On The Sly

We are in the middle of the high school basketball season, and, with my cameras in hand, I get to enjoy two or three boys or girls games each week. I bounce around from Barker Memorial Gymnasium at Plattsburgh High School to Seton Catholic Central to Beekmantown Central and even out to the cozy confines of Peru Central, one of the smallest courts in the Champlain Valley Athletic Conference.

While the focus is on the players, the game couldn't be played without the work of the basketball officials. I think officiating a basketball game is one of the toughest jobs in sports. You try running up and down the basketball court for a couple of hours, changing directions constantly, trying not to bump into coaches walking the sidelines, while hundreds of fans evaluate each one of the hundreds of calls you will make during the course of a game. You try staying calm while fans shout at you, "Call something, ref" or "Let 'em play, ref!" or "You need glasses, ref!" or worse!

Refs come in all shapes and sizes, and I think the dean of active officials would be Ron Giambruno. I don't know how long Ron has been blowing the whistle, but I do know he's already worn out one pair of knees. As a former official timer at high school games (my brother Goose now holds that job at PHS), I have always studied the way refs report fouls to the officials table. Ron's style is among the best. Just watch him some time.

There's a great group of current officials, but a dire need for more. Guys like Al Rose, Steve Parker, Pete McMillan, Mike Roberts and Ron Giambruno won't be working basketball games forever. We need some young blood wearing the stripes.

But whenever I talk about referees, I like to think back to the days when I played. There were some great ones. If you ever saw Pickles Proctor call a game, you'd remember it. He was colorful. I remember one big Catholic League playoff game with a packed Plattsburgh Air Force Base gym. When Pickles made a traveling call at a crucial moment, he slid on his knees for about twenty feet, twirling his arms all the while giving the traveling signal.

The list of memorable officials from the Fifties and Sixties is endless. Recently, I joined a few of the boys in a discussion of basketball officials of old, and this is the list we came up with: Andy Simays, Nubby O'Connell, the Benson brothers, Bill Durnin, Roy Garrant, Bill Badger, Rod LaValley, Bobby Parker, Tony Papero, Charlie Niles, Dud Bullis, Arnie Miller, Danny Adams, John Mousseau, Don Sprague, Bob Garrow, Earl Burnell, Sal Mercurio and even Dutch Proeshel of Malone. I wonder who we left out.

When it came to knowledge of the rules, the first and foremost was Eddie Gallagher, who even conducted clinics in Puerto Rico and South America, training basketball officials. Then guys like Shorty Flynn and Gary Butler and Randy Gallagher, Eddie's son, knew the rule book inside out.

From the Sixties up to the current day, I've seen hundreds of basketball officials, but the overall best pick of the litter might be Johnny Carpenter. Johnny knew the rules, maintained an even disposition and had a great sense of humor when reporting fouls or checking things at the officials' table. He retired from the game way too soon, in my book.

Another basketball official I enjoyed watching work was Poppy Rock. The Ausable Valley Sports Hall of Famer was one of the best. She had great style and I was disappointed when she hung up the whistle. It's too bad that there aren't more ladies getting into officiating, and I really don't know why there is such a shortage. There are so many excellent girl basketball players, many of whom move on the college hoop. When their playing days are done, why don't they get into officiating?

Maybe because it's such a thankless job!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 9:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

After a day at the Plattsburgh City Beach, there was nothing better than stopping for a root beer at the A&W Root Beer Stand on the way home. After riding my bike past the city dump on Route 9, smoke billowing from burning piles of rubbish, I figured I deserved a refreshing root beer.

I loved to buy the jug. I wish I recalled what it cost. But the jug was a heavy cardboard one with a cap and it was shaped like a megaphone. I'd take a few swigs, put the cap back on, and place the root beer in the basket on my bicycle.

Can you imagine? A bicycle with a basket? You don't see that nowadays. I also had a horn! I'm not sure who would ever get out of the way if I ever had to honk that horn in an emergency. But you felt well-equipped and safe with a basket and a horn.

Intermittently I'd stop on the way home and take another few swigs (or gulps) of my root beer, timing it perfectly, so that there'd be just enough left over so that when I pulled into the driveway at 48 Johnson Avenue, I'd have a last few swallows.

