Reggaeton: An urban form of music that blends Jamaican musical influences of dancehall, and Trinidadian soca with those of Latin America, such as salsa, bomba, Latin hip hop, and electronica.
I'm not positive it was Reggaeton that I heard Saturday night, as my band was trying to do a show in Branford. I do know this:
1: I literally felt like someone was hitting my stomach and head with a hammer. Hard to sing or play keyboards that way.
2: It was coming from a private birthday party literally in the same venue...on the other side of the cashier.
3: I asked the DJ to turn it down, so we could at least perform for, as it turned out, quite a few people.
4: The DJ turned it down fractionally, if at all.
5: I couldn't focus on our show. Neither could my bandmates, as far as I could tell. But being troopers, we went on. We do a really neat medley of songs from Abbey Road (Golden Slumbers, Carry That Weight, The End). If you know them, you know much of it is pretty soft. We always close with it and get a nice round of applause. It's a sort of showcase for our drummer, Rob, who does the lead vocals as well as the iconic Ringo drum solo. It's rapidly becoming our signature work. Well, we did close with it, for the dozen or so people remaining. Everyone else left early because, presumably, they couldn't hear themselves think, let alone our music.
I like to think I've got a reasonably healthy attitude about our band. That is, we work very hard to put on the best show we can. I take the music very seriously. But I don't take us as a band, nor myself in particular, nearly as seriously. We're a cover band, like hundreds of others just in CT alone. We're not looking for Grammies. We don't pretend to be the Beatles reincarnated. All we want to do is put on a good show, make people happy, get them dancing, and preferably get reasonably compensated. I happen to think, objectively, that we DO put on a good show. We're a six person band (5 men, 1 woman) and we all sing, do harmonies, and play various instruments. We're probably not session quality musicians but we know what we're doing. We like each other and it generally shows when we play out. We have a small but growing following.
But Saturday night, no one could tell how we sounded. Because no one could hear us. Which raises a number of questions:
1: Who was responsible for scheduling a deafening birthday party literally 20 feet away under the same roof? Answer: The club manager. Club managers, and/or restaurant owners, frankly, aren't known for being highly ethical. Or compassionate. Or giving a rat's ass about the quality of music. They often have trouble making the connection that if you treat musicians with respect, you get better music. And...better music = more people. More people = more consumption. More consumption = more money.
2: What do we, as a band, do about this? What do I, not being the frontman, do in particular? Answer: I do nothing other than my foray to the other party. Our frontman, John, curtails our show, correctly. He then talked to the manager and explained what happened. I'm told the owner/manager was very apologetic and even upped our pay. I suspect a drove of complaints from our audience helped. He paid John via check and as I write this, based on years of experience, am nervous whether the check will clear. The owner has some investments here so probably won't vanish into thin air.
I give John high marks for handling this the right way, especially given his, and our, mood. I wouldn't have handled it as well.
3: On a wider level, did anyone care in the least that we were being drowned out? Answer: For the birthday party, no. For the owner, also...no. Until he got an earful and realized he was losing money.
I'm not very proud of myself. I like to think of myself as tolerant and not someone prone to stereotyping. But mentally, I was fighting it. ("Why can't they speak English?" "Why are they being so rude?" "Do they have any idea, or care, that they're disrupting a show?" Even a brief, "They're all like that", even though my experience is that nothing could be further from the truth. The overwhelming majority of Hispanic people I've met over the years are exactly the opposite).
The birthday party, I'm told, was not Puerto Rican. Which is where reggaeton originated and is most popular. I was told that the party was, in fact, Ecuadoran.
I wanted so much to just let it be, accept the moment and find something humorous in all of it. I could not. Some people tried to cheer me up, something that no one should ever try to do with me. I find "cheering someone up", albeit well intended, actually disrespectful. It's something I don't do with anyone else. If I'm pissed, let me work through it. Ask me questions if you like, but don't play Annie "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow" with me.
On a larger level, I find myself repeatedly, as I get older, craving silence. We seem to be addicted to volume. The louder, the better, I suppose. Loud music, loud politicians, comedians, celebrities. Odd...even in college, I wasn't that way. I remember wanting to walk out of loud clubs. While everyone was into Led Zeppelin, I was into the Moody Blues. While my friends liked Procol Harum/Robin Trower, I was into Procol Harum/Gary Brooker. I was (and still am) OK with loud music on occasion as long as it's rhythmic and not assaultive.
Which leads to 2 rules I'd enact if I was POTUS or dictator. (The two are rapidly becoming the same. But that's another blog).
1: As mentioned numerous times in earlier blogs, it's time for a national STHU (Shut the Hell Up) day. We start out with 15 minutes of silence. It's not a religious thing, although if you're the type to pray, this would be a good time to do it. But all internet servers down. All TV's off. Radios, smartphones, billboards...all off. Most of all, just be quiet. Please. Tell someone you love them if you like. Other than that, please just STHU. Maybe we can eventually build to an entire day. And then make it a worldwide thing. Can you imagine? The whole world quiet for, hell, even 30 minutes? How cool (and healing) would that be? "Imagine there's no volume." I think John Lennon would approve.
