Back and Blue

The Summer of 1983 was a lost one. I broke my arm on the last day of school. I had finished my exam early and was arm wrestling with another over-achiever until we were told we could leave. My humorous snapped in two. I this had happened in present day, I'm sure we could've drained the Milwaukee Public School system of any and all funds at their disposal, claiming negligence on behalf of the teacher who let boys be boys. Of course, we didn't do that. My parents said I should have known better and I was sentenced to the worst punishment a 16 year old boy could get (well, maybe not worse than the girl he has a crush on laughing in his face in front of her friends)- a summer of nothing. By the time my right arm was useful again, there was one week left until the start of my senior year. So much for big fun.

The Summer of 2012 is shaping up that way, as well. Not because of any physical maladies on my part, but because my dog is dying. He was diagnosed with bone cancer on March 11th, had his left leg amputated on March 15th, and now we just wait for the cancer to spread. X-Rays are done every two months to see if the cancer has matasisized. So far, so good. Still, it's only a matter of time before it does, and then we say goodbye. My dog is 9 years old, which is above the average life expectancy for a rottweiler. Counting the amputation, he's had three major surgeries. Really, I don't remember a good long stretch where he wasn't in a cast, in a wrap, or didn't have the "cone of shame" around his head. We've spent an estimated $15,000 on his care. I'd do it agin, without hesitation.

Any good times I've had since his diagnosis are quickly doused by me thinking about Maverick's condition. Whether it's a night out with the Fellas, a afternoon out with my gal, or even a week-long cruise up the California coast, it's impossible for me to shake what is inevitably coming.

When we first got Maverick, he separated himself from a pack of pups and walked up to my wife, wisely choosing us over a couple of families with young children. He may obey me more than her, but it's her dog. I can't communicate how sad I feel about what's happening because then she gets sad, and then I have to make her feel better. That leaves me no time for my own grief, and with no one to really talk to about it. I'm not sure talking about it would help, anyway. Writing about it here sure hasn't. But I have to purge somewhere, and I can't think of anywhere else that's appropriate

All planned trips have been tabled. It's all about staying close to home, and getting the most we can from our best friend. As I write, he's laying by my feet, playing with his bone. He has the most to be afraid of, yet is the strongest of us all

Brain Freeze

I don't want to do this anymore.

Obviously, with postings as scarce as a competent cashier, it's clear that posting blog entries is of no interest to me anymore. The thrill is gone. The original purpose of this blog has long since passed and the cathartic blast I once felt from posting has gone from exciting to obligation to hassle.

Several of my friends write blogs on various subjects, all better written than mine. When word got around of what I was up to, their eyes turned to my words and I instantly felt inferior. Reading their stuff made me feel like a 3rd-grade creative writing student, someone just learning how to conjugate. The blog was no longer just a purging of my thoughts but it had to be done in such a way that the people whom I knew were reading it would be floored by my prose. Then I would read something of theirs and realize it was a pointless endeavor to try and match them. I was in over my head and stepped back. That said, I'm enjoying this right now. I know, I'm a weird guy.

I've wanted to write about politics, I wanted to muse about death, I wanted to explore why I can never shut off my mind. I've sat in my "writing chair" and determined before signing in that it just wasn't worth it. This wasn't a case of writer's block, or a matter of indifference. I felt that I couldn't continue to live up to the high expectations I had set for myself. So I walked away.

Everyone has a blog now. Everyone gives their thoughts for the world to read, or posts idiotic videos to Youtube for all to digest. No one keeps thoughts to themselves anymore. Tonight, my gal is out with a friend and it's just me, the dog, and a homemade quesadilla (with chicken). There will be lots of silence. I'll be happy and at the same time wonder what's wrong.

A Day Off

I'm off from work today, the product of too many vacation days and not enough time to use them. Combine that with the wife being on her new job for too short of time to accrue any time off and I'm squarely in "use it or lose it"mode. I consider my ability to enjoy the Day Off one of my biggest selling points. Maybe someday, I'll make money off of some poor stressed- out saps who will pay to learn how to "make more" of their free time. The very case that they'd pay to hear such advice essentially destroys their chance to succeed, but as long as the check clears, that's not my problem.

My day has consisted of: walking the dog, hitting the gym, going out for a light bite, doing two loads of laundry and taking a nap. That's it. The last thing it feels like is a day wasted. To me, this is how it's supposed to be. The Day Off is the day where you get to think for yourself, instead of being told how to think. Anyone can be subjected to that. It's the Day Off that always confirms that right here, right now, I'm just fine with where I am.

I had lunch at Baja Fresh today (had a coupon). I got to see a nice cross-section of people. The young parents of two little kids (who were screaming, of course), to the three female co-workers, talking about Obama's recent failures in Europe (Kidding! It was about other female co-workers they hate. Gotcha!). I didn't envy anyone's situation. I didn't wish I did what they do. It didn't make me wish I had a son to eat tacos with. Besides me, the person enjoying themselves the most was an older lady dining alone with a burrito basket and a newspaper. No one was bending her ear over workplace rumors. There was no grandchild she had to enjoy spending time with. Just her and her paper. I was only envious of the fact that she had a newspaper while I was unfortunate enough to choose the latest City Life, but other than that, I'm guessing we had the most satisfying lunch experience of anyone there.

It's on the Day Off where I can really get a good glimpse into what the so-called average person goes through during their day, and you know what? The average person must hate their life. In my stops at the gym, lunch, and grocery store, no employees seemed particularly happy. It's funny that in a state with such high unemployment, it seemed to me that those with the jobs were the unhappiest of all.

This was supposed to veer off into something completely different, and I've forgotten what that was supposed to be. I've been away from this for awhile, so please pardon the rust. Perhaps the strangest thing about my enjoyment of a good Day Off is this: I'm looking forward to going back to work tomorrow...unless I can figure out how to run that seminar.

Let's Go Shopping!

Back To School is a wonderful, magical time, which is obvious because each word in the phrase is capitalized. My memory of BTS wasn't going shopping for new supplies for the school year. No, it was my (former elementary school teacher) mom crying at the kitchen table the night before she inherited a classroom full of pre-pubescents with a snootful of who-knows-what. Magical indeed.

We didn't have school supply drives when I was a kid. You got the stuff you needed and went to class. Pretty simple, really. Ah, but in this age where anything simple has to be made unnecessarily complicated, we now have endless so-called "Stuff The Bus" drives (again, every word is capitalized to stress the importance of this monumental event). Usually pushed by media outlets, the Stuff The Bus drives are done to gather supplies for students for the upcoming school year. I saw an anchor last week saying that most families are having trouble (in these tough economic times, naturally) coming up with the money to buy even the most basic of school supplies. I audibly scoffed when I heard that, but then got to thinking that perhaps he was right. From last Sunday's paper, I picked up a flyer for Walgreens that focused on BTS supplies and started adding things up. Certainly, if "most" families can't even afford the basics, the prices for these items must be much more expensive than I remembered back in 1975.

So let's shop. I'm only listing the most basic supplies for elementary school kids, so that rules out calculators and certain geometric tools which- in this atmosphere of zero tolerance- are probably considered deadly weapons punishable by a lifetime expulsion should poor Caleb or Kellan get pinched (so to speak) with one.

Pencils: 10 for $1

Pens 10 for .79

Folders .09 each. Let's buy five. .35 total

Glue .49

Crayons .39 (for a box of 12. Do you really need Burnt Sienna?)

Notebooks .50-$1.50, depending on number of pages. Let's buy two at .50 apiece

Ruler .29

Backpack $4.00 (that's the big one, but if you have a desk that can store your supplies, it might be unnecessary. Since you probably don't know if you do before the school year starts, pick one up

Did I miss any of the basics? I don't think so. Scissors? Yeah, right. Start your academic year in Mr. Weatherbee's office by bringing a dangerous weapon. Still, the girls might think you're a badass, so at $1, it'd be worth the risk.

Total for basic supplies? $8.31. ($9.31 with those bad-ass scissors)

Or, in other words, lunch. One lunch. Brown bag lunch for a week, and the kid is covered through most of his elementary school years. Yes, I realize that most parents have more than one kid. Tops, you're spending $30 on supplies. If you're buying Emily and Colin their own pen and pencil sets, just think of it as one McDouble you could've spoiled yourself with and split the items.

So, my exhaustive research reaffirms to me that Stuff The Bus is a crock. Put down the frappe and get your own damn stuff for once. Handouts now lead to dropouts later.

(Oh, I don't want teachers to feel left out. That same Walgreens flyer has a bottle of generic aspirin (500 ct) on sale for $7.99. That ought to last you until Thanksgiving)

By Request

I've been on the fringes of radio for a couple of years now. I'm not involved in the day to day affairs, meetings are rare, and when my day is done, my day is done. I like it this way, only because I've been on the inside and know what it looks like. Picture a rotten egg stuffed inside of an old shoe that's hanging inside of a dirty jock strap (one word?) that's been festering inside of a locker room after an overtime tilt in the South Florida heat. Then go sit and have a meeting inside of it for two hours. That's what I'm missing. Better said, that's what I'm not missing.

It's almost bizarrely admirable that radio continues to make decisions on a yearly-monthly-weekly-daily basis that prevent it from being successful. Not having time to go into them all (because according to what the average lifespan for an American non-smoking male is, I'll be dead in 34 years), I'll just mention the obvious. Commercial radio has killed the personality which made it profitable, unique and worth listening. For every good personality who's shown the door in a cost-cutting move, five come in that have a) no experience, b) are related to the owner, or- worst of all- c) sales people who "think it would be really cool" to be a jock. All too often management thinks that the dolts who have only mastered the task of dialing a radio station's request line typify the average listener. This has cost ratings points and revenue. Listeners are smarter than management gives them credit for, and they're proving it by leaving commercial radio in droves.

It's hard to think of one thing radio does better than it used to? Entertain? No. Personalities are dying off, both figuratively and literally (that's for you, Mr. Harvey). Services? C'mon. Traffic reports are something that can keep people listening as they head for work, so what does one cluster do? Cuts the number of reports in half. Yep. Take a valuable service THAT MAKES MONEY and cut it in half. Remember, these are radio management people making these decisions. These days, when I say "radio management" I mean, "salespeople". These are the ones that are running radio right into the ground.

Upon further review, I guess there's one thing that radio excels in. Interrupting their product. Playing spots. Commercials. Inventory (that's the industry term). Stations I work with have up to 20 units in morning drive. Some are :60, some :30, some :15. It doesn't matter to the listener. They don't say, "oh that one was quick". They hear one spot bleed into another, and hit another station that might be playing a song. Or (me), they play their iPod or CD, guaranteeing a song they like. What's worse than waiting through a seven minute break only to have the radio station come back with "Baby, I Love Your Way" by Peter Frampton? Imagine if someone's idea for a station was to say, "it'll be like an iPod, only with lengthy commercial breaks". He'd be laughed out of the room. Wait. No he wouldn't. He'd probably be promoted.

He was pitching radio management, after all.

Losers Rule

I didn't watch "Sports' Biggest Night", as ESPN so modestly called it ESPY Awards. No, I'd been burned before by that show. I saw that Olympic skier Lindsey Vonn won for "Female Athlete of the Year". Seeing as she wiped out in three of her five events, and that teammate Julia Mancuso actually had a better overall Winter Games, you could say I was surprised to see that. Nope, it was pretty much what I expected, continuing with the theme that failure is now more accepted than success. The "best", in the case of Vonn, failed miserably 60 percent of the time. Now come get your trophy.

Want another? Catch. Lance Armstrong is once again taking part in the Tour de France. No one can argue that Armstrong has had a fantastic career (though arguing about how he achieved such a career can make for some interesting give and take around the barstool). Not so much for this go-round. Three spills. Seems to me the easiest thing to do is not to run into another cyclist, but our boy Lance had it happened three times, effectively killing his chances to win. The articles I saw in the paper didn't describe an athlete past his prime, whose best days are long behind him. No, Armstrong was instead lauded for his "bravery" and "courage". It takes more courage to realize when you can't accomplish something anymore, and live with it, as opposed to millions of us seeing it for ourselves.

Winners used to get trophies. Now everyone does. Successes used to be toasted and held up as examples for others to follow. Now, inspirational stories are more likely to feature the homeless guy beating the heat, the single mom with two kids (at 25. Don't ask how she got where she was, just empathize) who works two jobs just to put food on the table (and pay the kids' cell phone bills), or the couple bravely facing foreclosure as the evil banks threaten to take away their house, car, boat, home theater system, spa memberships, etc. How brave they are in actually facing responsibility for once. Never mind that it's paid for by those of us that have kept our noses clean.

Starting to stray from topic. I'm good at that.

The word hero is tossed about so much these days its meaning has become watered down. Save a kid from a burning building? Hero. Feed a homeless guy a sandwich? Not a hero. Sully? Hero. Mrs. DeGronmont, 3rd grade teacher from Whippoorwill Elementary who taught Jamel cursive writing? Not a hero. That's what she's supposed to do.

If today's heroes are, in actuality, losers, we're doomed. Now go out there and be hopelessly average!

Creating And Debating

One thing I've noticed about these posts is that I rarely do it when I'm in a good mood. It's only when I'm down or nostalgic that I feel like sitting here and typing innocuous thoughts. If you follow this blog (God help you) you'll notice that there's been a dearth of material over the past couple of months, mostly due to the fact that my spirits have been high. Events over the past couple of days have sent me into a tailspin, so here I sit. Yet I don't know what to say. Funny, because creativity flourishes with misery, and flounders with happiness.

Well, that's something, isn't it? We strive for happiness, yet are most productive when we're not. If we're happy, we let things slide. This is particularly true in the artistic community, where the best work is born out of suffering. Show me a music artist that is happily married and I'll show you someone who's best days have long past. Show me a writer who's at peace, and I'll bet dollars to doughnuts his/her later work is filling up the bargain bins at Borders. The books are so bad they actually stock them in the area that's before you walk into the actual store, so you don't suffer the shame of having someone see you leafing through it.

Anyway, I guess the point I'm getting at, the question- is happiness overrated? Are we better off when we're miserable than when we're happy? We all have dreams we hope to reach, and we (usually) don't reach those dreams without working damn hard on the way up: lousy hours, low wages, demeaning superiors. Back then, it was all about having a couple of drinks on a Friday night and airing your frustrations to a friend or the bartender (if they paid attention to you, which was much more likely if the bartender was a dude). Then Monday morning it was back at it, with dreams of a better future keeping you from chucking your alarm clock across the room.

I have a nice house, an adorable gal, no kids to speak of, and an amazing little dog. Life's good, right? This is living the dream. So why do I fall into a rut so easily, and why is that rut so hard to crawl out of when it happens? I'm happy, right? Right?