Plattsburgh's A&W Root Beer Stand was located right next to Scomotion Creek. It wasn't as popular as the Orange Julep down the road, but it was always busy. In my lifetime, I probably made more stops at the A&W than I did at the Orange Julep. I loved that root beer. And if you drank it there you could drink it from a frosted glass mug.

The large glass mugs full of root beer were heavy. You could sprain your wrist lifting it off the carhop tray if you weren't careful. They also served food at the A&W, but I was much more interested in those take-out jugs or frosted mugs.

The only A&W Root Beer Stand I've known about through my adult years was located in Lake George. I'm not certain if it's still open there. If I had the opportunity in the summer, I would stop there, buy a few Papa Burgers and have a cold root beer. It's been years since I've done that.

That's why I was so excited to hear that an A&W Root Beer business would be opening in Plattsburgh. It opened this week. I've been there twice already. It's on Route 9 North in the new Chase's gas station building. The building also houses a Dunkin' Donuts and a mini-mart.

Although I don't think they're officially open yet -- I haven't seen the Grand Opening ads in the newspaper -- they are doing a great business. Last night the A&W business was booming. But I was disappointed that it wasn't a trip back in time. Even though the display case shows a glass mug for your root beer, you are given a paper cup and you pour your own.

When I asked to see the different sizes of root beer containers, the girl at the counter showed me three paper cups. I asked if there was anything bigger. "Can I buy a jug of root beer?" I asked hopefully. The answer was no.

And no Mama Burgers, either. And no Baby Burgers. Just Papa Burgers. What has happened to the A&W family?

I settled for a single hamburger and a root beer float last night. The float was in a paper cup. It was excellent, but just not the same as the old days. 'Course, I drove up in my Pontiac Grand Am, not my bicycle with the basket. I was bald with a ponytail, not sporting a flat top haircut anymore.

I guess root beer and Foxy Gagnon will never be the same.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 8:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

Most of us would stand up and say we're proud to be part of the North Country. What a place to live, surrounded by mountains and lakes and streams and the climate to enjoy all four seasons.

Plattsburgh has always seemed like the perfect size city, with entertainment, restaurants and social events enough to keep me happy. It took me five minutes to drive to work. A mall is right around the corner. We have several high schools to keep competitive sports at a peak, and a college in our midst. I drive through the Plattsburgh State campus daily.

When an important issue called for a rallying point, North Country residents have jumped in full force. Remember the storm over the closing of Plattsburgh Air Force Base? How many thousands gathered, not just from the city, but from all around the county and then some, to show support for PAFB?

If someone is ill, there's a benefit to raise money for medical expenses. Businesses donate raffle prizes and we donate money generously. Not long ago I attended a dinner benefit at Mainely Lobster to raise money for the medical expenses of Brian Mehan, a Plattsburgh High School graduate and Plattsburgh State student and baseball player, who is undergoing treatments for cancer.

It was quite an event. Great food, great conversations, lots of donated items for auction and an overflow crowd. We all wished that we could just wish away Brian's troubles. Many of us oldsters figured, with a full life lived, we'd trade places so that a nice guy like Brian wouldn't have to go through such problems. It was heart-warming to see the support that the North Country was giving Brian and his family.

But sometimes events take place in the North Country that are embarrassing. The recent arrest of two 27-year-olds for allegedly stealing canisters of donated money for Brian Mehan made me sick. Shoplifting cigarettes, beer, clothing might be explained away. But shoplifting money donated for someone who needs cancer treatments defies explanation.

I don't know the two people arrested. But I do know someone who knows the female involved. My friend told me that the girl is a nice person, but has had a troubled past. In addition to her petit larceny charges are drug charges.

Does someone get to the point where they need money for drugs so badly that they would fall so low as to steal from someone fighting for their life? Maybe if you have a drug problem it overtakes all else in your life. How sad.

While Brian Mehan is in Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center undergoing treatments, two North Country residents are sitting in jail. They have allegedly stolen from a young man fighting cancer. I hope they have plenty of time to think about their own lives and their embarrassing actions.

The North Country is better than this.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 10:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I finally did it! I broke down, amidst encouragement from several friends, a certain someone and a handful of Blogoteers -- and bought a new bigger-screen, wide-screen television.

It was an adventure made easy by my televsion producer, Mark Tiffer, and his technical advisor, Jacqueline. Tiffer told me that I should limit my shopping to two stores in the area, mostly based upon service after the purchase.

