My hyPod

I'm a pretty unlikely candidate to be a technophobe. After all, I do make my living using a computer. And there are those near and dear to me who have been heard to say, "Will you please turn off that laptop??" If you heard the implied phrase "for once" in there, you are indeed listening with that Third Ear.

I would definitely cop to being a slow adopter, however. While I embrace technology in general, as a rule I also tend to shun change... which I suppose seems a bit contradictory. When I sense any tension, though, I break the tie by recalling that The Latest Thing usually costs The Most Money, and my thrifty nature casts the deciding vote. You know, frugal. Financially conservative. Don't say the "ch"-word, or I'll hit you with another paragraph of euphemisms.

As I result, I'm always trailing the crowd. I was extremely late in moving to DVDs -- or at least dipping my toe in, since I'm hedging my bets with a combo VHS/DVD player. I wouldn't even have this laptop if I hadn't wheedled it out of my manager when my employer declared it officially obsolete. And I really, really wish music would slow down and let me catch up.

I was, surely needless to say, the one still buying vinyl when All The Kids were buying cassettes; I even had a handful of 8-tracks, but I promise I didn't buy them myself. Finally, when LPs went the way of the Edsel (even Columbia House stopped selling them), I gave in and moved to cassettes -- and about a week later, CDs were the next big thing.

Now, finally, I've surrendered to the tyranny of CDs... only to find once more that the parade has gone off and left me. I'm sure the day is not distant when some young punk pulls out the earbuds long enough to ask, "What's a CD?"

Predictably, I have not joined the iPod crowd, for reasons even beyond the obviou$. Not only does a fairly steep tab look doubly so when evaluated as an undisputed luxury, but my life at present does not encourage me to spend much time cocooned in my own little world (as an iPod encourages).

Perhaps more to the point, I just don't need something else that needs to be "managed". I'm sure it's supposed to be a selling point when they say how many zillion songs an iPod will hold, but all I can think is, "When will I have time to find the sites and find the songs and download them all?" And oh by the way, continue paying and paying. It used to be that if I wanted a collection of cool tunes, I'd go to Caldor or Ames and slap down $4.98 for the latest K-Tel album. A zillion songs times 99 cents is a daunting prospect.

I will confess that I've detoured past the iPod display a couple times recently. And further, that I've started to assemble a playlist for my hypothetical iPod -- or hyPod, if you will. I already own a lot of songs that I enjoy and would love to hear more often... but they're trapped on vinyl. And since I have even less chance to hang out in front of my turntable, I'm also researching ways to transfer music from LP to CD (it can be done, although it's pretty expensive and/or requires a degree in Electrical Engineering).

I find that the songs I want that I don't already have fall mostly into the period right before I started collecting: late 60s/early 70s pop. Further, although I can't quite put my finger on it, they feel to me somehow similar. See if you can intuit the common thread among these:

• Anything by the Stylistics -- let's start with Betcha By Golly, Wow
• The Worst That Could Happen - Brooklyn Bridge
• You Make Me So Very Happy; And When I Die - Blood, Sweat & Tears
• Black And White- Three Dog Night
• Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye - Steam
• Vehicle- Ides of March
• Don't Pull Your Love- Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds
• Treat Her Like a Lady - Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose

For some reason, when I think about this I keep hearing the first few bars of Ooh Child by the Five Stairsteps.... I guess it kind of fits stylistically (if not Stylistics-ly), but I really don't think it's a good song.

Once I get started thinking about such things, it's only a matter of a couple of years till I carry it through. But I have a feeling that by that time, the Cool Kids will have moved on to direct chip implantation.

Dressed for Stress

The Scripture says that the Sabbath -- Sunday for us, of course -- is to be a day of rest. In our house we are careful about not lifting our ox out of the well... but in total, Sunday morning is almost unquestionably the most stressful day of our week.

