tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197861872024-03-07T13:35:27.990-05:00Random AccessStart with Newsweek’s “My Turn” column. Mix in portions of ESPN’s “Baseball Tonight”, TV Guide, those columns in Reader’s Digest like “Life in These United States”, and Letterman’s Top Ten List. Shred in a couple pages of Roget’s Thesaurus. Add a dash of ego. Serve half-baked.Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.comBlogger207125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-33086609500749395802020-03-29T13:15:00.002-05:002020-03-29T13:16:43.070-05:00Gimme Shelter-in-place<br />
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If ever there were a crisis I was made for, this seems like
the one. Stay inside the house and avoid contact with others? I’ve been preparing
for this all my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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There are probably a lot of other introverts out there who would
agree with me, although I wouldn’t expect them to flock to my side even if they
were allowed to. Social distancing is built into our DNA.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I almost feel guilty when I see how hard the current
situation is hitting so many people. There are a lot of folks who can’t work
and don’t know when they’ll be allowed to, or even if there will be a job (or a
company) waiting for them when all this is over. And I just read a statistic
claiming that as many as 80% of American workers live paycheck-to-paycheck,
which is surely not good news if you don’t know when the next one is arriving.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Workers who are able to do their jobs from home have been
asked to do so; as a computer programmer, it’s no effort at all for me to do
that. In fact, it’s not even an “adjustment” for me – I’ve been working
full-time from home for 17 years now (even with 6 different actual physical
homes in that time).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Side note – now that everyone is posting “tips & tricks”
on how to work from home, I can testify to the truth of what seems to be
everyone’s rule #1: get up, shower, and get dressed like you mean it. I never
go to work in PJs or sweats or even jeans. I have found that the more
informally I dress, the dumber I am, so I always face the day looking like I’m
ready to “leave for work”… except my feet. I rarely wear socks and I literally
have almost no use for shoes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Because my work situation is exactly identical to what it
was last month, I also don’t feel the same economic pressure that many are
suffering. And as far as “staying in my home” – I would be hard-pressed to even
find a way to leave the house less than I already was. If I didn’t run out of
salty snacks from time to time, I’d probably never experience fresh air.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Notwithstanding all that, there is one way that our current
predicament has hit me hard, maybe harder than I expected it would.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am a preacher’s kid. The story in my house, or at least
what I’ve always believed, is that I was brought to church on the way home from
the hospital. From that day to this, across the months and years, through an
ever-changing selection of “home" churches, the one thing I knew about my life was
that my week always began with church.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Obviously there have been times when illness or travel or
circumstances prevented me from attending, though if I were able to count them
up I think I’d be pretty amazed by how few of those there were. I can tell you
with a straight face that there has never in my life been a Sunday when I woke
up and just said, “Nah, not today.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Don’t get me wrong, I’m not offering this as any kind of
evidence for what an awesome Christian I am. I believe that clichés and memes
often hold great truth, and one of my favorites is “Sitting in church doesn’t
make you a Christian any more than sitting in a garage makes you a car.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I definitely am, however, a creature of routine, and while I
make every effort not to go to church <b>solely</b> as a matter of routine, the
fact is that it’s been part of my weekly routine since before I could <i>spell </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>church, or anything else.<o:p></o:p></div>
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More than that, when my wife & I moved from New York to
Ohio, we had to sort of reboot our entire lives. We still “went to church”, but
we weren’t really <i>part</i> of a church and I soon found myself becoming seriously
depressed. Church is a big part of my spiritual life, but (especially as an
introvert) it seems to be a significant part of my social life too, and of my overall
sense of “belonging” in this world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fast-forward almost twenty-seven years and here I am again, essentially legally prohibited from attending church. My weeks still take the
same basic shape, since I’m still working, but it’s a little like the yeast or
the salt or some other pivotal ingredient is being left out of the recipe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Easter approaches, and from this vantage point it seems all but inevitable
that we will not be gathering to celebrate the Resurrection. My wife recently
told my daughter that she didn’t think I’d handle that very well… and I’m
afraid I won’t. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p>I hope that everyone who might read this is getting what they need most in a time where we all need something to make our lives feel a little less out of control. </o:p></div>
<br />Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-74759904737656065722019-10-20T21:05:00.001-05:002020-03-29T13:17:41.632-05:00End of an EraWhen I went to college, I got the chance to meet people from all over, especially all different parts of New York State. And that reopened the discussion of what constitutes Upstate New York.<br />
<br />
You've probably seen the Facebook memes but it really is a thing, especially among people who are <b>not</b> from New York State. There was a sizable Jersey contingent on my dorm floor and one day one of those guys asked me where I was from. When I told him I was from upstate, he said, oh I know a guy from upstate. When I asked him where, he said "White Plains".<br />
<br />
White Plains is 30 miles north of New York City, and <i>184 miles</i> <i>south</i> of <a href="https://www.tripadvisor.com/Attractions-g47932-Activities-Hudson_Falls_New_York.html" target="_blank">my hometown</a> at the edge of the Adirondack Mountains (it's worth noting that that town is in turn more than 130 miles south of the <a href="https://www.ezbordercrossing.com/list-of-border-crossings/new-york/champlain-lacolle/" target="_blank">Canadian border</a>, just for complete geographical perspective).<br />
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I've lived Upstate my entire life -- sure, there was a 6-year stay in Vermont, but that was just across the <a href="https://www.onlyinyourstate.com/vermont/lake-champlain-vt/" target="_blank">lake</a> and I came back to "this side" frequently. Certainly the Vermont folks always treated me like a New Yorker. And there were The Years of Which We Do Not Speak, my 3-year exile to Ohio, but I am resolute in pretending that never happened. But for the most part, you could draw a rectangle on the map that's about 10 or 15 miles wide and about 50 miles long, and it would contain almost 50 years of my life. So I know about as much about Upstate NY as I know about anything.<br />
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For 50 years, there has been an infallible indicator of someone's Upstate knowledge: Exit 3 of the Northway. When I was a kid, we had this:<br />
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Before very long, however, the original project planned for exit 3, a crosstown interstate connector, was scrapped and even the sign came down... so that if you traveled north, you went directly from exit 2 to exit 4 with no indication of what happened to exit 3. Since then, it's been a secret code among upstaters: "Exit 3?" "There is no exit 3." Sure, it was a little embarrassing being seen by outsiders as the area that couldn't count, but I think we enjoyed sharing that little secret.<br />
<br />
Until today. As I headed south from exit 12, I hit a big traffic snarl around exit 6. I soon found that the source was a lane closure at exit 4... which in turn was related to the fact that <a href="https://cbs6albany.com/news/local/new-albany-airport-connector-exit-3-sb-opens-today" target="_blank">Exit 3 Southbound opened for business today</a>.<br />
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For several weeks now, construction has been underway on a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITQaAacf_mY" target="_blank">brand-new exit</a>, meant to make access to the airport easier. Apparently the on-ramp was opened recently, but the change became real to Northway travelers today when the off-ramp opened.<br />
<br />
The governor was there to make a fuss about how revolutionary this will be, how it will open our area to more travel (also spelled "$$$$$"). And of course there are obvious benefits, including the benefit of wrapping up the ongoing construction effort sometime soon. But our world is a little less unique...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwku3mGvM6o3l51plS37c4xf_PurawSZ9NfD3ZMclDreURnkCcy5OC07JWufD-l5qNWd4x-wE205NfwDxUO2uEDcTYFEvbu86H8wubAwgTI3p00atbGHkUxELAghSJhZbcySF/s1600/exit3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="750" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwku3mGvM6o3l51plS37c4xf_PurawSZ9NfD3ZMclDreURnkCcy5OC07JWufD-l5qNWd4x-wE205NfwDxUO2uEDcTYFEvbu86H8wubAwgTI3p00atbGHkUxELAghSJhZbcySF/s320/exit3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-31391540877834700332018-01-24T23:19:00.000-05:002018-01-24T23:19:56.432-05:00Be Like the Turtle<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When our kids were younger, they spent a <b>lot </b>of time in churches, courtesy of parents who were so often there themselves (sometimes because one of us was being paid to be there, but frankly we would've been there all the time anyway). Just like fish don't really "notice" water, they got to the point where, as I was forever reminding people, they saw the church as "just another room of the house."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, I was really trying to insulate all of us against the kind of disapproval that results when kids behave like they do at home but they're someplace else. But even when I was trying to excuse them, or at least protect them, I felt like I had stumbled on a semi-profound truth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe I wasn't really talking about <i>them </i>at all. You see, my children and I have something very important in common: we have a parent who's a pastor. In my case, it was my dad, and though the leading occupational hazard of being part of a "<a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/parsonage" target="_blank">parsonage </a>family" is frequent moves, he had relatively long tenures, so I was spared repeated upheaval.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first move was when I was 11; the biggest issue with a summer move is that the kids aren't in school, so it can be tough to locate a new peer group. As it turned out, I hadn't had much of a peer group to begin with, and I was spending a lot of time listening to baseball on the radio as the Mets <a href="https://www.baseball-reference.com/teams/NYM/1973.shtml" target="_blank">accidentally won a pennant</a>, so in some sense I didn't notice much difference. And there was the new church, and new friends there, so I adjusted pretty quickly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I went away to college, my <a href="http://www.houghton.edu/" target="_blank">Christian school</a> held Sunday services in the chapel/auditorium, but while I attended, I didn't have a real connection; it was almost like watching "somebody else's service" on TV. In fact, in general my time at school was marked by a vague sense of disconnectedness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a graduate student, I ended up at the church where I was born (not literally, but pretty close). I didn't really know anybody there, since I had left on my 3rd birthday, but somehow it felt familiar. Then after getting married, the first thing we did was find "a church for both of us," and were blessed to find <a href="http://www.calvaryumclatham.org/" target="_blank">a place close by</a> that was not only a great spiritual home but also gave us a peer group that we're still happy to call our friends 30 years later.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At that point I felt really grounded, really comfortable in who I was, so when my wife announced that God was calling her to go to <a href="http://united.edu/" target="_blank">seminary</a>, I almost didn't even give a second thought to what it would be like to pick up and move 678 miles to a new home 3 states away. Just another new adventure...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">... until we actually got there. It was a new world in every possible way; among other things, we had a very hard time finding a church where we felt at home. And I also ended up in a depression that necessitated counseling before I began to pull out of my tailspin a little.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For several years I understood those two facts as "two things that happened in Ohio," but eventually I grasped that they were 2 sides of the same coin. I have been formed in such a way that -- although we lived in a quite comfortable <a href="http://www.liveatsalemwoods.com/" target="_blank">apartment</a> -- without a church I could really call my own, I was for all intents and purposes homeless.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being married to a pastor means that, since that trying time, I always have a church readily available to me, one that has at least some level of commitment to me because I come as an accessory to the one they're really invested in. Or I thought it would be an "always" thing, until she had to take a year off from ministry because of a health issue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We knew we would move back to a familiar area, and also knew we would need a church; it was there that I put my foot down. With so much disruption and upheaval, I believed that I would only survive if I had a church where I was instantly at home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We went back to that same <a href="http://www.hudsonfallsumc.org/" target="_blank">church </a>from my teen years, and it was the best decision I ever made. Many there remembered me, and still fondly remembered my parents; at the same time they (mostly) didn't make me stay a teenager but allowed me to be an adult. Perhaps it helped that even as a teenager I was pretty much a middle-aged man.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I'm writing this not only because of my unwavering gaze in the rear-view mirror, but also to thank those folks for being home to me at a time when I needed one almost like I needed oxygen. And also to thank them for most recently graciously sending me out, since we are beginning a new adventure in a new church.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This time I know I'm going to be fine... since I know I have a church to call home, it feels as if, like the turtle, I'm carrying my own home with me on my back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-72914372788962425462018-01-16T23:51:00.000-05:002018-01-16T23:51:25.861-05:00Sculpted from Cheese<div class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not long ago, a Facebook friend posted a video of the number 11 song <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billboard_Year-End_Hot_100_singles_of_1963" target="_blank">from the year after I was born</a>. Now keep in mind (additional clue) that it was the last year before Beatlemania, when JPG&R would have nine top-100 songs, so "number 11 song" doesn't make it all that hip.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/kO_vKrVxGJM/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kO_vKrVxGJM?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My comment on the post was "</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">I don't 100% understand why, but this is a long-term favorite of mine..."</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">which, looking back, I believe to be untrue. In fact, I'm pretty sure I do know exactly why but I just didn't want to admit it.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The household I grew up, while very musical, was not very attuned musically to Beatlemania or any of the downstream effects of that; I wrote about that <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2007/01/sound-of-music.html" target="_blank">here</a>:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<blockquote>
