fifteenkey

2009-07-05T22:00:00.002-04:00

Yesterday’s festivities took Kyle and his father through mostly back roads to Rockport (via Gloucester), Brookline (via West Roxbury) and home (via 117 through Bolton). Along the way we passed landmarks that reminded me and had me thinking about and mentioning old girlfriends to young Mr. Daley. Well, past girlfriends. I certainly wouldn’t use this space to call these lovely women old. From “Sally lived near here,” to “Cheryl lived around here somewhere” to “Suzanne lives right up that street,” it was a trip down mamory (I’m going to leave that typo squared right there…) but still ex-Memory Lane.

About an hour ago, I parked myself out at the newly pressure-washed patio table on my deck with a Maker’s Mark seasoned cigar and my Intel powered appendage to write something. As I savored the marked tobacco, I asked Megan to pour me a Maker’s on the rocks. Being an inexperienced, yet generous barkeep, she brought me this, so el posto may be a bit messy.

Relationships can be messy, but among the three noted above, one wasn’t a relationship at all, one was an engagement before its time and the latter a relationship before I could handle one. Oh, and they’re not in that order. See? Messy.

[Commercial Message] Have I mentioned lately how killer “Rescue Me” is? You can catch it On Demand and I say do it! It has moments of intensity seldom seen on television. Unless of course you hate the dripping sarcasm of Denis Leary. Then, well never mind…

Anyway, somewhere between the strands of fibers known as this long weekend I also wondered, “Will I ever buy another woman a diamond ring?” Since I don’t much buy into the forged feelings of Valentine’s Day, my inclination is to challenge the validity of the diamond ring as some attestation of love. If love is proven by a shiny cut of compressed carbon, that’s, well, kinda shallow. Now that I’ve done a little research on this here net of inter, it’s even more unlikely, but I’m a sap, so who knows? It won’t be from DeBeers though. That’s for sure.

Cigarettes and gum

2009-07-04T08:45:00.001-04:00

I bought some yesterday for someone I visited in a psychiatric hospital. There, the residents time their days by hourly smoke breaks and “group” sessions, between which they contemplate the shadows they hide in but cannot handle. I imagine some visitors leave and never return, but I don’t know any, and frankly I’m sick of spending holidays in these places for fear of the spiral a no-show might trigger. This post isn’t going well… I was hoping for some insightful observations from the experience, but honestly they’re always the same people, broken by their own hand gripping a bottle, pipe or syringe. I wonder how many suffer organic mental illness among the masses that’ve caused theirs. Perhaps I’m being too harsh, but after a life of booze and/or drugs finally renders someone a hollow black, carbon crusted shell, why the fuck are the rest of us obligated to coddle them until discharge and repeat performance? Actually, the reason is to avert the collateral damage to other loved ones if the sad circus leaves town early.

Si! Oui! Yes!

2009-06-30T22:10:00.002-04:00

“Yes Man” was an entertaining couple hours for Kyle and me Saturday night. The plotline takes a “no man,” (Jim Carrey) a guy dodging life, and turns him into a “Yes Man” responding affirmatively to everything after a life-changing experience at a “Yes” seminar. The film had some hilarious moments, but also got me thinking about saying “yes” more to opportunities in life’s playground.

Early in the movie, Carrey’s protagonist ignores phone calls (totally me) just to avoid talking, but as he renovates, answering leads to opportunities. Today I answered two personal calls often ignored in the past and both were from callers needing some help. They were challenging in different ways, but had I not answered, personal histories would have been altered, likely not for the better.

Saying “yes” today didn’t lead to a fateful romantic meeting or comic movie moment, but my instinct tells me choosing to engage helped others, and I feel some affirmation knowing that.

Sub-conscious self sabotage

2009-06-28T12:33:00.004-04:00

As I continue descending the sliding scale, down in the distance I see an intermediate goal aligned with the end of our “Biggest Loser” contest at work. My weekly goals are set in a “Weight Tracker” spreadsheet as are the weekly standings. From 6th place (down 4.2%), victory is attainable, but I’m not sure my -15.6% goal will get me there. All but a couple of people ahead of me really don’t have that much poundage to shed, so it’ll likely end up a two or three man race…

So far the only cheating I’ve done is a sourdough roll with butter while I worked from home last week. Single, reasonable portions are my key and they have been pretty easy to stick to. Temptation and fridge door dancing have been tempered with a single thought. “Everything in there but water has calories.” As I over think this thing, what concerns me most is a sub-conscious fight to retain the body type I’ve had for over 40 years, and if so, why?

