I wanted to ask, but...

I went to the local watering hole -- the one with attractive ladies, as opposed to the one with overweight men -- tonight.

Much to my surprise, a rather forward offer was made to me within half an hour of being there, on behalf of an attractive girl by her not-so-attractive friend. I, like any red-blooded American male, said it was certainly a possibility. Unlike most American males, I said I wanted to know more about her first.

That apparently was some sort of turn-off. While her friend at one point still ended up in my lap -- her battles with gravity will one day be legendary -- nothing came of the original offer to "let her jump my bones."

I did start observing this duo, though, and it made me wonder greatly about what, exactly, women want. I'm sure philosophers and theologians will long debate this very question.

I'm generally a pretty respectful guy. I have a number of sisters (five, if you're counting), and I learned from that the importance of treating women with respect. I'm not overtly forward. I consider feelings. I, by watching the rest of my gender tonight, am not a man.

I watched guy after guy grope, fondle and otherwise touch these two girls for the rest of the night. Most frighteningly, I observed a bald fat man stroke the girl of the lovely lady who happened to be wearing a rather flattering green sweater. I observed hands smacking backsides. I saw guys move extremely close to these girls.

I wanted to ask why these girls permitted it. I wanted to know what possessed these fellows to be so presumptious. Most of all, I wanted to know why these gals didn't smack them flat across the face.

I didn't ask, thoguh. I wanted to ask, but I didn't. I don't know why not. I guess I'm a coward. I wanted to ask these girls to talk, too, but I didn't. I don't know why.

Thanksgiving Dinner

In the past few days, a number of acquaintances have asked how my Thanksgiving was. It's a friendly enough question that requires a fairly length response on my part.

For those who don't know, I'm the fifth child out of seven in my parents' family. Yes, we're Catholic. I know that's what you were going to ask next, so I'll beat you to the punch.

We're all at least 21 years old, with four of those children having children of their own. We still gather as a family, which is unique and wonderful and nuts all at the same time.

Here's what makes it nuts. Just take the original seven kids and two parents, and put them back into the home we had as we grew up in Northwest Ohio. My parents have more knick-knacks than when we were here. We're all bigger than when we all lived there together. It's a challenge.

Then add in spouses and significant others. Sprinkle in the grandkids. There's a healthy dose of noise as people are all trying to communicate. It's sort of like trying to have a conversation at a subway station during rush hour or discuss your innermost thoughts as the home team scores a touchdown.

In short, it's nuts.

It's great, though, getting to play with nieces and nephews. That's the payoff for coming back to Ohio, getting to play with them. There's nothing more satisfying in life than having a child simply happy you're there.

Dinner was delightful. Because of the limited seating availability, I swear every time someone got up for a new plate of food, someone else took their seats. I think that might be how the rotation worked, where you're counting on someone standing at all times. It's sort of like the "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" game where one person has to stand, one has to sit and one has to lay on the floor.

Anyway, I'm glad I could come up for the holiday. It certainly reminds you what you're thankful for. There's nothing like family, for better or for worse.

Greener pastures

I've always described journalism as a calling to people. It's like the priesthood. If you're not devoted to it, it just won't work. If it ever stops feeling like the best line of work in the world, you should stop doing it.

I've hit that point with sports journalism. Don't get me wrong, it can be fun. Covering games and writing features can be some of the most rewarding work you can do. You get to know young student-athletes and record what they do. But for every minute you get to do the fun stuff, there are 10 minutes of designing pages, dealing with irate callers or answering calls so you can take a swimming meet.

Between that and an onslaught of frustrations with my current job, I'm getting out. I'm going over to the daylight side. I'm returning to my roots somewhat, going back to Lima (Ohio) to take a news-writing job covering Putnam County.

I'm looking forward to it. Will I miss sportswriting? Absolutely. Will I miss sports editing? Not for a second.

It's been a tough couple months since I moved to Delaware. We're talking about 60-hour weeks at a minimum and 80-hour weeks at the worst. I had two 18-hour days in the same week a couple weeks ago. I've been doing the work of two or three guys -- literally -- and I don't mean Larry, Curly and Moe.

Anybody who knows me knows I hate to give up. I hate to quit. It's not in my nature. But I'm also realistic enough to know that if I stuck around here much longer, I'd become such a bitter hack that I'd hate what I do. I don't want to hate journalism. It's all I've ever wanted to do since I grew out of the 5-year-old "I want to be a fireman" phase.

I'll send out the relevant contact information to those "on the list" once I find a place in my new corner of the state. I'm excited about the change. I'm excited about taking a writing-only job, and it'll be challenging to tackle new types of stories.

One of the most common reactions I've gotten at my current paper when I put in my notice was this: "News? How can you do news? You're a sports guy." First off, that feeds into one of my most frustrating stereotypes, that sports guys somehow aren't real journalists.

Second, it's worth mentioning that news jobs were what I'd chased coming out of college. My internship was in news. I wanted a news job out of college, but bless his soul, Lima News sports editor Paul Smith talked me into applying for his sports job.

It's been a lot of fun ever since, and it's taken me places I'm not sure news would have. I've seen the Browns' first game. I've covered a Georgia Southern-Furman football game in Georgia with a conference championship on the line. I watched Virginia Tech topple Miami last season. And at this moment I'm sitting in Ohio Stadium, awaiting the Michigan-Ohio State game in what might be the last football game I ever cover.

What a way to go out, huh?