Author: fifteenkey (Page 77 of 95)

Day 1 of my excellent San Francisco adventure took me to California’s wine country. The beauty of the countryside around the Bay area is both complex and simple as illustrated by the intricate row houses of the city back dropped by rolling green hills. The land flattens out and the hills embrace as you enter Napa Valley. Cornerstone Gardens was our first stop and is a collection of 20 garden landscapes, each created by a famous landscape architect. We walked around and snapped a few pictures, including sad, photographic evidence of where I lost my Bluetooth headset. After building up a thirst, it was time to toast Barb’s new job with a glass of the bubbly at Gloria Ferrer Champagne Caves. Of course it’s not really “champagne” because the grapes are grown in California, but I don’t want to go all “wine snob” on you…

It was a great day including service by a “Wheel of Fortune” winner at Domaine Carneros and a nice tasting at my favorite winery out there, V. Sattui. The wineries caught us by surprise with their 5:00 – 6:00 pm closings, so we headed to Bistro Jeanty in Yountville to see if we could get a table before our 8:30 reservation. We sat at the bar drinking wine until they sat us around um, 8:15… Dinner was spectacular and a fitting end to a wonderful day. Well, except it wasn’t quite the end. We still had a little ride from Yountville in Napa Valley to Santa Rosa in Sonoma. Yeah, we were headed over the hills and through the woods in the dark, through clouds of valley mist and fermented grape.

Barb was at her post in the co-pilot seat and she had the map firmly grasped in her hands. Unfortunately, her hands were attached to her sleeping self. Yep, my trusty navigator was counting sheep after a 20 hour day. I needed a Plan B, and I had one. As you may recall, I posess the Swiss Army knife of the technology realm: The “Jack Bauer” edition Palm Treo. On it I have the until now, classified “Directory Assistant” app.

With thumping music building a fake sense of tension in the background, I quickly found the hotel address and then plugged in our current zip code. In less time than you can say “24,” the directions were on my screen. I punched the gas pedal (not really, we were in a “thickly settled” 20mph zone) and screeched toward our destination. Barb continued to hold the map. I’m certain some terrorist likely named “Marwahn” probably spiked each and every glass of wine she had that evening.

(We’ll now return to reality…)

I wanted the right music for this “rural route” home. Uncle Tupelo’s “Anodyne,” as it has before, got the job done. It turned out to be an apt soundtrack to the dark, slow ride through the twists and turns separating life in each valley. The songs got me thinking. They also got me singing. For me, that music is cleansing like a hard rain. Its words offering a slightly different meaning each time they’re heard; some more pointed, depending on time and circumstance. On that night, on the road I found myself on, one line stood out:

The CD sleeve was $9.98, and it was perfect for the 10 or so hours driving through the California hills and into the valleys of wine country. It contained a perfect record. One that I had enjoyed with my daughter Jessica when I flew her out to San Francisco for a weekend in 1999.

Last night I stumbled upon the last ten minutes of 1997’s “Good Will Hunting,” the film that helped Ben Affleck score JLo and Jennifer Garner. Anyway, as Matt (no relation to Johnny) Damon’s Will drives along the highway at the end, the song accompanying him is “Miss Misery” by Elliott Smith. It was nominated for an Oscar that year and may have been the apex of Smith’s career. He struggled with addictions, including heroin, and his lyrics were often sad, and sometimes self-loathing. He died from a self-inflicted stab wound to his heart on October 21, 2003.

The perfect record is his “XO” from 1998. XO’s lushness and melodies would have been a grand companion in the gorgeous valleys, just like a perfect wine pairing to a lucious meal. Jessica and I were immersed in it as we drove down the windswept Pacific Coast Highway toward Monterey that time she saw San Francisco for the first, and perhaps last time. That seems like a sad lifetime ago… Unfortunately this time, XO never made it out of the case.

The poignant irony of Elliott Smith’s music I’ll paraphrase from a story Neda Ulaby did on NPR. She said “Smith could help answer feelings in others that he was unable to answer in himself.”

Amen.