My wife has to be at church for the 8:30 service, and then I'm responsible for getting the rest of us breakfasted and dressed and out the door well before the 10:30 service. That probably doesn't sound so bad, although it's complicated somewhat by my daughter's lengthy list of, ah, guidelines regarding what she will consent to wear. In recent weeks the degree of difficulty has been further ratcheted up by my need to attend both our services -- something which not only shortens the timetable significantly but also puts both kids in a foul mood.

My presence at the early service usually means I'm sharing in the music leadership, which adds to the tension. Then there's our weekly worship PowerPoint presentation, which I produce once a month, but which for whatever reason I feel responsible for even if I haven't touched it; I can never quite relax till that's all over.

I thought I had seen it all in terms of the stress Sunday morning could bring, until this past week: the annual picnic Sunday. You see, on picnic Sunday we are encouraged to dress picnic-appropriate, and that may be harder for me than all the other facets of Sunday put together.

I was born a preacher's kid and I've been in church all my life, which means that I was raised in the era when everyone was expected to dress for church. Gentlemen wore dark suits and ties (and hats, and topcoats); ladies quite often wore hats and gloves. While I can't say I have upheld that kind of standard -- I rarely wear suits at all, usually opting for a sports coat and slacks, and in the summer I go really wild and leave off the jacket -- it is a supreme act of the will for me to leave the house without a tie.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a snob about other people. Suits, t-shirts, shorts, whatever. I like it when people dress a little better than they would to go grocery shopping or fix the car, but mainly clean and covered. But hey, if you have to pull something out of the laundry hamper to make it to church... welcome (please sit over there)! For me, though, you might just as well try to get me to write lefthanded or converse in German as to feel comfortable dressed down for church.

I was already mulling my sartorial plan when my wife arrived downstairs in a (dressy) t-shirt and slacks, which for her on a Sunday morning is like showing up in her bedroom slippers... so I knew I was going to have to go below and beyond my usual. I struggled, but finally selected a nice pair of shorts and a short-sleeve sports shirt; this is, to the extent I have one, my personal style these days (summer version), albeit not my summer church style.

I was beginning to come to terms with this new version of me when I found, on the bathroom floor, a pair of slacks and a t-shirt. Then I was faced with the possibility that she had changed to something nicer; then I'd really feel like a goober.

So now I'm feeling uncomfortable on two counts. I wavered... and gave in. I ran upstairs and changed into real pants -- what my wife would call golf pants, but still, legitimate slacks -- and a sports shirt. Still no tie, still feeling a little like I'm wearing a skirt or a swimsuit or something.

In the end, naturally:

• my wife did dress down -- the clothes I found were from yesterday
• we had people in shorts AND people in jackets & ties
• the picnic was "rained in", so I would scarcely have been noticed had I been wearing a 3-piece pinstriped suit

I'm just glad it's an annual picnic.

Party Favors: Peanuts & Cracker Jack

It was somewhere between the ages of seven and eight that I first discovered baseball. Of course, what began as a discovery quickly grew to an interest and then to a … I don’t want to say “obsession”; I’d like to think I’m not completely unbalanced. I guess it suffices to say that I have a lobe of my brain dedicated to baseball.

So with my son past 7 and most of the way to 8, I harbored a secret hope that soon I would have someone in the house with whom to share this common interest, someone to educate (not to say indoctrinate, exactly) in the ancient tribal wisdom….

Little did I know it would be my daughter.

As she reaches her fifth birthday today, my girl shows a keen interest in all things baseball. Much to her mom’s consternation, I have only to murmur to her, “Guess what’s on TV tonight?” and she shouts, “Baseball!” I promise, I’m only trying to give her access to something she likes –it’s not for me! Well, OK, maybe a little.

When we have some free time together, her brother is liable to ask me to play cars with him or read a book; she usually asks either to play baseball (by which she mostly means pitch to her) or play catch with her. She has her own glove, which I bought at a garage sale, but would much rather use brother’s glove, which is in fact a bit nicer. I have gotten pretty accomplished at both tossing and pitching to her right where she can reach it, but frankly I think her skills are developing to the point that she may not need the crutch much longer. We may still have to discuss the concept of running the bases; when she hits, she often takes off running in whatever direction is handy, as long as she can circle back around before I can tag her.

