Ok, it's pre-mid January. What have we got on the agenda? Oh yeah, a new president will be inaugurated ushering in potentially the most historical bit of history we've witnessed. Or at least the most historical history that will be most immediately recorded as such and played back on DVR's and DVD's and Blackberries and Iphones and beamed via satellite directly into your skull, etc. Not saying it's going to be a media spectacle of course. But I'd be delighted if there is a little class in the whole thing. I'd be a sad puppy if halfway through I am invited to text in the name of the Obama offspring I find the cutest. Bleh.
Anyway, what else? Hmmm...taxes are coming up, ew. Um, the Superbowl is coming up to determine whichever team was most kind to the officiating team in the bribe department this past holiday season. (Thanks for my lifelong cynicism, Pittsburgh Steelers.) But what else? What other traditional hoop must I jump through?
Resolutions you dolt!
Or did I purposely skip past those? I recall one year somewhere in the mix of high school where I admitted that my resolution was to have "no resolution" at all that year. It seemed like pure genius to me, very zen-like. Unfortunately, all those around me saw this as less Taoist, and more Cop-out. So every year beyond that has had at least one easily forgettable resolution. But this year needs to be different.
So I sat down with myself and was completely and totally honest. What about me needs to change and grow and nurture so that I can more fully enjoy this year and those to come? I thought of the usual, weight loss, the ability to run more than 10 yards without being winded, dressing nicer. Naw, I'd already cycled through those. Instead I cooked up a really good one. Hey, I'm 29, I'm on the cusp of the next stage of my life. So this year my resolution is...
...to be a man!
That's right, enough I'm trading my bar t-shirts for polos, my pint glasses for rocks tumblers. I wave goodbye to Kanye and say hello to Public Radio. I say adieu to my ripped-jeans and wriggle into a pair of wrinkle free Dockers. I will no longer utter the word "motherfucker" and instead replace it with the more socially acceptable "business associate." I won't be giddy at the idea of a house party unless they specifically state that wine and cheese will be served. My delight will double if it becomes a BYOP affair (Bring Your Own Pate) affair.
Or at least I'll pick up some man mannerisms.
Mannerism #1. Be a Handy Man. I really should have paid more attention in autoshop, I keep reminding myself. I have the mechanical aptitude of a toddler, I really do. It's gotten to the point that the standards that others hold for me have sunk so low, people are delighted when I am handed a screwdriver and don't immediately accidently gouge my eye out. So I resolve to take on household projects all by myself for the first time. Except I do need monitoring around power tools.
Mannerism#2. Be a Sporty Man. Well I can check bowling off the list. After several months of randomly bowling every other weekend or so over drinks my bowling skill has actually gotten worse. Add to that list softball, as my arm strength is somewhere around Mr. Jamie Moyer, except without all that accuracy. In fact, every time I strut out to the infield, I can hear "Wild Thing" playing over and over again in my head. At least drinking is also encouraged for this sport too. But I need to declare and backup my proficiency in a completely unathletic and arbitrary sport. So I think I'll take up darts. Uh oh there goes "Wild Thing" again....OH GOD MY EYE!
Mannerism #3. Be a Well-Dressed Man. Ok, here I can actually make some strides. I know that flat-front khakis are in, and they pretty much come in one color (hint: it's khaki). I know that stripey shirts are ok, but nothing says professional like a bleached white shirt offset by a incredibly masculine pink tye (hint: it's actually salmon). So, I vow to work on the wardrobe. Unfortunately my current occupation usually has me crawling through attics or steam tunnels. Knowing that one should never button the lower button does me little good, when I've hooked my sportcoat on a building truss and am currently strangling myself while I grapple for my ladder.
Mannerism #4. Be a Money Man. I took approximately five minutes of an econ class in college once, which pretty much sums up my financial awareness. I know that demand and supply are involved in a ritualistic dance and when conditions are right they invest with each other and a consumer is born. Or maybe that was health class, I don't remember. Anyway, the point is my financial responsibility level is right around an Enron executive, except without the Enron salary. My retirement package is literally a package under my bed (I packed extra undies). So until that time, I consider running across the hardwood floor and sliding on my socks wearing nothing but my professional white shirt, some of my retirement boxers and some killer shades as proof positive that I know what I'm doing with my investment portfolio. I also sing Bow-Bow...chicka-chickaaaa!