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When I was a kid, my parents were "easy listening"
devotees. If you're not familiar, easy listening is basically elevator music,
(occasionally) with words. While this has come in handy recently, since the
"easy listening" music of the 60s & 70s makes up most of the
"easy piano" books of the present day, it didn't necessarily help me
develop a sophisticated musical palate.</div>
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<blockquote>
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In fact, I was surrounded; since I lived outside the school
district I attended, I was transported not by a standard bus -- nor even by the
now-legendary <a href="https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/ride_the_short_bus" target="_blank">Short Bus</a> -- but in fact in a regular station wagon with the rest
of the literal outcasts (how sad is that, that I didn't even merit the Short
Bus?). Every afternoon, all the other kids were called by bus number; then the
voice intoned, "Station wagon, please... station wagon." Not that I'm
bitter.... anyway, Mrs. Dickenson, the driver, was an aficionado of that same
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WROW#Beautiful_Music" target="_blank">easy listening station</a>. Narrow range of musical exposure -- that, and hymns! --
is what I'm getting at here. I was in high school before I figured out you
could do a song with an electric guitar and drums.</div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not only that, but I can remember watching quite a bit of Andy Williams' <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Andy_Williams_Show" target="_blank">show</a> in the days of 3 channels/1 TV set. So I probably heard this song a million times between home and The Station Wagon (or wagons, counting the one at home).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'd like to think it was pure immersion that made it a fave, and maybe it was, but the environment I was in is impossible to separate from the man it created, and the man it created ended up with the kind of tastes in entertainment that I am still learning not to apologize for. I captured that more than 8 years ago (wait, WHAT??) in a post I called "<a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2009/08/behold-power-of-cheese.html" target="_blank">Behold, the Power of Cheese</a>".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And of course, I've also been very open about my fondness for looking back. If you doubt that, click on the Rewind tag in the right margin for all the times I have written using reflective verbiage...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you put it all together, it would probably be weird if I didn't love the song.</span>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-9347788090272386962018-01-01T11:00:00.000-05:002018-01-03T22:30:17.969-05:00Time Jump<div class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even though I haven't posted here in who knows how long, this blog never quite totally disappears from my thoughts... I can't tell you how many entries I've written during my morning shower. Only in my head, of course; I probably use up enough hot water without trying to rip out 800 words or so at the same time.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Despite the aged-in-the-cask nature of the 200+ posts here, it's not uncommon for me to send a link to one of them to some unsuspecting passerby -- I can find a periodic excuse to pass on <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2006/11/law-order-civil-court.html">this one</a> and <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2005/12/ae-sine-qua-noel.html">this one</a> in particular -- but that always reminds me that I kinda miss doing this thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It takes intentionality to create a blog entry, however, and since my blog has never been big on the 'feedback' end of things, it's difficult to muster the concentration, effort, and time it takes to post. Next thing I know it's seemingly a whole lifetime later -- it would probably <i>take</i> a lifetime to recap all the water that's gone under the bridge in the meantime.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I decided to resurrect it at least temporarily (who knows, maybe I can get a little something going here at least sporadically) for the purpose of posting our family's holiday letter here. This way I can easily link to it in Facebook or an email and anyone who would venture a click can read it (while at the same time, it's fairly unlikely that anyone who <b>doesn't</b> care would wander in).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, I find that I haven't lost the knack for writing half a page without even remembering my original objective... but the following is what I ended up writing about the year 2017:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Merry
Christmas to you and a Happy 2018! Writing this is literally the first thing
I’m doing in the New Year. We’re off to a strong start already; my son’s first
words to me on Jan.1 were not “Happy New Year” or even good morning, but rather
“Where are the <a href="https://jeffeats.com/2015/06/12/walmart-glazed-donuts/" target="_blank">donuts</a>?”</span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Having
located them, he’s (munching, &) watching YouTube videos on his laptop; his
mom is curled up with a cup of coffee and a podcast on her new iPad; the young
woman among us is still sleeping; and I am determined to capture an entire
year, or at least the State of the Family as the calendar changes, in a few
paragraphs.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We’ve been a
little lax in our longstanding holiday letter discipline, but this year’s was
inspired by a few pieces of news we wanted to make sure our whole circle of
connections were aware of.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Kelly</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> has the biggest news this year. As
she observed her third anniversary as pastor of Hartford UMC, and the fifth
anniversary of her traumatic brain injury, she began to feel a readiness for a
fuller ministry. After much prayer, she
told the Bishop she was ready for ¾ time status as a pastor. That seems like the ideal “balance” right
now; allowing her to pastor and still spend meaningful time with our two teens
and her husband. As of today Kelly is appointed
to serve the <a href="http://www.ballstonspaumchurch.org/" target="_blank">Ballston Spa UMC</a> on a ¾-time basis.<o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because that
church has been without a pastor for 2 months, she had been getting started
with some things there, but yesterday marked her final worship service with the
gracious folks at Hartford. How well
they thanked her and honored her ministry among them. They also did a great job blessing our family
with support and kindnesses. The
parting is sorrowful, but the small country church sends Kelly onward with
their blessing.<br /> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mark, Katie,
and Jonathan have been involved at <a href="http://www.hudsonfallsumc.org/" target="_blank">Hudson Falls UMC</a> since we left <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/17+Delafield+Dr,+Colonie,+NY+12205/@42.7182379,-73.8326432,17z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m5!3m4!1s0x89de0caf541ec05d:0x7b35036b59d57903!8m2!3d42.71825!4d-73.830408" target="_blank">Colonie</a>, but
Mark & Katie have made the decision to join Kelly at BSUMC, even as we all
remain in our Moreau home. Jonathan will
continue at HFUMC, both because he has such a “home” there and as part of his
continuing transition toward independence. At this point we anticipate a likely
move to the Ballston Spa parsonage in the summer of 2019.</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Meanwhile, </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mark </b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">reached the 20</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
anniversary of beginning at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IDX_Systems" target="_blank">IDX Systems Corporation</a>, which eventually became
part of GE Healthcare. He’s blessed to have maintained this position through a
change of role, corporation, and five physical moves, having worked 100% from
home for more than 14 of those years. He’s saddened to transition away from
being Staff-Parish Relations chair and praise team leader at his hometown
church, but excited for the opportunity to share in ministry with Kelly once
again. We’ve missed each other.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After spending a year in the high school program
at the <a href="https://www.wildwoodprograms.org/index.php/what-we-do/education#s5_school" target="_blank">Wildwood School</a>, </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jonathan t</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">ransitioned this summer to the
school’s <a href="http://www.wildwoodschoolsite.com/our-program/young-adult.cfm" target="_blank">Young Adult Program</a>, just before his 18<sup>th</sup> birthday. YAP
seeks to give young adults on the autism spectrum the living and working skills
they need to achieve maximum independence. His teachers consistently remark on
how he’s become a leader and the example they often use with the other
students. Visitors to his bedroom consistently remark on the many Lego
creations he has assembled and is displaying on every horizontal surface.</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Katie </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">celebrated her 15<sup>th</sup>
birthday at midyear and is now a sophomore at <a href="http://www.sgfcsd.org/south-glens-falls-hs/" target="_blank">South Glens Falls HS. </a>One of the
highlights of her freshman year was her first participation in the school’s
legendary <a href="http://www.sgfcsd.org/south-glens-falls-hs/south-high-marathon-dance/" target="_blank">Marathon Dance</a>, which really has to be seen to be believed. This year
she and the rest of the student body raised over $800,000 to help people in our
local community, most of whom are facing a life-threatening health crisis.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This fall
Katie took up tennis and had a winning season as part of the varsity team’s
first doubles pairing. As the year came to a close, she suffered what was
somehow her <i>first</i> broken bone in a
gym class mishap, a right pinky-finger fracture that required the insertion of
2 pins. At this writing she is anxiously awaiting the removal in a few days of
the cast and the pins, so she can resume writing and drawing (and full
household chores, of course).</span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This summer
we also celebrated our 30<sup>th</sup> wedding anniversary with a trip to Rhode
Island, including some <a href="http://www.newportmansions.org/plan-a-visit/servant-life-tour" target="_blank">fascinating</a> time in <a href="http://www.newportmansions.org/explore/the-breakers" target="_blank">Newport</a>, and had a couple of quick
getaways to <a href="http://www.lakeplacid.com/" target="_blank">Lake Placid</a> which resulted in Mark becoming obsessed with
<a href="https://highfallsgorge.com/" target="_blank">waterfalls</a>. And as with all of you, this
year did hold its share of heartaches, but we won’t chronicle these. What we do want to convey is this: we’re here on the other side - by the grace
of God. We cannot help but remind you
whom we care about that God is our source of strength and peace; He heals us
and restores our hope. It is well with our
souls.<br /> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As we close out
this year and anticipate a fresh new one, we pray that each of you is
well. We’d love to hear your latest news,
for you are important to us. One of our
New Year’s resolutions is to see as many people as we can in person. So reach out soon so we can plan a simple
meal or host you for an afternoon or evening.
We’ll set out some “sweet treats” and savor them and your good company. Do let us show and share our love, and God’s
love with you in 2018! </span></span></blockquote>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-3124304166902862502015-06-21T13:03:00.004-05:002015-06-21T13:03:42.116-05:00My Father's HandsI wanted to post a song today to honor my Dad on Father's Day; I am lucky to have him for the 54th Father's Day of my life.<br />
<br />
But since I am old, the song I wanted does not live in any online form -- no youtube video, no online streaming, not even a sample in iTunes. Totally out of print.<br />
<br />
In fact, the lyrics aren't even online anywhere. So I am presenting the lyrics in this form, actually transcribing as I listen to the song. I believe this is the perfect Father's Day tribute.<br />
<br />
The song is called "My Father's Hands"; the album is Floodgates and the artist is <a href="http://www.glad-pro.com/">Glad</a>.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
At the age of five I was taking on the world,<br />Every day was a reckless adventure unfurled<br />Never gave much thought to any consequence<br />When I was testing my boundaries and peeking through the fence</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
When the time would come, as it always did,<br />That I'd outstep the stride of a five-year-old kid,<br />And it would crumble like a castle of sand,<br />I'd go running to my father's hands</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
My father's hands could fix anything in my world<br />If it all lay in pieces, without a hope or a prayer<br />It was never beyond the loving repair of my father's hands</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Looking back, I can only admire<br />The things he could do with patience and pliers,<br />As trivial as broken playthings could be,<br />He could sense it was the end of the world for me</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
From broomstick horses and bent handlebars<br />To the mechanical nightmare of my first car,<br />If it crumbled like a castle of sand,<br />By the magic of my father's hands...</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
My father's hands could fix anything in my world<br />If it all lay in pieces, without a hope or a prayer<br />It was never beyond the loving repair of my father's hands</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Now here I am and I'm feeling scared<br />'Cause for the very first time I am aware<br />Of these ruined hopes, and these shattered dreams,<br />But my father's hands cannot fix everything</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A broken heart is not a broken toy,<br />And though I'm a man, I am still much a boy,<br />And my daddy's done all he can do.<br />So Lord Jesus, I'm asking you,<br />Could your father be my father too?</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Now my father's hands can fix everything in my world<br />If it all lay in pieces, without a hope or a prayer<br />It's never beyond the loving repair of my father's hands<br />Oh, my father's hands<br />My father's hands...</blockquote>
<br />
Blessings on Father's Day to all the dads, and God's comfort to those who have lost their dads.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-91435357579215338182014-11-08T22:14:00.000-05:002014-11-08T22:14:30.137-05:00Facing Backwards<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t believe the American Motors station wagons of the
early 70s were considered classics at the time, or even in hindsight – although
like with every other topic, particularly 70s-related, if you look online you
can find a small community of <a href="http://oldcarandtruckpictures.com/AmericanMotors/AmericanMotors-b.html">obsessives</a>.
