Uh, actually, I had never heard of such a critter until Jabel sent me an email stating I'd been tagged on a meme. My initial reaction was a wotdahail?!?!, but then I consulted the trusty wikipedia and discovered the meaning of a meme. Read it here. Now, the moment that seals my fate as a meme-r...
1. One book that changed your life: Micheal J. Gelb, How to Think like Leonardo da Vinci.
2. One book that you’ve read more than once: Dr. Seuss, One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.
3. One book you’d want on a desert island: Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species.
4. One book that made you laugh: Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote of the Mancha.
5. One book that made you cry: Stephen E. Ambrose, Undaunted Courage.
6. One book that you wish had been written: Raising Two Boys and Convincing Them That They Are The Most Important People On The Planet To You, Now & Forever
7. One book that you wish had never been written: Haven't found one yet.
8. One book you’re currently reading: The Harvard Classics, Volume 34-Descartes, Voltaire, Rousseau & Hobbes.
9. One book you’ve been meaning to read: Phil Town, Rule #1: The Simple Strategy for Successful Investing in Only 15 Minutes A Week!
10. Now tag five people:
-Becca
-Jeff
-John
-Amy
-Mary
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Cincinnati Reds
I've been a fan of the Reds for a few years now, since the trade that brought my favorite major leage player over from Seattle, Ken Griffey, Jr. The last few years have ranged from dismal to disappointing to downright "I'm not even gonna' watch...", but this season is different. As of today they are just 2 games back of the Cardinals for the top spot in the N.L. Central, and things are exciting again.
The above picture was taken a couple of years ago when I last visited Great American Ball Park with my boys, Boston (now 9) and Britain (now 7). They are actually why I'm posting about the Reds today, as we are planning a return trip in the coming weeks. Each of my boys has followed in my footsteps and like both the Reds and Griffey! Of course, their fascination with my favorite player probably has more to do with the video games they play than it does me, but hey, the end result is the same. I'm looking forward to a day with the guys again, sittin' out at the ol' (new, actually) ballpark, checking out the game, splurging on $6 hot dogs and $5 drinks, and soaking up the rays all in the fabulous venue which is Great American. If you get a chance to go, I highly recommend it. Oh, yeah...there should be some pretty good baseball to watch, too!
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The Praiseworthy New York Times
I know it's quite pleasing to root for the underdog, at times even heaping praise upon those short on talent and ability but tall on heart and effort. It almost seems the American way to do things, perhaps stemming from the fact that a couple and a quarter plus centuries ago we as a nation were one of the said "underdogs", and challenged the bigs to create a life-system all our own. That being said, I must concede that in the world of newspapers, my praise is going to a big and mighty...The New York Times. In my previous employ I spent a lot of time travelling, and therefore was able to sample a rather large variety of daily papers, both in large metropolitan areas and small, rural locales as well. I now read the NYT about 5 times a week (according to one study [pdf], I'm either a Heavy Reader or a Skimmer), and am always impressed with the amount of readable material and the skill of the writers. I know this is no surprise, seeing that the Times is "one of the most-read newspapers in the world", and as such they have both the means and the business responsibility to have the best writers. I also know that I'm not the first and won't be the last to state this most obvious fact, but I just want to throw in my two-cents worth and say that when it comes to daily papers, the underdog may not be the most worthy of your time.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
The Elderly Files...Revisited
Well, it has been a bit since I’ve blogged, but there are a number of reasons for that. My work schedule has been hectic and quite busy, but I’ll not be a bore and share too much information on that. I did have somewhat of a bit of inspiration today, so I thought I’d jot down some things. I’m working now at my Home Instead and spending the day with Prof. G. (name left out, obviously, for confidentiality reasons). He is an Alzheimer’s patient that I’ve had the privilege of working with for about six months now, and is quite a remarkable individual, hence my aforementioned “inspiration”. I’m not sure why exactly I’ve not thought to keep up a report on the interesting and otherwise events while I’m here, but while walking with Prof. G. today it hit me-I need to be recording these things. So today I’ll begin, and occasionally kick back to some memories of the past six months.
As I referenced, Prof. G. has Alzheimer’s. The disease is always fatal, and although it seems a bit morbid to mention it now, that fact actually is the best catalyst to encourage me to be the best I can be every time I’m with him…because I want to ensure this last stage of his life is both enjoyable and tolerable. Prof. G. is very mobile and has hardly any trouble getting around, and at 77 that is quite an extraordinary feat! His memory, though, is not quite so robust. The day I first met him we went for groceries and he asked me no fewer than 6 times while we were there if I’d ever been to that store before, and then told me how remarkable a place it was. His memory (lack of) trend of late has been repeated trips to the mailbox, on which trips he invariably checks the neighbor’s mail as well, much to their dismay. I’ve had to make a concentrated effort each time to tell him that the neighbor’s called and told me to tell him that he didn’t need to get their mail today, as they would be getting it themselves. I must use such non-threatening language in order to ensure a pacific rest of the day, for if I fail here his mood becomes full of anger and agitation. On some days this exchange happens better than 25 times, and I must admit that at times it does get a bit frustrating (which, I’m certain, is a very typical human emotion in such situations!). I’ve been blessed with an apparent grand amount of patience, though, and for this I am very thankful. It’s just not worth it on any level to lose my cool, and I think this frequent exercise with Prof. G. will make a better man out of me.
Prof. G. is a remarkable musician, and spent his working years as a musicologist, most recently at Indiana University here in Bloomington. I am treated daily with his playing works by Chopin, Brahms, and his favorite, Debussy, among others. I am a self-proclaimed lover of music, enjoying a wide variety of genres. My favorite in the classical style music has for a number of years been George Friedrich Handel, and specifically his Water Music has been my most listened to piece. Prof. G. evidently has done a lot of teaching on Handel, for I’ve found 20+ books in his library and a number of CD’s by and about the famed composer.
Hey, I did it! I actually jotted down a thought in my blog…imagine that! Well, anyway, I’ll try to do better (of course, I’m talking to myself by way of the printed page, and not trying to make promises to anyone but me, so perhaps the “doing better” is the wrong choice of words). Perhaps I’ll be privileged to both jot down some fascinating memories of my client/friend Prof. G. and maybe remind myself and others of lessons learned along this much illuminated pathway of friendship with an Alzheimer’s patient.
