TFD: A Transitive Verb

I don't claim to be the most widely-read guy in the world... but I do read in a lot of different formats. From Facebook to the Internet as a whole -- from Sports Illustrated to TV Guide -- from Newsweek to Entertainment Weekly to the daily newspaper -- I get a pretty broad exposure to what's being written from week to week.

But even if you didn't, you'd probably guess that the subject (or at least the hook) for a high percentage of current writing this week is Thanksgiving. Everyone's talking -- throw in TV if you like -- about the things in their lives, or the movies or TV shows, that they're thankful for. Even the political stories are telling you what politician X ought to be thankful for in current events.

It seems to me, however, that in the majority of cases there is something conspicuously absent in all the ink/pixels expended on thankfulness: an object. Now I suppose I could be totally wrong on this semantically -- although it doesn't appear so -- but my gut reaction is that giving thanks is completely meaningless without someone to accept the thanks.

On some level, I believe most people get that. Because I read not only TV Guide but also Entertainment Weekly, I'm privy to many profound utterances by the Hollywood Crowd; not to sound like I should be chewin' tobacco & wearin' overalls or anything, but my experience is that Them Thar Fancy Showbiz Folks have a heightened tendency to be thankful to karma, or positive energy, or the universe. Not sure exactly where The Man Upstairs/The Big Guy in the Sky fall into that continuum, but I think it's all a way to backhandedly acknowledge the seemingly self-evident fact that blessings don't just materialize out of the sky; every gift has a corresponding Giver.

I don't know that I've done an awesome job in my life of Celebrating Thanksgiving; that is, we don't usually have an extended family time of rehearsing our gratitude as we gather for the feast. By the time I get the turkey on the table, mash the potatoes, whip up some gravy and accidentally leave the rolls in the oven too long, I'm not always welling up with an overwhelming emotion of thankfulness (and everyone else has long since forgotten what we're celebrating). I do try, however, to remind the kids from day to day of all the wonderful things we have -- even the beauty of the world around us, which God gives us as a completely optional gift... not because it's "necessary", but solely for the purpose of our enjoyment.

So as the day approaches, by all means take some time to reflect on all the good things in your life -- but don't forget to direct the message of thanksgiving where it really goes. Oh, and also, don't forget to take the rolls out of the oven.

Making It Official

Over the years – and yes, my fourth Blogiversary is approaching; I’m thinking of registering at the Apple Store – I haven’t said much about the Ginormously Extensive corporation I work for. I mean, I could try your patience by Giving Extra hints and such, but I’m not really sure it’s worth Great Effort to see if I can, ah, make the light bulb come on for you.

Suffice it to say that my Generous Employer is also one of the sponsors of the upcoming Winter Olympic games; they have even provided me with a screensaver that informs me that it’s exactly 87 days till the Games open. You probably didn’t realize that unless you were either an Olympian yourself, or you had a pretty good idea where to get a bet down on luge.

This means, by the way, that if you’re looking for a gallon of paint between now and March, you might better try Lowe’s.

Another sure harbinger of an approaching Olympics – besides NBC putting on lousy prime-time shows so you won’t feel deprived when they’re pre-empted for two weeks – can be seen in advertising. For the next 3 months, you’ll be seeing glossy spreads for the Official Panty Hose of the Winter Olympics, and logos on the end of TV commercials for the Official Motor Oil of the Winter Olympics.

I was thinking I ought to declare myself the Official Blog of the Winter Olympics. A lot of times, they break these things up into market segments to, um, maximize revenue, so I’ll take either “(10 or Fewer Regular Readers)” or “(2 or Fewer Monthly Posts)”, whichever one hasn’t already been bought.

I’m pretty sure that if I made any Official claims, I’d get tracked down & sued, even way down here at the last off-ramp of the Information Superhighway, and I clearly don’t have the revenue to pay my way in (although I’m sure that the rest of the Official products were chosen because of their quality and not due to any financial considerations), so instead maybe I’ll turn the concept on its head.

I have already declared in blogs past the Official Airline of Random Access, as well as the Official Hotel, but I just felt the urge to declare a few more categories, as follows…

Official Auto of Random Access – I have hinted at this in the past, but there’s no question that it’s Toyota. Toyotas are safe, predictable and boring… I can’t imagine why that resonates with me. Of course, it's me, so I really pushed the envelope -- I got one of these. And it looks like this.