Like them, I remember ours pretty fondly, though.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was dark green with the mandatory faux-woodgrain
paneling, and if your family had anything similar, you know what was the most
cool about it: it had 3 seats, and the third one was rear-facing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While the Council on Bubble-Wrapping Our Kids has decided
that’s a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1999/10/20/automobiles/looking-back-at-the-increasingly-rare-backward-view.html">no-no</a>
(like everything else we enjoyed as kids), in those days parents & kids
both welcomed the opportunity for a little space between us. So the third seat
(at least in memory) was my sanctuary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a sense it was kind of wasted on me, because on a trip of
any length I was absorbed in one of two things, and didn’t notice which
direction I was facing – either I had “my nose in a book”, as Mom would say, or
I was rummaging through/examining/obsessively re-sorting a thick stack of
baseball cards.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Baseball cards weren't yet considered a ‘collectible’ – the
day when they would be considered a legitimate hobby and <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/sports/sports_nut/2010/03/the_great_baseball_card_bubble.single.html">then
an investment and then worth zero again</a> was still far in the future – but
kids of a certain age always collected them. I don’t know why they fascinated
me instantly; the <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=1972+topps+baseball+cards&espv=2&biw=1366&bih=643&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=jWJbVLTKB879yQT8noHIBw&ved=0CAcQ_AUoAg#imgdii=_">cards
of the early 70s</a> are considered more or less the ugliest in card history.
But anytime I could lay my hands on a dime, I’d walk the block to the drugstore for a pack.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Baseball cards were in some ways the Microsoft Excel of my
childhood, because a pile of cards could be sorted and resorted –
alphabetically, by team, by position, by card number… this did cause one huge
problem for me, however, because in order to keep the ‘team’ category current,
I would cross out the team on the card and write in the new team every time a
guy got traded. So a large number of my cards are in the opposite of <a href="http://www.psacard.com/Photograde/1/1952-topps-mickey-mantle-311">mint
condition</a> (and yeah, I mean they <b>are; </b>you
bet I kept ‘em all to this day).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a guy who is (probably genetically, certainly
temperamentally) predisposed to Collecting and Sorting Things, I have been very
much in a state of heightened alert since I got an <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2010/01/into-evortex.html">iPod</a>. The
iTunes library allows for easy slice-and-dicing, and it’s even easier to carry
my songs with me than it was to carry my baseball cards.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not only do I like to make lists, though, but I also like to
look at other people’s lists. When I came across the Rolling Stone list of the <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/the-500-greatest-songs-of-all-time-20110407">top
500 songs</a> of all time, I immediately copied the list and checked it against
my library. As of today, I have 187 of the 500 – which is funny, because it
seems like I always have about a third of <i>any</i>
list I find.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The more I looked, though, the more I realized that the
reason I didn't have more of the songs was because I didn't want them. When it
comes down to it, and I've <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2009/08/behold-power-of-cheese.html">mentioned
this</a> before, I’m just not oriented toward critically-acclaimed music. I’m
not really seeking out Nirvana or the Sex Pistols or Eminem.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, I like to collect, and I’m always on the lookout for
reminders of songs that I enjoyed and would like to add, so I decided to
crowdsource: using Wikipedia’s pages for the Billboard <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billboard_Year-End_Hot_100_singles_of_1978">year-end
top 100 charts</a>, I was able to compile essentially the top 1000 most popular
songs of the (guess which decade?) 1970s. And as of today, I have 474 of them,
which I believe is a testament to (a) how much I love 70s music and (b) how
exactly straight down the middle my taste is. I’m not claiming that’s good or
bad, it’s just the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WU_p2i5bfBM">Undisputed
Truth</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, the problem is that this plays into my obsessive
nature and I spend much of my time trying to figure out how I can get more and
more and more of these. Since our library subscribes to <a href="http://www.freegalmusic.com/">Freegal</a>, I can get a few tracks free
each week so I am scouring the database to see how many of them are on the list,
as I had previously done for the Rolling Stone list. Also, I have a lot of
secondhand vinyl & cassettes I’ve picked up along the way but not ripped
yet, so I’m mentally scanning to see if there’s anything there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I guess I haven’t really come very far
since baseball cards in the backseat; when it comes to entertaining myself, it
seems I’m still facing backwards.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-25804619037166201332013-10-31T20:00:00.000-05:002013-10-31T20:00:00.188-05:00The Unkindest Cut, Part 2The kidney stone episodes I alluded to in <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-unkindest-cut-part-i.html">Part I</a> were plenty painful, but I can tell you that the day they took off my splint and fitted me for a cast was for me a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Alexander-Terrible-Horrible-Good-Very/dp/0689711735">Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day</a> The nurse jostled my arm a little taking off the splint, and it was as if she'd clubbed me with a baseball bat. In fact I almost threw up and I had to lie down for a few minutes to recover. Then they X-rayed it, forcing me to twist this way & that and I suddenly discovered: my arm didn't do that any more. By the time I got the cast on, I was grateful for the respite.<br />
<br />
When I finally got the cast off, I had 'only' a long brace, and I got to start PT. Here's where I started: if a 'handshake' position is 0 degrees, and palm-up is 90, I was at -5. I could only bend it backward & forward about 15-20 degrees. For 3 weeks I was stretched hot-packed, ultrasounded, and electrically stimulated; I did all manner of exercises both in PT and at home. Then I went back to the <a href="http://www.capitalregionorthopaedics.com/about/physician-bios/michael-mulligan-md">doctor</a>.<br />
<br />
He was Not Happy, and he muttered darkly about "never getting it back" if I couldn't step up my game. He wanted me to hurt myself. I protested that I had always heard pain was a signal to back off, but he said it was time to push through the pain. When I asked him how far to push, he replied, "I want you to push until you want to punch me."<br />
<br />
Cue the Rocky training montage (hold the raw eggs). I worked as hard as I could, and I did push myself, although I'm sure I didn't do "enough" home exercise. There's only so many times a day that you can block off a 20-30 minute chunk of time; since I had to work the weaker hand with the stronger one, both were occupied and it sure is hard to get much else accomplished. You can't keep up with a blog, I proved that.<br />
<br />
Finally at the end of March I was released from PT -- but he warned me that if I didn't keep working, I'd start going backwards.<br />
<br />
On the one-year anniversary of the surgery, I see that it's probably never going to be "normal" again. I still walk around a lot of the time, holding my wrist with the other hand, rubbing it, stretching it... hoping to make it feel less tight, less stiff, less sore, stronger. If I bend it hard, just the right way, it makes exactly the same sound a bowling ball makes when it comes out of the chute and smacks into the other balls on the rack.<br />
<br />
So you can see what good it did me to be <a href="http://en.allexperts.com/q/Orthopedics-980/Positive-Ulnar-Variation.htm">positive </a>for once.Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-57115659065066108492013-10-30T21:00:00.000-05:002013-10-30T21:00:07.903-05:00The Unkindest Cut, Part IIn some ways I suppose I resemble Linus; while I never carried a blanket or sucked my thumb, he's kind of a nerd who wears glasses, seems pretty introspective and is comfortable with his spiritual side. I'd also have to guess that, though I don't recall seeing this in a strip , like me he ended up with a <a href="http://oldcomputers.net/trs80i.html">TRS-80</a><br />
<br />
That may even be a little flattering to me, but I also must confess that I identify as much or more with Charlie Brown. Like the round-headed kid, I was not necessarily popular with my peer group; I always loved baseball even though I was not always noticeably successful at it; and I was more than a little crazy about a red-haired girl.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't be surprised if Charlie Brown had the same dream I did as a kid, over and over. I'm playing the outfield as the red-haired girl watches, there's a deep fly ball and I race back back back... at the last possible instant I leap to snag the ball as I crash into the fence.<br />
<br />
A hush falls over the crowd as I am carted off the field and the red-haired girl rushes to my side with, you know, like shining in her eyes. I think she smiles at me, maybe touches my hand, as they wheel me off to... I don't know, rebuild me, make me <a href="http://bionic.wikia.com/wiki/Main_Page">better than I was</a>. As long as I impressed the girl, I didn't much care what came next.<br />
<br />
In real life, I never made that kind of catch and I didn't get very far with the red-haired girl, and I also never spent much time at the hospital. Never broke a bone, never had my tonsils out, never even had a cavity. I've racked up a couple of ER visits for kidney stones -- which, ouch, but pain meds for a few days and a lot of water, and the pain more or less, um, passes.<br />
<br />
Then a couple summers ago, I noticed a sharp pain in my right wrist when I lifted or pulled something; one night I pulled hard on a heavy object and got a blinding flash of pain. The orthopedist said I had injured the <a href="http://www.rushortho.com/triangular-fibrocartilage-complex-tear.cfm">TFCC</a> in the wrist, basically a repetitive-stress injury caused by the outer bone of the forearm (ulna) being longer than the inner bone (radius); the imbalance basically causes the head of the ulna to pulverize the cartilage. This is called being "ulnar positive", which refutes all the people who have said I don't have a positive bone in my body.<br />
<br />
I had a couple cortisone shots to stave off the pain, though the doctor made it clear that I was only postponing the inevitable -- since they weren't making my ulna any shorter. Finally -- last Halloween -- I experienced the first medical procedure of my life.<br />
<br />
When people hear "wrist surgery", they usually think (1) carpal tunnel, which this wasn't, and (2) arthroscopic. My wrist actually was scoped to clean up the cartilage tear, but since the real problem was the length of my ulna...<br />
<br />
The other part of my procedure was called an <a href="http://sussexhandsurgery.co.uk/downloads/surgery/wrist/Ulnar%20Shortening%20Osteotomy.pdf">ulnar osteotomy</a>, which like most uses of medical terminology is meant to camouflage the fact that they open up your arm, cut a small wafer of bone out of the ulna, and put it back together with a plate and screws.<br />
<br />
Maybe your favorite ballplayer came back in a week or 10 days after a scope, but I ended up in a huge & cumbersome splint for 2 weeks, followed by 2 weeks in a cast running from my knuckles past my elbow.<br />
<br />
I couldn't drive, or type, (that is, work) for the entire month of November, but I was OK with that because I figured I'd get the cast off at the end of November, do a couple weeks' PT, and be good as new by Christmas!<br />
<br />
I figured wrong.<br />
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Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-75733171712460252102013-07-23T20:41:00.000-05:002015-01-23T07:18:13.213-05:00As I Was Saying...One of Newton's Laws of Motion states that a body at rest tends to stay at rest (if I were a real writer, I'd look up which Law, but since this is a blog, I'm obligated only to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newton%27s_laws_of_motion">link to it</a>). This Law is perhaps most clearly illustrated at nap time, but it also describes what's been going on with the blog of late.<br />
<br />
I won't deny that my production had been winding down really for a period of multiple years, for several reasons, but the pothole that seemed to drop the transmission out was my surgery in October. The irony, of course, was that I had nothing but time, suddenly... but typing was laborious (and handwriting all but impossible).<br />
<br />
Looking back over the past 9 months it seems full of momentous events, both exciting and catastrophic. I'm struggling a bit dealing with all of that in blog terms, first of all because the sheer volume of events really resists being summed up in 800 or so words -- but also because some of the individual events feel too big, too deep, too... personal.<br />
<br />
One of the joys of this endeavor over the years has been creating little vignettes, glimpses into my life and the way I think, and trying to make it interesting or funny to someone besides just myself. I appreciate also the cyberconnection I have with so many people who've been part of my life at different stages. It makes for a kind of community that's frankly missing from my largely isolated work-from-home life. I take particular pleasure in the fact that several of my Facebook friends that I interact with the most are people with whom I wasn't all that close <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Real_life#Related_terminology">IRL</a><br />
<br />
I'm also aware, however, of a fundamental shortcoming -- whether in me or just built into Social Media World: when I'm going through Real Stuff, such as I have been lately, it's better worked through with Real People, and not where "just anyone" can see..And while I've been pretty successful in building a Friends list, I've been <i>way </i>less successful in building actual Friend-ships.<br />
<br />
Even in the midst of such reflection, I still find it a bit ironic; I just wrote a blog about the limitations of blogging, in which the big revelation is that I'm fundamentally unable to reveal myself.<br />
<br />