As I referenced, Prof. G. has Alzheimer’s. The disease is always fatal, and although it seems a bit morbid to mention it now, that fact actually is the best catalyst to encourage me to be the best I can be every time I’m with him…because I want to ensure this last stage of his life is both enjoyable and tolerable. Prof. G. is very mobile and has hardly any trouble getting around, and at 77 that is quite an extraordinary feat! His memory, though, is not quite so robust. The day I first met him we went for groceries and he asked me no fewer than 6 times while we were there if I’d ever been to that store before, and then told me how remarkable a place it was. His memory (lack of) trend of late has been repeated trips to the mailbox, on which trips he invariably checks the neighbor’s mail as well, much to their dismay. I’ve had to make a concentrated effort each time to tell him that the neighbor’s called and told me to tell him that he didn’t need to get their mail today, as they would be getting it themselves. I must use such non-threatening language in order to ensure a pacific rest of the day, for if I fail here his mood becomes full of anger and agitation. On some days this exchange happens better than 25 times, and I must admit that at times it does get a bit frustrating (which, I’m certain, is a very typical human emotion in such situations!). I’ve been blessed with an apparent grand amount of patience, though, and for this I am very thankful. It’s just not worth it on any level to lose my cool, and I think this frequent exercise with Prof. G. will make a better man out of me.
Prof. G. is a remarkable musician, and spent his working years as a musicologist, most recently at Indiana University here in Bloomington. I am treated daily with his playing works by Chopin, Brahms, and his favorite, Debussy, among others. I am a self-proclaimed lover of music, enjoying a wide variety of genres. My favorite in the classical style music has for a number of years been George Friedrich Handel, and specifically his Water Music has been my most listened to piece. Prof. G. evidently has done a lot of teaching on Handel, for I’ve found 20+ books in his library and a number of CD’s by and about the famed composer.
Hey, I did it! I actually jotted down a thought in my blog…imagine that! Well, anyway, I’ll try to do better (of course, I’m talking to myself by way of the printed page, and not trying to make promises to anyone but me, so perhaps the “doing better” is the wrong choice of words). Perhaps I’ll be privileged to both jot down some fascinating memories of my client/friend Prof. G. and maybe remind myself and others of lessons learned along this much illuminated pathway of friendship with an Alzheimer’s patient.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
On The Mend
Well, it's been a bit since I last blogged so I thought I'd jot down a line or two to catch myself up on where I am in life at this point. My most recent post was an advertisement for my rocket, and I must say it's with mixed emotions that I report its' sale. It was purchased by one of the players on one of my favorite sports teams (I'll leave his name and team out for privacy reasons), but that was only a small consolation! I enjoyed meeting the guy, but it must feel the same as when a dad meets his girls date for the first time. The only difference is I knew this guy was gonna ride off into the sunset with her and that I'd never see her again. It still feels a bit awkward...
Anyway, loads of stuff has happened since then. Most noteworthy was my trip to Las Vegas with my gal-pal, Amy. Perhaps I'll share more later, but I just want to mention now that I think I could live at New York, New York Hotel & Casino. The coaster, the food, the atmosphere...it's all good!
I'm currently reading The Millionaire Next Door and am enthralled...these guys are gonna help me on my way to wealth, I just know it. I'm also digging into a book my mom picked up for me called When Bad Christians Happen To Good People.... It's certainly a worthwhile read for the currently churched as well as those of us who've experienced, shall we say, a bit of a bad taste with church-life. Wrapping up my worth-mentioning reads of the moment would be The Body You Want In The Time You Have..., which leaves no room for further excuses for not working out. You name the number of times a week you wanna work out (quite simply, just pick a number between 1 and 7...it's not that hard). Then decide how long you want each workout to last (from 15 minutes up to an hour). Finally choose the type of workout your looking for (i.e., weight loss, definition, mass or a combination of the three) and voila', your personal plan is ready made. Now go find your abs!
Life is great...
Thursday, December 15, 2005
2003 Kawasaki Ninja ZX6RR
That dreadful day has arrived...I'm selling my rocket! I may write a lengthy tribute later, but for now the pain is just to great to dwell on it long enought to pen anything down. It's listed over at ebay (click here for details), and already interest is being shown in taking from me my asphalt love thing. I'll get over it, I'm sure, but I have so many memories that will never go away...
Okay, enough with the sob story. The bottom line is, if you or someone you know is interested in a rocket, here's a steal of a deal. I've gotta get rid of it to make room for other things at the present time, so I'm quite motivated.
PS-To understand my grief at parting, you'd probably have to be a rider...
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Tucker Carlson
My interest in the "news" is not something I would consider white-hot, and perhaps I'd describe it as tepid at best. Most mornings I'll pour myself a bowl of Cheerios topped with blueberries or strawberries, fill up a tall glass of high-pulp orange juice, and snag a banana from the fruit counter at home and then sit down to catch up on the latest. Occasionally I'll tune in to MSNBC or Fox News, but I'd say 90% of the time it's Headline News. I've heard of friends and family members alike who suggest they watch certain shows and avoid certain others because of their political preferences. I guess I'm just not involved enough, or perhaps I just don't possess the intelligence, to detect "spin". Some I'm acquainted with speak almost passionately about who believes what and which anchors are masters at making their political sentiments come out on top, but I just don't seem to get it.
That all being said, in the last two months I've learned of Tucker Carlson, pictured above left. His show The Situation With Tucker Carlson airs at 11 pm EDT on MSNBC. My viewing is not religious and certainly has no set pattern, but a good 2 or 3 nights a week I'll give his show at least a bit of my time. It's not a cover-all like Headline News, and is obviously more of an opinion piece rather than just reporting. I like it just for that reason. He's the type of anchor that I just connect with and when I watch I am not distracted from what he's saying by any idiosyncrasies, unlike with similar programs.
I just recently was made aware that he maintains a blog called Untied, and upon reviewing it I find his writing to be just as enjoyable and informative as the television show. His post for today, for example, is entitled Nice to see Christianity still scares. I'm pasting a copy of it here because I think it's quite poignant and perceptive...
Nice to see Christianity still scares (Tucker Carlson)
People often make jokes about Episcopalians being boring, and unfortunately they're usually right. I know this because on most Sundays I sit through an Episcopal Church service with my wife and children. It's a reassuringly predictable experience, always exactly an hour long. And you'll never meet nicer people. If you needed someone to hold your wallet, or if you were lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood and had to duck into a stranger's house to use the bathroom, you could do a whole lot worse than to meet up with an Episcopalian. No one has better manners.
And that may be the problem. There's a notable lack of urgency in most Episcopal churches. Jesus may have promised he'd come back someday, but in the Episcopal Church you don't get the feeling he really meant it. Nor do you hear a lot about sin. Lust, hatred, gluttony, pride, envy -- those are dramatic emotions. Drama makes Episcopalians uncomfortable. The typical sermon leaves the impression that all would be well in this world if only people could manage to be reasonable with each other. Gentlemanly. Thoughtful.
