I have a confession to make... it took me years to like the Indigo Girls. I know this could be considered blasphemy in many of my girl circles (no pun intended for my circle sisters), but even through my teenage angst years something about the melody in the music made it hard for me to listen to them on repeat. I was more Belinda Carlisle and less Ani Defranco. Eventually, as things that get repeated over and over do, the Indigo Girls grew on me.
Recently, I was listening to Closer to Fine and I realized a few things. We all go through this search to find who we are, and there are a million ways to explore that. Some of us ignore the call of being different, some of us seek it and others fall off the path at the curve. This year I've been somewhere between seeking a different path and falling off the curve. It's a fine line.
A year ago I left my reliable job of a decade to try to re-sort my priorities. I had loved my work, but I felt like I was sucking at being a mom and wife. I took a job with less hours, got certified to teach yoga, and found my way back to a little sanity. My job is only eight hours less a week but it is amazing what great coworkers in a relaxed environment can do for your psyche. Oh and a little thing called Fridays off. That too.
In my year of resetting, I've pushed my boundaries in a lot of areas. I've always had a lot of anxiety - it is my natural wavelength. For a long time I believed anxiety is what drove me and without it, I'd just be lazy. I had a third-grade teacher, Mr. Harrison, who used to sing to our class "Lazy Bones" when he didn't like the work we did. He would also once in a while throw a chair in anger. This is my anxiety, always warning me about the dangers of being lazy, whilst throwing a punch every once in a while to keep me on the straight and narrow.
Staying on the straight and narrow was never a question until I met my husband Micah. He is a quintessential dreamer - not in the head in the clouds way, but in the "Why do we have to conform?" way, the "I don't want to live a certain way just because that's what you are supposed to do" way. It certainly sounds good in theory. Who doesn't want to live a carefree life, tilling the earth, backpacking through the wilderness... insert total stereotype of a privileged lady exploring the ends of the earth (maybe minus the high heels).
A few years ago Micah wanted to travel the world for two years...WITH KIDS. I smiled, sweated on the inside, then did a jig when I got a new position at work that would be silly to turn down. As the years passed, that dream turned into a sabbatical for our ten-year anniversary. Mind you neither of us are tenured professors, so the idea of a sabbatical seemed ludicrous to me. It's not that I didn't want to travel the world, who wouldn't, but how would we ever make that work without us both leaving our jobs permanently? I obviously forgot who I married. Micah has a knack for crazy ideas working out in his favor. As we were both preparing to leave our jobs to take the summer off to travel, Micah got a new job offer. He was effectively able to get the time off and have a job to come back to. This made it much more palatable for me; even if my future after the trip is a big question mark. Small details.
So, on to the true purpose of this blog! I am hoping to take you with us inside our family's travels around Europe this summer and all the shenanigans that ensue. There will be some soul searching (hopefully not because I've lost it on a child in public), a lot of boundary pushing and I'm sure a nice dose of anxiety-calming pranyama (breath control). Being that it took me weeks to write this first blog post, I'm hoping to be similar to your favorite author who you wait for their next novel with baited breath vs. the television series you used to like but has overstayed its welcome (ahem...Silicon Valley). Our first stop is Lisbon for a month. I'm hoping those Portuguese lessons Micah's been taking are helpful because I'm ready to play the mute American by his side. Stay tuned.
Saturday, June 2, 2018
Saturday, December 5, 2015
37 Thoughts On Turning 37
I turned 37 Wednesday. 37 is weird because it's kind of a blah age. There's nothing attached to it, you're not at an arbitary milestone like 30 or 35, and you're still far enough away from 40 that you don't have to freak out about it (yet).
Birthdays are always great for reflection, so I thought I'd jot down some things that are on my mind as I hit this completely manufactured moment. 37 things, in fact.
1. There was another mass shooting Wednesday. Actually there were two. Between the continued gun violence in the United States and the continued threat of terrorism around the globe, it is very easy to be pessimistic about our collective future. It seems bleak. I wonder - has it always been like this? If you were turning 37 during World War II, or during the AIDS epidemic of the 80's, would you have said the same thing? Does it always seem like the current situation is the worst? Or is this actually the worst?
2. I used to be very sheepish about letting people know it's my birthday, unlike my sister who tattoos it on her eyelids and then blinks rapidly at everyone she sees the entire month of October. Facebook has taken care of this, and as a result, pretty much everyone I've ever known now tells me happy birthday. I do very much appreciate their good intentions, but I am still catching up on what is proper Facebook etiquette regarding birthday wishes. It seems like the current trend is you must "like" every single birthday wish people post on your wall. Some people even reply to each comment, which I commend, but that's starting to venture dangerously close to Thank You Note territory, and I'm not sure "HBD!" is deserving of all that.
4. What gives, dentists' offices from my childhood? Goofus and Gallant are only so entertaining. I'd have been much more likely not to cry about an impending dentist visit if I knew I could play Ms. Pac Man GRATIS.
5. Here's a life lesson you are able to process better at 37 than at 27, and certainly at 17. Stop caring so much about what others think of you. There are only so many hours in the day - there is enough else to worry about in your life than to sit in a meeting wondering if people thought the question you asked was stupid or could have been phrased better. Be comfortable with who you are, and accept that you aren't perfect and never will be. You'll sleep a lot better.
