Thoughts from the 712

Now Main Street's whitewashed windows and vacant stores. Seems like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no more

_ Bruce Springsteen, "My Hometown"

The short version of the story?

I was planning a vacation to Mexico in my head this week when I got my annual bonus check back in January.

That plan changed when I rolled my car near Madelia, MN approximately 5 hours later.

So I'm instead writing this while vacationing in Sioux City, Iowa. My Hometown.

Let's be honest, if you pressed me on the advantage Sioux City has over Mexico as a vacation destination, I'd say I prefer the water here to Mexico.

But really, there is something that soothes my soul when I'm home.

I drive past the Washington Elementary playground where I had my first kiss in fifth grade.

As I loop around the old neighborhood, I don't see houses.

Instead I see the faces of friends from the past, some of whom I'm lucky enough to have reconnected with all these years later.

A trip to the country takes me past the farm of my best friend, Jeff, where I was lucky to have mostly left in one piece given our ability to get into trouble.

Driving through downtown past City Hall, The Orpheum, my dad's old law office, I remember nights in high school spent cruising the downtown loop of Sioux City.

No question, the times I had here in my youth were great.

The time I spend here now is nothing short of that either.

Because even though a place that once relied on a world leading stockyards and a world leading computer manufacturer to drive it's economy has nothing near that now, they are still the same people I grew up with.

They don't stand around talking about how to fix a problem. They roll up their sleeves, get sweaty, and fix the damn thing.

If you want someone to respect you in Sioux City, you don't have to drive a fancy car or wear fancy clothes. You just have to earn their trust.

And yes, Sioux City is small enough that there's a little bit of small-town gossip here. But don't knock it. It can keep a person honest.

But I think what I like most now is that the people here are still happy to live a simple life. No fuss. Come as you are. Stay as long as you want.

I'm glad that I'm not sipping a cold drink in Mexico right now. Okay, that's a complete lie, but I truly am glad that I'm sipping a cold drink in my hometown.

It makes me feel sorry for people who don't appreciate their hometown. They're missing out on staying connected to something that shaped who they are as a person, like it or not.

Sioux City. She ain't always pretty. But she's mine.

Sons and Brothers

A weekend alone with my sons, stuck inside due to snow, produces some interesting laboratory experiments.

Lots of fighting. Lots of "Dad, he called me a _____." Lots of me just wanting to shut the door to their room and crack open a beer.

Why don't these brothers get along? I was never like that as a kid.

Well, okay, actually my sons are saints (so far) compared to the things my brothers and I (mostly my brothers) pulled as kids.

There was the time that my brothers were left in charge of watching me while my parents left for the afternoon. Apparently my brothers, who are 5 and 6 years older than me, had other plans that day.

The next thing I knew I was chained up to the tree in the backyard, with a glass of water and slices of bread on a paper plate within reaching distance.

My parents ended up coming home early and finding me chained to the tree. I'm pretty sure my brothers ended up having to do some sort of home improvement project for my dad as a result of that one.

There was also the time when my parents left us alone for the day, and my brothers and I had watched one too many James Bond movies. We decided to rig the house with booby traps, including trip wires going into bedrooms.

Needless to say, we all got in a bit of trouble when a few hours after returning home, my mom tripped over a wire going into my bedroom as she was bringing a load of laundry in for me to put away.

But one thing about having two big brothers...when push came to shove they had my back.

Bully on the playground? Brothers to the rescue.

Older neighbor kid picking on me? Brothers to the rescue.

My oldest brother even took care of me for a week straight when we both had chicken pox at the same time. I seem to remember a lot of Swiss Miss hot cocoa and pre-microwave popcorn on the menu that week.

As I watch my sons today interact, even when they're ready to tear each others eyeballs out, it reminds me fondly of my brothers and I as kids.

My brothers and I don't live near each other anymore. But it hardly means we're not close.

I can only hope that Nile and Grady will have the same fondness toward each other 30 years from now.

The End of The Rope

Tom was really thinking about it.

After all, he was worth more money dead than alive.

Lost his job, lost his girlfriend, lost his home.

So Tom was ready to just say enough is enough. A sacrifice, he thought. "End my life," he whispered to himself, "and help avoid further despair for my loved ones."

How to do it? Pills? Running the car in the garage? Hanging? Slit the wrists?

