My oldest son graduated from conservatory last Friday in Boston. He graduated summa cum laude and was inducted into the national music honor society.

I am fifty. That’s plenty old enough to have learned one thing — real accomplishment, the kind that requires prolonged effort and overcoming obstacles, is rare in life. That’s why I am so proud.

He may or may not build the career he wants. Indeed, he may not know exactly what that career will look like. But he has achieved something significant at the age of 22. That puts him ahead of most men and women.

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On the same trip to Boston I discovered America’s worst sports bar: Champions in the Boston Marriott Copley Place.

A sports bar has one core competency: make sure the game is on the TV. If the food doesn’t suck, that’s just gravy.

Saturday afternoon, while my wife and daughter were shopping, my youngest son and I sat at this sports bar for three hours watching college lacrosse. The game went into sudden death overtime. Somebody at this sports bar decided to change the channel at that very moment. That made me angry. Nobody at this sports bar could figure out how to change the channel back. That made me even angrier.

Here is free advice for every manager of a sports bar in America: make sure your staff knows how to operate the televisions. If not, no matter how many beers you serve and how good the food, your sports bar sucks.

My 15-year-old twins have their learner’s permits. The other day I taught my son a very important driving lesson.

He’s driving. We pull up to a stop light, next to a mini-van. We are stopped just a bit further back than the mini-van, so while I can see the driver of the mini-van, I can really only see her from behind. My son then makes the turn and pulls up to another traffic light.

Me: You really made a serious mistake back there.

My son (looking very worried): What? What did I do?

Me: We pulled up next to another car. I couldn’t tell but there might have been a good-looking woman driving. But you didn’t pull up far enough for me to check her out. Don’t make that mistake again.

My son: (Quietly looks and shakes his head.)

Me: I’m serious. When I’m in the car get this right. Or I’ll never allow you to get your license.

Too many kids are left to learn these things for themselves. I’m going to make sure my kids are taught all of the keys to being a good driver.

Last night, at a dinner opening my son’s high school lacrosse season, I was asked to say a few words because I am co-chair of the Booster Club. I started with: “I speak in front of a lot of groups, but I’m probably most nervous when I speak to this group. That’s because I know my son is back there praying, ‘Please God, don’t let him say anything stupid.’”

On the way home I asked my son what he thought of my funny opening line. “What did you say? I didn’t hear it,” he responded. “I wasn’t listening. I was just thinking, ‘Please don’t say anything stupid.’”

I bought the novel A Reliable Wife. I told my wife it’s a how-to manual.
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I keep getting Facebook friend requests from really good-looking young women. I’m sure it’s not a scam. I’m sure it must be my Blogen-peal.
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My teenage daughter gets a job. She gets money. I get to be her car service. Gee, this worked out great.
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I talk a lot, often to people I don’t know (perhaps because people I know are tired of talking to me.) I can’t remember a time when people were so angry — in a non-partisan way — at Washington. People are convinced that members of Congress, especially, have no clue how to fix the economy and aren’t telling the public the truth.
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Regular visitors to Blogenberg know that the blogosphere revolves around Blogenberg. A couple weeks ago I reported on a very cool new award program for young social entrepreneurs (disclosure: it’s run by The Hitachi Foundation, a client). Check this out at Inc.com.
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We are in the middle of blizzard redux. The first blizzard was Friday through Saturday. Today is Wednesday.

I spent the first one snowed in with five teenagers (my two youngest kids and three of their friends). That was noisy and messy. I’m spending today’s blizzard just with my dog — my kids are at friend’s and my wife is still “stuck” in the Caribbean visiting her mother. This blizzard is quiet and neat. I like the first blizzard — filled with teens, noise, mess — better. More energy.
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Reaction to my post yesterday, in which I mentioned that my wife makes great chili, got me thinking. Every man out there who has a woman who makes great chili is a man who “married up.”

The televisions in my office are not working, and have not been working for a week. Comcast, striving to achieve its benchmarks of incompetency, has missed one appointment, cancelled a second, and now says a technician can’t be here until next Tuesday. Devoid of a working TV, I am seriously thinking of shutting down my business.
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My daughter literally said to me: “It’s my body and I can do what I want. I’m fifteen.” (She was talking about a second earring piercing.)
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I am a single dad once again, this time, thankfully, just for three days. I’ve already managed to leave the freezer door cracked overnight so everything could defrost.
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But, no matter what, I am having a better day than Martha Coakley, the single worst politician in the history of Massachusetts since Thomas Hutchinson, the last Royal Governor of Massachusetts who was so hated by his countrymen that he had to flee America and live his last days in Britain.
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And finally, free job hunting advice: if you held any paid position in the Coakley campaign, no matter how small the job, do not put it on your resume.

My wife did not grow up in this country, so she does not understand football. This weekend, while sitting with me and the boys watching a game, she offered this trenchant analysis: “They pile on top of each other a lot. I hope they wear deodorant.”

You don’t get that on ESPN.
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Dog, j’accuse. My dog is a traitor. She has sold me out for the price of a warm coat and a cushion. My wife bought the dog a coat and a fluffy bed. I told her that my dog would never wear a coat, and has no interest in a fluffy bed, that she is very happy sleeping on the floor next to my side of the bed.

My dog loves the coat on cold, wet days, and now only sleeps on the fluffy bed.

I no longer trust anything my dog tells me. I don’t even know who she is anymore.

Several weeks ago, regular Blogenberg visitors will recall, my daughter announced that the father of a friend of hers is cooler than me — that he is the coolest dad. I was aghast.

Well, this past Saturday night that friend slept over our house. Sunday morning, before heading out to run some errands, I asked the girl, the daughter of the dad who is supposedly-but-can’t-possibly-be-cooler-than-me, if she wanted something from Starbucks.

My daughter’s friend: Yes, thanks. I’d love a Caramel Frappucino. Thank you!
Me: I’ll get it for you but you have to do one thing for me.
Daughter’s friend: What’s that?
Me: Tell your dad that I am cooler than he is.

Oh yes I did.
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In a 35-minute conference call yesterday I managed to get in a reference to the Flintstones and The Dukes of Hazard. Clearly, I am the most eruditest businessman in the whole world!

Yesterday morning in Montgomery County, MD — essentially, the Maryland side of Washington, DC — the people in charge of things like this could not switch the traffic lights to “rush hour status.” That meant the entire grid of traffic lights was set to move along light traffic, not traffic that ranks as the 2nd worst in the country. The result was a nightmare. The people in charge literally told the media that there was absolutely nothing they could do. What, were they waiting for Geeks on Call to get there some time between 2 and 5? Were they waiting for Radio Shack to open at 10 so they could buy a new fuse?
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My daughter just sent me a text asking if she and I could do something together after school while her twin brother is at high school lacrosse practice. So cool. That’s why I often start my day, like today, in the office before the sun comes up so I can take advantage of opportunities like this. Oh, wait a minute, last time she suggested such daddy-daughter bonding time it cost me hundreds of dollars in clothes shopping. Uh-oh.
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I just learned that one of my staff has the flu. Because I care so much, I immediately sent an urgent email to all of my other staff telling them that if they have any symptoms to make sure they stay the hell away from me. I am such a caring boss.

OMG, I woke up this morning and I’m still in heaven. The kids are still gone. My wife has gone to a class at the gym. My dog is lying on the floor next to me. I’ve got my skim latte (I know, not very manly) and Sports Center on the TV. I am telling you, Rachel MacAdams could wake and emerge from our guest room, and it would be nothing but an intrusion.

And tonight? Tonight my wife is going out so I will be able to watch the USC, Ohio State game. What have I done to deserve this early visit to heaven?