Promise of a New Day...
As depressing and bluesy as yesterday was, I sure needed it. Today is one of those days that you feel like you've taken off the old worn overcoat, and I wouldn't feel this much better if not for yesterday.
I face today with hope and the courage to make it as great as it should be. I will keep my eyes open for the best opportunities to make themselves available. Doors will open and close, and I will be ready, willing, and maybe even a little giddy.
And just as a postscript to yesterday, I just want to put this out there, in case my buddy Leonard is reading...
Dude, you are my best friend, and I love you to death. I want you to have every good thing on Earth. We really need to figure out some sort of collaboration, because one of these days, you are going to run face first into greatness, and I want to be right there to enjoy it with you.
I admire your deeds and your soul, and although we have different goals and motivators, I want you to see that there is so much more in the world for you. Brother, it IS possible to have it all. Don't be afraid to step out of the box. You have a mind and skills that need to be shared with the world. Don't keep them secreted inside.
Have a good day, peeps!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Love's Labour
When I was in college, I had a roommate (who was an idiot!) who suggested to me that the biggest compliment one could ever receive was a surprise birthday party. For nearly 20 years, I completely agreed (despite his idiocy!).
Today, I don't.
I just finished the haunting "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" book. And I realize now that the greatest compliment doesn't happen until you're dead.
Death has a way of bringing families together - and tearing families apart.
When someone is still alive, people tend to not really say exactly how they feel about that person. But when that person dies, all formality goes out the window.
I can't help but think about the fact that when someone dies, all of their normal muscle control goes away. Therefore, said dead person shits him/herself.
Is it not sort of like that with friends and family? We often don't say what we really mean - until someone dies. Then we lose control over self-censorship.
Throughout my adult life, I'm beginning to think that I've been preparing for death. I rode across Alaska and Montana in order to raise money for AIDS vaccine research - in hopes that during the lifetimes of my nephews and nieces, they will not have to worry about contracting AIDS. Is this my way of trying to take care of them while I'm worm food?
As I laid wallowing in chemotherapy chemicals during cancer treatments, I began structuring "Cancerboy", which I wrote to help survivors and non-survivors alike to understand that one can return from the depths of hell and find a life that is truly successful. Is this an attempt at trying to save the world even when my body no longer exists?
I think about my dad who died at 48 years old, and my step-dad who died at 61 and my mentor who died in his 50s. I think about what they meant to me while they were alive and how much (more?) they mean to me now.
We take advantage of this life and those people whom we say we cherish. But how do we prove our love for one another?
As I read Warren Zevon's biography, I took note of the people who stuck with him throughout his life. And as each page got me closer to the end of the book, I began thinking more and more about the people in my life.
Do I tell them what they mean to me? Do they know what they mean to me?
For the last 5+ years, I have tried to make sure that everyone in my life understood exactly how much I love them.
Weird thing is, I've probably failed, and should try harder.
When I was in college, I had a roommate (who was an idiot!) who suggested to me that the biggest compliment one could ever receive was a surprise birthday party. For nearly 20 years, I completely agreed (despite his idiocy!).
Today, I don't.
I just finished the haunting "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" book. And I realize now that the greatest compliment doesn't happen until you're dead.
Death has a way of bringing families together - and tearing families apart.
When someone is still alive, people tend to not really say exactly how they feel about that person. But when that person dies, all formality goes out the window.
I can't help but think about the fact that when someone dies, all of their normal muscle control goes away. Therefore, said dead person shits him/herself.
Is it not sort of like that with friends and family? We often don't say what we really mean - until someone dies. Then we lose control over self-censorship.
Throughout my adult life, I'm beginning to think that I've been preparing for death. I rode across Alaska and Montana in order to raise money for AIDS vaccine research - in hopes that during the lifetimes of my nephews and nieces, they will not have to worry about contracting AIDS. Is this my way of trying to take care of them while I'm worm food?
As I laid wallowing in chemotherapy chemicals during cancer treatments, I began structuring "Cancerboy", which I wrote to help survivors and non-survivors alike to understand that one can return from the depths of hell and find a life that is truly successful. Is this an attempt at trying to save the world even when my body no longer exists?
I think about my dad who died at 48 years old, and my step-dad who died at 61 and my mentor who died in his 50s. I think about what they meant to me while they were alive and how much (more?) they mean to me now.
We take advantage of this life and those people whom we say we cherish. But how do we prove our love for one another?
As I read Warren Zevon's biography, I took note of the people who stuck with him throughout his life. And as each page got me closer to the end of the book, I began thinking more and more about the people in my life.
Do I tell them what they mean to me? Do they know what they mean to me?
For the last 5+ years, I have tried to make sure that everyone in my life understood exactly how much I love them.
Weird thing is, I've probably failed, and should try harder.
The Blues Down To My Shoes
Do you ever have those days when you feel like you are being followed by a black cloud?
You know deep inside that everything is fine, and life is so, so good.
But there’s that nagging sensation of doom and gloom…
I feel that way today. I don’t know why, for sure, but I’ve got a few theories:
Theory 1) After a couple of weeks worth of nice weather, it has gotten cooler and dreary again. It’s nearly May and there has been speculation that we may actually get some SNOW this week. This winter was a particularly hard one, and many of us here in Michigan are physically ACHING for nice weather to stick around. Unfortunately for me, I am very affected by weather.
Theory 2) I am being affected by the book I am reading. I am near the end of Warren Zevon’s autobiography. At this point in the book, he realizes that lung cancer is killing him, and he is trying to finish an album before the put him in his coffin. It’s very sad.
Theory 3) Lately, I feel like I have been bombarded by maladies. I was sick for a good few weeks during the winter, then again a few weeks ago, and after finally getting the proper medication to get rid of my cold, my allergies start up and I am sneezing and blowing my nose and my eyes itch and burn… I’m sick of being sick! On top of that, I got a bridge when I went to the dentist last week, and I am in pain many times a day. Now, I can handle pain and discomfort to a certain point, but once again… I’m sick of it!
I understand that even on my worst days I am better off than many people. I have absolutely no right to whine or complain. But sometimes, it feels better if I do.
I recognize that I am very lucky, and I am extremely grateful for having the life that I do.
I just want that damn cloud to go away.
Do you ever have those days when you feel like you are being followed by a black cloud?
You know deep inside that everything is fine, and life is so, so good.
But there’s that nagging sensation of doom and gloom…
I feel that way today. I don’t know why, for sure, but I’ve got a few theories:
Theory 1) After a couple of weeks worth of nice weather, it has gotten cooler and dreary again. It’s nearly May and there has been speculation that we may actually get some SNOW this week. This winter was a particularly hard one, and many of us here in Michigan are physically ACHING for nice weather to stick around. Unfortunately for me, I am very affected by weather.
Theory 2) I am being affected by the book I am reading. I am near the end of Warren Zevon’s autobiography. At this point in the book, he realizes that lung cancer is killing him, and he is trying to finish an album before the put him in his coffin. It’s very sad.
Theory 3) Lately, I feel like I have been bombarded by maladies. I was sick for a good few weeks during the winter, then again a few weeks ago, and after finally getting the proper medication to get rid of my cold, my allergies start up and I am sneezing and blowing my nose and my eyes itch and burn… I’m sick of being sick! On top of that, I got a bridge when I went to the dentist last week, and I am in pain many times a day. Now, I can handle pain and discomfort to a certain point, but once again… I’m sick of it!
I understand that even on my worst days I am better off than many people. I have absolutely no right to whine or complain. But sometimes, it feels better if I do.
I recognize that I am very lucky, and I am extremely grateful for having the life that I do.
I just want that damn cloud to go away.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Years of Pain
I’ve got a friend who has recently dived into cycling. He is preparing for his first century (100 mile bike ride), and has been keeping me abreast of his successes.