2: It's time to simplify our legal system. No more labyrinth judicial systems. Felonies, misdemeanors, etc. From now on, we just have 3 levels of being an asshole. We have minor assholes, major assholes, and hopeless assholes. A jury can decide on the level. When proclaiming sentence, they can collectively say, "You're a (adjective) asshole." And the convicted can go to asshole jail. We can keep an asshole database, so if it's a first offense, it can be noted but maybe we can let the asshole walk. Because, let's face it, we've all been assholes at some point in our lives. Numerous times, most likely. So we can be allowed a few priors before imprisonment.
I begin with club owners. And then anyone who chooses to be obnoxious. Throw 'em in minor asshole jail. And crank up the reggaeton to maximum volume. Follow it with Celine Dion. That'll change anybody.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Sloooooow Dooooowwwwnnnn
The title refers to a classic bit from the great sitcom Taxi, back in the late 70's. I can't possibly do justice to it in a blog, but here's the link. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvn-tBeLpCk
In the top 5 for the funniest scenes in sitcom history. Might want to start at the 4 minute mark. That's where it gets good.
I only mention this because "slow down" is becoming a mantra. It can't be this easy, and I know it's not. But every time I get in trouble, it's in some way related to the world speeding up on me. Saying something stupid, not listening carefully enough, losing my temper, even being stopped by a cop, as was the case 3 weeks ago. I was going 57 in a 45 mph zone. And the cop was actually tailgating me, probably entrapping me into speeding up. I fell for it.
Should I ever be stopped again, I have a strategy, which I didn't need to use this time, as I got off with a warning. I plan on saying to the officer, "Officer, if I can tell you the funniest joke you've ever heard, will you let me go with a warning?" I actually have two in mind, one more or less about sex and the other more or less about religion. I plan on giving the officer a choice, thinking that'll be more likely to entice him.
But, back to the main subject. Seems that illegally speeding should be a signal to me to slow everything down. The thing about all this though is that it's not logical. How is it possible to do more when I slow down? Yet, it seems to be true. Add to it that I may have an anxiety disorder. Not officially, but if my mind was a car, I wouldn't be allowed on the road. I refer to this as "mental NASCAR." And I'm the Richard Petty of it.
Somehow, this ties into something spiritual. But I don't think I can write about it, as I just don't understand it. But I do know this...if I was president, I'd encourage slowing down any chance I got. This includes a subject I've blogged about before...silence. I'd suggest we have a national STHU day. (Shut the Hell Up). My real name for it is STFU day but that may be offensive to some.
When I'm racing, I'm not in the moment. I'm jumping ahead of myself, foreseeing a future that probably won't happen. And analyzing a past that's already been analyzed to death.
One really helpful Rx for this, for me, is simply breathing. I can't believe how helpful it's been for me to simply take a series of slow, deep breaths. I start at 10 and count down. But if I'm feeling really stressed, I'll start at 20.
I also can sing my way through my high-speed zones. And with the warmer weather, biking too has been tremendously helpful. But in the end, it's becoming a question of simply slowing down. Or, as the good Reverend Jim might say...
"Whaaaaaat's ................A...................Yehhhhhlllllllow..................Liiiiiiight.............Meeeeeeeeeeen?"
In the top 5 for the funniest scenes in sitcom history. Might want to start at the 4 minute mark. That's where it gets good.
I only mention this because "slow down" is becoming a mantra. It can't be this easy, and I know it's not. But every time I get in trouble, it's in some way related to the world speeding up on me. Saying something stupid, not listening carefully enough, losing my temper, even being stopped by a cop, as was the case 3 weeks ago. I was going 57 in a 45 mph zone. And the cop was actually tailgating me, probably entrapping me into speeding up. I fell for it.
Should I ever be stopped again, I have a strategy, which I didn't need to use this time, as I got off with a warning. I plan on saying to the officer, "Officer, if I can tell you the funniest joke you've ever heard, will you let me go with a warning?" I actually have two in mind, one more or less about sex and the other more or less about religion. I plan on giving the officer a choice, thinking that'll be more likely to entice him.
But, back to the main subject. Seems that illegally speeding should be a signal to me to slow everything down. The thing about all this though is that it's not logical. How is it possible to do more when I slow down? Yet, it seems to be true. Add to it that I may have an anxiety disorder. Not officially, but if my mind was a car, I wouldn't be allowed on the road. I refer to this as "mental NASCAR." And I'm the Richard Petty of it.
Somehow, this ties into something spiritual. But I don't think I can write about it, as I just don't understand it. But I do know this...if I was president, I'd encourage slowing down any chance I got. This includes a subject I've blogged about before...silence. I'd suggest we have a national STHU day. (Shut the Hell Up). My real name for it is STFU day but that may be offensive to some.
When I'm racing, I'm not in the moment. I'm jumping ahead of myself, foreseeing a future that probably won't happen. And analyzing a past that's already been analyzed to death.
One really helpful Rx for this, for me, is simply breathing. I can't believe how helpful it's been for me to simply take a series of slow, deep breaths. I start at 10 and count down. But if I'm feeling really stressed, I'll start at 20.
I also can sing my way through my high-speed zones. And with the warmer weather, biking too has been tremendously helpful. But in the end, it's becoming a question of simply slowing down. Or, as the good Reverend Jim might say...
"Whaaaaaat's ................A...................Yehhhhhlllllllow..................Liiiiiiight.............Meeeeeeeeeeen?"
