together. But I must admit that I was very moved by the ending. I couldn't help but be reminded of the dogs that have been in my family over the years and how emotionally heart-wrenching it can be to say good-bye to a good friend while the life of a family continues. So, if you have a dog, make sure to pet it everyday and talk to it and tell it what a good dog it is. You will glad that you did when it comes time to say good-bye.

I am not good at throwing certain things away. I keep some things because I think that I might need them at some point in the future. I used to be a high school English teacher, and I have tons of stuff from those years, and I can't seem to bring myself to even go through it all, let alone dispose of it. I have boxes of stuff in the storage locker in the basement of my building. And there are more boxes of stuff still stored at my parents' house, which my mother has been nagging me to go through for years. The recent severe storm that blew through Pittsburgh on Wednesday night caused some flooding in my parents' basement. Some of my boxes got wet, so my mother really pushed me to go through them. Reluctantly, I decided to tackle the two boxes that had gotten wet. In one, I found papers and notebooks from my high school years. Just looking at the stuff brought back a flood of memories from those years. It was a little overwhelming. My high school years, like they are for most people, were full of varying emotions, from teenage insecurities to outright joy from time spent with good friends. My high school memories have always been difficult for me to think about. My memories are so vivid that they scare me sometimes. I still have lots of dreams where I am back in high school surrounded by people from more than twenty years ago. Anyway, I went through that box and threw out a bunch of stuff, but I also saved some piles of papers and notebooks that I wanted to go through more carefully at a later date. The other box contained a variety of things, including my collection of Pirate yearbooks from the 1970s and a little box of knickknacks that contained little trinkets that dated all the way back to elementary school. I found two little pins that said "Band" on them that I received in fourth and fifth grade when I played the clarinet (and not very well) in the school band. They took me right back to those years, and I found myself reminiscing over events from decades ago. It was difficult for me to see these things and throw most of them away. As my mother said, what was I going to do with these little things that I had already managed to live without for over thirty years. So, with some regret, I did throw them away. But by the end of the evening, I felt emotionally drained. It was a difficult process for me. I don't know whether these things are harder for me than other people, but I do know that I struggle with going through items from my past. And now even as I feel a sense of accomplishment because I finally went through two boxes, there are still a bunch of additional boxes waiting for me to tackle them. And I'm really not looking forward to it. I think some people genuinely enjoy going through things from their past and the memories that accompany them. I don't. But I guess it has to be done.

If you haven't seen photos already, the Stanley Cup recently went swimming during a party at Mario Lemieux's house. Just as it did 17 years ago when Mario and the Penguins last got to play around with the Cup for the summer.

Did you know that in Pennsylvania an annual income of $32,000 or less is considered low income? I can't tell you how many jobs I have applied for that were in that neighborhood. And there was fierce competition for some of those jobs. And I have a Master's degree. Yikes.

Did you happen to see on the news tonight how much profit the cell phone companies are making on text messages? Apparently, it costs the companies about 1/30 of a cent to transmit a text message over their networks. And they charge 20 cents or 25 cents to send and to receive each text message. That's a pretty nice mark-up.

Last year during the Stanley Cup Finals, I didn't really watch the games because I was in the midst of a pretty bad depressive episode. This year, fortunately, I was feeling well enough to watch all of the games and really get into the series. I was a college student in 1991 and 1992 when the Penguins last won the Stanley Cup, and I watched the games with friends of mine, eventually ending up joining in the revelry in Oakland in 1991 as a pretty wild celebration took place. Now, seventeen years later, I watched Game 7 in a much more subdued atmosphere, but I think I enjoyed it just as much. It would have been considered a great series, regardless of which team had won. But it sure is nice when your team wins.

As I had previously promised my vast readership, here is a photo of me holding my niece Evelyn that was taken during my sister's visit over Memorial Day weekend.

A topic other than depression . . .