There's nothing necessarily bad about any of this. (I remain an Episcopalian, with no plans to change.) But every once in a while, as I shift in my pew listening to one of our unusually well-educated preachers expand on the Aramaic understanding of discipleship, I do wish Jesus would come back, preferably in a massive ball of fire through the ceiling of the church. Spiritually, I'm nowhere near ready to face something like that. But it'd be worth it for the shock value.
All of which is to say, I welcome the controversies this season over Christmas. Every time a school district bans Christmas carols, every time the ACLU dispatches a busload of lawyers to fight a nativity scene, every time the ADL declares the Christian Right "dangerous," it's a reaffirmation that the faith is not dead. Dead religions don't give people the creeps. They don't make atheists mad. They don't keep Alan Dershowitz up at night. But Christianity still does. What a relief. It's nice to see that our faith still scares people.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Of Hot News Anchors And Ugly Massage Therapists
Is it just me, or are we in a totally different world than we were in just a few years ago? Bonnie Bernstein is incredible as a sports reporter, but can you be any better looking and know something about a 3/4 court press? Then there's Rachel Nichols who gets my undivided attention everytime she gets airtime...especially when she closes with her name and "Es..p...ANNNN". I saw Soledad O'Brien this morning and felt like Ron Weasly and uttered a quiet, reverential "bloody hell". What about Rudi Bakhtiar??? Who was Dan Rather, anyway? Laurie Dhue is up there in the top rankings of babes on the "boob" tube as well. Almost everything the French do these days is suspect, but Melissa Theuriau is their great equalizer. Let them make all the fuss they want, but keep her on the screen and all is even...though getting her to speak English might be a bit easier.
In the spirit of our favorite homage to newsanchordom, might I finish up by saying with Ron Burgundy..."Be classy...".
PS-The massage therapist insisted on showing up in my title line. Sorry, I have nothing to say about them in this post...
In the spirit of our favorite homage to newsanchordom, might I finish up by saying with Ron Burgundy..."Be classy...".
PS-The massage therapist insisted on showing up in my title line. Sorry, I have nothing to say about them in this post...
The Peace Of Being "Caught Up"
No, for my churchy friends, that has absolutely nothing to do with the Rapture. (Props to you, R.B.) But, now that I mention it, rapturous delight would not come too far short of describing how it feels for me to finally catch up on my "to-do" list. What with the move to the office building in early November for my real estate career, to accepting more hours (lots, and lots, and lots) of them with the "second" job, I've had a helluva (props this time to you, mom) time staying on track and up to track on the things I need/want/MUST do. At this stage in my life I have to depend on blocking out every waking hour with detailed tasks and places to be. My life is certainly not lacking in demands, nor is it in any wise routine and boring. And therein lies my problem. I feel as though I function better when I can know well in advance where I'm to be, what exactly I'm to be doing, who I'm to be with, and a plan for all things in between. My schedule of late, though, has made that entirely an impossibility. But as of this weekend, I'm caught up and ready to make strides in December to keep things on track. Ahh, how relaxing...(RING...RING)...(DING: "You've got mail!")...("Daddy, can you come play with us NOW?")...("Hello?"..."Um, yeah, I need to buy a house, and it needs to happen like, yesterday! Are you doing anything, say, around 7:30 tonight?"...)...
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Has Anyone Seen November?
I feel like a blogging virgin again since I haven't jotted down my thinks for nearly a month! Due to my big office move and the crazy amount of hours I've been working, my blogging has been nil, but hopefully that's about to change. I've a lot to say, so I'm gonna HAVE to do better at getting on here.
I did brave the late night, pajama-clad high school kid crazy first showing of the latest Harry Potter film in the wee hours of November 18th...but I fell asleep! I was in Indianapolis for Mediation Training for the Board of REALTORS on Thursday and Friday and thought I'd be able to swing a show that Friday morn, but evidently I couldn't last. I know my good pal Jabel was quite excited about seeing the movie, but I think he was a bit disappointed. I can't really say at this point since one of the sleeping fits I had was right in the middle of the third task at the Triwizard Tournament! I recall the maze popping up...and the next thing I really remember was Mad Eye Moody leading Harry back to his office. Um, I think I must've missed the whole encounter with Voldemort, which was supposed to be the pinnacle of the film. I'll just have to watch it again on DVD when it comes out and make my final opinion known at that time.
Also this month I was introduced to a new client with Home Instead so I'll have to draft a new version of my Elderly Files. This man shall be referred to as Prof B., and I have plenty of items of interest to pen down for the record.
And that would be about it this month! I've not played basketball even once, of course it's been too cold for tennis, and I don't have a gym membership. That means only one thing...something's gotta give or I'm gonna be floating up stairwells like a blimp rather than having to stop half-way up to catch my breath...wait, maybe the blimp thing isn't so bad after all.
TBC...
I did brave the late night, pajama-clad high school kid crazy first showing of the latest Harry Potter film in the wee hours of November 18th...but I fell asleep! I was in Indianapolis for Mediation Training for the Board of REALTORS on Thursday and Friday and thought I'd be able to swing a show that Friday morn, but evidently I couldn't last. I know my good pal Jabel was quite excited about seeing the movie, but I think he was a bit disappointed. I can't really say at this point since one of the sleeping fits I had was right in the middle of the third task at the Triwizard Tournament! I recall the maze popping up...and the next thing I really remember was Mad Eye Moody leading Harry back to his office. Um, I think I must've missed the whole encounter with Voldemort, which was supposed to be the pinnacle of the film. I'll just have to watch it again on DVD when it comes out and make my final opinion known at that time.
Also this month I was introduced to a new client with Home Instead so I'll have to draft a new version of my Elderly Files. This man shall be referred to as Prof B., and I have plenty of items of interest to pen down for the record.
And that would be about it this month! I've not played basketball even once, of course it's been too cold for tennis, and I don't have a gym membership. That means only one thing...something's gotta give or I'm gonna be floating up stairwells like a blimp rather than having to stop half-way up to catch my breath...wait, maybe the blimp thing isn't so bad after all.
TBC...
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Mommy Dearest
Today is my mom's birthday. Beth Ann Phillips (now Feldman) was born on November 3, 1957, and I'm sure somewhere an angelic choir could be heard. No, 'twas not an immaculate conception-she was just born to common folks and raised in the ordinary town of Springville. There were not any plans to eventually crown her for a role in world leadership-her life was, like the most of us, simply to be charted by Chance and Opportunity. Wise men from afar didn't show up on Spencer Pike to laud her and offer expensive gifts-just visits by the friends and family of her parents, also common people.
If her entry into the world seemed a bit inauspicious and foretold of no certain greatness, her youth and beyond proved to follow-up with more of the same. The stories of her childhood offer a glimpse into a life full of typical accidents, unique in their own right, but nothing extraordinary to speak of. I hear tales of one somewhat strong-willed, a bit rebellious, and very pretty, but of great records and feats, none to speak of.