<br />Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-39165712903478927822012-09-10T19:45:00.001-05:002012-09-10T20:34:54.082-05:00Call Me Cautious<span style="font-style: normal; "><blockquote></blockquote>I realize that a high percentage of my posts end up to be about music. I guess that's kind of like the way Eskimos are supposed to have so many <a href="http://www.princeton.edu/~browning/snow.html">words for snow</a>, or fish tweet all the time about how the water is today. Not that I claim that level of expertise, but I seem to be surrounded by music so it seems to be on my mind more often than not.<br /><br />It's not the same as it once was, I have to say. Actually in a way it is, because I seem to be immersed in the </span><i>same</i> music now that I was then... but what I meant was, in my younger days when there was something cool and hip and happening, I was aware of it (even though I was constitutionally unable to <span style="font-style: italic; ">be </span>hip) more or less right away. <div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Now when I am... less conclusively young... I am reminded of that fact over and over, because the new hot song comes to me through my children. Ouch, by the way. Quite often they say, "We heard this song and it's really cool and can we have it on our iPods?"</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">It is my intent as a parent, of course, to exercise a certain amount of quality control over what's going into their heads, so my answer is always "Let me look at it." I then head directly to Google (pretty often right that very moment, with some encouragement).</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I know I have no grounds to be all that superior -- "She loves you yeah yeah yeah" is not precisely Shakespeare, and no one will proudly hail the ascension of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_ding-a-ling">"My Ding-a-Ling"</a> to #1 in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Hot_100_number-one_singles_of_1972_(U.S.)">October 1972</a> as a cultural touchstone. But I also can't say that I've been overwhelmed with the literary quality coming out of top-40 radio these days either... </div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Maybe "literary" is the wrong angle. Now that I'm coming at it from the parental standpoint, I'm actually more interested in the message than the turns of phrase. Sometimes I can sort of get around "adult language" by making them get the <a href="http://www.kidzbop.com/">Kidz Bop</a> version, since it's sanitized for your protection (shades of <a href="http://www.tsimon.com/boone.htm">Pat Boone</a>), but other times it's more of a conceptual struggle, particularly in the way current music deals with male-female relationships.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">With that in mind, I'd like to submit the following proposed lyric:</div><blockquote style="font-style: normal; "><div>Hey, I just met you,</div><div>But I'm not crazy,</div><div>Can't have my number,</div><div>So let's meet for coffee sometime in a neutral and non-threatening public place where I can be completely sober AND see you in the light of day AND be able to hear what you're saying so I can figure out whether you're a normal guy or some kind of stalker,</div><div>Maybe</div></blockquote><div style="font-style: normal; "></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><blockquote></blockquote></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-91068032653783272922012-08-21T21:39:00.004-05:002012-08-23T21:44:40.783-05:00One for the Money, Two for the Show<span style=" ;font-size:100%;">There were over a thousand students at my high school, so my verification was surely not exhaustive, but to the best of my knowledge I was the only one around who ever wore blue suede shoes to school.</span><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">I'm also relatively certain that this removes the last vestige of doubt about whether I was ever "cool" or 'hip", as if that ship hadn't sailed well over 100 posts (not to mention well over 40 years) ago.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">Here are the two things you really need to understand about that: first, I was probably 13 or 14 when I got them and surely can't be held accountable; and second, given the opportunity, I'd do it again tomorrow. Maybe tonight, even.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">They were Hush Puppies and you know I just checked the <a href="http://www.hushpuppies.com/US/en">website</a> but they don't seem to have them these days. Those shoes were comfortable and I really loved them... and yeah, I also felt like I was really styling as well. It may be just as well that I can't get my hands on them any more, since there have been two major changes since those days -- Hush Puppies are now crazy expensive, and I am also now a married person.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">I haven't thought about those shoes much in the past 30+ years -- although I must admit that they do tend to get mentioned at my high school reunions! -- but recently I actually found myself in a situation when a pair of blue suede shoes was exactly what I needed.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">During our <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2012/07/these-are-people-in-your-floating.html">25th anniversary cruise</a> this summer, I fell victim once again (as, let's be honest, we all knew I would) to a more serious cruise-related virus than even Legionnaire's Disease (or the compulsion to impress your girlfriend by <a href="http://news.nationalpost.com/2012/02/23/costa-concordia-captain-francesco-schettino-faces-news-charges-in-cruise-ship-sinking-reports-say/">sailing too close to the coast</a>). It must have been lying dormant in my system ever since <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2005/12/going-cold-turkey.html">October of 2005</a>.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">As I reported in one of my first blog posts ever -- in which I believe I established a precedent for being transparent about myself -- I was rather mesmerized that first time around by the opportunity to perform karaoke. I went in this time hoping that a bit of foreknowledge, and self-knowledge, would help me keep things in perspective.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">Then I discovered that not only could I take a whirl at conventional karaoke, but they were also offering <a href="http://www.carnival.com/Funville/blogs/faqs/archive/2010/08/10/what-is-superstar-live-karaoke.aspx">Superstar Live</a> -- karaoke with a live band including backup vocals. I definitely relished the opportunity to perform, for the first time ever, with an actual rock band.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">Despite all of that, I felt like I kept my infection pretty well quarantined; I sang a bunch of songs, in both formats, but I didn't feel like it dominated my life. That might have been the Great Trivia Contest Quest, but that's another story. I had another brief bout of worrying about which song would make me look good... but then I realized that if this was only going to happen once every 7 years, I'd better focus on singing songs I enjoy singing. And after that it was awesome.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">Hanging around karaoke off-and-on for the week, I kept hearing about the "Carnival Legends" show featuring passengers performing on the main stage... as the week went on, however, I concluded that I must have no shot. After all, no one said anything to me -- until suddenly, the day before the show, I passed the karaoke host in a doorway and he said, "Oh, Mark, I was meaning to talk to you..."</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">And seemingly before I knew it (yet at the same time, after hours of stewing, re-listening to the audio, more stewing...) I was standing on stage in front of an audience, and a full band... dressed in full Elvis drag. At that point things are moving </span><i><b>thisfast</b></i>, and it can get away from you in a hurry.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">The Elvis Legends number is a medley of "Jailhouse Rock" and "Hound Dog", and what I found immediately after starting to listen to the practice track they gave me is that despite the fact that "Jailhouse Rock" is older than I am and a certifiable 'rock classic'... I sure didn't know the words. And I worried about that non-stop till I got on the stage.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; ">Sure enough, I got to the <b style="font-style: normal; ">fourth </b>line and "went up". All I could do is keep my mouth moving till the words came back, which they did (only to depart again <span style="font-style: normal; font-size:100%;">briefly</span><span style=" ;font-size:100%;"> a few lines later) -- but I actually believe, or perhaps delude myself, that some of the crowd didn't even <i>realize </i>I had lost it. Hey, you can't always understand Elvis either...</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; "><span style=" ;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:100%;">And you know what? I got to sing on stage with a full band in front of hundreds of people... happily the house lights were off AND the spotlights were in my eyes AND I didn't have my glasses on, so I couldn't see past the band anyway. And I screwed up in front of all of them, and I will never never not remember that. But I had a great time, and the <i>rest </i>of my performance was pretty awesome :-), and given the opportunity I'd do it again in a heartbeat.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:100%;">My other big regret was that, since I didn't pack for a stage show, all I had to wear on my feet was my old sneakers, which didn't totally fit the Elvis image, of course. Turns out that <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Abr_LU822rQ">Mars Blackmon was right</a>; I'll bet if I'd had those blue suede babies, everything would've come off without a hitch.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgqvbNJKZj1VLxGgvYcfrCDhpwRJT-LwYyUkzJu8YccOyjDbQ5YWUiGHT0CHhyT7Bt8G9EVVZ6_3bvAPIC2_a1dWaSzY7YyH3E4l077ckVQfLbkgSubooF9kni1AzPi2WFGZq/s1600/elvis+%2526+sammi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgqvbNJKZj1VLxGgvYcfrCDhpwRJT-LwYyUkzJu8YccOyjDbQ5YWUiGHT0CHhyT7Bt8G9EVVZ6_3bvAPIC2_a1dWaSzY7YyH3E4l077ckVQfLbkgSubooF9kni1AzPi2WFGZq/s320/elvis+%2526+sammi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5780064908303439618" /></a>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-81882240305969665902012-07-19T22:06:00.000-05:002012-08-02T22:57:48.398-05:00These Are the People in Your (Floating) NeighborhoodQuiet. Solitude. Contemplation.<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">These are just three of the words that will never be used to describe the cruise ship experience. Yes, my wife and I recently returned from an 8-day <a href="http://www.cruisecritic.com/reviews/review.cfm?ShipID=295">eastern Caribbean cruise</a> -- the longest by far we had ever been away from our children. As I recall, we have two of those, and while I'm a little hazy on the names, I'm sure they will come back to me while I'm writing this.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">This was a (slightly early) celebration of our upcoming 25th wedding anniversary, a romantic getaway for two marred only by the presence of over 2500 strangers... many of whom seem bent on affirming the worst stereotypes of residents of the Greater New York/New Jersey Metropolitan Area. I really had thought going in that the trip would include long stretches of quiet conversation, but to be in virtually any public area is akin to sticking your head in a jet engine.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">From a sociological standpoint, there's fun to be had in observing your fellow cruisers and discerning their primary motivation for booking. There is a major cohort, for example, that spends every waking (at least) hour in the casino. These are easily identified on the rare occasions they emerge by -- in addition to their eyeballs rolling vertically before coming to a stop -- keeping their room cards <span style=" ;font-size:100%;">on a lanyard around their necks.</span><span style=" ;font-size:100%;"> </span><span style=" ;font-size:100%;">This affords convenience for sticking the card into a slot machine for hours/days at a time, which in turn supplies a neat visual metaphor for the hold the machine has on them.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><span style=" ;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><span style="font-style: normal; font-size:100%;">A second group of cruisers is never more than a few yards from the pools.</span><span style="font-style: normal; font-size:100%;"> </span><span style=" ;font-size:100%;">Mind you, they’re not often found <i>in </i>the pools, which are pretty small. This group spends their days sprawled on a lounge -- you can't get up if you want to keep your place -- catching some rays and, I suspect in many cases, angling to be seen and admired.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><span style=" ;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><span style=" ;font-size:100%;">A similar group doesn't care about the rays, particularly, but can also be found in a lounge (often in what shade avails) stretched out with a book and/or snoozing. These people have clearly concluded, and I guess I can't argue strenuously with them, that vacation consists largely of doing, and moving, as little as possible. While this philosophy appeals to me somewhat, it only works for me in short bursts before something sounding very much like one of those old-fashioned <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8b/2010-07-20_Black_windup_alarm_clock_face.jpg/220px-2010-07-20_Black_windup_alarm_clock_face.jpg">alarm clocks</a> with the double bell on top goes off in my head. Then I have to go find an Activity, lest I while away the precious hours of my vacation without Accomplishing Something Vacationy. OK, you got me, I'm struggling with all of that.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><span style=" ;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span style="font-size:100%;">Incidentally, when it comes to reading material, even in tropical climes accustomed to bold colors, there were a <b>lot </b>of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifty_Shades_Of_Grey#Reception">Shades of Grey</a> to be seen.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">Perhaps the largest cruiser group, certainly by mass, is the Buffet Enthusiasts. I suppose if you say "cruise" to someone who'd never been, the instant reaction might be "unending food"... and they wouldn't be off by much. The first problem with pizza and ice cream available at 3 a.m. is that the vestigial reptilian/teenage brain says, "Aha! If I <i>can </i>eat it, then I <b>must </b>eat it"... but that way lies madness, not to mention raging indigestion and ill-fitting clothing.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">The dirty secret, of course, is that when cooking for a couple thousand people of varying backgrounds and palates (I don't think I'm being unfair to say, skewing toward unsophisticated), between sheer volume and least common denominator, it's almost impossible to put out excellent food. It's a <a href="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2047/2366022366_a90aa04bee.jpg">Denny's</a> that floats, is what it is.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">OK, that's (marginally) harsh, but while they clearly aspire a bit higher for dinner service in the formal dining room, most of what you get wouldn't be out of place at your local neighborhood <a href="http://www.goldencorral.com/menu/">Golden Corral</a> -- which operated on a similar charter for giving large numbers of customers acceptable food that really doesn't put anyone off.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size:100%;">I'm completely OK with that; I've made no secret that <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2007/08/top-microwaver.html">I'm no gourmet</a>, so as long as I go in with the expectation that it's going to be hot and plentiful and pretty good, it's filling the bill. Note -- when discussing cruises, it is <i>never </i>advisable to use the phrase "get what you pay for".</span></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-41807933000203501062012-04-26T21:19:00.005-05:002012-04-30T21:49:33.638-05:00Apple: Not Falling Far EnoughI guess everybody wants to see a little of themselves in their kids. I don't have the biological thing going for me, of course, so I do tend to study them closely to find those small reflections.<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">I've written before about <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2011/01/best-kind-of-sticker-shock.html">my son</a> and how I started out looking in all the wrong places for connections with him. It turned out he was not much for elaborate wordplay, and didn't care much about baseball -- but when we're riding in the car he always wants the oldies station playing, and pretty often he says, "Dad, do you have that one?" So we have a fair amount of overlap in our iPods. And I was happy to get him hooked on the <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2011/12/enjoying-view-from-third-row.html">finest</a> in visual entertainment as well.