Sidney has turned out to be a truly wonderful dog. I knew from the first day that he came to live with me that he was a good dog. But even I could never have imagined how great he would become. Granted, he has had the opportunity to truly flourish while living with my parents over the last year. They have been able to provide him with an environment better suited to his needs than I was able to do. Mostly, he needed more space and a fenced-in backyard, and I do not have either. My mother has done a great job of caring for him, and he has become very attached to her, following her around all over the house, and sleeping with her every night. Sometimes it upsets me to see how attached he is to her, after the time that he and I spent together. He and I still get along famously, and we have a lot of fun playing together. But I still envy that she gets to spend so much time with him. It's hard to let go, I guess. Despite my tear-filled request that she not spoil him when she came and took him away last summer, she has gone ahead and spoiled him rotten. It's nice that she buys him all sorts of toys. He loves to play, and having a vast selection of toys seems to make him happy. But she also gives him too many treats. I am of the school of thought that you should provide dogs with two healthy meals a day, with limited treats during the day. But she takes it too far, something that she did with previous dogs and which I believe led to their healths deteriorating prematurely, ultimately ending with their deaths. I beg her not to give him people food with lots of salt in it; chips, nuts, and the like. But she doesn't listen to me. That's her way with just about everything. My father and I have even talked about how "You can't tell your mother anything. She always thinks she knows what's best." And it's important with dogs to control their diet. They really should not eat people food, except on very rare occasions. Dog food is specially formulated for their nutritional needs. And both my sister and I think that Sidney has gained weight since he went to live with my parents. He's not fat, by any means. When I got him, he was downright skinny, and I adjusted his diet so that he put on a little much-needed weight. It's not good for any dog to be overweight, but it's particularly true for dachshunds because of their long backs. They need to be kept slim and trim for their prolonged health. But my mother shows little to no restraint in offering him both treats for dogs and treats for humans. It drives me crazy. I try to say little things here and there when I see her doing it, but it does no good whatsoever. She eats too many snacks herself and has gained weight in recent years, despite requests from her PCP to lose some weight. And she seems to reward Sidney for being such a good dog with treats, much like she seems to reward herself. Both behaviors upset me, and I feel absolutely helpless to change them. She just doesn't listen to anybody.

I feel like it's been an eternity since I had anything to say that was positive. So, even though it's not that big of a deal, I did want to report that today was an okay day for me. I was late getting out of bed, as I have been lately. But one has to consider that I went to bed around three in the morning, after doing a little reading. I didn't feel as anxious today as I have recently. I didn't seem to have that "edge" that I frequently complain to my doctor about, that keeps me from ever feeling "comfortable" during the course of the day. I was not nearly as miserable as I usually am, so for that, I am thankful.

Although I have been battling the depression since early 2006, each time I experience a flare-up, there are some things that remain constant and others that are different. For instance, last summer, I was sleeping all of the time. Deep sleep. I was exhausted, and I would have to force myself awake and up and out of bed. This time around, I'm not sleeping. I don't even remember the last time that I had a good night's sleep. I think it might have been two weeks ago. Since then, I have been unable to fall asleep much before four in the morning, and my sleep has been restless and frequently interrupted. I stay in bed far longer than I should, far longer than all of the experts suggest, in the hopes that I may find some peace in several continuous hours of sleep. But it hasn't happened. It's very common for people with depression to experience sleeping problems. It's also common for them to reverse their waking and sleeping hours, finding their most comfortable, productive time during the overnight, while spending the daylight hours under the covers. I'm caught in that cycle right now, and I would love nothing better than to change it.