I told him today that he reminds me a lot of myself eight years ago, as I was training for my epic bike rides (multi-day, multi-hundred miles). I mentioned how it’s amazing how things change so quickly.
And then I got depressed.
When I was training for my big rides, cycling was my life. EVERYTHING revolved around cycling. It was cool. It was fresh. It was annoying to everyone around me.
I generally succeeded in those epic rides. I far exceeded everyone’s expectations, and I was very proud of my accomplishments.
And then I got sick, and everything changed.
Though treatment was only five months in length, the whole experience took up almost an entire year. And when I was re-born, I had one goal first and foremost in my mind – to prove to myself and everyone else that your only boundaries are in your head.
Eight months after treatments were over, I did another epic ride. This one was across Iowa.
Iowa was a turning point for me. I learned that I could still persevere and survive long, painful miles. But I didn’t want to anymore. I didn’t have anything else to prove.
As a result, I began to ride more for the fun of it than anything else. I still tried to do one long bike ride each summer, and I even found a purpose – Gilda’s Riders.
If Gilda’s Riders worked out the way I had hoped, it would have become a source of inspiration for everyone whose life had been touched by cancer.
Gilda’s Riders worked for two years, but I got burned out. Having just gotten married – another major change in my life – I found that there were too many other things that I wanted and needed to do, and planning a charity ride fell to the wayside.
There are times that I yearn for the lactic acid buildup, and pain of riding across mountains. There are times that I miss devoting my life solely to achieving something I had previously thought was unachievable.
As a survivor and still-newlywed husband, my priorities have changed, and so has the time that I have available.
Everything I have done, everything I have accomplished, has been done to get me to where I am right now. I am very happy. I am healthy, too, for the most part.
I have been a survivor my whole life. I am proud of that.
I want to see what life is like without adversity, though. I want to appreciate not being anxious from the moment I wake up.
And that is where I am right now. Riding as if there is no chain.
I’ve got a friend who has recently dived into cycling. He is preparing for his first century (100 mile bike ride), and has been keeping me abreast of his successes.
I told him today that he reminds me a lot of myself eight years ago, as I was training for my epic bike rides (multi-day, multi-hundred miles). I mentioned how it’s amazing how things change so quickly.
And then I got depressed.
When I was training for my big rides, cycling was my life. EVERYTHING revolved around cycling. It was cool. It was fresh. It was annoying to everyone around me.
I generally succeeded in those epic rides. I far exceeded everyone’s expectations, and I was very proud of my accomplishments.
And then I got sick, and everything changed.
Though treatment was only five months in length, the whole experience took up almost an entire year. And when I was re-born, I had one goal first and foremost in my mind – to prove to myself and everyone else that your only boundaries are in your head.
Eight months after treatments were over, I did another epic ride. This one was across Iowa.
Iowa was a turning point for me. I learned that I could still persevere and survive long, painful miles. But I didn’t want to anymore. I didn’t have anything else to prove.
As a result, I began to ride more for the fun of it than anything else. I still tried to do one long bike ride each summer, and I even found a purpose – Gilda’s Riders.
If Gilda’s Riders worked out the way I had hoped, it would have become a source of inspiration for everyone whose life had been touched by cancer.
Gilda’s Riders worked for two years, but I got burned out. Having just gotten married – another major change in my life – I found that there were too many other things that I wanted and needed to do, and planning a charity ride fell to the wayside.
There are times that I yearn for the lactic acid buildup, and pain of riding across mountains. There are times that I miss devoting my life solely to achieving something I had previously thought was unachievable.
As a survivor and still-newlywed husband, my priorities have changed, and so has the time that I have available.
Everything I have done, everything I have accomplished, has been done to get me to where I am right now. I am very happy. I am healthy, too, for the most part.
I have been a survivor my whole life. I am proud of that.
I want to see what life is like without adversity, though. I want to appreciate not being anxious from the moment I wake up.
And that is where I am right now. Riding as if there is no chain.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
One hour of drama burns 100 calories
Let's say that sex burns 65 calories per hour.
If we agree to that, then I have decided that drama in ones' life must burn at least 100 calories per hour.
On what do I base this? Well...
First of all, sex is fun. Drama is not.
Use the following interpolation:
Sleeping is fun. Sleeping burns like, 30 calories per hour.
Running is not fun. Running burns 400 calories per second. It's true.
Watching TV is fun. Watching TV burns 20 calories per hour.
Rock climbing is not fun. Rock climbing burns an estimated 200,000 calories per minute. I know this as fact.
Therefore, if sex is fun and burns 65 calories per hour, then drama - which is not as fun as sex, but also not as sweaty as rock climbing - must burn more calories.
Now, since SO MANY PEOPLE appear to like drama - like soap operas, for instance - then it can't burn as many calories as running, either.
So based on that scale, drama absolutely MUST burn 100 calories per hour.
Okay, so now that we've established that fact, I have got to ask a question:
With SO MANY PEOPLE burning SO MANY CALORIES on their own (or someone else's) drama, why are we the fattest country in the world?
The answer is simple, silly!
Drama makes people depressed, and what happens when people get depressed?
That's right...
They get drunk (empty caloric intake)
and have sex.
And for the record, I'm pretty sure that drunk, sloppy sex only burns 40 calories.
Let's say that sex burns 65 calories per hour.
If we agree to that, then I have decided that drama in ones' life must burn at least 100 calories per hour.
On what do I base this? Well...
First of all, sex is fun. Drama is not.
Use the following interpolation:
Sleeping is fun. Sleeping burns like, 30 calories per hour.
Running is not fun. Running burns 400 calories per second. It's true.
Watching TV is fun. Watching TV burns 20 calories per hour.
Rock climbing is not fun. Rock climbing burns an estimated 200,000 calories per minute. I know this as fact.
Therefore, if sex is fun and burns 65 calories per hour, then drama - which is not as fun as sex, but also not as sweaty as rock climbing - must burn more calories.
Now, since SO MANY PEOPLE appear to like drama - like soap operas, for instance - then it can't burn as many calories as running, either.
So based on that scale, drama absolutely MUST burn 100 calories per hour.
Okay, so now that we've established that fact, I have got to ask a question:
With SO MANY PEOPLE burning SO MANY CALORIES on their own (or someone else's) drama, why are we the fattest country in the world?
The answer is simple, silly!
Drama makes people depressed, and what happens when people get depressed?
That's right...
They get drunk (empty caloric intake)
and have sex.
And for the record, I'm pretty sure that drunk, sloppy sex only burns 40 calories.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Artist, Tortured?
I am in the midst of reading Warren Zevon's biography, "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead", and it's got me thinking about the tortured artist effect (coined by Todd Rundgren)...
It's also got me thinking about intelligence.
Warren and Frank Zappa are definitely two historical people I'd like to meet. With today's media allowing for instant gratification, and negativity entertaining us more and more, I'd be interested to see how they would be portrayed today.
When I was much younger, I totally believed that in order to be relevant, you had to be tortured. These lines from Neil Young's "After the Goldrush" were my mantra:
I was lyin' in a burned out basement
With a full moon in my eyes
I was hopin' for a replacement
When the sun burst through the skies
There was a band playin' in my head
And I felt like getting high
Thinkin' about what a friend had said,
I was hopin' it was a lie
In my eyes, this was as low as you could go. I yearned for it, yet too afraid to make it happen on my own.
In recent years, I have come to wonder, though...
Did I make it happen?
Looking back on my life, I remember thinking about things I didn't want. Two things in particular:
I didn't want huge scars on my head because they would be obvious when I got older and lost my hair;
I never wanted cancer.