My early memories of self-image probably began in junior high school when a school shopping trip permanently traumatized me when my mom insisted on perusing “husky” pants. I rationalized “fat” with “big” and thereafter pursued the “good” of being big, most prominently as a “power hitter” in baseball. That carried me through the ages of Little League, Babe Ruth League, High School, college and beyond. In the years since, I’ve always worked out and weight trained, partly to retain a strong, athletic, “big guy” image. As the years have padded the reflection, I’ve been blinded to its reality and of the metrics inflation glaring up from under my feet.

So I wonder, “Do I fear losing myself to a new, slim version of me that I’ve never known?” A little research turned up an article by Tracy Rose called, “Self-Sabotage - Reasons Not to Lose Weight.” In addition to the one above, she cites several methods of self-sabotage relevant to me:

Letting fear of life without the fat barrier get the best of you.
Being afraid of how you’ll respond when people show they are attracted to you.
You won’t be able to use fat as an excuse to stay on the sidelines of life anymore.

I don’t know why “fear of damaging my relationship with pizza” didn’t make the list, but I do know the Neapolitan is pretty pissed off at me right about now… Down is an interesting journey.

Michael Jackson

2009-06-27T07:43:00.002-04:00

Michael Jackson influenced my life at 10, 25 and now at 50.

I’ve never owned a Jackson record. I didn’t have to. My “Summer of 69” and several after were spent at Revere Beach with my family and 680 WRKO AM. Back then there was no “FM” and ‘RKO DJ’s Dale Dorman, J. J. Wright, J. J. Jeffrey, Shadoe Stevens and Frank Kingston Smith played the hits all day long. Of course those boys were flipping vinyl platters back then and the songs of the Jackson Five were the soundtrack to the 1970 season. While we broiled, swam the not so crystal waters and dined on Kelly’s Fish n’ Chips, Michael and his brothers poured out of transistor radios in multi-stereo up and down the beach in varying quality. Of course the highlight of that summer was seeing a 34C escape its bikini island prison to bask glowingly in the mid day sun, even for just a second… but I digress.

The Jacksons and other Motown acts seasoned my musical tastes, but no self-respecting member of the KISS Army would buy into the disco lie, so I was spared the embarrassment of that era… until 1983. Out of college and waiting tables at the old “John Martin’s Manor” on Route 1 in Saugus, I donned dark pastel shirts, thin black leather tie and red (very red) “Members Only” jacket to hit the floor, but with conditions. I wouldn’t dance to the old disco hits I rejected years earlier, but in 1983, one could dance to Prince, Talking Heads, David Bowie, and of course Michael Jackson. Everybody got up for “Billie Jean.” I’m not sure if I would have allowed myself to be into Mike without it, but dammit, he had Eddie Van Halen playing guitar on “Beat it” and he looked tough in the video, so I rationalized and jumped in.

As a parent raising young children in 1993, the abuse allegations were pretty sickening, but I remember thinking he was just a kid in an adult’s body. I recall his 1988 Grammy performance of “Man in the Mirror.” At the time I was amazed at the emotion he projected and with his constant physical transformations over the years, I have no doubt he hated what he saw there. Some speculate he saw his father and wanted that reflection removed. Anyway, I guess we’ll never know the many mysteries of Michael, but those child charges will always stain the trademark white glove.

Now, only a few months older than me, Michael Jackson is no more. Game Over at 50. The sad end of his life seems normal, another “Candle in the Wind” moment. It’s as if the steep trajectory of his existence had to end in self immolation, like a soaring rocket lighting the sky and spirit, only to lose power, tip awkwardly downward and explode. The dead at 50 thing is just another reminder of mortality and an additional nudge to live a healthier lifestyle.

Thanks for everything, Michael.

Down, oh down

2009-06-24T06:30:00.002-04:00

Those lyrics are stuck in my head, and since they’re not the title of a song, it’s a bit more challenging to find them on the interconnected network. Find them I did though and Mad Season’s “River of Deceit” was a 1995 song that once propelled me around the one mile odd oval at Fitchburg’s Coolidge Park. Anyway…

Other than obvious health benefits like reducing chances of heart disease, stroke (the bad kind), Type 2 diabetes and cancer, there are other bennies like:

Better nutrition for the family - I buy the food, so Megan, Kyle and Maddy are learning to love things like baked haddock, spinach salad with fresh roasted beets and goat cheese, mangoes, avocados, and sautéed beet greens. These fine foods have taken the place of corporate slop from giant agribusiness conglomerates.
Less money for giant agribusiness conglomerates - IBID
Less stress on fingers - It’s much easier to fasten pants when you’re not trying to hold back a glacier of fat.
Better visibility driving - I can see much better now that I’m not sunk six inches into the front seat of my car.
More roomy seats in coach – I appreciate that as I’ve lost weight, the airlines have increased seat size. Thanks Southwest!
Save money on clothes - Soon I’ll be able to wear all the clothes I grew out of. Sadly, they’re from the 80’s.
Less wear and tear on your mattress - Yep, with less crushing weight on your coils you’ll no longer feel like you’re sleeping in a foxhole. This benefit extends to anyone between you and your coils…
Once again, women are right – The boobs are the first to go!

