So, there's an open position at work that a bunch of us Ticket Sales Reps applied for. The first interviews were conducted last week, leaving basically me and one other guy as the final candidates. Yesterday, we both had our interviews with the new Ticket Sales Director. He went first and was in Joe's office for over an hour while my stomach did the macarena at my desk.

Finally, the door opens and it's my turn. Joe just joined the team a little over a month ago and he and I haven't really gotten the opportunity to get to know each other. We spent about a solid half hour in intense conversation as he got to know what drives me, what I'm all about, and why I think I'm the right candidate for the open position of account executive.

Suddenly, a knock on the door. I thought to myself, "now who in the heck would barge in on us, knowing full well I'm in here interviewing for this position?" The answer came in the form of the tallest and most charismatic Olympic Gold Medalist I have ever met:

Dwight Howard.

That's right. The Orlando Magic's superstar was standing at the door. He came into the office with a huge smile on his face and introduced himself to me and Joe. He actually apologized for interrupting us, at which time Joe and I both told him it was quite alright. Now, you might think that working for the Magic we get frequent access to the players and coaches. Not quite. Sure, Stan Van Gundy watched our entire staff play dodgeball on the Magic's practice court last week...and former players Bo Outlaw and Nick Anderson are in our offices all the time...but this was the first time I've ever really gotten that close to Dwight.

He's huge. A big kid. He laughed when he found out he had barged in on my interview for the open position and said he wouldn't bother us anymore. I told him not to be ridiculous and congratulated him on his gold medal with the US Men's basketball team. We shook hands a few more times and he was on his way to spread his unique joy to other parts of our offices.

Was it an omen? That my current favorite player in the NBA just happened to walk in as I was trying to sell myself to Joe for this open A.E. position? Regardless, I walked out of that interview with a huge smile on my face. It was mostly because I got to meet and share a few moments with D-12, but it was also due in no small part to the fact that I knew I had presented myself in the best light possible and given Joe every reason to promote me. We'll see what happens. If I do get the position, now I have a somewhat-private joke I can share with Dwight while watching him warm up for games this season!

Rain. Wind. Flooding. 3 days of school cancellations. 2 unplanned days off work. Brevard County is underwater and it this keeps up, Volusia and even Seminole can't be too far behind. All in all, it's been one dreary rain-soaked week. Kudos to my work for keeping safety first and giving us a couple of days off. Kudos to Seminole County Schools for finally getting it right and giving the kids (and teachers!) today off.

This constant wind and rain could easily get the best of me, but it's not. I've had a great (yet abbreviated) week at work. The one thing I love the most about my job isn't even the money. It's the opportunity to get Magic fans to more games. I strongly feel that this season is going to be even better than last season. Dwight Howard is showing off his skills in the Olympics and will return with a strong commitment to getting his team to the NBA Finals. Hedo and Rashard are going to continue to improve their on-court play and chemistry, and I'm hoping that Jameer Nelson finally makes that jump to the next level of point guard play.

The Eastern Conference has gone from almost a complete joke to an extremely competitive group of teams. Cleveland, Boston, and Philly have strengthened their rosters and we're going to have to work hard to get one of the top seeds in the East. I know we can do it and I know we have the coaching and personnel in place to fight for a trip to the Finals.

One of the best aspects of my job is hooking fans up with ticket plans. Some Magic fans are under the false impression that we only offer full-season tickets. Not only do we offer half-season plans, but we have 15, 10, 7, and even 4-game plans as well. It's great to find someone who has been buying individual games through Ticketmaster and showing them how they can actually save money through a partial-season plan with us. Plus, they get the opportunity to get playoff tickets before they go on sale to the general public...and the best part is they're getting priority seating for the new arena.

Ahhh, the new arena. Last week, I got to tour our downtown experience center. That's where they sell suites and loge boxes for the new events center, opening in October of 2010. This new events center is going to put Orlando on the map. Don't get me wrong, I love the Amway Arena. I've been going to games there since 1989 and I love the intimacy. However, we've needed a new building for a few years now. This new building is going to simply take your breath away! I can't divulge too much about it, but you can link to it through the Magic's website (www.orlandomagic.com) and see for yourself.