Now, they say that if you want something bad enough, and think about it long enough, you will eventually work yourself into that occurrence.
But what if you DON'T want something to happen to you?
How many times did you say to yourself, "don't trip, don't screw this up, don't lose this", and it happened?
How is that different than "I don't want to get cancer"?
Warren Zevon was a tortured artist. He is an idol of mine. I love the way he put words together with music. From The French Inhaler:
You said you were an actress
Yes, I believe you are
I thought you'd be a star
So I drank up all the money,
Yes, I drank up all the money,
With these phonies in this Hollywood bar,
These friends of mine in this Hollywood bar
Mr. Bad Example:
Of course I went to law school and took a law degree
And counseled all my clients to plead insanity
Then worked in hair replacement, swindling the bald
Where very few are chosen, and fewer still are called
These days, Warren and Frank are dead. Cancer - the genius killer.
Ironic, eh?
I no longer want to be the tortured artist. In fact, I haven't wanted to be one in many, many years. I have been too close to despondence for my own comfort, and I am a cancer survivor. I've walked the roads that would leave some people in ruin.
Mr. Rundgren can keep the ever popular totured artist effect. It was a neat concept, but there are some street smarts I'd rather not have!
I am in the midst of reading Warren Zevon's biography, "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead", and it's got me thinking about the tortured artist effect (coined by Todd Rundgren)...
It's also got me thinking about intelligence.
Warren and Frank Zappa are definitely two historical people I'd like to meet. With today's media allowing for instant gratification, and negativity entertaining us more and more, I'd be interested to see how they would be portrayed today.
When I was much younger, I totally believed that in order to be relevant, you had to be tortured. These lines from Neil Young's "After the Goldrush" were my mantra:
I was lyin' in a burned out basement
With a full moon in my eyes
I was hopin' for a replacement
When the sun burst through the skies
There was a band playin' in my head
And I felt like getting high
Thinkin' about what a friend had said,
I was hopin' it was a lie
In my eyes, this was as low as you could go. I yearned for it, yet too afraid to make it happen on my own.
In recent years, I have come to wonder, though...
Did I make it happen?
Looking back on my life, I remember thinking about things I didn't want. Two things in particular:
I didn't want huge scars on my head because they would be obvious when I got older and lost my hair;
I never wanted cancer.
Now, they say that if you want something bad enough, and think about it long enough, you will eventually work yourself into that occurrence.
But what if you DON'T want something to happen to you?
How many times did you say to yourself, "don't trip, don't screw this up, don't lose this", and it happened?
How is that different than "I don't want to get cancer"?
Warren Zevon was a tortured artist. He is an idol of mine. I love the way he put words together with music. From The French Inhaler:
You said you were an actress
Yes, I believe you are
I thought you'd be a star
So I drank up all the money,
Yes, I drank up all the money,
With these phonies in this Hollywood bar,
These friends of mine in this Hollywood bar
Mr. Bad Example:
Of course I went to law school and took a law degree
And counseled all my clients to plead insanity
Then worked in hair replacement, swindling the bald
Where very few are chosen, and fewer still are called
These days, Warren and Frank are dead. Cancer - the genius killer.
Ironic, eh?
I no longer want to be the tortured artist. In fact, I haven't wanted to be one in many, many years. I have been too close to despondence for my own comfort, and I am a cancer survivor. I've walked the roads that would leave some people in ruin.
Mr. Rundgren can keep the ever popular totured artist effect. It was a neat concept, but there are some street smarts I'd rather not have!
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
What's it gonna take??
Yeesh! No love for the city of Detroit these days...
I can't say how badly I want to bitch about Mayor Kilpatrick, about Detroit Public Schools, the unemployment rate, and the general crappy feeling in this town.
But I have been cursed with having a glass that is perpetually half full. Instead of complaining about the obvious (or not so obvious for that matter!), I find myself asking: What do we gotta do to make things better?
Geez, I wish I knew the answer to that.
I know that I enjoy going to Greektown and Slows BBQ. I enjoy donating my future lottery winnings to the casinos. I enjoy going to Mexicantown for awesome Mexican food and margaritas.
Sports-wise, Detroit is on the way to hockey and basketball playoffs. Baseball season just started. We have so much to look forward to in the world of sports (yes, I even have hope for the Lions this year - or any year, really!). I really hope that somehow, Detroit can find a spark and get past the negativity it finds itself shrouded in.
I wonder, exactly where that spark will come from. Who can perform the magic that we need?
Time will tell, and I hope we're paying attention!
Yeesh! No love for the city of Detroit these days...
I can't say how badly I want to bitch about Mayor Kilpatrick, about Detroit Public Schools, the unemployment rate, and the general crappy feeling in this town.
But I have been cursed with having a glass that is perpetually half full. Instead of complaining about the obvious (or not so obvious for that matter!), I find myself asking: What do we gotta do to make things better?
Geez, I wish I knew the answer to that.
I know that I enjoy going to Greektown and Slows BBQ. I enjoy donating my future lottery winnings to the casinos. I enjoy going to Mexicantown for awesome Mexican food and margaritas.
Sports-wise, Detroit is on the way to hockey and basketball playoffs. Baseball season just started. We have so much to look forward to in the world of sports (yes, I even have hope for the Lions this year - or any year, really!). I really hope that somehow, Detroit can find a spark and get past the negativity it finds itself shrouded in.
I wonder, exactly where that spark will come from. Who can perform the magic that we need?
Time will tell, and I hope we're paying attention!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Trippin'
Okay, so I mentioned that we went on a trip, but I haven't mentioned yet that we had a great opportunity to participte in operation disk drop (as explained in an earlier post).
I had recently gone through my expansive CD collection, and planned to get rid of two plastic shopping bags worth of CDs.
I thought it would be a cool idea to take them on our trip and drop off the CDs along the route. The idea was awesome, if I do say so myself. However, the actual disk drop didn't work out so well.
The weird part is that we forgot about the CDs on the way down. So after my brother, nephew and niece had dibs at the CDs, we gave my mom a shot at them when we got down to Florida. On the way we did stop, but didn't leave any indication along with the CDs what we were trying to do. I left a few at a rest stop outside of Jacksonville, FL and Sheryl left a few in South Carolina.
Me in Jacksonville
The Flying J where Sheryl dropped off CDs
And so once we got to my uncle's, we gave him and my cousins a shot at the remaining CDs.
The trip home totally didn't allow us any time to dawdle around with CDs.
Anyhow, it seemed like a cool idea, and we had a little fun with it. Maybe next time we'll rock a little harder.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Vacation
The month of February is brutal for me... lack of sunshine ails my constitution.
So Sheryl and I took off for Florida. The sun on my skin felt amazing, and I was ALIVE! We eagerly pedaled our bikes to the beach to witness the aged population of leathery bronze Canadians meandering with basketballs in their bellies and Speedos grossing us out.
I sat outside as often as I could, and hopped into the hot tub nearly every day.
We visited the Kennedy Space Center and Key West. We watched jai alai matches and ate ourselves across the States.
Sweet, sweet sunshine. Warm and lovely. Makes me happy like Don Ho's tiny bubbles.
More to tell... but later. :)
The month of February is brutal for me... lack of sunshine ails my constitution.
So Sheryl and I took off for Florida. The sun on my skin felt amazing, and I was ALIVE! We eagerly pedaled our bikes to the beach to witness the aged population of leathery bronze Canadians meandering with basketballs in their bellies and Speedos grossing us out.
I sat outside as often as I could, and hopped into the hot tub nearly every day.
We visited the Kennedy Space Center and Key West. We watched jai alai matches and ate ourselves across the States.
Sweet, sweet sunshine. Warm and lovely. Makes me happy like Don Ho's tiny bubbles.