But if my purpose appears to be in belittling her, that perception is a false one. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I merely wanted to give a preface to one of the more amazing stories I've ever known, and show that no matter how small the beginning may have been, the latter years of her life have proven to be absolutely enchanting. Goddess-like, even.
On April 22, 1975 a baby was born to her. In many respects it could have been perceived as an intruder and dealt with as such, seeing that she was just 17. There were nearly 1,000,000 abortions in that year, and that methods popularity was on a sharp increase. I have no idea if she ever considered this option, or if she was counselled to do so, but I'm glad she didn't. Adoption was another avenue she could have taken, and I'm not certain if it ever came to her mind either, but I'm glad she didn't do it. My aim is not at all political, just thankfulness, because in either case I would've been deprived of what I consider to be the one of the greatest benefits of my life-knowing the lady I call mom.
My childhood was spent in the care of a single parent. I know it must have been hard for her more times than it was easy, but as I look back I never recall feeling like I didn't belong. It amazes me because I'm sure there was no way I could have shown appreciation back then to the extent I can now, because I was unable to process the miracle happening in front of my eyes for what it was really worth. The sacrifices, the life-altering responsibilities, the sheer difficulty in trying to care for a son while still trying to find her own purpose and place in the world, it all must have been overwhelming at times. But if it was, I have no bad memories to share because she never even hinted at any hardships to me. Amazing.
She taught me to swim. It was in the Atlantic Ocean and I was about 6 years old. This is one memory I can't escape from, and that she swears to this day wasn't as bad as I let on. All I remember is being what seemed like miles from shore in a boiling, churning sea and let go and told to swim back, I could make it...and I recall the tears I shed! Well, regardless of the facts, I learned to swim, and have no fear, only respect, of the water to this day. I owe her for that.
She let me get involved in sports. From my earliest days I remember being involved in extracurricular activities. Baseball, basketball, football, soccer and eventually tennis. Not to mention the various other Boys Club events and school recreations. I didn't appreciate it enough then, but now that I have two of my own I recognize the amount of time and effort that goes into coordinating and transporting and paying for it all. It must have been tough, but I never recall being told I was too much of a burden and should just learn to play at home. I owe her for that.
She promoted in my life a love of reading. She bought me books, she signed me up for the Weekly Reader, and for my fascination with all things sports she even scored me a subscription to Sports Illustrated and other related magazines. We had televesion, and eventually I got a computer replete with a myriad of games, but she had already instilled in me a passion for the printed word. To this day I'm more often found reading than watching tv or playing video games. I owe her for that.
In my adult life she has taught me to be open-minded and respectful of others. She's given sage advice on money management and business practices. She's been there for me in the biggest philosophical wranglings of my life, and listened attentively to my personal dilemmas. She's the best nanna ("grandmother") to my boys that I could possibly ask for. She beams when she sees Boston & Britain, she dotes on them, and I stand back with a lump in my throat at the love she has for them. I owe her for all of this, too.
But today it's her birthday, and I struggle with what to say and do for her to recognize how important she is to me. I look upon her as the embodiment and epitome of "'tis better to give than to receive". If I could afford them even a Bentley and an island in the Caribbean wouldn't be enough to scratch the surface of the debt I owe to her. I'm neither scholarly nor skilled with words enough to offer her sufficient verbal praise. All I can offer is the fullest love that I as an appreciative son can give, and marvel at its inadequacy.
Mom, when you read this, just know that I love you with all my heart, and that I'm proud to be your son. I don't feel obligated to return favors to you because that would cheapen our relationship, but I do have a strong desire to make you proud and express my fascination for the woman you are.
If her entry into the world seemed a bit inauspicious and foretold of no certain greatness, her youth and beyond proved to follow-up with more of the same. The stories of her childhood offer a glimpse into a life full of typical accidents, unique in their own right, but nothing extraordinary to speak of. I hear tales of one somewhat strong-willed, a bit rebellious, and very pretty, but of great records and feats, none to speak of.
But if my purpose appears to be in belittling her, that perception is a false one. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I merely wanted to give a preface to one of the more amazing stories I've ever known, and show that no matter how small the beginning may have been, the latter years of her life have proven to be absolutely enchanting. Goddess-like, even.
On April 22, 1975 a baby was born to her. In many respects it could have been perceived as an intruder and dealt with as such, seeing that she was just 17. There were nearly 1,000,000 abortions in that year, and that methods popularity was on a sharp increase. I have no idea if she ever considered this option, or if she was counselled to do so, but I'm glad she didn't. Adoption was another avenue she could have taken, and I'm not certain if it ever came to her mind either, but I'm glad she didn't do it. My aim is not at all political, just thankfulness, because in either case I would've been deprived of what I consider to be the one of the greatest benefits of my life-knowing the lady I call mom.
My childhood was spent in the care of a single parent. I know it must have been hard for her more times than it was easy, but as I look back I never recall feeling like I didn't belong. It amazes me because I'm sure there was no way I could have shown appreciation back then to the extent I can now, because I was unable to process the miracle happening in front of my eyes for what it was really worth. The sacrifices, the life-altering responsibilities, the sheer difficulty in trying to care for a son while still trying to find her own purpose and place in the world, it all must have been overwhelming at times. But if it was, I have no bad memories to share because she never even hinted at any hardships to me. Amazing.
She taught me to swim. It was in the Atlantic Ocean and I was about 6 years old. This is one memory I can't escape from, and that she swears to this day wasn't as bad as I let on. All I remember is being what seemed like miles from shore in a boiling, churning sea and let go and told to swim back, I could make it...and I recall the tears I shed! Well, regardless of the facts, I learned to swim, and have no fear, only respect, of the water to this day. I owe her for that.
She let me get involved in sports. From my earliest days I remember being involved in extracurricular activities. Baseball, basketball, football, soccer and eventually tennis. Not to mention the various other Boys Club events and school recreations. I didn't appreciate it enough then, but now that I have two of my own I recognize the amount of time and effort that goes into coordinating and transporting and paying for it all. It must have been tough, but I never recall being told I was too much of a burden and should just learn to play at home. I owe her for that.
She promoted in my life a love of reading. She bought me books, she signed me up for the Weekly Reader, and for my fascination with all things sports she even scored me a subscription to Sports Illustrated and other related magazines. We had televesion, and eventually I got a computer replete with a myriad of games, but she had already instilled in me a passion for the printed word. To this day I'm more often found reading than watching tv or playing video games. I owe her for that.