As a 20-year Magic fan, I'm pumped about our 20th-anniversary season. If you're interested in checking out some games, holler at me and I'll do my best to find a plan for you. Even if you're thinking that you only go to a few games a year, a partial-season plan with us is a great way to guarantee yourself some great playoff seats and to get an advantage over the general public in securing seats for that new events center.

If you were born after the mid 1980s and/or you don't know what movie the title to this blog entry came from, then don't even bother reading this. You won't understand.

I have realized over the past decade or so that pretty much everything I once considered special or "cool" about growing up would be fouled by the stench of commercialism. Ad agencies seem to love going "retro" and in the process have managed to rape many of my fond memories.

So tonight, as we're eating some fantastic Chinese food from Imperial Dynasty, a JC Penny commercial comes on. It features a remake of Simple Minds' "Don't You Forget About Me" and I instantly throw up a little spicy Udon soup in my mouth. Sure enough, the whole commercial is a "Breakfast Club" rip-off, complete with fake scenes from the film.

Why?

Do they think the parents of kids going back to school are going to say "hey, I had no idea JC Penny was so freaking cool!"? I'm almost ashamed that my last suit came from said department store...though I did get a pretty sweet deal on a nice suit.

What's my point? It sucks to see a movie that I treasure and hold in the highest regard bastardized and modified to sell back-to-school stuff. What's next? Sixteen Candles and Macy's? Burdine's and Ferris Bueller? Ghostbusters and Sears?

Sigh. It's a bitch getting old.

The local news story about missing 3-year-old Caylee Anthony has gone national. I just saw the grandmother and the mom's attorney on the Today Show and I just can't keep my thoughts to myself any longer. Right from the get-go, I suspected the grandmother knew more about this case than she was letting on.

First off...what kind of mother sets up a myspace account for her 3-year-old? I felt bad because I put a few pictures of Xander on my account...but setting up an account for a toddler? Beyond creepy.

Secondly, your daughter has been missing for a month and you don't go to the police? Why would that be? Because you either killed the kid or allowed someone else to? There is no possible way that little girl is still alive.

The grandmother makes me throw up in my mouth whenever I see her pathetic act on television. She's no Meryl Streep and her act is certainly wearing thin. She mentions on the initial 911 call to the cops (after little Caylee had been missing for a month or so) that her daughter brought her car back and it smells like a decomposing body...but now she says the smell is from a piece of pizza? I've never smelled a dead human being before, but I would hazard a guess that even the most heinous of pizzas (Little Ceasar, I'm looking at you) would not even come close to smelling like the stench of rotted death.

I feel bad for the volunteers who are (IMHO) wasting their time in looking for this little girl. Just like in the Jennifer Kessee case, they're canvassing the community, putting up flyers, and devoting their every minute to trying to locate a missing girl. At the risk of coming off like a cynic (moi?), I think Amelia Earhart stands a better chance of being found alive than Caylee Anthony.

New revelations show that there was some sort of concrete poured in the grandparents' backyard since the disappearance of Caylee. Why could this be? To cover up those nasty marks left by lawn darts? To prevent the neighbor kids from trespassing and setting up their slip-n-slides? Or...could it be to make it more difficult for the cadaver dogs to sniff out a dead little girl's body?

When will the truth come out? I watch every news story, read every online update, and keep talking to my friends about it. I feel like in the next few days, someone or something is finally going to break and we'll find out the real story. I hope I'm wrong about all of this and that the little girl is found safely...but this family is awfully tough to believe in or root for.

I really was dreading this birthday. It had the potential to be the worst of my entire life. However, I get by with a little help from my friends. It all started the night before as I came downstairs to see what was taking Angie so long to come upstairs. I found her in futility and trying to get wrapping paper to conceal "Rock Band." I told her the effort was appreciated and truly was blown away that she would and could find the time to get it for me/us.

I had only played the game once. It was the last time we did one of those "hang out with a couple with a kid" nights. Dinner and hanging out was fun, but when dude took me into his video game lair I got to experience Rock Band for the first time. I have been into Guitar Hero for a while, but this is something else. The playlist is damned impressive, the gameplay is incredible, and the fact that we could start our own band, name it, and take it on the road fulfilled the inner wannabe-superstar within me. In short, I thought it was bad-ass.

