Twice a year I pack Mrs. Wife and The Daughters into the car and drive 480 miles from New Jersey to Cleveland to visit my family. I’d do it more frequently if I had more time off. We get along splendidly and the Daughters are crazy about their cousins. The days leading up to the trip, it’s all they talk about.

But there’s an underlying motivation for my efforts. Something that is unsaid but understood by all. Do you know what’s in this measuring cup?

This witch’s brew is my brother-in-law’s special bar-b-que sauce. I don’t know it for a fact, but I believe it contains a mysterious element that give it an addictive quality. It should be criminal to own it. Once poured over three racks of baby back ribs, you are powerless against it’s allure.

I’m not supposed to spread this around but fuck it. My readership isn’t that great. The ribs are first treated with a special dry rub of powdered garlic, powdered rotisserie chicken seasoning, paprika, white cane sugar, onion powder and Uncle Charlie’s Cajun spices. They’re allowed to marinate for a while and then tossed into an oven for two hours at 265, low heat being the key.

Then they’re slapped onto a grill and a wet rub is generously applied. The wet rub contains fresh garlic, honey, a half can of beer and Sweet Baby Ray’s bar-b-cue rib sauce. Then, the excruciating wait.

Approximately :20 minutes later they’re done. They’re CAREFULLY lifted off the grill because, at this point, the meat is falling off the bone. It takes a delicate touch. You need someone with the hands of a skilled surgeon. This isn’t a job for amateurs. That’s why I stay the hell out of his way.

Just look at them in all their grilled perfection. It brings a tear to my eye. I’m an evolved human being. I can understand why someone would choose to be a vegetarian. Actually, that’s not true. I have no idea why anyone would deny themselves this succulent, singular pleasure.

Garnish with homemade potato salad and cole slaw. Resistance is futile. Feel free to lick your monitor. Welcome to August in Cleveland.

Loving-kindness is one of the types of Buddhist meditation I practice. It brings about a peaceful, loving mind that accepts the world in a compassionate light. That being the case, how do you explain the following:

A few days ago I read in the New York Times that it was the first anniversary of the detainment and imprisonment of three young Americans who were hiking near the Iranian boarder. Apparently, there are some pretty waterfalls in the area and it’s a popular area to hike. They either strayed over the boarder into Iran or got close enough to be grabbed and are now being held in prison. The government of Iran has accused them of being spies. There is no trial date set.

The first thought in my loving-kindness mind? Why the hell are you hiking alone near the Iranian boarder?! Use you head. Their poor families are tormented. After that bit of rudeness, I meditated on their release.

The very next day I read a horrific story in the local paper about an 18-year old high school football player who died in an auto accident. He was driving a 2009 BMW at 1:00 a.m., lost control and crashed into a house at a high rate of speed.

The first thought out of my loving-kindness mind? Why the hell would you let an 18-year old high school football player (they tend to be on the aggressive side) drive a rocket like a 2009 BMW?! At 1:00 in the morning? Use your head. Do you know what my kids are going to drive when they’re 18 and still in high school? This:

When I was done with my negative thoughts, I meditated for the family’s grief and wished them well.

Meditation has taught me that I can be a judgmental prick sometimes.

A few days later, I was sitting by a fountain with 8-Year Old Daughter. She pointed out a brass placard attached to it that said all the money taken from the fountain is donated to charity. She asked for a penny. She held it in her hand, closed her eyes tight and tossed it in. We sat quietly for a few moments and watched the water dance. I asked her what she wished for, certain it would be a new Pillow Pet (the current rage in the suburbs) or some other bauble.

“I wished that a lot of people would throw money into the fountain for the charity.”

What do you do with a kid like that?

Tomorrow morning we’re leaving for lovely Cleveland to visit my family. There will be swimming. There will be a county fair. There will be expertly grilled ribs and homemade marinara sauce with, perhaps, some oxtail in it.

All I wanted to do was see a damn movie. The theaters in Times Square are convenient and have big, whopping screens. The kind that give you a headache if you sit too close. But there’s this:

That’s right. It’s $13 friggin’ bucks to see a movie out here! And if it’s in 3-D, you have to kick in another $5-$7 on top of that! A small soda and a small popcorn set me back $9.50. I asked for the child’s portion and it was STILL enough for two adults. It felt like one of those old-time Times Square scam job. Like a legal Three-Card Monte game.

After the film, (Inception. Quite good.) I walked through Times Square. There was troop of Boy Scouts who had set up tents along a cordoned off strip of Broadway near 47th Street. They were on a camping trip. They were sleeping overnight in the street! For real!

This is crazy. All it would take is one out of control taxi and it’d be instant carnage. And besides, there are nice, comfortable hotels just steps away. This is the most stark evidence of how far this town has come since I first got here. If the Boy Scouts had tried this stunt when I got here, they’d have had to fight off the transvestites for their uniforms and the bums living in Bryant Park for the tents.

Boy, I hate camping. The closest I ever get to “roughing it” is wearing socks that have holes in them. I work my ass off. I don’t sleep in tents, thank you.

Daughter 2 just turned 4 the other day. In my mind, she has crossed a threshold. I can now take her out to the diner for dad/daughter Saturday lunches and, soon, on forays into the city. Daughter 1 has been sufficiently indoctrinated and now shares my obsessive madness for New York. It’s time to begin spinning my web for Daughter 2.

Dell agreed on Thursday to pay $100 million to settle civil charges…that its senior executives used fraudulent accounting tricks to make it appear that the computer maker was meeting Wall Street earnings targets. Michael Dell, the company’s founder, chairman and chief executive, agreed to pay a $4 million fine as well. Dell settled the case without admitting or denying the S.E.C.’s allegations.

The New York Times, July 22, 2010

The S.E.C. charged Goldman Sachs in a civil complaint on April 16 with securities fraud related to the creation and sale of a subprime mortgage security. On July 15, Goldman agreed to pay $550 million to settle the case without admitting or denying the accusations.

The New York Times, July 26, 2010

I don’t throw down the word “hate” hastily. I believe what I’m taught in my meditation class about being careful of what you put out there. But I really, really hate these guys. They’re gutless cowards. They can’t even admit they’re wrong, even when they know they‘re wrong. Do you really think that the parasites at Goldman Sachs would cough up half a billion dollars if they felt they were innocent of any wrongdoing? Why would anyone continue to hold their accounts at Goldman?

EDIT: And in today’s paper:

Citigroup has agreed to pay $75 million to settle federal claims that it failed to disclose vast holdings of subprime mortgage investments. Citigroup will nether admit nor deny the S.E.C. accusations.

Bastards.