Meanwhile, I am beginning to experience frustration from people in my life. My parents, mostly. Having done a lot to try and help me get better last summer, they are finding it more difficult to provide that same level of support this summer. My mother is the worst. I'm not really sure what's going on with her, but she has been distant and cold toward me since she returned from three weeks spent in Chicago following the birth of my niece. I don't know what kinds of things were talked about between my sister and her husband and my mother, but it seems that from the moment she got off the plane, she was giving me a hard time about just about everything. Unfortunately, it was shortly after she arrived home that I became depressed again. Whether or not it's a causal relationship is unclear. For years, I put up with what I can honestly say was "emotional abuse," beginning during my teenage years when a young man typically experiences a separation from his mother. But I managed to work through it, and I tried to build a decent relationship with her. And it has been decent at times. For instance, when she came back to Pittsburgh from Florida last November to help me get back on my feet when I was going through a particularly difficult time with the depression. But now she feels as though she has done her part, and she doesn't want to provide the help that I need right now to keep going while the depression tries to drag me down. I really hope that I am not at the point now where my depression fluctuates according to my relationship with my mother (read: I just want my mommy to love me.). But it's clear that something has happened to her to cause her to want little to do with my depression. That leaves my father as the understanding one, and you may remember from posts written last summer that my father is old school and has a tendency to think that if I just "pull myself up by the bootstraps," then I can beat this thing. My father is retired, and he still gets up at six every morning. He certainly can't understand how and why I would spend the day in bed. I don't know. I feel like I've just skimmed the surface of these issues with my parents, but it's so complicated and in many ways, hard to put into words. We all have issues with our parents, right? But for all of the years that I was able to deal with those issues (probably by internalizing them, rather than dealing with them in a healthy manner), now I seem particularly vulnerable to them. And I know that thinking about them is making me feel worse, making me sicker. But when I'm lying in bed and I can't sleep, my mind naturally starts to ruminate over them. As an adoptee, it's almost a given that I would have abandonment issues. But now they really seem to be haunting me.

I have not written anything recently because I have been very, very ill. I am glad that my vast readership feels compelled to write comments. I appreciate them, even the ones with which I may not agree. I would like to say a few things about my depression. Despite my attempts to be honest about my condition and how I'm feeling, I tend to leave out many details of just how bad it is. I do not like drama or hyperbole, and I am a very guarded person by nature. But I am a very sick man. And despite the work by mental health professionals to help me get better, I have only experienced periods of feeling somewhat "normal." But even then, I can tell that there is something "not quite right" with me. And then the depression comes back. And I can't figure out whether it is caused by something, some trigger. Or could it be caused by a medication issue. Regardless, it comes back. And when it does, I am so sick. Physically, as I've said before, I feel like I have a bad case of the flu. Mentally, my head is so tied up in knots that there are times when I can't even form a coherent thought. And what some of the professionals with whom I've spoken about my condition tell me is that people with severe depression like mine commonly think about or even attempt to kill themselves. Throughout this ordeal, I have maintained the attitude that that is not even an option. I know what it's like to live a happy life, and I want so desperately to return to that. But it's getting harder and harder to convince myself that that is a possibility, with so many setbacks. I feel like my life is passing me by, and my days are often so unpleasant that I would rather just sleep through them altogether. And I used to be a person who tried to enjoy every day as much as I could. But now I'm just so sick. And I'm growing very weary of it. I just can't imagine this as being the way my life is going to be. I find myself wondering whether I would want to live a life where suffering from depression is my baseline. I don't think that I can do it. It's just so awful. And my condition is affecting the people in my life who I love and value, and I feel so horribly because they have to deal with me like this. For the most part, they have demonstrated patience and love. But as the depression lingers on, I know that strains are being put on those relationships. But sadly, I am in no condition to do anything about them. I usually feel worse than I even let on, because I know that most people can't fully grasp the magnitude of my illness. But no matter what your opinions about or knowledge about depression, I can tell you this: I feel worse than you think I feel.

I can't sleep. It is very frustrating. The last few days have been frustrating. Unfortunately, I have been experiencing another depressive episode, this one as a result of a change in medication that didn't turn out so good for me. I started to feel sluggish last Thursday, and that continued on Friday and Saturday. By Sunday, I was in full-blown depression. I spent most of Sunday in bed sleeping. For me, depression tends to manifest itself as a severe case of flu-like symptoms. And when I have a bad case of the flu, I usually stay in bed. So I did that Sunday, and then Monday I slept all day, suffering from intermittent chills and hot spells throughout the day. But then on Tuesday, although I stayed in bed, I was not sleeping, but rather tossing and turning restlessly for most of the afternoon. Then when I went to bed Tuesday night, I really couldn't sleep at all, and that continued through much of Wednesday. I dozed off a few times, but I never really fell into a deep sleep. Wednesday night, after a very pleasant night over at FF's house watching the season finale of "Lost," I came home, watched some TV, read for a little while, and went to bed shortly after 2:00. But I have been lying in bed since then, completely unable to get even close to sleep, and not feeling particularly tired. So, here I am, writing a blog when I would much rather be sleeping, albeit not all daylong. I am feeling better than I was a couple of days ago, with the flu-like symptoms starting to fade. But I want to sleep. Sleep.