I've gotten way ahead of myself. I would be remiss if I didn't mention my unbelievable co-workers and friends (thanks Ashley and Carly!) for hooking up a big table at the new Tijuana Flats in Altamonte Springs. Close to 20 of us ate, laughed, and watched the new guy Gregg eat an entire jalapeno pepper. My love for that restaurant runs deeper than Christie Brinkley's hatred for 18-year-old girls. I know my co-workers were there mostly for the food, but it put a huge smile on my face to see how many of them showed up to my birthday lunch.

My boss, Katie, who is so positive, congenial, and enthusastic that she just might be from another planet, made me caramel-infused brownies. They barely lasted through the afternoon so Xander could try one. I pretty much had to fend everybody off with my bullwhip. Oh yeah, I carry one. I told you Xander's into Indiana Jones, right? Anyway, my choice for a birthday dinner was limited to a drive-through establishment due to Xander's nap taking place in the carseat. I opted for Pollo Tropical, which is what you should do if you're sick of Chik-Fil-Christ and the big burger joints.

After getting down on a yardbird and some sides, we plugged in our instruments (my axe, her mic) and prepared to rock the good people of Boston, New York, and Chicago. Quicker than you can say "I hope this doesn't wake Xander up", 2 hours had gone by and my hands were killing me. Rather than go to sleep, we caught ourselves up on some "Lost."

My aforementioned supervisor (Katie) loaned me seasons 1 and 2 so I could start drinking the Kool-Aid. I can't say I fell in love with it right away, but I'll be damned if I can't stop watching the show. I'm a huge Hugo fan and Kate is just about sexy. We're almost halfway through season 2 already and season 3 is just a phone call away. I still can't believe that we missed out on the show in its broadcast run, but I think we'll be caught up in time for season 5 to premiere. I will say that watching it with commercials and a WEEK'S time in between episodes is not all that appealing to me. I will survive.

While my age is admittedly something I find myself still amazed by, I didn't dwell on it for a minute yesterday. As long as you have great people around you and you're in a happy place, it doesn't matter if you're five years old or thirty-something. A liked and well-respected co-worker of mine, Jess, emailed me and said "it's just a number. Go get a megajuana burrito."

He had no idea that was my go-to order, but I'll be damned if I've eaten anything other than that from the Flats since they brought food to the radio station for the final time back in December of 2007. Age is just a number indeed, and thanks to all of you who wished me well and did a part to make me feel warm inside.

On a final note, I'd like you to do me a favor. Whether you believe in the healing power of prayer or if you simply think that positive energy might somehow help someone who needs it...I want you to keep a good friend of mine in your thoughts. Scott McKenzie, who has been the number one Orlando morning radio guy for years and years, is by far the most respected, admired, and physically-fit radio guy in the state of Florida. He put workout equipment in his house and would wake up at 3 to get a workout in before his morning show started at 5:30.

I think I saw him with a beer in his hand once. He doesn't smoke. While his propensity to indulge himself in our free Tex-Mex was notable (he was always invited), he didn't do so at the risk of his health. Scott is the antithesis of all the "me me me" guys in radio. He just found out a few months back that he has cancer. Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. He's going through chemo and while I definitely don't want to make him feel uncomfortable, I hope he derives some inspiration from the tens of thousands of people who adore, admire, and support him. He took the time to leave me a myspace comment for my birthday. I say that so that you can see his profile ("Scott") and maybe send him a note of encouragement.

Just as Jim Philips gave me my first big break in radio and then nurtured me, Scott instantly waved the Drew Garabo flag at CBS Radio and welcomed me with open arms. We failed in spite of his best efforts to champion us, but that was a decision made with a 212 area code attached to it. Scott's staying on the air through all of this and I just read in Scott Maxwell's "Taking Names" blog on the Sentinel's website (Maxwell's another great guy BTW) that McKenzie's band with yet another Orlando Good Guy (Channel 6's Bob Frier) is doing a charity gig somewhere.

So, send your positive vibes, prayers, and love to Scott of the Scott and Erica morning show. Listen to their show, think about Scott, and take the time to realize that sometimes it doesn't matter how good you are or how committed you are to the right way of living life. Like my man Jim Philips signs off with...eat dessert first.

