Bring on 2014!

I’ll be happy to see 2013 go but sad to be leaving important people and things behind. Before we forge ahead to 2014, let’s take a last look at the year that was in the Kingdom of the Cat’s Pajamas:


The year started off with the retirement of my longstanding sixty-inch TV. I financed the big girl when I was 19, paid it off when I was 26, a few years longer than planned at inception. But it was mine and I somehow moved that 350lb beast six different times, up narrow stairs, down steep stairs, you name it, before the wife said it was time for the TV’s last move, the move out.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/01/rip-60-inch-rear-projection-tv.html



One night after dinner I noticed that my first I-Phone was gone. I had put it on the roof of my car outside Longfellow’s and forgot about it. My poor phone.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/01/rip-i-phone-4.html


On Easter Sunday, the cancer cloud came. My wife felt a lump that ended up being advanced cancer. Things got real dark after that.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-lost-pearl.html


When it looked like Kobe might lead my Lakers to a surprise playoff run, he went down with a gruesome achilles injury with four seconds left on the game clock, while playing the best ball of his career at 35 years old. As I write this, Kobe’s out again. This was a bad injury to an all-time great baller.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/04/snake-bitten.html


Then the real life Erin Brockavich gets arrested. Say what?

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/06/theyre-called-boobs-ed.html


If my wife’s cancer wasn’t enough, my little puggle, Sophie Cinnamon, was diagnosed with mast cell cancer. It was caught quick and cured, and Sophie waxed poetic to her heroic vet, Dr. Patrick.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/06/sophies-letter-to-shaker-vet.html


Then it got real bad. The physically-devastating story of James Gandolfini’s death in Rome hit the world. I could never describe what Tony Soprano and THE SOPRANOS has meant to me. I can’t even see a picture of Gandolfini or look at a clip of him on camera without suffering a suffocating sadness.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/07/my-final-word-on-gandolfini.html


I should’ve known any summer that starts with the death of Tony Soprano wasn’t going to go well. In July, my oldest friend, Chris Premo, was involved in a nightmarish accident on a construction site. After five days in the hospital, he passed away, breaking the heart of a whole community. Chris’s death rocked my world in ways that I still can’t completely understand. It is the saddest, sickest thing I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t supposed to be Chris.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/08/mines-ordinary-life.html


One month later, Chis returned. Well, he kind of did.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/08/life-is-circle-wheel.html


Two months later, my wife went into remission.

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/whats-victory-look-like.html

http://brianhuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-turtle.html

I’ll leave you with the words of two great giants, both lost way too soon in 2013. Maybe "Giants" isn't the best way to describe them, because my beloved NY Giants SUCKED in 2013 too. Let's call them two legends then.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll look back and remember the little moments, like this, that were good.” –Tony Soprano

“There’s still hope in this crazy world.” –Chris Premo

Bring on 2014!

Brian Huba
12.28.13

A Going Out to Dinner Carol

I’ve become bored with going out to dinner. When my wife asked about Saturday night, I said I was happy staying home, eating w/ TV. Sadly she left, and a knock came at the front door. I opened and there was Steve Barnes from the TIMES UNION’s “Table Hopping” Blog. He told me I had to relearn the “true” meaning of going out to dinner, and on that night, I would be visited by three ghosts, to which I said, “Wow, three ghosts, huh?” Steve did not take kindly to my sarcastic tone, and squeezed a hand around my windpipe, dropping me like a sack. He screamed, “You fool, this is your LAST chance to learn the true meaning of going out to dinner. Don’t waste it.”

I forgot about Barnes’s visit, went to bed early, stuffed with homemade grilled cheese and canned soup. At 1AM, I felt a breeze blow through the window. I came awake and there stood Shannon, our former waitress from the Villa Valenti. “Are you the ghost,” I asked, and she said, “Of going out to dinner past.” I was then lifted over my sleeping wife and dogs and airborne into the night. We landed outside the Villa Valenti, and looked in the icy windows of a winter night. I was in the back booth with my wife and our friends: Jill and Brent. We talked over a table packed with breads and wines and apps, as Shannon delivered pasta entrees. Then we buzzed to the next destination, the icy window at Prime in Downtown Albany, and I saw me and my wife sitting with our friends: Jamie and Sana. The piano played as we talked and laughed. “That was the best night,” I said, and Shannon said, “But you forgot about that fun, didn't you?”

At 2AM the same breeze blew and I snapped awake to see Kay, our D’Raymond’s waitress, at the hanging mirror in our attached bathroom, fixing her frosted bangs. She told me to hurry up and follow her through the bathroom window. She doesn't have all night and wasn’t getting tips on this job. I jumped from bed and followed and then we were sitting at the LaPorto’s bar, and I saw me and my wife at the corner table, alone, and I was texting away while she stared off bored and unhappy. It was the same scene at Longfellow’s, the Old Brien Inn, and finally D’ Raymond’s itself, where I only tipped Kay six percent, which she read sadly off the receipt when we’d gone. “You didn’t even finish your shrimp parm or order dessert that night,” she reminded me, and I said, “Please, ghost, no more.” Kay said, “You forged these memories yourself.” Then, “You still owe me the other fourteen percent.”