More to tell... but later. :)
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Life is like a box of... crayons?
As horrible as cancer was, my life is profoundly better having been stricken.
Cancer allows me to live my life more freely - as facing death often does. The person I was before my Hodgkin's diagnosis is long gone... and I am glad.
A pre-Hodgkin's Matt would not have been able to open himself up to serious relationships and would not have been able to let go of the little things.
And although I still hold on too long to some of the less meaningless things that occur in every day life, I am happily married - pretty much the most serious relationship one can have!
Today is my wife Sheryl's birthday. If you pay any attention to this blog at all, you know that Sheryl is an angel.
Sheryl rescued me from one of the lowest points of my life by simply loving me.
And fortunately, I was able to love her back.
Although we're still newlyweds, I can see Sheryl and I becoming one of those aging, loving couples who - above anything else - enjoy being in each others' company.
Granted, I fear for our longevity, seeing as that we both need to take our health more seriously, but I want the time we spend together to be fresh and exciting.
One of the reasons I love riding my bike so much is because every ride - no matter how familiar it is, or how often you ride the same path - is different.
And that is how I want my life with Sheryl to be.
I never knew I could love someone as much as I do Sheryl. I never knew someone could make my life so rich. I never knew that I would be able to share so many good blessings in my life with the same person.
Many people think about birthdays in a bad light. I used to be one of them. At the age of 28, I felt like I never accomplished what I should have accomplished in life. It really depressed me.
Now, at 41, I still don't feel like I've accomplished what I was supposed to, but I know that I'm getting closer. Instead of being depressed, I am hopeful.
Because of Sheryl's job, and because of our relationship, and because of the curveballs in life that I've dealt with, Sheryl and I both understand that we are lucky to celebrate each day - but moreso birthdays.
We don't celebrate Hallmark holidays - Valentine's Day, Sweetest Day, Love Your Partner's Genitals Day, whatever. I believe that people in my life must know how I feel about them - all of the time.
But ever since I was a little boy, birthdays were always special. As such, I will try to make sure that Sheryl remembers every birthday she had while I was in her life.
Baby, I love you with all of my heart. You have brought my 8 color Crayola life into the world of the 150 count telescoping crayon tower. I am so grateful to have you as my wife.
Happy birthday. I hope we celebrate many happy healthy birthdays in the future!
As horrible as cancer was, my life is profoundly better having been stricken.
Cancer allows me to live my life more freely - as facing death often does. The person I was before my Hodgkin's diagnosis is long gone... and I am glad.
A pre-Hodgkin's Matt would not have been able to open himself up to serious relationships and would not have been able to let go of the little things.
And although I still hold on too long to some of the less meaningless things that occur in every day life, I am happily married - pretty much the most serious relationship one can have!
Today is my wife Sheryl's birthday. If you pay any attention to this blog at all, you know that Sheryl is an angel.
Sheryl rescued me from one of the lowest points of my life by simply loving me.
And fortunately, I was able to love her back.
Although we're still newlyweds, I can see Sheryl and I becoming one of those aging, loving couples who - above anything else - enjoy being in each others' company.
Granted, I fear for our longevity, seeing as that we both need to take our health more seriously, but I want the time we spend together to be fresh and exciting.
One of the reasons I love riding my bike so much is because every ride - no matter how familiar it is, or how often you ride the same path - is different.
And that is how I want my life with Sheryl to be.
I never knew I could love someone as much as I do Sheryl. I never knew someone could make my life so rich. I never knew that I would be able to share so many good blessings in my life with the same person.
Many people think about birthdays in a bad light. I used to be one of them. At the age of 28, I felt like I never accomplished what I should have accomplished in life. It really depressed me.
Now, at 41, I still don't feel like I've accomplished what I was supposed to, but I know that I'm getting closer. Instead of being depressed, I am hopeful.
Because of Sheryl's job, and because of our relationship, and because of the curveballs in life that I've dealt with, Sheryl and I both understand that we are lucky to celebrate each day - but moreso birthdays.
We don't celebrate Hallmark holidays - Valentine's Day, Sweetest Day, Love Your Partner's Genitals Day, whatever. I believe that people in my life must know how I feel about them - all of the time.
But ever since I was a little boy, birthdays were always special. As such, I will try to make sure that Sheryl remembers every birthday she had while I was in her life.
Baby, I love you with all of my heart. You have brought my 8 color Crayola life into the world of the 150 count telescoping crayon tower. I am so grateful to have you as my wife.
Happy birthday. I hope we celebrate many happy healthy birthdays in the future!
Friday, January 04, 2008
Cool Blue
As I pedalled on down the street
My cool, blue bike gleaming in the sunlight
I dropped down into a higher gear and cruised...
My problems melted behind me,
The pain of daily living dissolved like a good shot of morphine.
I forgot more and more as the sun shone on my face
and my heart beat out the rhythm of shambala.
The wind whispered sweet nothings to me,
And the tail wind bowed trees as I rode by.
My lungs blew out the nasty taste of the morning newspaper -
The coffee dregs that sadden me every time I read -
And they sucked in the refreshing gift of elation.
I caught myself smiling more than once
As I chased the sunlight,
Making a silent vow to never let the sun set on this ride.
Every wrong turn was right
Every stoplight was a reminder to drink
And I ignored the nagging voice that told me to turn around.
I wasn't going back unless I wanted to.
And so I rode with the angels of Fausto Coppi and Jacques Anquetil,
Reaching new heights with Marco Pantani and Charly Gaul,
I remembered nothing of my shitty morning,
But everything amazing aspect...
of this exact moment.
As I pedalled on down the street
My cool, blue bike gleaming in the sunlight
I dropped down into a higher gear and cruised...
My problems melted behind me,
The pain of daily living dissolved like a good shot of morphine.
I forgot more and more as the sun shone on my face
and my heart beat out the rhythm of shambala.
The wind whispered sweet nothings to me,
And the tail wind bowed trees as I rode by.
My lungs blew out the nasty taste of the morning newspaper -
The coffee dregs that sadden me every time I read -
And they sucked in the refreshing gift of elation.
I caught myself smiling more than once
As I chased the sunlight,
Making a silent vow to never let the sun set on this ride.
Every wrong turn was right
Every stoplight was a reminder to drink
And I ignored the nagging voice that told me to turn around.
I wasn't going back unless I wanted to.
And so I rode with the angels of Fausto Coppi and Jacques Anquetil,
Reaching new heights with Marco Pantani and Charly Gaul,
I remembered nothing of my shitty morning,
But everything amazing aspect...
of this exact moment.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
A Little Bit of This, A Little of That...
It's been something like fifteen years now - I forget how long for sure - that I have been writing a Christmas poem/story to include in my Christmas cards.
It began when I fell on some hard times and couldn't afford to buy Christmas presents. So I took a long, hard look at my talents to try and find some way to give something to those I love.
I quickly realized that my greatest asset was my writing, and decided to write a Christmas poem. Well, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending how you think about it!), the poem was well-received, and I was asked if I would be doing one the following year.
With mounting pressure, I decided to give it another go. The following year, however, I was in better financial straits, and was able to buy presents. Nonetheless, the Christmas writing came. Again, it was well-received, and I was in the ironic position of gathering a fan base of sorts.
After a couple of years, the poem turned into a story, and I began enjoying the writing process. I also began to put more thought into it. I tend to find ways now of making it a little more personal, by including a major event in my life, or including a person we know.
The whole process has actually become quite interesting, and when I start writing the Christmas poem in early November, it starts getting me into the Christmas spirit - usually. :)
I also began to wonder how my writings would influence the way people thought about Christmas, and Santa Claus. I started dropping my own history of Santa, creating - in a sense - my own world within my world.
