To be thought of is to be

I am decompressing with a Manhattan wishing it was a G&T listening to Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders.

I've seen the Yankees, Orioles, Rays, Blue Jays and other assorted ball clubs play. I've been to Framingham, BC, BU, Hereford and Newbury, Boylston, and spots in between. Others have been to the Bruins or Celtics following the marathon. It's been cold, it's been hot, sunny, cloudy, and windy. If there is a watering hole between Fenway Park, BPL and beyond, I've celebrated. This one will be celebrated too. April 15, 2013 will prove to be the beginning of a great new tradition next year in the 118th Boston marathon.

This year my wife ran the marathon. This year is the second year my brother ran the marathon. I knew ten people running it. I knew a hundred people attending the race. From Ashland, Framingham, Newton, BU, Cleveland Circle, Charlesgate and Comm Ave, and Lord & Taylor's, the grand stands and VIP seating on Boylston were friends rooting on all the runners, including the ones they knew. The pipe bombs affected each of us. The marathon is this City's Mardi Gras: 26.2 miles of humanity.

This is vacation week around here. It starts on Monday, Patriot's Day, a local holiday commemorating the first shots on Lexington Green to gain independence. I have been glued to the TV. I have apologized to my kids for being distracted. All spring cleaning has been postponed. Some of the most powerful words I've ever heard was at the interfaith service on Thursday. I remember 1/14/91, 9/11/2001 and now 4/15/13.

The days in between Monday and today provided small details, insights, then finally images. What ensued couldn't have been scripted. It shut down a town. No one in or out of Watertown; shelter in place in several other cities and towns including Boston. At points, it shut down transit and taxi service. Murder in cold blood, an incredible manhunt, a brother driving over another and a city rejoicing.

Since Monday, I have received texts, calls, emails, Facebook messages, and Twitter DMs from so many people. I only watched the race, and live on the South Shore of Boston. René Descartes may have it right philosophically, but I disagree: to be thought of is to be.

Mom and Knives

I make pancakes in a cast iron pan. Two cups of brown sugar and water makes better syrup. Stuffed peppers and chili are two favorite meals. Chili I make regularly, but stuffed peppers not at all. I'm not sure what day of the week was what, but fish, chicken, pork, pasta with a vegetable and potatoes or rice was dinner. She cooked anything the first time by the book, then it became rote. She made a Marsala dish with veal, pork or chicken.

The weekly line up was regular. Potatoes over/under cooked with Parmesan and too much/little pepper. Chicken that bounced and fish with the texture of cardboard that got wet then dried was the curse of time bake. The one dish I looked forward to was stewed tomatoes and pork chops. Dad was home at seven, then dinner together. I want to recall the long meals we laughed and chatted, but there were those filled with grunts and my day was fine.

Dippy eggs are sunny side up. Peanut butter and honey is preferred. King Arthur flour because that's what her mother had on hand, and a coffee cup of bacon fat for the same reason.

She made Texas sheet cake for my birthday, but once you've had one why would you want another cake? She made brownies and apple crisp in the same pan, but not together. She made a brown sugar pie with left over pie dough. They were better than most of her pies. We couldn't find the lemon square recipe, but we have found something adequate, even though we're not fond of them.

My daughter and son indulge me. I teach them to cook dippy eggs. They mix the pancake batter and flip them. They use the big tongs on the grill. My son cracks eggs like he was born to and my daughter is fearless with a knife.

A Lesson in Customer Service

I get anxious when I pull up to the gas pumps and my tank is on the wrong side. I have dyslexia when it comes to its location. I didn't have to work for it.

I'm out of regular, all I have is special.

That is what he said, but not what I heard. I heard blah, blah, blah, I'm not a fixer, the special is at regular price.

Things got bad. The gas tank, my commute, and a frenetic day of spinning wheels at work came together at that time and place to bring the worst out of two human beings; except he swore. Also, I was listening to sports radio. The Red Sox are having a notorious season, the Patriots lost on Sunday, and Bruins owner Jeremy Jacobs just signed a number of Bruins free agents to long term deals then turned around to call the vote for the NHL lockout over player salaries.

I nod, smile and say yeah, then pull out my clip, run my card, punch in my PIN, and set the regular pump. As I do, I look at the special pump. Indeed, the price is the same as the regular. It was coming together, but still in my unconscious.

I have a mild case of OCD. I used to own a Saturn, anything more than regular and I was Luke Perry in "8 Seconds." I eat oatmeal out of orange Tupperware. I have certain things in a certain pocket when I play golf. My clothes drawers are organized in a particular way. And I don't microwave anything unless all the numbers are the same: popcorn takes three minutes and thirty-three seconds.

