Day 327: Thanksgiving Week: Friday

On this Friday of Thanksgiving week, I'm thankful for:

• Reminders of Nebraska vs. Oklahoma football from years gone by. What a rivalry. What great moments in time. What a time for a kid who was crazy about sports to grow up. The day of Thanksgiving during my youth was marked by Nebraska vs. Oklahoma on the gridiron. The men and boys got their pheasant hunting in early and then headed home in time for kickoff. Osborne vs. Switzer. Good vs. Evil. Bragging right for Big 8 supremacy at stake. Red vs. crimson. The farm boys vs. the thugs. Literally the day every Nebraska fan waited the entire year for. The day of Thanksgiving was when families and friends gathered around one television in the living room with heaping mounds of Thanksgiving leftovers in front of them and yelled, screamed, cried, and cursed at the four quarters of this football that commenced to be played out. Billy Sims. J.C. Watts. Keith Jackson. I.M. Hipp. Jarvis Redwine. The list goes on and on. It was the day when you fought for a spot in front of the television. When you didn't dare to sit in certain spots on the couch or chair, the domains of the elderly citizens who had paid their dues to sit there. Football just doesn't feel like that any longer. It doesn't feel as magically. It doesn't feel as life affirming. It doesn't feel as necessary. I suppose that's a good thing because priorities should take over and put football down farther on the list. But I'm so thankful for having grown up in a small town in Nebraska during that era of college football, when the entire state came to a standstill for a few hours on a Friday afternoon, we let the great Keith Jackson or Chris Schenkel take over on the mic and guide us the rest of the way. I'll never forget the look, feel, and smells of those Fridays. They were special, indeed. 

• Christmas lights and the motivation of my wife to get them strung. Thanks to her, our house is lit up like, well, a Christmas tree, and we're reveling in the Christmas spirit. We're the first on the block to be doing so, and this most certainly is the first time we can lay just a claim. I'm absolutely overflowing with pride. We fricking' rock the Christmas bells, neighborhood.  

• A deck of cards. 

• Hot chocolate. 

• The quiet moments that manage to creep in and pour themselves over me. I need them, and I welcome them. They come too far in between, but when they arrive, I always have my arms wide open and ready to greet them. 

• The comforting spirit that is Willie Nelson. 

Day 326: Thanksgiving Week: Thursday

On this Thursday of Thanksgiving Week, I'm thankful for:

The pilgrims who traveled the Atlantic and set up shop. (I'm not thankful, however, for what ultimately became the tragic demise of a proud and honorable people who were pushed aside as a consequence.)

My family and friends and their talents, wisdom, advice, listening ears, perseverance, humor, grit, and existence.

The stillness of the morning.

The calmness of the night.

The fortune to have too much food in front of me and my loved ones.

A comfy chair to contemplate in.

The fine cooking and hospitality of my mother-in-law.

Cheesecake.

Coffee to wash the cheesecake down.

Laughing. Songs. Singing. Smiles.

Discipline to not get suckered into a debate about politics.

The sweet, soulful stylings of Marvin Gaye.

Day 325: Thanksgiving Week: Wednesday

On this Wednesday of Thanksgiving week, I’m thankful:

• That tomorrow and the next day I don’t have to work.

•  For living to see another Thanksgiving Day.

• For pie.

• For potatoes.

• For the turkeys who unwillingly sacrificed their lives for the gluttonous joy of human carnivores like myself. (I’m sincerely sorry, turkey.)  

• For the memories from childhood of watching “Willy Wonka” on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving morning. God, I love me some Gene Wilder and his sarcastic, biting tongue as Willy Wonka (“Stop, don’t, come back”), but it’s Charlie Bucket that has long held a dear place in my heart. I, too, had a paper route as a boy, and damn if I didn’t have a love affair with chocolate that I’m proud to say endures still. But most of all, I understood early on and appreciated the message that “Willy Wonka” offered up that good things can happen to anyone, no matter how many grandparents are sleeping in one bed in your house, no matter how god-awful the gruel you sip out of your spoon appearred to taste, and no matter bad Grandpa Joe’s damn tobacco must have stunk up that tiny room. God bless you, Charlie Bucket. 

• For parades on TV.

• For board games.

• For Arlo Guthrie and the image he's given me year after year of Alice’s Restaurant.

• For my much-viewed copy of “The Last Waltz,” filmed on Thanksgiving and meant to always be played loud.

