I don't know if it's that Christmas and New Year's are around the corner or not, but I have certainly run into the proverbial wall. Officially running on fumes at work. Luckily, I am on vacation next week, where I intend to just unwind and relax and enjoy the day as it comes. It's almost as if the body/mind are aware that the year is about to end and are gearing up for that final uphill run before passing out into rehabilitation.
It's been a heck of a year for me personally, from my daughter Miranda being born, to the fantastic family vacation to the Cape, to my folks moving back home. Personally, it has been very fulfilling. I've gotten closer to some of my older friends whom I dearly love and have made new ones in the process. At the beginning of the year I referred to 2011 as the Year of Embrace, and that it has certainly become - a year of embracing friends and family and coming to terms with internal turmoil and fears. A year of really focusing on the needs of others versus mine - finding long lost family members whom I hold very dear.
As for 2012, well, I guess I haven't thought that far off yet. I know there are upcoming vacations to places like the Caribbean and perhaps some other unexplored venue. More to come on 2012. For now, I countdown the days left before Christmas vacation; two more days and I'm home free until 1 flips into 2.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Day Within a Day
Today feels like what tomorrow will feel like; which is what yesterday felt like. There was laughter and introspective thoughts. There was an infusion of joy and nostalgia. Tomorrow brings with it emotions and aspirations for the new year. Today is filled with planning and dedication. In the end, it is all intertwined in a web of sticky glue. Many aspects of tomorrow will blend with today with a sprinkle of yesterday. It's like one of those long jazz compositions - complex in nature, yet simple to understand, if you are committed to really listening. Perhaps, that is what we fail to do, really listen. The rush of the moment inhibits us from truly listening.
Stop. Breathe. Blink a couple of times, and listen.
Stop. Breathe. Blink a couple of times, and listen.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
For All We Know..
...someone is out there, playing, praying, perhaps simply portraying themselves in lights unbeknownst to them in past adventures, during past tribulations. Out there in the rain they play the puppet, withering away to life's fatal touch - the wound that festers and never heals. The strings dance along like permanent rain, masking the deceit and the many triumphs we have chosen to bury, simply because we can. Because the truth is ugly and does not cease to show its face around corners and in shadows.
Still, for all we know, it makes us better individuals, better citizens. It is liberating no matter how intoxicating. The pages of the book continue to turn as the seconds tick away and our lasting memories shift onto themselves; consolidating the present and throwing away the left-over cigarette in the ashtray of tomorrow. Sooner or later we find ourselves, there I say, we find about ourselves things we were too blind to see. Even in the mask of night and isolation, one can truly find themselves.
The ashes continue to bubble up in dark clouds, the strings moving along fast and furious - yet we still find ourselves, our center, our raison d'etre. It's a delicate art form, deadly and life-affirming. At the end of the day, the rats come out in a circle to the tune of the piper. The question becomes airy, like a whisper...what are you doing for the rest of your life...?
...someone is still out there, playing, praying, perhaps simply portraying themselves in the illusion of the inevitable dance, for all we know.
Still, for all we know, it makes us better individuals, better citizens. It is liberating no matter how intoxicating. The pages of the book continue to turn as the seconds tick away and our lasting memories shift onto themselves; consolidating the present and throwing away the left-over cigarette in the ashtray of tomorrow. Sooner or later we find ourselves, there I say, we find about ourselves things we were too blind to see. Even in the mask of night and isolation, one can truly find themselves.
The ashes continue to bubble up in dark clouds, the strings moving along fast and furious - yet we still find ourselves, our center, our raison d'etre. It's a delicate art form, deadly and life-affirming. At the end of the day, the rats come out in a circle to the tune of the piper. The question becomes airy, like a whisper...what are you doing for the rest of your life...?
...someone is still out there, playing, praying, perhaps simply portraying themselves in the illusion of the inevitable dance, for all we know.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Train Station
The tracks end in a blinding flash, unexpected yet familiar. Like a distant nursery melody that reminds you of your early childhood days; the high water mark when things stood still and meant something much more profound. The familiarity of the sound compelling, the fury unparalleled. Still, we remain in constant search for something meaningful and fulfilling. The spirit, the soul, the mechanism that makes us feel and ache and at times, weep. Adrift the melancholy of the past and what could have been, it simply lingers.
December the 1st is here and with it, thoughts turn to the past. Childhood memories, of Christmas and loved ones and fun filled days of eggs sunny side up. Days when there was no snow, yet no snow was needed. Sad memories go by the wayside giving light to sounds of laughter and music and all of that magic that comes with this month. If one could bottle the magic that December brings and spread it throughout the year, how different life would be.
Yet here we are at the opening of the bell. The first of the month, reminding us that there's more to come in wondrous ways. Reminding us that at the end of the tracks, the flash gives way to memories and unbridled joy.
December the 1st is here and with it, thoughts turn to the past. Childhood memories, of Christmas and loved ones and fun filled days of eggs sunny side up. Days when there was no snow, yet no snow was needed. Sad memories go by the wayside giving light to sounds of laughter and music and all of that magic that comes with this month. If one could bottle the magic that December brings and spread it throughout the year, how different life would be.
Yet here we are at the opening of the bell. The first of the month, reminding us that there's more to come in wondrous ways. Reminding us that at the end of the tracks, the flash gives way to memories and unbridled joy.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Peek Up and Read Mee
This is the abstract from a business plan / feasibility analysis from my Entrepreneurship class. I got a 100% on it, and it inspired me to perhaps pull the trigger and see if it can become a reality.
Abstract
It is staggering to think that this generation of children may not have the privilege of spending time in a bookstore or a library simply reading. What happens to children when bookstores and local libraries ultimately disappear?