Will there be a tomorrow?

2009-06-17T21:50:00.003-04:00

Tonight after work I picked Maddy up at her Grammy’s. Mommy Megan was attending a wake for yet another young victim of heroin. Like too many others, there won't be a tomorrow for him.

My little grand-daughter was happy to see me, but sad to leave her “Ky-Ky.” She doesn’t quite get the Kyle splitting time at Grammy and Papi’s… So with it just the two of us, two words ruled: ice cream. “Wanna get an ice cream, baby?” She smiled and wiggled affirmatively in her car seat. After a while we were trading, “Who wants an ice cream?” for “Meeeeeeeee!” Patiently, Maddy waited while we hit the bank and the dry cleaners before arriving at the Cherry Hill Ice Cream Barn. Even in a kiddy cone dish, “Extreme Chocolate” kicks serious ass, blending dark chocolate ice cream with equal dark dashes of fudge and chocolate chunks… Yeah. I really wasn’t falling off the fatty wagon, but in case I needed a reminder, the one piece picnic table literally sank underneath us and tipped over on us. We, and the Extreme Chocolate were unhurt…

After a “I don’t want to get back in my car seat” dispute won by me, we headed home for jammies and a dinner consisting of fresh salad and chicken sausage with multi colored peppers and pale Vidalia. As I cooked, Maddy visited often, leaving the comfort of her soft pink and fluffy bean bag chair and "Dora" to give me hugs and kisses… and to beg like a puppy with her mouth open for salad tomatoes. When I asked if she was ready for bed, she shook her blonde curls East to West, but curled up in my arms. I tried to reason with her about how she loves her bed and her blankie and the nice music (WCRB) softly filling a little corner of her room. She hugged me tight in what I incorrectly interpreted as agreement. I put her into her white crib and said softly, “no crying now. Papa wants Maddy to be happy, not sad.” She looked at me with her big blue eyes brimming with contentment. We had a nice couple hours and Madison Olivia had another fun day of breakfast with Papi, mommy time, school with her friends, and after-school with Grammy, Papa Scott and her Ky-Ky.

After about 10 kisses and another big hug, I said “I love you. Goodnight,” and left Maddy’s room, shutting the door behind me. Immediately, the sound of crazed prehistoric raptors ripped at the door… Strange, I thought. Why does she cry? My feeling in the moment was that she just doesn’t want the days to end. It was as if she were crying out, “Nooooo, Papi! I don’t want this day to end! I don't want any of this to end!” Me neither, baby. Me neither.

I’m Goin’ Down

2009-06-16T21:29:00.000-04:00

A very crappy meeting today had me stressed out and ready to eat my way calm when I walked through the door tonight. I paced while whining to Megan and swallowing a nectarine whole like a snake, pit intact. As the small lump slowly slid visibly though my throat, I refused to give in and instead threw on running stuff and headed to the new, spongy crimson track at Fitchburg State College.

About ten trodden steps into only my second quarter mile, I pulled the calf muscle in my right leg. The sad fact is my calves can’t take the pounding at my current weight. Whatever. I proceeded to walk 11 more laps at a strong pace, went home and ate a small meal. I won this battle, but there will be many more. I also cared much less about the whole work thing.

It’s not heroin, booze or crack, but food consumption can me a mother… to control, but if I’m going to have a healthy “back nine” to a century, I’ve got to. There are already benefits. A pain in my side has disappeared, clothes are getting looser, and I can almost see my… OK, I’m kidding about that. I’ve always been able to see my feet. Oh, and the nectarine… I took some bites.

“You declared you would be three inches taller…”

2009-06-14T21:43:00.001-04:00

Me: “…You only became what we made you.”
Kyle: “Dad, that song is sticking in my head.”
Me: “Do you know who does that song?”
Kyle: “Who?”
Me: “Yes.”
Kyle: “Yes does that song?”
Me: “No, Who does it.”
Kyle: “I don’t know. Who?”
Me: “Yes.”
Kyle: “Yes does it?”
Me: “No, Who.”
Kyle: “Dad, I’m not playing this.”

Skip the dating. Go right to mating.