Day 324: Thanksgiving Week: Tuesday

On this Tuesday of Thanksgiving week, I'm thankful for: 

• The smell of Turkey floating ever-so closer to my nostrils as Thursday approaches

• The motivation and ability to run, but also the ability to run on a trail that's surrounded by nature and not a steady stream of buzzing cars driven by drivers with awkward, gawking stares and apartment complexes, businesses, and other edifices far less impressive and visually satisfying as trees, wild grasses, and long flowing hills that melt into the horizon

• Family members who willingly say "I love you" and mean it

• The hugs and kisses of my little girl 

• Popcorn in the break room

• Gatorade at the ready 

• The kindest custodian I can imagine existing and who never ceases to brighten my day with her bright smile and amazing, energetic aura 

• Hot showers 

• The complex, hypnotizing, seductive, compelling, challenging, and engrossing beauty that is John Coltrane  

Day 323: Thanksgiving Week: Monday

On this Monday of Thanksgiving Week, I’m thankful:

• For the coffee I poured down my gullet and the lifelong love affair that we’ve shared.

• That I don’t live in the Gaza Strip and that my children have not had to know what it means to grow up in a violent, unsteady environment in which tension is seemingly entrenched at DEFCON 1.

•  That I got to play my guitar over lunch—the only nourishment I need some days. 

• For the friends who made the effort to communicate.

• For the photographs that were sent to me, allowing me to take part in the moments of time captured, if only in a visual sense.

• For being reminded of this quote from Voltaire: “It is hard to free fools from the chains they revere.”

• For AC/DC and the glorious existence that is one Angus Young.

• That above all, my beautiful wife has returned home after a week away. Her absence was never a “you don’t know what you've got until it’s gone” experience; I already knew what I had. The experience was “I want back what isn’t here, right now.” 

Day 322: Peace

Sometimes, I wonder when was the last day on earth that there was complete and utter peace. How many years ago must have that been. Certainly before man. I wonder if such a day occurring again is possible. I can't imagine. I'll keep hoping and praying, though.

Day 321: Talking Movies

You can learn a hell of a lot about someone by knowing simply two things: what kind of music they like and why kind of movies turn them on. I've found that talking about music with strangers is pretty difficult for me. I'm a snob. Mention to me, for example, that you're a die-hard Billy Joel fan and we're probably going to have trouble moving forward. I can't say the same for movies, though. I'm a fan of the sophisticated and the stupid. I can find myself absorbed equally as much by "Requiem For A Dream" as I can by Billy Madison." I'm sick that way.

Because of my weird, all-over-the-map taste, my snobbishness isn't nearly as pronounced when it comes to talking flicks. Tell me that your thing is sports movies, and I'll tell you Susan Sarandon's Annie Savoy from "Bull Durham" could possibly be my dream girl. Tell me you're a devotee of buddy flicks, and I'll suggest we put on dark sunglasses and suits and act out scenes from "The Blues Brothers" ("For fried chickens and a Coke.") Tell me you prefer horror, and I'll suggest we put on our spelunking gear and dive into the "The Descent" or don our devil horns and sink into "Rosemary's Baby." Want to compare originals to remakes. I'm down with the that. Want to talk book adaptations. I'm all in. Want to make lists of the best supporting actors ever. I couldn't be happier. Want to compare documentary notes, I've seen my share. I love movies, and I love knowing what others think of them and how they fit movies into their lives. 

Today, my daughter and I were talking movies, and it donned on me how powerful a force movies are. They cross so many boundaries. The bridge so many gaps. You can pretty much sit any two people from any part of the world from any economic background in the same room and tell them, "Name your favorite children's movie," and a conversation will occur. I particularly like people who will experiment with their viewing. I like people who take risks. Who let a director speak to them. I like storytelling, and I like people who like storytelling, too. Most of all, I like talking with people about how they interpreted the story. That's why I love talking with my kids about flicks. You learn a lot about how they view the world. Who and what they find evil and sinful. What they think is funny. What they fear. Who they find brave and determined. You learn what makes them feel warm. What makes them feel motivated and inspired. You learn how they like to pass their time. Tonight, I'll be watching a movie with my four-year-old. I'm leaning toward "The Jungle Book." I wonder what she's in the mood for. 

Day 320: Cornfield Parties

For some reason, I find myself missing cornfield parties tonight. Being outside in an empty cornfield under the Nebraska moon on a cool, autumn night. A million stars up above. A cold beer in hand down below. Songs beaming in from some car radio not too far in the distance . Air fresh. Nose cold. Contentment warm. 

Might sound dopey or weird to "city kids," but a good cornfield party was the answer to everything that was troubling a soul. If you grew up in Nebraska like I did, there's a pretty good chance you attended a cornfield party once or twice in your formative years. If you grew up in a small town in Nebraska, the chances were all the much greater. There are only so many places to escape when you're a kid to begin with. In a Nebraska small town, that's all the more true. And if there's one thing there's no shortage of in Nebraska, it's cornfields. Find someone to buy a 12-pack for you, or if the Gods were particularly kind that night, a pony keg, and life was about to get very good very fast. No worry of the police breaking things up. No worries of the dufus who always broke something breaking something. No worries about being too loud. No worries of torking off the neighbors. No worries about cover charges or admission fees. No bottles broke. No carpet damaged. No harm done. 