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Jobs
Before the main topic, one more thing about the weather. We just finished a spell of weather unlike anything I can remember in the northeast. Temps probably 25 degrees below normal. And snow in northern New England. I've NEVER heard of snow this late in the year in these parts. Not even at the highest elevations. I don't know what to think about global warming. Or even global change. There's been more bizarre weather in the last year than I can remember. I truly don't know what to make of it.
OK, on to the main topic. The "J" word. I don't have a full time one at the moment. My two closest buddies have had major events happen in the last few weeks. One just got a full time job in what sounds like a perfect match for his skills. He's 61. Another just lost his, after many years. And he'll be turning 60 later this year.
I don't know what to make of it either (my phrase for the blog, I guess). On the hopeful side, one can say that there's always a shot, regardless of age. On the down side, one could say that a job is never safe. And I know from personal experience about how hard it is to find work in middle age. I know that if I'm the one making hiring decisions, do I hire someone healthy, fresh out of college who might stick around for awhile? Or do I hire someone middle age who probably has health issues and will probably only stick around for a short while? Oh, and is probably expecting a higher salary based on their history?
Pretty easy decision.
Which leads me to where I'm at. I start school in late August. I'm so thrilled and grateful that words cannot do justice. I'm incredibly lucky to have a family member (my uncle) who is footing my bill. Without him, it would be next to impossible to do this. Until late August, I'm essentially in the same boat as my buddy who lost his job. I'm supposed to be teaching as an adjunct professor in a few weeks but for both courses, the enrollment is very low and I wouldn't be surprised if each course got cancelled. I essentially have no other income and am trying to be as inventive and open minded as I can. I'll get by one way or another. Even if I can't find anything, I'm still way more fortunate than so many other people.
I'll do whatever it takes. I've already gone literally door to door in areas of high concentration professional industries with resume in hand. Most of the time, I've been treated as if I was an insect, to be shooed away like any other annoyance. It doesn't particularly bother me, but that's only because I'm expecting this reaction and am mentally prepared for it. But as a society, I don't know the answer. The numbers suck. Baby boomers sucking up society's resources. Especially when we're unemployed. Corporations with more and more operations overseas. Why? Because a CEO answers to the stockholders. Which means profits, as close to the edge of illegal as possible without hopefully crossing the lines. That means tax havens, cheap labor, all the other things that are destroying our economy. And completely legally.
I don't have any answers for society. I think I favor a flat tax, which I do think will encourage employers to keep jobs stateside. But I don't know enough about it nor do I think that it would be a panacea.
As for me, all I can do is to do the footwork and to be as open minded and as inventive as possible.
It does seem that every success I've ever had has been counter intuitive. That is, good things happen not only when I least expect them, but also when I'm not pushing things and stressing out. Last year at this time, I was wondering how I could make it through the summer. Out of the blue, I got a call from a recruiting agency. They didn't even have my most recent address. They offered me a 3 week consulting gig which provided a good chunk of my summer income.
I close with a list of the things that help me:
1: Noticing beauty and contentment. Yesterday, my girlfriend and I were at a picnic. A lot of the people there were in recovery. I could have done a much better job of just appreciating their journeys. I did not. My girlfriend alluded to this...not directly. But the lesson was learned. And supplemented when, later on, we were driving by a local beach and saw so many kids just having a great time, eating, playing. It was Memorial Day. And I thought about our veterans, and how lucky we are to be living in America, despite our problems and the rigged system that I alluded to above.
2: Being grateful for what I have. (I keep an alphabetical list)
3: Finding humor.
4: Listening to my inner voice. Which often tells me to slow my mind down.
5: Forgiving myself for my past, and even current screwups.
Thanks for reading.
OK, on to the main topic. The "J" word. I don't have a full time one at the moment. My two closest buddies have had major events happen in the last few weeks. One just got a full time job in what sounds like a perfect match for his skills. He's 61. Another just lost his, after many years. And he'll be turning 60 later this year.
I don't know what to make of it either (my phrase for the blog, I guess). On the hopeful side, one can say that there's always a shot, regardless of age. On the down side, one could say that a job is never safe. And I know from personal experience about how hard it is to find work in middle age. I know that if I'm the one making hiring decisions, do I hire someone healthy, fresh out of college who might stick around for awhile? Or do I hire someone middle age who probably has health issues and will probably only stick around for a short while? Oh, and is probably expecting a higher salary based on their history?
Pretty easy decision.
Which leads me to where I'm at. I start school in late August. I'm so thrilled and grateful that words cannot do justice. I'm incredibly lucky to have a family member (my uncle) who is footing my bill. Without him, it would be next to impossible to do this. Until late August, I'm essentially in the same boat as my buddy who lost his job. I'm supposed to be teaching as an adjunct professor in a few weeks but for both courses, the enrollment is very low and I wouldn't be surprised if each course got cancelled. I essentially have no other income and am trying to be as inventive and open minded as I can. I'll get by one way or another. Even if I can't find anything, I'm still way more fortunate than so many other people.
I'll do whatever it takes. I've already gone literally door to door in areas of high concentration professional industries with resume in hand. Most of the time, I've been treated as if I was an insect, to be shooed away like any other annoyance. It doesn't particularly bother me, but that's only because I'm expecting this reaction and am mentally prepared for it. But as a society, I don't know the answer. The numbers suck. Baby boomers sucking up society's resources. Especially when we're unemployed. Corporations with more and more operations overseas. Why? Because a CEO answers to the stockholders. Which means profits, as close to the edge of illegal as possible without hopefully crossing the lines. That means tax havens, cheap labor, all the other things that are destroying our economy. And completely legally.
