Author: fifteenkey (Page 57 of 96)

To my knowledge, there’s no silver in my “silverware” drawer, but after yesterday’s purge, it is now neat and clean. My “Hollywood Bungalow” isn’t vast and the lack of storage space tends to contribute to the buildup of clutter… Books, CD’s, a growing compilation of collective works in the “baby stuff” category… a light-up model of Hogwarts Castle… The new mantra in the house is, “when in doubt, throw it out…” It’s in that same spirit I labor on this day to scour the “Blog Ideas” file:

• I’ve been meaning to buy some reusable shopping bags, but other priorities have preempted the purchase. Those little plastic bags, like the one made famous in “American Beauty,” are made from petroleum and they take over 1,000 years to degrade in a landfill, which is where most of them end up…

• A few Friday’s ago I was horizontal in my evil lair watching a day of two Red Sox games wind down. It was the day of the Red Sox “Jimmy Fund” TV/Radio telethon. This annual Boston event is so widely embraced that no other than Mr. George Steinbrenner of the New York Yankees donates every year. As I lay there, my body slowly affixing to the bed as the minutes passed, I thought about donating, but I was far too comfortable and accelerating toward unconsciousness to be bothered. Then I saw this replay of a boy who’s been battling cancer for most of his brief life. In a past year he sang the national anthem at Fenway… in a full body cast. I went downstairs to this spot and shot $100 across the ether.

• Speaking of doubleheaders, Chicago Cub Hall of Famer Ernie Banks is credited with the phrase, “Let’s play two!” It captured his pure love of the game by expressing the desire to play two games every day. Sadly, the single-admission version no longer exists as a scheduled event in Major League Baseball. In fact, the current Collective Bargaining Agreement between the owners and the players union states, “doubleheaders shall not be scheduled in the original schedule.” The reason is obvious.

• I don’t know if many of these are Pollock’s or if they Matter, but I’ll probably take in the show…

• Finally, “M” did come up with the quiz answer of Jimi Hendrix’ “Wind Cries Mary” from his 1967 debut, “Are You Experienced.”

I’m pretty sure “M” googled or, um, “asked” the lyrics…

No, this isn’t some “Leo’s on the ledge” post. The title of this digital scrap is a lyric from a song released on a groundbreaking record 40 years ago that I just picked up at the famous online retailer named after a river not the Nile. Any guesses? I’ll give you a hint…If you guess it I’ll burn you a copy…

I don’t know if I’ve plugged Hugh Macleod’s blog before, but his gig is “cartoons drawn on the back of business cards.” He’s a bit sardonic like yours truly, and on occasion he flips a card that really gets me.

Since in some ways I have floundered for the “last fucking decade,” I’d rather not in the next and during my vacation there was much time for contemplation. Weed pulling and shoveling rocks don’t spend much time occupying the matter grey, so something had to. While my ten year floundering has been more personal than professional, I did give some thought to a question recently posed to me: “If you could change careers and do anything you wanted, regardless of pay, what would you do?” My snappy answer was, “You mean besides catching and hitting cleanup for the Sox?” After the fantasy answer, I went serious and then drifted toward the dream-fantasy again: “I’d probably want to evangelize the benefits of alternative energy like solar, wind, hydrogen fuel-cell, etc… I want to bring Exxon-Mobil to its knees.” For now that effort is limited to not buying their products. I’d rather fund Hugo Chavez.

Well, it turned out to be a very productive week back at work, but vacation did change me and my priorities. For one, I’ll be spending less time in front of this keyboard and more time in front of human faces, primarily my family. Kyle and I have a family cookout to attend today, but until then I’ll be out in the yard in the dust, sweat and thought.

“First, there is the power of the Wind, constantly exerted over the globe…. Here is an almost incalculable power at our disposal, yet how trifling the use we make of it! It only serves to turn a few mills, blow a few vessels across the ocean, and a few trivial ends besides. What a poor compliment do we pay to our indefatigable and energetic servant!”