Sheryl and I have an acquaintance who is currently starting the writing process, and was looking to me to help her focus on making the story good. She had done a lot of songwriting, but not so much story-writing. That was interesting, because I always wanted to do some songwriting, but was never able to find a hook.
And a hook is what it's all about. I mean, when you start writing something of substance, you need to think about how you want to draw the reader in. Do you want to do this subtly, sorta of mysteriously, or do you want to grab them by the shirt and yank them headlong into the deep end?
Each has its own value. For instance, I tried to grab the reader by the lapels for "Cancerboy". But the Christmas stories tend to be more of an unfolding story that tries to draw the reader into the Christmas spirit as it goes along.
Stange, but I never thought I'd have to put so much focus on writing - it's always come so easy for me, but when I put thought into it, rather than regurgitating my thoughts on paper, it achieves its purpose a lot easier.
And that's a good thing.
So what's your story, morning glory?
It's been something like fifteen years now - I forget how long for sure - that I have been writing a Christmas poem/story to include in my Christmas cards.
It began when I fell on some hard times and couldn't afford to buy Christmas presents. So I took a long, hard look at my talents to try and find some way to give something to those I love.
I quickly realized that my greatest asset was my writing, and decided to write a Christmas poem. Well, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending how you think about it!), the poem was well-received, and I was asked if I would be doing one the following year.
With mounting pressure, I decided to give it another go. The following year, however, I was in better financial straits, and was able to buy presents. Nonetheless, the Christmas writing came. Again, it was well-received, and I was in the ironic position of gathering a fan base of sorts.
After a couple of years, the poem turned into a story, and I began enjoying the writing process. I also began to put more thought into it. I tend to find ways now of making it a little more personal, by including a major event in my life, or including a person we know.
The whole process has actually become quite interesting, and when I start writing the Christmas poem in early November, it starts getting me into the Christmas spirit - usually. :)
I also began to wonder how my writings would influence the way people thought about Christmas, and Santa Claus. I started dropping my own history of Santa, creating - in a sense - my own world within my world.
Sheryl and I have an acquaintance who is currently starting the writing process, and was looking to me to help her focus on making the story good. She had done a lot of songwriting, but not so much story-writing. That was interesting, because I always wanted to do some songwriting, but was never able to find a hook.
And a hook is what it's all about. I mean, when you start writing something of substance, you need to think about how you want to draw the reader in. Do you want to do this subtly, sorta of mysteriously, or do you want to grab them by the shirt and yank them headlong into the deep end?
Each has its own value. For instance, I tried to grab the reader by the lapels for "Cancerboy". But the Christmas stories tend to be more of an unfolding story that tries to draw the reader into the Christmas spirit as it goes along.
Stange, but I never thought I'd have to put so much focus on writing - it's always come so easy for me, but when I put thought into it, rather than regurgitating my thoughts on paper, it achieves its purpose a lot easier.
And that's a good thing.
So what's your story, morning glory?
Friday, December 28, 2007
Weary New (Not-Weary) Year
Between 1992 and 1996, when I lived in Texas, I began taking my aspirations of becoming a writer seriously, and did what most writers do:
I bought a copy of the latest Writer's Market, researched all of the places that I thought gelled with my writing and concepts, then meticulously dusted off all of my best stuff, made it pretty, and sent it off to the researched places.
Within a few weeks, the rejection letters trickled in, and soon I was out of places to send my best stuff to.
So I began a process of writing first thing in the morning. I would write just to write... sort of like a musician noodling around on a guitar. I felt that maybe some of the lines and paragraphs that I'd write would light the fire to something bigger and better.
Many times, however, I would end up with poems that started:
"My blurry eyes look at the blank computer screen. Suddenly I realize that I need to rearrange my sock drawer... anything to keep me distracted from this..."
I am reminded of this right now because I sit trying to come up with a witty, profound topic to discuss, and all I can think about is how tired I am... my eyes, my legs, my back, my arms... I really struggled to get up this morning, and really don't know why I feel so battered - although it could be because I have a cool new alarm clock that I cannot hear - really! - when I lay of my left side.
A couple of years ago, I was blowing up helium balloons for a charity event, when a balloon suddenly exploded next to my right ear. With all of the ringing in that ear, I didn't realize the depth of the damage done - until I met Sheryl, and realized that she sounded muffled when she spoke to me as I lay on my left side - my "good ear" covered.
A month ago, Sheryl went out of town for a couple of days. While she was gone, I realized that the tone of my new cool alarm clock was one of the tones blown out by the bursting balloon. I put my head on the pillow and I couldn't hear the alarm. I lifted my head up, and I could hear it. It kinda pisses me off.
Anyway, because I cannot always hear the alarm, Sheryl has to beat me in order for me to wake up and shut off my alarm. And perhaps that's why I feel so battered this morning...
For the record, Sheryl really doesn't beat me... a couple of knees to the kidneys and I'm usually pretty awake! :)
Couldn't resist... I am totally joking.
Maybe I am worn out from Christmas. And riding. I dunno. In any case, I am heading off to Vegas tomorrow to celebrate New Years' and to see Van Halen. I hope to get a lot of sleep between now and arrival at LAS.
In many recent years, I have looked forward to the next year to bring me all of the good things I worked so hard for. 2007 was the year that everything came together for me. I don't think I ever had a bigger or better year than 2007. I am so happy and so blessed.
What will 2008 bring? I suspect that it will bring more of all of the good things in my life.
What do I hope to improve on over 2007? More miles on my bike... the new, still unnamed bike needs to be properly broken in... I would love to do a multi-day ride...
Since this is likely my last post for this amazing year, I want to paraphrase a line that I include in my bedtime prayers:
"Thank you for our amazing friends and families, and please grant them blessings similar to the ones that Sheryl and I have been granted."
Happy New Year, all!!
Between 1992 and 1996, when I lived in Texas, I began taking my aspirations of becoming a writer seriously, and did what most writers do:
I bought a copy of the latest Writer's Market, researched all of the places that I thought gelled with my writing and concepts, then meticulously dusted off all of my best stuff, made it pretty, and sent it off to the researched places.
Within a few weeks, the rejection letters trickled in, and soon I was out of places to send my best stuff to.
So I began a process of writing first thing in the morning. I would write just to write... sort of like a musician noodling around on a guitar. I felt that maybe some of the lines and paragraphs that I'd write would light the fire to something bigger and better.
Many times, however, I would end up with poems that started:
"My blurry eyes look at the blank computer screen. Suddenly I realize that I need to rearrange my sock drawer... anything to keep me distracted from this..."
I am reminded of this right now because I sit trying to come up with a witty, profound topic to discuss, and all I can think about is how tired I am... my eyes, my legs, my back, my arms... I really struggled to get up this morning, and really don't know why I feel so battered - although it could be because I have a cool new alarm clock that I cannot hear - really! - when I lay of my left side.
A couple of years ago, I was blowing up helium balloons for a charity event, when a balloon suddenly exploded next to my right ear. With all of the ringing in that ear, I didn't realize the depth of the damage done - until I met Sheryl, and realized that she sounded muffled when she spoke to me as I lay on my left side - my "good ear" covered.
A month ago, Sheryl went out of town for a couple of days. While she was gone, I realized that the tone of my new cool alarm clock was one of the tones blown out by the bursting balloon. I put my head on the pillow and I couldn't hear the alarm. I lifted my head up, and I could hear it. It kinda pisses me off.
Anyway, because I cannot always hear the alarm, Sheryl has to beat me in order for me to wake up and shut off my alarm. And perhaps that's why I feel so battered this morning...
For the record, Sheryl really doesn't beat me... a couple of knees to the kidneys and I'm usually pretty awake! :)
Couldn't resist... I am totally joking.