Imagine not being able to hold a book in your hand because they are no longer available. The unavailability of physical books can have a detrimental effect in not only children but in society as a whole. Most of us grew up having access to a local library or a bookstore where we could spend hours sifting through shelves. Having this access allows us to develop socially and intellectually. Neural pathways and cognitive abilities are enhanced. According to John Dupuis, the Head of the Steacie Science and Engineering Library in York University, Toronto, ON, Canada, “the local bookstore creates all kinds of value for its community, whether it is providing community bulletin boards, putting rocking chairs in the kids section, hosting book readings, or putting benches out in front of the store. Local writers, harried parents, couples on dates, all get value from a store's existence as an inviting physical location, value separate from its existence as a transactional warehouse for books.” (Dupuis, 2009). A bookstore’s value is existential; its mark profound in not only the social arena but in the human arena.
In the same vein that there are Chuck E’ Cheese establishments spread out throughout the country; there is a need for a similar space in the reading arena. Let’s face it; children nowadays are more interested in the next video game system versus the next great read. It all started with Atari and Nintendo and as of recent times, the Microsoft Xbox and Sony Playstation systems. If a child does not have one of these systems available they simply have their parents take them to Chuck E’ Cheese and spend countless hours playing arcade games. It is in this simplistic concept that the idea of Peek Up and Read Mee is born – misspelled in purpose to make it more appealing. If kids can spend countless hours playing video games at pods like Chuck E Cheese, why not make it accessible for them to spend some time reading as well? Why not facilitate an environment for children, where they can come in and pick up a book and spend some time reading?
Public libraries and independent bookstores are closing across the country not just because the Internet is gaining strength in the eBook space, but also because libraries are failing to advertise themselves as beacons of adventure and reading pleasure. In this space is where the idea of Peek Up and Read Mee takes shape – a place where children can come and read and actually enjoy themselves. If you think of Chuck E’ Cheese for a second and what makes them successful, it is not only due to the arcade games but also the secondary products they offer, such as the birthday party space and the pizza and sodas. They understand that if they can make games available, why not make pizza available, enticing the kids to stick around longer. Peek Up and Read Mee would provide ice cream and music – a lively and inviting place to read and peruse shelves and get lost in the adventure of the imagination.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Bleached Sox
All empires inevitably, must fall….
It happened to Alexander the Great, it happened to the Greeks, it happened to the Romans, it’s happened to countless other dynasties and kingdoms. Hell, it’s even happened to the Yankees.
It is now Boston’s turn to fall.
Historically, most empires fall because their leader is inept, or diabolical or just plain bats-hi*t crazy. It is different here in Boston. The man at the helm was known as a players-coach, loyal to the end. A man of high baseball IQ, demanding, yet fair. During his rookie season, Dustin Pedroia hit under the “Mendoza” line (under .200) for the first two months, as the starting second basemen for the Sox. Francona stuck with him, and he ended up winning the rookie of the year. The next year, he won the MVP. When Papi started off and the media and fans wanted him gone, Francona stuck with him. Ortiz had a decent 2010, and this year ended with 29 home runs 96 RBI and a .304 batting average.
The demise of the Red Sox does not lie on Tito’s shoulders. It lies on something much more intangible. Specifically, it lies on the introduction of players that do not mesh with the fabric of the Boston Red Sox. When you think of recent Yankees, you think of Bernie Williams, and Jeter, and Posada and Pettite, guys that ooze Yankee pinstripes. When I think of recent Red Sox players, I think of Damon (he was never a Yankee), Schilling, Varitek, Lowell, Pedro, in some cases guys that truly “bled” Red Sox. Crawford and Lackey are no Red Sox players. Neither is Adrian Gonzalez.
Previous to the 2010 campaign, the Red Sox were known for winning with players not of all-star luster. In 2004, they coined themselves the “idiots”, and well so, as their cast included the Damons and Millars of the world. A cast of outcasts, outlaws and in some cases bat-sh*t crazy players such as one Manny Ramirez. What separates those guys from this year’s team, is grit and guts. This year’s campaign sounds like an all-star line up – Ellsbury, Pedroia, Youkilis, Gonzalez, Ortiz and so on…and although some of them have won rings here in Boston, they are missing many others. The chemistry is unhinged, unbalanced, impaired. Guys like Mike Lowell are no longer around. Guys like Trot Nixon and Dave Roberts and Alan Embree and Mike Timlin and Orlando Cabrera, are no longer here. 2007 contributors like Eric Hinske and Bobby Kielty and Doug Mirabelli – gone….
Theo Epstein has done a wonderful job in bringing the right guys together to win championships. That is no longer the case. The Red Sox inability to not make much noise since 2007 is due to the current absence of players such as those from 2004 and 2007. Hell, I’ll take John Valentin and Brian Daubach and Troy O’Leary from back in the 90’s! Theo or whoever the GM may be, needs to get back to those roots. Boston is not a town that is known for glamorous baseball. It needs the Damons and the Millars of the world. That is why we won in 2004. That is why we won in 2007
Remember in Rocky III when Rocky gets beat up by Mr. T’s character (Clubber Lang…?)? Rocky got used to training in shiny gyms and clean facilities. Rocky finally comes around when he goes back to his roots, dingy gyms, jogging in the streets of Philadelphia – stays hungry. You don’t take a sewer rat and bleach him with Clorox.
Let’s hope the Red Sox can get dirty once again in the near future. After all, isn’t their theme song “Dirty Water”….?
All empires inevitably fall….
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Destination: Somewhere Only We Know
Ever dreamed of just getting in a car and driving somewhere, anywhere but here, for an extended period of time...? I bet you have. And I bet you have also wondered who to take with you in such a trip. After all, it is not an easy decision to make. Said person must be one of intestinal fortitude, one that can laugh at your jokes on anything from pigs to clowns to drunks staggering out of bars, hell, even family members. Said person must be one that sees the proverbial "big picture". After all, a trip such as this deserves attention to this type of detail. You must ask yourself questions like, will this person be ok if I have to borrow their deodorant? Will this person be ok if I light their underwear on fire while they sleep...? Will this person be totally ok with me driving in my briefs with one foot out the window...? I know what you are thinking...who does these things..? Well, it just so happens that such are the only kind of people that can make these kind of trips. The kind that spell out things such as bar fights, and dream escapes; epic, legendary travels that constitute of wicked things and even crazier stunts.