In my adult life she has taught me to be open-minded and respectful of others. She's given sage advice on money management and business practices. She's been there for me in the biggest philosophical wranglings of my life, and listened attentively to my personal dilemmas. She's the best nanna ("grandmother") to my boys that I could possibly ask for. She beams when she sees Boston & Britain, she dotes on them, and I stand back with a lump in my throat at the love she has for them. I owe her for all of this, too.
But today it's her birthday, and I struggle with what to say and do for her to recognize how important she is to me. I look upon her as the embodiment and epitome of "'tis better to give than to receive". If I could afford them even a Bentley and an island in the Caribbean wouldn't be enough to scratch the surface of the debt I owe to her. I'm neither scholarly nor skilled with words enough to offer her sufficient verbal praise. All I can offer is the fullest love that I as an appreciative son can give, and marvel at its inadequacy.
Mom, when you read this, just know that I love you with all my heart, and that I'm proud to be your son. I don't feel obligated to return favors to you because that would cheapen our relationship, but I do have a strong desire to make you proud and express my fascination for the woman you are.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
The Week That Was...
I've had a wild and zany few days away from my (quickly becoming) safe-haven blogspot, so I'll just jot down some errant thoughts to recap, lest I forget...err, frogget!
I went with P.C. (see The Elderly Files) and a gal named Kim on Friday to see Romeo et Juliette. Twas a marvelous experience, one I'd love to duplicate so I can once again be mesmerized by the dazzling display of matchless romantic love...ahh, the French language is a perfect vehicle for passionate expressions! (Now, if I could just learn more than Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?) The zaniest moment of the night was when I asked P.C. how to score an opera babe (I actually said that to a nonagenarian!). He said, as only he can, something like this: "Well, look at what's different between you and me. I'm wearing a tuxedo, and I have the look of one going to the opera. You, on the other hand, look as though you might be off to a basketball game (I was wearing dress slacks, a rather dapper Tommy Hilfiger multi-colored shirt and a sport coat, thank you very much!). The secret is in dressing for success." Well, I'll have to remember that one. I did find, curiously enough, that Kim was born on precisely the same DAY I was back in '75...neat.
Over the weekend I did finish (finally) Volume 32 of The Harvard Classics. The book closes with Immanuel Kant's Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals. Kant was, curiously enough once again, born on my birthdate, albeit 251 years prior! I must admit I'd have to delve deeper to fully appreciate his work, seeing that at times I can be quite the superficial reader. I did read several items of interest to me, one of which I'll leave for you to ponder:
I went with P.C. (see The Elderly Files) and a gal named Kim on Friday to see Romeo et Juliette. Twas a marvelous experience, one I'd love to duplicate so I can once again be mesmerized by the dazzling display of matchless romantic love...ahh, the French language is a perfect vehicle for passionate expressions! (Now, if I could just learn more than Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?) The zaniest moment of the night was when I asked P.C. how to score an opera babe (I actually said that to a nonagenarian!). He said, as only he can, something like this: "Well, look at what's different between you and me. I'm wearing a tuxedo, and I have the look of one going to the opera. You, on the other hand, look as though you might be off to a basketball game (I was wearing dress slacks, a rather dapper Tommy Hilfiger multi-colored shirt and a sport coat, thank you very much!). The secret is in dressing for success." Well, I'll have to remember that one. I did find, curiously enough, that Kim was born on precisely the same DAY I was back in '75...neat.
Over the weekend I did finish (finally) Volume 32 of The Harvard Classics. The book closes with Immanuel Kant's Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals. Kant was, curiously enough once again, born on my birthdate, albeit 251 years prior! I must admit I'd have to delve deeper to fully appreciate his work, seeing that at times I can be quite the superficial reader. I did read several items of interest to me, one of which I'll leave for you to ponder:
We cannot therefore act on any definite principles
to secure happiness, but only on empirical counsels,
ex. gr., of regimen, frugality, courtesy, reserve, &c.,
which experience teaches do, on the average, most
promote well-being.
----------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------
After Kant was the small work by Giuseppe Mazzini on Byron and Goethe. For me this was a very pleasant read, and not a few of his lines are noteworthy. For sake of brevity, though, I'll offer a few without comment:
Human judgment, like Luther's drunken peasant,
when saved from falling on one side, too
often topples over on the other.
One very much overrated critic writes that
"Byron makes man after his own image,
and woman after his own heart: the one
is a capricious tyrant, the other a
yielding slave.
...love is no more, desire
has taken its place...
It seems as if they were doomed to drag the
broken links of the chain they have burst
asunder, riveted to their feet.
They fall unwept, like a withered leaf
into the stream of time.
Goethe's altar is spread with the choicest
flowers, the most exquisite perfumes, teh
first-fruits of nature: but the Priest is wanting.
I then moved on to Volume 33, Voyages And Travels: Ancient And Modern. The first segment is by Herodotus and is his An Account of Egypt. I'll just say this, its interesting to see how much sex played a role in the Egypt he wrote about. Let's just say it would seem to rival, or outstrip even our day!
Saturday night I ventured out to another good ol' time at the Downtown Tavern for a bit o' fun with the Junk boys. The costume party was wild and crazy (nothing new for DT) and the band was exceptional, as always. For the record I went as a doctor, fully decked out in scrubs and a lab coat...but no patients were willing to have a diagnosis or exam! What was nuts was when I went into Wal-mart just prior to going to the club. It's a damn shame to watch how differently people treat you when they think you're an M.D.! I swear half the people in the place didn't even realize it was so close to Halloween, therefore they had no clue it was just a get-up...and I played along. Seriously, you should try it sometime. (I think next time I'll go as drag-queen...that'd liven 'em up in my town, for sure!).
Yesterday and today has been spent in work, work, work...30 hours between the two, so I must say I'm exhausted and a bit brain-warped. At the office we're just about ready to occupy our gargantuan new building, so a lot of preparation is going into that. We've been plugging away in anticipation of this week for a loooooong time, and now that it's here, it all seems surreal. I hate to have to move into the snazzy new digs, but hey, it's a tough job, but somefroggy's gotta do it!
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
My Harry Potter Wishlist
Just a few more days and the mad dash will be on to view Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire. I must confess that I'm a late comer in the HP world, having like so many who erroneously heaped shame and scorn on all who partook of it and yet claimed to be Christian! If I feel like it, I'll humiliate myself on that further at a later time, but for now I have an agenda. Christmas is coming soon ("Hark! The Herals Angels Sing!"...props to you and your love of Christmas music, Jabel) and I need to blog my wants and wishes for the season for those of you who are compelled to lavish gifts upon me. Actually, what follows is of utmost importance, for with just a few of these items checked off I'll have no need of further presents. From 10 to 1 I'll rank what I want that I've read in the Harry Potter series, and you can feel free to choose as you will, and as your budget allows. Here goes:
10. Quidditch Set
09. Room Of Requirement
08. Hogwarts, A History
07. Time-Turner
06. Portkey
05. Marauder's Map
04. Firebolt
03. Floo Powder
02. Wand (preferably the one that chooses me...)
01. Invisibility Cloak
For good measure, please throw in a pack of Chocolate Frogs and some Bertie Botts Every-Flavor-Beans for my stocking. Thanks.