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">My daughter and I are pretty close in general, but the thing that we talk about the most (well, the thing I talk about with her; she talks about anything and everything with anyone and everyone) is <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2007/06/party-favors-peanuts-crackerjack.html">baseball</a>. Now that I'm helping coach her team, I like to try to teach her about the game... yeah, she's not really any more inclined to listen to dad when I'm wearing a maroon baseball cap than any other time. But even though it's somewhat frustrating, we can always connect on some level around the <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2011/06/diamond-mind.html">game</a>.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">Naturally I can't really expect them to share my preoccupation with the past... or least that's what I was counting on recently when I was able to recapture 8.5 oz. of my childhood.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">I've seen a lot of those photos that look like posters on Facebook recently talking about how our lives were simpler when we were kids -- we didn't have seat belts or sunscreen and we stayed outdoors from dawn to dusk without posting armed guards -- but I can certainly testify that one thing was in fact way simpler, and that was breakfast. In my day it seemed as if nutrition was optional; the proper response to "Sugar content?" was "Yes, please!"</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">So it came to pass that in the fullness of time, and bowl, I started nearly every day with a heaping bowl of <a href="http://www.mrbreakfast.com/cereal_detail.asp?id=300">Quisp </a>cereal. Like his cousin, Captain Crunch, Quisp was a jolt of sugary, sticky, corny goodness and I loved it. And I believe it was no coincidence that as I got a bit older and was slowly induced to eat a higher proportion of breakfast foods found in nature, Quisp was actually taken off the market.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">In the 90s Quaker brought it back as an <a href="http://www.quakeroats.com/products/more-products-from-quaker/content/cereals/quisp.aspx">Internet-only product</a>, and from there it gradually crept into scattered stores. You won't find it in your average Price Chopper or Hannaford, but it is perhaps ironic that I found it when browsing the more upscale <a href="http://www.thefreshmarket.com/">Fresh Market</a> (perhaps the only time "fresh" and "Quisp" have shared a thought).</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">Since it's such a "boutique" cereal now, and since the Fresh Market is so... well, I kinda want to say "snooty", but I'll try "esoteric"... an 8.5 oz. box of Quisp actually set me back more than a normal-size box of a normal cereal (for a real eye-opener, check <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Quaker-Quisp-Unit-Pack/dp/B00168AE2Y/ref=dp_cp_ob_gro_title_0">this </a>out). I was OK with that, though, because I figured one box would get it out of my system.</div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I bought it on a Friday night and basically wedged it into the back of the pantry shelf, then I went to bed. Saturday dawned bright and sunny and, as basically the only prerogative of the parent, I slept in a tiny bit. As I came down the stairs yawning and stretching, my daughter greeted me cheerfully, "Dad, this new cereal is <b>really good</b>!"</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I had already planned bagels for the weekend and the Breakfast Blast from the Past for Monday; I decided to stick with that despite my feelings of foreboding...</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div>... and so it was that on Monday morning I poured the <i>last </i>of the Quisp into my morning bowl. It was pretty good, but not as good as an entire box of Quisp.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://www.quakeroats.com/Libraries/Products/Quisp-Detail.sflb.ashx" alt="Quisp" /> </div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-49241593365082596022012-04-03T22:28:00.001-05:002012-04-04T22:29:19.679-05:00Lost in the Pages<span style="font-style: normal; ">I'm sure that from the standpoint of most retailers, I'm probably not the ideal consumer. I'm pretty good with the coupons, I'll drive across town to save 20 cents on a gallon of milk, and it's not uncommon for me to "visit" a product multiple times before I buy it (if I ever do). When stores use "loss leaders" to get me in the door, I love to go in and grab just those sale items and not get sucked in to any of the surrounding regularly-priced merchandise. I'm a trifle on the frugal side, is what I'm getting at.<br /><br />There is one commodity for which I am the target audience, however: books. I know that when I'm writing one of these, all I really want is for "all of you" to read it and enjoy it -- whether that's engaging with my premise, nodding in recognition, or just getting a laugh. The one thing I can promise from the other side of the reading experience is that I will throw my whole self into it. Sure, I have the tendency -- exacerbated by years of blogging -- to reserve a corner of my mind for the metacritical, "am I really enjoying this? why or why not?" sort of evaluation, but on some level I'm still able to disappear into a book.<br /><br />I'm also extremely brand-conscious; once I've enjoyed your book, I'm camping on your doorstep waiting for the next one. So last week I got my hands on Faye Kellerman's 20th Decker/Lazarus mystery (OK, I should probably admit that as usual I got it at the library, so in that sense I'm probably not entirely what an author is hoping for) and, having read probably the previous 19, I was ready to dive in.<br /><br />I was interested by the mystery but it was the 2nd plot, the love story, that really absorbed me. I found myself rooting, trying to anticipate where it was headed next, worried that something was going to go wrong; even when I was finished I found myself wondering what would happen to these characters after the book was over (</span><i>am I the only one who does that with fictional characters?</i>).<br /><br />Now it's possible I was influenced by the fact that the romantic couple were... a 15-year-old boy and a 14-year-old girl. When you combine my ability to pull a book up around my ears with my ceaseless fascination with my youth, I might have over-identified just a little.<br /><br />Because when I started to come out of my tunnel, I started to think, wow, this is really sticking with me; I wonder what the rest of the world thought about it...<br /><br />...and discovered that <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gun-Games-Decker-Lazarus-Novel/product-reviews/0062064320/ref=dp_top_cm_cr_acr_txt?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1" style="font-style: normal; ">the world as a whole</a> thought that the book wasn't that great. That the mystery wasn't that mysterious, and in any case got kind of short shrift. That the mystery story and the love story intersected in all too convenient ways. And all the more that maybe it wasn't too awesome to have a love story between a 15-year-old and a 14-year-old that... ah... perhaps took on more adult aspects than were strictly necessary. Not that I depend on the opinions of others to know what to think, but it was useful to get a little more rounded perspective (and maybe get my head out of my... book, a little).<div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">We all bring our personal Stuff to whatever we read or hear or watch, even relationships with others -- or so I've heard from people who have relationships with others. But in retrospect I probably should have stayed sort of outside the book a little more. And by the way, if you happen to read the book: kids, don't try this at home.</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-27345432415930735412012-02-28T21:34:00.002-05:002012-02-29T22:14:47.348-05:00Housework<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; ">I’m fascinated by the jobs people do. I mean, I know I have friends who are secretaries and teachers – and ministers, of course – but an awful lot of people kind of just “work in an office”. I wonder what their days are like; do they spend their time sending emails or typing documents or just thinking? Do they have a lot of control over what they do, or are they given a list of tasks to carry out today? And on top of all that: are they really good at their jobs, and how could you tell?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; ">I guess I think about this in part because I don’t believe anyone really knows what I do. My title is “software engineer”, which is a euphemism for “programmer”, and I think most people who see that would probably think that I write computer programs all day. Put aside for the moment that I firmly believe that a lot of people (I won’t say “most”) really don’t even have a clue what a program is.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; ">My own family is completely mystified by what I do. My mom used a 3-word title to "label" me in a Christmas letter one year; she got all 3 words wrong. My wife looks over my shoulder once in a while, and is convinced that I basically type random gibberish all day long. Not to mention the periods I spend staring at the screen, not moving at all... I don’t guess that looks much like work either. My daughter has said she wants to grow up and take my place when I retire, but I suspect she mostly wants to sit in a recliner all day in front of a screen while wearing slippers.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>I tried to calculate it today, but I think it's quite possible that I spend fewer than 20 hours per week wearing shoes.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; ">The truth is that while I write code now and then, my job description – or at least my job practice – is kind of all over the place. One of my major responsibilities is learning about some of the new software my company produces; at times that means I end up handling questions from colleagues and problems from customers. So quite often my day is spent poking through program code to try to figure out why things are behaving the way they are.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; ">I work from home, also, and in some ways that doesn't work well with my personality. I can be easily distractable -- I like to think of it as multitasking -- and with easy access to a kitchen full of food and an Internet full of... everything but food, let's just say sometimes my concentration level is not a horizontal line. If all else fails, I can always take time out to pet the cat.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; ">(Partially) as a consequence, my workdays lately have felt like episodes of "House"... I seem to stumble around for the first 49 minutes of the program, or even 53, but then right before the last commercial (or in my case, at the Outlook reminder that I have to do the Bus Stop Trip), I finally pinpoint the disease. Sometimes I even have time to start treatment before I go off the air, but a fair amount of the time I end up with a special 2-part episode, continued next time.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; ">However, with "House" about to go off the air, I have to choose a new role model. I'm trying to decide between Martha Stewart, the Amazing Racers and the dudes on Project Runway.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></p><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lcIK3akktLU?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-37021125144729039252012-01-23T23:02:00.004-05:002012-01-23T23:08:43.403-05:00Family Resemblance<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif"">Both of my parents are the youngest of their siblings, by a notable margin, and I’m the youngest of my generation as well. As a result, even my cousins have 10 years or more on me; we basically were strangers until well into my adulthood.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">However, the arithmetic is bringing us together in recent years – we cousins seem to encounter each other at funerals.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">The rest of my immediate family has fled south, so I am the uncontested Northeast Regional Funeral Representative for the family.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Despite the fact that we were virtually unknown to each other, all the cousins knew who I was pretty much instantly, because they knew my parents – and I am a walking testament to the power of heredity.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I look pretty much like what you’d get if you added my mom & dad together and divided by 2.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">My hands and feet are definitely my dad’s, and they said that even as a toddler I walked like his father, even though he died before I was born.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">My face is mostly from my mother’s side, although I think a little of the paternal side sneaks in there, and my sense of humor and much of how I think is strongly reminiscent of mom as well.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I’m sure there’ll be a future guest blog entry where she refutes that in the strongest possible terms.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I’m dwelling so much on </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregor_mendel" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Mendelian</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> matters because it occurred to me recently that I also inherited something from my sister – a large swath of my iPod playlist.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I’m not sure that there have been any scientific studies establishing music preference (or obsession, if you prefer) as hereditary, but the evidence is pretty strong in my case.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">My sister was four years ahead of me in school, so she left for college as I reached high school… and started getting interested in music.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">And when she left for college, she left a tiny slice of herself behind: a really cheesy, beat-up record player – maybe not even worthy of being called a “hi-fi”; more like a lo-fi – and a small stack of albums (insert obligatory self-deprecating yet somehow simultaneously condescending crack about how some of my readers won’t remember large vinyl platters).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Fast-forward mmmmppph years – OK, 35, give or take – and here I am building a music library.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Anyone who’s read any of my stuff, let alone my past music-related posts, will be unsurprised to learn that a lot of my collection comes from a long time ago.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">The backbone of the list is all the LPs and cassettes I bought all those years back, but thanks to a number of contributing streams (yard sale LPs & cassettes, cheap CDs, my somewhat winding emusic.com odyssey, and some gift iTunes cards), I’m slowly filling in the blanks.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Let me see if I can remember what was on that record player spindle:</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">the Beatles’ “Yesterday and Today”.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Gordon Lightfoot, Glen Campbell, and Peter, Paul, and Mary’s “Ten Years Together”.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">John Denver – “Poems, Prayers, and Promises”.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Was the Carpenters’ “The Singles: 1969-1973” in there too?</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I think so, but I’m not 100% sure.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I know there was an extremely warped copy of James Taylor’s “Sweet Baby James” that made me seasick to watch when I tried to play it.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">She also gave me an </span><a href="http://www.retrohound.com/jubilation-20-songs-20-artists/" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">8-track</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">, for you archaeologists in the crowd, of some of the earliest of what would come to be called Christian Contemporary music; I kept it, later copied it to cassette (we didn’t “rip” in those days), and still listen to it in 0/1 format even now.