6. Somehow that advice is easier to take when it doesn't involve something you create. I will probably give up on writing this list 10 times before I publish it because I'll worry people won't like it or think it's boring or pointless. It will definitely be too long. That's when I need to collect myself, read the item before this, and stop being such a baby. Plus no one is going to read past 3-4 items on this list anyway, our attention spans are about .00000001 microseconds now.
7. I've had this conversation with several of my friends recently about our experiences growing up and what we want for our kids. When I look back on my formative years, I wouldn't say I have regrets necessarily - but I do wish I wasn't so afraid of whatever it was I was afraid of. That is to say, I NEVER got in trouble. I didn't drink, try drugs, break curfew, anything. I was a total goody-goody. I don't say that to encourage illicit behavior, or disparage rule-followers. But I do think it would have done me good to test my boundaries more.
8. The movie American Pie came out when I was in college, and many of my college friends loved it because it was so reminiscent of their high school experiences. That movie didn't remind me a DAMN THING of high school. That version of American Pie would never make it to theaters, because no one wants to watch two hours of kids driving around aimlessly before eventually defaulting to renting a movie.
9. When it comes to my kids, I feel like I want them to be less like me in this regard, but it's hard to know where to draw the line, or how to react as a parent if/when the time comes. Like I hope they skip school their senior year and go get drunk and play video games at a friend's house, but I suppose I'll still have to punish them for it if they get caught. Or will I? Can I secretly give them a fist-bump and toussle their hair when Mom's not looking?
10. For lunch on my birthday I had shawarma at Yalla's at Krog Street Market. If you know me well, you know that I am quite likely (if not downright compelled) to eat shawarma whenever it is available. I ate it nearly daily when I lived in Israel, in part because I knew I couldn't get comparable product in the States. I was like a squirrel, saving up shawarma nuts for the long winter. Well Yalla, I tip my cap to you, because your shawarma is the best I've had this side of the Atlantic. There is literally a zero percent chance I'll ever eat anywhere else at Krog Street as long as you are open and putting french fries on the pita like God intended.
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| Happiness is a coke and a big-ass shawarma |
11. My relationship to sports is surprisingly different at 37 than it was before. My world used to revolve around them, and while it feels incredibly cliche to admit it, having kids upended my priorities immensely. I still follow sports closely, but in terms of watching them, it's pretty much down to pro football and soccer, with a dash of Texas sports when the teams aren't terrible. So not that often.
12. This has spilled over to my professional life as well. I grew up wanting to work in sports, and have been fortunate to do so for my entire career to this point, but that is likely to change in the near future. I got laid off from my job with the Hawks recently, and at other points in my life that might have been a devastating blow. I find myself at peace with it, in part because the notion of doing something outside the industry no longer scares me. I'd like to still be a part of something I have a passion for, so I'm looking to see if I can break into the shawarma vertical.
13. As a corrollary to #5, in my job search I am trying not to worry about what others think about what I do next. Growing up my goal was to be on SportsCenter, but eventually I decided to pursue a different path. I remember feeling like I was giving up and letting everyone down, which is quite silly. It's pretty narcissistic to think anyone expends any mental energy concerning themselves with your professional direction (outside of your parents perhaps), they've got their own lives to worry about.
14. Historically, at 37 I am pretty near to the mid-point of my life, or what the average lifespan would be. Apparently, that is changing. There are smart people who think the first people to live to see 150 are already alive, and advances in technology and medicine are bringing us closer to defeating diseases that have wiped out entire civilizations in the past. It's weird to ponder living that long. On the one hand it sounds great - who doesn't want to spend as much time on Earth as they can (current pessimism about the downfall of humanity aside)? On the other hand, I guess you can forget about retiring at 60. Or 90. Or 120?
15. People who drive golf carts would all fail geometry based on their interpretation of the 90-degree cart rule.
16. Speaking of Texas sports (#11), our hated rivals the Oklahoma Sooners will be in the upcoming College Football Playoffs. I asked my friends the other day - should we be rooting for or against them? It would seem obvious we should root against them, since they are the scum of the Earth and deserve nothing but terrible terribleness, but I would argue that nothing would be more fun than OU winning the whole thing, allowing us to forever lord over them that during this championship year they still got their asses handed to them by the boys in Burnt Orange.
17. Now that I'm 37, I am trying to start thinking more about how to take care of my body so I can live to still be a working man at 117. I've been running more frequently and for longer distances, and I even started flossing for goodness sake. This week I decided it was high time to add some push-ups into my exercise routine. I am following a plan set out by hundredpushups.com, which purports to have me doing 100 pushups at a time in six weeks. There are different workout regimens based on your current pushup abilities. I started out thinking I could hang with the column for people who could do 11+, then after one set immediately dropped down to the 6-10 camp. Now I think I have to start at the "less than 5" level. Good grief I am weak. Thankfully I don't care anymore what you think, or that would greatly trouble me.
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| 1-10 is fine, provided the 1 is over Oklahoma |
18. We are becoming so polarized as a society, and a lot of it is because technology has allowed us to filter out any opinions that differ from our own. That's how you end up with people who don't vaccinate their kids, or think climate change is a hoax. You know, morons. I am trying to fight this tendency the bravest way I know - by not unfollowing people on Facebook who disagree with me. I did it once, and felt so guilty about it I've vowed not to repeat it. The current debate over gun legislation is really testing my limits.
