Day 62: Maturity

I don't like growing old in the physical sense. Everything is harder. Walking. Climbing. Staying awake until 10. There's very little that improves. Hair falls out where I want it to stay and comes in where I never imagined it could. My eyesight was poor at five years old to begin with and has only gone downhill since. My teeth are fighting to stay alive. My hearing has definitely suffered from years of constant headphone wearing and loud concerts. My knees creek and crackle if I even think about running. Nothing improves physically.

That's the deal. We all know it. We just try to fight it off as long as we can. Some of us go to greater extremes than others, to the point of mutilating what nature gifted us with. But that isn't an improvement. It's a cover up.

What does improve with age (or should, at least) is maturity. In most ways, not all, I've become a more understanding, learned, well-rounded person who is capable of doing more and taking on more and willing to explore more. In some ways, I'm just as short-sided and prone to stumbling as always, but these days, I'm much quicker to recognize that I'm stumbling and stop it before I fall too far down that I can't get up. I'm quicker to do something about it because I know it's going to save me a lot of grief in the end. There was a day when I'd just say, "Screw it," live the moment for all it was worth and pick up the pieces later, if I ever picked them up at all. Fun at the time. Miserable later on.

I think life (at least my own) should be lived somewhere in the middle of those places. There's something to be said for living balls out every minute of the day. Taking on every minute like it's the last. There's also something to be said for knowing this minute isn't the last. Maybe I'm mistaking maturity for responsibility. Or maybe ultimately they are the same thing. What I do know is that there's nothing wrong with being mature or responsible. It's not always fun or easy, but that doesn't make it wrong.  

Day 61: 45 Years Of Marriage & Counting

This weekend, my parents will celebrate their 45^th wedding anniversary. That’s four-plus decades of relationship experience from which I have been privileged to draw upon from up close and personal. What a gift to have been able to watch your parents move through the years together, unwavering and united. What a foundation from which to have been created and to which to be able to constantly return.  

My parents married when they only 17 and 18. Within two years, they had two babies in the house to tend to. Not an easy task for any parents, but at such a young age, all the more difficult. At 18, I could barely buckle my belt, let alone work day in and out and then come home to raise babies at night. At 18, the most that I was responsible for was picking which party I was going to hit on any given night or what hat I was going to throw on my head in the morning on the way to class. I was more worried about restocking my supply of hair gel at that age than buying diapers. The differences between my existence and theirs at that age were night and day. Night and day.

My parents gave me everything I needed throughout my life and little that I didn’t deserve. I’m entirely grateful for that. They showed me what life could be like if you marry your best friend and stay committed to the greater cause. They showed me what loyalty means on the deepest level and what respect can return you. They showed me how to protect your loved ones and why it’s important and vital. From my parents I learned what’s possible when you hand your trust and well-being over to another, despite the inherent risks involved, and why it’s worth risk.

I realize how fortunate my parents are to have one another. I know too many people who have spent the better parts of their lives searching for the right someone or trying to escape the wrong someone or who are too enamored with their own selves to be aware of anyone else. I realize that a good many events had to line up just right for them to cross paths and head down the same road together. I realize how many lonely, lost souls walking the planet would give anything for even a month of what my parents have had for 45 years. I know all this.

I also know that sticking it out with someone for 45 years takes more than just waking up in the same bed every morning. It takes a lot of acceptance and patience and endurance and tolerance. It takes vulnerability and honesty and devotion to fill the years with happiness and joy and success. It takes covering each other’s weaknesses and putting forth each other’s strengths. It takes work, a lot of work.

I’m so proud of my parents. I’ve always been envious of how they found each other early on. I’m so thankful for my heritage, and I salute it in the most sincere, authentic manner.

Day 60: The Boob Tube

Today, I read an article from “Variety” with a photo of the cast from “The Sopranos.” The article was an excerpt of an oral history of the show from the cast as told several years after the fact. Man, I miss that show. I mean, I really miss it. I wasn't (and am still not) an HBO subscriber when the show was on, so watching all six seasons involved some tricky maneuvering. In addition to renting the various seasons on DVD, I watched  re-runs on A&E that I'd record on Thursday nights and Sunday mornings. The catch was that some of the episodes were shown out of sequence or I’d miss certain episodes so I’d have to see them out of sequence. To get my New Jersey mob history straight and all in line, I’d have to head off to HBO.com and read episode recaps. What I couldn’t gather from there, I’d hunt down elsewhere online. The effort was taxing but ever-so rewarding. 

