Everyone is in a panic about swine flu.  My hypochondriac friends are convinced they have it or are going to get it.  My nieces are in a panic because they were close to a pig on a recent field trip at school.  And my mother called me to make sure I wasn’t eating bacon for breakfast.  I took advantage of her irrational concern and told her I ATE IT ALL in one fell swoop over the weekend and then pretended to cry over what I’m sure would be my eventual demise because the night before I polished off a bag of pork rinds while watching the pig movie, BABE.

     If you don’t know by now, you can’t get the flu from pigs or pork products.  IT’S A FLU, people!  You catch it like you do any other type of cold or virus, and yes it can be fatal if not treated properly or immediately- just like any other type of virus.  But maybe (and I emphasize the maybe) with this particular strain causing so much concern something good will come out of the mix.  MAYBE, more people WILL cover their mouths when they cough.  Something they should do anyway.  MAYBE, more people WILL wash their hands more often when they leave the bathroom.  Something I don’t see happen often enough.  MAYBE, more people WILL stay home when they’re sick as opposed to coming into work where they cough all over everybody and don’t wash their hands when they leave the office bathroom.  And MAYBE (and granted this is greedy on my part) more rib joints WILL lower their prices in an effort to get those customers back that think “pork” is the problem.  Pork is not the problem.  Leave the pig, be!  As if the lowly creature doesn’t have enough self-asteem issues as is.  People are the problem.  Not to mention, I can’t order up a full rack of “BOB” with extra sauce.

My birthday has come and gone and now I’m 50!  Now what?  Nothing, that’s what.  All 50 stands for is a reminder that what and how I’ve been for 49 years seems to be working out just fine.  What’s the saying?  “If ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”  Well, I can’t say nothing ain’t broke or at least slightly creased but the overall thought process is one I will continue to adhere to.  Everyone says I have to take better care of myself.  Okay.  That’s good advice, but those of you who are forecasting the gloom and doom that is my “50’s” please note that I am not on any prescription medications for cholesterol, blood pressure, arthritis, or a heart condition.  My weight does fluctuate a bit, but I don’t need a pill for that problem- I need a smaller plate! I do need to quit smoking, but that situation may remedy itself as I cannot justify 6 dollars or more per pack.  Oh, and the AARP literature I am bombarded with holds no interest for me unless they start offering up deals on cigarettes, but since they preach longevity and advice on how to be  a “Sensational Senior” I don’t think they’ve really got me in mind just yet as a member.  And apparently nobody wants me to quit drinking anytime soon since I received no less than 10 bottles of Jack Daniels in various shapes and sizes and no less than a case of fine wines.  Thanks for the booze, doc.  Apparently your gift to me will be my co-pay to you on the next visit.  What HAVE I noticed since turning 50?  An unexplained freedom to say and feel anyway I want about things, as if some prized possession of dialog and demeanor was mine for the taking once I reached that plateau of 50 years.  Oh, sure- certain amounts of taste and decorum will still have to be adhered to, but no longer do I need to worry about the aftermath of any given situation.  Basically I will continue to follow a code I’ve developed for the next couple of decades to serve as a loose guideline for life.  And the good news is, you don’t have to be 50 to join up.  I call it D.R.A.M.A.  No, DESIRE to deal with anything foolish or time-wasting that takes valuable moments away from whatever I’ve given left to enjoy in this world.  No, REGRETS for not having done something I really wanted to do, see or act on.  No, APATHY towards anything.  Time to either “dig it” or “dump it.”  MORE.  That should be self-explanatory.  And, finally ACT on impulses, gut choices, instinct and the spontaneous combustion of life that could be just around the corner in the form of a friend, a meal, love, booze, cards, silence, or a Subway restaurant.  I know…it’s a lot to digest and I know I’ve just turned 50, so it remains to be seen if I can practice what I preach, but hey- the future is bright.  In 5 more years, I can get those meals on the 55 and older side of the menu at FRISCH’S.

         My mom is coming to visit this weekend.   Yea, me.   Don’t get me wrong.   I love my mother immensly, but there is a protocol that needs to be in place and followed to ensure a pleasant stay.   So from today (Friday) till Tuesday here’s what needs to happen to keep Mama Tripodis happy.