19. Politics is a dangerous topic. With that said, I don't understand the current fuss over Donald Trump and Ben Carson. I know they are leading the polls right now, but we are still nearly a year from the actual election. Spoiler alert - they ain't winning. Donald Duck and Carson Daly have as good a chance of being President in 2016 as they do.
20. If somehow one of them (or some other cartoonish figure) does end up getting elected, the thought has crossed my mind that it might be time to hit the old dusty trail and check out some other, less crazy part of the globe. These days, there don't seem to be too many places that provide the kind of normalcy one might seek to raise a family. It dawned on me that the country that most has its shit together right now is Germany. That's right, if things continue to get worse in the United States, I may have to emigrate to Germany. That is a sentence that makes complete sense in 2015.
21. I suspect people are more likely to get involved in politics and their communities as they get older, or at least that was the paradigm when I was growing up. I think you have to be crazy to get into politics, but I will say I daydream sometimes of running a grassroots organization to affect change. That change? I want to see the South, just one time, not be the last place in the country to adapt to modern standards. We are always last. I know it's hard, South, to give in on gay marriage, legalized drugs, desegregation, common sense political districting, women's rights to choose, creationism, Confederate symbols, separation of church and state, universal healthcare, gun control, and so on. But can we band together on one issue and take, as we say to our kids, one no thank you bite? Can we try one bite of vegetables? Metaphorically, and also literally, speaking?
19. Politics is a dangerous topic. With that said, I don't understand the current fuss over Donald Trump and Ben Carson. I know they are leading the polls right now, but we are still nearly a year from the actual election. Spoiler alert - they ain't winning. Donald Duck and Carson Daly have as good a chance of being President in 2016 as they do.
20. If somehow one of them (or some other cartoonish figure) does end up getting elected, the thought has crossed my mind that it might be time to hit the old dusty trail and check out some other, less crazy part of the globe. These days, there don't seem to be too many places that provide the kind of normalcy one might seek to raise a family. It dawned on me that the country that most has its shit together right now is Germany. That's right, if things continue to get worse in the United States, I may have to emigrate to Germany. That is a sentence that makes complete sense in 2015.
21. I suspect people are more likely to get involved in politics and their communities as they get older, or at least that was the paradigm when I was growing up. I think you have to be crazy to get into politics, but I will say I daydream sometimes of running a grassroots organization to affect change. That change? I want to see the South, just one time, not be the last place in the country to adapt to modern standards. We are always last. I know it's hard, South, to give in on gay marriage, legalized drugs, desegregation, common sense political districting, women's rights to choose, creationism, Confederate symbols, separation of church and state, universal healthcare, gun control, and so on. But can we band together on one issue and take, as we say to our kids, one no thank you bite? Can we try one bite of vegetables? Metaphorically, and also literally, speaking?
22. Kobe Bryant is retiring. Kobe is one year older than me, and the number of pro athletes my age or older continue to dwindle. I think there are only six in the NBA this season, and in the NFL it's like Charles Woodson, Peyton Manning, Matt Hasselbeck, and then a raftfull of kickers. It's a little depressing to see your athletic heroes facing (sports) mortality.
23. At 37, I'm trying to take a step back and reflect, to make sure I'm not clinging to habits and routines simply because they are how I've always done them. I went to the dermatologist a few weeks ago and she asked me if I was still using shampoo. Of course I am, I said - I'm not a heathen. She told me it probably wasn't necessary, you know, since I have no hair. Well fuck me, I haven't had hair for going on 15 years, and it literally never occurred to me that I was wasting my time with shampoo. What else am I blindly following? I'm looking at you, "wearing pants."
24. And yet, there is comfort in knowing that no matter how much the world changes, some things will always be the same. Like my iPad just crashed and deleted the last seven things I wrote in this list, and it sucked just as bad as when that happened to me writing papers back in high school. Still I press on, but excuse me for one second while I shout a torrent of profanity into a pillow.
25. I do not like watching children's TV programming, so we watch a lot of music and concerts on YouTube in my house. This has led me to rediscover a lot of hilarious music videos from back in the day. Right now my kids are obsessed with ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down". We watch it several times a week, and as such I've seen every inch of that video. And so I ask you - what's going on with the keyboardists right here? That seems like a very 70's thing - synchronized keyboarding.
26. I'm now old enough that the pop culture of my youth is being romanticized on the big screen. I saw Straight Outta Compton earlier this year, and it whisked me back to a magical time when, as a young, white, Jewish grade schooler, I listened to the cassingle of that song over and over on my walkman and felt like a total badass. It was the radio edit - and it wasn't until years later I actually heard the unrated version that had the likes of Tipper Gore in such a huff.
27. It's probably a good thing I didn't get the version with all the curse words - I didn't handle hiding that so well from my parents. One time we were on a road trip, and I was listening to my favorite album at the time, "A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing" by Black Sheep. One song was like ALL curse words, but I was determined to sing it out loud, censoring the words as needed as I went. I was doing a pretty bang up job for awhile, so it was then quite a surprise to my sisters when I shouted out "Didn't give a fuck so I shot him in the toe!" I thought I nailed it, since the actual line features a gunshot wound to a much more painful area, but I guess I forgot about the fuck. Fuck, I forgot!