2009-06-09T19:25:00.003-04:00

Yesterday morning I heard an NPR report on “the hookup,” a typical sexual encounter among 20-somethings today. These kids are more comfortable with banging than bonding, in fact they tend to avoid real intimacy. Sure, there’s been the “one night stand” forever, but this social swing is without negative connotations of the past. Hook up with it.

As I listened, the stereotype in me thought, “I was born in the wrong generation,” but immediately I realized and accepted that I’m the outdated spinster with hang ups about sex. My Über self jumped into the passenger side to channel Freud and we played “In Treatment” for the ride to work.

Me: “Well, growing up, my single mom played dad. I had no sisters and when I was in grade school, neither did my close friends. I didn’t learn what girls were about.
Dr. Freud: “Go on.”
Me: “Then there was the time some neighborhood girl chased me during a squirt gun fight. I slipped on the plastic of a broken weapon and sliced my eyebrow wide open on the top of a chain link gate. I was a bloody mess. That was traumatic.”
Dr. Freud: “I see.”
Me: “Anyway, I didn’t have a real girlfriend until I was a high school sophomore, and she claimed to have done some spell to get me, so I’m not sure what effect that’s had.”
Freud: “Tell me more.”
Me: “She was a ‘good Catholic girl’ and we dated for the rest of high school. Mostly I remember her saying ‘I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.’ It was kinda like that ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light’ Meatloaf song, except ‘STOP RIGHT THERE’ always had me out between third and home.”
Freud: “Meatloaf?”
Me: “It’s not important. The point is it got cemented into my head that sex was something forbidden and something girls didn’t want.”
Dr. No Help: “Continue.”
Me: “Then I got to college.”
(At this point the doc shifted in his chair and leaned in as if to say, “finally this dolt is gonna get laid.”)
Me: “During ‘Rush Week’ a Junior co-ed from the town next to my hometown pounced on me and for the next year or so treated me like an animal in ‘La Fiesta De Los Vaqueros.’”
Dr. Schlomo: “I don’t speak Spanish.”
Me: “It’s a rodeo, Doc.”
Freud: “Ah. That was a joke.”
Me: “So, listen, Doctor… It’s now years later and I still think of sex as the forbidden fruit. Why can’t I just discard all this baggage and… you know… Get busy.”
My Ex-Therapist: “Oh, look at the time. We’ll have to pick this up next week.”

The Healthcare argument I'm not hearing...

2009-06-08T20:37:00.003-04:00

I'm reading about how "Big Pharma" and "Big Insurance" lobbyists are working hard to gut the "public option" in any healthcare bill, thereby preserving their gluttonous gorging of you and me via over-medicating and over-charging. What I'm not hearing is how a public health insurance option would free millions of US workers currently working in corporations largely because they need the benefits. I believe a huge wave of entrepreneurial productivity would crest in our economy if these anchors were severed, not to mention the benefit to the businesses themselves from a reduction in their healthcare costs. Isn't the legacy of healthcare costs one of the financial big drags that helped GM spiral into bankruptcy? And speaking of bankruptcies, a recent report suggests 2/3 of all personal ones are due to healthcare costs...

Would you consider a career change if maintaining your personal or family healthcare benefits were of no concern?

Solo Sunday Morning

2009-06-07T08:13:00.002-04:00

There are no children or grandchildren here this morning, so I’m breaking the silence with some key-pecking of random, um, stuff.

Why is Liz Cheney given a public broadcast forum to reiterate and spin the old man’s lies?
After seeing Carolina beat a good Bruins team and then broomed by the storm-resistant Penguins, the Detroit Red Wings must be one great hockey team.
An old, dear friend is in town over the weekend. Last night we shared a laugh over a description of “the old days.” “When I could, I did.”
Longish drives alone usually involve an album selection from the iPod. As I meandered last night I wondered, “What didn’t Reprise Records hear when Wilco delivered “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot?”
Losing a few pounds is wonderful refreshment to ones state of mind.
I know it’s an overused baseball cliché, but when he’s on, John Lester’s curveball is filthy.
Why have so many of my peers never ventured from the “classic rock” period of the 60’s and 70’s?
I don’t know if there’s a more beautiful sound than that of a young mother playing with their toddler during bath time. (The child’s, not the mother’s…)
Maybe it’s on kid radio, but Madison Olivia has joined the Copetas boys in the public performance of “Tinkle tinkle, little stah…”
I worked all through yesterday’s beautiful day and was really into it. Maybe the work is about more than health benefits for my family…
“Boots” is a scary, bug-eyed monkey on “Dora the Explorer,” and I think he’s s drug dealer, but Maddy loves him.
Finally, I had a memorable dream this week that begs for interpretation. Working in my yard below a retaining wall, I looked up and saw a woman I knew a few years ago. She looked older, but was essentially the same blonde, graceful figure I remember, and she was looking unemotionally down at me from behind a trim black business suit. Before I could say anything, I had to spit out a mouthful of safety glass, the little bits that are created when a car window shatters. However, my projectile was smoothed, seemingly polished by years in an unyielding surf.