Official Snack of Random Access – Since I began working at home (initially part-time in 1999, but then permanently beginning in 2003), I have demonstrated with clarity that I am not discriminatory with regard to snacks. Candy, cookies, donuts and chips alike; if it can be held in one hand while typing with the other – or, failing in that, if it can be found in the cupboard – it has a treasured place in my daily schedule. However, my first love dating from my childhood has always been the salty/greasy food group… and the one that stands above the rest is Fritos. Fritos rank high on both the salty & greasy scales, of course, but they also have a satisfying crunchy substance to them, plus corn is also a vegetable, so they’re actually good for you (they're even vegan!). The Scoops are OK in a pinch, but not preferable, and naturally-- this is me we're talking about -- the flavored varieties aren’t really Fritos at all.

Official Store of Random Access – For those of you in the Upstate NY area, this will comes as no surprise; the rest of you may be mystified. I visit my nearby Stewart’s with almost unimaginable frequency. As of this writing, the last time was… 4 hours ago. Stewart’s produces their own milk, which we purchase roughly every two days, but they’re also excellent for their bread and eggs. And locals are amazed that I’ve gone this far without mentioning Stewart’s excellent ice cream, available both in half-gallons and OTC. Come to think of it, each member of the family can get one of their favorite things there, so I guess we really don’t need to go anywhere else.

Official Tech-Gadget of Random Access – Again, this one’s no surprise, for multiple reasons. I’m on record with multiple rhapsodies about my iPod Nano… plus the iPod Nano is basically the Toyota Camry of high-tech. We’re not talking Blackberry or iPhone or some awesome Windows 7 laptop, or even a Wii; just an iPod, and a last-generation one at that (don’t get me wrong, if someone leaves one of those others on the doorstep overnight, it’ll find a home). Honorable mention here goes to the Xitel inPort, the gadget that allows me to convert 20 years of vinyl and cassette memories to ones and zeroes to fill up (and overflow) that iPod.

Official Beverage of Random Access – When I was a kid, I drank a good amount of soda, particularly Coke (and just as particularly, not Pepsi). As time went on, I found that carbonated drinks very often have a harsh effect on my stomach... and also discovered the wonders of iced tea (always with sugar & lemon). The instant versions are easy to replenish, which is a huge advantage; one of the reasons I don’t drink alcohol is that when I have something to drink, I often drink in quantities that would be pretty unmanageable in an intoxicant. Later I progressed to home-brewed versions, but nowadays if I have to choose one drink, it’s this one – which is, much like my blog entries, sweet and tart both, and Made from the Best Stuff on Earth.

Official Blog of Random Access – I do like to read and re-read my own stuff, I cannot tell a lie. Well, I can, but there’s no advantage in this case. And at the rate I publish, it would be a lot more re-reading than reading. So I do enjoy others, but the best is Joe Posnanski, who recently left the Kansas City Star for Sports Illustrated. Yes, he writes a lot about sports, but also about music, people, writing,… as I find myself saying a lot when I read someone really talented, his writing is basically what I wish mine were. Also -- despite having an actual job writing -- he posts a lot more often than I do.

It occurs to me now that, rather than having to pay to be an Official Blog, I've actually just endorsed a bunch of stuff, so I guess I can sit back and wait for the checks to roll in. Or I'll accept in-kind donations (although a "lifetime supply" of Fritos would probably doom me to a pretty short life). I promise if I do get the cash, I'll plow it right back into the business; maybe I can even scrape together enough to pay to be the Official Blog of Biathlon or curling or one of those sports nobody cares about anyway.

Ready... or Not

Not long ago, one of my Facebook friends celebrated her 21^st birthday – believe it or not, not all of my friends remember black & white TV and rotary phones. Of course, I had to remark on this milestone from the lofty perspective of my double-21-plus, so my response was: “You’re an adult now… go pay some bills or something.”

Ah, if only it were that simple.

The adult part, not the paying bills part – that never gets any simpler. The fact is, I’ve found myself continuing to struggle with all that’s involved with the word “grownup”. And there’s no question that it’s getting pretty late in the day for that; there aren’t too many places I go any more where I’m the youngest person in the room! It’s probably more common for me to be the oldest.