28. I am referencing my age a lot, but I don't feel that old most of the time. I first truly felt my age a few years ago, when I took my employees to trivia night. One of the questions was "What was the name of Tony Soprano's daughter on The Sopranos?" I knew it immediately, but everyone else looked at me with a collective blank stare. None of them had ever seen The Sopranos. The Sopranos! It's not like the question was what Archie Bunker called his son-in-law on All in the Family or who introduced the Beatles to America. The Sopranos was on the air for several years in this century! I still can't believe the generation gap is so large as to make The Sopranos ancient news.
29. Star Wars comes out next week, and there are commercials everywhere telling you - imploring you - to get your tickets now before they sell out. That movie is going to be in theaters for nine months, playing 15 times a day. I feel confident I'll catch it at some point.
30. As the parents of two young boys, I know the times are coming when we have to delicately explain to them how their bodies (penises) work and try to lay some ground rules about their care and maintenance. Jamie just turned four, and we were at the doctor for his yearly check up last week. Our pediatrician asked us if we had any concerns, at which point I looked over at Jamie, who was staring Lil' Jamie in the eye and grinning. That might be a concern, doc. That might be a concern.
31. I mentioned I've been using my time to get in better shape. I ran a personal-best 10K over Thanksgiving, but my time wasn't what was most important to me - that was making sure no one requiring adult supervision at the movies beat me. At one point a couple of kids passed me, but I bore down and overtook them on the final hill leading up to the finish line. The next step is to beat all the runners with strollers. You gotta have goals.
32. I don't play daily fantasy, though it seems like it'd be right up my alley. I don't have much of a stake in whether it is declared legal or not, despite the fact that it is quite obviously gambling. I think gambling should be legal, so I'm not against the concept, but the whole kerfuffle over whether it is or isn't reminds me once again that life is about one thing and one thing only - loopholes. In every facet of life rules are set up, and then we spend all our time trying to do everything the rules prohibit without actually, technically, breaking them. Next March or April, do yourself a favor and walk through your local grocery and check out the Kosher For Passover fare. Cakes, bagels, bacon cheeseburgers - you name it, they've somehow engineered a way to make all the things you love to eat but aren't supposed to over Passover, which while technically legal from an ingredient standpoint, misses the whole point of the exercise in the first place.
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| Nope. |
33. My grandparents got us a Nintendo when I was little, something my parents would never do. It was a joyous occasion, truly one of the highlights of my childhood. In related news, my in-laws got our son an iPad-like device. I wasn't really in favor of it. I am such a hypocrite.
34. Coming up with 37 different things to write about is hard. I should have done this when I turned 12.
35. I wish I knew then what I know now. That's a common phrase, and as I mentioned it certainly applies to wishing I'd tested my limits a little more when I was younger. Sometimes I wonder what I will say later on in life that I wish I knew during this time. I think I may know what it is - and that is dinner/bedtime for our boys. It's really the only time of day we get to relax and play with them, and in many ways it's truly wonderful. Also in many ways, I can't wait for it to be over so we can decompress. Am I going to regret feeling that way? I feel guilty typing it even now, but man, it sure is nice to have a little quiet time when the kids are finally down. Sorry to let you down, future me, I have a feeling you'll remember throwing the football with your children more than binge-watching Orange Is The New Black. At least that show has nudity?
36. I missed most of the on-line dating revolution. I spent a brief period on JDate before I met my wife, but I was off the market before the agony of dealing with Tinder or removing exes from your social media posts became a real concern. Getting laid off has a whiff of that. I still haven't changed my job title on LinkedIn. I don't suppose I can say "It's Complicated" for my current occupation can I?
37. I said before that the number 37 really has no meaning, but that's not entirely true. For anyone my age, the number 37 will always be associated with a scene from the movie Clerks. And now that's how old I am. I'm 37??? I'll try not to do anything on the way to the parking lot.
Friday, February 20, 2015
Wisdom and Shit and Sadness
Today is Emmett's first birthday, which means today is the final planned entry for Wisdom and Shit. I was trying to think of something I might write to commemorate the event, a final perhaps longer-form piece of advice I could give him.
Then last night I heard the news that Harris Wittels passed away. Now, Emmett doesn't know who Harris Wittels is, and people who read this may not know him either. He's probably best known as the creator of the HumbleBrag twitter account, but for fans of comedy he's remembered more for his hilarious podcast appearances across a variety of shows, all of which I wholeheartedly recommend. Wittels' death affected me deeply, and I'll explain why.
When I started doing Wisdom and Shit for Jamie, I was working nights in my previous gig at NBA.com. Because I was always on opposite schedules from everyone else, I had a LOT of time to kill during the day. I started listening to comedy podcasts as a way to pass the time, and my favorite quickly became Comedy Bang Bang (a show I still listen to religiously).
Every day I would agonize over what to write (foolish, I know, it's just a silly Tumblr my sisters and like three other people read), doubting the merits of nearly every post. Then I started listening to CBB, where Wittels was a frequent guest. Each time he appeared he'd do a segment called "Harris's Phone Corner" (later renamed Harris's Foam Corner for some reason), where he'd read off some of the jokes he'd written on his phone that weren't deemed good enough for his standup act.
These jokes were mostly terrible (hence their absence from his stage show), and were almost always greeted with derision. Yet he presented them time after time, and never flinched. This may not seem like a big deal, but it was to me (and it should be noted, the segment was still hilarious).