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Further, in my never-ending quest to haul Yesterday into Today, I’ve bought the PP&M and Carpenters albums second-hand.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I grabbed a nice Gordon Lightfoot selection at emusic, and I developed an unhealthy obsession with finding the actual Glen Campbell tracks I remember in their “original” state.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">It looks like the album she had might have been </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Glen-Campbell-Greatest-vinyl-R124107/dp/B0050AUT9M/ref=sr_1_30?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid=1327375778&sr=1-30" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">this one</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">, but the cuts I got from emusic are live cuts recorded much later (*</span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">cough* </i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">ripoff </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><i>cough</i></b><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">)</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I finally grabbed the most recent </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greatest_Hits_(Glen_Campbell_album)" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Greatest Hits</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">, when Amazon was basically giving it away for $5; this has allowed me a kind of “ahhhh… finally” moment, although at least one of the songs has been remixed almost till you can’t recognize it any more.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I started buying James Taylor in my first batch from Columbia House, way back in the day, so although I don’t have the SBJ album, I do have 40 JT tracks in my collection.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">And somehow, I ended up with the original John Denver LP, so that became part of Project Digitize.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I bought the Beatles’ Revolver some time back as a second-hand cassette, thinking that was the album I’d heard so many years before.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">But Beatles albums are an odd commodity; the same track often shows up on multiple LPs.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Eventually I did a bit of research (can you claim it as “research” if it’s really just Wikipedia?) that I discovered that the actual record was “Yesterday and Today” and that it basically contained half of “Revolver” and half of “Rubber Soul”…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">… but fortunately, the arrival of the Beatles at iTunes coincided roughly with the arrival of iTunes cards in my Christmas stocking, so I was able to snatch up “Rubber Soul” digitally to finish off that dream.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Although I have to admit that I’m now trying to figure out where the most significant holes are in my Beatles collection, currently numbering 66 tracks.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I can’t in good conscience blame the whole thing on her, although I may still send her an invoice – a large percentage (I’m waffling between “impressive” and “disturbing”) of my acquisitions in recent times have been focused on the time period when I didn’t have to cook my own meals or do my own laundry.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">At least 1200 of my songs, or over 20% of my collection, are dated before 1980.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">I find that for many of the really old tracks I have a memory, or at least a “memory”, of when I heard them first – and actually many of those have sisterly associations as well, like hearing “Hey Jude” for the first time at The Tower Restaurant in Lake Pleasant, NY (where the older kids hung out), or being instantly hooked on “It’s Too Late” by Carole King when I heard it in a car one late night in downtown Troy.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">And don’t get me started on “Indiana Wants Me”, which to be honest I haven’t bought yet because it’s hard to find the authentic one, plus I’m still a little bit conflicted about it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">Meanwhile I continue to get Facebook friend requests from high school classmates, and I made a few purchases several months ago to get my collection of 1973 Topps baseball cards within </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">9</b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> of completion.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; "> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; ">My Today often looks a lot like my Yesterday, except with more TV networks.</span></p>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-77826033484240164612011-12-07T22:26:00.003-05:002011-12-07T22:48:13.834-05:00Enjoying the View from the Third Row<p class="MsoNormal">When I was dating the young woman who was eventually convinced to become my wife, I wanted to impress her with my good taste, my worldliness, just my overall Catch Quotient. So in the finest tradition of the dandy who would invite a lady to see his etchings, I would at times bring her to my place to view… The Muppet Show.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I may be a little different than most Muppet fans of my approximate vintage because I didn’t catch the bug on Sesame Street; I don’t remember ever seeing it before my own kids were small (not only was I 7 by the time it debuted, but when I was a kid it was not a trivial matter to <a href="http://www.retrothing.com/2010/06/adding-settop-box-to-your-tv-is-nothing-new.html">tune in a UHF station</a>). In my teens, however, I was casting about for funny stuff, and that’s how I discovered <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/MontyPython#p/a/CDFEA6D52E5CC0EC/0/kQFKtI6gn9Y">Monty Python</a>, <a href="http://www.ovguide.com/tv/second_city_tv.htm">SCTV</a>, <a href="http://www.museum.tv/eotvsection.php?entrycode=bennyhillsh">Benny Hill</a>, <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/daveallenatlarge/">Dave Allen</a>, Saturday Night Live, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRoaG_AmqrI&feature=share">Letterman</a>… and The Muppet Show.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Sadly, when it comes to one’s own children, introducing them to Letterman or Python, to say nothing of the late Mr. Hill, is not usually considered exemplary parenting. So in an effort to entertain them, as well as in search of common ground, a few years ago I bought Season One of the Muppet Show.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was mainly aiming at my son, who almost literally loves nothing more than watching a TV show that makes him laugh. Maybe watching it while eating <a href="http://www.stewartsshops.com/ContentManager/index.cfm?Step=Display&ContentID=57">Peanut Butter Pandemonium</a> and having his feet rubbed, but still. At first he didn’t seem to care at all, then suddenly – maybe because he was just a little older – he wanted to watch one or two episodes a day.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">He loves it. He loves it all, musical numbers, slapstick, one-liners, the whole deal. So when he saw there was a movie coming out (you might have <a href="http://www.metacafe.com/watch/mv-Gd7DB/tv_spot_4_how_many_muppets/">heard</a> about that), he began almost vibrating. Each time he saw the ad, if I was in the room – even if it had just run during the last break – he’d say, “We <b>have </b>to see that, Dad.” Even though I <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2011/02/different-annual-review.html">already saw my movie</a> for the year!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I knew that if we didn’t get there on Thanksgiving weekend, he’d be vastly disappointed, so on Sunday we squeezed into a matinee… I didn’t even know it was possible to have seats <i>behind</i> the screen. Fortunately, the proprietors considerately provided 20 minutes of previews so I could get used to looking up everyone’s nostrils.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">As much as I was looking forward to it, I was also a little bit worried. I have a healthy respect for the genius of Jim Henson, but this one was of course coming from a different source. Plus, I knew a <a href="http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/11/24/walter-the-new-muppet-of-course-modeled-after-michael-cera/">new Muppet</a> was being featured and I was skeptical about how that might affect the “group dynamic”, if you will. And I had read the <a href="http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20543365_4,00.html">articles</a> raising some questions about whether this movie was truly in the traditional spirit of the Muppets.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When it was (finally) time to play the music and light the lights, I felt like I was holding my breath a little bit. But before the movie was more than a few minutes old, I found myself literally unable to stop myself from grinning from ear to ear. And since I can’t do anything like this without also monitoring my brain to see how I’m reacting, I was conscious that my second emotion was gratitude… to<a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/movies/kermit-piggy-jason-segel-star-muppets-a-warm-funny-movie-tribute-jim-henson-genius-article-1.980721"> Jason Segel</a>. It was immediately clear to me that he totally got it, that he understood what makes the Muppets funny and awesome, and that all he wanted to do was honor and carry on the Muppet legacy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The secret of the movie, and in fact the secret of the Muppets themselves, I think, is that they don’t care about being cool, or even really about “doing comedy”. They just want to <i>entertain</i> you, whether with a laugh or a cheer or a musical groove or even a cry. And I’m happy to say that the movie absolutely delivers on that; it’s funny and touching and nostalgic and just totally likable. I’m not claiming that it’s the best or even the funniest movie ever… but I don’t remember ever leaving a theater just feeling any better than I did that day. Maybe it’s just easier for a movie to be heartfelt when it already has the felt going in.</p>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-26818230684750435062011-11-22T23:28:00.004-05:002011-11-22T23:43:57.534-05:00Every Cloud Has A ... Lining<p class="MsoNormal">In one of my several previous lives, I <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2006/04/thats-way-mr-chips-crumbles.html">taught math</a> part-time at a bunch of different colleges, in both Upstate New York and Ohio. I was what’s known as an adjunct instructor; “adjunct”, as you may be aware, comes from the Latin meaning “to do what the real professors don’t want to”. So as a consequence, there were two separate instances when I taught a 7 am class. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">It was annoying enough that I had to be awake at all, much less standing up in front of a class pretending I wanted to be there and there was nothing at all amiss about working at that hour. But since they were fall semester classes, for several weeks we were all* arriving at school when it was still dark – which just emphasized the middle-of-the-night feeling for me. *<i>I say “all”, but certainly we did not set any records for attendance at those classes.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve recaptured that feeling these past 2 autumns, because middle school requires our young scholar to be at the bus stop at about 7:20 am – which admittedly is much different from 5 am, but at the beginning of November is still all-but-dark and made me feel like I should still be in bed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">So it occurred to me that there’s actually something good about November: the <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/17/daylight-savings-2011-time_n_1016262.html">time change</a> means that it’s no longer dark when he & I are getting around in the morning, which makes it a tiny bit more tolerable. And I get an extra hour of sleep for that one night, which I always waste staying up doing nothing because there’s no hurry getting to bed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Then I thought, surely someone with a sunny, optimistic, look-for-the-silver-lining outlook such as myself can find more than one good thing about November. Dark, damp, dreary, chilly November. So following is my attempt to redeem the month. I was going to say that it’s the kind of month no one ever writes songs about, and I’m still not 100% convinced that<a href="http://music.yahoo.com/blogs/yradish/top-10-november-songs.html"> this guy is not making this stuff up</a>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">>> The fact that it’s chilly means that I can swap out my spring/summer clothes for my fall/winter wardrobe. That mainly means corduroys in hues ranging all the way from tan to black – all the colors of the rainbow, if you live next to a steel mill. Of course, I have to bid <i>au revoir</i> to my summer pants in shades of electric blue, grass green, yellow and white (I’ll keep the red ones out in case I can find a Christmas-related application)… although it probably is safer to keep them somewhere my wife can’t see or get at them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">>> The colder weather also means the end of lawn mowing, and hopefully a respite before snow shoveling. I do have to admit I probably need to at least knock down the lawn at camp one last time; it’s a little brisk for that, though.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">>> It <i>should</i> mark, as well, the end of the prime allergy season for me. At least that’s what I thought until I woke up Monday sneezing constantly. I couldn’t remember whether I had missed my allergy pill, or perhaps it was just that <a href="http://www.wunderground.com/history/airport/KABI/2011/11/20/DailyHistory.html">Sunday’s relatively mild weather</a> had awakened something dormant like in a bad 50s sci-fi movie – so I took more drugs just to be on the safe side. Don’t worry, I’m</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">>> Gravy. I don’t really bother to make either a whole turkey, or gravy, very often during the year, so it’s not a bad thing that it’s compulsory on Thanksgiving (yeah, I know some of you are doing some other kind of menu, but just for the record, you’re wrong). Think about it: gravy is basically fat and salt, with a bit of flour to make it socially acceptable. Mark me down in the affirmative column on that one.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">>> If nothing else, it marks the calendar period when it’s the longest time before Halloween, about which <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2010/11/practically-my-aarp-application.html">my sentiments are already on record</a>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Since I'm still me, all this sunshine and lollipops has not induced me to forget about frost on the windshield, the kids having <b>five</b> days off this month, radio stations playing all Christmas music starting two weeks <i>before</i> Thanksgiving, or the creeping pestilential scourge of invading marauders that is Black Friday – all the things that make November feel a bit like a prison sentence – I’m just saying that, while I still believe every cloud has a bunch of other clouds behind it, it’s possible that one of them has some shiny mineral content in there somewhere.</p>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-91894000780552003672011-09-26T20:11:00.005-05:002011-09-29T18:12:31.965-05:0099 Cents Worth of QuicksandI don't know if you'd say I've ever actually had a life. When I was in high school, on Friday nights when my peers were out... I don't know, hanging out at the malt shop or dropping acid or whatever it was the cool kids were doing in those days, I was home. In my bedroom. Watching The Rockford Files, or more precisely counting the moments until <a href="http://www.thrillingdetective.com/rocj.html">The Rockford Files</a> came on. You can have your George Clooney or whoever, there's never been anybody cooler than <a href="http://www.imdb.com/media/rm1481218048/ch0026426">Jim Rockford</a>.