Something in my gut tells me that beer is supposed to be drunk during the day with BBQ and Corn, not at night with peanuts and buffalo wings. I know this is the old man in me. So if it’s going to be a bar, let it be a piano bar in an upscale hotel. I got rid of titty bars several years back, so no more tacky bars. If the bartender is not over 30, I ain’t staying.
Boy will soon be 13. Scholar will soon be 12. It’s time to get them up the next level. The bad habit to avoid is to stop pretending they don’t know what’s being said when they listen to the Black Eyed Peas. My job is to give them moral context and aids in discipline and respect. Which reminds me that it’s about time to buy a nice sized wooden baseball bat.