I don't have any answers for society. I think I favor a flat tax, which I do think will encourage employers to keep jobs stateside. But I don't know enough about it nor do I think that it would be a panacea.
As for me, all I can do is to do the footwork and to be as open minded and as inventive as possible.
It does seem that every success I've ever had has been counter intuitive. That is, good things happen not only when I least expect them, but also when I'm not pushing things and stressing out. Last year at this time, I was wondering how I could make it through the summer. Out of the blue, I got a call from a recruiting agency. They didn't even have my most recent address. They offered me a 3 week consulting gig which provided a good chunk of my summer income.
I close with a list of the things that help me:
1: Noticing beauty and contentment. Yesterday, my girlfriend and I were at a picnic. A lot of the people there were in recovery. I could have done a much better job of just appreciating their journeys. I did not. My girlfriend alluded to this...not directly. But the lesson was learned. And supplemented when, later on, we were driving by a local beach and saw so many kids just having a great time, eating, playing. It was Memorial Day. And I thought about our veterans, and how lucky we are to be living in America, despite our problems and the rigged system that I alluded to above.
2: Being grateful for what I have. (I keep an alphabetical list)
3: Finding humor.
4: Listening to my inner voice. Which often tells me to slow my mind down.
5: Forgiving myself for my past, and even current screwups.
Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Tornadoes
It's one thing to be a weather freak. In this area, I proudly let my freak flag fly. I loved the movie "Twister", even though it was a bit Hollywood-ish. But I've fantasized about being a tornado chaser. When I was in college, I did research on tornadoes. Like many, my first
exposure of any kind was via Dorothy and Toto. I've been hooked on them
ever since.
But it's another thing to be on the receiving end of one. Especially when it's an F4 tornado.
Tornadoes are as American as apple pie. Over 80% of the world's tornadoes occur in the USA.
I've never encountered a tornado up close and personal. I've come close. In July '89, a tornado in the New Haven CT area demolished part of a nearby neighborhood. 9 years later, April '98, tornadoes tore through my locale of Nashville, destroying part of downtown.
It's amazing how little we know about them. We don't know entirely why they form (although we do know how). We can't accurately predict its path, intensity, or even when they'll form, where they'll touch down, or how long they'll stay on the ground.
All this is a roundabout way of saying that I'm equally saddened and astounded at the devastation in Moore, OK yesterday. This wasn't your average tornado. It was an F4 or even an F5, F5 being a tornado with maximum devastation. It was also a mile wide; enormous compared to the normal 1/4 mile girth. In fact, an F5 tore through Moore 14 years ago, clocking the highest wind in recorded history, 303 mph.
Yesterday's tornado killed at least 51 people. Almost certainly a higher count by week's end. 2 schools leveled. Lives literally uprooted.
In a way, it's part of life in tornado alley. There are sirens, shelters, and the highest tornado awareness anywhere in the world. But how can anyone prepare for such an event? Especially when it's a monster?
I go back and forth on global warming, or change, or whatever the scientifically correct term is. Having studied meteorology, I'm surprised that I'm this ambivalent. But we've just gone through a brutally cold winter, and a cold spring so far. Not much in the way of warming. I'm not sure how to define climate change. Isn't the climate always changing? I have a close friend in California who denies such a thing exists. He acknowledges the extremes of the last 10 years but believes it's part of a larger, natural, cycle. He may be right.
On the other hand, we've had superstorms, super-tornadoes, record droughts in the midwest, a record blizzard in February, and other extremes, never seen before. This seems like a lot more than coincidence.
At times like these, God gets mentioned in a variety of ways. How could God allow this? Why would God-fearing (whatever that means) people be struck twice? What is God's plan?
I have very little patience for questions like these. The God that I believe in tells me to just stay open, pay attention, and take care of those less fortunate. I want to stay open to real suffering like this. I want to feel a healthy sadness and to try to remember to be thankful for what I do have and to put my petty annoyances in perspective. I've been in a mini-hissy fit all afternoon because the power washer that I rented had 2 bad washers and a defective shut-off mechanism. Two articles in USA Today on the twister and I found the perspective. Oh, and the job got done.
I want to fully appreciate the incredible heroism that must have taken place yesterday. Children being rescued by complete strangers. Families separated and reunited. Pets being saved. I want to be present with every single person affected by this beast of a storm. I'd like us all to remember, as we're reminded for the umpteenth time, that we're all in this together.
Someday...
But it's another thing to be on the receiving end of one. Especially when it's an F4 tornado.
Tornadoes are as American as apple pie. Over 80% of the world's tornadoes occur in the USA.
I've never encountered a tornado up close and personal. I've come close. In July '89, a tornado in the New Haven CT area demolished part of a nearby neighborhood. 9 years later, April '98, tornadoes tore through my locale of Nashville, destroying part of downtown.
It's amazing how little we know about them. We don't know entirely why they form (although we do know how). We can't accurately predict its path, intensity, or even when they'll form, where they'll touch down, or how long they'll stay on the ground.