The fear of failure is a very difficult obstacle for most people to overcome. Maybe I am adding gravitas to a situation that doesn't merit it, but his willingness to submit himself (and specifically, his creations) to mockery and disparagement struck a chord with me.
It was like he didn't care what people thought. Yet anecdotally, I know he cared a great deal. He often talked on Analyze Phish (another podcast I strongly recommend, even if you care not a whit for the band or their music) about how personally he took negative comments from fans of the band. Still he continued to share his failures.
I thought of Harris's example often as I was trying to come up with advice for Jamie and later on Emmett. Any time I got stuck (which was often), I remembered Harris's foam and felt better about the whole thing. That's not to say my stuff was any good, or even any better than the leftovers he treated us to on the show. But the point was it didn't matter. Just do it and don't worry about how people receive it.
And that's about as important wisdom as I can pass along to anyone.
Happy birthday Emmett, and rest in peace Harris.
Then last night I heard the news that Harris Wittels passed away. Now, Emmett doesn't know who Harris Wittels is, and people who read this may not know him either. He's probably best known as the creator of the HumbleBrag twitter account, but for fans of comedy he's remembered more for his hilarious podcast appearances across a variety of shows, all of which I wholeheartedly recommend. Wittels' death affected me deeply, and I'll explain why.
When I started doing Wisdom and Shit for Jamie, I was working nights in my previous gig at NBA.com. Because I was always on opposite schedules from everyone else, I had a LOT of time to kill during the day. I started listening to comedy podcasts as a way to pass the time, and my favorite quickly became Comedy Bang Bang (a show I still listen to religiously).
Every day I would agonize over what to write (foolish, I know, it's just a silly Tumblr my sisters and like three other people read), doubting the merits of nearly every post. Then I started listening to CBB, where Wittels was a frequent guest. Each time he appeared he'd do a segment called "Harris's Phone Corner" (later renamed Harris's Foam Corner for some reason), where he'd read off some of the jokes he'd written on his phone that weren't deemed good enough for his standup act.
These jokes were mostly terrible (hence their absence from his stage show), and were almost always greeted with derision. Yet he presented them time after time, and never flinched. This may not seem like a big deal, but it was to me (and it should be noted, the segment was still hilarious).
The fear of failure is a very difficult obstacle for most people to overcome. Maybe I am adding gravitas to a situation that doesn't merit it, but his willingness to submit himself (and specifically, his creations) to mockery and disparagement struck a chord with me.
It was like he didn't care what people thought. Yet anecdotally, I know he cared a great deal. He often talked on Analyze Phish (another podcast I strongly recommend, even if you care not a whit for the band or their music) about how personally he took negative comments from fans of the band. Still he continued to share his failures.
I thought of Harris's example often as I was trying to come up with advice for Jamie and later on Emmett. Any time I got stuck (which was often), I remembered Harris's foam and felt better about the whole thing. That's not to say my stuff was any good, or even any better than the leftovers he treated us to on the show. But the point was it didn't matter. Just do it and don't worry about how people receive it.
And that's about as important wisdom as I can pass along to anyone.
Happy birthday Emmett, and rest in peace Harris.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Demitri Martin is a swell guy
Let me start with this. I am a smart guy, but I'm more gullible than I care to admit. I'll get back to that in a minute.
A year or so before I got married, I was planning to go see a Demitri Martin show in Atlanta with my brother in law Will and my friend Michael. At the last minute I had to cancel, which was a bummer because I am a big fan of his comedy and was excited to see him.
Will and Michael, the ungrateful schmucks, went to the show without me. So much for solidarity. They must have felt bad about it though, because to cheer me up they brought home a poster from the concert, signed by Martin himself. I thought this was pretty cool.
Time has faded the writing, but Martin wrote simply: "Thanks for not coming to my show, you dick" and signed his name.
I wish I'd seen that show, but honestly that poster was an excellent consolation prize. I liked it so much that I put it up in my cubicle at work, dirty word be damned.
Fast forward to our wedding weekend. The night before the big day, Will and Michael spilled the beans. That poster that I enjoyed so much, that I made sure to point out to visitors to my workspace, was nothing but a sham. A falsehood. A SHANDA.
Michael, who to be clear is not a professional comedian known for clever one-liners, was actually the author of the note. Come to think of it, I'm beginning to wonder if he and Will made up the poster as well. Like I said, I'm gullible.
A good chuckle was had by all, and that was the end of that. Except it wasn't. I wanted something. It wasn't exactly revenge I was after, but maybe a comeuppance? Yeah, a comeuppance would do nicely.
A few years passed, and Michael met a nice young lady foolish enough to marry him. Once they announced their engagement, I knew exactly what I wanted to give them for their wedding present. I was going to get Demitri Martin to autograph a picture of them and frame it, for realsies this time.
I figured Demitri was (is) a comic, would appreciate the amusing nature of the situation, and help a brother out. Unfortunately, I didn't know Demetri or anyone else who did, and his website did not make his contact information readily available except to book him for a show. Frankly, I don't like Michael enough to take the joke that far. I was stumped, and so their wedding came and went. Oh well. They'd have to settle for napkins rings or Bengals coozies.
Then a few months later, literally within a few hours of each other, I learned of two facts:
Fact 1. Michael and Bree were coming to visit Atlanta that upcoming weekend.
Fact 2. Demitri Martin was doing a surprise show in Atlanta THAT VERY NIGHT.