— Henry David Thoreau,
“Paradise (To Be) Regained” [1843]

OK, it’s Jr. Miss South Carolina, but still…

One of the great things about having this blog is it allows me to re-live moments in my life. With today’s installment, lets use the Pensieve and have a nostalgic seat back at the first day of school for the summer vacation cobwebs clearing essay, “How I Spent My Summer Vacation.”

One of the things I wanted to accomplish on this “vacation” was to save thousands of dollars in landscaping by doing the work myself. Looking back, I’m happy to report much was accomplished during two weeks of mostly gorgeous weather. Before we dig into shovels, rakes, rocks and mulch, lets head to the Templewood Golf Club for 9 with Dad…

The first hole of the day can often be a microcosm of a round, but fortunately it wasn’t on this day. Dad literally groaned when he saw the “545” indicating the yardage on the Par 5 Number 1. About 5 strokes later, I lofted a pitching wedge that amazingly landed on the mound protected green, some 100 (really more like 70 if we’re being honest, but who’s gonna know?) yards away. That shot put a little steam in my step, but the steam quickly began to build between my ears when we discovered we’d landed on the wrong green. When the wreckage was finally cleared, I had an opening hole “10” to show for it. That was followed by a “snowman” and a six. 24 strokes on the first 3 holes… On 2 and 3 Dad steadied his ship and had me by a few. I recovered and took a mere 32 shots over the final 6 holes… A dog and a beer capped of a very nice day on the links.

I guess it’s been a good vacation because that round seems like it was a month ago. Aside from a few quick scans of leotreoemail, I left the office at the office. No TPS reports… Nothing. Most of the remaining days after Dad flew back to “the Villages” were spent working much harder than I ever do at my day job. eMails and meetings were replaced by rototillers and weed fabric. Sweat substituted for stress and Advil addressed body aches instead of headaches. I pushed myself each day, but always quit so I had time to spend with Kyle, Harry Potter and “the Half-Blood Prince.” Now I need help. Here’s a picture of just some of the blank canvas needing splashes of color and texture…

I’m too tired to drone on much further, and “Young Frankenstein” is cued up in the DVD…

It’s been quite a couple weeks in and around Hogwarts Castle. Kyle and I read a chapter or two each day of “Prince” and are about ten from conclusion of the sixth installment in the epic savior of youth literature.. Then it’s on to the final book and other things to expand my boy’s imagination. To say Kyle is into “Potter,” well, more so the uber-evil “Voldemort,” is like saying Bostonians tolerate the Red Sox. As I read to him, he sits in a “Gryffindor” robe and occasionally points his “Voldemort” wand in my general direction. At least he doesn’t wear the lens-less round rimmed glasses anymore. He also hasn’t drawn a lightning bolt scar on his forehead lately…

Tomorrow I depart for the real world and on Wednesday, Kyle starts high school. Given the joy it brings him, how I wish he could board the Hogwarts Express…

Warning: The title of this post was stolen from an Esquire magazine article, but since they basically stole it from Green Day, it’s not really stealing. I’m just guessing, but I believe there’s a strong demographic overlap between people who voted for “Dubya” and consumers of the Corvette coin.

Earlier this week my dad and I were watching a Red Sox game and chatting. Since his wife Caroline passed away last month, he’s been focused on his own “ticking crocodile.” “When I go, I want to be cremated.” He went on to tell me something about death benefits he’ll have as a Navy veteran. Almost on cue, the plasma pixels began to radiate a surreal commercial for a Boston Red Sox Urn. “Hey Dad, do you want to be in one of those up on the mantle?” “No.”

Who buys these things?

Week 1 of this “vacation” means “not working the day job,” not, “not working.” After receiving solicited landscaping bids ranging from $15,845.00 to over $47,000.00, I decided to keep the cash on hand and build some “sweat equity” by doing some landscaping on my own. I do have “landscaping” experience. Well, I mowed lawns for a few summers during high school. It was a decent summer job. Chico and I would get picked up at his house by “Bo,” the proprietor of “the Village Gardner” landscaping company. We’d get coffee and later laugh about how Bo would get coffee and donuts all stuck in his walrus moustache. We’d mow lawns all day and between jobs Chico and I would entertain Bo by making up passages from cheesy romance novels… “She throbbed with anticipation as he entered the dim room, his manhood glowing like a lantern in a lighthouse on a storm stroked night.” Yeah, we made up some doozies and kept us all giggling through those endless summer days.