After comparison shopping and some great price-matching, which I didn't even realize some stores do, I ended up laying down my plastic card for a SAMSUNG 40" LCD-HD. I added the HDMI cord from the store and the HD cable box from Charter Communications and, lo and behold, I was ready to watch last weekend's NFL playoff games.

Tiffer saved me over $400 with his knowledge of the retail business. Stores might not even advertise that they price-match, but if you're shopping for an expensive item, you might want to inquire about that.

I settled into my favorite living room spot last Sunday to watch the Green Bay Packers face the San Diego Chargers. My first football game on my own 40" LCD-HD. High definition sure is something. I couldn't believe it. It was as though I was at the game. Or, better yet, as though Bret Favre had brought the game right to 7 Saratoga Court.

It looks like Bret has a cavity on his upper left bicuspid. A man of his means will probably get that fixed during the off-season. That's how close I was to the action, though.

When it started snowing in Green Bay I put on my jacket. When Greg Jennings caught a touchdown pass and jumped into the crowd, I put my arms out. I've decided that there is nothing quite like this new toy I have.

And I can't wait for this Sunday. No doubt Favre will be right in my living room again as he takes on the New York Giants. I never thought I'd be so happy to spend so much money. My little 27" television is a David next to my Goliath.

And you may not believe this, but that old 27" television weighs way more than the wide-screen I have perched in my living room now. All those Blogoteers who told me in 2007 that I should buy a new television were right!

I think it's great that Favre will be in my living room this Sunday. The only problem for him, though, is that I've also invited Eli Manning. Eli's coming. And so is Plaxico Burris, bad ankle and all. And so is that wildman runner, Ahmad Bradshaw. And, if I widen my front door, I'll have Brandon Jacobs as well.

Those guys will have a big day over on Saratoga Court. While I'm sharing my steamed clams and shrimp with them, they'll also be dining on the Packers swiss-cheese-like defense. The Giants will win by 3 and, in two weeks, Eli's coming back to my living room for the Saratoga Court Super Bowl.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 12:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I wasn't an avid reader of comic books when I was a kid, unless you make me count Archie and his friends. That sexy dark-haired Veronica was my first childhood crush. But I never got into Batman, Superman, Spider-Man or any of those other superheroes.

I didn't need to. I had Johnny Podres. For a kid of seven in 1955, Johnny Podres was better than all of them. He about single-handedly brought the Brooklyn Dodgers their first World Championship in Game 7 of the World Series, pitching a shutout against the dreaded New York Yankees.

My paternal grandfather -- Poppa -- was a Brooklyn Dodgers fan and I loved to hear him argue with my Dad about who was better: the Dodgers or the Yankees, Duke Snider or Mickey Mantle, Johnny Podres or Whitey Ford. Most years my Dad enjoyed the last laugh.

Podres grew up not far from here, in Witherbee, right near Mineville, and graduated from Port Henry High School. When Podres was assigned to pitch Game 7, Poppa told me that the Dodgers would win. He was sure of it.

And when the Dodgers were crowned champions and Podres was selected the Series' Most Valuable Player, Poppa spent the next few days dressed like a Brooklyn Bum, walking the streets of Plattsburgh and his hometown of Rouses Point. People probably thought he was crazy but the sign he carried explained it: "We Done It!"

To celebrate the momentous occasion, Poppa bought me a Brooklyn Dodgers uniform to wear. I walked proudly with Poppa and became a Dodger fanatic forever. Several years ago my wife spent hundreds of dollars on eBay to buy a little kid's Brooklyn uniform, just like the one I wore when I was seven.

So, you can imagine how excited I was back in 1987 when Bob Goetz, the Press-Republican's sports editor, asked me to interview Podres for my "Where Are They Now?' feature column. I drove to Glens Falls, butterflies in my stomach all the way, to meet my childhood hero for the first time.

When he opened the door of his home, he greeted me like an old friend, and immediately I felt right at home. We talked baseball for hours and he showed me some of his baseball memorabilia. During our talk it was easy to tell that Podres enjoyed reminiscing and he enjoyed making people laugh.