It did not rain yesterday. I still can't believe it.

So, last night I went to my first Pirate game of the season. In fact, since I didn't go to a single game last season, it was my first game since sometime during the 2007 season. It was also my father's first game of the season. It was pretty fucking miserable. It was a cold night, and it drizzled throughout the game, causing no more than one-third of the paid attendance of 9,775 to actually attend the game. It was the smallest crowd for a Pirate game that I've gone to. The stands of PNC Park were just empty, with many of those there leaving their seats on the field for shelter from the rain in the concourses. The Pirates played with their usual lack of talent against a much better team in the Milwaukee Brewers, who easily won the game 8-5, marking the 17th game in a row that the Brewers have defeated the Pirates, the longest such streak since 1970.

The only "good" thing that happened at the game was when the Brewers Ryan Braun hit a pop-up foul ball into the stands and headed right for where we were sitting. A fellow sitting in the row in front of us attempted to catch the ball, but it bounced off of his hands and landed in the empty row behind where I was sitting. So, I just turned around in my seat and grabbed the ball. In all of my years attending Pirate games, it was the first foul ball that I've ever gotten. A small consolation, given the miserable conditions of the whole experience.

All things considered, I was able to get a pretty good night's sleep on Saturday night. I did wake up once while the police and tow trucks were doing their thing, but that may have been because I had to go to the bathroom. Other than that, I didn't feel disturbed. Welcome back, Dick's Pittsburgh Marathon!

I suppose the return of the Pittsburgh Marathon on Sunday after a five-year absence is a good thing for the City. However, it spells certain doom for my sleep on Saturday night. You see, I have lived in the same block of a street on the Marathon route for more than eight years. Which means that I know from previous experience that at about three o'clock in the morning on the night before the race, several police cars and tow trucks will arrive on my block to issue parking tickets and tow cars that have failed to observe the No Parking signs that will be hung along the street between now and then. The police cars will have their lights going, and the tow trucks will make an immense amount of noise when they are towing multiple cars from the block. This will go on for a little while, and then finally once all of the cars on my block have been towed, the police and tow trucks will move up the street to the next block. But for the period that they are on my block, I have historically not been able to sleep because of all of the commotion just outside my window. I have rather enjoyed the reprieve during the last five years of the Marathon's absence, but with the race's return this weekend also comes what I describe as "my worst night of sleep of the year."

Excited by the team's good start to the season, Pirate players like Andy LaRoche have been doing "the wave" when they are at bat.

I'm definitely getting soft as I get older. As many of my readers know, I have a strong aversion to winter, sometimes leading to bouts of Seasonal Affective Disorder, just another disorder to add to my growing collection of them. Anyway, so not only do I dislike winter, but it also makes me depressed. I got through last winter largely by spending the worst seven weeks of it in Florida with my parents and Sidney. I essentially missed last winter. Now, in only the second day of temperatures around 86 degrees, I couldn't hold out any longer, and I put the window air conditioner in on the second floor of my condo. It was starting to get a little stuffy up there, and there was no breeze coming in through the open window. Maybe April 25 is a little early to be using the air conditioners. But it's bloody hot outside. And now I'm sitting in cool, air-conditioned comfort.

You see, I know that my sister has more flattering photos of Baby Evelyn, because I got some of the other photos from my mother. Why my sister chose to send yesterday's photo (in addition to another that was almost as unflattering) around to her friends (and older brother) to announce the birth of Evelyn remains a mystery to me. She's a cute baby. At least as much as any baby is.