It isn't healthy, and it's probably not recommended by the FDA, or religious cult groups in middle-America - but it's there for the taking, the idea of travelling out of state, out of mind, for days on end, sleeping in your car, bathing in a pond (or someone's shower if they leave the window open...).
Bring on the rock and the blues and the myriad of delicious but corrosive items such as sausages, and hot dogs and burritos and BBQ sauce lathered wings. It's time to make some of our own magic out there under God's blue sky. After all, we either get busy living, or get busy dying.
Road trip 2012 baby!
It isn't healthy, and it's probably not recommended by the FDA, or religious cult groups in middle-America - but it's there for the taking, the idea of travelling out of state, out of mind, for days on end, sleeping in your car, bathing in a pond (or someone's shower if they leave the window open...).
Bring on the rock and the blues and the myriad of delicious but corrosive items such as sausages, and hot dogs and burritos and BBQ sauce lathered wings. It's time to make some of our own magic out there under God's blue sky. After all, we either get busy living, or get busy dying.
Road trip 2012 baby!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Shadows and Footsteps
I’ve always found it fascinating when life ‘s path puts you up close and personal with others’ struggles and desperations , in ways you never thought could happen.
Case in point, I spoke to an older gentleman yesterday during a cookout – a man whom I had previously been introduced to. All I knew of him was that he was seeing the mother of a friend of mine on a semi-regular basis.
As typical men do when faced with cool end of summer breezes, we chatted amidst the noise from the crowd, and we exchanged your usual run of the mill questions; how many children, where do you live, where are you from, and so on. This was one of those times where his answers to those questions became a stage upon themselves; a canvas of emotions subtlety registering grief and loneliness.
Since I learned that he was from Greece, I asked him if he ever went back and if he had family there. With his head down and his eyes looking at the grass, he responded by saying that he still had some cousins and aunts there, but that his wife’s family still lived there, and that ever since she passed away, he made it a point to stay in touch. It wasn’t the response as much as the overwhelming feeling of grief felt in the air, amidst the breeze.
Perhaps it was a question too close to his heart, this man I barely knew from a crab apple on a nearby tree. But the force of that emotion nearly knocked me to the ground. This soft-spoken man from Greece conveyed unexpected emotions to a complete stranger, as if looking for a sympathetic ear.
As the questions continued, he spoke of his children and where they lived. I may never forget the way he delivered a response to my final question. “Where do you live?” I asked.. “I live in Methuen……..alone…” It was in this answer as he looked towards uncertain skies, that I then understood the calamity in his soul. And I realized I knew everything I needed to know about this man in the mere minutes we spoke. Loneliness. A loving wife now deceased. A life of waking up to no one in the room, but his own shadow and footsteps. A man who sought for something to fill the void.
I may never know why this struck me as it did; one of those inexplicable events perhaps. We are all seekers in one way or another.
As I spotted him later in the day, I saw him caress my friend’s mother, lovingly. Long live romance. May love find him once again.
Case in point, I spoke to an older gentleman yesterday during a cookout – a man whom I had previously been introduced to. All I knew of him was that he was seeing the mother of a friend of mine on a semi-regular basis.
As typical men do when faced with cool end of summer breezes, we chatted amidst the noise from the crowd, and we exchanged your usual run of the mill questions; how many children, where do you live, where are you from, and so on. This was one of those times where his answers to those questions became a stage upon themselves; a canvas of emotions subtlety registering grief and loneliness.
Since I learned that he was from Greece, I asked him if he ever went back and if he had family there. With his head down and his eyes looking at the grass, he responded by saying that he still had some cousins and aunts there, but that his wife’s family still lived there, and that ever since she passed away, he made it a point to stay in touch. It wasn’t the response as much as the overwhelming feeling of grief felt in the air, amidst the breeze.
Perhaps it was a question too close to his heart, this man I barely knew from a crab apple on a nearby tree. But the force of that emotion nearly knocked me to the ground. This soft-spoken man from Greece conveyed unexpected emotions to a complete stranger, as if looking for a sympathetic ear.
As the questions continued, he spoke of his children and where they lived. I may never forget the way he delivered a response to my final question. “Where do you live?” I asked.. “I live in Methuen……..alone…” It was in this answer as he looked towards uncertain skies, that I then understood the calamity in his soul. And I realized I knew everything I needed to know about this man in the mere minutes we spoke. Loneliness. A loving wife now deceased. A life of waking up to no one in the room, but his own shadow and footsteps. A man who sought for something to fill the void.
I may never know why this struck me as it did; one of those inexplicable events perhaps. We are all seekers in one way or another.
As I spotted him later in the day, I saw him caress my friend’s mother, lovingly. Long live romance. May love find him once again.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Circumstances
Maybe in the end, the circumstances dictate the pace to the point where light and dark blur into shades of grey - into shades of unobstructed moonlight, dripping with liquid fire. Maybe in the end, the irresistible force meets the immovable object and the confused gives way to the coherent - the grey dissolves, into nothing, into something. Dare I say, there are paths we have not crossed until we are made to cross them - paths of soft sand and hushed whispers. Maybe in the end, the circus comes to life and the shadows retreat giving way to the fantastic, the eerie and dynamic thunder.
As the descent continues, perhaps we change - we adapt to a weary state of shades of grey and their circumstances.
Authors Note: Interestingly the above came to me as I was looking at some black and white pictures of certain poets. Their poses and facial features seemed content, maybe even blissful. Compelled me to write.
As the descent continues, perhaps we change - we adapt to a weary state of shades of grey and their circumstances.
Authors Note: Interestingly the above came to me as I was looking at some black and white pictures of certain poets. Their poses and facial features seemed content, maybe even blissful. Compelled me to write.
Monday, July 18, 2011
One of God's Very Own Prototypes
Desperate times call for desperate measures. In his case, his life was a collage of desperate, crazed and dangerous times. How he found me is almost mystical. Perhaps I needed a jolt of sorts to jump start the soul. Then again, it was following 2001 and the devastation that 9/11 left not just in the American identity but also in the global psyche, that perhaps surfaced his wicked soul. Don’t get me wrong; he was around for a lot longer prior to those treacherous events - scouring the globe during his journalistic missions, which usually consisted of Chivas, guns or some sort of chemical. It is befitting, given his impact on me as a writer, but most importantly as a citizen of the world, that I pay homage to one Hunter Stockton Thompson on his birthday July 18th.