It was fate. This time, I made sure to be in attendance, and I brought a few things with me.
The show was great, and afterwards Will (who tagged along) and I waited patiently while Demitri signed autographs, waiting to find our chance to approach. When it got to our turn, I went for it.
"Excuse me, Demitri. I know you have a line formed here, but do you have time for a quick story?"
He was kind enough to hear me out, so I launched into the specifics. I explained the missed concert, the poster with his alleged signature, how I proudly displayed it at work like an asshole, and the reveal of the hoax at my wedding. I like to think he was amused, but maybe people forge his signature on posters all the time. He is famous after all.
In the end he heard me out and was kind enough to acquiesce to my requests. First, he corrected the much-maligned poster:
Amazing. I thanked Demitri for his time, snapped a quick photo to prove some legitimacy (let's just say I expected some skepticism), and that weekend presented my friends their wedding present.
Is there a moral to this story? Probably not. But I did learn that Demitri Martin is a pretty swell guy (though perhaps a little hard to get ahold of), and I learned to never take any famous person's signature at face value unless I witness it firsthand. You can never be too careful. And you can be too gullible.
A year or so before I got married, I was planning to go see a Demitri Martin show in Atlanta with my brother in law Will and my friend Michael. At the last minute I had to cancel, which was a bummer because I am a big fan of his comedy and was excited to see him.
Will and Michael, the ungrateful schmucks, went to the show without me. So much for solidarity. They must have felt bad about it though, because to cheer me up they brought home a poster from the concert, signed by Martin himself. I thought this was pretty cool.
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| MVP (Most Valuable Possession) |
I wish I'd seen that show, but honestly that poster was an excellent consolation prize. I liked it so much that I put it up in my cubicle at work, dirty word be damned.
Fast forward to our wedding weekend. The night before the big day, Will and Michael spilled the beans. That poster that I enjoyed so much, that I made sure to point out to visitors to my workspace, was nothing but a sham. A falsehood. A SHANDA.
Michael, who to be clear is not a professional comedian known for clever one-liners, was actually the author of the note. Come to think of it, I'm beginning to wonder if he and Will made up the poster as well. Like I said, I'm gullible.
A good chuckle was had by all, and that was the end of that. Except it wasn't. I wanted something. It wasn't exactly revenge I was after, but maybe a comeuppance? Yeah, a comeuppance would do nicely.
A few years passed, and Michael met a nice young lady foolish enough to marry him. Once they announced their engagement, I knew exactly what I wanted to give them for their wedding present. I was going to get Demitri Martin to autograph a picture of them and frame it, for realsies this time.
I figured Demitri was (is) a comic, would appreciate the amusing nature of the situation, and help a brother out. Unfortunately, I didn't know Demetri or anyone else who did, and his website did not make his contact information readily available except to book him for a show. Frankly, I don't like Michael enough to take the joke that far. I was stumped, and so their wedding came and went. Oh well. They'd have to settle for napkins rings or Bengals coozies.
Then a few months later, literally within a few hours of each other, I learned of two facts:
Fact 1. Michael and Bree were coming to visit Atlanta that upcoming weekend.
Fact 2. Demitri Martin was doing a surprise show in Atlanta THAT VERY NIGHT.
It was fate. This time, I made sure to be in attendance, and I brought a few things with me.
The show was great, and afterwards Will (who tagged along) and I waited patiently while Demitri signed autographs, waiting to find our chance to approach. When it got to our turn, I went for it.
"Excuse me, Demitri. I know you have a line formed here, but do you have time for a quick story?"
He was kind enough to hear me out, so I launched into the specifics. I explained the missed concert, the poster with his alleged signature, how I proudly displayed it at work like an asshole, and the reveal of the hoax at my wedding. I like to think he was amused, but maybe people forge his signature on posters all the time. He is famous after all.
In the end he heard me out and was kind enough to acquiesce to my requests. First, he corrected the much-maligned poster:
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| The fake signature on the left, Demitri's real signature on the right. |
Then he added the coup de grace, the one thing I'd sought after for over a year:
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| "Great going plagiarizing me. My lawyers will be in touch - Demitri" |
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| Not photoshopped. |
Friday, February 21, 2014
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Jamie's Playlist
As parents, we strive to remember all of the funny individual moments that our children create. Alas, it's impossible. In the moment something may seem so visceral as to leave a permanent imprint on the brain, but we have no shot. There are too many of them. It's one of the great things about photos, blogs, tumblrs, etc, they at least provide some triggers for recollection.
Still, I do have one memory that has stayed with me since Jamie's birth, and I promised myself I'd write this post before our second child is born. Seeing as we are likely within 24 hours of that occurrence, I figure my time has run out to get this on the (web)page.
Jamie was in the hospital for 8 days when he was born. I say this not to be melodramatic. Though we were certainly shook up by this early curveball, we know that many have experienced much worse. Still, the delayed gratification of taking him home led to immense anticipation.
And that is why I know our drive home from Piedmont Hospital took roughly 17 minutes and 25 seconds. I know this because we heard four songs on the radio during that drive, and they've remained with me to this day.
Now I'm not a religious man, and I don't necessarily believe that everything happens for a reason. Still, I've always thought it would be fun to go back and revisit those songs, and see if there are any metaphorical meanings I can extrapolate.