10. Quidditch Set
09. Room Of Requirement
08. Hogwarts, A History
07. Time-Turner
06. Portkey
05. Marauder's Map
04. Firebolt
03. Floo Powder
02. Wand (preferably the one that chooses me...)
01. Invisibility Cloak
For good measure, please throw in a pack of Chocolate Frogs and some Bertie Botts Every-Flavor-Beans for my stocking. Thanks.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
The Elderly Files: 10-25-05
I love spending time with elderly folks, they are some of the coolest cats I know! Perhaps it's because I'm the oldest grandkid on both sides (things like that happen when your born to teenagers), but it's a fact of my life-I like 'em. Grandpa Weddle is a wise-old soul for whom I have much respect and appreciation. My biological grandma Weddle passed away before I was born, but Fortune smiled on me by not leaving me alone in that quadrant of grandparentness and gave me Grandma Emily. Papaw Phillips passed away a couple of years ago, but for the 28 years I knew him he was one of the main spokes that kept my life rolling. Mamaw Phillips remains an important part of my life to this day. Each one of these corner-stones has recounted many entertaining, inspirational and at times quite hilarious accounts of some of their days-gone-by, and I hope to hear many more of how they got from then to now.
Several weeks ago I joined an amazing company called Home Instead Senior Care that provides non-medical care for the elderly. I get to spend several hours each week visiting and fraternizing with septuagenarians, octogenarians, nonagenarians and other curious creatures with much life experience, and not a little more wisdom than me. It's a fulfilling segment of my life whether we're going out to eat, attending stage productions or just sitting by the fire in a parlor recounting the passage of time they've witnessed and how it compares to today's world.
Due to privacy concerns, I'm not at liberty to reference my clients by name or location, so I'll stick with initials. Right now I'm with a 90+ year old man who I'll call P.C. who is by far one of the more fascinating people I've been privileged to meet. Brilliant and with a storied past (read: Ivy League educated), this man is a fabulous human being who amazes me often with his erudition. I love to read, and that widely, but I've yet to reference an author or work that he doesn't know something about. I recently attended an opera with him presented by the Indiana University School Of Music. The production was Cosi Fan Tutte, subtitled The School For Lovers, and was an entertaining and humorous work to say the least. P.C. told me much about it beforehand, and I've discussed it with him a few times since, and I must say I'm hooked!
In my real estate business some of the more enjoyable clients I've had have been of the elderly variety. Much of the time to them I'm just a "young whippersnapper", but I enjoy the opportunity to represent them in purchases and sales because of their willingness and ability to trust me with their needs. Their confidence is both humbling and motivating. The satisfaction of completing a transaction with them, too, is a grand experience because they are typically very appreciative of an honest days' work. Hat tip to these older Americans!
Here at the bottom of the page may I just add that I feel my life would have been missing some of its more agreeable moments had it not been for the elderly. My advice to all is this: whether you're helping 'em across the street, pushing them in a wheelchair or just sitting around engrossed in conversation, though the walk be a bit slow, the navigation a bit strenuous, or the talking a bit loud, be sure the rewards will be manifold and both immediate and lasting!
Several weeks ago I joined an amazing company called Home Instead Senior Care that provides non-medical care for the elderly. I get to spend several hours each week visiting and fraternizing with septuagenarians, octogenarians, nonagenarians and other curious creatures with much life experience, and not a little more wisdom than me. It's a fulfilling segment of my life whether we're going out to eat, attending stage productions or just sitting by the fire in a parlor recounting the passage of time they've witnessed and how it compares to today's world.
Due to privacy concerns, I'm not at liberty to reference my clients by name or location, so I'll stick with initials. Right now I'm with a 90+ year old man who I'll call P.C. who is by far one of the more fascinating people I've been privileged to meet. Brilliant and with a storied past (read: Ivy League educated), this man is a fabulous human being who amazes me often with his erudition. I love to read, and that widely, but I've yet to reference an author or work that he doesn't know something about. I recently attended an opera with him presented by the Indiana University School Of Music. The production was Cosi Fan Tutte, subtitled The School For Lovers, and was an entertaining and humorous work to say the least. P.C. told me much about it beforehand, and I've discussed it with him a few times since, and I must say I'm hooked!
In my real estate business some of the more enjoyable clients I've had have been of the elderly variety. Much of the time to them I'm just a "young whippersnapper", but I enjoy the opportunity to represent them in purchases and sales because of their willingness and ability to trust me with their needs. Their confidence is both humbling and motivating. The satisfaction of completing a transaction with them, too, is a grand experience because they are typically very appreciative of an honest days' work. Hat tip to these older Americans!
Here at the bottom of the page may I just add that I feel my life would have been missing some of its more agreeable moments had it not been for the elderly. My advice to all is this: whether you're helping 'em across the street, pushing them in a wheelchair or just sitting around engrossed in conversation, though the walk be a bit slow, the navigation a bit strenuous, or the talking a bit loud, be sure the rewards will be manifold and both immediate and lasting!
Monday, October 24, 2005
Schiller's "Letters Upon The Aesthetic Education Of Man"
Some years ago I began a volume-by-volume journey through The Harvard Classics. I'm currently in Volume 32, Literary And Philosophical Essays, and nearing the end of this book is the work by J.C. Friedrich Von Schiller that I've referenced in my title, Letters Upon The Aesthetic Education of Man. I completed this section of the book in the wee hours of Sunday morn, and thought I'd record a few of the more noteworthy quotes I was fortunate enough to read, and perhaps add a passing comment or so.
"...a soul that takes pleasure in appearance does not take pleasure in what it receives but in what it makes."
From personal grooming, to fashion sense, to physical fitness, the message here seems to me to be quite matter-of-fact. The baseline truth is that if we put forth an effort in projecting as healthy and attractive appearance as we may, we'll get pleasure in the compliments we receive, but even more from the personal satisfaction with what we've accomplished.
"...the skilfully worked scabbard will not attract less attention than the homicidal edge of the sword."
Image is everything...dress for success...you never get a second chance to make a first impression...the list seems endless when it comes to the importance of our appearance in certain situations. To the above quote I'd simply proffer that no matter how cutting-edge your talent may be, if your sharpness is sheathed in ugliness, you may never get the chance to divide and conquer!