Mannerism #5. Be a Sensitive Man. This one I've got in spades. While everybody else in college was learning...well learning basically important stuff, I was off learning the acceptable rhyme variations of a sonnet. I'm also currently learning the differences between wines that actually comes in bottles. Bye, bye Franzia, you were a good friend. I'm learning the appropriate time to give flowers and cards and have taken to cruising the O channel now and again. (Also, the Hallmark channel rules.) I'm in the process of understanding a woman's wants and needs and how best to fulfill her wondrous desires (hint: empty the dishwasher).
So all in all there is much work to be done. But like the Marines commercials show, one can be transformed from an ordinary guy like myself to a crisp, standout Manly Man merely by scaling a cliff with your bare hands, and then putting on a nice Blazer and waving a sword around in synchronized fashion. Without gouging an eye.
Sigh.
Maybe I'll regress this once, as I sit here typing with my bar shirt on and drinking my Miller Lite with *gasp* no coaster! Then tomorrow I'll get back on the wagon.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Thanks Dee.
This blog is a little more somber than the others I suppose. A bit more melancholy, a bit more sober. You see, today I lost an important member of my broadly weaving social circle and it caused me to pause a moment.
She's not a family member, though her family has all but taken me in. She's not a teacher, though she's shared more than a few life lessons over gin and tonics. She's not even I knew for very long, or spent a significant amount of time with. Just enough time to know. Today I lost my best friend's grandmother, by the name of Dee. Which, to type it out, makes it feel a small event. But in reality, it weighs heavily on my concience. In fact, it weighs arguably heavier than my own grandmother's death, which in a sad occurence, was one year ago this day.
I have also been recently moving apartments. The economic climate these days has forced me out of my plush two bed and two bath apartment into a more austere one bedroom unit, which I really should have been in all along. It turns out to be a dissapointingly small savings each month for the move, but each little bit counts. Anyway, as I was moving, I stumbled across my old senior yearbook. As I flipped through the pages, I ran across an old familiar name. Again, not someone I'm attached to strongly, but just enough to feel a twinge of sadness. Her name is Susanna Stodden, a onetime high school classmate and fellow college dorm inhabitant. She also would have been present at (it turns out later) mutual friend Rick's wedding as a bridesmaid. She was murdered a few summers ago along with her mother a few summers ago as they hiked a trail up near Bellingham. I googled her name, hoping that justice had caught up with their killer, but no such luck.
What Susanna and Dee have in common is that they are both people who left just enough of an impression on me to know that they were inherently good people. If you consider all the folks one comes in contact with on a daily, weekly or even yearly basis, sometimes that seems a rare quality. They really, really were, and I really, really wish they were still with us.
To face death is one of the inevitable tasks of being alive as most of us have found out. However, it's the folks that you know deep down in your heart deserve life that make you angry at death. Make you want to yell and scream and throw a tantrum. Make you yell at the sky at night about things not being fair. Somehow in my head, if my best friend's grandmother, and my friend's wife's bridesmaid were still alive, my life would be more balanced, more fair, more just. But they are not, so it is not.
So I grieve quietly when I am alone. I catch myself thinking that I am overly sentimental, that these things should be felt, dealt with and then moved along from. But that is just not my style. It is a good reminder about mortality, about what the real cost of being alive is, and what the penalty for taking things for granted is and what the payoff for living fully is. No possible incarnation of a hell can persecute or a heaven reward as fully as what your reputation you leave behind on earth will impress on your soul. And in the case of these good folks, their memory is cherished by people they barely really knew which is as good a reward as you can get from your work on earth I guess.
So here's my thanks to Dee and Susanna, and also a somber New Year's resolution. I am hoping to be a little more courageous this year (like Susanna), and a little more generous (like Dee). I'm hoping to participate a bit more in what life has to offer (like Susanna) and open my home selflessly to others (like Dee). I'm hoping that these little giant events in my life wake up a bit so that when my time's at an end, whether it be sooner or later, someone may have known for very little may pause a bit too.
So thanks and goodbye Dee and Susanna.
Also, a special thanks to her husband Don. I won't pretend to know what the pain is like of losing a wife, and I earnestly hope I never feel it. But I hope the outpour of love from your family can help ease your mind. I hope the stories flow, I hope the memories never dim.
She's not a family member, though her family has all but taken me in. She's not a teacher, though she's shared more than a few life lessons over gin and tonics. She's not even I knew for very long, or spent a significant amount of time with. Just enough time to know. Today I lost my best friend's grandmother, by the name of Dee. Which, to type it out, makes it feel a small event. But in reality, it weighs heavily on my concience. In fact, it weighs arguably heavier than my own grandmother's death, which in a sad occurence, was one year ago this day.