All this is a roundabout way of saying that I'm equally saddened and astounded at the devastation in Moore, OK yesterday. This wasn't your average tornado. It was an F4 or even an F5, F5 being a tornado with maximum devastation. It was also a mile wide; enormous compared to the normal 1/4 mile girth. In fact, an F5 tore through Moore 14 years ago, clocking the highest wind in recorded history, 303 mph.
Yesterday's tornado killed at least 51 people. Almost certainly a higher count by week's end. 2 schools leveled. Lives literally uprooted.
In a way, it's part of life in tornado alley. There are sirens, shelters, and the highest tornado awareness anywhere in the world. But how can anyone prepare for such an event? Especially when it's a monster?
I go back and forth on global warming, or change, or whatever the scientifically correct term is. Having studied meteorology, I'm surprised that I'm this ambivalent. But we've just gone through a brutally cold winter, and a cold spring so far. Not much in the way of warming. I'm not sure how to define climate change. Isn't the climate always changing? I have a close friend in California who denies such a thing exists. He acknowledges the extremes of the last 10 years but believes it's part of a larger, natural, cycle. He may be right.
On the other hand, we've had superstorms, super-tornadoes, record droughts in the midwest, a record blizzard in February, and other extremes, never seen before. This seems like a lot more than coincidence.
At times like these, God gets mentioned in a variety of ways. How could God allow this? Why would God-fearing (whatever that means) people be struck twice? What is God's plan?
I have very little patience for questions like these. The God that I believe in tells me to just stay open, pay attention, and take care of those less fortunate. I want to stay open to real suffering like this. I want to feel a healthy sadness and to try to remember to be thankful for what I do have and to put my petty annoyances in perspective. I've been in a mini-hissy fit all afternoon because the power washer that I rented had 2 bad washers and a defective shut-off mechanism. Two articles in USA Today on the twister and I found the perspective. Oh, and the job got done.
I want to fully appreciate the incredible heroism that must have taken place yesterday. Children being rescued by complete strangers. Families separated and reunited. Pets being saved. I want to be present with every single person affected by this beast of a storm. I'd like us all to remember, as we're reminded for the umpteenth time, that we're all in this together.
Someday...
Monday, May 13, 2013
The year of spending dangerously
First, a small update. Last week's blog sat in draft until a few minutes ago. Now published.
So, in what seems like an ethnic irony, I don't fit my stereotype. I'm like the clownfish in Finding Nemo, who's not very funny. Or like a person of color who's not athletic, an Asian who's not good at math, I'm an ethnic Jew who doesn't understand money. (Just to say this explicitly, I think all of these stereotypes are ridiculous...but they DO exist...Except for the clownfish. They're generally hilarious. And tasty, I might add.)
It wasn't always this way. I was always interested in how money works but I've never been self-disciplined enough to follow the path to wealth. And I admire those who do. I'm learning little by little but I'm 57 and it's getting late.
Thus, we come to our current year of 2013. A year in which the following happens, or has happened:
January: My son turned 25
February: My brother turned 60
March: My nephew turned 20
April: My uncle turned 80
May: Well...nothing. But it IS Mother's Day and I wanted to do something nice for GWCTRA.
June: I get a breather. (And I expect to be treated like a king for Father's Day. Hey...I've earned it)
July: My good friend Andy has a landmark. (I don't know if he wants me to say any more)
August: Another good friend, Andy's wife Diane also has a landmark. (And I REALLY don't know if she'd appreciate me saying any more)
September: My brother and sister in law celebrate their 25th anniversary.
October: GWCTRA has a birthday. Not a landmark, but it IS my 1st since we've met.
November: Speaking of which, GWCTRA and I celebrate our 1st anniversary, assuming she hasn't kicked my butt out the door before then.
December: It's MY birthday. And again, I expect everyone to be very, very, nice to me. Besides, it's now the holidays. Let me say up front...I'll be too broke to get you anything.
What kind of family planning is this? Didn't anyone central in my life consider how much this will cost me? And in 5 years, assuming I'm not in debtors prison, I'll have to do it all over again.
So, if you don't have any special occasions that began in a year ending in a 3 or an 8, give me a call. I'm sure this can be the start of a beautiful friendship. If you ARE in the "3" or "8" club, give me a call too. Just don't expect anything from me.
So, in what seems like an ethnic irony, I don't fit my stereotype. I'm like the clownfish in Finding Nemo, who's not very funny. Or like a person of color who's not athletic, an Asian who's not good at math, I'm an ethnic Jew who doesn't understand money. (Just to say this explicitly, I think all of these stereotypes are ridiculous...but they DO exist...Except for the clownfish. They're generally hilarious. And tasty, I might add.)
It wasn't always this way. I was always interested in how money works but I've never been self-disciplined enough to follow the path to wealth. And I admire those who do. I'm learning little by little but I'm 57 and it's getting late.
Thus, we come to our current year of 2013. A year in which the following happens, or has happened:
January: My son turned 25
February: My brother turned 60
March: My nephew turned 20
April: My uncle turned 80
May: Well...nothing. But it IS Mother's Day and I wanted to do something nice for GWCTRA.
June: I get a breather. (And I expect to be treated like a king for Father's Day. Hey...I've earned it)
July: My good friend Andy has a landmark. (I don't know if he wants me to say any more)
August: Another good friend, Andy's wife Diane also has a landmark. (And I REALLY don't know if she'd appreciate me saying any more)
September: My brother and sister in law celebrate their 25th anniversary.