Song 1: Paradise, Coldplay
How cliched, right? Like right out of some holiday chick flick (presumably starring Riggins from Friday Night Lights and one of the Jessicas, Biel or Alba -- or both!), it figures a sappy Coldplay song would be the first one out of the gate. 'Tis no lie though. Right as I keyed the ignition to begin our trek home, the first violin strings of "Paradise" began. It seems too overt to try for some sort of metaphorical angle here -- the surface meaning will do.
Still, I do have one memory that has stayed with me since Jamie's birth, and I promised myself I'd write this post before our second child is born. Seeing as we are likely within 24 hours of that occurrence, I figure my time has run out to get this on the (web)page.
Jamie was in the hospital for 8 days when he was born. I say this not to be melodramatic. Though we were certainly shook up by this early curveball, we know that many have experienced much worse. Still, the delayed gratification of taking him home led to immense anticipation.
And that is why I know our drive home from Piedmont Hospital took roughly 17 minutes and 25 seconds. I know this because we heard four songs on the radio during that drive, and they've remained with me to this day.
Now I'm not a religious man, and I don't necessarily believe that everything happens for a reason. Still, I've always thought it would be fun to go back and revisit those songs, and see if there are any metaphorical meanings I can extrapolate.
Song 1: Paradise, Coldplay
How cliched, right? Like right out of some holiday chick flick (presumably starring Riggins from Friday Night Lights and one of the Jessicas, Biel or Alba -- or both!), it figures a sappy Coldplay song would be the first one out of the gate. 'Tis no lie though. Right as I keyed the ignition to begin our trek home, the first violin strings of "Paradise" began. It seems too overt to try for some sort of metaphorical angle here -- the surface meaning will do.
This will always be Jamie's song to me. Any time I hear it it transports me back to Thanksgiving Day 2011. It is a fitting song, as Coldplay's music has had a running thread throughout Hilary's and my relationship. Their song "Yellow" was very nearly our choice for our first dance at our wedding*, and "Swallowed In the Sea" was on the mix CD** I made to play in the car when we moved Hilary to Atlanta from DC.
*As if to prove how our memories fade, Hilary and I have been trying to remember if we used Yellow for some other purpose during our wedding, and neither of us can remember. Maybe it was when we were walking down the aisle? Or father-daughter dance? No idea now.
** Hey, remember those?
Like most Coldplay songs, "Paradise" is fairly uncomplicated and seemingly superficial, yet it still has a way to affect me emotionally. Sue me, I like Coldplay.
Song 2: The Man Who Sold The World, Nirvana
Song 3: Eminence Front, The Who
I love The Who the way most people I know love them, which is to say I think they rock, but I really only know the songs off their Greatest Hits album or from Tommy. And even though I almost exclusively listen to rock radio***, until this drive home I had never heard of this song, from their 1982 album It's Hard.
*** Well, not entirely true. Nowadays I almost exclusively listen to podcasts, and in high school I almost exclusively listened to the Jackson rap stations. Damn I was hip.
Why 97.1 The River chose to play this song that day (ever?) is a mystery to me, but the darndest thing about it is ever since I've heard this song abundantly, and not just on the radio -- in intro music to televised sporting events, at restaurants; it's crazy.
The takeaway with this song is that it's never too late to learn something new, and by that I mean I just learned that the term for this sort of pattern (where once you see a new word or concept you see it repeatedly) is the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, which sounds like the most bad-ass name for something I've ever heard. I wonder if it's too late to convince Hilary of a name change? Baader-Meinhof Hart has a nice ring to it.
Song 4: Closer To Fine, Indigo Girls
I'll be damned if this isn't just the most apt song for this playlist. I have a long, long history with this song. Every girl at summer camp knew this song backwards and forwards and would lean into it like they were on stage in a goddamn Broadway musical. In fact, arguably the most famous camp alum**** once sang this in the camp talent show.
**** And girlfriend of mine for a full twen-tee four ho-urs.
At my older sister's rehearsal dinner, my younger sister and I sang a song set to this tune about how we always thought she was a lesbian.*****
*As if to prove how our memories fade, Hilary and I have been trying to remember if we used Yellow for some other purpose during our wedding, and neither of us can remember. Maybe it was when we were walking down the aisle? Or father-daughter dance? No idea now.
** Hey, remember those?
Like most Coldplay songs, "Paradise" is fairly uncomplicated and seemingly superficial, yet it still has a way to affect me emotionally. Sue me, I like Coldplay.
Song 2: The Man Who Sold The World, Nirvana
This song comes from one of my favorite albums of all time, Nirvana's MTV Unplugged (for my money, the best performance of that entire program's history), and it's a cover of a David Bowie song. The song itself is somewhat inscrutable to me (a quick google search suggests it deals with multiple personalities), but if I could take any lesson away from this to pass along to Jamie, it'd be that talent can be both a blessing and a curse. I wasn't that huge a Nirvana fan when they were around, but even still Kurt Cobain is probably the defining musician of my childhood. He was a genius, but a tortured one. I certainly hope that Jamie (and his baby brother) find things they are good at, things they can share with the world. But sometimes those things can consume us, and ultimately, I believe it's better to be happy than to be famous.
Song 3: Eminence Front, The Who
I love The Who the way most people I know love them, which is to say I think they rock, but I really only know the songs off their Greatest Hits album or from Tommy. And even though I almost exclusively listen to rock radio***, until this drive home I had never heard of this song, from their 1982 album It's Hard.