3AM came and I woke to the TV on loud. I sat up and on the screen saw the 90-year-old sample lady from Hannaford. She was handing out some kind of cheese packaged in Dixie cups. Then I saw me taking one of those samples. I had a cart filled with boxed foods and frozen goods, and I looked old, and hunchbacked, and alone. It was a sad sight and I grabbed the remote, changed the channel, saw my wife older but looking alive, with a new man, laughing and drinking wine and having a great time on the town. I changed the channel again, I had to, and I saw myself inside a small apartment, hunched over a standing tray in front of an oozing TV screen. I tried turning the TV off, but couldn’t, and when I looked at my wife’s side of the bed, it was empty, and the dogs were gone.

I grabbed my cell phone off the side table and saw the time: 10AM. I was awake. I jumped from bed and ran to the kitchen. There was a note on the fridge that read: TOOK DOGS TO PET SMART. Then: GROCERY SHOPPING FOR DINNER. With the back of my hand, I smeared those dry erased words away. I sprinted to the living room window, saw a young couple in matching jogging suits power walking by. It’s the Burbs, what can I say? I threw open the window, and said, “Hey you, kind neighbors, what day is it?” They stopped at the same time, took a second to spot me, and the man responded, “Why it’s the Sunday before Christmas, sir.” And I pumped fist and said, “Do you still think there’s time to book a restaurant table for X-Mas Eve?” The man considered this: “Probably nothing before eight, but yes, sir, I believe there’s time.” I said, “Thank you, friend! Thank you!” And threw the window shut. The garage door lurched open underneath, signaling my family’s return. “I haven’t missed it after all,” I proclaimed.

Brian Huba
12.22.13

mY ChRISSmaSs LIsTT

dEAr santé CLOSS
you are very good and VERy great THIS YEAR I HAVE BEen xspECelee GoOd and thIs iz what I WANT foR ChrismaS

I wOOd like a PaIR of GiANts sokS TO weAr when Dey play the SUPeRBol at theyare stadiuM And I want TxketS to the GamE to C my favorite PlayeR Eli ManenG wIN the GAME! aNd I WANT a new CELL phoNe so I can TAKe SELFies with PeOPLE WHeN someone diE LIKE HoW OUr PrezIDEnt doEs. CaN I geTT a big STUffEd TeDDY Bear SO I caN DaNCE DIRtY wITH it in PUBlic and Then I B FAMOus Like MILLY CYRiS. CAn I GETT a dvD of MOvIe RUNNER runner becuZ JusTIN TimBerLake is GREATESt ACTor wHO EvER Lives AND HE MaKE the GREATESt MOVieS EVER! CAN ME hAvE KAtY PERRY Just BeCUZ. AnD cAN me HaVE the Dvd OF SeaSOn 1 OF WE ArE MEN IT iS great SHOW. CAn I GET 100 dollars to bUY New AWSUm GlaSSes so I CAn LOOK like ERIC SnowDeN becuz He is MOSt loved AmeriCan in WorlD CaN I gET AutoGRAPhED Copy of ROllInG StONE MagezENE wiTh THAT REallY COOL ROCK StaR FrOM BOsToN He BE called THE BOMBER He LOOK so cool ON THAT MaGAZinE! AnD LAST GiFT is YOGa PANTS FRoM LULULemoN For mY FAVORITe TEaCHER At SCHOOl. SHE HaVE BIG Legs AND I KNOw THEY WOOd REallE work FOR HER boDY

TNAnkYOu SantE CLOSS YOU Are VERy GOOD aNd VErY GREat

The Twelve Firings of Brian

It may surprise you to hear that I was not always the captain of industry I am today. As Christmas 2013 comes close, I reflect on my station in life, and think wow how have I reached so high? Respected (downright revered) by my colleagues, making well over 17,000 a year, and pretty much killing it on a daily basis. My path to such heights wasn’t easy. In fact, it was pretty weird. I wrote a holiday song about it called “The Twelve Firings of Brian.” Here it goes.