There were only 4 people on the Earth that could keep Tom alive, and 3 of them responded.

Two of them were his sons. More on that later.

The other two were one of his best friends, Jenna, and his now recent ex-girlfriend, who was on the vacation they were supposed to be on together.

Jenna, knowing that Tom was at the end of his rope, called the ex-girlfriend. "He's seriously scaring me. He's not well and ready to do something stupid," Jenna pleaded. It fell on deaf ears. "Are you going to call him or do I have to deal with this? Because I will just call the cops at this point to deal with it," Jenna heard back on the phone.

Jenna knew what she had to do. She had to keep Tom alive.

Tom on the other hand, was not on the same page. The logistics phase of ending the pain of everything happening had begun.

The more he started thinking logistically, the more Tom realized that he would have a major problem when his kids got home from school. His ex-wife was on vacation this entire week, so he had his two sons for the entire week.

Shit. His sons would find him. Dead. While their mom was in Florida.

And Jenna hounded Tom. Every day. Made him rate his days on a scale of 1-10. There were a lot of 1's. An occasional 2. Then he started having the occasional 3 or 4. Each time Jenna made sure to praise Tom for the progress he was making.

And Tom began healing. He started having a better relationship with his sons than ever before, because he had come so close to never being a part of their lives again. They could sense that somehow, in an innocent childlike way.

Tom realizes today that it would have been the biggest mistake of his life if he had followed through on his thoughts at the time. It's been two years. Tom is happily enjoying his life, enjoying his sons, and in a new career path. Things are going great for him now.

The point of this story?

I am "Tom."

Think about that the next time someone you know reaches out to you for help.

*This blog is dedicated to Jenn Mattern, for inspiring me to write this after reading her brave blog entry on mental illness as a single parent, and to "Jenna" for being my lifesaver.

That's How I Roll

Within about 15 minutes of rolling my car, I knew what I was going to post as my Facebook status update*

*(this blog post will not address the pathetic nature of the above sentence).

I had already called the people who would be most worried about me. And I realized that it was somewhat twisted that I always liked to use the phrase "that's how I roll" on Facebook and in real life, and here I was, living it out literally.

Leading up to the rolling of my car, it was just the average drive between the Twin Cities and Sioux City. A drive I first started making on a regular basis back in 1989. One I can do in my sleep. I think I know every single bathroom stall and gas nozzle between these two locations.

The weather was light snow. I've driven through countless ice storms and blizzards, even torrential downpours and the occasional tornado warning. This didn't seem to be anything to worry about.

I had told Kim I'd be there between 4:30 and 5:00. The roads weren't bad. Light snow falling.

Kim is pretty much a wimp when it comes to winter driving. She's the first to admit it. And she freaks out when people she knows are driving in bad weather. Which is why I generally found it was better to either lie or omit evidence when letting her know how the roads were.

But this time I was telling the truth. Light snow. Roads weren't bad.

So imagine my surprise when, while going around a curve, I found my car weaving from left to right, a little bit like a first-time ice skater. I quickly downshifted, one factor into why I'm lucky to be here typing this blog entry right now. The downshifting probably brought my speed down from 65 mph to about 45-50 mph.

Despite my best efforts, my car finally decided to win and my rear bumper swung around as if to say "Hey, Kim's going to know you're lying right about now."

The next few seconds, or minutes, or however long it was, were a slow motion blur. If you don't know what a slow motion blur is, well, you haven't seen your life flash before your eyes. I did. And I literally said to myself "This is it, I've had a good run." Well I also said a few words that I don't want to type.

As my car slid into the median, which was essentially a large mound of snow in a deep ditch, it smacked the snow sideways on the passenger side. It flipped over onto the roof, then flipped back onto the tires. The car thought about rolling one more time onto the roof again, but the snow won the battle.

The first thing I did was check the keys to see if my engine ran. It worked. Then I was wondering why if felt like I was outside, and then I looked up and saw my sunroof was gone. Oh, hey sky. what's up?

By now, a passer-by had stopped and opened my car door to see if I was okay. "Yeah I'm fine. But I don't think my car is so happy."

The man looked at me like I was insane. "I just watched you slide and then roll your car. I didn't know if I was going to find you conscious here." Touche.

"Yes, I'm very lucky. I should probably call 911, huh?" I replied.