I can hear my friends laughing now. I can see their faces lit up by moonlight. I can hear the same stories being told a million times over. God, for some reason, I'd like to be hearing those stories right now. 

Day 319: 10th Avenue Freeze Out

Tonight, roughly 50 miles down the road or so, the Boss is about to rock Omaha for all it's worth for what will likely be three-plus hours of rock-and-roll heaven on earth. I'm sitting at my kitchen table in Lincoln, Nebr. writing about it. So close but so far away. If you see tears on this Web page, you'll know why. 

What makes this all the worse is that I wanted to go. A lot. But circumstances are what they are and I couldn't buy the ducket. And then a friend offered me his tickets today bless his heart. And yet still, circumstances are what they are, and I had to turn them down. <sniff, sniff>

But alas, not all is bad. The positive spin on this is that I've seen Springsteen before. Twice, in fact. The first time was 28 years ago in November no less. I was a senior in high school, and Springsteen was at an all-time high in terms of popularity when the Born In The USA tour came rolling into Lincoln that night. My girlfriend and sister had camped out all night weeks prior for tickets, God bless them. 

I remember pretty much everything from that show, including the 20 minute-plus encore of "Twist and Shout" with the house lights on. Before that there was Springsteen telling us about he recent visit to our fair state while introducing "Nebraska," a song off the album of the same name in which he name-drops Lincoln. And of course, there was Clarence "Big Man" Clemmons taking center stage. God, I miss Clarence. 

That night still ranks among the best I've spent at any concert, and I've seen a few in my time. I've seen pretty much seen most of my heroes (sans Van Morrison, Townes Van Zandt, and a few others), but Springsteen was the "it" in my musical world that night and for a long time after. I learned about rock and roll that night. I learned how music can transcend. I learned how it can unite and tear down the fricking house down, and it did, brother. 

Not long after that show, I saw Springsteen on the "Tunnel of Love" tour, which had a completely different, less blaring, less bombastic, less going-for-the-kill feel about it, yet that show was just as powerful and just as memorable. 

I have a lot of those types of memories associated with Springsteen. His Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction speeches are beyond mandatory listening. His scene in "High Fidelity" is one of my favorites ever. His reworking of Pete Seeger's songs are so dead-on glorious that I find myself more in awe and finding something different I love about them with every listen. Springsteen is the real deal. He's among the most charitable men alive, certainly among the most giving of musicians. He's ethical and idealistic. He committed, but he doesn't take himself too seriously. He's humble and honest. Maybe most important to me is that he's a fan of music. He lives for it, and I can appreciate anyone who is of that make-up.  

I'm really envious of the scores of friends I know who are reveling in Springsteen's immense and deserved power tonight, but I'll take some solace in knowing he's brought much joy into my musical world already. So, even though I couldn't make the short trip to Omaha tonight, I'll still be thankful for the music. I'll slip on my headphones, push play on "The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle," and let the rock and roll wash all over me. 

Day 318: Single Parents

I have the greatest respect for single parents. I've known quite a few over the decades, and like all parents, some single parents I would say have been better than others, but all have a rough job. 

This week I've been reminded of my admiration. My wife has been out of town since Sunday and will be gone a week or so by the time she returns. My time has been filled with constant running back and forth between school and home, tending to a sick child, heading to the doctor, to the grocery store, to work, to the pet store, cooking, cleaning, and so on. The thing is, I know my time as a single parent is finite. I'm not truly a single parent. I'm a part-timer. That's not the same for "true" single parents. Theirs is an everyday struggle to keep the ship above water captained alone. 

I do have a little experience in this single-parent territory. My wife works 12-hour stretches every other weekend, and we see her little if any during that time. At her previous job, she worked 36-hour stretches where we essentially didn't see her at all. During those days, I was pretty much on my own, fighting the good fight and keeping things afloat. But I know that this doesn't begin to qualify me as being a single parent. During all of those days, my wife was only a phone call away if I needed some backup, some inspiration, or a sounding board. If I needed to check out something about one of our kids, I could. If I needed to vent that one of them was driving me crazy and might not be present when she got home, I could. If I needed my wife to be the bad guy for a bit, that was an option, too. 

Single parents don't have that luxury. They are it. They are the first and last line of defense. There is no go-to partner in crime to provide some much needed relief. From my limited experience in facing down a house full of children alone, I can't imagine waking up every day and facing that reality. 