My landscaping skills advanced during college for AAA Landscape in Tucson, now a multi-million dollar operation with a mission statement. Landscape construction was the AAA gig, but it was desertscaping and again I was a grunt. That’s the rub, or chafe, depending on whether you’re doing manual labor in the summer heat… I can still do the grunt work; even if it leaves me staggering by days end and humorously disabled for hours afterward. It’s the artistic part I’m worried about. I’d like my home to be a cheese-free zone. I’d like to avoid a landscaping version of “Dogs Playing Poker.”

Anyway, the decisions on plants and trees and flowers will come later. In the past two days, I’ve come to know the love that dare not speak its name: chainsaw. Yesterday I prepped planting beds, including a most exquisite root canal of a nasty giant weed that had devolved into a hideous beast badly in need of extraction. Today I had six yards of Hemlock mulch and 3,000 pounds of ¾” golden brown stones delivered. Shoveling a ton and a half of rock in five hours today has my back feeling like it has endured a spinal tap. Not to worry… 3 Advil have me half alive and ready to dine out with the Kylester.

High school student Soeren Palumbo delivers essay to classmates honoring his developmentally disabled sister, Olivia.

Yesterday as I wait waited for Megan to meet me at Home Depot, I caught a segment of NPR’s “Wait, wait. Don’t tell me!” The panel was reviewing the news of the week and host Peter Sagal introduced the Barry Bonds story by indicating his home run record was tainted and that, “As a human being, Barry Bonds may be the biggest tool since steel driving John Henry’s hammer.”

Humorist Tom Bodett then jumped in and asked, “Can we be fair to this guy? Look at other arts…” Arts? Is baseball art? Yes, it is on many levels. Watching Pedro Martinez in his prime was no less art than Cirque du Soleil. There’s even the saying, “painting the corners” to describe pitchers with the skill to keep the ball on the edges of home plate. The unique trajectory of a long, “majestic” home run is art. The arc of the ball against a brilliant blue sky is beautiful, unless of course the artist dresses in pinstripes, then it’s a velvet Elvis. Oh, come on. I kid the Yanks… While no longer performing in the Bronx, Gary Sheffield’s swing rages to burst from the canvas like a Pollock. Derek Jeter plays the game with the artistic genius of Pacino, even if he does over do the drama.

Mr. Bodett went on to defend Mr. Bonds by asking if the Impressionists are any less legitimate for their use of Absinthe as a performance enhancing drug… Um, the drink; not the Degas. He questioned whether we should impugn the work of Sigmund Freud who “packed his nose on a daily basis” or if William Faulkner is “any less of a Nobel laureate because he never wrote a sober word in his life?”

Megan finally arrived and I soberly placed the 64 gallon trash receptacle into her RAV4. I’ve got to get me some of that Absinthe.

At least I got that part of the lyric right. I didn’t find these in the Archive of Misheard Lyrics, and I have no idea why, but these incorrect lyrics to Rush’s “Limelight” are burned like pyrography into my iBrain.

Those who wish to be
Must put aside the adulation alienation
Get on with the fascination
The real relation
The undenying dream underlying theme

Whether you’re a soldier in Iraq, a resident of New Orleans or a driver passing over our decaying bridges, you are expendable. The loss of your life and the lives of may others are acceptable if it protects someone’s profits. Yesterday President Bush rejected calls for raising the gasoline tax to pay for infrastructure repair. Yeah, why use money we pay for petrol on repairing bridges when Exxon-Mobil needs it to further enrich Dubya’s oil buddies? During the same press conference, the clown from Crawford called Iran, “a destabilizing influence in the Middle East.” I see. And what the fuck are we? Iran is actually part of the Middle East community, whereas we have “interests.”

Man, I need a vacation and I’m starting one um, now. I plan to start by doing this tomorrow morning in the checkout line wherever I buy my new grass trimmer.