This is my niece Evelyn. I thought all babies were supposed to be cute.

Still waiting for the geckos to come out.

Adventures in Florida . . .

Sidney always believed (whether rightly or wrongly) that there were geckos hiding behind the big black electrical outlet.

In an effort to promote lagging ticket sales for the bevy of action films starring Nicholas Cage, some theaters are now giving away life size wax replicas of the former "Leaving Las Vegas" Academy Award winner. Although not as easy to carry home as a bobblehead doll, the wax replicas are still rather popular with some moviegoers.

My parents and Sidney arrived safely and without incident in Pittsburgh yesterday morning. My parents seem well, although they have made their displeasure known about the temperatures here being significantly lower than what they had become accustomed to in Florida. Sidney, being the consummate traveller, arrived back at their house and didn't miss a beat, picking up right where he left off. He loves their backyard, and he was clearly happy to be back patrolling it again. He looks great. He was happy to see me, and we got in some quality playing time yesterday. My "youth" probably makes me a little more satisfying to play with than either of my parents (read: my mother). But he is an outstanding little dog, and I was reminded yet again why I have such great affection for him. My mother brought back with her some photos of him engaged in his customary shenanigans in Florida, and I will post some of them in the near future.


And . . . I became an uncle yesterday. Big day.

Right now, my parents and Sidney are on the road making their way back to Pittsburgh from Florida. I know that they won't be thrilled with the cooler weather here, but I am looking forward to seeing them. Especially Sidney. Apparently, he was barking a bit much last night at a motel somewhere in South Carolina while my parents were next door at a Cracker Barrel having dinner. The front desk received some complaints, and they called my parents to let them know. Poor Sidney. He just doesn't know that after six months of hunting geckos in my parents' yard in Florida (and sometimes in the house, too), he is headed back to Pittsburgh where he will have to find something else to hunt in the backyard here. I'm sure he'll be great once he gets home tomorrow. He's still adjusting to be a traveling dog two times a year. I am very excited to see the little guy.


I have recently learned that Sidney had what was probably his first encounter with an elevator last night at the motel, after which he was not so interested in hopping on board this morning. I guess he doesn't like elevators.

I'm a liberal democrat, it's true. But I am not opposed to the death penalty.

Stan was in such a hurry to get to the store to buy a carton of his favorite cigarettes before the tax hike took effect that he forgot to put on his man-bra.

This is Alison Morris. Perhaps you've seen her on TV. I was seated at a big table with her on Saturday night to watch the Pitt game. She's well-educated, well-traveled, has a great career in broadcast journalism, and she's beautiful. There's only one problem. She's a bitch.

Bugger!

Last night's last-second loss stings a bit. It's not quite as bad as 1992/Braves/Pirates/Sid Bream, but it still hurts.

So, I was trying to make plans with my friend Michelle to watch the Pitt game tomorrow afternoon, and we were communicating via text messages and emails. And then, out of nowhere, she called me on my cell phone because she thought it would be easier. Easier to talk on the phone than to try and set up plans using text messages and emails. Huh. I think she just might be on to something. We'll see if it catches on.


And just a little while later . . .

While I was getting my hair cut today, Kelly was telling me a story and she was telling me about how she had posted photos from last weekend on her MySpace and Facebook pages. I don't seem to be able to get away from it.

It's been quite a while since I've been to an actual nightclub. Apparently, now young women talk on their phones, while men simply watch them. I suppose if they want to dance, their phones are their dance partners.


I bet all three of these young women are on Facebook.

Today I added the word "Facebook" to the spelling check feature of my email because it kept getting flagged when I used it in emails. But that's as far as I'm going.

The saga of The Tunnel to Nowhere continues . . .

Well, are they going to finish this disaster or not?