"...pleasure may be stolen, but love must be a gift."
From the most horrific rapist to the ineffective would-be romantic, may this truth reach the depths of the soul. To add to this aphorism would seem to me a most irreverent act, so I'll silently exit and allow the hush of its profundity to wash over the gentle reader...
"...a soul that takes pleasure in appearance does not take pleasure in what it receives but in what it makes."
From personal grooming, to fashion sense, to physical fitness, the message here seems to me to be quite matter-of-fact. The baseline truth is that if we put forth an effort in projecting as healthy and attractive appearance as we may, we'll get pleasure in the compliments we receive, but even more from the personal satisfaction with what we've accomplished.
"...the skilfully worked scabbard will not attract less attention than the homicidal edge of the sword."
Image is everything...dress for success...you never get a second chance to make a first impression...the list seems endless when it comes to the importance of our appearance in certain situations. To the above quote I'd simply proffer that no matter how cutting-edge your talent may be, if your sharpness is sheathed in ugliness, you may never get the chance to divide and conquer!
"...pleasure may be stolen, but love must be a gift."
From the most horrific rapist to the ineffective would-be romantic, may this truth reach the depths of the soul. To add to this aphorism would seem to me a most irreverent act, so I'll silently exit and allow the hush of its profundity to wash over the gentle reader...
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Listening Through The Ears Of Another
A curious thought has presented itself to me today after reading a fabulous post by Jeremy Abel. I read Jabel's (for that's what I call him) Mood Music yesterday just a half-hour after completing my own post that chronicled my previous twenty-four hours' worth of listening. I scanned his list and had a number of reactions. There were some works in his selections I didn't recognize, and was able to pass over quite easily. A few of his choices left me with serious feelings of disagreeableness, while still others resulted in my experiencing a palpable excitement as they recalled certain memories and affection. Having a day to think about it all, though, has brought screaming back to my mind an issue I'd faced many times in the arena of personal struggle, but always squelched before allowing it to be presented to others. Today, though, I think I'll let it go and see if I'm alone in hosting this strange sensation.
What I'm about to unveil is a hideous, dangerous beast, so gentle readers beware. This creature has for me remained unnamed because I can't think of a way to describe it, really, let alone tag it with some title. Okay, enough of that, I'll unleash my odd phenomena and let you decide for yourself what should be done to me.
It's strange, really, but I think I shall begin by suggesting a few scenarios in which I've sighted (or at least sensed the presence) of the monster. I've on more than one occasion acquired a new album that rocked my world and made me feel like all other music was, at least for the moment, rendered obsolete, and determined someone else should hear it immediately. I then have played it for the friend, or family member, or whoever happened to stumble past, only to have them begin talking about something altogether unrelated to the work just a matter of seconds after it began. The beast roared, and I felt anger, aggravation and disgust. How could they? I mean, this same music stopped me in my tracks to where moving past it would have required a lot of effort...which I'm not certain I could do. But the ones I played it for treated it with the utmost disdain. On other occasions similar things have happened, such as the listener walks out of the room, takes a phone call, puts in a different piece of music, etc. Terrible, huh? Actually, that's only half the battle, and not the worst part by far. More hideous than the shock of others not being nearly as impressed with the music I brought to them is my own lame inattention when others play music for me! I've tried to conquer this by attempting to find in the tune, or album, just exactly what created the attraction for them in the first place. This has helped immensely, but at times the effort is mightily laborious.
As I expose these feeling to you who read these lines, I sense an absolute inadequacy to get my point across. I'm only barely getting presented the frustration on the one hand, and the shame on the other. I've tried to prepare myself for both maddening events prior to facing them by silently anticipating my reactions, and deciding to act out the way I see as best. A mask over my true feelings, at best, though, is all I can accomplish. You see, what I think I want others to do is recognize that if I've taken the time and put forth the effort to introduce them to a work, I've only done so because I care for them on some level, and want them to experience the same euphoria I have at listening to it. Use it as a launching pad for a conversation, and find out why it means something to me. But when I'm the one being forced to hear a tune that I don't immediately fall in love with I have trouble focusing on what I'm hearing. You'd think in the former instances I'd be more understanding of others disinterest, and in the latter I'd be more appreciative of what I'm being asked to listen to. But, I must sadly admit, my two-headed monster gets the best of me more than I care to admit.
Strange, right? Well, here's the bombshell: I notice this mostly with my kids, and it spills over into other matters besides music. Many times my boys have wanted to read me a line, a page, or an entire book, and because the work is all too familiar to me or my interest level is low, I've only paid them a minimal attention. Several stories have been told to me by them in which (to me) inconsequential details were given extremely to much space, and I've found myself wishing they'd hurry. It also happens with video games, especially the ones I have difficulty appreciating (read: anything but NBA Live, Madden, or NCAA Football).
In my defense, though weak, I've slowly learned to force myself to become engrossed in every story, book, song, game, and conversation I'm presented with. I'm finding that the more I allow this temporary immersion in others' fascinations, the more lenient and tolerant I become of others when they don't get involved emotionally with mine. I almost feel a sadness for them because I know they must be fighting some rather nasty beasts while acting so disinterested. Or are they? Perhaps I'm the only one, and there's a clinical explanation for my madness. Even so, I'm determined to get as much as I can from every interaction, from my kids on to everyone else, and I sense I may someday find a complete understanding of my bafflement.
What I'm about to unveil is a hideous, dangerous beast, so gentle readers beware. This creature has for me remained unnamed because I can't think of a way to describe it, really, let alone tag it with some title. Okay, enough of that, I'll unleash my odd phenomena and let you decide for yourself what should be done to me.
It's strange, really, but I think I shall begin by suggesting a few scenarios in which I've sighted (or at least sensed the presence) of the monster. I've on more than one occasion acquired a new album that rocked my world and made me feel like all other music was, at least for the moment, rendered obsolete, and determined someone else should hear it immediately. I then have played it for the friend, or family member, or whoever happened to stumble past, only to have them begin talking about something altogether unrelated to the work just a matter of seconds after it began. The beast roared, and I felt anger, aggravation and disgust. How could they? I mean, this same music stopped me in my tracks to where moving past it would have required a lot of effort...which I'm not certain I could do. But the ones I played it for treated it with the utmost disdain. On other occasions similar things have happened, such as the listener walks out of the room, takes a phone call, puts in a different piece of music, etc. Terrible, huh? Actually, that's only half the battle, and not the worst part by far. More hideous than the shock of others not being nearly as impressed with the music I brought to them is my own lame inattention when others play music for me! I've tried to conquer this by attempting to find in the tune, or album, just exactly what created the attraction for them in the first place. This has helped immensely, but at times the effort is mightily laborious.