*** Well, not entirely true. Nowadays I almost exclusively listen to podcasts, and in high school I almost exclusively listened to the Jackson rap stations. Damn I was hip.
Why 97.1 The River chose to play this song that day (ever?) is a mystery to me, but the darndest thing about it is ever since I've heard this song abundantly, and not just on the radio -- in intro music to televised sporting events, at restaurants; it's crazy.
The takeaway with this song is that it's never too late to learn something new, and by that I mean I just learned that the term for this sort of pattern (where once you see a new word or concept you see it repeatedly) is the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, which sounds like the most bad-ass name for something I've ever heard. I wonder if it's too late to convince Hilary of a name change? Baader-Meinhof Hart has a nice ring to it.
Song 4: Closer To Fine, Indigo Girls
**** And girlfriend of mine for a full twen-tee four ho-urs.
At my older sister's rehearsal dinner, my younger sister and I sang a song set to this tune about how we always thought she was a lesbian.*****
***** Not that there's anything wrong with that.
The late, great Mitch Hedberg had a hilarious joke about how songs have different meanings to people depending on the circumstances surrounding when they heard it. For most of my life, I have hated this song. But now, because it was playing as we turned onto our street to begin our journey into parenthood, literally becoming closer to fine with every tire rotation, I can't help but have a positive association with it. And Jamie, though I love you, I'll always blame you for that.
The late, great Mitch Hedberg had a hilarious joke about how songs have different meanings to people depending on the circumstances surrounding when they heard it. For most of my life, I have hated this song. But now, because it was playing as we turned onto our street to begin our journey into parenthood, literally becoming closer to fine with every tire rotation, I can't help but have a positive association with it. And Jamie, though I love you, I'll always blame you for that.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Due Date vs. Snowpocalyse Two: Who Wins?
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| Harts, in happier cold-weather climes |
It's a very strange world we occupy.* Life begins and ends on this planet at every waking moment, which means that no matter what is happening, good or bad, someone is being brought into the world in the midst of it. But you never think it's going to happen to you, right?
* I mean this in a micro sense, but certainly the same could be said on a macro scale as well.
We are coming to the end of Day 2 of "Snowpocalypse Two: The Snowpocalypsing" in Atlanta, and tomorrow looks to be more of the same, which is to say we'll be home another day with no reasonable thought of leaving house. And Hilary could go at any minute.
Which means, we are really, really hoping we hit that due date.
In the immediate lead up to Jamie's birth, I remember the overwhelming anxiety of knowing that my world could be turned upside down at any minute. Minutes felt like hours, hours like days, and days like longer-seeming days.
I wasn't ready, and therefore I didn't want it to happen. But that was all existential. This time? This is legit. This is an actual crisis, or at least a potential crisis if the wheels get put in motion.
Hilary has developed some sciatica-like symptoms in the late stages of her pregnancy. Every time she moves, she winces in pain. To the untrained eye, these bear a striking resemblance to the onset of contractions. Each time it happens, I nearly need a change of underwear.
An aside.
Often times in sports, a player will make a mistake in a game of huge magnitude that in a losing effort ends up being the thing they are remembered for the rest of their lives. Chris Webber's phantom timeout. Buckner's booted grounder. For the old timers, Merkle's Boner. But sometimes that mistake doesn't preclude victory, and it becomes just another footnote of history.**
** The best example I can come up with from recent vintage? Ahmad Bradshaw's excuse-me touchdown from the Giants-Patriots Super Bowl a couple years back.
That's kind of the situation we find ourselves in right now. Our cousins, who live a mile or so from the hospital we are scheduled to deliver at, offered to host us for the duration of the storm. We declined, mostly because this entire weather situation seems like a gross overreaction to what happened here a couple weeks ago, but also because Jamie was born 5 days late (and even that was after an induction), and I've convinced myself it'll go down the same way this time as well. Or because we are morons.
This will either make for a charming anecdote we can share making small talk at parties, or it will be a truly life-altering experience. What will we do if Hilary goes into labor and we can't drive our car on the road? This could legitimately happen. Even as I sit here typing this thought, thinking there is no way this could happen, THIS COULD SERIOUSLY HAPPEN. For fuck's sake, I could be writing this very sentence and Hilary could scream out in agony and I'll have no choice but to start furiously googling how to deliver a baby at home.***
***Though I am sure someone has made a fairly easy to follow DIY video on YouTube.
I've mentioned before on this blog that my friends have a saying that everything always works out for Micah, and I am sure that line of thinking led to us bypassing the safe play of staying closer to the hospital just in case. And again, even though it would be PERFECTLY FUCKING RATIONAL for this baby to be born in the next 24 hours, I still pretty much believe that everything will turn out just fine. Which grand scheme it will, no matter if the baby arrives via the careful hands of an obstetrician or via catcher's mitt.
I guess the most important thing out of all of this is that Hilary and I made the choice to stay home together. Because if this was just my idea that I talked her into, then tomorrow we'd be introducing Itoldyouso Hart to the world.
I kid of course, Hilary is not that mean-spirited or vindictive, two traits we hope to avoid passing along to our soon-to-be child. Instead we want him to be honest, to be selfless, and to be compassionate.
But more than anything, right now, we want him to be patient.
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