It’s funny how when you latch on to a really good TV show that you really love, the show and characters and settings and general atmosphere the show emits can make your life feel somehow enriched. I’m not sure that a TV show should be the source of such joy, but why fight it? If not for living for the next episode of “Northern Exposure” each and every Monday night back in the day, for example, I’m not sure my life would have had nearly as much purchase back then. Sad but true. I was stuck in a nowhere job with little prospect for things changing, and I poor as hell. The hour of escape that Chris, Maurice, Ed, Joel, Holling, and company offered me every Monday night made everything better, if even just for a short while. 

Later, when circumstances changed and my future brightened up considerably, my wife and the kids and I would gather around the set every Sunday night to take in “Freaks and Geeks”during its criminally short one season run. We did the same for “X Files” before that, even though the kids were probably too young to really understand why Mulner was so nutty and Scully was seemingly always in a tizzy about this or that. 

Today, I try to be picky about how I spend my time watching TV, but these days I’m not nearly as vigilant as I used to be, and it's something I'd like to change. Nowadays, when I turn the TV on, more often than not, it seems I’m doing it just to space off and not really engage in what I'm watching in a zombie-like gaze. I have a few shows that I make a point of seeing and investing in (“Sons of Anarchy,” “Louie,” "Parks & Rec," etc.), but when I’m not watching those, I’m just as apt to perpetually flip through stations in fear that I’m missing something better until it's time to go to bed. It’s a sickness I like to call "foolish indecision."

I never felt that way watching “The Sopranos” or “Northern Exposure” and the like. I was so invested in those characters, I felt for them. I cringed for them. I experienced their pain and joy. When Joel finally hooked up with Maggie, I felt like I was the one in love. When Christopher fell of the wagon and started shooting smack again, I felt like I had failed myself and all those around me. When the FBI was closing in on Tony and prison looked like a foregone conclusion, I felt like plotting my escape routes. When Big Pussy was thrown overboard to permanently sleep with the fishes, I actually shed a tear. When Joel finally made his way back to New York City, I felt like my life had taken a new route and everything was about to change. I don't know if TV's abilities to make me feel that way is to be credited to good writing, acting, and directing or just my own pathetic need to fill gaps. Who cares? 

These days, plenty of people are that TV is the superior platform to tell a story than a movie. Throw out the reality television that plagues the air, and I argue that’s right. Characters evolve over years, not hours. Characters gradually grow up and age before our eyes. Shows become more brilliant or fade into mediocre. Time moves at a natural pace. Intricacies are allowed to exist more fluidly. I love these facets. I love the anticipation of not knowing what’s coming next. Maybe I could be spending my time in a better, more efficient manner, but ultimately, I like to be entertained and made to feel better. I like the idea of identifying with people I'll never know. I know TV is just TV, but creativity and manifests itself in all sorts of ways. 

Here's to you, Tony. 

Day 59: Thoughts On Bob Kerry

Back in 1992 when I was a reporter for the North Platte Telegraph, I interviewed Bob Kerry during his campaign for President of The United States. I had to share the interview with a reporter from the local television station, and we were only granted 20 minutes or so of his time, as he was making a cross-state trip, stopping in several other cities throughout the day.

I was all of about 22 years old and without a doubt I was out of my league. To say my nerves were all in a flutter interviewing a potential president is a tremendous and stupid understatement. To make matters worse, as some of the local TV reporters were apt to do then, the reporter I was sharing the time with didn't have much to offer other than a variety of softballs she lobbed in Kerry's general direction. I think she was too busy flirting with a prominent official to remember we were there to do a job. I was taught not to pitch my questions right down the middle of the plate and felt compelled to ask at least a few questions that readers were expecting to be asked.

With each passing question, I managed to fumble my words out of my mouth with a little less grace and clearer articulation than the one before. But with each bumbled question, Bob Kerry patiently waited for me to finish stumbling all over myself and answered each with an in-depth answer. I've always appreciated that.