October: GWCTRA has a birthday. Not a landmark, but it IS my 1st since we've met.
November: Speaking of which, GWCTRA and I celebrate our 1st anniversary, assuming she hasn't kicked my butt out the door before then.
December: It's MY birthday. And again, I expect everyone to be very, very, nice to me. Besides, it's now the holidays. Let me say up front...I'll be too broke to get you anything.
What kind of family planning is this? Didn't anyone central in my life consider how much this will cost me? And in 5 years, assuming I'm not in debtors prison, I'll have to do it all over again.
So, if you don't have any special occasions that began in a year ending in a 3 or an 8, give me a call. I'm sure this can be the start of a beautiful friendship. If you ARE in the "3" or "8" club, give me a call too. Just don't expect anything from me.
Let's hear it for catchers
First off, a shoutout to Mr. Germain. He was my Little League coach and a good guy. There I was, 10 years old, playing 2B with a mitt too small, and talent even smaller. At least as a second baseman. He saw this pudgy kid and said, "I think you might work out as catcher."
So, I put on the "tools of ignorance", aka the chest protector, the mask, the outsized (and outdated) catcher's glove, (the kind that was circular with a pocket in the middle), the shin pads, and off I went behind the plate. Catching Gene Bentz, the hardest thrower in little league. Easy job. All I had to worry about were foul tips, of which there were many.
I hated being a catcher at first. Up and down on every pitch. Putting on the gear and taking it off every inning, often in 80+ degree heat. But after a few innings, something happened. I really got into it. I loved thinking with the pitcher and the batter. Playing chess, except it was on a baseball field. It's the most demanding position in baseball. In fact, it's the most demanding position in any sport I can think of. What position in any sport calls for so many different skills? As a catcher, you need to:
It's no surprise that there are more ex-catchers as managers than any other position. Catchers are psychologists. So perhaps it's no surprise that I'm going into the social work profession, looking to become a therapist. Maybe it all began on the Little League diamond. Which, by the way, wasn't a diamond. They didn't have foul lines nor fences. So it wasn't so much a baseball diamond. More like a baseball polygon of some kind. I remember one of the rare times I got hold of a pitch and jacked it down the left field line. Umpire called it foul. There was no way he could see it clearly. Hell, there weren't any chalk lines to work off of. But I saw that ball. And it was fair, I still say.
Not only that, we were officially in the minor leagues. We were the Cubs, with little "Cub-like" jerseys and caps, in Cub blue. If you made it to the next level, you got the whole uniform thing. Pants with stirrups, cleated shoes, and much cooler jerseys and caps.
I never made it to the Little League "majors". Tried a few times but got cut each time. My brother, on the other hand, was really good. Played 1B and could hit for serious power. He was a Cincinnati Red, as I recall. I was way jealous of his uni. Still, the pain of being cut lasted only a day or two. As long as I could catch and be such a central part of the game, I was OK with it. And as a chubby 10 year old, I found the perfect position. Slow as molasses? No problem. A little overweight? Put on those tools, baby. Considered brainy in school? Squat down behind home plate, my man.
Catchers today are chiseled. I don't think pudgy catchers could make it to the pros. Some catchers of note:
1: Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez, possibly the greatest all around catcher who ever played, wasn't pudgy. He had the greatest arm of any catcher I've ever seen. And was a phenomenal clutch hitter.
2: The Braves have a catcher, Evan Gattis, who could be an NFL linebacker. Absolutely the most menacing looking catcher I've ever seen.
3: Craig Biggio, who played all of his 20 years with the Houston Astros, started at catcher but was moved to 2B to preserve his knees, as he was the only catcher who was jackrabbit fast. He'll be almost certainly going into the Hall of Fame next year, his first year of eligibility.
4: Jerry Grote played his glory years with my NY Mets, catching the 1969 staff of Tom Seaver, et al. Grote wasn't great offensively but he called a great game and had a great arm.
5: Johnny Bench, considered by most to be the greatest catcher of all time, redefined the position on both offense and defense.
Catchers: They rock.
So, I put on the "tools of ignorance", aka the chest protector, the mask, the outsized (and outdated) catcher's glove, (the kind that was circular with a pocket in the middle), the shin pads, and off I went behind the plate. Catching Gene Bentz, the hardest thrower in little league. Easy job. All I had to worry about were foul tips, of which there were many.
I hated being a catcher at first. Up and down on every pitch. Putting on the gear and taking it off every inning, often in 80+ degree heat. But after a few innings, something happened. I really got into it. I loved thinking with the pitcher and the batter. Playing chess, except it was on a baseball field. It's the most demanding position in baseball. In fact, it's the most demanding position in any sport I can think of. What position in any sport calls for so many different skills? As a catcher, you need to:
- Hit, preferably for power but at least for average (I did neither, although I did have an ability to make contact and use the entire field)
- Have a good arm. (That, I did)
- Make sure the fielders are position properly. (I was pretty good at that too, actually)
- "Working" the umpire so you get the close calls. This calls for diplomacy, debating skills, and a bit of chicanery, such as framing a borderline pitch as a strike by how you position your glove. (Irrelevant in Little League. The umpires have absolute power.)
- And #1...work with the pitcher. That means calling the right pitches and knowing your pitcher. Is he laid back? Intense? Is he working too slowly? Too fast? (This was what I loved to do and what I did best, although Bentz was like Bob Gibson. Just let him pitch and don't even think of interrupting his rhythm.)