The next little while went fast. In fact, between getting a ride to the gas station, then waiting for a different gas station to send the tow truck, then talk to the sheriff, then the state trooper, then get the car pulled out of the ditch and reports filled out, and payments made, and having all 3 entities telling me that my car looked like it was drivable and fine, well, you get the point with this run-on sentence, don't you?

Suffice it to say, I was an hour and a half late to my destination. Not bad for my first rollover. Let alone first car accident.

I've felt a mixture of emotions over the last couple days after my first car accident.

Number one...I'm reminded of what I learned at age 18 while working at the United 232 crash site - Live every day like it might be your last, because we don't choose when it arrives.

Number two...I've been laughing and smiling and grateful as hell realizing that I am one lucky person right now. I'm fine. My car is mostly fine, outside of a smashed roof.

Number three...I am going to have one hell of a bar story to tell when the topic of car accidents comes up. And an awesome nickname care of a Facebook friend..."Stevel Knievel."

And the punchline of the bar story will always be "Because that's how I roll."

The Big Snipper

CONTENT WARNING: This blog entry contains material that is not appropriate for non-mature readers. Contains adult language, nudity, and mild sexual parts language.

About two years after Gman, my youngest mini-me blessing, arrived, I decided it was time to get the big snip. The big road block. The big V. Vas-ect-o-my.

Mind you I wasn't thrilled about it. Had some doubts. But I did it.

I still remember how scared shitless I was before I had the pre-procedure appointment with my doctor.

It didn't help that the doctor's name made me giggle. He was from India, and if I remember correctly his last name was Jakkuhav, which when he pronounced it sounded like "jack you off." I know, I know, I'm still in 7th grade mentally.

Anyway, during the pre-procedure consult, Dr. Jakkuhav tried to use a metaphor to explain the procedure. "A vasectomy is like cooking a chicken," he said with a big grin and thick Indian accent. "Sometimes it's really good, and sometimes it gets burned."

So THAT's why they told me to buy a bunch of bags of frozen peas for after the procedure!

The night before the procedure, I was a nervous wreck. I'd already done the manscaping they requested, and as I found out the next morning, "and then some!!!"

I had talked to my relatives and friends who had vasectomies to ask for thoughts on how bad it would be. The best advice came from my brother, Jim. "It feels like you got kicked in the nuts for a couple days." Ok, I can live with that!

The next morning, as Dr. Jakkuhav was preparing things, the nurse brought me back to the room where I'd be giving up my manhood. Turns out this nurse, who was pretty attractive, I'll admit, was going to be assisting the doctor, and this was her first vasectomy.

So as I laid down and they prepped me (they essentially tape certain things out of the way so they don't accidentally have a lawsuit for giving a bonus circumcision), I realized it was going to be a longer procedure than normal.

The cute nurse was asking a lot of questions of Dr. Jakkuhav because she wanted to learn what he was doing, and what her role was to be.

As they injected the local anesthetic, I realized that local as really local.

The attractive nurse decided to keep her free hand resting on top of my "taped part" during the entire procedure, which was very much NOT part of the local anesthetic.

Let's just say there is something very demeaning about having an attractive woman touching your taped part while you are having your manhood snipped away from you and cauterized with a laser. And I'm going to leave it at that.

I confess that the next 2 days were pretty nice, though. Between the painkillers and the tons of frozen peas used on my chicken, and the football games and requirement to not do strenuous activity (no honey-do list for me!), it wasn't too shabby, really.

And please allow me to offer some final advice to the men who complain about having to get a vasectomy.

First, if you've witnessed the birth of your child/children, then you know that the pain won't be anything close to that. So don't talk about your pain fears in front of mothers.

Second, call ahead and request either a male nurse, or an unattractive one.

And pray to God your doctor's name isn't Dr. Kutyernutz.

Happy New Year! From Golden Corral!

"I recommend the Macaroni and Cheese."

I was having a New Year's Eve dinner with my date, Kim, at Golden Corral.

Before you say anything, this wasn't my choice. And it most certainly wasn't Kim's choice. She protested loudly at the suggestion.

We were going to an impromptu dinner with her mom and step-dad, and well, we got outvoted and Golden Corral it was.

So as we grabbed our neon plates and crusty silverware and moved toward the first buffet line, I leaned to Kim and said, "I recommend the Macaroni and Cheese."

She wasn't amused.

