(This) Man's Best Friend

Over 7 years ago, we brought home a little, orange, Bordeaux Mastiff, whom we named The Mighty Titan. Little did I know we would become so close. Over 40 years, we have had numerous dogs in our family. All have been great with the kids, fun to be around, home protectors and cat haters. Just overall wonderful family pets.

But Titan turned out to be so much more. He was inquisitive. Lovable. Friendly, but cautious. And totally focused on a ball. They could be big flashy balls, or small bumpy balls. He didn't care. As long as you tossed them to him a few times a day, he was thrilled. We probably went through close to a couple of hundred of them in the 7 plus years.

But more than anything else, Titan was my friend. He stayed with me almost all day long, hanging out in my office. Listening to constant sales calls, employee complaints, and reprimands. The reprimands sometimes from my good friend and boss. All the while, Titan waited to hear the word, "goodbye". On that cue, he would jump up, stare at Dad with the look of, "you're done with this damn call, time to get the ball." We would then take 5 minutes to go outside, throw the ball around, then back into the office for the next conference call or one of 5,000 emails to be read.

Our house was his castle. He had huge beds strategically placed in most rooms (thanks to brother Jim, who purchased him a bed per visit). You can't be too far from a nap site when you play ball all day long.

Titan always looked forward to weekday mornings when my grandchildren would wake up and get ready for school. He would patiently wait until we gave him the signal or they stirred, then he would run into their bedroom, jump on each one of their beds with his 125lb body, and lick them awake. Even when he was not feeling well the last couple of months, he still showed excitement when they awoke. The girls will sorely miss him, as he them.

Many of you know Titan from Flickr and the Internet. I have had offers from a Japanese television studio to film he and I. I had a National Geographic producer of one of their dog shows contact me to shoot some footage at my house. Titan was painted by 3 different artists over the years, where his paintings were auctioned off for charities. A college student in London used his image in a play. A professional sports team in Europe (who didn't identify themselves) asked to use his image for their team. Other than the paintings, I turned them all down. I did not want to deal with the aggravation, the stress, and the interruption to our lives, and Titan's.

He was a wonderful dog, a major part of my entire family, and a fixture in my son's DigitalCatharsis blog.

Titan left a lasting impression on thousands of people, world wide. But he has left a lasting hole in this man's heart.

He was my best friend.

Bye Dee-Doos.

Wrong house, wrong dog, wrong guy, right timing

Nothing like a little excitement in my life.....again.

As Donna and the kids were at a religion class at church (thank God), I went in the back yard to trim the bushes. I brought my little puppy with me (125lb Mastiff named Titan). As I was standing on top of my hot tub, trimming a tall bush, a pick up truck came slowly down our alley behind the houses. I didn't recognize the truck, so I paid attention. He slowed at my open garage. Then moved forward just out of the way. But he was directly in front of me, maybe 15 feet away. He didn't see me. I watched him get slowly out of his truck. He didn't shut the door, as to not make any noise. He looked up and down the alley, and toward all the houses. Then he walked to my driveway and into my garage. I jumped off the hot tub, and flew out the gate to the garage, with Titan at my side. This 6' 1", 170lb white male now had this 5' 8'' pissed off Italian, and his Mastiff in his face. I actually had to hold Titan back as to not maul the guy. We proceeded to "have words" and he called me "Dude". Wrong "F'n" word to call me. As every word my mother told me never to say came out of my mouth, at the top of my lungs, I told him to get his sorry ass on the ground, and hands behind him. Hell, I was holding hedge shears (30mm too). I scared the shit out of this guy. Hell, I scared me, I was so pissed off.

All the while this was happening, I memorized his truck, his plates, his height, approximate weight, clothes, all of it.

When I turned to grab my cell phone, he bolted into the truck and took off.

Police came shortly after, and said they identified the plates and the truck. They were very pleased with how I handled the whole situation, and the attention to detail I gave them. The Police are going to the DA on Monday to see if they can bring him up on attempted burglary. We'll at least get him for trespassing. Maybe even stupidity. Perhaps we should shoot him?

Just another day in the Parisi household.

How was your day?

A day to remember

As many of us enjoy this Memorial Day with family, friends, cookouts, and good times, let's not forget what this day is really about. It is a day of remembrance. A day of honoring those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice for our freedoms. Many families are missing their loved ones who provided this very freedom we are currently enjoying.

It is also a day to pay tribute to our surviving veterans, and our military members currently enlisted. Most of them would rather be home with their loved ones too. But they have chosen to protect our way of life by serving their country right now.

So, dig into that hamburger. Chomp on that corn on the cob. Pop open another beer. But take a moment to remember those Americans who are no longer with us, those who carry the scars of war, and those serving abroad.

I know this military family remembers.

Semper Fi, son.

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Ground me; and I don't mean Starbucks

As Yoda would say, "back on the subject of business travel, I am."