The attendant says something else, but I can't hear him. I don't want to understand him. I want regular gas. They are out of regular gas. If I want gas, I need to get special. If I was listening, I would have said, thank you young man talking with a wad of bright green gum in your mouth with all those teeth in your unshaven face with crazy hair. Instead, I had a moment.

Regular or Special. The choice was Special. Oh, really? Special gas is the same price as regular, because you're out of it? Steal! [Then I cross myself and big ups to heaven to all those that went before me. My life's a movie.] I didn't say that. I don't remember what I said. It was rude. It was unnecessary. I made the remark.

Why are you giving me attitude? What!?! Why are you raising your voice? What, are you serious!?! What is this bullshit? Where is this coming from!?! There's no need to yell. I'm not yelling!?!

He lost his mind. He had that look in his eyes. He put me on the defensive. I sputter my responses. I replay what he said prior to the mushroom cloud of anger. It all comes together. He said he didn't want to lose the sale, so the special gas has been reduced to the same amount as regular. I didn't hear him, because I didn't understand him, and I was focused on getting the gas. All I had to do was ask him to repeat what he said. Instead the conversation or yelling degenerated into a day before Christmas scene as two fathers hoot and holler over the last toy every child must have to live a life of happiness.

Now, I am raising my voice in the confusion to be heard and to offer an apology, but he isn't going to hear a word I say. Touché. Then he used the eff dash dash dash word and then I heard the word: rich. I drive a Mazda3. If I was rich, don't you think I'd at least drive the Mazda6?

What do you think of my story? Has it happened to you? What would you have done?

Those Eyes

Frogskins®

 

I went to work with my dad when I was five. He drove a blue Buick Century. We were on Airport Road. I stared into the sun. My first pair was Oakley Frogskins with purple frames and orange lenses. The last pair I lost is at the bottom of the North River near the rope swing. I don’t remember the view from behind them. I looked good. Then I found a pair of Ray-Bans on the counter at the Paperback Booksmith. I worked there. They looked like stretched out Wayfarers. I threw them down on the stairs outside Clark Athletic Center. I was ineligible to play soccer. Their hue was dark. I looked good. I owned Oakleys, Arnettes, Diesels, Black Flys, and a few off the $2 to $20 rack. 

Gritty

I own three pair of sunglasses. I keep one pair because I didn’t lose them. This pair has a silver frame with maroon arms and maroon lenses. I wanted to look good. That’s the worst. Another pair is Arnettes. These are my shooting glasses. They have a silver frame with blue lenses. Their shade makes a blue day happy. I bought Oakleys to go skiing at Stowe. They hurt my head. I wear them when I ride the bicycle I borrowed. My eyes water at 13 miles. My head hurts at 14. This pair has a dark orange frame with an orange lenses.

Clark Rockefeller

They have a limited function. I hang them on my collar. I push them up with my pointer finger. I take them off in tunnels. Inside too. And at night. I take them off when I talk to you. My look doesn’t need them. I don’t wear sunglasses anymore.


The handsome devil is responsible for the Ray-Ban Wayfarer trend.

Tell me about your favorite pair.

Laissez Faire - Dos Partes

Part I - Be the Beacon
You can read everyone else's tips and tricks and crib a list of to do's or you can do it yourself, which is what you have to do anyway. Those you rely on for insight and innovation aren't the leaders or beacons of light. I am the leader and beacon, but not yours. You have to wade through the bullshit to get to the worthwhile. Its January 3, 2012, and I am con resolutions this year. I failed last year. I've been bitten to post something, because all I have read are convictions that your goals would suit me fine if I'd like to piggy back on your three words, 12most tips, 5 simple steps to not look like a fat ass, or don't make resolutions, set goals. I don't have a link to the last one, (and is a goal all too different from a resolution?) but I saw it, and it stunk just like the others.

Then there are the other retrospective posts and articles. These are no good. I'll make a comparison rather than pointing you to a number of DULL entries of someone else's recap of 2011. Follow this link, I'll wait. Do you like those songs? I do. We have heard them dozens, hundreds, or thousands of times. We can agree they are a collection of greatest hits. Here is a question: Who compiled that list? That two cassette collection (you read that right) was a launching point for my love of music and the Rolling Stones.

I tend to chase crazy - see the two paragraphs above or the link. I would like to change this. I am a proposal writer, I am a husband, and I am a father. I am good at these things, but not good enough that I can't get better. If I were, I would be advising people with the aforementioned classifications instead of being one. I hope you can expect positive responses, rather than rants. I hope you can learn from my experiences, like what I observed on my Christmas vacation: fathers are different than mothers, and both personalities are important to raising a child.

Part II - Let Them Eat Cake
I have a healthy boy and girl in the first and second grade, and I spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s off. My wife is a personal trainer, and sometimes when I take time off she doesn't or can't. While she was at work, the three of us lived in harmony...for the most part. When she came home the dynamic changed, and not for worse even though there were tears on occasion and a meltdown attributed to the blues. I parent out of necessity. I didn’t feed either child until they asked for something to eat, then we made breakfast together. They set the table, broke eggs, and mixed up daddy-waffles.