I would meet Johnny several more times, and along the way, he took Matt Hicks, a North Country card show promoter, and me out to lunch at one of his favorite restaurants. With the reporter's notepad out of the way, Johnny told us inside stories about his life as a major leaguer and playing in Los Angeles. That day I couldn't help but wonder how many people get to have lunch with their hero.

My Dodger Den at my home is highlighted by my Johnny Podres memorabilia. A picture of me with Johnny at his home, autographed "To Foxy, A Good Friend, Johnny Podres." A black and white photo of Johnny in a hotel bed, taken by a New York reporter the morning after Johnny's Series-clinching win, signed ""To Foxy, What a Day ... and What a Night! Johnny Podres."

A 45-rpm record from 1955 with the song "Johnny Podres Has a Halo 'Round His Head" -- sung by Allen Swift on Jubilee Records.

This morning when I read that Johnny Podres had died on Sunday, I was sad. I am still sad. For those sports fans who didn't really know him, it's just the death of another ex-big leaguer. But to me it's much more than that. Johnny was a North Country hero. Johnny was a hero to thousands of little kids around the country. When we played ball in the schoolyard, those of us lucky enough to be lefthanders could pretend that we were Johnny Podres. We'd study and copy his windup and leg kick.

We didn't need Superman or Batman or Spider-Man. We had Johnny Podres.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 12:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

I haven't been to a barber shop in several years. I sure do miss them. My favorite barber shop was my last one. It was called The Barber Shop and it was operated by Al Billups. Some of Plattsburgh's finest got their hairs trimmed by Al, one of the North Country's biggest Boston Red Sox fans.

You could always count on several things when you entered his shop. Odds were that you would know the guy in the barber's chair. He rendered haircuts to attorneys and teachers and college guys. To car salesmen and police officers and mechanics. Often while I was in his chair the phone would ring with somebody scheduling an appointment for the next day or later in the week.

You could also count on the latest issue of Sports Illustrated or The Sporting News. While waiting a few minutes for your turn, you could read part of a story on one of your favorite athletes.

Then when you got into his chair, you could count on good baseball conversation while Al cut your hair. Al and I loved to talk about the Red Sox, analyze what they needed to improve and what trades they might make. We also loved to talk about minor league baseball, which both Al and I loved.

As a kid, I remember my Mom or Dad bringing me to a few different barbers, but often Mom would just cut our hair. She even bought those barber's clippers so she could cut our hair into the popular flattop that Coach John Flynn encouraged us to have.

As a teenager I remember going to George's Barber Shop on Oak Street. It was in the same building which now houses the C.J. Madonna Law Firm. I think the barber's name was George Bezio. He would cut your hair and throw in a head massage for free. He would squeeze your scalp and send chills from your neck to your toes. Once I dozed off while he was rubbing my head.

But it's Al Billups who I will forever remember as my last barber. When he got sick and had to close his business a few years back, I was lost. I wasn't sure what barber should be trusted with my balding scalp. One day at school I asked my friend Mal Cutaiar where he got his hair cut. Mal's hair always looks neat. Mine never does.

Mal told me about Kim at Ultrawave. I just couldn't picture myself going into a business called Ultrawave. I mean, with my bald scalp the only waving going on is waving goodbye to my hair. I just couldn't picture myself with an ultrawave.

Plus, I know who goes to Ultrawave. Women! You would never catch a woman inside The Barber Shop. I think there's probably a city ordinance about that. The old-fashioned barber shop was a man's safe haven. A place where a man could mingle without a woman watching our every move.

Finally, I broke down and went to Ultrawave. On this particular day, there were six hair stylists, five female customers and Foxy Gagnon. I waited my turn while I searched the pile of magazines for something to my liking. Better Homes and Garden, Modern Hairstyles, Women's Day. I searched the bottom of the pile, hoping to find even a year-old Sports Illustrated.

Kim knew I was a little nervous and she tried to make me feel right at home, but I already had sweaty armpits. She escorted me to a chair, I sat down and when she said, "Lean back" the back of the chair dropped and I was in a prone position with a hose spraying my head.

Al Billups never did this! I knew that I was in over my bald head! Following a warm shampoo (okay, in the long run, it did feel pretty good!), Kim escorted me to a little room where she had her chair. I sat down and she went to work. We didn't talk about the Red Sox. We didn't talk about baseball at all. I think mostly we talked about my tv business and my teaching career.