I was sitting at the bar in a local restaurant last night having dinner and a couple of drinks while watching college basketball. A woman came in with her young son and were seated at a table close to where I was perched at the bar. Apparently, her dining experience was not as good as mine because she complained about seemingly every facet of her meal and her son's meal from the moment they sat down. She immediately alienated her server somehow which I didn't quite catch. Then when her server wasn't around, she would grab the attention of other servers passing by to make requests and complaints. She asked for an extra ranch dressing for an appetizer, and then complained when it didn't arrive quickly. (Why don't restaurants just give you an extra dressing or sauce when you order something? It saves us all the trouble of asking for another one and the server having to go get one.) Then when their main courses came, she complained that both her and her son's food were cold, and she sent them back. I didn't stare at the table, but I did look over once or twice, and I noticed that the woman had a perpetual scowl on her face from the beginning of their meal to the end. Shortly after their meals were returned from the kitchen where they were apparently heated up, I sneaked a peek and saw her putting her nose up to the opened end of a bottle of A1 steak sauce to smell it and then making a face of contempt. It wasn't long before she flagged down her server and asked for takeout containers so that they could take most of their food home. Before they left, however, the manager came over to the table, and the woman told her about all of the things that had been wrong with their dining experience. Meanwhile, from what I could tell, the server who waited on them was polite and professional, despite being on the receiving end of a lot of complaining. And I thought to myself that it would probably be impossible to please this woman. For whatever reason, no matter what restaurant she and her son would have gone to or what they would have ordered, she would have complained about it. She was a scowler. And scowlers are never fun. Why would someone like that even go out to dinner if she's not going to be satisfied? It would not be a very pleasant experience, and I think that going out to dinner should be a pleasant experience. And I realize that this sort of thing happens all of the time in restaurants all over the place. I just wonder why.

More adventures for Jim with Facebook . . .

Jim: I got an email that a woman I went to high school with wrote on my "Wall". Still not sure what that means exactly. But I can say with a pretty high degree of confidence that in four years of going to high school together, she never spoke one word to me. Of course, that goes both ways. I don't expect that I ever talked to her either. And not that there's anything wrong with that.

Now I have some kind of graffiti or vandalism on my Wall. What is the etiquette here? Am I obligated to respond to this, even though I've never spoken to this person? After all, what it really boils down to is she's just trying to be friendly, right? And, I assume, she wouldn't have had access to write on my Wall if I hadn't accepted her email request to be my "friend". So now am I being rude if I accept her as my friend, but then ignore her message on my Wall? I don't need to go pissing anyone off. Look what that guy in Alabama just did because he perceived that some people had slighted him...

Email . . .

Jim: My wife invited me to be her "friend" on facebook and talked me into opening an account this week. How cool am I? Only I've now come to find out that facebook is passe and all of the cool kids are Twittering. But at least I now have 33 "friends" already on facebook, almost all of whom are people from my high school class who I never talked to or hung out with in high school and have never been in touch with ever since our high school graduation.

Is this really what the internet has come to? God I miss the days of free internet porn.

Dave: Apparently, Facebook is the new big thing with people in our age range. It's scary. I keep getting invitations from people to be their "friend," and they always say that they tried to hold out but that they eventually gave into the "peer pressure" to join. I'm not doing it.

Jim: But now I'm finally popular!!!

I haven't felt compelled to write about anything recently. I have gotten into a bit of a routine, which helps me to keep the worst of the depression away. I still have good days and bad days. But I've been able to manage fairly well since I returned from Florida four weeks ago today.

I've been thinking a lot about Sidney lately. He's just such a good dog. I can't really say that I or my mother have done anything particularly special to make him the way he is. I think he just came that way. And to think, I picked him out on a website for dachshunds in search of new homes. And then I drove to Ohio to meet him and bring him home. Now he is a very important part of my parents' lives and my life. I'm very much looking forward to when he returns to Pittsburgh with my parents in early April. It will be great to see him and play with him. Maybe he can even come stay with me for a few days. Just a little visit to his first home after I adopted him. Hopefully, someday, Sidney and I will be reunited for good.

Writing about Sidney also gives me an excuse to post a photo of the handsome little fellow.