Anyone?

Losering

2009-06-03T20:23:00.003-04:00

Yeah, this title has probably been used before, but the subject of this post is different. Last week I joined a “Biggest Loser” contest at work. It started with a woman who’ll be married in September and she wants to put a svelte self into her party dress. She already looks great, but you know about soon to be brides… Another co-worker is inspired by the fact she’ll meet her husband’s former “love of his life” at a future event. As for me anteing up $100… well, if I ever meet Mel Gibson on a traffic stop and he’s shitfaced, I don’t want him calling me “Sugar-tits.”

Besides the huge vanity thing, it’s really a health issue. I loathe being overweight and at 50, I’d like to avoid potential health problems relative youth has helped me dodge so far, and I want to be around to take care of my son as long as possible. Now the cure is straightforward, but not simple. I don’t eat junk, I hardly drink, and since menopause, the chocolate cravings have subsided… My problem is seconds, thirds, and in the case of pizza, keep counting until all the pie’s gone. Two words: Portion control.

So far I’ve passed two major hurdles. On Saturday, Kyle, Maddy and Papi had lunch at Sorrento’s, the best pizza place in Central Mass. We ordered a large cheese and I limited myself to 2 slices and a large water. Sure, the 2 remaining slices were whispering and blowing sweet nothings into my nose, but I resisted. Tonight it was Chinese takeout. I made myself a single plate and ate it (not the plate). No seconds. No thirds. No noshing chicken fingers unconsciously before I put one in my plate.

One week and a few pounds down. A lifetime to go.

Weigh-in Update - 5 pounds down in 6 days. Not bad.

Bad Companies

2009-05-25T12:29:00.000-04:00

During broken pieces of this weekend, Kyle and I have caught splices of “Band of Brothers,” and last night, a Memorial Day concert from our nation’s capital. I verbally expressed astonishment at the bravery of those in Easy Company, but the portrayal of wars effect prompted Kyle to request a channel change. The concert included a tribute to Staff Sergeant José Pequeño and his family. The young man had about a third of his head blown off in Iraq and didn’t appear to have any awareness of why he was there. The story was more about the sacrifices his sister and mother have made in caring for him since his injury. He is one of 34,000 American soldiers wounded in Iraq. Nearly 5,000 have died, along with an estimated 100,000 Iraqi civilians.

In related news, and in the midst of the worst economic downturn in nearly a century, Raytheon’s profit rose 15% in their latest quarter. The company derives 93% of its revenues from building weapons, and is just one of many US companies that profit from conflicts all over the world.

I will never begin to understand the bravery of soldiers like those in Easy Company and Staff Sergeant Pequeño, nor will I accept the greedy motivations that in 2009, continue to make war a growth industry by placing them and thousands of other human beings in harms way.

Tube Time

2009-05-21T01:27:00.002-04:00

I love the solitude of being in a flying tube with 200 of my closest friends crying, squirming and of course hacking Swine flu spray into the encapsulated atmosphere. A very cool thing on JetBlue are the little TV’s at every seat. I’ve got the LeoPod on shuffle, but that’s not stopping me from occasionally looking up for a little Maddy moment of “Dora” and “Boots” on Nick.

Real time shuffle report!

Waiting for the Slow Songs – Sloan
The Drinking Side – Lonesome Brothers
Houses of the Holy – Zep
When Doves Cry – Prince
Daniel – EJ
The Rover – Zep
You Wreck Me – Tom Petty
Mr. Undertaker – Angry Johnny & the Killbillies
Wave that Flag – Bottle Rockets
Elliott Smith – The Biggest Lie
Adagio Divertimento, K.297 – Capella Istropolitana – Mozart Effect for Children
Fuck & Fight – Varnaline
Backstreets – Bruce
Walken – Wilco
Dear John – Ryan Adams and the Cardinals
Alive – Pearl Jam

This flight will hopefully deposit me in Long Beach, Cal-ee-foh-nee-ah for the annual APA Conference. Actually, it would be cool if we ended up in Seattle where my pal Dave is for business and the APA isn’t. Not that there’s anything wrong with the APA… We see a ton of our customers at the show and it’s always cool to get their unvarnished views. Given the seismic activity Sunday and yesterday, I am a bit concerned about experiencing my first earthquake. There was actually a “big one” centered in Long Beach back in 1933, and while I dig a good sequel, I’d rather miss this one. I’ve not yet done the “what bands are in town” research, so maybe I’ll get lucky. I did rent a car for Friday and will head up to Wilshire Boulevard for a visit to the LA County Museum of Art once the conference ends at noon. That’ll help me kill the 8:55 before my red-eye leaves for home.