July 3rd...mom and dad watch Xander so Angie and I can finally have a night to ourselves. We stay up too late after my botched attempt to cook cajun catfish. Dragging our asses, we drive across town to pick up little dude from my parents' house. After loafing around their Belle Isle residence, Xander and Grampy go outside to play.

Xander, as rambunctious young boys tend to do, amuses himself by playing a game called "jump off the ledge on the side of the house and try to touch the roof." This game can end one of two ways: he finally gets bored or tired of these daredevil maneuvers (not bloody likely) or an injury prevents further jumps.

I think you can tell which ending we experienced.

We didn't even know Xander was playing this game at the time until my dad ran into the house with a somewhat panicked look on his face. Xander followed close behind. He wasn't crying, but I could tell by the look on his face that something not-so-spectacular had gone down. Sure enough, my dad ran to the bathroom and started to wash off the back of my son's head.

He told us of the game Xander was playing and that upon landing on the ground, he fell backwards and cracked his head on the outside a/c unit. The back of his head featured a 2-inch gash that wasn't exactly pouring blood, but wasn't anything close to pleasant either. It was then that I realized it was the afternoon of Independence Day and that the emergency room would be our sole medical option. These emergency rooms would undoubtedly be filled with firework mishaps and the wait would be excruciating.

The thought of a doctor stitching up the back of little dude's head wasn't a fun one either. However, if it was medically necessary then I would face both the trauma of seeing such a sight and the aforementioned wait time. We cleaned the wound and the bleeding stopped. We're still keeping an eye on it but I don't think a trip to the hospital was needed.

This kid, like most boys his age, is virtually fearless. He jumps off stuff, runs around like a madman, and is completely obsessed with Indiana Jones. So much so, in fact, that he asked me if I would grow a beard so I could look more like Harrison Ford's character.

What could I do? My two objections to growing a beard are foolish ones. My first objection is something I noticed almost a year ago: flecks of gray hair on my chinny-chin-chin. A reminder that 40 isn't so far away. Like I tell my younger friends...if my choices are 40 or dead, I'll take 40 every time.

My other objection is that if I don't keep my beard tidy, I start to resemble a mountain-dwelling serial killer. This is easily remedied by the electric-beard-trimmer in my bathroom. No more objections, your honor, the beard is in full effect. Gray hairs and all.

Well, it's off to EPCOT and then Riley's birthday party at the bowling alley. This week has been a great one; I'm glad I took a few days off work so I could hang with the family. I strongly recommend mini-vacations as a way to recharge the batteries and re-connect with those you love. Then again, you probably knew this already.

Some of my warmest childhood memories revolve around baseball. From my Grandpa Tony taking us to Shea Stadium to my dad bringing me to my first baseball game at Fenway Park, the sights, sounds, and smells of professional baseball is something that we can be proud of as Americans. As soon as I realized the Red Sox were coming to Florida to play the Rays during my week of mini-vacation, I knew it was my destiny to take my son to his first game.

The handful of Magic games I've brought Xander to have resulted in a first-half exit. I've been cool with that mostly because his happiness supercedes my desire to actually see the outcome of the game we've chosen to attend. I knew there was little-to-no chance of us seeing the ninth inning, but I thought we would have some fun for a few hours. Angie took the day off work and we eventually breezed into St. Pete around 4, just in time for Xander to fall asleep in the car.

He slept for an hour while I took a drive around St. Pete and felt thankful that gasoline is so remarkably affordable right now. When he woke up, he wanted to check out the Sunshine Skyway bridge I had told him about. We drove across and back and met my broseph-in-law Ryan and his dad, Jim, at a packed little place called Ferg's.

Xander got a bonafide Fenway Frank complete with the unique bun they serve up North (much to Ryan's envy). He housed it and we took a short stroll to Tropicana Field. We got there right as the gates opened at 5 and proceeded to check out the stadium and pet some cownose rays. Xander got a kick out of feeding them even though he was definitely not into letting them suck the food off his palm.