She looked like a deer in headlights as we walked in to the place just minutes earlier. And as we sat in the car in the parking lot just before that, she made it a point that she as a nurse knew what kind of public health risks buffets like this could offer.

But Kim was a trooper. She found a few things she would eat without fear of vomiting before we started having some New Year's Eve cocktails later that night.

Me? I thought I was in Heaven. Well I was, in a way, because I was in Iowa. * (c) 2011 Copyright of Cliches of Field of Dreams, Inc.

I had some mashed potatoes and gravy, some pot roast (actually they labeled it the "Awesome Pot Roast" if I remember correctly). A few green beans and some kind of a potatoey, bacony thing that I couldn't pass up.

Washed it down with a few Pepsi's (They only serve Pepsi brand soft drinks, if you're planning a romantic dinner there in the near future) and some mixture of chocolatecakepuddingcookiesandcreamthingie.

It was an awesome start to the night, because it was something that created some great memories that make me laugh until I snort.

My only recommendation is not to put that kind of a meal into your belly before you head out to enjoy some schooners/pints/shots/pints/shots/pints/water/champagne/pints/shots/pints.

And also, for your future reference, if you do combine the Golden Corral/Heavy New Year's Eve Style Drinking, be prepared for a much worse hangover than usual. My only guess is that for some reason, the Golden Corral Awesome Pot Roast must repel the alcohol rather than soak it up.

I had an outstanding New Year's Eve, regardless of the GCH (Golden Corral Hangover) syndrome.

Because when you're with good company, it doesn't matter where you are or what you eat. Laughing until you snort is sometimes worth a trip to the GC.

Happy New Year, everyone!

And I highly recommend the Macaroni and Cheese!

Non-Religious Specific Seasonal Greeting to You !

I used to send out e-Christmas Cards. But then I got lazy. Or lazier.

So now, you have my blog, and my first annual "A Prisoner in the Tundra" non-religious specific seasonal greetings blog.

So without further adieu, here is my first ever "Winter Solstice Letter."




Dear Friend/Neighbor/Former Neighbor/Classmate I haven't spoken to in over 20 years/Acquaintance/Colleague/Dude I pass on the street each day:

2010 has been such a GREAT YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We started with a short jaunt in the French Riviera. January isn't the best time to be there, but it beats Minnesota in the winter. I try to exercise my options at my many international properties to avoid the Minnesota winter as much as I can.

Nile, who is in 7th grade, had a pretty decent year. He ended up having to turn down chairing a program in Tel Aviv to help end international violence because it conflicted with a Future Leaders of America camp. I'm so proud of how often he decides that his country comes before other nations!

He balanced his civic responsibilities nicely with a respect for a sound body. He has only received 12 division I football scholarship offers, and 21 division I basketball scholarship offers. He knows this is an area requiring improvement, but he is committed to working on it.

Grady, who entered 4th grade this year, has some catching up to do. He has only received 8 full academic scholarship offers to college thus far, compared to the 11 from his older brother. We are working closely with him to understand the ramifications of not applying himself fully for his future academic endeavors.

He is cute with his many hobbies, though. The best is his small scale research project in molecular biology, where he is trying to regrow organic tissue using stem cells. It makes putting up with his temper that much easier!

Myself, I would say I've had a great 2010. Upon turning down the U.S. Ambassadorship to the country of Zimbabwe, I did decide to remain as a special envoy to Japan. I mean, I love Sapporo (Japanese Beer) much more than I like Zebra's Head Stout (Zimbabwe beer), so the choice was a no brainer.

I was very wise and frugal in my stock portfolio this year, and it turns out that we will be able to add about 10 more property purchases to our assets in the coming year. It might require jettisoning a few of my slum rental units throughout lower-income neighborhoods in the U.S., but that is a smart move with the current state of the economy anyway.

I hope that this letter finds you all as healthy, wealthy and wise as my sons and I this non-religious specific seasonal celebration period. May you have an even better 2011!

With much love,

Steve, Nile and Grady

My First Year in Retail...the Smack My Head Moments

Let me just say as I look back on my first year in retail, I literally mean my first year in retail.

I didn't even have the "pleasure" of working retail back in high school because I thought it would be way cooler to be a summer lifeguard. I'm pretty sure I was right then and right now.

But between the interesting customers, employees, and neighbors, it's been a very entertaining year in terms of "Did you really just say that?" moments.