- Oh, and to do all these things while squatting down for half the game. If you catch 9 innings, you're probably catching around 120 pitches or so. So you're squatting/rising 120 times, perhaps 140 times a year if you're a starting catcher. How many people can do all this?
It's no surprise that there are more ex-catchers as managers than any other position. Catchers are psychologists. So perhaps it's no surprise that I'm going into the social work profession, looking to become a therapist. Maybe it all began on the Little League diamond. Which, by the way, wasn't a diamond. They didn't have foul lines nor fences. So it wasn't so much a baseball diamond. More like a baseball polygon of some kind. I remember one of the rare times I got hold of a pitch and jacked it down the left field line. Umpire called it foul. There was no way he could see it clearly. Hell, there weren't any chalk lines to work off of. But I saw that ball. And it was fair, I still say.
Not only that, we were officially in the minor leagues. We were the Cubs, with little "Cub-like" jerseys and caps, in Cub blue. If you made it to the next level, you got the whole uniform thing. Pants with stirrups, cleated shoes, and much cooler jerseys and caps.
I never made it to the Little League "majors". Tried a few times but got cut each time. My brother, on the other hand, was really good. Played 1B and could hit for serious power. He was a Cincinnati Red, as I recall. I was way jealous of his uni. Still, the pain of being cut lasted only a day or two. As long as I could catch and be such a central part of the game, I was OK with it. And as a chubby 10 year old, I found the perfect position. Slow as molasses? No problem. A little overweight? Put on those tools, baby. Considered brainy in school? Squat down behind home plate, my man.
Catchers today are chiseled. I don't think pudgy catchers could make it to the pros. Some catchers of note:
1: Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez, possibly the greatest all around catcher who ever played, wasn't pudgy. He had the greatest arm of any catcher I've ever seen. And was a phenomenal clutch hitter.
2: The Braves have a catcher, Evan Gattis, who could be an NFL linebacker. Absolutely the most menacing looking catcher I've ever seen.
3: Craig Biggio, who played all of his 20 years with the Houston Astros, started at catcher but was moved to 2B to preserve his knees, as he was the only catcher who was jackrabbit fast. He'll be almost certainly going into the Hall of Fame next year, his first year of eligibility.
4: Jerry Grote played his glory years with my NY Mets, catching the 1969 staff of Tom Seaver, et al. Grote wasn't great offensively but he called a great game and had a great arm.
5: Johnny Bench, considered by most to be the greatest catcher of all time, redefined the position on both offense and defense.
Catchers: They rock.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
80
Since last week was a number, I figured I might as well keep it going.
80 refers to my uncle's recent birthday. We went up to his place in New Hampshire to celebrate. As I've mentioned many times, my uncle is the closest thing I have to a parent, having lost my mom when I was 13 and my dad when my mom was 7 months pregnant with me. He took me and my brother in because it was the right thing to do. If you were to ask him, he'd downplay it. But he in fact saved us from an orphanage and/or foster care. I thanked him in those early years by being an angry adolescent, testing his patience and probably everyone else around me. In addition, as a closeted (to me and my brother) gay man, he also had to go through hiding his orientation. Which was, strangely, the right thing to do at the time, considering how angry and homophobic I was.
Throughout the weekend, which went very very well, I had all kinds of inner dialogues and I learned a few things as well.
1: I have a self-destructive tendency to be responsible for everyone's happiness. Not a healthy thing, that. Especially given the mix of personalities, which consisted of my uncle, my girlfriend, my brother, who came all the way in from California, and my son, who came up from Washington DC. Keep in mind that I was the hub of the wheel, in the sense that, other than me, no one had spent significant time with anyone else. Was I nervous about how everyone would get along? Um...yeah. Not to worry. Everyone felt amazingly at home. There was enough laughter in one weekend to last for a year. Yet, my anxiety was through the roof, and remained that way until we left.
2: My son is funny enough to literally do stand up comedy, although his humor is more observational and might be better suited to writing. But he had us in stitches the whole weekend, just commenting on things.
3: My girlfriend (often referred to as GWCTRA, girlfriend who chooses to remain anonymous), who I already knew was a keeper, was amazing. It's as if she knew everyone for 20 years or more. That's how relaxed and comfortable she was. I am indeed a lucky man.
4: My brother, who I've had an up and down relationship with over the years, also was right at home. He was also funny, as well as gracious, erudite, and outspoken. Oh, and he picked up the tab for breakfast. Thanks, ZM! (My brother, real name Jeff, is aka "The ZenMaster")
5: My uncle may be 80 but has the mind of someone half his age. To call him "sharp" would actually be condescending, because he can hold his own intellectually and mentally with anyone. Oh, and he picked up the tab for dinner. Thanks, Uncle Ken!
6: Try as I might, my uncle and brother will never "get" my musical wiring. I wrote a song for my uncle's birthday which was well received, it seemed. But my expectations were probably unrealistically high. It's as if I thought I wrote another Somewhere Over The Rainbow. For them, music is "nice" and probably just "something I do". But it's never been understood. Music has been a friend and enemy to me over the years. Mostly the former. But I've also let it take me down financial and geographic roads that were not healthy. I learned that to try to force them to "get" me in this area is wasted energy. My energy is better spent loving and appreciating them for who they are rather than to resent this part of them. I'm not totally at peace with it but I'm working on it.