Just back from 6 days in San Francisco. Lots to write about, but I need to think on it a bit…

The assassins stood silently, waiting in the grass under a cool, dark April sky. There were five of them this time. The Devil Rays. Their previous attempts with three and then four trained killers had failed to stop the menacing beast whose weapon of choice was a 34 ounce barrel of wood. They crouched as they saw “DiPapi de Ortiz” slowly emerge from the underground bunker in which he had been waiting. Waiting to kill. Would he prevail or would this be their time?

The five arranged themselves strategically, using “the shift,” an ancient positioning ritual designed to overwhelm an opponent with such psychological uncertainty that they would collapse in a morass of self-doubt. Its ancient origins date back to 1918, but at the time was dismissed as just a myth. Circumstantial evidence of its existence was documented in 1978, 1986 and 2003, but then some believe it was vanquished completely in 2004 after the infamous and bloody “DiPapi uprising” in New York City in October of that year. It was in that year many claim the brute had been seen just to the right hand of the “Johnny Christ,” but that is now dismissed as heresy since “JC” was exposed as a fraud and his real identity revealed: Johnny Demon.

DiPapi strode ominously toward the oddly shaped pictogram some believe to be satanic in origin. Just before battle, the beast would strike the symbol with his weapon, then instantly fix his glare on his opponent, always positioned 60’ 6” away. A mystery beyond the comprehension of men, the monster did not initially appear threatening. He wore white with subtle red trim, and thick gold chains around his even thicker neck. What really shrouded the peril was his smile. It lit the night sky like the arc of a welder’s torch. It was the veil over the heart of a killer.

It happened in a flash of white ash. A small white killer orb, at once speeding threateningly toward de Ortiz was suddenly and violently soaring through the black night toward its preordained grave: the Green Monster. The impact sounded like an explosion, but that was impossible: “DiPapi” held nothing but the wooden shaft high above his head as he stepped from the mark in the dirt and began to run, albeit slowly, toward the five impotent Devil Rays now racing in vain toward the Green Monster.

Their effort failed, the five assassins retreated into hiding in the “fifth level’ of the hierarchy. There, they would conspire for their next attempt to silence the “DiPapi de Ortiz.”

Happy Easter to those of you who rejoice in it. Of course, the Christian holiday celebrates the resurrection of Jesus. I wonder if he was different the second time around? I don’t know if any writings address that. I mean, I know Jesus was all about love and forgiveness, but I think I would have been pretty pissed off after something like what he went through…

Yesterday I watched “The Upside of Anger” with Joan Allen and Kevin Costner. The film follows Ms. Allen as a heavy drinking scorned woman mother of four and her drinking buddy relationship with Mr. Costner, who plays, what else, a retired baseball star! A cool moment for me was to hear Wilco’s “Passenger Side” playing on the radio in the SUV the girls drove to school. Anyway, it was a decent flick that included a minor sub-plot of the youngest daughter, “Popeye” piecing together a video for her high school project. Here, she narrates the last moments of the film:

“The only upside to anger, then… is the person you become. Hopefully someone that wakes up one day and realizes they’re not afraid to take the journey, someone that knows that the truth is, at best, a partially told story. That anger, like growth, comes in spurts and fits, and in its wake, leaves a new chance at acceptance, and the promise of calm.”

At one point Ms. Allen lividly asks Mr. Costner, “why are you here?” She was suspicious of his motives. What was in it for him? It brought me back to another Costner film with a baseball theme, the beautiful, “Field of Dreams.” In this scene, Ray Kinsella (Costner) is arguing with Shoeless Joe Jackson (Ray Liotta) about why he’s not allowed to go with the baseball players out into the mysterious corn rows in the outfield:

Ray Kinsella: “No wait, I have done everything that I’ve been asked to do! I didn’t understand it, but I’ve done it; and I haven’t once asked ‘what’s in it for me?”
Shoeless Joe: “What are you saying Ray?”
Ray Kinsella: “I’m saying, what’s in it for me?”
Shoeless Joe: “Is that why you did this… for you?”