The customers. Ah, they are the lynch pin of my store. They're always right. And sometimes quirky. A few of my favorite moments:

- A group of women walk in, and after a few minutes in the store walking around the store, one of them asks me, with a straight face, "Do you have anything for vegans?" Really? I mean, really? You come into an steak store and ask whether we have anything for vegans?

- A younger guy walks in, strolls to the back of the store where all the steaks are located, and asks "Do you guys sell beef?" After a brief pause to make sure I heard the question correctly, I responded. "Well no we don't. But we do sell plastic bags, and then we give you free beef to put into it."

- A man walks in wearing flannel pajama bottoms, flip flops, a tattered t-shirt, and a lime green baseball cap. After buying more than $200 worth of our best porterhouse steaks, he decided to hang out for the next hour telling me about how he was close friends with John Travolta and Tom Cruise, and how Scientology was the truth of the world.

- While not a customer of my store, a frequent customer at Toby Keith's Bar & Grill deserves a shout out. Because if you're a little person with a skullet (receding hairline mullet), you deserve that at the very least.

The employees, well what can I say? They've given me some pretty good "say what?" moments as well, such as:

- The employee who insisted the reason he was late every day for his shift was because the time on his cell phone was not correct. I explained to him that cell phones were linked to satellites and towers that transmitted the real time to the cell phone, which was why we didn't have to change the time on our cell phone when Daylight Savings Time kicked in. He replied by saying he was with a really cheap cell phone company, and he didn't think they used those things.

- The employee who pulled what we call a "no call, no show" in the bidness. Since I was close friends with his cousin, which was why he got the job, I called my friend to inform him of his cousin's absence. Not five minutes after that, the employee called up and said "Steve, I'm sorry I didn't call you earlier but I just got out of jail." Seriously. That was his excuse. I'll skip the part of not wanting to tell your boss that information if it was true, since in this case I knew it wasn't true. I told him he'd need to bring in the paperwork that shows he was in jail. He said he was so mad when he left the jail he threw the paperwork away in a trash can on his way out. I told him to just have the jail fax a copy of the paperwork to the store. That was the end of that conversation.

Last, but most certainly not least, are the neighbors in my brand new mall, and the interesting things they bring to the table, including:

- The women of Toby Keith's Bar & Grill. They're the nicest women you'll ever meet when you're sitting at the bar with an open tab!

- The Booger Eater. If you missed it, there was an employee from another store in the mall who would eat her lunch on the bench in front of my store everyday. Then she would pick her boogers. And eat them. And mumble to herself. Winter is cruel in Minnesota, and unfortunately I think I'm done with Booger Eater sightings until spring.

Yes, this year has definitely been educational for me, and every day I can say at the very least that I've learned something new, or seen something new, or laughed my ass off for a new reason.

Here's to the second year, when I hope I'll be able to top the booger eater, midgets with mullets, and jailed employee stories.

Explaining DJK To A 12 and 9-Year-Old

I was expecting the question when I picked my sons up after school yesterday.

"Dad, what happened to DJK?"

To those readers who don't know the Iowa Hawkeyes, DJK is Derrell Johnson-Koulianos. An All-Big Ten wide receiver who has played (but not started) for four years. He seemed to always be in trouble with the coaching staff for the Hawkeyes. And on Tuesday, he was arrested on seven charges when the Iowa City Police Department executed a search warrant involving a drug investigation of DJK's roommate.

In Ferentz's doghouse more often than not, DJK had fast become a man of flash and pizazz both on and off the field.

And his story was right out of The Blind Side. Born to a teen mom in Youngstown, Ohio, Koulianos bounced around town as a virtual orphan for much of his youth before his current family brought him into their lives and adopted him legally.

And let's also be clear. He is a phenomenal player. He broke the career receiving yards record at Iowa held by perhaps the second most popular Hawkeye football player ever behind 1939 Heisman Trophy winner Nile Kinnick, Tim Dwight.

But for every touchdown, there was a tweet. For every record broken, there was a Facebook status update. For every media interview request there was a sideshow that resembled T.O./Ochocinco light.

But DJK had fast become a favorite of my sons. I'm not going to lie, they were Ricky Stanzi fans first. But my oldest, who played wide receiver last fall in his first year playing football, looked to DJK before any other when it came to who he wanted to be when he stepped on the field.

