Merry Christmas, Poogie Fans.

To those of you who enjoy checking in on us, we wish you a Merry Christmas!

Now I know what my parents meant.

Caroline Ushers in Christmas...With Singing and Motions!

Caroline is a shy child. 

However, this year, she gave us her best performance at her Christmas program.  She sang all of the songs and did the motions.  For those of you who know her shyness, this was a big event.

Caroline is seated in the green dress in the second row middle.  It may be a challenge to see her, but I wanted to give the singer her due.

Enjoy.

Basketball Jones and the Unbeaten Streak

What a great title for an alternative rock band, eh?

Henry made his first visit to Quicken Loans Arena on Saturday for Twinburg Basketball League night with the Cavaliers.  The Cavs were riding a ten game losing streak and facing the New York Knicks.  It had all the makings for a long evening.

Fortunately for Henry and the Cavs, I was there.

You see, I have a perfect 2010 record watching live Cavs home games.  I brought the Cavs through the home opener against the Celtics and my cosmic karma brought them through a nail-biter against the dreaded New York Knicks.

2 and 0 in 2010 is no small feat for a Cleveland sport fan -- especially for the Cavs "AL" (after LeBron).

Now for the important stuff regarding Henry's visit to the Q.

It was Henry's first NBA game.  For his sake, he should probably stop now.  It's only downhill from here.

Fortunately for Henry, the NBA caters to two market demographics:  (1) seven-year old boys and (2) the friendless corporate scumbag.

Exploding scoreboards.  Street dancing.  Scantily-clad women.  Eight dollar Miller Lites.

Even the basketball was suspect.

But enough about the game.

Henry got to play on the court prior to the game.  He and a couple of his TBL teammates joined him for a pregame shootaround.

Henry scored more points than Jamario Moon and Jawad Williams combined -- 4. 

In case you didn't know (and why would you?), those are two Cavs who played a combined 33 minutes on Saturday night and only scored three points.

My boy is money.

Henry and the gang prior to their close-up.

In the lockerroom before hitting the hardwood.  (Yes, that's a hat that looks like a basketball net on the kid next to Henry -- another reason why Moms shouldn't shop for their sons).

Henry (in jeans) making it rain jumpers in the Q.

Two jokes here. 
First, Henry is the one in the middle.  Second, that was as active as J.J. Hickson was all night.



Henry and Grandpa getting ready for a plate of nachos prior to the game.



Henry during a timeout anticipating the excitement of overtime!

Henry was so excited after the game that he woke up the next day and introduced his sisters like the Cavs PA announcer. 

He's hooked.

There are worse things to be hooked on at this age.



Why I No Longer Play Fantasy Sports?

Fantasy sports is a huge industry.

I used to enjoy playing it with friends and family. Then, I had an epiphany.

Playing fantasy sports makes you a dork.

I'm a self-described dork, but even I can see the dead-end that is fantasy sports.

I have felt this way for a while now, but I haven't been able to find the perfect reason why I don't get involved anymore.

Where can someone looking for the answers find the shining light?  Where can reason be gleaned from the unreasonable?

To the flock, I give you Terre Haute, Indiana.

Click on the link below.

All family brawl takes fantasy out of football

Where else would you expect a family fantasy football league to turn into a broken nose, a broken orbital bone and a felonious assault?

Stay classy, Terre Haute.

Will Plus Two: Resuming Lap Position

Click here to view these pictures larger

Will Meets Part of the Family

Click here to view these pictures larger

William Christopher Holman (Will)

Will has arrived!

8 lbs., 11 ounces.

Mom and Will are resting and doing great!  More to come later.  Need to get back to the hospital.

The Beard

Beards.  A Poogie pictoral history. 

Follow me, won't you?

Ambrose Burnside (he was a Hoosier, BTW) - his beard was so good, they named sideburns after him.



The only symphony conductor who can't score with the chicks.



Who said this was a man's game?

The author of the Gettysburg Address and the Chin Strap.

Did you know that Colonel Sanders is responsible for that stupid looking metrosexual, sliver beard and artherosclerosis?

Longaberger's new spokesperson.

El Comandante - makes Cuban beard and dental hygiene look like, well, Cuba.

Somewhere, his mother weeps -- silently.

Shock and awe that's such a ratty looking beard, but a Poogie-favorite beard nonetheless.

The inspirational, societal indifference beard.

