My story is typical. I was born a poor, Black child. I survived the mean streets of the Buffalo suburbs and four straight losses in the Super Bowl, grew into a mature adult and pillar of the community, and made my parents proud. OK, well, part of that is true. I was indeed raised in the Buffalo 'burbs...North Tonawanda, to be exact. The rest? Well, can't a guy dream?
Here's some highlights. I was a big baby. Like, 20 lbs. Maybe a few less. Mom always reminds me of the pain. The guilt ensures she gets great birthday presents. I have a brother two years older, and he used to make my life a living Hell, like any good brother should. That stopped when I turned 12, and was bigger than him. I spent most of my formative years annoying my elders. That includes parents, teachers, and the police. If I wasn't in after-school detention, I was being questioned for the latest neighborhood "incident". Looking back, it a was all pretty harmless. Well, maybe not the thing we did to our Spanish Teacher. But that's a story for another time. Sports helped keep me out of any serious trouble. Get suspended...and you were kicked off the team. So that only happened once. Maybe twice. With hopes and dreams, and a suitcase filled with Molson Canadian Lager, I headed off to college. Less than a year later, and a plea agreement with a reduced sentence (like I said...never convicted), my college experience wasn't exactly going as planned. But, with threats of bodily harm from Mom solidly in my back pocket, I managed to graduate from Gannon University in Erie, PA, and looked forward to a lucrative career in broadcasting. Soooooooo...I've bounced around from station to station in such vacation hot spots as Clearfield, PA, Joplin, MO, Evansville, IN, and Fayetteville, NC. In February of 1999, I took the job that I have now (more or less).
I never did find that pot of gold, but I've had a lot of fun along the way. And moving here was the best thing that ever happened to me. I met my beautiful wife, Stacy, while watching a Bills game at what used to be Damon's on Tunnel Road, and we were married in September of 2001. I lost my wedding ring in a bizarre chicken wing incident (true story), so I really have no proof. But I think she'll vouch for me. We don't have any children, but we do have cats...lots and lots of cats. I'd love to tell you exactly how many, but I lost track. Seriously, I started counting them the other night, but had to stop after I'd used all my fingers and toes. I was plum out of digits.
So that's my story. Of course, some of the sordid details have been left out due to pending legal action. But, Judge...I swear I had no idea that pig was your pet!
It's official. President Obama is coming (back) to Asheville, this Wednesday. If you're keeping score at home, it would be the third time he's visited. Four if you count the time he touched down at the airport, gave a short speech, loaded up the teleprompter, and took off.
There are many more questions than answers at this point, which I'm sure is how the Secret Service likes it. All we really know for sure is that his travel staff is looking to secure 50 rooms.
So, what DON"T we know? You name it.
Will he be holding a public rally? If history is a good indicator, yes. He tends to hit the road to sell his State-Of-The-Union message to the public. That speech is on Tuesday night.
Will he stop by 12 Bones for a rack of ribs? Once again, if history repeats itself, yes. But maybe he'll spread the love and dine somewhere else. If he's reading this, I suggest Rocky's Hot Chicken Shack.
A round of golf? Probably not. Weather doesn't look good.
Where will they be staying? We don't even know if he is staying. He could just be flying in and flying out. Maybe just his staff is staying. So, your guess is as good as mine, but I would think the Grove Park Inn and The Inn at Biltmore would be the two most likely suspects.
Will he bring the wife and kids? If it's an overnight stay, then I would say yes. Valentine's Day is Thursday, and I'm pretty sure he's not leaving the First Lady behind. Not wise. The kids are another story. Oh, I forgot. Sorry, we're not supposed to talk about them.