Oh the first time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, washing dishes at the Villa Valenti

Oh the second time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, caught giving out free turkey from the Price Chopper deli

Oh the third time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, told by Grand Union “you’re not supermarket material-e”

Oh the fourth time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, found sleeping on Taft Furniture’s inventory

Oh the fifth time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, an administrative assistant at Orange Ford & Mercury

Oh the sixth time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, driving an ice cream truck through the inner city

Oh the seventh time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, some office place in Latham that did the deed immediately

Oh the eighth time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, assistant leasing manager at a Chrysler joint called Armory

Oh the ninth time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, at Mary Jane Books, bounced out by a peace-loving hippie

Oh the tenth time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, vacuuming cars at Hoffman’s on Central Ave. in Albany

Oh the eleventh time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, a Barcelona's busser till they got sick of sharing tips w/ yours truly

Oh the twelfth time a fired, when the boss got rid of me, dishwashing with a bachelor’s at a retirement community


For those who fired me, it’s rather obvious you had a reason. With that said, I hope you and yours have a happy holiday season!

Brian Huba
12.8.13

Christmas Movie Fun!

Thanksgiving is over, and the cold weather is HERE, which means it's time for the Christmas lights to come out and the Christmas movies to go on. For the next month we'll be watching the following ten Christmas flicks, same way we do every year:

10. Four Christmases
9. Elf
8. Home Alone 2
7. Santa Claus the Movie
6. Trading Places
5. Scrooged
4. The Family Man
3. Home Alone
2. Bad Santa
1. National Lampoons Christmas Vacation

Read More: http://www.timeout.com/newyork/film/the-20-best-christmas-films

Brian Huba
11.30.13

A Man's Worst Nightmare

Has anybody been following this story about the NYC Cop who caught a savage beating outside a Queens diner, while some guy cell-phoned the pummeling, then put it on You Tube and Facebook where it went viral? If you haven’t read the story, click here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2509184/NYPD-sergeant-Mohammed-Deen-beaten-inch-life-Queens.html. And if you think you can take it, here’s the link to the You Tube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvKflR6vltI. For countless reasons this story has haunted me all week. And suddenly I remember why I never said boo to anybody at the bars. Back in my going-out days, if some guy got in my face (‘You got a problem?’ drunken thug barks because he’s looking for a fight for any reason in the world), I always put my head down and walked the other way. ‘Hey, Brian, you’re a wimp.’ Oh, OK, but I still have both eyes and all my teeth.

Our friend, the Sgt. from Queens Mohammad Deen, was not so lucky. With his wife watching and screaming for the attacker to stop, he took a beating for the ages. I don’t mean he lost a tough street fight and walked away with ego bruised. I mean he was humiliated then eviscerated then ambulanced away on a stretcher where he was placed in a medically-induced coma, an inch from losing his life. There were no weapons, just good old fashioned bare knuckle, and by some accounts Deen had initiated the conflict earlier at a nearby nightclub. Some have even suggested he played big-shot cop to the wrong guy, a lunatic named Hayden Holder, who followed Deen to the diner, and the rest is history.

Before we go further, I will tell you Deen’s going to make a full recovery, albeit a long one, but I don’t know how a man ever comes back from that, especially when that man is a cop (the most testosterone-ish job on the planet) and double especially when the video of your whipping was viewed by millions on Facebook and You Tube. How does a man ever come back from that? Hayden Holder took everything from Officer Deen last Saturday night. When Deen’s back in business I can’t think of any situation where he’d publically puff his chest again. I don’t know how his wife could ever look at him as a protector again after watching from five feet away as some muscled thug treated him like a piñata. How could she? Am I wrong, ladies? Even death wouldn’t work as the easy way out here. If he’d died on that street, Deen would forever be the cop who got beaten to death on You Tube. Beaten. To. Death. Imagine living your whole life and going out like that? A man's worst nightmare.

As for the assailant, Hayden Holder, who’s inside with no bail set, facing attempted murder charges, the NYPD has already reported he’s on suicide watch. Yeah. OK. Seems like a reasonable thing to leak on a guy you’ll soon kill then make it look like an accident. Incarcerated. No bail. On tape spitting in a cop’s face as he lay in an unconscious heap, then trying to punch into the car and attack his terrified wife, who he would've instantly killed, I'm sure. Holder’s gone. He’s dead. RIP, Hayden Holder.

One of our very good friends is a downstate cop. I don’t mean one of those tools who flashes his small-town badge around and drunk drives 90mph through red lights on the weekends, because he can. He’s the other kind of cop, the kind who changes the room’s temperature when he enters it, and if this had ever happened to HIS partner, he’d personally put the guy in the ground. I don't mean that as a metaphor.

One night, outside Sadie’s way back, I played the part of tough guy. Going way-way-way outside character, I got in some guy’s face in a manner that suggested I wanted to fight. For the record, I didn’t, but I knew he didn’t. He wasn’t as big as me and a bit younger. I had him over the psychological barrel, so to speak, but if he’d raged up I probably would’ve wilted. He just didn’t. Oh yeah, his girlfriend (very cute girlfriend) was with him. Anyway, I punked him down, as the lingo goes. And as he slunk away, tail between his legs, I made a comment about collecting his girlfriend for myself. I’ll never forget the look of defeat that filled his eyes. And I’ll never ever forget the way she looked at him. She just found out Santa and the Easter Bunny were both fake, in the same crushing moment. And together they walked off, around the corner, and gone.