It has actually come to the point where frequently one of the first things she says to me each morning is, “Dad, who won the Mets game last night? How many did the Mets have? How many did the other team have?” If the Mets lose, she gets quite disappointed, but has taken to compensating for that by declaring that she actually likes all the teams. I have been telling her that she is free to like any team she likes (but Dad really does not like the Yankees).

When the time came to buy birthday presents, we put our heads together, and the answer that kept coming up was Baseball Stuff. I feel like one of those horrible obsessed parents trying to push my kid into a sport, but the more we thought about what she would really want, the more we came back to baseball.

So she got a set of bases, and a pitch-back (so she can play catch with herself!), and some T-balls, which are a bit heavier than she’s used to – easier to catch, actually, but still a bit squishy. My mom was given a final idea, which she couldn't find herself and asked me to purchase on her behalf – but since I rarely get out of the house solo, I had to take my daughter with me last week. When she saw it, she wanted it instantly, so I couldn’t really misdirect her and buy it behind her back. She didn’t even want to let go of it.

So quickly shifting gears, I told her that this was really a birthday present from Grammy & Pop-Pop, but I would give it to her right then; this prompted every parent’s most cherished reward: sparkling eyes and crushing hug. And since that moment a week ago, she puts it in her bedroom every night so she can have it first thing in the morning… but other than that, it’s been next to impossible to pry her brand new Mets baseball cap from her head.

Captive Audience

I spent my entire teaching "career" (in quotes, and deservedly so) working part-time, or short-term full-time, stints as a math instructor at a number of colleges -- seven, if you're curious about the actual number. And that was great, as long as my wife was also working... but then she quit her job and we moved to Ohio so she could go to seminary. Suddenly the part-time dollars were not providing a comfort zone.

So it was decided that I would need yet another part-time job (making 3, on my way to an eventual 4); the choices: waiting tables or reading meters for the power company. My wife's advice: go for the meters, so you won't have to talk to anyone. She was influenced, no doubt, by my less-than-inspiring efforts to support us as a waiter in the early months of our marriage -- but was also fully aware of my disdain for small talk and those false pleasantries that rake in the tips. Doubtless I was not destined, and certainly not particularly equipped, for a career in the food service industry; now imagine me as a practitioner of the cosmetological arts.

Yes, I got my hair cut yesterday, and my stylist (not that I can really be said to have a "style", before or after) had clearly gotten the directive that prohibits a licensed hair professional from leaving even a moment of silence. OK, I expect the usual topics:

• the weather
• where I live
• what I do for a living (in fact, they often seem affronted that I'm there in the middle of the day and not out being gainfully employed)

In this case, I was pleasantly surprised -- I got to talk baseball a little as well. Then that moment was over and off we went again: where my daughter went to preschool. Her frustration with hearing popular songs too often on the radio (I think she was hoping I could fix that, actually; it seems previous complaints to her boyfriend had proved ineffective).

The conversation, if you could call it that, hit a definite roadblock when she illustrated a Point About Hair by wordlessly gesturing to her own coif. Since I have to take off my glasses during a haircut, and since she wasn't sitting on my lap, her point was unfortunately lost on me.

Despite my distaste for the niceties of compulsory, meaningless byplay, I'm still able to be cordial and even appear to be participating... but I have my limits. When we suddenly veered to, "You know what we had last night? Pizza Hut!" I riffled through the available index cards for an appropriate response, but all I could come up with was (what I thought was a very thoughtful) "Huh."

On second thought, maybe I do have a future in cosmetology. I'd like to open a salon where the stylist asks you how you want it, and then is prohibited from speaking until "How's that look?" I can't be the only one who'd cheerfully pay extra for a few blissful moments of silence.