Simply put, his writing kicked my ass hard. It wasn’t just a kick in the shins by a 7 year old girl (which has happened...), but more importantly it was a wake up call – a punch to the heart and a bat across the back of the head all in one. Whatever compelled me to read his work I’ll never truly know. Perhaps it was a dangerous mixture of wanting to act like a savage and rebel against the institution. Perhaps it was Hunter’s penchant for kicking ass and taking names. There was a message to be extracted from the ramblings of this man from Louisville, Kentucky. Live life. Live it as if you knew that everyday of your life was to be your last. Behind the facade of his chaotic and irresponsible life was the message to live and live well. It is a lifestyle more than just a simple statement or a Facebook status quote. It is part of the fabric that makes us who we are, a part usually discarded or forgotten, or put to rest somewhere in the basement of our lives. I’ve met my share of individuals throughout my travels and I can count perhaps 4 or 5 who got it right. They got it right because they did not discard it or store it for a later occasion. They ran with it. I ran with it. I continue to run with it. And I hope my kids also continue to run with it, because it is a concept as critical and soul branding as air is to us. Live.
The many nights in San Juan; the time in Hawaii searching for Lono; the many many rum filled nights full of music and laughter and camaraderie. Thanks Hunter for kicking me in the face during dark times and flailing attempts at living. Thanks for the craziness and unabashed chaos. You left a legacy which will move forever undaunted by the weight of those who simply choose to slug along. Happy birthday you old goat – put in a good word for me. You got it right.
“Walk tall, kick ass… love music, and never forget you come from a long line of truth seekers, lovers, and warriors.” HST
"So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?" HST
Simply put, his writing kicked my ass hard. It wasn’t just a kick in the shins by a 7 year old girl (which has happened...), but more importantly it was a wake up call – a punch to the heart and a bat across the back of the head all in one. Whatever compelled me to read his work I’ll never truly know. Perhaps it was a dangerous mixture of wanting to act like a savage and rebel against the institution. Perhaps it was Hunter’s penchant for kicking ass and taking names. There was a message to be extracted from the ramblings of this man from Louisville, Kentucky. Live life. Live it as if you knew that everyday of your life was to be your last. Behind the facade of his chaotic and irresponsible life was the message to live and live well. It is a lifestyle more than just a simple statement or a Facebook status quote. It is part of the fabric that makes us who we are, a part usually discarded or forgotten, or put to rest somewhere in the basement of our lives. I’ve met my share of individuals throughout my travels and I can count perhaps 4 or 5 who got it right. They got it right because they did not discard it or store it for a later occasion. They ran with it. I ran with it. I continue to run with it. And I hope my kids also continue to run with it, because it is a concept as critical and soul branding as air is to us. Live.
The many nights in San Juan; the time in Hawaii searching for Lono; the many many rum filled nights full of music and laughter and camaraderie. Thanks Hunter for kicking me in the face during dark times and flailing attempts at living. Thanks for the craziness and unabashed chaos. You left a legacy which will move forever undaunted by the weight of those who simply choose to slug along. Happy birthday you old goat – put in a good word for me. You got it right.
“Walk tall, kick ass… love music, and never forget you come from a long line of truth seekers, lovers, and warriors.” HST
"So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?" HST
Monday, June 27, 2011
Event Horizon
I didn’t want to leave this morning. You looked at me with beguiling eyes and I felt your gravitational pull - as if I’d crossed what is known in cosmic-speak as the “event horizon”. Yet, I had to – duty calls and one must be responsible in an irresponsible world. Someday you’ll learn about responsibility and sacrifice – virtues bestowed upon the masses, yet few are they who hone those qualities and “sharpen their knives”.
It has certainly been a whirlwind as of late. Days blur one into the other. Sleep is a privilege. Dare I say, it has been some of the most interesting weeks of my life. Between you and me, someday we’ll look back and laugh. Perhaps we’ll chat over coffee at a small hamlet in South America. Maybe you’ll be there when I finally gaze at the Eiffel in Paris and reminisce about what could have been.
We’ve gotten to know one another fairly well I suspect, yet there’s so much more to talk about – so much more to share. In the end, it is all about sharing experiences – a sip of coffee, a jazz performance, a crisp morning in the fall here in New England, and so on.
Well, what can I say; I’ve fallen for you in ways I could not imagine. And while you lay there watching me leave to unknown destinations, I long to stay and conversate - I long to spend more time and watch you watching me. I love you Miranda.
It has certainly been a whirlwind as of late. Days blur one into the other. Sleep is a privilege. Dare I say, it has been some of the most interesting weeks of my life. Between you and me, someday we’ll look back and laugh. Perhaps we’ll chat over coffee at a small hamlet in South America. Maybe you’ll be there when I finally gaze at the Eiffel in Paris and reminisce about what could have been.
We’ve gotten to know one another fairly well I suspect, yet there’s so much more to talk about – so much more to share. In the end, it is all about sharing experiences – a sip of coffee, a jazz performance, a crisp morning in the fall here in New England, and so on.
Well, what can I say; I’ve fallen for you in ways I could not imagine. And while you lay there watching me leave to unknown destinations, I long to stay and conversate - I long to spend more time and watch you watching me. I love you Miranda.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Requiem of the Mind
I wrote a blog called Clarity back in August of last year, which centered around the ability to think/focus clearly; an ability most of us give little attention to. I stumbled upon an article on the Huffington Post where the writer of the article argued that positive thinking is not an actual reality, rather positive actions are - http://www.huffingtonpost.com/russell-bishop/workarounds-positive-thinking_b_844143.html
My interpretation of his article was that "doing" something versus "thinking or wishing" something is the actual solution to taking positive steps. I beg to differ. The potential for us to actually take some time and "re-wire" our brain is an actual fact which doesn't take lobotomy or self-help books to achieve. Simply put, we have the power to actually change patterns of behavior and habits, by focusing on a set of steps, which by the nature of repetition eventually manifest themselves. I can tell you from experience - this works. No need for Dr. Phil and his "vaunted" therapy.