I hated myself for doing that. I still hate myself for it. If I could have that moment back, I would’ve let him drop me on the sidewalk and go off a hero. It’s weird, looking back, I would prefer to lose my shirt then to live with knowing the hurt I potentially inflicted that night, over nothing. This kid wasn't some hippie, Phish fan guy who could shrug it off because violence wasn't his rack. He was the Abercrombie and gelled hair and veiny arms of a gym rat. It hurt him what happened. I hate myself for it. Maybe that's actually a man's worst nightmare, having to live with the crap you caused in the world.

Brian Huba
11.24.13

Bullied out of a job

This bullying story starring Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin of the Miami Dolphins is a witch hunt. I’m not suggesting that a 300lb behemoth “bullying” another of equal proportions is acceptable. What I’m ranting about here is how everybody, with any ranking with the Dolphins, has to now answer nonstop attacks on their own character, because they “let this happen.” From other players, to the coaches, to the GM, to the ownership group, how could all these evil people just let poor Jonathan Martin be terrorized? The media blitz. The threats against their jobs. This silly story is going to set anti-bullying back a generation.

What do you want Head Coach Joe Philbin or General Manager Jeff Ireland to do about bullying in the locker room and/or in life? Bullying’s as old as humanity itself. It’s like trying to stop barking and butt-sniffing in dogs. Obama can declare an anti-bullying day and schools can institute no-bullying initiatives till their blue in the face. It's the right thing to do, sure it is, but bullying, like Matt Barnes’ use of racial slurs, is here to stay.

Am I saying bullying is OK? No. But why does ESPN's NFL Live panel have to climb on their collective soapbox and proclaim that Richie Incognito is a racist, a racist I tell you? The artificial outrage on full blast. Why does the “inside talk” about Head Coach Joe Philbin’s hot seat have to swell? Let me tell you a little about Coach Philbin. After enduring the tragic death of his son, while working as an assistant in Green Bay, where he was beloved, and still is, Philbin pieced his broken life back together, grabbed his first-ever shot as an NFL head coach. He came into Miami and immediately turned that floundering culture around. Day one he dumped that toxic Chad Johnson. He developed a franchise quarterback and got busy winning. Now he’s in peril because he didn’t somehow thwart one grown man from hazing another grown man? Get a clue, armchair QBs. So if somebody gives Tom Brady a wedgie, the Patriots should part ways with Bill Belichick? Next up: The copycat stories cometh. There’s bullying on this team, that team, every team. It’s a slippery slope.

Does anybody remember when varsity football coach Kevin Earl was fired at Averill Park over a hazing incident in the shower room? Some kid was bullied, so he said, and his mother took it to the Supreme Court. Kevin Earl was out, gone, goodbye, and hasn’t coached since, reputation sizzled. Of course every PTA type railed up against the dismissed coach. Where was he? Why didn’t he stop it? But I ask: What did you want him to do? Shower with the team after practice? Yeah right. That wouldn've been problematic. Or follow fifty kids around the locker room then outside? Alpha boys bully beta boys in high school. It’s an unwritten rule, especially in football. Am I wrong?

While at AP, Earl turned that football program around. He gave his heart and soul to the high school. He came in on Saturdays to refinish the gym floor for nothing. Even now, years later, he still shows up at funerals and wakes and weddings. He truly cared about the student athlete, academic and athletic excellence. Then some kid gets “bullied” and Earl is yesterday’s trash. It was wrong. And this is coming from me, a kid who quit Coach Earl’s team. Anyone who went to AP in the 90’s knows what Earl really was. He was and still is "The Coach."

One day during double sessions, when I was a freshman playing JV ball, a few varsity boys got a hold of me at lunch. One lug ripped my padded pants down and the other pulled my shirt over my head. They dragged me bare-assed across the freshly-waxed, August floor of the cafeteria. In front of the varsity and JV football team PLUS the cheerleading squad, my naked rump went for a waxy ride. This was a year before Earl arrived, and the coach at the time was watching from the doorway, and laughing. I never said a thing. Then school started, and those same lugs, who’d ripped me around that floor, had my back for the rest of the year. Nobody said so much as boo to me. And when I was a senior, we did the same dumb thing to some unsuspecting freshman. Then loved him. I’m not saying it was right then or it’s right now. But it doesn’t matter what I say. It’s never going to fully end, even if you fire the whole world from it.

Read More: http://deadspin.com/report-joe-philbin-jeff-ireland-could-be-fired-for-in-1461828250

Brian Huba
11/16/13