I didn’t ask them, I directed them. I let them live in squalor and PJ’s until I was tired of the mess or needed to get out of the house. I helped with Legos, tough spots in video games, and minor disputes. I tolerated hooting, laughing and hollering. In turn, I played video games, watched movies, and read Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King while they bothered each other elsewhere or were with me. There were moments of rough housing, throwing things, chasing one another, wrestling, kidding around, and tickling; general horse-play. We did our own chores. They changed their beds, and we helped each other.

I like being a dad. My wife doesn't always agree with my methods, and I'm ok with that, because compromise is important to do and to witness. One thing I've learned as a parent is there are many approaches to developing a meaningful relationship with my wife and my kids. Take the time and listen to the advice, and try it, because what works one day, doesn't always work the next. My method of parenting is take what you want, then ask for what you need. An ample supply of new gifts from Christmas to occupy their minds assisted in this I am sure, but I need to eat something, versus I need to watch TV is certainly different.

The missing paragraph is about my wife's parenting skills. When she meets people and gets to the question about children, she tells them she has three.

Lectio

I follow, skim 40 to 50 websites, blogs, news sources a day/week. One of my favorite is by this guy who writes 300 Words A Day. I like it because he makes faith flexible. Its online. I know his face, but I haven't met him. I've spoken to him but not with him. I have been relieved of some of the consequences of faith. He's pushing the limits of social media, and I would guess breaking ground in spreading the word of the Lord. He's offering this more than relaxed course called, "Bible for My Friends." I think it will become more intense as it goes on for the last four weeks.

Week Two is about listening or Lectio - I know, first I heard too, and I had 7 years of Latin. Lectio is listening and understanding in a prayerful way; my definition. Go here for an official Wiki definition. Jon Swanson, the guy that writes 300 Words, said its read, listen, contemplate, pray. He said other things that were interesting. It clicked for me when he suggested you look for it in a mundane thing you do, but one that centers you. Such as a favorite book you read on occasion and you read a new sentence and ponder why you haven't noticed it before.

The moment for me was coming home late from work, when I was thinking about the assignment, read Mark 5, 21-43. I observed that Jesus helps those that help themselves, or those that are persecuted and may not be able to help themselves. This is a generality and a quick and unfounded hypotheses. I've got four more weeks, I'll keep my eyes open.

I kept thinking about it. Then another listening moment came at work. I had just finished a pretty big assignment. I was taking a moment to catch up on a favorite website the 99 percent. I didn't read the main article, as I bypassed to read a 1954 Interview with Hemingway. I read this response from Hemingway, "I have the nightmares and know about the ones other people have. But you do not have to write them down. Anything you can omit that you know you still have in the writing and its quality will show. When a writer omits things he does not know, they show like holes in his writing."

WOW.

Do you get it? Here's the best way I can explain how I understand it. YouTube Barry Sanders, the running back from the Detroit Lions. Watch a few highlights of some of his touchdowns. He didn't have a touchdown dance. He didn't tell you he just scored a touchdown, he didn't have to, you knew he did. 
 
Then the third listening moment was this peaceful afternoon. I left work early today, remember the big assignment? Yeah, put in a bunch of hours, took a little time. Stopped off for a gift for my wife, dinner for the family, then took the kids to karate, home again to eat, then Kelly went off to work. I packed in what usually takes me half a day into 3 hours. It wasn't rushed, I hit my marks and so did everyone else. We all did it with a smile. We clicked. It was effortless. I took it all in. I was listening, and I applied what I heard.

Matty's Top Forty - For Today

My new favorite blog is Social Media, Marketing, & Musings by Margie Clayman. I think Margie could convince me of anything. Maybe its infatuation, maybe its teenage love, maybe it will wear out, but I hope she stays in my life, because I like her point of view. Overstated, sure, it’s my blog, if you haven't noticed, and most of it is, but I believe every word I say.

As, I'm trolling my twitter feed this morning, I come across a tweet from Margie about her top 40 favorite songs - for today - of all time. What someone listens to can tell you a lot about a person. Are they focused? Are they willing to try new things? Do they like variety? Are they stuck in a rut? Do I want to listen too? My take away is music is a soundtrack. I think many could agree on that point. I think music reminds us of particular points in our life.