I kept hoping she wouldn't try to make an ultrawave out of my sparse hairs. By the end, I was a little more comfortable. But I still paid quickly and exited in a rush, claiming I had a videotaping job to get to.

As good as Kim was at cutting my hair, I became friends with another hairstylist, Nina, who was working at a place called Rapture. You'll never catch Foxy Gagnon in a place called Rapture. Do you know what that means? It means "ecstatic joy" or "joyful ectasy." Whoa! What goes on there?

Nevertheless, I ventured in one day to have Nina work her expertise on my sorry locks. This building used to house a man's barber shop, Golden's Barber Shop, I do believe. But all I saw this day were women. I suppose if a guy were looking for a partner, hanging around a beauty salon might be helpful.

There just doesn't seem much these days that resemble the good old-fashioned barber shop. There was a day when there was a barber shop in every neighborhood, but not anymore. Where can I go to hang out with guys and read a good sports magazine while I wait for a haircut?

I sure do miss Al Billups.

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 12:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (18)

When I was a kid the Gagnons' favorite Sunday night television program was "The Ed Sullivan Show." It was on from 8 until 9 and then it was time for bed. Each week there would be a featured standup comic. I remember Alan King and Jackie Mason and Myron Cohen and Henny Youngman and Shelley Berman. Jack Carter appeared a record 49 times on Sullivan's show.

The ability to make other people laugh is not easy to come by. We all know people in our own lives who can make us chuckle. Even some of the "On the Sly" Blogoteers are pretty funny characters from time to time. But to stand up in front of an audience and get people to laugh at your thoughts for an hour is no easy feat.

The only comedian in my lifetime who has been able to entertain me for that long is Brian Regan. A few months back I mentioned to my friend Tony that Regan was appearing at the Flynn Theatre in Burlington in early January. I mentioned it only in passing, because I would never make plans at this time of year to travel any distance, what with the weather being so fickle.

But Tony only saw my hesitation as a challenge. A few weeks ago, while on a shopping trip in Burlington, Tony scored front row seats for the Brian Regan Show. He called me. I hesitated, mentioning the weather and my old age and a few other reasons why I couldn't go. But these are front row seats, he insisted.

I finally accepted and, boy, am I happy that I did. There we were sitting in the front row at the Flynn Theatre the other night. I was at my fourth Brian Regan comedy show. I had seen him twice at Caroline's Comedy Club in New York City. Both times I left with a sore face. Too much laughing can be painful later.

Last June my son Erik bought me a ticket for Brian Regan, who was appearing at the Palace Theatre in Albany on my birthday. It was another show where you almost laugh your way out of your seat.

How funny can this guy be? How many times can he tell a story and make me laugh? We arrived in time to mingle in the lobby and that's where I saw Andy Finney of Finney's Sports. He was seeing Regan for the first time, and I warned him that he better be ready to laugh.

Those front row seats that Tony had scored were great. We were sitting where you want someone to notice you. So, for the twenty minutes while we waited, I kept turning around, hoping to hear someone say, "Hey, look at Foxy in the front row!" It never happened.

The audience, a packed theatre, was a mixture of ages, teenagers, college guys in those black tuques, pregnant ladies, and a few old men in ponytails.

The opening act was a comdian named Tom Ryan. When I heard that, I wondered if the big ex-Saranac Central basketball player that I know had found a new part-time job. But this Ryan is from Philadelphia. He was sort of in the Seinfeld mold, a comedian who makes simple observations about life and finds humor attached.

Like those new funny light bulbs that Mayor Kasprzak made sure we all got recently. Ryan noted how these energy efficient light bulbs come wrapped in about eight pounds of non-recyclable plastic!

Ryan also made reference to one of my blogs! Well, indirectly. Back in October I titled an "On the Sly" blog, "Am I a Dude or Not?" Ryan talked about how when he was growing up in the Sixties we were all men, like "What's up, man?" or "Oh, man, that girl is cool!"

But, through the years, "man" gave way to "dude," and it's the young people who used that word, as in "What's up, Dude?" And then along came "Bro" as in "Hey, Bro, your girl is hot!" But now, Ryan concluded, the new word is "Dog." Listen to young people and they are calling each other "dog."

Said Ryan, "We started out as men and we've ended up as dogs, and we did it all to ourselves."