My daughter is in 2^nd grade and she’s told me several times that she’s worried about multiplication, i.e. 3^rd grade. I always tell her: don’t worry; when it gets here, you’ll be ready. I figured that growing up was the same way -- I just assumed that when you got to be an adult, with adult responsibilities, you’d feel somehow ready for it. When I was a kid, the adults around me (and I actually spent a lot of time, with many different adults in my life) seemed so grounded and serious and, you know, grown-up. They went to work every day because that’s what adults do – dressed in very serious grown-up clothes — and they made decisions without seeming to wrestle much with it, and just generally appeared to me to be in charge… masters of their domain, if you will. And really, really old, too, of course, but that’s just the default kid perspective.

I get this thrown in my face frequently, in a lot of different ways. Parenting is the daily one; being a parent is a constant series of “Is this allowable? Is that a good idea? Is the other necessary?” kind of decisions, and of course unrelenting responsibility… you need to come up with the Right Answer, quickly, and in a way that at least leaves the illusion that you’re in control!

Over the last 6 months or so, I’ve had several trips for work: flights, rental cars, hotels, business meetings. It seems like especially in the airport, I’m conscious that I want to look like a smooth, confident, well-traveled businessman… but inside I’m pretty sure that I’m going to trip over my shoelaces or have my briefcase fly open or something.

I still have a little video playing in my mind of the time I was rushing to the gate because boarding had already started, slipping into my place in the moving line just in the nick – only to realize that my flight was boarding at the gate across the way. Got almost to the agent taking boarding passes before I figured that one out, and as a result just barely made my (correct) flight!

And I’ve mentioned before that our camp is something of an ongoing project; recently we’ve concluded that there are some things we need to do that we can’t really do ourselves. So we need to hire someone to do the work… and I realized: I have no idea how to do that. Doesn’t it seem like a grown-up would know how to find someone and how to evaluate whether they’re fit for the job?

For that matter, a mature adult would probably know better than to write 600 words about how he doesn’t feel very competent.

I suppose this probably sounds like the typical mid-life crisis – a guy gets halfway (oh, all right, a little more than halfway) through his life, assesses the cards he’s been dealt, and asks for a new deal. But I want to make clear that’s not really what I’m talking about. I like my cards; I like being a husband and a dad and having a good job and owning cars and the like. If this is the hand I’m dealt, it would be hard to imagine a much better one.

I just can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows how to play their hands but me…

Running the Four Corners

When I was a kid -- you know, in the days before ESPN -- I'd end up watching whatever sports event did show up on TV, and I enjoyed most of what I saw. Somehow, though, in those days I never got too interested in college basketball.

One big reason was named Dean Smith. He was the coach of the University of North Carolina basketball team, and he was famous for a strategy called the Four Corners. Basically, whenever his team got ahead late in the game, every time they got the ball they'd hold it as long as they could. Eventually.................. I'm sorry, did I doze off? eventually someone might get open for a layup, but if not he was content to just let all the time run off the clock.

At some point, everyone realized that this tactic was really against the spirit of the game (and boring), and a rule was passed that the team with the ball had to shoot within 40 seconds (later 35).

Stall tactics were back in the news recently with the story of Roman Polanski, the film director who pled guilty to a rather unpleasant crime in 1977, but fled to Europe before sentencing. A couple weeks ago he was captured in Switzerland and the process has begun to have him extradited to the US to face justice.

I don't generally comment too much on the news in this space; this blog doesn't exist for the purpose of antagonizing people or shoving my views down their throats. But there has been much blather (oops, did I tip my hand there?) in the press, much of it prompted by the Moral Compass of Our Nation -- Hollywood celebrities -- about how we should leave the man alone because he's suffered enough already. One French official even chimed in that America should stop persecuting such a gifted artiste.

Now I can see how it would be difficult, even wearing, to move to the country of your birth. And continue pursuing your livelihood without interruption. And travel around Europe to various film festivals to receive applause and awards. So perhaps we can agree that reasonable people might disagree about how much Monsieur Polanski has suffered; then let's add in one more inconvenient fact:

He's still a criminal.

Most crimes have a beginning point and an ending point, but since he's a fugitive from U.S. justice, every day he didn't surrender himself to authorities was itself a felony. Remember, no "innocent till proven guilty" like your common street criminal: being a fugitive proves itself.

In that sense, he's piled up over 10,000 crimes since he was convicted -- so I'm afraid I have to come down on the side of "No, he hasn't suffered enough". I still don't believe it's fair to run out the clock.