<div><br /></div><div><i>And don't get me started on the genius of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chico_and_the_Man">Chico and the Man</a>.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>When I started to date the young woman who would later become my wife, it looked like I might have some sort of life; of course, most of our dates consisted of walking around the mall. Every once in awhile we'd really cut loose and I'd take her along when I did my grocery shopping. So let <b>that </b>be an answer to everyone who wonders why she married me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nowadays I have a job and 2 kids and plenty of stuff to do around the house, so it's not like I've got lots of time left over to spend at the <a href="http://local.yahoo.com/NY/Albany/Entertainment+Arts/Bars,+Pubs,+Clubs/Night+Clubs">discos</a>. Generally once the kids are in bed, I can sit down... watch some TV, read a library book or one of the 8000 magazines I subscribe to, surf the web a bit. Once upon a time I even used to write a blog, which you might remember if you've been taking your<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ginkgo_biloba#In_memory_enhancement"> ginkgo biloba</a>.</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>So, you know, if it's not exactly a life that's going to be the subject of an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/An_Inconvenient_Truth">Oscar-winning documentary</a> or something, it's a decent semblance at least. Until that fateful email...</div><div><br /></div><div>I <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/2010/01/into-evortex.html">wrote a while back</a> about my experience with <a href="http://www.emusic.com/listen/#/">emusic.com</a>, an online mp3 store that enticed me in with a lavish introductory offer with a somewhat more complicated reality. At that time it seemed like I might never extricate myself, but I was eventually able to get out with a pretty good haul of songs with regard to quantity, quality, and value.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since then I've been mostly puttering with my iTunes cards, forever building lists but never buying anything, and also taking advantage of a deal from the library that allows me a small number of free weekly downloads from the Sony music catalog. I was concerned that I was getting a bit over-absorbed with all this music-mining, but I thought I had it relatively under control.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then those devious folks at emusic sent me another offer: 99 cents for the first month, for credits that ought to allow me about 15 or 16 downloads (and the infamous "cancel at any time"). Less than 7 cents a song is a hard deal to turn down, and I would think it might be even for a person in full control of his faculties.</div><div><br /></div><div>I jumped on it, and within minutes I had snatched up 9 tracks, many of which were already sitting on my iTunes wishlist. Now, however, I'm stricken once again with the dreaded paralysis by analysis. I've got maybe 6 or 7 bullets left in the gun, about 15 on the contingency list, and an infinite number more that I <i>could </i>add. There's not much logic in sticking around for a full-price month; even though it's not a terrible deal, it doesn't make much sense to pay money when I've still got iTunes credits, so it's this last handful and out. I promise.</div><div><br /></div><div>So seemingly every day I go into emusic and wander the virtual halls, trying to figure out which of the songs on my list are the top ones -- then stumbling into a half-dozen more that I might enjoy slightly more. Or slightly less; who can say exactly? Music, money, OCD, and decision-making: a very dangerous cocktail for a guy like me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've seen this movie before and I already know how it ends: I take this 99-cent month down to the last possible second and click the mouse for the last song just before the clock strikes 12. Till then, you'll find me right here, clicking through the pages...</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-3396415443217132682011-09-18T20:23:00.003-05:002011-09-18T22:05:38.134-05:00Tearing Down the MacGuffinI'm really hoping that I don't meet the clinical standard of <a href="http://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/tc/obsessive-compulsive-disorder-ocd-topic-overview">OCD</a>, but frankly I wouldn't be surprised if I showed up on the scale somewhere. Recently I've gotten myself hooked into a brand-new obsession. One of our local radio stations has branded itself as "<a href="http://www.967wptr.com/">Legends</a>", with the tagline "The Greatest Hits of All Time"... which of course is mainly a candy-coated way to say "oldies". I do appreciate the subterfuge, however; whatever can help me sustain my self-delusions is fine by me.<div><br /></div><div>The first few times I clicked on the station, I was fairly amazed & amused that their playlist looks a great deal like my iPod library, and even the songs I don't have would fit neatly in the spaces between my songs. But instead of switching stations, since this one is almost redundant -- and instead of reflecting deeply upon what it says about me that all my music counts as "oldies" now -- I have, perhaps inevitably, made it a competitive sport.</div><div><br /></div><div>Each time I listen, I keep score of how many I have already. My baseline is 33%: I estimate that one of every three they play is in my library, and more often than not, I'm right on target. In fact, on my last hour drive I hit 6 for 15... 40%.</div><div><br /></div><div>I do write a lot in this space (or at least "a high percentage", since it's been years since I wrote "a lot") about the <a href="http://rndmaccess.blogspot.com/search/label/Rewind">past</a>. At first I thought that was because I'm just sentimental, or obsessed with my personal history, or somehow dissatisfied with my present... but over time I've come to understand that doing so helps me comprehend my past and fully absorb the lessons that maybe I didn't actually get the first time.</div><div><br /></div><div>This weekend there was an event I've looked forward to, and dreaded a tiny bit, for months: a <a href="http://www.adirondackalmanack.com/2008/01/gaslight-village-lake-george-fun.html">Gaslight</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaslight_Village">Village</a> reunion. It was a good-sized group of people from different eras, many of whom never knew each other, but all had in common a history at that place (and perhaps their own measure of obsession with the past). In a sense it was like a college Homecoming -- alumni from across the years, tied to the same location but with different experiences. So we tended to drift into our own "class years", creating reunions within the reunion.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was excited about it, but also a little scared. It's been almost 30 years since we worked together, so we might be very different people; maybe we wouldn't remember it or value it in quite the same way; maybe we wouldn't have much to say to each other. That's a basic part of my nature: I'm always conscious of building something up too high and setting myself up for disappointment.</div><div><br /></div><div>Imagine my astonishment when The Old Gang reassembled and it was like the years disappeared. I don't mean to say I thought I was 20 again, which God forbid; the talk was of spouses and careers and kids, mixed liberally with the remember-whens. But if you closed your eyes... we were still the same people, enjoying each other's company as much, and in much the same style, as we always did.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's how it <i>wasn't </i>like college Homecoming -- our alma mater <a href="http://poststar.com/news/local/gaslight-village-opera-house-comes-down/article_35caec2e-88a2-11e0-be90-001cc4c03286.html">doesn't exist any more</a>. At one point we all walked onto the grounds, now just a big vacant lot. We did a lot of pointing and figuring out what had been where; we even found a couple of pieces of the Opera House building where we had worked. And it was in some ways a sad moment, remembering what had been and seeing what it was now. Some people were getting quite emotional, almost angry.</div><div><br /></div><div>Alfred Hitchcock used to have a term for a device he used in his movies -- he called it the <a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MacGuffin">MacGuffin</a>. The MacGuffin is a plot device, usually literally an object, that sets the story in motion (for example, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Maltese_Falcon_(1941_film)">Maltese Falcon</a> in the film of the same name), but it's really just an excuse for the characters to do what they're doing. The essence of the movie, of course, is the interaction among the characters.</div><div><br /></div><div>So it turns out that while they closed the gates and tore down all the buildings, the buildings were just the MacGuffin, the objects that set that part of my story in motion. I stood there surrounded by Bill and Cindy and Jeff and Kim, and I realized that my Opera House was still standing, right there in that group. I had the memories, and I had the people to help me keep them alive in my heart -- because they helped me make them in the first place.</div><div><br /></div><div>The physical location is gone, so instead I'll keep the memories, and the friends -- whether by Facebook or email or future face-to-face meetings. And we can cherish and celebrate and preserve the past together... but more importantly, we have the here-and-now together, and you know what? That's pretty cool too.</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-39331203289732131982011-08-18T20:57:00.006-05:002011-08-18T21:50:10.174-05:00A Bracing Experience<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t say that I remember a lot from fifth grade – the <a href="http://www.wynantskillufsd.org/">first time around</a>, at least.<span> </span>I do remember that Mrs. Willson seemed like she was at least 80 or something; I do remember getting in trouble for cheating (when all I did was turn around & ask the kid behind me if he was done with the test – is that a <b>felony</b>, or something???), and I do remember the red-haired girl that I was crazy about.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Never fear, however, since I get to relive each grade once more through my kids.<span> </span>My son is never going to be exactly famous for his study skills, so I spend a lot of time doing review with him.<span> </span>As a consequence I’ve become so expert on American history from pre-Revolutionary times up to the Civil War that I can almost help him study just from what’s in my head.<span> </span>At finals time I reviewed a list of 33 vocabulary terms with him without any notes, and he said, “Dad, how do you know all these things?”<span> </span>I refrained from asking him how it was that he didn’t know any of them, but I did let him know that, having reviewed it many times, I was pretty clear on at least that much of history.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">He also spent much of his science year reviewing the <a href="http://www.abcya.com/skeletal_system.htm">systems of the body</a>, which came in handy recently.<span> </span>Did you know that your joints can be classified into categories?<span> </span>Your shoulder and hip are ball-and-socket joints; the knee and elbow are hinge joints; the neck is a pivot joint; and the ankle and wrist are called <a href="http://www.edoc.com/what-is-a-gliding-joint">glide joints</a>.<span> </span>This last type is particularly complicated, because it’s designed to allow the bones involved to slide <i>past</i> each other.<span> </span>The wrist is especially involved, bringing a bunch of small bones together and permitting the hand to move in not-quite-but-almost-limitless directions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">In the ideal world, at least.<span> </span>If you ever want to be totally aware of all the marvelous things the wrist can do, one way – maybe not the recommended way – is to injure one and discover all the things you’re completely unable to do.<span> </span>I had been having soreness in my right wrist for several<span> </span>weeks – through hauling suitcases on vacation, and spending an entire day helping friends move – but then one night a couple weeks ago I was wrestling with something heavy when I felt a searing shot through it.<span> </span>I didn’t hear anything, exactly (apart from the sound of whimpering that seemed to come out of nowhere), but I knew right away I was In Trouble.<span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Now the injury was bad enough, but since then I’ve been subjected to something even more painful:<span> </span>Medical Care.<span> </span>This was complicated by the fact that I have historically done everything possible to avoid going to the doctor – or perhaps I should just say I’ve historically been male.<span> </span>I didn’t even <i>have</i> a doctor.<span> </span>So I chose a doctor (or actually, a nurse-practitioner; there are no primary care doctors any more) at the practice my wife has been using.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">So I wrote my symptoms on the intake sheet, then I related them verbally to the nurse, which I guess is mostly rehearsal for telling the “doctor” all over again.<span> </span>You know, like preparing testimony.<span> </span>She had a notebook computer with symptom-digesting software, but in truth she diagnosed me as soon as I told her my job.<span> </span>As soon as she heard “computer”, she decided it was carpal-tunnel syndrome, despite the fact that the symptoms didn’t affect my hand at all and were the result of an injury.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Eventually I talked her down and she sent me down the hall for an x-ray.<span> </span>When the results came back, here’s the consultation I received:<span> </span>“It’s not broken.<span> </span><a href="http://www.walgreens.com/store/c/walgreens-ace-wrist-support-right-hand/ID=prod6007532-product">Buy a brace at the drugstore</a> and see an orthopedist.”<span> </span>Thanks, symptom-digesting software, I probably could’ve figured that out on <a href="http://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/finger-hand-and-wrist-injuries-check-your-symptoms">webmd.com</a>.<span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The orthopedist they suggested said they could fit me in in a mere 12 days… but the more I thought about it, I wasn’t sure their recommendation carried that much weight.<span> </span>So I called another <a href="http://capitalregionorthopaedics.com/">orthopedic practice</a> and was able to get in just 2 days later.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I knew I was at home when the doctor (an honest-to-goodness M.D.) came in and said, “I’d shake your hand left-handed, but…” and held up his left arm to display his matching wrist brace.<span> </span>He poked my wrist and said, “It hurts right here, doesn’t it,” then took out his pen to draw a diagram of my wrist on the white paper cover.<span> </span>He showed me the ligament he believed I’d damaged and sent me right out to schedule an MRI.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Two days later I was in the MRI room wearing size XXL pajama bottoms (not mine, for those of you who haven’t seen me in awhile).<span> </span>I’ll admit I was naïve about the procedure; I’ve seen so many medical shows I’m at least qualified to operate symptom-digesting software, but I figured that since my body was fine – or so they tell me :-) – and it was just way out at the end of my arm we’re worried about, I could just… you know, sit in a chair and stick my hand in it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Turns out they want you to be a tad more <i>invested</i> in it than that.<span> </span>So I ended up in the tube, flat on my stomach, with my hand straight over my head, for half an hour.