I'm a long ways from news reporting days. I wasn't really cut out for the gig. I didn't like calling officials at night. I didn't like confrontations. I didn't like covering robberies and murders. I didn't like deadlines or not having a social life. I didn't like sitting in court for long afternoons. I didn't like sitting at school board meetings all night or trying to decipher legislative bills or attending Wal-Mart grand openings. I'm glad for the years I spent doing the job because I met tremendous people who taught me lessons I still apply today, but it wasn't a good fit for my personality. Still, there are moments I truly value, and interviewing Bob Kerry was one of them.

Growing up during his stint as Nebraska's governor, I respected his dedication. I respected his service and sacrifice for his country. I respected that he was adamant about carrying on a life outside of the Legislature and politics. I still admire Bob Kerry. I don't care that he hasn't lived in the state for 12 years. I guarantee you he loves his home more than 99% of Nebraskans. I guarantee I can trust his moral compass and ethical base. I guarantee he'll do his due diligence and he won't be easily persuaded by lobbyists, and he'll listen. Let me repeat those last words: He'll listen.

I'll admit, my politics and Bob Kerry's politics are probably pretty much in line. It wouldn't matter, though. The man looked me directly in the eyes, and I sensed his commitment. I believe in that. At least in my very humble opinion, I feel extremely positive about Bob Kerry's decision to seek election again to the U.S. Senate. 

Day 58: App Maniac

I'm writing this post from my iPhone using the Blogger app from Google. I am a hopeless app addict. So, while I'd just as soon be writing these words on my PC's much larger and much easier to use keyboard, in a pinch I don't have to. I can whip my smartphone out wherever I am (bed, ball game, passenger seat, park, parking lot, etc.) and start blogging. Imagine what Shakespeare or Milton or T.S. or Dante could have done armed with such a tool. Imagine the observations and insights they could have relayed to us. Scary. 


I've probably downloaded and experimented with 500 or apps and games over the years of  owning first an iPod touch and then an iPhone. I also use apps regularly in Google Chrome and less regularly on the Wii and my Blu-ray player. Apps, for me, are the primary reason to own a smartphone. (I don't get that many calls, and the ones that I do get are usually someone under 18 who is asking for my permission to do something.) 


My car breaks down on the road at night and I can't see what's going on under the hood? No worries. Take my iPhone out of my pocket, press an icon, and I have a flashlight. Don't know which road I'm on? No problem. Google Maps to the rescue. Need to find an auto parts store close by? No sweat. Launch AroundMe, and I'm golden. Need to past some time waiting for the tow truck to come? The New York Times is just a finger press away. So are hundreds of  free classic books via Kobo. 


My favorite use of apps is plugging my electric guitar into one end of a cord I picked up for roughly $30 and plugging the cord's other end into my iPhone's headphone jack. Open up Stomp Box or any other of about 10 apps I've run across for the guitar, and I instantly have multiple choices of simulated amps and effect pedals, all of which I can listen to through headphones so as to no wake the rest of the sleeping brood in my house. 


Two of my favorite apps are Instapaper and Squrl. Run across interesting articles or videos online throughout the day but don't have time to read or watch? No sweat. Click a browser add-on installed in Google Chrome and there saved to my account. Later on when I get home, open up Instapaper and I'm reading those article. Open Squrl and those videos I saved are waiting in my queue for watching on the iPhone. Ultra flippin' handy. 

My other favorites include TuneIn Radio, Instagram, NPR Music, and Flipboard. If you have an iPhone and don't have these loaded, you're doing yourself a disservice. 


Here's the deal about apps, if I want to be a filmmaker for a day, I can make a cheesy 70s-era flick starring my kids with Super 8. If I want to shoot cool panoramic photo while on a hike in the park, I open DMD and I'm good to go. If I want to record my latest three-chord punk masterpiece or learn the chords to "Seek and Destroy" or practice with a metronome or learn a new scale or tune my acoustic guitar, I can. If my wife is working and I haven't seen her all day, I just launch Facetime and we're eyeball to eyeball. Get an idea for a book or new project, I open Evernote, jot it down, and get back to doing what I was before, knowing that when I want to return to the idea I can from any computer. Feel like watching a movie in bed or catching up on The Walking Dead, I open Netflix and start Flixin', as my man Daryl would say. Want to draw, I open Doodle. Want to cook, I open BigOven. Want to find a place to eat, I open Ness. Want a refresher on Article II, I open Constitution. Want to catch up on world news, I open NewsFlash. Want to be humiliated, I open Temple Run and watch my four-year-old proceed to kick my butt. 