Maybe I am worn out from Christmas. And riding. I dunno. In any case, I am heading off to Vegas tomorrow to celebrate New Years' and to see Van Halen. I hope to get a lot of sleep between now and arrival at LAS.
In many recent years, I have looked forward to the next year to bring me all of the good things I worked so hard for. 2007 was the year that everything came together for me. I don't think I ever had a bigger or better year than 2007. I am so happy and so blessed.
What will 2008 bring? I suspect that it will bring more of all of the good things in my life.
What do I hope to improve on over 2007? More miles on my bike... the new, still unnamed bike needs to be properly broken in... I would love to do a multi-day ride...
Since this is likely my last post for this amazing year, I want to paraphrase a line that I include in my bedtime prayers:
"Thank you for our amazing friends and families, and please grant them blessings similar to the ones that Sheryl and I have been granted."
Happy New Year, all!!
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
How was your Christmas? How was your year?
While Cancerboy may be the shizzle, this Christmas really seemed to fizzle. Still struggling with "Christmas spirit issues", I decided to let Christmas go this year, and instead of dwelling on why I felt so out of sync this year, I choose to focus on all of the amazing things that happened this year, and the things to come...
Having struggled pretty much since I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease in 2002, I was extremely blessed in 2007.
I was fortunate to have a great job which gave me a lot of autonomy to beat the deadlines and goals presented to me. The hard work paid off, as last week I signed the required paperwork that makes me a company man.
But by far, the best thing that happened this year was marrying Sheryl in late May. I honestly expected to be a lifelong bachelor, but the angels who look after me decided that I deserved to have one of their own, and put Sheryl in my life.
We ran off to Deer Isle, Maine to get hitched. It was a lovely 10 minute ceremony attended by a party of five (including Sheryl and I!). There was no honeymoon, as we needed to get back home and get back to work. One of these days, we'll do the honeymoon properly...
A few weeks after we got back from Maine, Sheryl and I invited friends and family to celebrate our nuptials with us. We had a big ol' party, and requested that instead of giving us gifts, our loved ones make a donation to Gilda's Riders - a cycling event that we created to raise money for Gilda's Club.
Although Gilda's Riders did not meet my expectations, it was very successful in that we raised over $17,000 for Gilda's Club. The ride itself was rainy and cold - an oddity in August - but September brought Sheryl another opportunity to ride the longest ride of her life (so far).
The Tour de Troit was one of those amazing rides that you never forget. It was 40 miles long and allowed us to ride past all of the big Detroit icons - Tiger Stadium, Comerica Park, the DIA, Belle Isle... It was an amazing experience, and we are looking forward to doing next years ride!
This year, I turned 41. And I am still not sure whether all of the changes in my life are a result of maturing or having gone through cancer treatments. I suppose I really don't care, either, because my current beliefs - be happy, be true to myself, and be grateful (and forgiving), aren't that far away from my beliefs 10-15 years ago. Except now I am WAY more grateful and forgiving.
So far, we don't have a lot of big plans for 2008. We will not be planning a Gilda's Riders event, so that will open us up to more chances to focus on ourselves. Yes, it's a bit egotistic and selfish, but I am willing to acknowledge that, allow us to do it, and go from there.
The bottom line is that I am looking forward to seeing how the future unfolds with my wife and with all of the blessing we are given daily.
While Cancerboy may be the shizzle, this Christmas really seemed to fizzle. Still struggling with "Christmas spirit issues", I decided to let Christmas go this year, and instead of dwelling on why I felt so out of sync this year, I choose to focus on all of the amazing things that happened this year, and the things to come...
Having struggled pretty much since I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease in 2002, I was extremely blessed in 2007.
I was fortunate to have a great job which gave me a lot of autonomy to beat the deadlines and goals presented to me. The hard work paid off, as last week I signed the required paperwork that makes me a company man.
But by far, the best thing that happened this year was marrying Sheryl in late May. I honestly expected to be a lifelong bachelor, but the angels who look after me decided that I deserved to have one of their own, and put Sheryl in my life.
We ran off to Deer Isle, Maine to get hitched. It was a lovely 10 minute ceremony attended by a party of five (including Sheryl and I!). There was no honeymoon, as we needed to get back home and get back to work. One of these days, we'll do the honeymoon properly...
A few weeks after we got back from Maine, Sheryl and I invited friends and family to celebrate our nuptials with us. We had a big ol' party, and requested that instead of giving us gifts, our loved ones make a donation to Gilda's Riders - a cycling event that we created to raise money for Gilda's Club.
Although Gilda's Riders did not meet my expectations, it was very successful in that we raised over $17,000 for Gilda's Club. The ride itself was rainy and cold - an oddity in August - but September brought Sheryl another opportunity to ride the longest ride of her life (so far).
The Tour de Troit was one of those amazing rides that you never forget. It was 40 miles long and allowed us to ride past all of the big Detroit icons - Tiger Stadium, Comerica Park, the DIA, Belle Isle... It was an amazing experience, and we are looking forward to doing next years ride!
This year, I turned 41. And I am still not sure whether all of the changes in my life are a result of maturing or having gone through cancer treatments. I suppose I really don't care, either, because my current beliefs - be happy, be true to myself, and be grateful (and forgiving), aren't that far away from my beliefs 10-15 years ago. Except now I am WAY more grateful and forgiving.
So far, we don't have a lot of big plans for 2008. We will not be planning a Gilda's Riders event, so that will open us up to more chances to focus on ourselves. Yes, it's a bit egotistic and selfish, but I am willing to acknowledge that, allow us to do it, and go from there.
The bottom line is that I am looking forward to seeing how the future unfolds with my wife and with all of the blessing we are given daily.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Sweet Cheeses, Where's the Spirit??
Today is 4 days from Christmas, and I still don't seem to have the Christmas spirit moving through me.
We've put together all of the gifts we're giving, sent out all of our cards, listened to tons of Christmas songs, but the spirit still eludes me.
Each step along the path to Christmas this year has been methodical... sort of mechanical, and there hasn't been room for Christmas magic. I'm sort of disappointed, to be honest.
Maybe it's because there is a lot going on in my life right now. I've officially attained a position at my current job - I'm no longer a contract employee, so that's a big change. I'm working hard on my health and weight, riding 4 days a week on my beloved bike, Shtiya. Yet, tomorrow, I am picking up my new bike, and can hardly wait! Thanks Santa!!
Maybe the spirit will hit when I see my nieces and nephews open their presents on Chrismas eve, or maybe when I see the whole family together again. It will be nice.
I love the magic of Christmas. Spirits, I'm ready!
Today is 4 days from Christmas, and I still don't seem to have the Christmas spirit moving through me.
We've put together all of the gifts we're giving, sent out all of our cards, listened to tons of Christmas songs, but the spirit still eludes me.
Each step along the path to Christmas this year has been methodical... sort of mechanical, and there hasn't been room for Christmas magic. I'm sort of disappointed, to be honest.
Maybe it's because there is a lot going on in my life right now. I've officially attained a position at my current job - I'm no longer a contract employee, so that's a big change. I'm working hard on my health and weight, riding 4 days a week on my beloved bike, Shtiya. Yet, tomorrow, I am picking up my new bike, and can hardly wait! Thanks Santa!!
Maybe the spirit will hit when I see my nieces and nephews open their presents on Chrismas eve, or maybe when I see the whole family together again. It will be nice.
I love the magic of Christmas. Spirits, I'm ready!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Hero / Zero / Role Model / Scum
This morning, I was watching my new favorite TV show (See "Back in an Hour" below). Today, I was intrigued to watch an interview with Michael "Pinball" Clemons - the current CEO of the Toronto Argonauts.