The thermostat will be cranked to 75 degrees because she lives in Florida and anytime she leaves the state a “chill” follows her.   Fresh coffee will have to be made every 4 hours, and I’ll have to make it, because “you make such good coffee, Dino.” Frozen bagels and cream cheese on hand daily.   That’s how she likes to start her day.   A fresh can of Pledge and an ample supply of dust rags.   Apparently no matter how clean the place might be, my mother can find dust and cannot rest until it’s eliminated.   No less than three trips to the mall, so she can insist on buying me shirts that I’ll never wear, which I will take back for another pair of jeans after she leaves.   I will do this (let her buy the shirts)  just to avoid her attempts to buy me another “robe.”   You haven’t experienced true adult/parent remorse until your mother makes you try on robes at MACY’S because your favorite robe at home has been deemed “ratty and shameful for others to see.”

         Other lovely moments during her stay  will consist of things like…despite having every movie channel available on my cable system, my mother will not be able to find a “good movie to watch.”   Laundry I didn’t even know existed will be washed, dryed, folded and  commented on.   Where do you think she gets the inspiration for the shirts?   And other questions will be  asked like- Do you drink everyday?   I thought you quit smoking?   Are we going to go to church?   Have you thought about my offer to replace your carpeting in the basement?    Do you need gas money?   How long has it been since you replaced your bedroom pillows?   Are you thinner or heavier since I saw you last?   (Sigh)   Let me answer at least ONE of those questions.    Yes, mother.   I DO drink  everyday.   These next few days anyway.     

     I filed the first week of February.  I got a refund.  It’s gone.  Some people raised an eyebrow when I said I received a refund.  Get over it.  I did.  You see, I was audited many, many years ago and since then I have been a receipt-keeping, bill-organized, journal-keeping madman.  After the audit, I owed the IRS $1500.  Not a devastating amount, but at the time I was a struggling comedian so it was all the money in the world.  The audit pointed out what I had done wrong in my filing and but also pointed out what I could do that was right to not only avoid future audits but maybe actually get some money back.  Everyone complains about the “tax laws” when they go against them, but you would be amazed at what the government and the ”tax laws” are willing to give you back if you put the time and effort in to make it happen.  My advice?  For starters, get an accountant- a good one.  There a lot of bad ones out there, using the same Turbo Tax program you are.  Find one that’s well-versed in tax laws, updated on the constantly changing tax code and can use that updated knowledge to your advantage.  Don’t get me wrong- I hate taxes.  I hate organizing them, filing them and paying them.  But if they are going to take (and trust me they do.  a chunk), I feel I should do my fair share to try and take a little back.  Legally, of course and above reproach.  I don’t EVER want to be audited again.

For the last 14 years there has been a Monday Night Poker Game at my house.  On occasion a Monday would be missed here and there but that occurence was seldom.  Lately, with the current economy, it happens a little more often.  And when that happens, what does a card-playing junkie do?  I’ve surprised myself, actually.  Yesterday, with “no poker” in the mix, I found I had time to go to the gym that I belong to, which by the way is right around the corner from my house.  I quickly noted there were no poker tables at the gym, unless you count the “little tot” tables in the day care center, but pre-school children seldom carry money for a cash game.

     There are a lot of very “fit” people at the gym, which begs the question:  Did they get fit AT the gym, or were they already fit before they got there and this was just a form of maintenance?  There are many machines in the gym that work many parts of the body; machines that isolate certain muscle regions of said body and develop them into sculpted works of physical art.  At least that’s what the picture on the machine makes you believe.  There are also treadmills at the gym, which is what I gravitated towards.  These “walk-nowhere” devices are right in front of a wall of televisions and with some headphones and a flick of the button, I was able to tune into CNN, ESPN, or E while walking a brisk 2.5 miles per hour.  A note of caution:  if you are amazed by a story you see on the television and stop walking in disbelief, the machine keeps going.  Also noted:  they don’t like the bottle water holders to be used as beer holders, which I find very discriminatory.  What?  VITAMIN WATER is fine, but a carbohydrate-enriched Miller High Life is not?  I cry “foul” and suggest that not only they allow it, but offer to “sell it” at the gym.  You’ve already got the tv’s.  Throw in a small kitchen with a limited, yet tasty menu, offer up the beer and then, my friends, you have got a gym that I would go to daily.  Or maybe they should just get some treadmills at BW3.

Dear Dino:  Why is Greek Orthodox Easter on a different Sunday than everyone else’s Easter?

Dear Easter-Curious:  Historians will tell you when the Catholic and Orthodox churches (once united) split, the Orthodox Church proceeded to follow a different calendar.  But the truth of the matter is, we just wanted to find a way to take advantage of the discounted Easter candy.