We found our seats and took in the experience of a live baseball game. At the bottom half of the first inning, I heard my first "Can we go home now?". We had already used up the big guns in our arsenal to try to keep Xander entertained (plastic helmet sundae, popcorn) but didn't give up. We made it to the seventh-inning-stretch to the surprise of everyone.

The outcome of the game wasn't as important to me as it would typically be. The first-place Rays may indeed be for real this year and challenge the defending World Champs. They took care of the Sox in all 3 games and looked damn good doing it. The crowd was into the game, which I understand doesn't always happen for the Rays. There were definitely a crapload of Sox shirts and hats in attendance, but there were just as many Rays fans who were sporting their team's logo.

As we made that familiar yet still painfully-dull drive back to Orlando from the West Coast, I thought about how lucky I am. I got to pass on a tradition that not only shaped my childhood but still brings me joy as an "adult." Xander said he wants to be a baseball player, but "not until I'm an adult. Right now I want to play Lego Indiana Jones and be a football player."

I'm really going to have to make a concentrated effort to get him more into basketball and golf. Kindergarten is just a month or so away! This little creature is growing into a boy-scratch that, HAS grown into a boy and I have no idea where the time went. The cat is certainly in the cradle, with a silver spoon no less.

True confession time: I once tried out for the old MTV game show "Remote Control" when I went to UCF. I scored a perfect score on the pop-culture "quiz" part, but didn't do well at the live performance/audition portion. I went with my "A" material, too..."I drive a Suzuki Samurai, so every once in a while I go like this (flip on my back) during sex."

For some reason, they didn't want me to come to NYC to play with a young Colin Quinn and Kari Wuhrer (let alone Ken Ober). To add insult to injury, my fraternity "little sister" got on the show. She didn't win, but the fact that I thought I should have been there soured me on game-show auditions forever.

Or so I thought.

I read in the online newspaper that they were going to have auditions for "Don't Forget the Lyrics" at the Grand Bohemian in downtown Orlando. I haven't mastered many/any things in this world, but I know some song lyrics. I used to subscribe to "Song Lyrics Digest" in the early 1980s so I could read the words to songs I didn't know. Every trip to the crapper was accompanied by the happiness of embracing every line of "Another One Bites the Dust" or "Come on, Eileen."

Despite the local appeal of host Wayne Brady, I didn't make it a point to check out the aforementioned FOX game show. My TV plate is full right now, which is to say it's nonexistent due to endless "Lego Indiana Jones" on the Xbox 360. One night while drifting off to sleep, I saw Wayne hosting a game show. I had just found an appreciation for Orlando's own due to his cameo on the Chappelle Show. If you've seen it, you have to love Wayne Brady too. Once I realized that the point of the show was to remember the lyrics to songs, I was in.

Just like Rock and Roll Jeopardy before it, I instantly knew I could do better than 99% of the population at this contest. When I read that the auditions were going to be at the Bohemian, I asked Angie if she could take Xander to school/daycare today. Thanks to her always-accommodating nature, she happily said she would. I read that the line was to form at 7 am and estimated I would be able to make it there, wait in a short-to-medium line, and audition in time to make it to work by 9.

I grossly underestimated the astonishing volume of losers with nothing better to do than try to be on a game show. I foolishly separated myself from them emotionally and told myself that at least I had a job to go to, but all that did was make me feel better as I left the place in shame. When I read that the line started at 7, I figured shiftless America would roll out of bed and get there around 8 or so. I strode up at 6:50 to find a line of a few hundred examples of society's shame already lined up in the stairwell.

I shuffled along with so much hopeful cattle for about 45 minutes until I reached the check-in table. They wanted you to fill out an application and get your picture taken and wait for 4 people at a time to be called. After some quick calculations, I realized there was no conceivable way to get in and out (that's what she said) and to work on time. My dream of meeting Wayne Brady went up in smoke along with my chance to finally utilize my skill/compulsion to remember song lyrics and be financially rewarded for it.

As I walked back to my car, I thought of all the American Idol tryouts that I laughed at in scorn on my television. If there was a reality show covering the tryouts, some voiceover guy would be saying "this moron thought he could show up at 6:50 and think that nobody would be here. Enjoy that walk back to your car, stupid!"

I mean it this time; I'm never trying out for a game show again.