Nostradamus and Me

When I was a bit younger, the National Enquirer and Jeane Dixon had a little thing going. It seemed like every week -- and I am measuring this from checkout-line exposure, not actual reading; the NE is perhaps the only English-language publication I've never subscribed to -- there was a big headline touting Ms. Dixon's latest revelations of what lay ahead for us all.

It also seems that whatever else happens in the twice-yearly reorganization of the local newspaper, the horoscope column is a cornerstone of the local News Dissemination Effort (not sure why you need a subscription to the paper if today's edition tells you what happened yesterday and what's going to happen tomorrow).

It turns out that you've all been wasting your time, although hopefully not your money; I can't quite imagine a reader of this space going to a palm reader (although I'll probably find I'm woefully naive on that score).

All you have to do is read this blog.

All The Rage these days is the discussion of "public civility", due in large part to our friends Rep. Wilson, Ms. Williams, and Mr. West. But you know, if you are a regular visitor to this very page, you should have seen this coming -- almost four years ago. Because some of you hate links, and because I can make an entirely new blog entry out of something I already wrote, I'm going to reprint the post here in its entirety. Below, my 12/21/05 entry (my third post ever!) entitled "Motivational Speech":

I belong to an e-mail list made up of a number of ministers and laypeople in my area. Most of the time (like most people, I suspect) I just lurk. A couple of years ago, however, a topic came up I couldn’t stay out of… no matter how hard I tried.

Never mind what the issue was; as the mails & responses progressed, it became clear that the Majority Opinion was at odds with mine. This did not surprise me – and it also eliminated any temptation I had (at first) to get involved in the discussion. I know I’m in the minority, so I saw no need to “out” myself as an oddball.

Gradually the tone shifted from “we’re right” to “they’re wrong”. After that there were assertions that anyone who disagreed was trying to take over the church for their own nefarious purposes.

Can you see what happened here? It’s not enough for me to be right; my position has to be the one that any right-thinking person would take. In fact, it’s not enough for me to disagree with your conclusions – even your motives must be called into question.

I got a strong sense of déjà vu not long ago, watching the news: the President and some of his administration began accusing anyone who dares to criticize the war policy of being unpatriotic and of aiding the enemy. I notice that they backtracked from that position pretty quickly, but it’s clearly not an accident that several people close to the Administration said pretty much the same thing at the same time.

In the case of the e-mail thread, I finally did post. I didn’t bother trying to defend my position, or even explain it – I’m sure everyone drew instant conclusions as to what “side” I was on. My point was, I may disagree with you 100%, and I may battle tooth and nail to see my viewpoint become the accepted wisdom… but I will not commit the error – the sin, if you prefer – of assuming that anyone who disagrees with me has questionable motives. A civilized society, not to mention a church, can’t survive that way.

Behold, the Power of Cheese

This past school year, as our daughter conducted her ongoing first-grade-inspired seminars, I was most distressed by her lecture on The Food Pyramid. I liked it better when we only had to keep track of The Four Basic Food Groups: Pasta, Cheese, Meat, and Potato Chips. These are the staples around which my Cuisine is based... well, I don't generally cook with potato chips, but I do have seven different kinds of cheese in my fridge right now.

Of course, my daughter isn't the only one who relishes illuminating my ignorance. Maybe 18 months ago, I bought something at Best Buy (I should never be allowed in Best Buy unsupervised. Even though I'm far from an impulse buyer, nearly every trip in there plants a seed for a future purchase). They had a deal: join Reward Zone and get a short-term subscription to a magazine. Since I already get most English-language publications, I decided I'd give Entertainment Weekly a try.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no stranger to the Free Introductory Offer. I figured I'd let it go a couple months, then cancel; unfortunately, I didn't fully account for my voracious thirst for printed material. At this point, in addition to the daily newspaper, I have no fewer than six weekly subscriptions... including, of course, EW. I say "weekly", but somehow several of them tend to print a lot of "double issues" and then take a week off.

EW provides coverage of all forms of entertainment media -- TV, movies, music, books, even video games -- and while I enjoy keeping up-to-date on all those topics, I sometimes feel their primary purpose is to reinforce something I've known for a lot of years: I ain't hip.

The articles and especially the reviews usually tout the band that's stretching its genre, the movie that is an intricately crafted work of art, the novel that is unflinching in its portrayal of blah blah blah... even the TV shows are most often the ones more noted for Critical Acclaim than for, you know, viewers.

It seems like human nature, or maybe just the nature of criticism (or a bid for job security), but it's frustrating that seemingly the only Worthwhile Art is obscure and challenging and difficult -- almost as if something that's actually enjoyable is somehow less worthy.

As for myself, I find that in almost all matters of taste, and not just the literal one, that I have a deep-seated appreciation for cheese.

I've read and enjoyed Shakespeare and I'm familiar with at least the most obvious literary classics, but I'd probably say my favorite author is Robert B. Parker. At least statistically: he's written 68 books and I know I've read well over 50 of them. Is he a master literary stylist, constantly breaking new ground? 68 books in 36 years -- you do the math.

Wikipedia helpfully links my favorite musical artists to the Star-based Music Critics, so I'm painfully aware that they range from tolerated (Billy Joel) to widely panned (Styx) to downright laughingstocks (Barry Manilow)... but if the iPod dials up "Until the Night", or "Come Sail Away", or "Can't Smile Without You" and no one's around, I'll be singing along at the top of my lungs (my daughter caught me singing AND doing air guitar to "Rockin' the Paradise" the other day, which was... awkward). Incidentally, "Can't Smile" is the single best karaoke song in recorded history -- sure, "everybody hates Barry", but I've never failed to get an ovation with that one.

While I don't see much more than a half-dozen movies a year, even in the DVD/PPV age, I like movies that make me laugh.. although I'm not opposed to a drama, or even a tearjerker if it doesn't totally insult my intelligence. I guess you'd say I'm more "Stripes", or "Rocky", or "The Incredibles" than "Leaving Las Vegas" or "Trainspotting". I'd rather watch "Sixteen Candles" once than a whole pile of auteurs producing finely-observed Works of Art about despair and depravity.

In television, I think the critics look for "raw" and "gritty", or maybe "quirky/offbeat". Now I believe I rank pretty high up on the Quirkymeter, but if you've read anything I've written about my favorite shows, you'll note they are for the most part pretty general-appeal. Exceptions that prove the rule: the critics and I agree wholeheartedly on Hill Street Blues and Sports Night.

I've gone to two art galleries dedicated to a single artist, both of those for Norman Rockwell -- also the only artist featured on the walls of my home. He ranks roughly as high on the coolness scale (not to be confused with the Quirkymeter) as myself, but -- not meaning to flatter myself -- I think of his art in the same kind of terms as my blog: take a moment that's familiar and see it in a slightly different way, or perhaps take another moment that's personal and try to find the universal in it.

And of course, coming full circle to the literal cheese theme, I've made no secret of my preference for simple foods cooked well: steak, BBQ ribs, fried chicken, lasagna, pizza. And although I'll always watch Top Chef and Next Food Network Star with interest, I'll never understand or appreciate the culinary approach that produces a slice of this and a dollop of that, and something smeared around the edge of the plate. Suffice it to say that if there's anything on the menu you can't pronounce or define (or tablecloths on the table, for that matter), you won't run into me there.

I suppose that in some respects this makes me appear Ignorant and Proud of It. Don't want none of that Art 'round here! But if there's a grand moral to the story, it might be that I don't want my dining, or any entertainment, to be like taking vitamins. I'd rather have a big ol' tasty hunk of cheese.

Just Forward My Mail to 1981

If it were up to me, we wouldn't need much more than one TV channel. But after a period of time (that is, a span of time about as large as the average punctuation mark) my wife can't take any more baseball -- and this is only on once a week. So we end up over at HGTV a fair amount of the time. Often, they are talking about real estate values... and of course, when you turn off the TV and pick up the newspaper, the big story is the economy and people just trying to make ends meet. Well, I've found a place to live where the cost of living is a lot lower...

The past.

Last fall, of course, I visited Homecoming at my alma mater; this spring and summer, under the influence of a group of my Facebook friends, I've been thinking and talking quite a bit about my days at Gaslight Village -- which culminated in my most recent post here. Then to complete the trifecta: this past weekend, I had the opportunity to attend my 30th high school reunion.

Now, even though I've proved I have a rose-colored rearview mirror, I remember plenty about high school that would not lead one to want to revisit it. So why is it that every time there's a reunion, I'm there when the doors open? I'm 4-for-4: 10, 20, 25, and 30.

Well, for one thing there's always the chance I'll get to see someone I've really missed. OK, that actually doesn't happen -- in reality, it seems I spend a lot of each reunion talking to all the people who never talked to me on the first go-round -- but still I live in hope.

That's one of the reasons I find reunions pretty interesting -- if only in the sociological sense. And it has gotten better over the years; I think at least at the 10-year reunion we were all a little preoccupied with how the others saw us, trying to impress each other with all we'd accomplished (which for me was a little dicey since I had only a part-time job, no kids, and was living in a one-bedroom apartment). Now we've all more or less come to terms with who we are and what we've done -- and even if we're not, we're far enough away from high school that none of these people are really our primary peer group any more. Or is that just me?

As for the actual event, it was enjoyable enough. We ate a lot; I did connect with 1 or 2 people I'd lost touch with; and I did get to do not one but two karaoke numbers. Surely any day with karaoke is not a total loss. And I was at least able to collect a few oddities to take home with me (and, you know, post on the World Wide Web).

• - One of my classmates asked me if I was “still really smart”. I suppose if I were really all that bright, I would have had a brilliant riposte to that, so maybe the question answers itself. Even I (not at all desperate for an infusion of self-esteem) would be hard pressed to answer that one, “Why, yes – yes, I am.” Instead, I opted for, “Actually, I’m much dumber than I was then; back then I knew everything,” which I thought struck the right reunion-oriented note of light-heartedness, crossed with wisdom born of the passage of years, seasoned with just a sprinkle of good-natured self-mockery. I do wonder in hindsight whether someone who would even ask such a question is capable of perceiving that level of nuance, of course…
• - Given that the ticket price included all-you-can-drink beer, it was perhaps inevitable that someone’s thirst would outstrip his capacity for self-restraint. The crowd as a whole was very well-mannered, but at least one guy had over-refreshed himself: in the midst of my karaoke number he decided to come up, wrap his arm around me and start to sing along. I’ve already noted my wife’s flair for persuasion; she came forward and very clearly pantomimed that she was supposed to be the one I was singing to, which distracted him enough that some others were able to peel him off. Given the effect that karaoke usually has on me, it’s perhaps predictable that my main concern was whether my performance would be spoiled.
• - Heading out to the parking lot at one point, I ran into one of my classmates who asked whether I was headed out to “smoke a bowl.” Pretty sure he was just ribbing me there… but there were those in attendance who confused a high school reunion with a re-creation – on a later trip to the parking lot, I did discover there was a group out there in the dark somewhere having a non-tobacco-related group smoke.

In similar fashion, I’m just as much of a stick-in-the-mud as I ever was, so we left pretty early. Later that evening, as I was absorbed in my usual never-ending rehash, my wife in the fashion of wives everywhere asked the question that cut to the heart of all the underlying issues: what is it that makes me so enraptured (I’m not sure if she used the word “obsessed”, but it was more or less implied) with all these journeys back into the past?

There might be a hundred answers or there might be no good answer at all. High school reunions for me can serve as a chance to do it all again – an opportunity to relive it and get it right this time, a chance to connect with people that I always felt somehow separated from. Not above or below, but rather just apart. But at this juncture so many years later, I have the feeling that we’re more alike than different.

I think my interest in all things Gaslight Village is probably partly an effort to recapture a simpler but also more exciting time. I could name a half-dozen incidents from those days that I recorded in my journal with a joking “Dear Diary” because they seemed So Very Momentous to me. Probably because it’s the first time for many different experiences, or perhaps just because when you're young, there’s not such a thicket of real life to lose them in. Either way, it's pretty awesome to recapture even a little of that excitement.

I’m not sure why the college homecoming trip was so important. I think it started as nostalgia for a wonderful period in my life, but eventually became a realization that it wasn’t really as wonderful as I like to remember… but that there's nothing wrong with that. I felt like I came out further ahead by working that out than just reliving misty watercolor memories.

And Facebook, which honestly is just another side of the same coin… while I have Facebook friends that I also see in person, it’s also a way for me to integrate all the parts of my life: the slightly odd kid from high school; the rushing-to-be/afraid-to-be grownup from the Gaslight Village days; the young married guy trying to figure out how to be a grownup; and yes, even the middle-aged guy with a wife & 2 kids, a good job and a lot of gray in his hair (but less actual hair).

I’m not always crazy about all the me’s I run into as I observe myself in all my time-travels. Still, just as I’m richer for all the experiences I’ve had and the people I’ve shared them with, I believe I get a benefit from keeping in close touch with all my prior selves… and perhaps even learning something about my present self into the bargain.