During the interview, Pinball - a native Floridian - spoke about giving back to the community, and how he tells his players that given the chance to play football in the city of Toronto, they must not only take from the community, but they must also give back.
That got me to thinking about role models. Sports figures are paid a lot of money. A lot - if not all - of that money comes from the teams' revenue... which in turn comes from the fans' pockets.
I will be one of the first people to say that these players need to portray themselves as role models, and need to give back to the community. However, many of these kids are in their early 20s, and still sowing their seeds. Is it fair to expect that much of them? I know that when I was in my 20s, I couldn't care less about my community. Maturity caused me to care.
In the case of sports figures, especially those making a good life "playing a game", I believe that the minute they sign their multi-million dollar contract, they are done being irresponsible and must portray themselves, their team, and their sport in a positive light. No more smoking pot with their friends, no more girlfriend beatings, no more hanging out with thugs.
When I was growing up, I didn't have video games to pacify me. Yes, I had TV, but TV wasn't my babysitter. Because of that TV, I was able to see Apollo space programs, which inspired my interest in the universe. I was able to watch the 1972 Olympic hostage crisis, which helped cement my knowledge of good and bad.
Being a fan of baseball, I watched Hank Aaron beat Babe Ruth's homerun record, and John Candelaria throw a no-hitter. I watched the Cincinnati Big Red Machine win back-to-back world series, and Brooks Robinson wreak havoc at the hot corner.
What happened to Hammerin' Hank - the man who inspired me to swing a big bat with unassuming grace? He still plays a role in the Atlanta area... still giving back.
Johnny Bench, too, from the Cincinnati Reds, showed me that I could be a larger than life person, beyond my skills and career.
Not all of my childhood idols turned out to be worth idolatry - Hello OJ Simpson and Pete Rose... Nonetheless, they all taught me something positive. OJ had rickets as a child. He was a regular Forrest Gump - with leg braces and all. Yet he overcame that to play in the NFL. Pete Rose - Charley Hustle - taught me to give all I could and never surrender.
Hero / Zero / Role Model / Scum... I think that throughout history, yesterday and today, kids need positive role models. What good thing can we do today to inspire a 10 year old to remember it and write about it (or at least talk about it) 30 years later?
Pinball Clemons is a classy guy. I had heard of him from his playing days, but never knew much about him. If I ever get the chance to meet him, I want to tell him how impressed I was, simply through his interview on my new favorite TV show...
This morning, I was watching my new favorite TV show (See "Back in an Hour" below). Today, I was intrigued to watch an interview with Michael "Pinball" Clemons - the current CEO of the Toronto Argonauts.
During the interview, Pinball - a native Floridian - spoke about giving back to the community, and how he tells his players that given the chance to play football in the city of Toronto, they must not only take from the community, but they must also give back.
That got me to thinking about role models. Sports figures are paid a lot of money. A lot - if not all - of that money comes from the teams' revenue... which in turn comes from the fans' pockets.
I will be one of the first people to say that these players need to portray themselves as role models, and need to give back to the community. However, many of these kids are in their early 20s, and still sowing their seeds. Is it fair to expect that much of them? I know that when I was in my 20s, I couldn't care less about my community. Maturity caused me to care.
In the case of sports figures, especially those making a good life "playing a game", I believe that the minute they sign their multi-million dollar contract, they are done being irresponsible and must portray themselves, their team, and their sport in a positive light. No more smoking pot with their friends, no more girlfriend beatings, no more hanging out with thugs.
When I was growing up, I didn't have video games to pacify me. Yes, I had TV, but TV wasn't my babysitter. Because of that TV, I was able to see Apollo space programs, which inspired my interest in the universe. I was able to watch the 1972 Olympic hostage crisis, which helped cement my knowledge of good and bad.
Being a fan of baseball, I watched Hank Aaron beat Babe Ruth's homerun record, and John Candelaria throw a no-hitter. I watched the Cincinnati Big Red Machine win back-to-back world series, and Brooks Robinson wreak havoc at the hot corner.
What happened to Hammerin' Hank - the man who inspired me to swing a big bat with unassuming grace? He still plays a role in the Atlanta area... still giving back.
Johnny Bench, too, from the Cincinnati Reds, showed me that I could be a larger than life person, beyond my skills and career.
Not all of my childhood idols turned out to be worth idolatry - Hello OJ Simpson and Pete Rose... Nonetheless, they all taught me something positive. OJ had rickets as a child. He was a regular Forrest Gump - with leg braces and all. Yet he overcame that to play in the NFL. Pete Rose - Charley Hustle - taught me to give all I could and never surrender.
Hero / Zero / Role Model / Scum... I think that throughout history, yesterday and today, kids need positive role models. What good thing can we do today to inspire a 10 year old to remember it and write about it (or at least talk about it) 30 years later?
Pinball Clemons is a classy guy. I had heard of him from his playing days, but never knew much about him. If I ever get the chance to meet him, I want to tell him how impressed I was, simply through his interview on my new favorite TV show...
Monday, December 17, 2007
(Long Live) Americana
According to Wikipedia, “Americana refers to artifacts of the culture of the United States, the history and folklore resultant from its westward expansion."
Last week, Sheryl and I got cable, and part of our package includes music channels. I have quickly found a handful of these channels that I enjoy, but one of the most intriguing is the Americana channel.
For some reason, I am strongly attracted to this channel. I am attracted by the stories in these songs, although I usually am attracted to a song by the music and beat long before I ever pay attention to the lyrics.
Nonetheless, the stories of the America I have never known, make me sad, in a way. I know that I will likely traverse the storied roads of Americana, and sit at the cross roads that changed peoples lives, but today’s America – today’s world – is much different than the Americana that lives in my mind.
Years ago, I drove from Michigan to Roswell, New Mexico to visit my buddy Murf and his family. The route I took was not dictated by signposts, rather, by locations, places and things.
I traveled portions of Route 66 on my own quest for Americana. It was an amazing trip, but it wasn’t long enough – mileage-wise and time-wise.
In my life, I lived approximately 37 years in Michigan. I spent nearly 4 years in Texas, and 4 months in Germany. I am well traveled, having been to 42 of the 50 American states, and 7 countries. Nonetheless, I feel like I am missing something by not knowing or truly experiencing Americana.
The political, environmental and geographical climates in the United States are changing so rapidly, that I feel that I may never get to know the true Americana. And neither will future generations. That makes me sad.
On the other hand, I have to ask myself if the Americana mystique is larger than Americana itself. I mean, during my trip to Roswell, did I actually experience all there was to Americana? Is there truly more to it, or did I experience everything that there was? Am I simply sad because I truly enjoyed the trip (except for Texas, which I couldn’t get through fast enough – and have the ticket to prove it!)?
I dunno. Maybe it’s a little of everything. Maybe I’ll never feel like I’ve experienced true Americana until I stand in a phonebooth in Winslow, Arizona, or hang out down on Alvarado street by the Pioneer Chicken stand.
Until then, VIVA AMERICANA!
According to Wikipedia, “Americana refers to artifacts of the culture of the United States, the history and folklore resultant from its westward expansion."
Last week, Sheryl and I got cable, and part of our package includes music channels. I have quickly found a handful of these channels that I enjoy, but one of the most intriguing is the Americana channel.
For some reason, I am strongly attracted to this channel. I am attracted by the stories in these songs, although I usually am attracted to a song by the music and beat long before I ever pay attention to the lyrics.
Nonetheless, the stories of the America I have never known, make me sad, in a way. I know that I will likely traverse the storied roads of Americana, and sit at the cross roads that changed peoples lives, but today’s America – today’s world – is much different than the Americana that lives in my mind.
Years ago, I drove from Michigan to Roswell, New Mexico to visit my buddy Murf and his family. The route I took was not dictated by signposts, rather, by locations, places and things.