But there is a yang to the ying. I've noticed among many of the "good" single parents that I've known that they develop and continue to share a special bond with their children that many two-parent families never reach. I think the same is somewhat true of my family, despite being a two-parent household. I spend an inordinate amount of time, for example, with our four-year-old, to the point that some nights by bedtime, I'm ready to pull my hair out (if I had any left). But good lord if we don't do a hell of lot of bonding before I reach that point. And further, all of the time I've spent with my older kids, and they with me, in which we were forced to deal with each other in the moment, whatever that moment contained, was positive in the end. All the battles and differences and all intensity that might have transpired also gave way to a lot of communication and compromising and growth. 

Some moments during these long stretches of being a "single" parent, I long for another adult voice to converse with, but I'm lucky. I know that voice will eventually walk through the door, and with it she'll bring some relief and reason and sanity back into our domain. I'm sure single parents have all types of the same relief built into their lives. I'm also sure they count their own blessings for what they have. 

Day 317: The Smell Of Basketball

My girl has been going through high school basketball tryouts the past two nights. As her sister and I have been driving across town to pick her up, traveling the busy city streets in the early darkness that fall time brings, it's been impossible to not smell the basketball in the air. Each night as we've walked from the house to the car on our mission, I've noticed that the odor has gotten a little stronger and a little more enticing on each successive night. Even though we haven't stepped a foot in the gym, I can smell the gym. We haven't come near the locker room, but I can smell it. I can smell the leather. I can smell the heat. The sweat. The hustle. The intensity. I can smell the drive and want. I can smell the attitude and hunger. In all the crispness that these nights offer, I can smell basketball, and it just might be the best smell I ever taken in. 

I may be wrong, but I imagine most people who have played know exactly what I'm talking about. They know the beauty of which I speak. It's a glorious odor, and it lingers in the thin air pure and true. A true baller can take as big and as deep as breathes as possible and still not get enough. It's just not possible. True ballers will always be left wanting more. 

I often wonder what others parents who played sports and who loved it as much as I did think and feel as they sit in the darkness, waiting for their respective child to comes strolling out to the car after a practice. Each night as my girl comes walking out in her shorts and her hair all out of whack and in a sweaty mess, I think about all those nights after my own practices when I bolted out to the car of whoever I was leeching a ride off, exhausted, beat down, sore, hungry, and spent. Entirely and completely worn through, yet as happy and as at peace as I can ever remember. That was a magical time. Young, athletic, full of potential. Surrounded by friends. Surrounded by laughs. United in jokes and put downs. United in a purpose. That doesn't happen much anymore at my age, and I find that I miss it terribly at times. 

That's why I'm so excited for my kid. I want her to feel half of what I did back then. I want her to always get goosebumps when she hears the squeaking of basketball shoes on the hardwood. Every time her nose picks up the smell of fresh popcorn floating down a school's hallway as she enters the building, I want her to remember how it felt on those Friday and Saturday nights, coming out of the locker room to those piping-hot first notes shooting out of the pep band trumpets. I want her to feel the same shots of adrenalin spiking down her spine as I did feeling those magnificent drum beats bouncing off the sticks of one Tony Christenham behind the kit blasting me straight in the face. I want her to know how it feels to hear little kids scream her name when she drains a bucket or hear a cheerleader belting out a "S-I-N-K, sink it!" in her honor as she stands at the free throw line. I want her to feel butterflies as big as jets crashing inside her stomach as she's lacing up her shoes. I want that and so much more for her because it's the top of world and everyone deserves at least some bit of time there. 

I wish there was a way to bottle up the smell of basketball, but I suppose that would spoil the magic. I suppose it would make these fall nights a little less special. I suppose there's much to be said for said for reveling in the here and now and not trying to reproduce what's special whenever the mood strikes. I suppose I find these nights and this feeling that basketball produces so special because it's not available all year round and not everyone feels the same way as I do. Maybe it's just me who gets this goofy about a "smell" that doesn't really exist anywhere but in my mind, but somehow I doubt it. 

Day 316: All The News Unfit To Print

Sometimes, I read the headlines just for the amusement factor. Like, when I need a pick-me-up, I head to a few Web sites dealing in "news" and chuckle away. Soon enough, I'm good to go, ready to tackle life again. I'm mean, really, my life seems like like a big piece of cheesecake compared to some people's unfortunate circumstances. 

Sometimes, the headlines are uplifting. 

"Meth-addicted baby." 

"Voice of Elmo Denies Sexual Relationship With 16-Year-Old"

"Retailers Vow To Kill Thanksgiving" 


Sometimes, the headlines give me all kind of inspiration and real-world advice to move forward. 

"How To Cheat Like A Spy." 

"Jessica's Weight Loss Reveal" 

"11 Signs That Your Boss Is A Psychopath" 

"Why Anne Hathaway Plans To Keep Her Pixie Cut" 

"The Faux Leather Leggings You Should Own" 

Sometimes, I learn what's truly important. 