Took my chances on a big jet plane...

2009-05-19T20:38:00.002-04:00

I'm flying to LA tomorrow. Well, Long Beach specifically. They've had 2 minor "tremblors" since Sunday in Laker-land. "Geologists say an earthquake capable of causing widespread destruction is 99 percent certain of hitting California within the next 30 years." Not in the next 3 days though, right?

Sudden Death

2009-05-16T08:45:00.002-04:00

It was if I was watching a frantic movie thriller that had a few key frames cut out just when the killer was revealed. Before I could even add the “F” to “WT,” the credits were rolling of the Carolina Hurricanes celebrating a Game 7 win exactly where they put the Bruins: on Boston Garden ice. At fifty feet from the crime scene, I should have witnessed the execution, but the speed of NHL hockey sometimes defies the senses and Scott Walker’s rebound season killer eluded mine. Instantly, the hopeful, collective spirit that inflated the building for nearly four full periods expired into a vacuum of despair.

My rookie season of NFL fandom was 1969 when I watched the Bruins in the playoffs with my dad. The “Big Bad Bruins” of Bobby Orr, Phil Esposito and Gerry Cheevers swept Toronto in the first round, but then exited the tournament via the traditional “handshake line” through the Montreal Canadians. It seemed more like the receiving line at a wake. “Get used to it,” my Dad said as he turned off the TV.

This year’s game 7 ducat was courtesy of pal Jeff who scored the pass, but twin priorities for Jeff put me in Section 5, Row 6 for game 7. It was a great seat, just six rows from the ice at “the end where the Bruins shoot twice.” That’s an important consideration in a 3 period game. On this night unfortunately, it was the end where Carolina also shot twice. And last. Just before the wake.

Images

2009-05-13T21:52:00.001-04:00

What cinema runs through the eyes of your mind? Video killed the radio star, and our imaginative millions of blood fed celluloid tales we held conscious interpreting the music. Nevermind. Do they pass your mind? Flickering when fluoride hits your teeth or dark your eyes? Pictures of Lily, or some person you’ll never have? I had a woman living in my head like that once. Actually, several have squatted transient.

I ended up with her.
And down without her.

Images

Special Day

2009-05-02T11:13:00.007-04:00

The flags of my country and the Commonwealth I live in were blowing as nearly perfect rectangles against a background of sprinkle carrying stratocumulus. While my audio was processing the “Star Spangled Banner” as performed by a Fitchburg State College coed, the rest of my mind hobbled through an obstacle course of conflict.

In the recent past, fictional WMD’s leading to a real war, torture tales and the sickening greed of the entitled in this country have seriously challenged my faith in America as a “shining city on a hill.” Yesterday, however, the love scenes shone everywhere on an otherwise grey day. As announcements were read, a woman of my vintage signed them to a young boy in the stands. Wheelchairs were propelled by smiles. Many Fitchburg State College volunteers chatted with the athletes, offering praise and encouragement. The SpEd teachers organized and led their kids from event to event. Parents smiled. Some cried. One young man, upon seeing his mother and sister across the track, breached it to hug them just as a race was beginning. Nobody cared. The Special Olympics is about belonging more than competing and nobody lost anything. Everybody gained. Seeing the wonder in my son as he gazed at his medals is a moment I'll never forget.

As the flag stood still I calculated all the love and effort expended to take care of special needs children, especially in this bluest of states, Massachusetts. I wondered with doubt, if most other countries took care of these “troubled and afflicted” the way we do. I briefly thought if red-states do. It hasn’t always been this way. An elderly family acquaintance once coldly uttered, “In my day, we used to put kids like Kyle away.” Thankfully, that day is past. It’s called progress, and seeing it on display yesterday instilled some much needed optimism in me about who we are.

“A troubled and afflicted mankind looks to us, pleading for us to keep our rendezvous with destiny; that we will uphold the principles of self-reliance, self-discipline, morality, and--above all--responsible liberty for every individual that we will become that shining city on a hill.”