No need for self-help books which dabble in the obscure and downright puzzling cult-like fogging of the brain. Simple. Think about where you are, think about where you want to go and take small tangible steps to accomplish your goal. Goals in this context, refer specifically to thinking positively - waving off the dark clouds of worrying and torment and actually saying to ourselves, "I came here to win, not to lose". It's us taking control back from soceital pressures and heavy loads of discontent. It's us slaying the shadowy figures that confuse or disorient us. Nineny-nine percent of the time, it is us who let ourselves down.
The best advice I ever got was from my frehsman Chemistry teacher who succintly put it best - "Don't ever sell yourself short. Ever." Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
My interpretation of his article was that "doing" something versus "thinking or wishing" something is the actual solution to taking positive steps. I beg to differ. The potential for us to actually take some time and "re-wire" our brain is an actual fact which doesn't take lobotomy or self-help books to achieve. Simply put, we have the power to actually change patterns of behavior and habits, by focusing on a set of steps, which by the nature of repetition eventually manifest themselves. I can tell you from experience - this works. No need for Dr. Phil and his "vaunted" therapy.
No need for self-help books which dabble in the obscure and downright puzzling cult-like fogging of the brain. Simple. Think about where you are, think about where you want to go and take small tangible steps to accomplish your goal. Goals in this context, refer specifically to thinking positively - waving off the dark clouds of worrying and torment and actually saying to ourselves, "I came here to win, not to lose". It's us taking control back from soceital pressures and heavy loads of discontent. It's us slaying the shadowy figures that confuse or disorient us. Nineny-nine percent of the time, it is us who let ourselves down.
The best advice I ever got was from my frehsman Chemistry teacher who succintly put it best - "Don't ever sell yourself short. Ever." Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Bruised and Battered but Full of Flavor
"Hello my friend, hello..." - God I love that Neil Diamond song... I feel like I've been away for ages, and I guess I have been. The past month plus has seen more than its share of activity in all things work related, house projects, school registration and reading. Hell I've even managed to sneak in an ice-cool Bryan Adams concert. Wicked... Yet the one thing that has managed to slow it all down is this thing called pneumonia in my right lung. Yup - I've been ill for close to two weeks now, shallow breathing, swelled lung, night chills, lethargy. It's been a kick ass start to the Spring. Even now I'm nowhere near 80 percent, never mind 100 - yet duty calls, and back to work I go tomorrow, and here I am writing again. Brilliant books made their way to my disposal during the past month - Waiting for Columbus, Water for Elephants and The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - I give the following stars to each - WFC 5*'s, WFE 3*'s, TBWLOW 4*'s. There is a trip to India in the horizon thanks to work, there is a beach house rental in the Cape this summer and of course there is the calm before the storm otherwise known as Miranda Quinn Lopez (wife is 28 weeks!) So yes, lots going on, and much more on its way with my folks moving back home and the upcoming bevy of stuff to do this Summer! As for writing, I continue to construct my manuscript into something legible and exciting. It's funny how hobbies begin to feel a bit like work after a while. It's the opposite at work, at least that's what gets me through the day. True story - I went NUTS this past weekend during the "registry" creation at Babies R'Us...NUTS. I picked up the cutest Red Sox outfit/cap for the baby.... I've discovered my love for Vietnamese food, in particular their coffee and their chicken soup, which tastes like it was made in heaven. It restored my energy and for a while I felt invincible. Vietnam is certainly on my list of countries to visit and explore. So what now - well, I'm slowly improving health-wise, gotta get the baby room painted, work is back on the equation and I'm just looking forward to warmer temperatures. It's been a long and shitty winter and Mother Nature owes us a reprieve. Watched "The Kids Are All Right" - great stuff. Check it out. I shall be back here much sooner to share with y'all the cornucopia of events around my crazy life. Here's wishing you a few pneumonia-free weeks, and myself a speedier recovery.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Homage to Hattori Hanzo
Exchange between Elle Driver and Budd from the movie Kill Bill Vol 2.
Budd: So, which "R" you filled with?
Elle Driver: What?
Budd: They say the number one killer of old people is retirement. People got 'em a job to do; they tend to live a little longer so they can do it. I've always figured warriors and their enemies share the same relationship. So, now you ain't gonna hafta face your enemy on the battlefield no more, which "R" are you filled with: Relief or Regret?
Elle Driver: A little bit of both.
Budd: Bullshit. I'm sure you do feel a little bit of both. But I know damn well you feel one more than you feel the other. The question was which one?
Elle Driver: Regret.”
Having just finished renovating my living room I’d like to answer Budd’s question with the following. Relief. Now it isn’t that I consider my living room the “enemy”, simply the task to renovate it has been one filled with its own set of challenges. When I think of the movie The Exorcist, inevitably I think of green pea soup - Linda Blair vomiting all over the place like a green pea soup faucet going rogue. That is exactly what my living room “used” to look like – a palace to green pea soup, the color of its walls. Yes, Linda Blair lived with me every day for the past almost five years. That is…until I made the decision to start from scratch. Gone were the flower/leaf picture frames and the book shelves and CD holders; gone forever to some dark corner of the basement, somewhere in Amityville Horror land.
Paint roller in hand, it was time to face the music… As if holding a Hattori Hanzo (Kill Bill reference) sword, I slayed and sliced at the walls with the paint roller, causing irreversibly damaging internal bleeding. Heads were chopped off, limbs went flying, and suddenly I was The Bride (Uma Thurman’s character in Kill Bill). Paint dripped all around me – a massacre of biblical proportions. Goodbye green pea vomit – enter, tranquil/serene lilac. Yes, lilac damnit! The darkness is now gone, and in its place, tranquility, light, a sense of serenity I have not felt in that living room for almost 5 years.
As the last touches were made last night, paintings, mirrors, new picture frames going up, I felt it - Relief. Linda Blair was gone and in her place, a cool, loungy looking living room where I plan to plot my next series of writing escapades and frantic mischief.