"Miley's short shorts." 

"The Biggest Misconception About Infidelity" 

"Robot Sex"

"I Was The Other Woman"


Sometimes, on days like these, I wish I was just living some of this news. 

Day 315: Where Does The Time Go

I swear, I work harder on the weekends than during the work week. Well, it's a different kind of work, at least. It sure requires a lot more patience. Take your your resident four-year-old breaking one thing after another. Brutal. All day long. But you survive. You live on. You relish what you have. And then you get up and do it all over again the next day. 

Day 314: Here's Thinking Of You Agent Cooper

Whenever I think of pie, which is often, I think of Agent Cooper. I then find myself wondering what he'd be doing at that very minute. Then I wonder how many pieces of pie that he had that day. I'm not sure why I wonder these things, other than I really liked how committed Agent Cooper was to pie. Well, that and I like pie. But Agent Cooper's devotion was intense, and it was a wonderful thing to witness. Mostly, though, every time I watched Agent Cooper snarfing down a big piece of cherry goodness and washing it back with a piping cup of black goodness, I wanted nothing more than to be in that diner, sitting right next to Cooper, fork in hand, eating fork by fork by forkful. Today, I thought of pie.  

Day 313: Here's To Harvey Hilbert & Veterans Everywhere

Harvey Hilbert served in the Army infantry during the Vietnam War. He was injured in battle and saw a man in his unit killed. "You know, I'm 65 years old, and I can remember clearly that young man — the color of his skin, his face, his cries," Hilbert told StoryCorps.

"You know, there's a legacy of war that lasts forever."

It seems lately, every Friday morning there's a good chance  I'm going to have a good cry before I even reach work. If you listen to NPR on Friday mornings, you probably  know why. That when "Morning Edition" features an interview from StoryCorps, and more often than not the interviews are beyond poignant and beyond moving. So moving, the tears soon start to flow. This morning, they flowed. 

If you're not listening to StoryCorps, you should. The stories the organization presents are those from everyday people like you and me. These aren't celebrities or pundits or someone with an agenda. They're just people who have experienced something we can all appreciate. 

Here's how StoryCorps describes itself: 

StoryCorps is an independent nonprofit whose mission is to provide Americans of all backgrounds and beliefs with the opportunity to record, share, and preserve the stories of our lives. Since 2003, StoryCorps has collected and archived more than 40,000 interviews from nearly 80,000 participants. Each conversation is recorded on a free CD to share, and is preserved at the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress. 

Today, StoryCorps brought us the story of Harvey Hilbert. As I  expected he might, Harvey made me cry. I know next to nothing about Harvey Hilbert, but after this morning, I feel like I want to know more. I feel as if I at least want to extend my hand and say, "It's been a pleasure meeting you." I somehow feel entitled to do as such. That's how much Harvey Hilbert moved me. I'm sure the same is true of most people who know a veteran or are historically familiar with war. The stories are epic. Heroic. Tragic. Intense. Tear inducing.

Ahead of Veterans' Day on Sunday, Harvey's story is one worth listening to. It's one worth remembering. It's one worth sharing. It's one that's definitely worth paying respect to. 

Unfortunately, there are too many Harvey Hilberts in the world. Too many men and women who have been wounded physically and mentally in combat. Too many who have had to endure pain the rest of their lives after returning home. Too many who have had to live with the fact that many of their friends and comrades didn't make it home. 

If for no other reason that their pain and their sacrifice and their commitment and the incredibly bravery their summoned up to put their lives on the line before, during, and after combat, they deserve our appreciation and respect. 

Listen to Harvey Hilbert's story here. 

Read Harvey Hilbert's story here. 

Day 312: The Night Shift

Mine is a family in which one spouse (not me) works the overnight shift. At least from my perspective, the arrangement bites. While my wife is sleeping during the day, I'm a work. While she's at work, I'm sleeping. When I come home from work, off she goes to her job. Ours is a "hello, goodbye" arrangement pretty much, which blows. 

Fortunately, this isn't an everyday occurrence. There is a upside. 

My wife is a nurse, which as any nurse can tell you, means she has a wacky schedule that defies logic to anyone other than another nurse. She tends to work a lot of hours in short bunches and then has a lot of days off in between. Herein lies the upside. Keeping track of when those days fall, however, requires a master's degree in organization, and I'm still stuck in kindergarten where that's concerned. 

Why work at night? One, she's like it. Two, it pays better. Three and probably most important, it works out for our family schedule-wise in terms of getting kids to school, picking up kids from school, etc. It really comes down to practicality. As is the case with any good mother and father, it's a matter of sacrificing personal betterment for the betterment of the whole. 