Why, then, the anxiety? Good question. Wish I had a good answer. I do know that on the last day, I couldn't wait to leave. It wasn't because of the company, or anything anyone did or said. It was just that I felt the room closing in on me. I felt naked and exposed, although no one in the room was there to judge me. There's ancient wisdom that says we fear success more than failure, as failure is familiar, while success is not. Maybe that has something to do with it.
This is something to discuss in therapy. But I do know that if I can make it to 80 and be half as sharp as my uncle, it'll be OK. My vision of me at 80:
1: To have GWCTRA with me, laughing, singing, kissing, and challenging me.
2: To have a continued strong relationship with my son. And that he'll be doing something he finds rewarding. And to keep our unique father-son dialogue going. Which is another way of saying; to laugh with him at stuff that no one else would "get" or find funny. And to be his #1 ear for things he probably wouldn't talk about with anyone else.
3: To have my brother, who'll be 83 at the time, still talking music, baseball, politics, and family stuff.
4: My uncle? Well, he'll be physically gone. But I believe people really do live on through others, when they pass on their kindness, compassion, humor, and grace. In that sense, he'll still be here.
Hey, maybe I should have retitled this "4". Because these are the 4 people that matter the most to me.
Thanks for reading.
80 refers to my uncle's recent birthday. We went up to his place in New Hampshire to celebrate. As I've mentioned many times, my uncle is the closest thing I have to a parent, having lost my mom when I was 13 and my dad when my mom was 7 months pregnant with me. He took me and my brother in because it was the right thing to do. If you were to ask him, he'd downplay it. But he in fact saved us from an orphanage and/or foster care. I thanked him in those early years by being an angry adolescent, testing his patience and probably everyone else around me. In addition, as a closeted (to me and my brother) gay man, he also had to go through hiding his orientation. Which was, strangely, the right thing to do at the time, considering how angry and homophobic I was.
Throughout the weekend, which went very very well, I had all kinds of inner dialogues and I learned a few things as well.
1: I have a self-destructive tendency to be responsible for everyone's happiness. Not a healthy thing, that. Especially given the mix of personalities, which consisted of my uncle, my girlfriend, my brother, who came all the way in from California, and my son, who came up from Washington DC. Keep in mind that I was the hub of the wheel, in the sense that, other than me, no one had spent significant time with anyone else. Was I nervous about how everyone would get along? Um...yeah. Not to worry. Everyone felt amazingly at home. There was enough laughter in one weekend to last for a year. Yet, my anxiety was through the roof, and remained that way until we left.
2: My son is funny enough to literally do stand up comedy, although his humor is more observational and might be better suited to writing. But he had us in stitches the whole weekend, just commenting on things.
3: My girlfriend (often referred to as GWCTRA, girlfriend who chooses to remain anonymous), who I already knew was a keeper, was amazing. It's as if she knew everyone for 20 years or more. That's how relaxed and comfortable she was. I am indeed a lucky man.
4: My brother, who I've had an up and down relationship with over the years, also was right at home. He was also funny, as well as gracious, erudite, and outspoken. Oh, and he picked up the tab for breakfast. Thanks, ZM! (My brother, real name Jeff, is aka "The ZenMaster")
5: My uncle may be 80 but has the mind of someone half his age. To call him "sharp" would actually be condescending, because he can hold his own intellectually and mentally with anyone. Oh, and he picked up the tab for dinner. Thanks, Uncle Ken!
6: Try as I might, my uncle and brother will never "get" my musical wiring. I wrote a song for my uncle's birthday which was well received, it seemed. But my expectations were probably unrealistically high. It's as if I thought I wrote another Somewhere Over The Rainbow. For them, music is "nice" and probably just "something I do". But it's never been understood. Music has been a friend and enemy to me over the years. Mostly the former. But I've also let it take me down financial and geographic roads that were not healthy. I learned that to try to force them to "get" me in this area is wasted energy. My energy is better spent loving and appreciating them for who they are rather than to resent this part of them. I'm not totally at peace with it but I'm working on it.
Why, then, the anxiety? Good question. Wish I had a good answer. I do know that on the last day, I couldn't wait to leave. It wasn't because of the company, or anything anyone did or said. It was just that I felt the room closing in on me. I felt naked and exposed, although no one in the room was there to judge me. There's ancient wisdom that says we fear success more than failure, as failure is familiar, while success is not. Maybe that has something to do with it.
This is something to discuss in therapy. But I do know that if I can make it to 80 and be half as sharp as my uncle, it'll be OK. My vision of me at 80:
1: To have GWCTRA with me, laughing, singing, kissing, and challenging me.
2: To have a continued strong relationship with my son. And that he'll be doing something he finds rewarding. And to keep our unique father-son dialogue going. Which is another way of saying; to laugh with him at stuff that no one else would "get" or find funny. And to be his #1 ear for things he probably wouldn't talk about with anyone else.
3: To have my brother, who'll be 83 at the time, still talking music, baseball, politics, and family stuff.
4: My uncle? Well, he'll be physically gone. But I believe people really do live on through others, when they pass on their kindness, compassion, humor, and grace. In that sense, he'll still be here.
Hey, maybe I should have retitled this "4". Because these are the 4 people that matter the most to me.
Thanks for reading.
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