Between cancelled flights, cattle-car seating, no snacks (under $8), moody flight attendants, boob-feeding mommas, and just plain idiotic travelers, I've about thrown in the proverbial flying towel. Since I've been into distance running lately, maybe I could just start running to my customer meetings. I could see me trotting into some company headquarters, sweating like a sheik in his new harem, and wringing all these geeky hands. Nah. Maybe not a good idea. They might enjoy it.

But basically flying has gotten old. Not just my 35 years of business travel, but the airlines and planes themselves.

So I've come up with a list as to when you know your airline flight is old.

When:

- You see written on the plane an autograph by "Orville & Wilbur Wright"

- In your magazine rack you read a Life Magazine with an advertisement to buy American War Bonds

- The wood floor boards are starting to rot

- Your American Airlines plane has etchings on the walls of Pilgrims........and American Indians

- You find a hand written receipt near the cockpit door for jet fuel costing 12 cents per gallon

- There is no alcohol on the flight..........due to Prohibition.

- The pilot boards the plane wearing a leather helmet and goggles

- Your inflight snack is a Cracker Jack box, with an original Babe Ruth baseball card inside

And finally; you know your flight is old when;

- The flight attendant is young..........feminine..........and a female.

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Out of the blue.......and pinstripes

Today I received one of the best, surprise gifts I have ever received. My close friend handed me a framed autographed photo of Yogi Berra in action. It is a certified and verified authentic piece of history. Now as many of you know, I am a born and raised New York Yankees fan, from day one. As a kid, my favorite numbers were 7, 8, and 9. They were Mantle, Berra, and Maris. These guys were my idols, especially Mickey Mantle. Arguably though, the backbone of those era Yankees had been Yogi Berra.

But what really got me excited about this autographed photo was who Berra was tagging out at home plate. It was Jackie Robinson. For those who don't know who he was, Jackie was the first African-American baseball player to play in major league baseball, with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947. He holds great meaning to me as he was THE first baseball player I ever met. I believe it was at Coney Island in 1955, where my father introduced me to this big, tall, black, uniformed ball player, whose hand totally engulfed mine as he smiled brightly at me and said hello. He made a tremendous impression on me, that I will never forget.

Now you have to understand how hard this must have been for my friend to purchase this item. The last team, and I mean the LAST team he would want anything to do with is the New York Yankees. He bleeds red, not blue. Now Ted Williams, that would be a different story. He probably would pull the shirt over someone like a hockey jersey and beat the crap out of them, just to purchase a significant Williams piece. But Yogi Berra? I could almost feel the bile rising in his throat as he bid on the picture. I wonder if he wrapped it in a large brown paper bag, drove his car around the back of the building, so no one would see him with a Yankee's photo. I wouldn't doubt it.

So what does this tell you?

Two of the most important sports figures I grew up admiring, on an autographed photo, he gave to me for no reason.

True friendship? I'd say so.

That's why where ever he goes, whatever he needs, he can rely on me to be there. For him, and his family.

Thanks buddy.

PS. "Baseball is ninety percent mental, and the other half physical."

PPS. Hi Mom.

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When enough, is enough

Why does this stuff happen to me on business flights?

On my flight to Austin this afternoon, a young couple came on the plane with their two kids. They sat adjacent to me on my isle. One was a grade school age girl, and her slightly younger brother. The boy was not in the mood for a plane ride. He was given his mother a lot of grief, yelling, screaming, and making all of the passengers’ flying experience top notch.

Having raised 4 kids, and now 2 grandchildren, I figured I can handle a 35 minute flight from Dallas to Austin with a youngster’s temper tantrums. So, I settled in my seat, closed my eyes and tried to drown out the ear splitting yelps from seat 8b.

Then as quickly as it started, it stopped, cold. Quiet. Dead silence (almost). I was thrilled, relieved, and curious as to what served as the closure to the racket.

I looked next to me and saw this boy, sitting on his mother’s lap, breast feeding. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am all for babies breast feeding; or male adults snuggling between a pair. But not a kid, who’s almost ready to shave. I swear this kid had a Wall Street Journal under his arm when he walked on to the plane. And I think I heard him ask the flight attendant if she had any Light Beer. And to make matter's worse, momma didn't look like Elin Nordegren, or Pamela Anderson. No, she look more like Rosanne Barr.

So I have listed some reference points as to when a woman might want to consider stopping breast feeding little Johnny:

1) If your kid asks you how his 529b college fund is coming along, you should probably ween him

2) If his braces start to hurt you, it might be a good time to offer him a bottle

3) When you pull your out your boob and his eyes get large, and his diaper gets larger, you might want to bag that boobie

4) If he asks you to get an implant because he likes them a little larger, he’s done

5) If he lights up a cigarette after your breast feeding, cut him off

6) And finally, if he asks if he and his friend can tag-team, enough is enough

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Bouquet for today

Titan wishes all the mother's out there a "Happy Mother's Day."

For those mother's whose sons or daughters are serving in the military, this family knows the commitments and sacrifices they, and their mother's, make for our country. May our loved ones come home soon, and safe.

Titan wants to point out a special "Mother's Day" to his momma at home.

Now feed me............please?

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