Relief. I can put the Hattori Hanzo blade down.
Budd: So, which "R" you filled with?
Elle Driver: What?
Budd: They say the number one killer of old people is retirement. People got 'em a job to do; they tend to live a little longer so they can do it. I've always figured warriors and their enemies share the same relationship. So, now you ain't gonna hafta face your enemy on the battlefield no more, which "R" are you filled with: Relief or Regret?
Elle Driver: A little bit of both.
Budd: Bullshit. I'm sure you do feel a little bit of both. But I know damn well you feel one more than you feel the other. The question was which one?
Elle Driver: Regret.”
Having just finished renovating my living room I’d like to answer Budd’s question with the following. Relief. Now it isn’t that I consider my living room the “enemy”, simply the task to renovate it has been one filled with its own set of challenges. When I think of the movie The Exorcist, inevitably I think of green pea soup - Linda Blair vomiting all over the place like a green pea soup faucet going rogue. That is exactly what my living room “used” to look like – a palace to green pea soup, the color of its walls. Yes, Linda Blair lived with me every day for the past almost five years. That is…until I made the decision to start from scratch. Gone were the flower/leaf picture frames and the book shelves and CD holders; gone forever to some dark corner of the basement, somewhere in Amityville Horror land.
Paint roller in hand, it was time to face the music… As if holding a Hattori Hanzo (Kill Bill reference) sword, I slayed and sliced at the walls with the paint roller, causing irreversibly damaging internal bleeding. Heads were chopped off, limbs went flying, and suddenly I was The Bride (Uma Thurman’s character in Kill Bill). Paint dripped all around me – a massacre of biblical proportions. Goodbye green pea vomit – enter, tranquil/serene lilac. Yes, lilac damnit! The darkness is now gone, and in its place, tranquility, light, a sense of serenity I have not felt in that living room for almost 5 years.
As the last touches were made last night, paintings, mirrors, new picture frames going up, I felt it - Relief. Linda Blair was gone and in her place, a cool, loungy looking living room where I plan to plot my next series of writing escapades and frantic mischief.
Relief. I can put the Hattori Hanzo blade down.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Soundtrack to Our Lives
As I walked down the hall at my workplace, I softly hummed the tune of "(I've Had) the Time of My Life" from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. If I recall, that particular soundtrack was quite the hit, inspiring many to dance until the sun came up. What made me hum that particular song during my walk, remains a mystery. Yet, it left me pondering, what is our own soundtrack made up of? Sesame Street songs? Fraggle Rock tunes? (I love Fraggle Rock).. Frankly, I can think of a few 80's hair band tunes that could qualify (Crazy Nights - Kiss), (Wanted Dead of Alive - Bon Jovi), and that's just two of the thousands upon thousands that could qualify. But, (yes there is a but..), we need criteria - how do we sift through the rubble and pick up the ones that truly shine; that truly meant something. So..(although I should be writing a report here at work)... here are the factors I came up with:
1 - Nostalgia
2- Substance
3- Fire
4- Wow!
Life is made up of a series of tiny chapters, each distinct yet sometimes repetitive. For example, I've gone camping in the summer with relatively the same folks for a good 10-12 years. There are songs that remind me of those times; songs we played often during our many camping trips.
The fist time I heard "Sweet Baby James" by James Taylor, I almost teared up. It is such a personal and heartfelt song. Each time I hear it, no matter where I am, I pause and reflect on the lyrics and how genuine these are.
Ever heard of Angel Eyes by the Jeff Healy Band..? I think it came out around '89 (someone correct me if I'm wrong..). Wow, what a song. Powerful melody, great lyrics. It's stuck with me to this day.
These are just a couple of examples of songs that truly remain unforgettable - I realize that the songs that would make up my soundtrack, share the characteristics I posted above. Some remind us of better times, some have special personal meaning, others wow us to this day, some share that passion, that never-ending fire.
A co-worker is celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary by creating a 3 hour snapshot which includes her and her husbands' pictures, as well as pictures of friends that have come and gone, family members and so on. A snapshot of her life for the past 25 years, and she managed to also include songs directly related to particular moments during that time.
Ever wondered what your very own soundtrack would look/sound like? Pause and reflect; it's been a wild ride.
1 - Nostalgia
2- Substance
3- Fire
4- Wow!
Life is made up of a series of tiny chapters, each distinct yet sometimes repetitive. For example, I've gone camping in the summer with relatively the same folks for a good 10-12 years. There are songs that remind me of those times; songs we played often during our many camping trips.
The fist time I heard "Sweet Baby James" by James Taylor, I almost teared up. It is such a personal and heartfelt song. Each time I hear it, no matter where I am, I pause and reflect on the lyrics and how genuine these are.
Ever heard of Angel Eyes by the Jeff Healy Band..? I think it came out around '89 (someone correct me if I'm wrong..). Wow, what a song. Powerful melody, great lyrics. It's stuck with me to this day.
These are just a couple of examples of songs that truly remain unforgettable - I realize that the songs that would make up my soundtrack, share the characteristics I posted above. Some remind us of better times, some have special personal meaning, others wow us to this day, some share that passion, that never-ending fire.
A co-worker is celebrating her 25th wedding anniversary by creating a 3 hour snapshot which includes her and her husbands' pictures, as well as pictures of friends that have come and gone, family members and so on. A snapshot of her life for the past 25 years, and she managed to also include songs directly related to particular moments during that time.
Ever wondered what your very own soundtrack would look/sound like? Pause and reflect; it's been a wild ride.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Drifting Into Something New
UPDATE – I am working on a book, believe it or not. I have no idea how it will turn out, all I know is that I’ve taken those first steps towards building out a storyline, fleshing out characters and so forth. This is a lot tougher than it seems. Once characters are created, it’s almost impossible to delete them, as they kind of become a part of you - nonetheless, they are here to stay.
(The above is the quick and dirty update…as I originally planned on dedicating a few paragraphs to this).
Back to work.
(The above is the quick and dirty update…as I originally planned on dedicating a few paragraphs to this).
Back to work.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Second Happiest Day of My Life
There is the Wedding Day, the day the Sox won it all in 2004 and subsequently in 2007, the day I bought my house, the day Shirley baked that chicken, and so on... but those days will forever pale in comparison to today. It's no secret, that I've wanted a baby girl for a long time.... with two boys in tow, it was the logical next step.
As I sat in the ultrasound tech's office and watched the screen attentively, all kinds of emotions ran through me. My first thought was, let the baby be healthy. All vital signs were good, strong heartbeat, the works. Over and over I thought to myself, life's about to entirely change... I must admit, I had an idea, given how this pregnancy has differed in sooo many ways to the other two. Our eyes are darting through the screen, searching, for signs of sex, anything.... while images materialized and we speculated internally, the tech is the expert in the room. Then, out of thin air, she types on the screen... "L I T T L E G I R L"... My heart dropped...
I can barely describe the emotion itself. My eyes watered, my blood pressure certainly shot up, the room vibrated around me. Almost too much to bear. Overwhelming joy and excitement. Feeling blessed beyond belief... I am going to have a daughter. L I T T L E G I R L. It will forever be tattooed in my heart.
On to June and the inevitable arrival of said little girl... what should her name be...? Ah, I know... :)
As I sat in the ultrasound tech's office and watched the screen attentively, all kinds of emotions ran through me. My first thought was, let the baby be healthy. All vital signs were good, strong heartbeat, the works. Over and over I thought to myself, life's about to entirely change... I must admit, I had an idea, given how this pregnancy has differed in sooo many ways to the other two. Our eyes are darting through the screen, searching, for signs of sex, anything.... while images materialized and we speculated internally, the tech is the expert in the room. Then, out of thin air, she types on the screen... "L I T T L E G I R L"... My heart dropped...
I can barely describe the emotion itself. My eyes watered, my blood pressure certainly shot up, the room vibrated around me. Almost too much to bear. Overwhelming joy and excitement. Feeling blessed beyond belief... I am going to have a daughter. L I T T L E G I R L. It will forever be tattooed in my heart.
On to June and the inevitable arrival of said little girl... what should her name be...? Ah, I know... :)
Friday, January 7, 2011
Unnamed Author
I tend to liberate myself through words, unspoken words which linger on paper or on a computer screen. These words occupy space in my soul; they are deep rooted, like old trees in some far away forest. Like dry leaves in a New England autumn, they linger, unexpectedly. I am bound to them, I cannot escape these words; they leave dents in my heart and scars in my soul. They sear themselves into my very own fabric, recreating themselves like a virus; stalking me from within, my companions. When I least expect it, they smother me, these words, these feelings, that seem to come from thin air. My hands uncontrollably type away, like playing a piano blindfolded, in the dark. They just come, and use me like a puppet. They string me around and express my feelings for me, my deeply rooted sentiments. Tales of love, and heartache; of woe and joy - breathing for me, talking for me, swaying in the breeze of a Gloucester day in August, when the air is salty and melancholic, as it knows fall’s around the corner.
Words… senseless emotions, daring dreams, hopeless ambitions, black keys on a piano; black keys that hang on to every note, as if it’s the last note ever to be played. In the dark, in the morning light, these words come from an unknown source – an unnamed author.
Dare I say, one day I’ll understand what their purpose is. But until then, they will speak and speak some more, in lonely notebooks, in flickering laptop screens, in dreams and fantasies, daring the world to recognize them for what they are, truly undying sentiments -borne from an unnamed author playing a piano blindfolded, in the dark. Smiling, justified, in the arms of melancholy and nostalgia.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Reminder - To Get Inspired...
I need to watch something with substance. Something that goes deeper, a lot deeper than your average movie. I need it - something that moves me. I want the credits to roll and me to sit there, exhaling in reverence. Rare occurrences perhaps, yet, they are necessary. They breath new air into creativity - they inspire. With that said, I've read up on current / upcoming movies and have nailed down four flicks, that may provide that much needed spark. As follows:
- Never Let Me Go
- Blue Valentine
- Somewhere
- Biutiful
I may not watch all of them soon, but if I can at least, catch two of the four in say... the next two weeks, that would be golden. See you at the movies...I'll be the guy wearing a suit and holding an extra large bucket of popcorn...
Sunday, January 2, 2011
The Year of Embrace
A new year. Like a breath of fresh air. It does wonders for the soul, the change. It excites us and induces fits of hyperactivity in everything plan or goal oriented. Travel to x, lose x pounds, register to x school, look for x job, pay x bills, buy x, do x…
All of the above are in essence, tangible things that can be accomplished to appease certain elements in life. Health, financial stability, change of scenery, career move and so on...
But what about for ourselves, where do we draw the line in the sand and start looking inward? Last year around this time, I made a list of things I wanted to change, not resolutions, but rather internal changes. Be more patient, think more positive, visualize good things in life; like brain surgery without the instruments. You practice it long enough, and you start manifesting these thoughts.
I dub this year the Year of Embrace. What do I mean by that? Well, life throws us curve balls from time to time; cannonballs are shot at us and we dodge and weave trying to make sense of all the turmoil, when in fact... it’s all mostly quite natural. Feelings about people, about life, about situations. Rather than push these away, I seek to embrace these feelings, to learn from them, to relish the experience.
So it begins, a new year full of possibilities; strange and unusual circumstances, which at first may seem wrong, or out of place. Take time to explore these…and you may be surprised by what you discover and learn, about yourself. Embrace!
All of the above are in essence, tangible things that can be accomplished to appease certain elements in life. Health, financial stability, change of scenery, career move and so on...
But what about for ourselves, where do we draw the line in the sand and start looking inward? Last year around this time, I made a list of things I wanted to change, not resolutions, but rather internal changes. Be more patient, think more positive, visualize good things in life; like brain surgery without the instruments. You practice it long enough, and you start manifesting these thoughts.
I dub this year the Year of Embrace. What do I mean by that? Well, life throws us curve balls from time to time; cannonballs are shot at us and we dodge and weave trying to make sense of all the turmoil, when in fact... it’s all mostly quite natural. Feelings about people, about life, about situations. Rather than push these away, I seek to embrace these feelings, to learn from them, to relish the experience.
So it begins, a new year full of possibilities; strange and unusual circumstances, which at first may seem wrong, or out of place. Take time to explore these…and you may be surprised by what you discover and learn, about yourself. Embrace!
Deep in Costa Rican Territory (Day 9)
March 18 – After a splendid first night of town strolling, margaritas, pizza, music and some much needed rest, I awake and decide to go on a stroll. I always enjoy being up early on vacation and scoping out my surroundings in solitude. Vendors are busy selling food and crafts. Many Americans live here permanently, and I observe as they jog by, or sit in nearby sodas and read the local newspaper. On my way back to the apartment, I am surrounded by a canopy of welcoming monkeys up above me. I even get a peek at the beach.
After some breakfast, which consisted of some strong local coffee at a local soda, we head to the beach. Dark sand, hot sand…volcanic sand, whoa! My scorched feet invite the Pacific’s cool touch. We camp down for a while and enjoy the beach among the local American populace. Playa del Coco is a lively area filled with many Americans who have made this, their permanent residence. I can’t blame them. There are numerous beaches nearby, the town bustles with energy and noise. We decide to do like them, and move from del Coco to Playa Hermosa. Hermosa means “beautiful”.
Prior to getting to the beach we stop by a local soda for some lunch and a refill of both beer and water. The ride to the area is quite scenic as we rise higher on the road, anxiously anticipating our arrival to Hermosa. Wow. Magnificent and indeed Hermosa. Palm trees line the beach, which by now in the early afternoon seems rather calm, with just a few folks here or there. In the middle of the sand, I spot a man and a cart... What could he be selling..? I walk over and discover a nice treat – a Granizado. A sweet concoction made with condensed milk, ice and fruit flavors... so good… so refreshin during our stay here we discover a strange tree, with a strange phallic shaped protrusion. The entire afternoon is spent in Playa Hermosa, basking in the palm trees’ shade and the Pacific’s refreshing ocean. Not a bad way to spend a day.
Prior to the night’s festivities, we head into town to pick up my laundry. See, the night before I found a woman who we gave our laundry to. Those clothes came back brand new and smelling amazing. I almost made out with my socks….
We venture out into the night and everyone is on the same vibe, party time. Pick up some souvenirs here or there; enjoy drinks at the Lizards Lounge and the most amazing dinner ever while during our stay in Costa Rica, in a dirt floor soda. The meal consists of your typical “casado”, which in essence, is rice and beans and meat and veggies and an assortment of other delicacies. Fresh fish is consumed as well as some fresh fruit shakes. All in all an absolutely delicious meal in a dirt floor soda where dogs linger and soccer is watched in a 13 inch TV. Unforgettable.
As the night resumes, we stumble upon a pizza place which the girls show interest in, prior to heading back to the apartment. It’s been a long day full of wonders and great experiences. The day typifies what it is to be in Costa Rica; carefree, and open to experiences of both the eyes and taste buds. Back to the pizza place though…as the girls wait inside, I go in and skip past them letting music guide me. No freaking way…a tiki party in the back of the pizza place??? There’s a band playing island tunes and tables and torches…what the hell is going on?! This is awesome. I linger and order a beer, while the girls continue to wait on their midnight snack. Everyone is enjoying the music, infused with ocean breeze and smells of fresh fruit. I say good bye and head back to our headquarters, pizza in hand for another great night at the apartment with the best people I know.
After some breakfast, which consisted of some strong local coffee at a local soda, we head to the beach. Dark sand, hot sand…volcanic sand, whoa! My scorched feet invite the Pacific’s cool touch. We camp down for a while and enjoy the beach among the local American populace. Playa del Coco is a lively area filled with many Americans who have made this, their permanent residence. I can’t blame them. There are numerous beaches nearby, the town bustles with energy and noise. We decide to do like them, and move from del Coco to Playa Hermosa. Hermosa means “beautiful”.
Prior to getting to the beach we stop by a local soda for some lunch and a refill of both beer and water. The ride to the area is quite scenic as we rise higher on the road, anxiously anticipating our arrival to Hermosa. Wow. Magnificent and indeed Hermosa. Palm trees line the beach, which by now in the early afternoon seems rather calm, with just a few folks here or there. In the middle of the sand, I spot a man and a cart... What could he be selling..? I walk over and discover a nice treat – a Granizado. A sweet concoction made with condensed milk, ice and fruit flavors... so good… so refreshin during our stay here we discover a strange tree, with a strange phallic shaped protrusion. The entire afternoon is spent in Playa Hermosa, basking in the palm trees’ shade and the Pacific’s refreshing ocean. Not a bad way to spend a day.
Prior to the night’s festivities, we head into town to pick up my laundry. See, the night before I found a woman who we gave our laundry to. Those clothes came back brand new and smelling amazing. I almost made out with my socks….
We venture out into the night and everyone is on the same vibe, party time. Pick up some souvenirs here or there; enjoy drinks at the Lizards Lounge and the most amazing dinner ever while during our stay in Costa Rica, in a dirt floor soda. The meal consists of your typical “casado”, which in essence, is rice and beans and meat and veggies and an assortment of other delicacies. Fresh fish is consumed as well as some fresh fruit shakes. All in all an absolutely delicious meal in a dirt floor soda where dogs linger and soccer is watched in a 13 inch TV. Unforgettable.
As the night resumes, we stumble upon a pizza place which the girls show interest in, prior to heading back to the apartment. It’s been a long day full of wonders and great experiences. The day typifies what it is to be in Costa Rica; carefree, and open to experiences of both the eyes and taste buds. Back to the pizza place though…as the girls wait inside, I go in and skip past them letting music guide me. No freaking way…a tiki party in the back of the pizza place??? There’s a band playing island tunes and tables and torches…what the hell is going on?! This is awesome. I linger and order a beer, while the girls continue to wait on their midnight snack. Everyone is enjoying the music, infused with ocean breeze and smells of fresh fruit. I say good bye and head back to our headquarters, pizza in hand for another great night at the apartment with the best people I know.
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