And I respected DJK. So much so that I had personally commended him this fall on the strides he made to stay out of the doghouse this year.

So when I was forced to answer the questions from my sons, wanting to know why their hero was indefinitely suspended (aka kicked off) the Hawkeye football team, I chose to be honest. And factual.

After telling them he was arrested on drug charges, they asked what drugs. I told them the drugs that the police found (my oldest has been through D.A.R.E. and knows what the different drugs are from that, my youngest just think drugs are everything that is bad for you, including fatty foods).

They both said maybe DJK wasn't involved, maybe it was just his roommate.

I explained that he had admitted to police that he had done various drugs in the past 24 hours, and submitted to a drug test that confirmed it.

Then they both quickly came into the acceptance stage. "Well hopefully he still gets drafted to the NFL. Wow, we're going to get killed in our bowl game. But Sandeman is a good receiver. Not great like DJK, but good."

And after reading meltdown after meltdown from various Hawkeye fans all over the Interwebz yesterday regarding DJK, I realized my sons had a really good perspective on it. "That stinks that DJK isn't playing in the bowl game. Do we have any chocolate molton lava cakes?"

Heck yeah we have chocolate molten lava cakes. Would you like some whip cream with that?

I hope that Derrell does the right thing in the coming months. Take responsibility for your actions. Apologize to your fans (in particular the young ones who look up to you as a role model). Move out of Iowa City, you're not doing yourself a favor staying in the fish bowl. Work hard at preparing yourself for the next phase in your life, whether that involves football or not. Be careful who you keep in your company, there's no reason to create temptations you don't need.

And to my sons I say work hard every day.

Be careful who you call a friend.

Think about what might happen tomorrow for your actions today.

You don't have to be mistake-free, lord knows I have been far from that...but you should learn from your mistakes.

And perhaps the most important, when your superior, whether it's a teacher, coach, or boss, tells you to do something, just do it. And smile. And be thankful that you are lucky enough to have that teacher, coach or boss who cares enough to try and teach you something.

We've all made mistakes, we just don't usually get the attention that DJK is getting for our mistakes. But that goes with the territory since we also don't get the attention that DJK received for his performances on the field.

Live by the sword, die by the sword. Let's hope that DJK can find his second chance in life.

By George, It Really IS Wonderful

"I'm shakin' the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I'm gonna see the world." _ George Bailey.

It is no secret that "It's A Wonderful Life" is my favorite movie of all time.

And I'm not ashamed to admit that, even though I've seen the movie roughly 2 million times, I can still cry like a baby when I watch it.

I've seen it in black and white. In enhanced color. I'm waiting for the 3-D version to arrive in theaters.

And yes, I do realize the movie has become a cliche of the Holiday season. But I don't care.

The underlying themes of the movie speak so much to me, in particular since in many ways my life has been very anti-George Bailey.

I didn't stay in my own personal Bedford Falls (aka Sioux City). I went away to college as quickly as I could and learned a lot of new things. A few of them were even in the classroom.

I also lived in London, England for a semester, and made sure that my homework load didn't interfere with my nightly dart game at the neighborhood pub.

Then I went on to grad school in Iowa City to pursue my dream of being a newspaper reporter.

I ended up living there for 8 years, and Iowa City quickly became my second Bedford Falls.

And I wanted to stay there. I had found my "home."

But I didn't stay. Having family close to us was important to my ex-wife and I during the years we tried to juggle diaper changes with careers.

So I spurned Bedford Falls not once, but twice.

Not George Bailey. He stayed despite his hatred for doing so. Because that's what had to be done.

And while George couldn't see it without the help of an Angel, his life was complete despite all the pipe dreams and destinations he never followed up on visiting.

I don't have a Clarence to guide me back to Bedford Falls, but I have a ton of friends in both Sioux City and Iowa City who make it so easy for me when I return.

And in the long run, I know I'll be back to one of the two. Just not sure which one yet.

But I know this much...I'll be happier than Mr. Potter in a bath of crisp 100 dollar bills if when I do return, a room full of friends sing "Auld Lang Syne" and pass around a bucket for donations.

If that happens, the kegs on me, kids.

As the inscription in the book from Clarence to George read, "Remember George: No man is a failure who has friends."

"I wish I had a million dollars! HOT DOG!" _ George Bailey.