I have also been recently moving apartments. The economic climate these days has forced me out of my plush two bed and two bath apartment into a more austere one bedroom unit, which I really should have been in all along. It turns out to be a dissapointingly small savings each month for the move, but each little bit counts. Anyway, as I was moving, I stumbled across my old senior yearbook. As I flipped through the pages, I ran across an old familiar name. Again, not someone I'm attached to strongly, but just enough to feel a twinge of sadness. Her name is Susanna Stodden, a onetime high school classmate and fellow college dorm inhabitant. She also would have been present at (it turns out later) mutual friend Rick's wedding as a bridesmaid. She was murdered a few summers ago along with her mother a few summers ago as they hiked a trail up near Bellingham. I googled her name, hoping that justice had caught up with their killer, but no such luck.
What Susanna and Dee have in common is that they are both people who left just enough of an impression on me to know that they were inherently good people. If you consider all the folks one comes in contact with on a daily, weekly or even yearly basis, sometimes that seems a rare quality. They really, really were, and I really, really wish they were still with us.
To face death is one of the inevitable tasks of being alive as most of us have found out. However, it's the folks that you know deep down in your heart deserve life that make you angry at death. Make you want to yell and scream and throw a tantrum. Make you yell at the sky at night about things not being fair. Somehow in my head, if my best friend's grandmother, and my friend's wife's bridesmaid were still alive, my life would be more balanced, more fair, more just. But they are not, so it is not.
So I grieve quietly when I am alone. I catch myself thinking that I am overly sentimental, that these things should be felt, dealt with and then moved along from. But that is just not my style. It is a good reminder about mortality, about what the real cost of being alive is, and what the penalty for taking things for granted is and what the payoff for living fully is. No possible incarnation of a hell can persecute or a heaven reward as fully as what your reputation you leave behind on earth will impress on your soul. And in the case of these good folks, their memory is cherished by people they barely really knew which is as good a reward as you can get from your work on earth I guess.
So here's my thanks to Dee and Susanna, and also a somber New Year's resolution. I am hoping to be a little more courageous this year (like Susanna), and a little more generous (like Dee). I'm hoping to participate a bit more in what life has to offer (like Susanna) and open my home selflessly to others (like Dee). I'm hoping that these little giant events in my life wake up a bit so that when my time's at an end, whether it be sooner or later, someone may have known for very little may pause a bit too.
So thanks and goodbye Dee and Susanna.
Also, a special thanks to her husband Don. I won't pretend to know what the pain is like of losing a wife, and I earnestly hope I never feel it. But I hope the outpour of love from your family can help ease your mind. I hope the stories flow, I hope the memories never dim.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
...and the band played on
First off Happy New Year!
This year taught me that some folks should really consider retirement. Among those on the list, I include Brett Favre and Dick Clark. Good old Dick Clark may have a Rockin' New Years special, but it has been many years since the man has done any rockin' whatsoever. I don't dislike the guy, and he is the spirit of the televised new year but it's hard to watch him struggle through another new years and then have the camera cut away to an idiotically grinning Ryan Seacrest surrounded with miscellaneous pop stars and about 50,000 shit-faced New Yorkers. It may be time to pass the torch.
But I digress.
Most peroidicals are welcoming the new year by first posting the rememberances of those lost in 2008. Well, TWIS too has a member of the Spokane community I'd like to mourn, one who's end came much too soon. As of 2009, Spokane has lost its only hip-hop radio station.
Sure it's no Edmund Hillary, or Tim Russert, but to the average joe a radio station is a big deal. Back in the big town, there has been at least one or two proud stations airing the phat beats. Why I remember the good ol' days switching the home radio presets to KPLZ and KUBE when my parents weren't home so I could hear the latest Boyz II Men track. And here too in Spokane, we had a station that I would settle on when I had my fill of Classic Rock, Country or Christian Babbling.
I sensed the end was near when over the holiday season, the station temporarily switched to a "holiday music" only format. That's right, obnoxious christmas music 24 hours a day pumped right into your ears over the air. There are only so many times you can play the Chipmunks christmas special. I kept the station on my preset list, hoping that by the 26th, this would all blow over and I could continue to count on the radio to provide me with the latest from TI and Lil' Wayne.
But alas, it is no more.