I traveled portions of Route 66 on my own quest for Americana. It was an amazing trip, but it wasn’t long enough – mileage-wise and time-wise.
In my life, I lived approximately 37 years in Michigan. I spent nearly 4 years in Texas, and 4 months in Germany. I am well traveled, having been to 42 of the 50 American states, and 7 countries. Nonetheless, I feel like I am missing something by not knowing or truly experiencing Americana.
The political, environmental and geographical climates in the United States are changing so rapidly, that I feel that I may never get to know the true Americana. And neither will future generations. That makes me sad.
On the other hand, I have to ask myself if the Americana mystique is larger than Americana itself. I mean, during my trip to Roswell, did I actually experience all there was to Americana? Is there truly more to it, or did I experience everything that there was? Am I simply sad because I truly enjoyed the trip (except for Texas, which I couldn’t get through fast enough – and have the ticket to prove it!)?
I dunno. Maybe it’s a little of everything. Maybe I’ll never feel like I’ve experienced true Americana until I stand in a phonebooth in Winslow, Arizona, or hang out down on Alvarado street by the Pioneer Chicken stand.
Until then, VIVA AMERICANA!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Back in an Hour
Oy, my aching back! I don't know why my back insists on reminding me it's here. I'm very well aware that I cannot do stuff without it, but yet, it keeps barking and barking. Stupid back, I hear ya... now will you please shut up??
I'm quickly becoming infatuated with a TV show on CBC in Canada called "The Hour". I like to think that if I were to produce my own intelligent TV show, this show would be the result. Pulling in guests such as Vicente Fox and Jean Chretien, the show screams political moxy, yet tempers politics with entertainment from music, TV and film.
Each brief interview is very thought-provoking. It is obvious that either host George Stroumboulopoulos or his writers spend a lot of time doing their homework...
The show, or more likely "Strombo", developed a cool idea called "Operation Disc Drop". The concept is much like the "random acts of kindness" concept, except instead of doing something kind, you put together a mix CD (formerly known as a mix tape!) and drop it off in a random location. Afterwards, you go to the show website and comment where you dropped the disc and what the tracklisting was.
The person who picks up the disc listens to it, and has their world opened to new music. After they listen to it, they are encouraged to pass the CD along for others to hear.
As George mentioned, people put their hearts and souls into these CDs. It is a way for strangers ot open up and give of themselves - thus the reference to random acts of kindness.
The holiday season always puts me in a contemplative mood. I am able to associate random things with other random things, to see glimpses of a bigger picture. "The Hour" helps stimulate some of those thoughts. Music is always good for that, too.
I've heard that my oldest nephew is beginning to enjoy rock and roll now. I've been considering making him a mix CD. But now, Operation Disc Drop gives me the excuse to do that.
I'll just drop it in a not-so-random place!
Oy, my aching back! I don't know why my back insists on reminding me it's here. I'm very well aware that I cannot do stuff without it, but yet, it keeps barking and barking. Stupid back, I hear ya... now will you please shut up??
I'm quickly becoming infatuated with a TV show on CBC in Canada called "The Hour". I like to think that if I were to produce my own intelligent TV show, this show would be the result. Pulling in guests such as Vicente Fox and Jean Chretien, the show screams political moxy, yet tempers politics with entertainment from music, TV and film.
Each brief interview is very thought-provoking. It is obvious that either host George Stroumboulopoulos or his writers spend a lot of time doing their homework...
The show, or more likely "Strombo", developed a cool idea called "Operation Disc Drop". The concept is much like the "random acts of kindness" concept, except instead of doing something kind, you put together a mix CD (formerly known as a mix tape!) and drop it off in a random location. Afterwards, you go to the show website and comment where you dropped the disc and what the tracklisting was.
The person who picks up the disc listens to it, and has their world opened to new music. After they listen to it, they are encouraged to pass the CD along for others to hear.
As George mentioned, people put their hearts and souls into these CDs. It is a way for strangers ot open up and give of themselves - thus the reference to random acts of kindness.
The holiday season always puts me in a contemplative mood. I am able to associate random things with other random things, to see glimpses of a bigger picture. "The Hour" helps stimulate some of those thoughts. Music is always good for that, too.
I've heard that my oldest nephew is beginning to enjoy rock and roll now. I've been considering making him a mix CD. But now, Operation Disc Drop gives me the excuse to do that.
I'll just drop it in a not-so-random place!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Unser Corporaten Weinachtsfesten
Sheryl and I went to our work Christmas parties last weekend. They were very different from each other.
We went to Sheryl's first, where we were eagerly greeted by the woman who hired Sheryl, and whom Sheryl has known for years. This was the first time I met any of them, but I quickly felt comfortable.
During the course of eats and drinks, I was able to meet all of the people I had been hearing about for the last three or four months - and in some cases, I was meeting the people Sheryl had talked about since I first met her.
These were the people who came to me and told me how Sheryl is so happy now. Naturally, I told them that it was because she was working with them again.
There was plenty of flattery to go around.
It's strange to me when I realize that I have influenced people and events.
There are things I want to do in my life, and two of them are inspire people to dream and accomplish great things in their lives. Another is to make Sheryl happy.
Realizing those things, such as when someone tells me that Sheryl is very happy, or that they were thinking of me while riding a tough stretch of road on their bike, makes me stop and take note. I certainly do not take them for granted, and appreciate the opportunity to enhance someone's life.
We laughed, talked, ate, then made our early exit.
Off we went to my Christmas party at Dave and Buster's.
Contrary to Sheryl's, we caught the tail end of dinner in a quiet room, sitting with people I didn't really know.
Following dessert and a little speech by the big kahuna, we ran off to play games.
Being little fish in a big pond, Sheryl and I meandered about with little contact with my co-workers. We played a few games, then gave away our tickets and game cards.
As we were getting our coats to leave, we ran into my boss and his wife. We had a nice conversation, thanked him for helping me retain my job, and we took off.
Yep. That was basically it.
It had been a long day for each of us, but it was definitely worth it to get some face time.
And it's always nice to be flattered, eh?
Sheryl and I went to our work Christmas parties last weekend. They were very different from each other.
We went to Sheryl's first, where we were eagerly greeted by the woman who hired Sheryl, and whom Sheryl has known for years. This was the first time I met any of them, but I quickly felt comfortable.
During the course of eats and drinks, I was able to meet all of the people I had been hearing about for the last three or four months - and in some cases, I was meeting the people Sheryl had talked about since I first met her.
These were the people who came to me and told me how Sheryl is so happy now. Naturally, I told them that it was because she was working with them again.
There was plenty of flattery to go around.
It's strange to me when I realize that I have influenced people and events.
There are things I want to do in my life, and two of them are inspire people to dream and accomplish great things in their lives. Another is to make Sheryl happy.
Realizing those things, such as when someone tells me that Sheryl is very happy, or that they were thinking of me while riding a tough stretch of road on their bike, makes me stop and take note. I certainly do not take them for granted, and appreciate the opportunity to enhance someone's life.
We laughed, talked, ate, then made our early exit.
Off we went to my Christmas party at Dave and Buster's.
Contrary to Sheryl's, we caught the tail end of dinner in a quiet room, sitting with people I didn't really know.
Following dessert and a little speech by the big kahuna, we ran off to play games.
Being little fish in a big pond, Sheryl and I meandered about with little contact with my co-workers. We played a few games, then gave away our tickets and game cards.
As we were getting our coats to leave, we ran into my boss and his wife. We had a nice conversation, thanked him for helping me retain my job, and we took off.
Yep. That was basically it.
It had been a long day for each of us, but it was definitely worth it to get some face time.
And it's always nice to be flattered, eh?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)