Margie made her list, she says, stream of conscious. I can't do that, my memory doesn't allow me to remember names of songs. I remember how they sound. I don't know the words to any of these songs from start to finish, but I know them within three bars or so. Here they are:

Bands that are my favorite, and if I have to pick one song, I'd feel like I was choosing one of my children over the other. In order of preference:
1. The Rolling Stones. Keith Richards is my hero. "We all have it. We're just antennas - pickup the signal and transmit."
2. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. As a kid, we had an 8 hour drive to our summer vacation in Avalon, NJ. When I was old enough to drive, I subjected my brother to every cassette in order of release. It filled up the time.
3. The Black Crowes. Something about this band is authentic. I just wish the brothers could get over themselves to write more often.
4. U2. Like most, Joshua Tree hooked me, but it was Boy and War that are my favorites. Newly added to that is Achtung Baby.
5. Jimi Hendrix. The more I heard Band of Gypsies the more I wanted.
6. The Clash. Rock the Casbah moved me to buy Combat Rock, then London Calling. These guys could do anything.
7. The Black Keys. Whoa. Where did these guys come from? Newest to the list. Can't get enough. Tip of the hat to you, Margie. Akron is where it’s at these days.

I'm a sucker for a pop song:
8. Fuck You, Cee Lo Green. I think we have a new Marvin Gaye on our hands.
9. Crazy in Love, Beyonce. Really, I just love it. It’s the pace, and maybe her butt in the video too, but just a little.
10. No One, Alicia Keys. A powerful range of emotions in her voice.
11. 99 Problems, Jay-Z. Listen to the a capella some time, but the driving beat otherwise is unstoppable.
12. Today Was a Good Day, Ice Cube. Loved this whole album, The Predator. It told a story I could never understand.
13. Life is a Movie, GZA. Never had radio play, but it should have.
14. You’re All I Need to Get By, Mary J. Blige/Method Man. I would always caution someone wanting to cover such a great singer/songwriter. It’s an awesome tribute to the duet by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell.

Trips in the car had a country swing peppered with a little pop:
15. Devil Went Down to Georgia, Charlie Daniels Band. My dad bought this cassette when I was 6 or seven, and I quickly wore out that track.
16. Y’all Come Back Saloon or Elvira, Oak Ridge Boys. I don’t know. Catchy I guess.
17. Whatever Happened to Randolph Scott, Statler Brothers. See above. They also sing How Great Thou Art – I cry every time I sing it.
18. You May be Right, Billy Joel. The album Glass Houses is great.
19. Super Trooper, ABBA. Why this one over the other awesomeness that is Gold? It’s the one I heard over the others...

My mother:
20. Rockin Robin, Bobby Day. It’s a great sing-a-long. My brother wore out this one.
21. I Will Survive, Gloria Gaynor. I remember a trip home from the dentist, and she turned up the radio to this song. I only ever remember listening to that song with her once. Funny how it burns an unforgettable memory.
22. Classical music. Bach, Beethoven, Vivaldi, and Tchaikovsky.

If it weren’t for my mother:
23. Bach’s Organ Music, Virgil Fox. The louder the better.
24. The Planets, Gustav Holst. Great musical representation of the planets.
25. Rite of Spring, Igor Stravinsky. Reminds me of Bambi, I guess, a movie I only recently watched for the first time.
26. Rachmaninoff, Liszt and the other piano pounders. Classical music can make you feel alive.
27. Any interpretation by Claudio Arrau. I wrote a poem about him almost twenty years ago. I’ve lost it, but I referred to his hands as spiders.

Songs I turn up or hit the repeat button:
28. Panama, Van Halen. I think its one of their greatest. Music in the ‘80s was as much about the video as it was the song and the video captured my attention.
29. The Story, Brandi Carlisle. I’m a sucker for a love song, and even though my wife would make the “I just threw up in my mouth a little" motion, she knows my story.
30. Magic, The Cars. Similar to Panama, I just loved this video. The Cars were 80’s music and just about the best band out of Boston ever.
31. Since You’re Gone, The Cars. I love the synthesizer, esp. the opening. You can see her walking away.

Songs I love for no particular reason:
32. Kick Out the Jams, MC5/Jeff Buckley/Black Flag. Really just changes the mood. Other than Eddie Murphy, the best use of the greatest twelve letter word: “Kick out the Jams, Motherfucker.”
33. Not Fade Away, Buddy Holly. Such a simple, complex song.
34. Lucille, Little Richard. Please come back where you belong.
35. (I’d Go) The Whole Wide World. Wreckless Eric. Fortunately I didn’t have to, but I think is the definition of one hit wonder.
36. A Prayer, Madeleine Peyroux. It’s a march. The lyrics are amazingly depressing, but the plodding is hypnotic for me.
37. Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, The Cure. I almost started wearing eyeliner.
38. Smokin’ from Shootin’, My Morning Jacket. This song builds and builds. This whole album is where it’s at. There’s a story.
39. I Go Crazy, Flesh for Lulu. I grew up in the eighties, what can I say. Guilty pleasure.
40. Angela Surf City, The Walkmen. I love the Beach Boys, Pet Sounds, but they didn’t make the list today, so this represents for them.