I like my smartphone, but I love my apps. 

Day 57: Spring = Baseball = The Greatest Show On Earth

Whenever someone asks me what my favorite sport is, I always respond that basketball is my favorite to play (although golf is quickly threatening to change this), but baseball is my favorite. This time of year, when the days stretch a little longer and the nip in the air grows a little less biting and pitchers and catchers have reported and started throwing, I feel renewed and alive. In baseball terms, spring represents hope, and hope springs eternal.

Unlike some attention-depraved sorry-sacks who say “baseball is so boring” or “the games last too long” or “there’s no action,” I have no problem sitting hour after hour watching the next nine innings or more unfold before my eyes. My answer to such complaints is “You’re really not comfortable with yourself, are you? Because if you were, you could just sit in that chair for more than five minutes in a row without checking who hasn’t texted you and realize the beauty that’s before you, that baseball is quite possible the most beautiful, well-thought creation ever brought forth.”

On some levels, I understand certain people’s dislike for baseball. It is slow. The “action” can be lacking in this “give it to me now” world. No one is getting his head handed to him by a guy on the other team, so the “ooh and ah” moments occur far less often. No one is moving at the speed of light on a pair of skates or defying gravity flying to the basket or driving a 2,000-pound vehicle in constant left turn risking death while doing so. I get all that. I’d argue, though, that these are the very reasons baseball is superior. Baseball gives you time to ponder and reason and anticipate and predict what’s about to occur. Baseball isn’t instantly gratifying; it’s perpetually gratifying. Baseball requires your patience and mind to work simultaneously. Baseball is discipline. Some people don’t have that at their disposal.

For those who can’t stand the thought of spending even one moment of a day without socializing in some form or another, I’d suggest getting yourself out to a ballpark post-haste. Your reward will be two-plus hours of uninterrupted socializing opportunities—with the added bonus of stuffing your face with some of the finest food ever concocted by man. Wash a few peanuts back with a frosty-cold beer while sitting in the sun and tell me I’m not right. Honestly, I’m of the opinion that too many people have forgotten how to relax. Spend an afternoon at the park and you’ll remember. Think you can’t afford that? Think again. Major league games aren’t the only ones around. I’ve had just as much fun randomly stopping my car to watch nine-year-olds battle it out at a park with maybe five rows of bleachers to sit on as I have had sitting in major league parks, and I didn’t spend a penny to do it.

Here’s the thing: I believe in baseball because even after roughly four decades of watching and playing it, the game still mystifies me. It’s almost impossible to cheat, but players try to do it every game. There’s no official rule that says if your pitcher hits my batter, I’m allowed to do the same, yet every team does it. Like a lot of life, what’s unstated and unofficial about baseball is just as important as what is official and spoken.  

Sadly, I understand why baseball is dying, so to speak. It’s nearly impossible to get 18 kids together on any afternoon to get a game going. (How can sunshine compete with “Call of Duty”?) Not every kid owns a bat, ball, and glove. (Yet, every kid seems to somehow own a cell phone.) There aren’t enough baseball fields for kids to play on. (Yet, $10 can buy you a whiffle ball set and the most fun you’ll ever have.)

Sadder still to me personally, none of my kids really took to baseball in the way I did, and I don’t anticipate they ever will. That means there’s a lot of afternoon we’ll never spend sitting side by side, sharing sunflower seeds and downing hot dogs and catching up on life. But here’s what I’m holding on to while I prepare myself for another season of Yankees’ dominance: One day, I’ll have grandkids, and my every intention is to teach them early on to love the ballpark and what it represents. Then, they ask Grandpa to take them to the park every chance he gets. And I will. 

Day 56: Oscars

Since I was a really little kid, I've loved Oscar night. I've watched the awards with a lot of people. I watched a lot of the awards by myself. But I always remember watching. There was a time when I would have seen nearly all the nominated movies. These days, I'm lucky if I've seen one. Doesn't matter, though. I love the pageantry and glamour and the buzz. Weird, because I pretty much despise all other award shows.