I can't really apologize for not updating this blog more frequently as spare time is a luxury I've not had for quite some time. I'm working two jobs, trying to be a dad and husband, and amidst all that there simply hasn't been much time to sit down and put my thoughts into words. Plus, to be quite forthright, there haven't been that many thoughts worth writing.

When I've had a spare moment or two to relax, we've been watching season 1 of Lost on DVD. I don't know why I slept on this show for so long; I'm not saying it's the greatest show on TV, but it is quite watchable. An interesting menagerie of characters, to say the least. I like Hurley. One episode of Season 1 remains and then I can start watching season 2.

I don't know if it's because I work in an office now, but I've also started watching and enjoying "The Office." The awkward moments, slanted humor, and style all speak to me. I can't believe it took me so long to get into it. That's what she said.

Xander's done with pre-K. If my understanding is correct, that means kindergarten is on the horizon. He'll be 5 in just a few weeks and continues to be obsessed with Star Wars, Legos, Lego Star Wars, Indiana Jones, and soon...Lego Indiana Jones for the 360. I'm trying to hold off buying that until his birthday, but I'm really getting sick of playing Lego Star Wars with him. I think we could both benefit from a change of scenery...and it's too hot to go outside.

Speaking of which, why would Disney schedule its Star Wars Weekends during one of the hottest months of the year, June? Have you ever seen a 5-year-old drop from heat exhaustion due to wearing a Darth Vader costume in 97-degree heat? I fear I'll witness such a sight today.

Quite frequently, people will ask me if I miss radio. To which I reply, "who are you and how did you get in my car, lady?" There are some elements I do miss: the intense and interactive connections with listeners and callers, the occasional camaraderie that came along with sharing airtime and studio space with quality people, and the overinflated salary. I would have added "free food" to the list, but to be honest we get a lot of that stuff at the Magic. Thankfully, we also get a complimentary RDV membership...but who has time to use it?

On our refrigerator hangs a drawing. On beige construction paper, in crayon, is a pre-kindergarten artist's rendition of a dog encircled by fire. The teacher's caption titles the paper as "My dog is trying to get out of the fire." Clearly, this drawing was made by our son. He has inherited his father's morbid sense of humor and topped it off with a death fascination I have never seen the likes of before.

We don't have a dog.

I don't know if the assignment was to draw a picture of your imaginary pet and its untimely demise, or if the kids were to create a masterpiece with a fire theme, or if this was simply something my son took the initiative to create himself. Regardless, the result both cracks me up and shocks the hell out of me every time I go hunting for a cold bottle of Sprite Zero.

My dog is trying to get out of the fire?

We have three cats. The fact that he chose not to use the thought of one of them attempting to escape a flaming death is impressive. He does seem to like our mama cat and her 2 daughters, and they seem to tolerate him as significantly as their feline ways will allow. Thus, his cats are not trying to get out of the fire.

My sister has a dog. I love my sister and I love my sister's dog, but that doesn't change the fact that Beckham is one of those little puny dogs that scurries about and yaps at stuff. I know he's on myspace, so I won't say any more than that...and to be fair, he's an exceptionally cool and cute little yappy thing. Still, Becks is the only dog that Xander is familiar and/or comfortable with.

I just got up to see if the dog in the drawing resembles my sister's dog in any way. If it did, that would mean that Beckham looks like Grimace from McDonald's with five legs rather than two. No, one of those five legs isn't the tail...you'll find the tail sticking out the other side of its "body."

So, why did Xander first draw...and then title a project "My dog is trying to get out of the fire?" I'll go upstairs and ask him; he's just out of his bath.

Roughly 4:30 later

My fact-finding mission is complete. The dog's name is Ralphie, he is indeed purple. Apparently, Ralphie was walking through the forest when some firefighter's set a fire right in front of the purple pooch. Ralphie was trying to jump over the fire rather than walk around it. Why he decided to do this remains a mystery.

Upon further discovery, we find that Ralphie unsurprisingly did not survive his attempt to hurl himself over the fire. Before I even asked the question regarding his fate, I knew what the answer would be. This was not a classroom assignment specifically, he wanted to draw it. Why did he want to draw it? You fellow parents already know the answer:

"Because I did."

My dog is trying to get out of the fire.