After Ryan's thirty-minute routine, it was time for Brian Regan. We were ready! Regan uses a lot of facial expressions as part of his act. Sitting in the front row, just about fifteen feet away from him, made the show all the more enjoyable. Regan is just amazing.

For an hour he kept the audience laughing, and, at times, I was rocking forward, almost out of my seat, trying to catch my breath. The thing I like most about Regan is that he can entertain for an hour and not use one bad word. In over four hours of concert time with Brian Regan, I have not heard him utter one bad word!

Amidst the laughter and craziness, Regan pointed out something very poignant. "If we had more hands, we'd have more bad habits," he stated. As a friend of mine would say, "Think about it!"

I noticed that both comedians wore what must be the current attire for standups -- the casual look, with sneakers, jeans, a tee-shirt and a dress shirt not tucked in. I could easily look like a standup comic the next time I head out on the town.

In my book Brian Regan is at the top of the current crop of standup comics. I know there are others more famous, but Chris Rock can't make you laugh with out cursing and Larry the Cable Guy can't make you laugh without referring to body parts and body functions. That's how he "gets 'er done."

Brian Regan, plain and simple, makes you laugh. Laugh until you hurt. Laugh until you almost cry. He would have been a great one for the "Ed Sullivan Show."

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 9:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Every once in awhile I need to get caught up on various tidbits that come my way via the "On the Sly" blog. Among them is a problem that some readers have encountered lately when visiting the Presss-Republican website.

I know of at least two Blogoteers that we haven't heard from lately simply because they can't stay connected to the blog page. It seems that when they start to read "On the Sly" the page switches after about fifteen seconds to the Google search page. Is anyone else having a similar problem?

I was recently told that if you are using the old Netscape or maybe even Internet Explorer, that could be part of the problem. My browser is Mozilla Firefox and I am not having the problem experienced by two of my favorite Blogoteers. I'm working with the staff at the Press-Republican to try to get the problem corrected.

A few days ago, while looking for my weekly bargains at Yando's Big M, I saw my longtime friend Sal Righi. Even though I hear from Sal via e-mails almost daily and even though Sal is a regular "On the Sly" reader, I hadn't seen him in a few years. He looked great and doesn't seem to have aged a year since his retirement almost ten years ago.

One of the secrets of Sal's youthful appearance may be that every day since retiring he jumps on a treadmill. He doesn't just jump, though. He actually turns the darn thing on and walks for an hour while watching television to get caught up on the latest news.

Sal and I had a lot to get caught up on, so our shopping came to a halt right there in the bakery and deli section of Big M. We tried to avoid blocking traffic for about twenty minutes, talking about family, friends and the blog.

Sal got a chuckle when I mentioned in a blog a while ago about getting a ticket from Plattsburgh Police officer Doyle Rayfield. Sal added that his all-time favorite policeman was Chief Clem Young, who lived on Elizabeth Street. "I'm not sure if the kids today are as close to the police officers as we were in our day," Sal added, remembering the Policemen's Field Day for kids each summer.

We would play softball against the policemen, and somehow the policemen would turn into fumbling bumbling athletes who couldn't catch or throw or hit. The kids would always win and celebrate by getting free hot dogs and soda. I remember how excited we were as kids to get a free hot dog! I'm not sure that kids today would think that's such a big deal! But we sure did. I've heard stories of certain guys, who are now Blogoteers, getting in line three or four times for those hot dogs!

Recently I completed a four-part "Fox on the Run" series of interviews with Marc Mero of Rouses Point. He has compiled pictures of local musicians from the 1950s right into the current group of local bands playing in the area. Having been a musician himself since the 1960s, he has plenty of stories to tell about musicians, bands and venues he's played. There were many great places who hired local bands, especially in the Sixties and Seventies -- places like Brodi's, The Saxony, The Pavilion, The Egg & Machine Shop, The College In, The Gran-Vue and The Classic, to name just a few.

If you missed the interviews the first time around, I will be showing them again during the month of February -- on Wednesdays at 1pm, 5pm, 9pm and 10:30pm on Charter Communications public-access channel (Channel 15).

Now that we are into 2008 by five days, are you having fun yet? Make sure that you take some time to have fun each day. It will help us all continue to think that we are really just 25 years old!

Posted by Foxy Gagnon at 5:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)