Instead, the station has become 96.9 Howling Coyote Country. That's right, insult to injury. Country music has assimiliated my only refuge; destroyed my only oasis of civilization in the desert. Country music has grown from the folksy songs of women singing of cheating men, and men of cheating cards into a monstrous multimedia juggernaut. It's no longer the Grand Ol' Opry, it's now the Grand Ol' CMT. Granted, most of the hip-hop produced today is mindless drivel and I have a hard time defending most of it. But it would be nice to judge for myself how badly written the new Jay-Z lyrics are or how horribly over produced the new Kanye West song is. Instead I can now press scan on the car radio and run the entire spectrum without so much as a snippet of a sprinkler high-hat beat.
So those of you blessed to be a in a musically diverse area, don't take this for granted! Embrace every day with a helping of Akon, or Method Man. Cherish each moment of hip-hopness like it was your last before we are consumed in the apocaplypse caused by Taylor Swift and Kenny Chesney. As for me, I'm going to go through my CD's and make sure the car is stocked with Wu-Tang, Outkast, Tribe and Common. It's a sad state of affairs, but hopefully an enterprising young man with a few bucks in his pocket will decide that Spokane is big-city enough to deserve some funky fresh beats. I'll hunker down until that day comes.
I think my pal Biz Markie said it best:
This is another hit from Biz Markie
Dedicated to the radio, not he or she
Be-cause it's time for them to get recognized
This is my version of the Nobel Peace Prize
That's why I'm comin out my face like this
Far as negativity, you never get dissed
If it wasn't for you, nobody would know
That's why this is something for the radiohhhh
This year taught me that some folks should really consider retirement. Among those on the list, I include Brett Favre and Dick Clark. Good old Dick Clark may have a Rockin' New Years special, but it has been many years since the man has done any rockin' whatsoever. I don't dislike the guy, and he is the spirit of the televised new year but it's hard to watch him struggle through another new years and then have the camera cut away to an idiotically grinning Ryan Seacrest surrounded with miscellaneous pop stars and about 50,000 shit-faced New Yorkers. It may be time to pass the torch.
But I digress.
Most peroidicals are welcoming the new year by first posting the rememberances of those lost in 2008. Well, TWIS too has a member of the Spokane community I'd like to mourn, one who's end came much too soon. As of 2009, Spokane has lost its only hip-hop radio station.
Sure it's no Edmund Hillary, or Tim Russert, but to the average joe a radio station is a big deal. Back in the big town, there has been at least one or two proud stations airing the phat beats. Why I remember the good ol' days switching the home radio presets to KPLZ and KUBE when my parents weren't home so I could hear the latest Boyz II Men track. And here too in Spokane, we had a station that I would settle on when I had my fill of Classic Rock, Country or Christian Babbling.
I sensed the end was near when over the holiday season, the station temporarily switched to a "holiday music" only format. That's right, obnoxious christmas music 24 hours a day pumped right into your ears over the air. There are only so many times you can play the Chipmunks christmas special. I kept the station on my preset list, hoping that by the 26th, this would all blow over and I could continue to count on the radio to provide me with the latest from TI and Lil' Wayne.
But alas, it is no more.
Instead, the station has become 96.9 Howling Coyote Country. That's right, insult to injury. Country music has assimiliated my only refuge; destroyed my only oasis of civilization in the desert. Country music has grown from the folksy songs of women singing of cheating men, and men of cheating cards into a monstrous multimedia juggernaut. It's no longer the Grand Ol' Opry, it's now the Grand Ol' CMT. Granted, most of the hip-hop produced today is mindless drivel and I have a hard time defending most of it. But it would be nice to judge for myself how badly written the new Jay-Z lyrics are or how horribly over produced the new Kanye West song is. Instead I can now press scan on the car radio and run the entire spectrum without so much as a snippet of a sprinkler high-hat beat.
So those of you blessed to be a in a musically diverse area, don't take this for granted! Embrace every day with a helping of Akon, or Method Man. Cherish each moment of hip-hopness like it was your last before we are consumed in the apocaplypse caused by Taylor Swift and Kenny Chesney. As for me, I'm going to go through my CD's and make sure the car is stocked with Wu-Tang, Outkast, Tribe and Common. It's a sad state of affairs, but hopefully an enterprising young man with a few bucks in his pocket will decide that Spokane is big-city enough to deserve some funky fresh beats. I'll hunker down until that day comes.
I think my pal Biz Markie said it best:
This is another hit from Biz Markie
Dedicated to the radio, not he or she
Be-cause it's time for them to get recognized
This is my version of the Nobel Peace Prize
That's why I'm comin out my face like this
Far as negativity, you never get dissed
If it wasn't for you, nobody would know
That's why this is something for the radiohhhh
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