Why the painful look at beards?

Well, there are roughly fifteen days and counting before I retire the latest installment of the third trimester sympathy beard.  I thought it might be appropriate self-aggrandizing to spend the remainder of this odd post dedicated to my freakish looking, felon's beard.

Let's celebrate us some facial hair, shall we?

Body temperature 98.6 degrees -- 100.4 degrees with the beard.

I was going for pensive here.  I think we managed to do the opposite. 

My mug shot.

Beards can have parental obligations.

Beards can also repent.

 December 10th can't get here fast enough.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Henry is a Baller

Click here to view these pictures larger

The Fire Dance

Henry was surrounded by frenzied female fans (we call that alliteration) at last night's Bob/Helen Marriage Redux (a good time, BTW).

Unfortunately for them, Henry did not give in to the requests to show off his fire dance.

In the video below, you will see why. 

He needs ten feet of space and somewhere to throw his shirt. 



Please note that Henry is not responsible for female fainting spells as a result of the above.

The Quick Recap

Yeah, I know.  We haven't been keeping up our end of the blog bargain here in Poogieville. 

Relax.

Here's the quick recap:

1.  We went back to Terre Haute a few weeks ago.  Saw a quarter and change of a South football game.  They lost.  Ate Taco Casita carry-out served by a 1993 THS grad.  Didn't know who had it better.  Did the 'Stube and lost.  Bought clothes at Roots (yeah, I know it's Macy's for you, but not for me).  Crushed nuts at Dobbs Park.   

No, I'm not going to explain that.

2.  We carved pumpkins.

3.  We did Year 3 of the Fungo with the neighbor, my dad, and my brothers.  I did not break my Moob this year.

4.  We celebrated CP3's 5th birthday.

5.  We trick-or-treated.

That's all I can comment on.  There's a bigger issue in the Holman house these days.

We're staring at T-minus one month and counting until another large-headed, Holman boy will grace the world's maternity ward.  Trying to juggle two girls sleeping together in a twin bed, potty training Joey, dealing with Henry "the Human Rain Delay" Holman, wading through multiple CP3 meltdowns and heading into the busy holiday season is tough work.

Erica is doing remarkably well.

Me?  I'm getting a kick out of the curious onlookers when we go to restaurants.  Three kids under 7.  A wife who is ready to pop.  Me with my sloppy, convicted felon's beard.

Guess which one does not go with the others? 

Anyway, here's what you've been missing. 

Joey (Ariel), Henry (the Ninja), and Caroline (as Erica...I mean as a cheerleader)



Caroline's well-attended 5th birthday jam.



Even Gandolf made it for Caroline's party.

Will, these are two of your four namesakes.  I know you have your work cut out for you.

Caroline's birthday cake.  FB Erica for the details.

Is it really their pumpkin if someone else risks digits and sanity to carve it?



Pumpkin Patches in NE Ohio: The Obligatory Pilgrimage

We hit Patterson's Farm on a Browns Sunday. 

They lost.  We won.  No one sprained an ankle during our outing.

The same cannot be said for our friends in Berea.

Henry

Caroline

Josephine

Keeping with tradition, no pumpkins were purchased during our visit to the pumpkin patch.  However, Henry did manage to score dinner.

That's a $5 bag of corn that was actually worth every penny.

Ssshhh! Let Me Tell You a Secret...

It's our 10th wedding anniversary today.

The traditional gift is tin or aluminum.  The modern gift is a diamond.  The gift flower is a daffodil.

I'm busy making a diamond encrusted, tin-plated daffodil plant holder for Erica. 

In the meantime, I wanted to share something with you that Erica and I have been holding onto for a few weeks now.

And before you go there, Erica approves of this message.

Our gift to you is knowledge, or advance warning as the case may be.

You see, the little baby in Erica's belly is a boy.

Hide your daughters.  See you on December 10th!

More from the Pig Roast: Pictures of People I Know (And Don't)

We're still sifting through pictures of the pig roast.  Unfortunately, like last time, I didn't take enough photos. 

Two reasons for this.

First, the simple math that you already have heard ad nauseum.  1.5 hours of sleep.  A beer glass that strobed a mini-laser light show while drinking.  The intoxicating vapors of a fine Anheuser Busch In Bev beer product.  Blah-blah-blah.

I was drinking.