Ronald Reagan, announcing his candidacy for President of the United States at the New York Hilton, New York, NY on November 13, 1979

OK, now it’s Spring

2009-04-26T11:25:00.004-04:00

Friday was a unique and fun day for me. I mean, it’s not every day you eat turkey sliders stuffed with brie and go see a Sox-Yankees game, but Friday was one of them. Now I’m not naming any names, but on this night I was the lone member of The Nation in a posse of Evil Empire do-ers headed to Fenway Park. Yeah, we play in a “pahk,” not a multi-billion dollar galaxy with cushy, twenty-six hunnret dollah empty blue seats. The ringleader, who I’ll refer to as “John,” even wore an “Evil Empire” tee-shirt adorned with that Gothic baseball logo that once struck fear in the heart of the Nation. Things started to get creepy on the cab ride into the city. While I chatted in the front seat with the cabbie about the Cup chances of the B’s, I swear I heard “John” and “Patty” giggling about when their “Joba the Nut” would plant a 97 MPH stitched saber in Kevin Youklis’s ear.

It’s just a beer before the game, right? Well, usually, except this mass-produced, blue aluminum cylinder manufactured to evil standards by a now Belgian behemoth corporate brewer didn’t meet “Jimmy’s” standards. Supposedly this guy knows something about canning, but I was stunned silent watching this maniac “friend of John,” eyes bulging, literally crushing the blue bud vase declaring, “No Yankee logo? It’s not evil enough!” OK… Into the park we go. I felt like Patty Hearst when she was a hostage and her SLA captors forced her to accompany them during an armed bank robbery. Little did I know that the four who ventured up from Mordor, NJ for the game had nice Section 12 seats, while the lone Sox fan was really there just to fetch beers for “John’s” sister, “Tanta” in the bleachers and listen to her drone on for 11 innings about how “Jeter doesn’t suck,” and “Posada doesn’t suck.” At one point, some no-name Yankee caught a popup and she again exclaimed, “that guy doesn’t suck.” When I suggested that hauling in “a can of corn” doesn’t exclude a ballplayer from suckage, “Tanta” ordered me to get her another beer.

That and several Yankee meetings on the mound was basically it for 8 2/3 innings. I mean it’s like these guys all have Blackberries in the infield and about every 3rd batter, Posada sends them all an Outlook invitation so they trot to the mound for another meeting. “Tanta” chuckled sarcastically at that one then ordered me to get her another beer. I’m happy to report I made her drink Sam Adams “Boston” Lager. Suddenly, like an evaporating 3-0 ALCS lead, Jason Bay launched the Millennium Falcon over “the Monstah” at the 379’ mark and a 4-2 Evil Empire lead was erased. The Nation joyfully erupted in a way that could only be eclipsed if they could see Dick Cheney waterboarded in the dirt by second base, but I digress…

Two innings later, Kevin Youklis, plotted against earlier in the evening, waterboarded Dick and drove the silver spike through the heart of the empire with a bomb onto Landsdowne Street and everybody jumped up and down at home plate. Just like Little League. After the game, I tried to get the out of towners into the new House of Blues, but when the doorman asked for ID’s, “Sue,” the last of the “Mordor Four” decided that laying down on the sidewalk would be a more efficient way to fish out her license from a sea of Yankee bobblehead dolls in her purse. It’s funny, but the Derek Jeter bobblehead looked smaller than the rest… Not sure what that was about… The doorman shot me a look that said, “Yankee fans?” I thought the Yankee logos they all were wearing pretty much told the story, but I just threw back the “oh yeah” eye roll and Mr. Doorman shut it on us. Still, I let “Sue” take the fall for the group. It was a great night, uh, well, you know, as fun as being with Yankee fans can be, and I owe "John" for the ducat. Thanks, "John."

Anyway, I caught up the kids again Saturday afternoon and we reminisced about the game. It was about 4:00 and game 2 of the series was just starting on the TV behind us at Boston’s Black Rose. I told “Jimmy” and “John” that even though it was April, that might be the best game we see this year at Fenway. They agreed. Well, at least until the circus-like game 2 finished…

An Eye or a…

2009-04-22T17:57:00.001-04:00

My “vacation” this week consists of caring for my son and granddaughter while their mothers have a real vacation in the Caribbean. Oh, I’m also checking work email intermittently because… well, just because. On Monday morning as Maddy napped, Kyle and I caught an episode of this year’s “Rescue Me” on the DVR. In one scene, the boys sat around the firehouse table and debated whether, given the choice, they’d give up “an eye or a nut.” I don’t recall who chose what, but later as Kyle, Maddy and I dominated the left lane toward Nana’s house, I asked Kyle for his opinion on the “eye or a nut” question.

Dad: “Kyle, do you remember that scene today when the guys were talking about whether they’d give up an eye or a nut?”
Kyle: “You mean ‘Rescue Me?’”
Dad: “Yeah, so which would you pick?”
Kyle: (a little embarrassed) “I don’t know. What would you?”
Dad: “Oh, a nut for sure. What about you?”
Kyle: (after some thought) “An eye.”
Dad: “Whoa, really?”
(Now at 17 and hormones raging, obviously Kyle’s nuts are much more important to him than mine are to me at 50, but his rationale just cracked me up.)
Kyle: “Yeah, then I could get an eye-patch like Captain Hook.”
Dad: (laughing and thinking… “Yeah, and keep the boys.”)

