Category: Uncategorized (Page 63 of 96)

There’s nothing like blood flow to get the neurons firing. Endorphins RULE! At about the 20 minute mark, my mind was doing this:

Yeah, baby, the Tectrix Climbmax 150 got owned today! OK, so I did 30 minutes, but the last ten was all will power because the big fella wanted to screw the step ups in exchange for a serious ass down. It felt great to have the ipod workout mix cranking and the latest issue of Men’s Health propped up on a homemade magazine rack. Now I may even read that issue of Vanity Fair Barb gave me a couple months ago. You know, so I can stay in touch with the culture of ink on paper and their photography… or something. At a minimum I’ll check out the pictures of Beyonce.

Every high has a comedown so here’s the one for this post. At some point this week I wondered, “Where will I be buried?” The thought was prompted by a discussion with Jessica about her Grandfather’s gravesite. It’s over in a cemetery near my um, marital home. We used to take the kids walking through there. Gigi’s dad is buried there and her mom purchased a plot. Anyway… I don’t think I want to be buried where I currently live. Actually, I don’t want to be buried. I want to be frozen like Teddy Ballgame and then shot into space toward Pluto. There, in an icy dark world, I’ll feel right at home. The Plutonians will remove me from my space-crypt and reanimate me so I can hang with them. I’ll have my iPod and some pictures of the kids. Even though Pluto isn’t a planet anymore, it’ll still be cool.

I do love music. Tonight the ride home featured this sweet shuffle:

• Last Time in Love – Sloan
• Black – Pearl Jam
• Honey Don’t Think – Grant Lee Buffalo
• Until the Next Time – Dramarama
• Photograph – Def Leppard
• Bad Luck – Social Distortion (I love that band!)
• Zoysia – Bottle Rockets
• Strangers in the Night – Frank
• Let there Be Rock – Drive By Truckers
• Meet Me on the Ledge – Varnaline
• Note to Self: Don’t Die – Ryan Adams

“What art has had a significant impact on your life?” That was the question Joyce posed to her staff yesterday at our off site meeting. That was followed by some cool stories about how art had changed the lives of my new peers. Here are some of them:

• One guy was completely inspired by the lawn designs cut into the grass at Fenway.
• A recent Junior High play helped a young mother show her young daughter that kids can perform too.
• The sound of Sarah McLachlan’s voice sang the power of music to a young woman.
• The difficulty learning to play guitar gave a guy more appreciation for the great ones.
• One guy sang with the Boston Pops and in Rome at the Vatican with his college chorus.
• “On the Road” by Jack Kerouac sent a guy to explore the Beat generation and led him to discover Bob Dylan.
• The book, “Between a Rock and a Hard Place” led one to gain perspective on the relatively petty struggles of his own life.
• Another book, “Sophie’s Choice” has stayed with Joyce since she read it over 20 years ago.

I struggled with my choice… Music? There are so many songs that have moved me. Tar Hut?, Pollock? I opted for my trip to Britain’s National Gallery with Kevin and Noreen in March of 2001. (This week Quicken just informed me!) Since then art has changed my perspective so many times. I believe it has made me a better person.

What art has affected your life?

First I bought a scale, then I bought a tool to combat the frightening reality it glared. Working out has been a lifestyle for me since high school, but for some reason I stopped going to the gym late last summer and well, time just keeps uh, running. The reason is somewhat of a “chicken and egg” question: Did stress cause me to not exercise or did not exercising cause me stress? Either way, my current level requires some management. Plus, in a few short months I’ll want to be looking good in my Speedo. (go ahead, I dare you…) Delivery is Thursday, then we’ll see if I manage to use if for something other than a clothes rack.

lost
fly went by
caught my eye
wiped my matter
etch-a-sketch
clean

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…