Second, the fact that our outing was like a wedding reception.  No time to sit and chit-chat.

Next year -- if there's a next year for the roast -- I am designating a photographer and relinquishing that duty.

So, from the limited pictures below, you can extract what you will from the roast.

The under-appreciated hog.

Erica, Sydney Zucker and the hungry Zaffiros.

I know what's missing from those plates.

This really shouldn't have happened.

Erica Z. and the girls.

The reason Kia is removing cupholders from its 2011 models.

The Wallace family.  Fresh off an afternoon of college football.



Jamie Flaherty with an unidentified random child who may or may not be holding an alcoholic beverage.



My friend Cooter prior to his parole hearing.



Penn Staters apparently go Stein.  I opted for the epileptic powers of the mini-strobe.

Okay, okay.  I added a few family photos in there.

I had to.

Seriously, I took eight pictures at the actual roast.  Pathetic. 

Someone is going to have to tell me what happened in my life.  I'm apparently not keeping a good record of events.

Anyway, we'll see all of you in the backyard next year. 

Till then...

The Pig Roast: Preparation, Drinking and Being Tired

A couple of weeks ago, we threw down with the latest installment of the backyard pig roast.  By all accounts, it was a success.  

I'll have to take the critics' word on the subject. 

I was working on 1.5 hours of sleep and 26 hours of beer drinking. 

A rough weekend.

The roast was co-hosted by the Flaherty family and assisted by numerous neighbors.  A hearty thank you to all who joined us on Friday and Saturday.

Here are the preparation pictures: 



This is Gary II.  The pig, not the Flaherty.



The Gary II Roaster - comfortably seats one 175 lb. pig. 



Gary and Jim assisting Gary II.

Henry volunteered to act as a measuring device. 

The pig was roughly three Henrys.

How do you ruin a childhood?

Jack Wallace.  Pig roast legend.



No one does backyard cuisine like we do.



The Mop.



In case you were wondering, he's asleep.



Speechless.



 

Chris Lewis shows off his inner Howard Hughes.

 

You would think the pole played a larger role in this game.

There were only two morons who nursed the roaster through the night.

One of us -- not wearing red -- even managed to sleep through most of the early morning and leave the 4a and 6a mops to a solo artist.

Yeah, I nailed it.  Hope you slept well, Flaherty.

What do you do when you finish undressing the pig at 10:30a?

You drink.



The preparation highlights:

• Pig roasts and garage sales do not mix.
• Having multiple pig roast "experts" dissecting every pig roast decision. Too large of a pig.  Too early of a start time.  Too much charcoal.  Not enough charcoal.  Too much rub.  Not enough rub.  Hickory smoke versus Apple smoke.  Face the roaster north-south.  Face it east-west.  Take the temperature at 4a.  Wait till 8a.  Pull to eat.  Cut to eat.  Hilarious.  This just in...you can't F up a pig roast.
• Jack Wallace.  Honest.  Chock full of side-splitting stories.  Sponsored by the Red Man Plug.  I love that guy and I want him at every party I do from here on out.
• A tent that survived two Thursday thunderstorms.
• Letting Gary walk right into my brother's "talking-about-work" phobia.  Note to Gary: let us know if you ever find anything out about it.  We are still unsure he even works there. 
• Estate Avenue is a straight shot.  The first wall you hit is not the problem, it's the second one that'll get you in trouble.
• Still not understanding the secret dig behind the Handsome Rob line.
• Being able to avoid sharing the "New Year's Eve" story with new friends.
• Penn State still sucks.
• No one works a fire like Jim.  No one.  Seriously, I don't think he will let you. 
• Being "awakened" at 8a with George's Donuts.  Erica, you rock!
• The Flaherty and Wallace families.  You'll be so sorry you started hanging around us.
• The best part of a pig roast is the 12 hours you have cooking the pig the night before.  Again, that time did not disappoint. 
• Staring at the sky at 4:30a when everyone was asleep. 
• Battling trains, neighborhood booty calls and random snoring for sleep.
• Jim's patio loungers.
• Pork.
• The value of CO2.
• Watching Bill roll out the barrel.  Literally.  Home slice rolled a full beer keg up the driveway.  Thought it was going to explode when tapped.  Thankfully, CO2 neutralized the keg bomb.
• My $9 GWL beer glass.
• Jim's Mop Sauce.  I would have drank it if no one had stopped me.