Maddy had no comment…

Off the top of my head

2009-04-11T07:39:00.002-04:00

Anyone who appreciates the implosion of the current Republican party should send Karl Rove a “Thank You” note. He got “Dubya” elected by smearing front-runner John McCain prior to the 2000 South Carolina primary and then became “the Architect” of the most destructive presidency ever. Thanks Karl!

I’m on full-time Mr. (Grand)Mom duty next week as Megan vacations for a week with her mom in Aruba… It will be a week of Kyle school > Maddy daycare > work > Maddy daycare > Coma > repeat from Wednesday to Wednesday. From Wednesday on if I am blank-faced more than usual or drooling, that’s probably why.

I hope the Bruins can make a good run at the Cup this year, but overall my interest in sports has never been lower.

After my “car window got smashed in and laptop stolen” week, I offer the following:

Back shit up weekly or more frequently.
Include your internet “favorites” or “bookmarks”

And any network drives you map at work. IT can’t tell you.

Put your laptop in the trunk.

If all this fails, call 1-800-54-GIANT. They were great.

Oh, and my new laptop has Office 2007 installed. WTF? I now feel like I need one of those “Idiot” books. It took me 10 minutes to figure out how to add a pivot table yesterday. I thought this stuff was supposed to be “productivity software?”

Rachel Maddow is brilliant.

That’s all I’ve got for ya.

Opening Day 2009

2009-04-08T06:06:00.004-04:00

Unlike Jed Lowries "Texas League" bloop single yesterday, there aren't many "tweeners" when it comes to Massachusetts Senator Edward M. Kennedy. Adored by the left and demonized by the right, he's led a life of privileged imperfection. None of that mattered yesterday for the 77 year old Red Sox fan as he threw the first pitch to open the 2009 season for the Sox.

Boston Globe photo by Jim Davis

As he peered in at new Hall of Famer Jim Rice, the childlike glee on his face spoke a unifying language for kids of all ages:

"Play Ball!"

Shiny Green Honeycomb Strewn

2009-04-07T07:07:00.003-04:00

The glass of a shattered automobile window is a beautiful greenish pattern of little cubes, all glittering like unique ice crystals. Those on and around my cars rear window were enhanced by the light spring rain falling. Inside the drivers side rear pane once sat my laptop computer, but it apparently was fed up with my abuse and jumped through the glass in a desperate run at freedom while I dined with some work friends at a local Naked Fish.

I slept soundly last night in spite of a 45 minute drive home accompanied by the loud slapping of a plastic bag enduring 60 mile per hour winds and a fear that my laptop would use it's knowledge to take me down. After all, it knows all my internet log ins to banks and brokerages. I was pretty dazed when I got home, but made the required calls to shut off account access. Well, I tried. Shutting off a credit card is doable 24/7, but without your logins and passwords, disabling web access is a challenge.

Anyway, with the help of openoffice.org and an external backup, I was able to retrieve my login data, access my accounts and change my passwords. I also shut off my credit card. Replacing all the files I've worked on recently won't be so easy. Most of the important ones can be found attached to emails, but many are gone forever, including pictures and videos not uploaded to YouTube. It will be kinda like putting that window back together.

Reeling in the Years

2009-04-05T09:08:00.002-04:00

How do you measure the passage of time? Obviously we use seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and 50th birthdays, but I mean those moments. Some of those are the year you graduated high school (1976), got married (1987) or divorced (1996). We also know the year of our children’s births (1989, 1992) and those of our parents (1933, 1940), but it’s difficult, for me at least, to put those dates in context. For example, many of us have our stories on “where we were” on September 11, 2001 and October 20, 2004, both epic disasters in New York, one real and one symbolic only to Red Sox and Yankee fans...

Lately I’ve been reeling when scanning channels, I note a date on a movie and think, ‘Wow, it’s been 20 years since “Field of Dreams” was released,’ before flashing a thought about where exactly those 20 (now 21) years went…

Another cinematic phenomena for adding context to racing years is seeing a movie listed that I’ve been meaning to see, and still consider "fairly recent," but actually was released several years ago… Some examples:

Unforgiven (1992)
Braveheart (1995)
Fargo (1996)
Mystic River (2003)
V for Vendetta (2005)
The Departed (2006)

As I researched these films, the list became full of these dark films that for some reason I don’t want to see. Maybe I’ve got enough darkness.