As I expose these feeling to you who read these lines, I sense an absolute inadequacy to get my point across. I'm only barely getting presented the frustration on the one hand, and the shame on the other. I've tried to prepare myself for both maddening events prior to facing them by silently anticipating my reactions, and deciding to act out the way I see as best. A mask over my true feelings, at best, though, is all I can accomplish. You see, what I think I want others to do is recognize that if I've taken the time and put forth the effort to introduce them to a work, I've only done so because I care for them on some level, and want them to experience the same euphoria I have at listening to it. Use it as a launching pad for a conversation, and find out why it means something to me. But when I'm the one being forced to hear a tune that I don't immediately fall in love with I have trouble focusing on what I'm hearing. You'd think in the former instances I'd be more understanding of others disinterest, and in the latter I'd be more appreciative of what I'm being asked to listen to. But, I must sadly admit, my two-headed monster gets the best of me more than I care to admit.
Strange, right? Well, here's the bombshell: I notice this mostly with my kids, and it spills over into other matters besides music. Many times my boys have wanted to read me a line, a page, or an entire book, and because the work is all too familiar to me or my interest level is low, I've only paid them a minimal attention. Several stories have been told to me by them in which (to me) inconsequential details were given extremely to much space, and I've found myself wishing they'd hurry. It also happens with video games, especially the ones I have difficulty appreciating (read: anything but NBA Live, Madden, or NCAA Football).
In my defense, though weak, I've slowly learned to force myself to become engrossed in every story, book, song, game, and conversation I'm presented with. I'm finding that the more I allow this temporary immersion in others' fascinations, the more lenient and tolerant I become of others when they don't get involved emotionally with mine. I almost feel a sadness for them because I know they must be fighting some rather nasty beasts while acting so disinterested. Or are they? Perhaps I'm the only one, and there's a clinical explanation for my madness. Even so, I'm determined to get as much as I can from every interaction, from my kids on to everyone else, and I sense I may someday find a complete understanding of my bafflement.
One Stop Shop
Several years ago my grandpa Weddle told me of a fascinating website that I swear I've used more than any other since being introduced to it. If anyone knows of a comparable site, I'd love to compare.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Music Log 10-21-05
Music is a daily trip into an enchanted forest which, if I navigate the right paths, provides just the funk I need to traverse the highways and by-ways of life. Today has been another day in which I meandered down several different paths, and at the close of it all I'm looking back on my choices with much satisfaction.
I started late last night with System Of A Down shuffled on my DJ and continued through the morning and afternoon thus. The phrenetic pace and apparent thoughtless lyrics served my mood quite well. From Jet Pilot and its' insane line "Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilot, one that smiled when he flew over the bay...", to the snicker near the end of DDevil, and on through the thought provoking Aerials, the progression of the varying tunes and truths is fascinating. I'll admit, SOAD isn't for the faint of heart, but for those willing to "lose small mind" it's a journey well worth taking.
Midway through the day I launched my first Christmas tunes of the year for some pre-season warm-ups. (Hey, they have pre-season in the NBA, NFL, MLB and even pre-K for 4-5 year olds headin' to big kids' school, so why not one for Christmas?) I usually start on October 1, so I'm a bit behind this year, but I can't say I've missed it. That's not to say I like Christmas music less, it's just that I've had other things to entertain me, like the Howie Day album Stop All The World Now. Damn! That's a real treat to listen to, and is soul-gripping at times.
I got to drive a bit with my yahoo's and we jammed a bit to Avalon's eponymous 1st album, on which my oldest son, Boston, digs Give It Up. I hadn't heard this one for a while (I've listened to some of their newer stuff recently, but not this one) so I enjoyed revisiting a staple from days gone by. This Love was the first song of theirs I remember hearing, and the record The Greatest Story is a terrific one to say the least.
But as I've started wrapping up my day in my mobile office (location top secret), I've been soothed by channel 60 on Sirius Satellite Radio. Its name is New Country and used to be number 31 (which sounds a lot sexier than 60, but I digress), and lives up to that moniker. As I type this I'm hearing Keith Urban sing You'll Think Of Me and am about ready to get the boots out of the closet. Okay, I don't have any boots, or a big belt buckle, or a four-wheel drive truck, but I do like KU anyway. I've been serenaded by Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, Toby Keith, Alan Jackson, Rascal Flatts and others, and my day is now complete.
Well, that does it for today's musical gallivanting so I'll fade out with my revelling for now... Peace.
I started late last night with System Of A Down shuffled on my DJ and continued through the morning and afternoon thus. The phrenetic pace and apparent thoughtless lyrics served my mood quite well. From Jet Pilot and its' insane line "Wired were the eyes of a horse on a jet pilot, one that smiled when he flew over the bay...", to the snicker near the end of DDevil, and on through the thought provoking Aerials, the progression of the varying tunes and truths is fascinating. I'll admit, SOAD isn't for the faint of heart, but for those willing to "lose small mind" it's a journey well worth taking.
Midway through the day I launched my first Christmas tunes of the year for some pre-season warm-ups. (Hey, they have pre-season in the NBA, NFL, MLB and even pre-K for 4-5 year olds headin' to big kids' school, so why not one for Christmas?) I usually start on October 1, so I'm a bit behind this year, but I can't say I've missed it. That's not to say I like Christmas music less, it's just that I've had other things to entertain me, like the Howie Day album Stop All The World Now. Damn! That's a real treat to listen to, and is soul-gripping at times.
I got to drive a bit with my yahoo's and we jammed a bit to Avalon's eponymous 1st album, on which my oldest son, Boston, digs Give It Up. I hadn't heard this one for a while (I've listened to some of their newer stuff recently, but not this one) so I enjoyed revisiting a staple from days gone by. This Love was the first song of theirs I remember hearing, and the record The Greatest Story is a terrific one to say the least.
But as I've started wrapping up my day in my mobile office (location top secret), I've been soothed by channel 60 on Sirius Satellite Radio. Its name is New Country and used to be number 31 (which sounds a lot sexier than 60, but I digress), and lives up to that moniker. As I type this I'm hearing Keith Urban sing You'll Think Of Me and am about ready to get the boots out of the closet. Okay, I don't have any boots, or a big belt buckle, or a four-wheel drive truck, but I do like KU anyway. I've been serenaded by Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, Toby Keith, Alan Jackson, Rascal Flatts and others, and my day is now complete.
Well, that does it for today's musical gallivanting so I'll fade out with my revelling for now... Peace.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
A Snazzy Wilma Pic
I saw this today on my news site and thought it was cool enough to post. It is credited to Daniel Aguilar/ Reuters. Pictures like this speak to me of how often there is such fascinating beauty in the disastrous.
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