<span> </span>And you know, as a professional computer programmer and a dedicated amateur reader and TV-watcher, I thought myself quite skilled at remaining motionless – but I certainly explored the limits of that when I was told not to move for 30 minutes.<span> </span>I was actually very relaxed about being in the machine, even with the <a href="http://www.ehow.com/facts_5994482_noise-mri-machine_.html">cacophony</a>, but I found that I had to concentrate hard every minute to keep from moving.<span> </span>Usually I have to concentrate hard to <i>make </i>myself move….</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">A couple days ago the results came back:<span> </span>I have an “injury”, which I took to mean a tear, to my <a href="http://www.eorthopod.com/content/triangular-fibrocartilage-complex-tfcc-injuries">TFCC </a>(the ligament/cartilage in the ulnar, or outer, joint of the wrist).<span> </span>So now I have to meet with the <a href="http://ecdn2.hark.com/images/000/040/435/40435/original.0">hand guy</a><i> </i>to find out whether they’ll operate, or <i>just</i> stick me repeatedly with a needle.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Till then – and probably after then, and for almost 2 weeks so far – I am living the Braced Life.<span> </span>The injury has probably lessened by 10%per day, but of course that means my <i>amount</i> of progress has slowed.<span> </span>In its current state the wrist is pretty sound forward & back, but very touchy from side to side and rotation is not happening.<span> </span>The thing is, the wrist is <b>designed</b> to move all 3 ways more or less at once, and I quickly discovered that in everyday life there’s basically no such thing as moving on a pure forward/back axis.<span> </span>I can actually pick things up vertically – but as you raise the load, the wrist is always adjusting the angle… which, ow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">So I’m challenged in a lot of motions during the day: I’m learning to eat and brush my teeth left-handed, but nearly everything about driving is a minefield, and don’t even get me started about the shower.<span> </span>It’s possible my handwriting has improved, though.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The worst part, though, is that it’s probably going to be weeks or perhaps months before I’ll be able to serve as a <a href="http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?t=562581">parade Grand Marshal</a>.</p>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-91178902286443287132011-07-26T20:24:00.006-05:002011-07-26T21:06:12.378-05:00Putting Myself in the Picture<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> 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mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">My niece was telling me just the other day how much she’s enjoying her <a href="https://www.netflix.com/">Netflix</a> trial period; my response was that I thought it would be hard for me to find enough I really wanted to watch to keep a Netflix queue going.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I know I’ve mentioned before that movies are not exactly our thing around here.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">There was one recent movie that I absolutely insisted on seeing, however: <a href="http://disney.go.com/toystory/">Toy Story 3</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not only am I a huge fan of the first two films, and of <a href="http://www.pixar.com/howwedoit/index.html">Pixar </a>in general – plus for me, Tom Hanks is one of those guys where if <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000158/#Actor">he reads the phone book</a>, I’m in – but I got the message that this film was very intentionally pointed at me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Well, perhaps not the rather narrow demographic of 49-year-old man who loves baseball, eats a lot of junk food, and can sing from memory almost every <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barry_manilow_discography#Singles">song </a>Barry Manilow’s ever recorded… but the reviews I read indicated that the movie had particular resonance for parents.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The plot revolves around, or at least is set in motion by, the fact that Andy (the toys’ boy), is now going off to college.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All the reviewers seemed unanimous: judging the movie entertaining, but also feeling an emotional reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And I, as a guy who occasionally chokes up at a well-done <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtI-Uzv9mNo">Hallmark commercial</a>, felt myself squarely in the bulls-eye on that one.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Knowing that – and even at this late date, always mindful of potential blog topics – I monitored my reactions throughout.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The <a href="http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20394413,00.html">critics </a>were basically on-target; it’s a terrific and entertaining movie, although there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that didn’t quite totally hook me in the way that the first two did.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was, however, a little caught off-guard by my reaction to the emotional set-up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I came in forewarned that Andy was going off to college and that that was really going to affect me as a parent. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Maybe it’s because my kids are miles away from that scenario (or at least it certainly feels that way from here), or maybe it’s just the way I’m wired – as I’ve proved in this space over and over again – but I really didn’t identify with Andy’s mom all that much.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I identified with Andy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">When he had to box up all of his toys… when the toys themselves realized that their time with him was irreversibly over… when he got in the car to drive away… all of that hit me like a nightstick to the gut.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I wasn’t flashing forward to that sensation of “losing” my children forever; I was flashing <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">back</b> to the sensation of losing my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">own</i> childhood.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I have to say that I think I envy Andy a little, even though he’s a fictional character (or maybe because of that, I guess).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’ve had all these experiences in my past that I maybe didn’t really “get” at the time, and I rehash them in this space quite a bit in an effort to redeem them, or attach some kind of deeper meaning to them – whether or not there actually was one.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">But in the marvelous final scene of the movie, instead of waking up years later to realize his childhood is gone and he doesn’t really know quite where or when, Andy seemed to recognize that moment for what it was.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He took it out of its box and looked at it, celebrated it, intentionally passed it on… and then moved forward to embrace the next phase of his life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And now I know that when I grow up, I want to be an animated, fictional teenager.</p>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-86325331912686693772011-06-08T21:36:00.003-05:002011-06-08T22:40:04.631-05:00Parental Advisory?When I was in my 20s and 30s I knew everything about parenting, which made it even more unfortunate that we didn't have kids at that juncture. Apparently that brand of expertise comes with an expiration date, sadly, because by the time the kids actually arrived I seemed to know a lot less about being a parent. <div><br /></div><div>As it turns out, it's like everything else in the world: you can't really be taught, you have to learn it for yourself. Of course, over my 12+ years of experience, I've developed a few theories... but I'm reminded of a baseball quote. Charlie Lau, on catching the knuckleball: "There are two theories on catching a knuckleball; unfortunately, neither of them work."</div><div><br /></div><div>Each of my children has in their own way provided a well-equipped laboratory for research and development in the field of study, but I thought it might be interesting to submit a case study for possible peer review.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our daughter is prone to report a new ailment every day -- I'm always prepared for a litany when she gets off the bus, and she rarely disappoints. And despite her apparent athleticism, she seems to get bumped & bruised on virtually any trip across a room that's not completely empty. I've heard it before, is what I'm saying.</div><div><br /></div><div>So this morning I was not completely astonished to find her with a long gauze bandage wrapped around her hand and halfway to the elbow. When I inquired, she told me that her arm hurt and she needed to protect it. I don't have a lot of patience with her... well, I don't want to say "hypochondria"... let's say "hypersensitivity", so I told her she would be taking it off before school. She said no, she needed it because her arm hurt, and she was to say the least not impressed by my contention that since it was neither cut nor broken, it wasn't doing her any good.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am aware that you can't really win a war of wills with someone who's determined to be unreasonable -- I have often said that parenting is the ultimate proof that you can't ever really <i>make </i>another person do anything -- so I decided to retreat to the shower to consider my next move.</div><div><br /></div><div>I knew that gym and recess are highlights in her schedule, so I decided to tell her that if she was <b>that </b>hurt, she would have to sit out of both gym & recess for the day. Maybe I was just waterlogged, but I really believe in natural consequences: if you mess up, the result of that should be related to the offense. So I thought it was a logical way to squeeze her... but she just shrugged and said, "okay."</div><div><br /></div><div>I certainly didn't want this to devolve into me chasing her around the house with a pair of scissors, and I couldn't very well threaten not to take her to school, so I decided to up the stakes: I told her that since she had been argumentative and defiant in not removing the bandage, her consequence would be to lose her privileges for the day -- no evening TV, no bedtime snack, no video games or any "special" recreation after school. Surely this would tip the balance...</div><div><br /></div><div>... except of course if it had, I wouldn't be writing this. She said, once again, "okay." </div><div><br /></div><div>And of course she had an awesome day at school because everyone was all curious/interested in her Serious Injury, so it appears she, well, beat me at my own game. </div><div><br /></div><div>I did tell her that if the bandage continued, she would be too injured to play in her Little League game tomorrow, so she did conclude this evening that it was feeling better after all. But I hate to lose to an 8-year-old.</div><div><br /></div><div>I suspect that if by some miracle I get multiple readers for this entry, the snickers will be inversely proportional to the number of kids per reader -- some of you have Been There, I'll wager -- but I'm certainly curious to know whether any of you would've handled it differently (I can ask that because I'm reasonably cure my wife won't read this; I know she would, ah, have an opinion). Warning: if you get all know-it-all on me, don't be surprised if your doorbell rings and you find her standing there with me peeling rubber halfway down the block....</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19786187.post-10771600380266694412011-06-03T21:13:00.001-05:002011-06-03T22:42:38.765-05:00Diamond MindI never had any shortage of toys as a kid -- don't get me wrong, I wasn't pampered either, but I don't recall ever feeling like I was missing out on certain "stuff". I did my fair share of Sears-catalog surfing at Christmastime, and my parents will tell you that I always created an itemized list on lined paper with the columns carefully drawn in with a ruler: page number, item, description, cost. But I don't think I ever seriously expected to get three-quarters of the stuff, nor did I feel like I came up short when I didn't.<div><br /></div><div>It was always kind of a moot point anyway; there were only a few possessions I really cared about. The vast majority of the time, I had a book in my hand (and it wasn't unusual for the other hand to be buried up to the elbow in a bag of chips, but that's another story), although I can tell you that may not be the best policy at times such as when riding a bicycle, for example. When it was dark, or there was snow on the ground, I was racing Matchbox & Hot Wheels cars. When I needed something portable that I could mess with for hours, I brought my baseball cards.</div><div><br /></div><div>The rest of the time, anytime I could get outside, it was my baseball glove.</div><div><br /></div><div>On my frequent trips to the drugstore down the street to buy baseball cards, I would also carefully evaluate the available rubber balls to find the ones that would give me the perfect bounce off the brick wall of the church next door, then off the driveway into my waiting glove. If only there had been a Little Brick Wall League.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even as much as I loved baseball, as a small, skinny kid who (at least when away from the brick wall) did not demonstrate prodigy-level baseball skills, I was actually too scared to play Little League the first year I was eligible. Once I got started, however, I couldn't be stopped. I played 4 years of Little League, and when I graduated from that -- despite ample evidence that I had already, ah, peaked as a ballplayer -- I played 3 years of <a href="http://www.littleleague.org/learn/about/divisions/baseball/slbb.htm">Senior League</a>. Well, "played" is perhaps a little strong in the latter case, but I had a uniform, and I showed up for every game, and every once in awhile they'd let me out on the field until the good players showed up. There comes a point, unfortunately, when no matter how fiercely you love the game, it stops pretending it loves you back. Regardless, however, when I look back at my "career", what I mostly think about is the fact that I <i>missed </i>playing that first year.</div><div><br /></div><div>As a parent, I have tried not to make my kids merely xeroxes of myself -- I want them to have their own interests and their own opinions. So my son is big on Legos, which I never cared about as a kid, and they both like Pokemon cards, which I find kind of weird. Still, I was certainly hoping that the boy & I could share baseball; when he turned out not to <i>dislike </i>it, but not be enthusiastic either, I won't deny I was a little bit disappointed.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll also concede I was a bit surprised when it was the daughter who started at a pretty young age to ask me to play ball in the yard, and before long to beg to play Little League. Life around here (especially in the evenings) can get a bit complex, so we held her back from playing for a couple years... but as she continued to ask, and I continued to remember that year I didn't play, it just felt like we had to let her play.</div><div><br /></div><div>She's having a great time playing -- she shapes her whole week around games and practices -- and I'm having a good (although often nervous!) time watching. I try to be there all the time for her; I remember that in my later seasons, my dad would walk to the field... see that I wasn't playing, again, and turn & walk home. I want her to remember me there. And I resist as much as possible the urge to coach, although I do... ah... encourage her in very specific terms. Most importantly, I try really hard not to call her "honey", "sweetie", or "baby".</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13775430353810840374noreply@blogger.com0