I remember the first game.  The first time I sat in my “I-really-can’t-afford-these-seats, but-what-the-hey.”  I’ve been a season ticket holder for the Columbus Blue Jackets since Day One back in 2000-2001 season and finally my loyalty has paid off.  Were going to the playoffs!  It will be a whole new season.  How long will it last?  Well, ideally right up to the ownership of Sir Stanley’s Cup, but even if they don’t come close to that goal, the “sports investment” that I try to justify to my accountant is giving me a little something back.  I can now say something to the naysayers and the people who looked at me with sympathy as I continued to renew my seats, year after frustrating year.  And, oh by the way- those people will not be on the invited list to share a game with me.  Sorry, Mom.  Get in line someplace else.  Whoever does go with me- get ready!  Because we’re gonna stroll into Nationwide Arena a little prouder, sit a little taller and high-five a little harder.  And when we win that first playoff game, we’ll stay out a little later, celebrate a little longer, and explain ourselves the next morning with nothing more than a smile and a well-deserved hangover.  It’s time to JACK-IT-UP, PEOPLE!  The March To The Playoffs has begun…finally!

     When I came home yesterday, Lena my once-every-two-weeks housekeeper was hard at work cleaning my man-cave of a home.  Not an easy task for a pack rat like myself, who has an easier time throwing someONE out of the house as opposed to someTHING.  In these tough economic times where people are cutting out the little extras in life, my housekeeper was relieved to find out that her position would stay intact. That financial move was a no-brainer.  For $100, every other week, my house looks like my mom moved back in.  That kind of domestic joy has to stay in the budget.  For starters, she cleans on a Tuesday- after Monday Night Poker, a night that continually confirms that I don’t have “friends” so much as I have “apes that drink liquor.”  Anyone who agrees to tackle that mess is worth a “Benjamin” twice a month.  Plus, it does encourage me to keep the place somewhat tidy in the interim.  Oh, sure the scent of lemon is soon replaced by the smoke of a Marlboro when of the primates strolls in with an already burning cigarette.  And the freshly polished wood floors are never more than a spilled cocktail away from being sticky again, but for a day- sometimes even  a whole week- my home is a showplace of domestica; an abode that makes a visiting mother proud and gives a girlfriend hope.  Lose the housekeeper in these tough economic times?  I don’t think so.  Hard to rationalize and say THAT has to go when I can potentially lose that same amount in 2 hands of poker.  Hmm.  Maybe I should give up poker.  Hahahahaha.  Kidding.  Just wanted to see I how that felt to say out loud.

No more MARCH MADNESS. (sigh)  And it ended with a wimper.  Boring game.  Thankfully it was played on a Monday Night.  Poker Night.  That also ended with a wimper.  I did pick UNC.  But so did Obama.  Didn’t matter.  My brackets were destroyed when Michigan State decided they were contenders. But David doesn’t always beat Goliath.  And Dino doesn’t always win at poker- despite a series of King High flushes and Full Houses.  I wonder if the president plays poker?  I’m going with “yes.”  And he can probably “bluff” really well.  I imagine you have to when you’ve got that gig.

But now it’s April. Taxes.  Baseball.  And Taxes.  Birthdays.  Ohio State Spring Football Game.  Did I mention taxes?  Actually I filed back in February and got a refund.  I applied it to, uh…taxes.  Ah, The Circle of Strife.  On April 5th there was a birthday.  My daughter turned 27!  How can that be?  How can I have a daughter who is the same age as my maturity level?  I have a BIG birthday coming later this month.  I’m turning 50!  But it’s the new 40, right?  Great.  I HATED 40!  I’m going with “it’s the new 35.”  The 30’s were awesome.  The 40’s were more like keeping a car you should’ve traded in before it started nickel/diming you to death.  The 50’s?  They will be full of detemination and denial.  At least one of those attitudes should be good for an adventure or two.  But they say that age is relative.  And relatives can be stressfull.  And stress can kill. So, I guess the lesson is- don’t hang around your relatives too much because you may kill them.  Yeah…I’ve become very wise at almost 50.  That’s enough for today.

Today, I will lay claim to my true birthright, The King of England.  Today, I will start a dedicated diet and workout regimen.  Today, I will quit smoking (actually, I might with the price increase).  Today, I will unveil my ability to travel through space and time.  Today, I will announce my run for the presidency in 2012 after I leave the Throne of England.  Today, I will tell my mother that I am not her real son.  Today, I will alphabetize my Celine Dion music catalog. Today, I will share my secret identity.  Today, I make a vow to defeat the forces of evil, or at least start with management.  And  (NO FOOLIN’), today I start the countdown to my 50th birthday as this is my birthday month. Wish I was foolin’ about that little fact.  Gotta go.  Today is the day I perfect my animal species blending experiments  Pigdogs should be available by Christmas.