Is that what motivates us? What’s in it for us? I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit and doing some inventory of my own motivations. It seems to me the most joyous moments in life are when we “do unto others,” with no expectations of our own. If we all would do more of that, we’d really be “walking the talk” of the Easter Sunday we celebrate today.

I like Fast Company magazine. Yeah, the timing of it’s birth and their celebration of the “new economy” just prior to getting “irrational exuberance” flavored bubble gum plastered all over their face resulted in this website, but the publication lives on and stays fresh; at least in my opinion.

“Laughing Your Way to Success” recently caught my attention. An accompanying poll asked readers, “How much humor is there in your office?” Last time I checked the results indicated almost a quarter of respondents had “none!” That’s got to suck. In my office environment, I’d say we’re in the “always joking around” camp. Personally, I try to make people smile or laugh every single day*. The people I’m closest to in work are pretty funny. One guys laugh is infectious, but it probably scares those hearing it for the first time. Another guy is so dry it’s hard to tell if he’s joking or if he doubled up on the Prozac. We have fun and in spite of high pressure, we’re very tightly knit and very productive as a result.

However… Not everyone shares our tendencies. I’ve been to some meetings where everyone is just humorless. I mean, it’s not as if we’re in CTU trying to catch terrorists within 24 synchronized episodes. We’re a very high-performing company, but I worry about the pressure driving laughter out of the environment. Clearly there’s a tight correlation between employee satisfaction and customer satisfaction, so won’t our customers be happier if the employees who serve them are? I think morale-boosting humor is a big part of that equation and we all have a responsibility in producing it. So go ahead and at least try to be funny. Even if you suck at it, some of us will find your pathetic attempt funny in itself. You can’t lose and we all win!

* Except the days when I’m just a dour bastard that may as well be wearing a “Don’t even think about talking to me” sandwich board, but I’m making progress working that out with Dr. Melfi.

Today “CE” asked how the trip to the Gardner was. Well, it was great. Kyle was a trooper and was so patient as Dad’s work pals sauntered around with their heads on a swivel, trying to take it all in. He enjoyed seeing “Omnibus,” a painting by Anders Zorn in the “Blue Room” that we have a print of in our living room. Thank you, “CE.” In the end however, the boy’s review of the visit was concise: “boring.” After a couple hours of gawking and a leisurely break in the museum café, we were all off to dinner at Barb’s.

Now, “dinner at Barb’s” is not so much dinner as it is choreographed theatre showcasing cuisine. It’s kinda like “Martha Stewart meets Patti LuPone.” I mean, it’s very Dali-like. The drinks certainly help creating a surreal atmosphere, but dinner at Barb’s is always very cool. The colors, candles, Barb’s decorating style and her A/V requirements are out of the ordinary and always interesting.

While Nat “free-styled” drinks of various colors and proof, her husband Rod and I stared at the greenish hue of Barb’s new plasma TV with dumbfounded looks like Beavis and Butt-head might have if they flipped to say, the Dr, Phil show. Since we’re both guys, we felt a physiological need to fix the big unit, so we kept unplugging and re-plugging wires until suddenly the green hue was no more. Having reaffirmed ourselves as men, Rod and I sat triumphantly as food and drinks were served to us by our A/V challenged admirers. Oh, and even though Kyle didn’t do squat, all the women think he’s cute, so he was treated best of all. Hell, he even got a bling-bling blinky-flashy glass from Rainforest Café.

Anyway, the food comes in waves like eye-popping floats in the Tournament of Roses parade. Here’s some of that annual annoying parade commentary:

Annoying Guy: “Oooooh….here come the meat skewers… Oh, and look at the colors in that salad.”
Annoying Gal: “You know, all the salads at Barb’s are made with real vegetables…”
Annoying Guy: “That is amazing!”
Annoying Gal: “Oh, my…here comes a crowd favorite… Alaskan King Crab Legs… Look at those legs!”
Annoying Guy: “Yeah, they’re nice, but I’ve always been a breast man. Hey, willya pass the buttah?”

