Month: February 2007 (Page 1 of 2)

On February 28, 1989, Megan’s mother and I drove her home, just ten or so hours after the infant was evicted from her home of 9 months. Some cold nights followed and the tiny six pound heartbeat slept on her father’s chest for a few of them. Yeah, there was an immediate bonding between daddy and daughter. Her mom said when I cut the umbilical cord; Megan wrapped it (and me) around her finger. The strength of that bond has been tested over the past few years, but it’s still holding… Think of the old commercial of a construction worker high in the air with his hard hat glued onto a steel beam as he flails in the wind… I trust the bond will always hold, but heights scare me, and it’s a long fall.

Eighteen… By statute she’s no longer a child, but always my little girl. I’ve let her go, and I hope some of what I’ve tried to teach in words and actions over the past 18 years sticks. Her potential is limitless. Maybe now she’s mature enough to believe and realize it.

Happy Birthday, my girl.
I love you.
Dad

All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.
All work and no play make Leo a dull boy.

His tears spilled like those suppressed by men through all of time.

I think I need a break, so it’s off to see “Dreamgirls” with Mr. Kyle Daley. I’m hoping the music gets the job done.

Things irritating me while I work on the holiday…

The aging process is cruel… I think I tore some cartilage in my knee Friday night just by walking. It feels much better today, but I think the real issue is that getting older scares the hell out of me. Reengaging a regular exercise routine is overdue and will begin today. After all, Spring Training is here and I want to be ready just in case…

Enough with Anna-Nicole Smith! It is a sad commentary on our society that this no talent, after-market parts, bimbo-corpse is DOMINATING the news. Yes, it’s a sad story, but every day boxes arrive on our shores from Iraq and Afghanistan filled with the anonymous dead of a jackass president’s war, but we don’t hear about them 24/7.

Speaking of the decline of civilization, where is the accountability in our society? I’m all for “innocent until proven guilty,” but defense lawyers are manning the plunger in the toilet bowl of American justice and responsibility. Here’s a case some sleazy lawyer took on for no reason other than trying to milk IBM out of millions because they had the audacity to fire a guy for spending his work day in adult chat rooms!

Sticking to bitching about the legal system, I think it just sucks beyond comprehension that there’s no accountability (there’s that word again) for how child support gets spent by custodial parents, i.e. mothers. How is it justified that a mother has a new house with two new cars in the garage, but “can’t afford” to help pay for braces for the child she collects a tidy sum for each week in child support?

I’m thankful gasoline prices have dropped from the $3.00 plus range back closer to $2.00, but can someone explain to me why home heating oil hasn’t budged?

With the decline in petrol prices, I have no problem with our new Governor Deval Patrick tooling around in a $46,000 Caddy, but I am concerned about the possible maintenance expenses on a GM product. I’m also cool with the Gov jumping on a State Police chopper once in a while to make statewide appointments, but $72K/year to the wife of his top campaign contributor to book appointments for Mrs. Patrick? Uh, no.

Can someone explain why Verizon Wireless literally nickel and dimes me for text messages when I pay them $44.95 a month for a “data plan?” I called and asked, “isn’t text data?” “No.” I see. Never mind. I know the answer. “Because they can.”

There. I feel better. Now I’m going to work out and then take Kyle to see a matinée of a movie that just sums up my state of mind: “Happy Feet.”

As some of you may know, my good bud Jeffro is having twin robots thanks to the cooperation of Mrs. Robot, aka the fabulous Stephanie. Yesterday I was thinking of Jeff and all the wonderful changes (pun intended) in store for him and Steph. I got to thinking about how his time would no longer be his alone and I pondered how this would affect his pursuit of guitar virtuosity. Amazingly, Jeff just updated me on his progress with Eddie Van Halen’s “learn to kick ass on the guitar wicked fast” course. The results are simply stunning. Oh, and Jeff… love the new look, dude…

My computer is chokingly slow for some reason and I’m doing what I can to clean it up, including deleting old files. During my cleaning I found some files Megan has created over the years. Here’s a poem she wrote. My girl was ten years old…

Experiencing the bitter cold and stinging ice outside while snow blowing the local version of a “Nor’easter” tonight was a perfect prelude to my annual Valentine’s Day extravaganza. No, I’m not writing anything bitter or cold. Actually, ice can warm the heart quite nicely when touched by a creative and loving hand…

To quote Tom Hanks as the wonderful Forrest Gump, “I know what love is.” It’s just been a while since I’ve actually felt it and each day hope fades a little more that I’ll ever experience it again. I mean L O V E. Burning love. “I would die for you” love. “You make me want to be a better man” love. The love that makes you think of her every time you hear a love song. Yeah, that kind. Ever experience that? I have, so I’m really not interested in something less… or “settling.” No thanks. I’d rather be alone.

I do remember. One afternoon I held on to love and cried like a newborn over separation from my children, but it was a price I was willing to pay. I wanted that embrace to last forever, like the couple recently found still holding on some 5,000 years later… Time does not bound that kind of love.

It’s sad, looking back and recalling how love eluded me, at least partly, for not engaging all of my senses. I didn’t see it in her eyes or smell it in her hair brushing my face. I didn’t taste it and I was cold to its touch. All because I didn’t hear it. Not love, but the words. The fucking words. I didn’t hear the words and all the other senses shut down and missed the signals. Four out of five wasn’t enough and what might have been “that kind of” love slipped away…

One cold February night last century just like this one, I leaned forward, braced against the wind and trudged to my car. Yeah, it was well before the “work at home during a snowstorm” era… As I struggled through layers with gloves to find keys… I don’t think I had fifteen… an image caught my eye. Etched in the ice on the window was a heart… a valentine. It was nice… Cute even. I didn’t get it. For someone who’s grown to appreciate art and the meanings in imagery, back then I was oblivious to love because although I could see, touch, taste and feel it, I did not hear it.

Sometime later she later asked me, “what if that’s all I have to give?” I think I responded that it wasn’t enough. It’s ironic. I don’t recall my mother ever being able to say “I love you” when I was young, but I never doubted it. All the other signs were enough.

I still want to be a better man…

The Wheelock Family Theater’s motto is “Live Theater Transforms Lives” and yesterday’s matinée performance of Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” helped do just that for some young lives in my family. In the early moments of the musical, the radiance of Angela Williams as Belle washed over the faces of Kyle and granddaughter Mackenzie. The glow of the stage revealed joy in the young man and astonishment in his little niece, while Ms. Williams beautiful rendition of “Belle” projected the emotion of both.

It’s a wonderful production that delivered all the magic of the show we saw on Broadway in 2001 for about one-fourth the price. In addition to the enchanting Ms. Williams, Christopher Chew stood tall as the testosterone excessive Gaston, and Douglas Jabara carried a great tune as the Beast. The Boston Globe review runs it all down for you, so I won’t but what I’ll say is that the performance brought me back and engaged my emotions.

On the way home, we played a game Kenzie and Kyle like called, “I spy with my little eye.” That got pretty lively and “the commissioner” had to step in to penalize Jessica a round for cheating and also invoke rule 79.3B: “Everybody quiet for one minute or there’ll be suspensions…” One time after the rule was lifted Kyle asked, ‘Dad, was “Beauty and the Beast” the first movie you ever took Megan to?’ “Yeah, Dude. It was.” “I miss Megan.” “Me too, my boy. Me too.”

“Beauty and the Beast” plays through March 4th with 1:00 matinees through February vacation week.

Dark, ominous clouds are forming as we slide uncontrollably, as if on an icy hill, toward February 14, and no, it’s not my annual disdain for Valentine’s Day. These clouds portend a war on the roses… Yes, long-stem red roses, the ultimate symbol of $128 plus shipping are taking a beating in the press this year. Either you lack the creativity to send a more imaginative floral arrangement or you’re cold to the plight of the rose in the sickening world of petal harvesting. According to Amy Stewart, author of “Flower Confidential,” “roses are really lab rats, bred to live in a factory and be fed by machine.” Now that’s romance. She goes on to expose the flower industry in a way that likens the transportation of petals to smuggling illegal immigrants through a hot desert. Many don’t survive the trip. Plus, you really wouldn’t want to give your significant other an illegal immigrant, would you? No, of course not. Unless you need a gardener.

As a public service, Dr. Love is here to help you show a little inspiration this Valentine’s Day…

To me, the beauty of flowers must embrace a minimum of two senses, sight and smell. It would be great if they could also emit some romantic Mozart string concertos, but they can’t…yet. Anyway, if a beautiful arrangement of roses lacks that familiar fragrance, they suck. Since you can’t (yet) smell products through the internet, if you must buy roses, buy them locally and make sure they pass the whiff test. Then again, if you’re going to make the trip, ask the florist to create something unique for your special someone. One of a kind. Like her.

Dinner? Hmmm… Nothing says “I love you” like a trip to the Olive Garden… Unless I take Kyle there and then it really does… Hey, give the boy time. He also digs Sparks on East 46th… Anyway… how about making dinner? Can’t cook? Well, there are plenty of prepared foods at markets or take-out at local restaurants to use. Just ditch the tin pans and boxes. Oh, and set a table with something special… Linen… Candles… Rose petals… (Hey, that way you can buy just one or two roses!) OK… Also pick up some nice bath stuff… I really don’t know what, just beads or oils or bubbles or something. Go to Macy’s and ask… When your honey gets home or when you do, hand her the nice bath stuff gift, give her a kiss and say, “Why don’t you go relax while I make dinner.” Dude, you are the man! Once she’s in a fully marinating position, you deliver the knockout blow… a glass of champagne. After that, dinner won’t matter. In fact, you may not get to dinner. Enjoy.

It’s not the roses or the chocolates or the dinner or the champagne or jewelry. It’s you taking the time to think about her and doing something nice. Oh, and don’t limit it to one day a year.

These panoramic photographs from the moon taken during the Apollo missions are stunning. Tonight, all of the astronauts who made those trips are thankful this crazy “Robochick” wasn’t with them. What was she thinking? Maybe she wasn’t. A quick check of this site suggests the moon may have played a part in the craziness. It was full or near full right around the time she hatched the plot. Maybe her lawyer will use the “moon defense.” Then again, she apparently wore a diaper so she wouldn’t have to stop during her 900 mile drive from Houston to the Orlando airport. By the time the trial begins, that piece of evidence will be in some sad shape, and if the diaper doesn’t fit…

Ok, so the game kinda sucks. Tom Brady has been freakin’ invisible. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost 3 years since Jeffro and I saw Prince, but the brother can play. That was the best halftime show since Elvis. Set list:

• “Let’s Go Crazy” (Natch)
• “All Along the Watchtower”
• “Best of You” (Foo Fighters?)
• “Purple Rain”

Best commercial in the 1st half? Uh, maybe Dave and Oprah…