For my wife, the sacrifice is primarily a major hit to sleep on nights she works. She regularly flows between a "normal" day schedule when not working to a night schedule when she does. That requires regularly staying up 24-plus hours to make the transition. I couldn't do it. On weekends when she works, it means combating a house full of kids and dogs and cats and whatever other forces are at work making incessant noise while she tries to slumber. I couldn't do it. On school days, it's arguably worse, as she has to somehow stay awake long enough, after already being up 24 hours, to get our wee one off to preschool before she can collapse and hopefully catch some ZZZs. I couldn't do it. 

As much as I dislike our dueling work schedules, it does give me scads of one-on-one time with my little one. Sometimes, I feel like my vocabulary is regressing at alarming rates because of such, but I know the hours we spend together is going to pay off down the road. We're forming a bond that will overcome the inevitable squabbles bond to surface. 

The arrangement also means I have plenty of time to play guitar without worrying about who I may be offending. I can also watch pretty much any crappy, violent, nonsensical movie or TV show I want without worries of judgement or mockery entering the scene. And did I mention that there's no obstructions to making late-night snack runs? 

Still, those pluses pale in comparison to the minuses of sleeping alone and talking to the walls.  But here's the deal, we have a two-income family. Some families that want that don't. We work in the fields we trained for. Most never even get to train. We make the best of the situation. Many people let the situation dictate the worst. Most positive is that the arrangement isn't permanent. I know so many people who spent their lives stuck in a crappy occupation they detested. Our arrangement is by choice. 

Still, cuddling up next to a dog with stinky breath just isn't the same as the missus. 

Day 311: Bitterness Swallowed; Yum Yum

Earlier today, I started writing this post, filling it with a big bunch of words that oozed with all forms of negativity. I mean, they were dripping with beads of spite and anger and bitterness and mean-spirited intent the size of basketballs. And I have to admit, it felt damn good to stringing those words together. Damn good. 

But the more I thought about them, the less satisfying they began to feel. There's something to said for the spur of the moment and letting it fuel you. There's also something to be said of taking the time to reflect. Today, the more I pondered those words, the more I asked if they really were going to do anyone other than myself any good. It didn't take long to realize the answer to that question was obvious. Nope, not much. 

To make matters worse, nearly all the words I compiled were reactionary. They were more or less just sentences that I created to lash out at people who have been pissing me off---with their own words, with the opinions and half-baked theories they've been forcing down the throats of anyone unfortunate enough to be in their midst. I have to say, though, I really like some of those sentences. Despite a year of attempting to be positive, I still do my best work when I'm angry and up in arms. I'm a fighter (with words at least). I'm not a loverboy so much. 

I especially like fighting blowhards and knuckleheads and dimwits who speak from a self-serving foundation. I don't like people who throw their Biblical passages at me as if I'm in need of their sympathy or saving. I don't like ego-maniacal muscleheads who bully people into "knowing their place." I don't like people who tell me how much I do or don't care for the troops. I don't like people telling me the worth of a man when they've shown no worth to themselves, their family, their community, or their country in their own right. I don't like sore losers, people who spew empty threats, or uninformed hypocrites who ignore history to their favor.

But you know what? Being reactionary is to be without discipline. Without focus. Being reactionary is to stray. 

Maybe it's the fact that I'm punch drunk from the election or that I'm sleep-deprived or I'm just feeling ornery, but I woke up today ready to willingly throw down. But funny things started to happen throughout the day to make me re-evaluate my moronic reactionary positions. 

Things like the three deer that nearly steamrolled me along the trail at lunch as I ran. "Dude," they said, "you're on our turf, you're tiny, you're insignificant to us, and you need to know your role and witness our beauty." And I did. 

Things like my little girl greeting me with a hug and a genuine smile as I walked through the door, telling me how much she hates my job because it keeps us from playing all day, and that she loved me. Love and innocence makes everything brighter and better. 

Things like my oldest kid learning today that he got a job in a field that he loves and has always wanted to explore. An opportunity. A chance. A beginning. A door opening. A future. Excitement. Hope. 

I guess it donned on me that if you're not helping the ship stay afloat, you're part of the dead weight that's sinking it. I'd rather the boat stayed above water. 

There are plenty of people I'm never going to respect, and I accept that. And although I'm not proud of it, I'll probably even take a little joy in watching them suffer a little bit on a day like this when they've been so loud and so hateful and so demonstrative and unrestrained for so many weeks and months prior. But I'm fairly certain one of these election years in the future, it will be my turn to have that bad day. I'd hope that when that day comes, I'll not bitch and whine and carry on about the injustice or offer up conspiracy theories as to how such a travesty occurred. I hope I'll instead respect the fact that the majority didn't agree with my stance. It would be nice, though, that when such a time arrives, some a-hole doesn't start popping off by writing a bunch of words, declaring how little he thinks and feels for me. 

So, I'm going that route today. I'm not going to fan the flames. I'm not going to partake in the sour grapes being offered up. I'm not going to feed the monster. Rather, I'm going to give this grace and dignity and higher road stuff I hear others talk about a try and see where it takes me. 

Day 310: 10 People I'd Like To Rock The Vote With

Pablo Picasso 

 

Computers are useless. They can only give you answers. 

Lemmy Kilmister 

Sylvia Plath 

Junior Kimbrough

Abe Lincoln 

I am a firm believer in the people. If given the truth, they can be depended upon to meet any national crises. The great point is to bring them the real facts.

Timothy Leary

Wilt Chamberlain 

March 2, 1962:

48 minutes/ 36 Field Goals Made/ 63 Field Goals Attempted/ 28 Free Throws Made/ 32 Free Throws Attempted/ 25 Rebounds/ 2 Assists/ 2 Personal Fouls/ 100 Points

Lifetime:

Sex with 20,000 women

Farrah Fawcett

Mad Dog Vachon 

Bobcat Goldthwait 

Day 309: "Slacker," The Movie That Keeps On Giving

Whenever someone asks me what my favorite all-time movie is, I typically waver between answering with one of four films. Depending on where I am at in my life and how I'm feeling at that particular minute, I'll either answer with "The Godfather" (if I'm feeling a tad bit violent and especially fond and protective of my family), "Razor's Edge" (a wonderful non-comedy film from Bill Murray that always makes me rethink my life and its purpose), "High Fidelity" (because music means more to me than anything else in life, and this film is filled with characters who feel the same way), or "Slacker." 

"Slacker" is Richard Linklater's first major film release, and I learned today it became available on YouTube for free viewing. "Slacker" went a long way toward helping create the "indie" movie scene that thrives today, but it also went a long way to making me the weirdo I'm pretty fond of. 

You probably know Linklater from directing "Dazed and Confused" (also awesome), "Waking Life" (artistically beautiful), "Scanner Darkly" (the jury is still out for me), and "The School of Rock" (the first film that fit Jack Black like a glove). But "Slacker," it's special. Oh so very special. At least to me. 

I saw "Slacker" at The Ross Theater way back in the day. That was the only place in Lincoln you could see it. We're talking a very obscure film where the masses where concerned. This wasn't mall or movie complex material. My girlfriend at the time took me, and I vividly remember as walking into the theater thinking, "What the hell am I getting myself into here?" But damn if "Slacker," just like about everything else in my life that has ended up pleasantly surprising me, didn't turn my world upside down. 

I still think of that girl when I think of "Slacker," and I give her major credit for opening my eyes to a whole new world that didn't exist prior. Maybe it was because I wasn't a terribly enlightened soul at the time, but "Slacker" made me see and feel things that never appeared in the fabric before. In short, the movie sent me down philosophical roads that I'd like to think I still travel upon, or at least try to. 

I haven't met too many people over the years that have watched "Slacker." I've forced a couple of people to view it with me over the years, and pretty much every time has ended with the same reaction: "Uh, that . . . was . . . different." But I'm cool with that. I've learned over time that many of the things I gravitate to aren't available for mass consumption. Often, sharing something full of light and wisdom and potential is better done on a small scale. Not everything is meant for everyone. "Slacker" is definitely one of those movies. 

I've often thought over the years and the repeated viewings of this movie about what it is I like so much. A big part of my love stems from the constant movement that exists in the film. There are no "scenes." Every minute just flows into the next, but it all fits together seamlessly. Just like life. There's seemingly no start and no stop. 

A big part of my love is also due to the theme (if there indeed is one) that there's no hurry to life. Examination happens at its own pace. Responsibility, my friends, isn't always something to aspire it. Broadening one's base, however, almost always is. "Slacker" exudes that mentality. 

Certainly, "Slacker" appeals to me immensely because of its quirkiness. I'm a big believer in the quirky. I like music that resides "left of the dial." I love ideas that float left or right of center. I like people who don't follow convention. I like those who stray and explore and daydream and form hypotheses that are simultaneously impossible and definite. Up until "Slacker," I wouldn't say I was a devoted traveler of the mainstream, but I didn't venture too far away from it that I couldn't make my way back. "Slacker" completely and utterly blasted a new trail for me, one that I didn't care where it took me. I haven't been interested in getting off that path since I got on it some 20-plus years later, either. 

Different entities and different people enter your life at different times for different reasons. The key, I believe, is always having your eyes open so that you're prepared to recognize them when they do come knocking, and then for God's sake, let them in. Let them in.

Day 308; Lead The "Leaders"

The biggest favor I did myself this week was watch "60 Minutes." In addition to a fantastic feature with the great historian/author David McCollough, who gave me, Morley Shaffer, and anyone watching a true history lesson on elections, presidents, and our founding fathers, the opening segment reaffirmed yet once again what pisses me off endlessly about politics. 

No, it's not my differences with republicans. No, it's not politicians in general. (I once argued many years ago in what turned out to be an all-night debate over a camp fire that I inherently believed politicians had good intentions at heart.) What pisses me off endlessly about politics is partisanship and just how many people have been hookwinked into believing that this is the way modern politics is supposed to operate. It's not.

Our leaders are supposed to be elected to lead us, all of us. Above all, they are supposed to be elected by the people to serve the people and put in place what's best for all the people. All the people. Above all else, they are elected to create solutions to fix the problems that affect the country. They are elected to come together, work together, think together, and compromise together to put what's wrong right. They aren't elected to make certain the residing president of the country is not re-elected. They aren't elected to ensure they themselves are re-elected. They aren't elected to carry the party line, to vote with the party. They are elected to represent their constituents and enact change that benefits the people. Country over party. 

Want to know on just how massive of a scale the Senate is currently failing, read or watch the "Is The U.S. Senate Broken?" segment on "60 Minutes." What used to be known as "the world's greatest deliberative body," reports Steve Croft, is today known for "deadlock, dysfunction, and political gamesmanship." 

How bad has it gotten? Maine Sen. Olympia Snowe, a Republican with 33 years experience, quit her re-election race earlier this year when she determined "that the partisanship that dominates Washington, D.C., was unlikely to change." 

How bad has it gotten? Hell, I'm finding myself kneeling before conservative Sen. Tom Coburn, a conservative from my own state's long-time rival Oklahoma, because he's making more sense and seems to have more integrity and logic than anyone on the political scene. What are Coburn's feelings on the job the Senate is currently doing? How about this from an August article: 

"I think I'm probably at the highest level of frustration I've ever been since I've been in Washington," said the two-term senator, who plans to leave Congress in 2016, under a self-imposed term limit.

"Everybody says we can't do anything before the election, we might not get reelected. Well why the heck did we come here if it wasn't to fix problems?" Coburn demanded.

Coburn may be one of the few people in Washington -- in all of American politics -- who refuses to accept the status quo in an election year.

When he points out that "the problems are obvious," he's obviously correct. The national debt is approaching $16 trillion, the government has run four straight trillion-dollar deficits, the economy is stalled again and the tax code has become so unpredictable due to short-term fixes that the expiration of multiple patch-like measures at the end of the year has come to be known as "the fiscal cliff."

There are democrats that are disgusted as well. Consider this segment from the "60 Minutes" piece: 

Former Indiana Sen. Evan Bayh, another moderate gave up his safe Democratic seat and a promising Senate career two years ago. His father, Birch Bayh, had also been a U.S. senator, and he grew up around the institution when it was a more collegial and less partisan place. The two-time governor and one-time Democratic presidential aspirant said he became disillusioned with the Senate when "brain dead ideology" began to take precedence over "principled compromise."

Evan Bayh: Everything is so short-term, politically tactical. It's all, "How do we win the next vote? How do we, you know, win the next news cycle? How do we win the next election?"

Bayh told us he particularly disliked going to the weekly Senate Democratic caucus lunches.

Evan Bayh: And a lot of those lunches are about, "OK, we're a team. We gotta stick together. We gotta beat the daylights out of the other side. We can't afford anybody straying from the team. If you do, that doesn't help us."

Steve Kroft: What happens if you buck the leadership?

Evan Bayh: Well, you buck the party line, there's a price to be paid. What used to be seen as an act of statesmanship trying to forge consensus across the aisle to move the country forward is now viewed by many as a betrayal of your party. So you get senators who vote with their party 95 percent, 98 percent of the time. And they're being run out because some people think, "that's not enough."

Steve Kroft: Why has it been so difficult to compromise?

Tom Coburn: It's leadership. It's pure leadership. When the goal is always to win the next election, rather than to put the country on the right course, whether it's a Republican leading it or the-- a Democrat leading it, the Senate is not going to work.

So, what can we do about it? As McCollough said, we should treat candidates in the same way we treat going to the theater. Critically. In other words, in the same way you analyze a movie, a TV show, or a meal, you should do the same to your representatives. If they're doing a "punk" job, to paraphrase McCollough, spread the word. Let me know. Don't elect them. 

If we don't, we're the ones that will suffer. Our children will suffer. And so will theirs. 

Here's how the republican Coburn sees the situation, and I can't say I disagree (and that's saying something coming from a tree-hugging liberal.) 

"The country's bankrupt, we're seeing it unfold in Europe. We're going to see it unfold elsewhere, and it's going to come to us," he said. "What we have on both sides of the aisle are groups of people who refuse to make the hard choices. And so the country suffers."

"What we lack," he says, "is leadership."