In all seriousness, Barb knows how to treat people. Any guest at her house is made to feel special. They matter to her; each one in a unique and special way. It’s akin to a company understanding and meeting the unique needs of their individual customers. It’s called “customer satisfaction,” but it’s simply about how people are treated. It’s the people that matter; in business and in life and Barb always seems to exceed their expectations.

So, what’s the “customer satisfaction” of the people in your life?

Two Words: Babe Ruth… Hands down. The Yankees have had some great ones over the years… Gehrig, Joe D, the Mick, Joe Pepitone… and then there are the contenders from other clubs… Mays, Clemente, Hammerin’ Hank… All of those gentlemen excelled at the plate and a few of them even had the “five tool” thing going. What sets the Bambino apart from the others statistically is that in addition to his 714 home runs and .342 career batting average, the man won 94 big-league games (20+ twice) as a pitcher and had a career ERA of 2.28! At one time, he also held the major-league record for consecutive scoreless innings in the World Series.

Last week I caused a bit of a row with some Yankee faithful by suggesting Mr. Ruth may have achieved his great fame illegitimately. My hypothesis was as follows:

“It’s a well known fact that back in the 20’s and 30’s, the Babe’s nutritional staple was Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs. What is not so well known is that Nathan’s injected their cows with steroids. The sheer volume of dogs provided by the Yankees and consumed by the Babe provided him more steroids than those used by cheaters Giambi and Sheffield combined. So, in short, the Yankees coerced the Babe into hot dog gluttony and in fact, began the steroid scandal that still plagues the game today. Oh, and the Babe didn’t “use” when he was with the Sox. Fenway Franks are, and always have been, steroid free.”

I was only kidding! Jeez. Nathan’s are great! I enjoyed a couple when I visited the shrine in the Bronx in 2003. Man, Yankee fans can be so sensitive. I mean it’s as if they haven’t won a championship this century or something… Hey, they always have their great history… OK, OK… that’s enough Yankee bashing. I’m sorry, but I just can’t help myself. I’m one of those pathetic Red Sox fans “who cannot talk about baseball without skewering the Yankees.”

Let’s get back to the “Sultan of Swat” and his undisputed legacy, shall we? Beyond the statistics, Babe Ruth the man was adored by millions. Legendary Detroit Tigers broadcaster Ernie Harwell said of Ruth, “He wasn’t a baseball player. He was a worldwide celebrity, an international star, the likes of which baseball has never seen since.” What I didn’t realize was that he was also a great philosopher of life. Here’s a quote that has meaning well beyond the diamond he so thoroughly dominated:

I know it’s early, but it’s still fun to see the Yankees come stumbling out of the gate 1-3. Last night they lost to the Angels of somewhere between San Diego and Los Angeles. Alex Rodriguez, who never got the ball out of the infield in four at-bats, tried to explain the club’s plight and maybe help them from feeling um, squeezed. “When they give you lemons, you’ve got to make lemonade, and when they give you oranges, you’ve got to make orange juice,” Rodriguez said. “Tonight, we tried to make tomato juice out of lemon juice or something. It just didn’t work out. I don’t know if that’s a good quote.” No, no… That was good. Thanks.

The Sox magic number is 157.

Roller coasters are terrifying, but I like ‘em. You gotta have the stomach for them. There’s that anticipation as the sleek machine climbs to some insane height exceeding 200 feet or so. Then, the riders up front get to peer into the abyss while the rest of cars slowly finish the climb. Just before the real fun begins, there’s that little queasy feeling that tells you, “try to enjoy this, cuz you’re not getting off.” Once the last car reaches the apex, that’s when the shit hits the fan (and in some cases, the BVD’s). That’s when the cars plunge toward the ground at speeds approaching 80 miles per hour and everyone screams like they’re having fun.

Well, that queasy feeling is one I got today when I read this. By the time I could say “what the…,” the “COR” was already in freefall, and I had no choice but to “enjoy the ride.” Oh, I was able to snap a picture of the carnage. Here’s what a terrifying ride looks like on Wall Street: