Hearing a woman moan or scream “Oh, God” repeatedly in a Meg Ryan sequence isn’t a reason to believe, but it is solid word of mouth advertising. There are just certain times when people are stronger net prompters of the big guy (Him, not me), and those times seem to be at the edges of our experience: the ecstasy and the empty.

Just like the sharp commentary that pierces this space when I go on a political rant (a mention of pantsuits seems to draw the most ire, but I guess that’s slamming my inferred sexism, not loony-left positions) writing about God draws crowds like those gathered to see if the guy is going to leave the ledge or not. My “Living in the New Year” post of a couple days ago drew more comments than I’ve seen in quite some time. Even Sophocles left a comment. That was cool. Like politics, religion is extremely polarizing in a world where inhabitants are screaming away from each other toward the coldest extremes. For example, in the domestic political realm, has the liberal-conservative invective ever been so bitter?

Wading into Timothy Keller’s “The Reason for God” last night, the author contends a polarizing phenomena is occurring with masses growing at both ends: believers and skeptics. Being at one end, I can tell you it looks like quite a journey to get to the other. And how does one get there if they choose to? One (of many) reasons for my doubt is that the journey of many “born again” Christians I know began with them hitting some bottom in their life and God became a crutch to help lift them up. I’ve observed this several times with people in my life and wonder if my bottom or some catastrophic event would push me there. Again, I doubt it. Why don’t people find God after they win the lottery? Or do they?

Not to say that the “born again” crowd is all inclusive of the faithful. It seems there are as many degrees of faith as there are people. One guy I know is very strong in his Catholic faith, still goes to church, yet has been married for over 20 years to a woman who doesn’t really share his conviction. The faith of that gentleman and other very smart people who are in, or have passed through my life, have me asking the questions. If these smart people, who I greatly respect, have faith, isn’t it worth another look, even if only to understand our differences? I understand faith transcends the mind, but I need to first understand the intellectual credibility of God before I can walk further. Right now I’m stepping tentatively like Bob Wiley. The first words in the book’s introduction grabbed me like a tractor beam, so I’m allowing myself to be sucked in…

“I find your lack of faith – disturbing.” – Darth Vader

It’s January 7th and many resolutions have been crushed under the gravity of undisciplined us. If pressed to resolve, a vague “live more” would be my response, but what does that mean?

• Love – Do I have to explain this one? A dreamer once wrote it’s “all you need.”
• Give – Whether family, friend, foe or total stranger, if you’re not contributing to their well being, then the reason we exist eludes you.
• Laugh – Just looking in the mirror should be good for a few. While you’re at it, make others laugh. A lot.
• Cry – It’s soul cleansing, moisturizes dry eyes, and provides good contrast to make laughter all the richer.
• Try… new things – I’m counting the eel I had last night, and cross-country skiing is on the list.
• Create – Experiment with food, words, crayons, watercolors, wood, fabric, light or any other artistic medium.
• Read – Feed your head with words and the images you create from them. Right now I’m nibbling “Dr. Quantum’s Little Book of Big Ideas – Where Science Meets Spirit.” I hope to have a fusion reactor built by the time I’m finished. The stimulation of reading and learning will help you ideate (I know… not really a word, but I’m in Marketing.) or solve problems completely unrelated… I promise. It will.
• Machine shop – Don’t hate me because I lost weight over the holidays… I’m down nearly 25 since last Memorial Day thanks to like-minded co-workers and a desire for healthy longevity. Now I want to finish downsizing and buy some clothes.
• Live Local – Support local businesses. Move your money to a local bank or credit union.
• Travel – Just go… anywhere you have not been. Boston is one hour from me and I’ve never walked the freedom trail. Paris in the springtime is a dream that needs realization.
• Open – Another holiday self-gift is “The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism.” I have a reason to believe, but I offer no guarantees except my eyes are now open.
• Nothing – Getting back to a vacuum means you can fill it anew.

That’s all I’ve got, but I’m um, open to suggestions. What are you doing to live more?

Some years ago on this day, a 28 year old mother gave birth to her second child, a daughter. I first glimpsed that daughter about 28 years later and… Well, I’d just like to thank that mom for bringing her into this world.

On a completely unrelated bent, here’s what design looked like in 1958, the year yours truly was born.

2008 lacked a Fifteenkey “best of” list, and I like lists, so let’s compare where I was v. where I am…

It’s been quite a few years since I sent out Christmas cards. I still have a book of 37 cent (2002) Christmas stamps and paired 2 cent (2006) stamps, so the thought was there, but execution was lacking, or spirit was.

I do feel bad for not reciprocating the warm holiday greetings shared by so many, and especially by those who have faithfully carded me for years. This week I received my annual greeting from Clint, one of my college roommates from “the Ruggie House” in Tucson. It’s got to be nearly 30 years I’ve received a very personalized greeting from Mr. Miller. Clint’s from Chicago, so his catch-ups over the years have touched upon “da bears,” “da bulls,” and “da Sox,” both white and red. You, my friend, will get a card next year.

My lack of an annual Christ-mas-marketing campaign does not mean targeted marketing has also ceased. Each year, my children and Mom receive individual cards with loving sentiments…This year I needed one more courier of holiday hopes and dreams and the search for that (hopefully recycled) conveyance has been daunting… They may as well stack Christmas cards between the Mozzarella and Provolone! Oh, the cheesiness! I tortured myself with about 100 of these folded fictions, thinking, “who says that?” “I’m hooked on you?” That card should feature a bloodied big-mouth bass, but I digress… They even have “troubled relationship” cards now… They’re those long, narrow narratives that start out like, “I know my 10 11 12 mistresses trouble you, but honey lighten up, it’s Christmas!”

Anyway… For the most part, these “greeting” cards help people who can’t find words of their own, and there is my plight. So, failing to find the words, here are some cultural cues to the crackling fire warming my heart and soul this year:

• George Winston’s “December.”
• Personally delivered Christmas cookies.
• Old Man Marley reunited with his estranged family toward the end of “Home Alone.”
• A long city walk.
• “I wanna live again!” – Jimmy Stewart as George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
• “2000 Miles” by the Pretenders.
• Giving.
• “You feelin’ strong, my friend? Call me elf one more time!”
• Christmas parties with loved ones.
• “Rigging up the lights…”
• The occasional morning commute.
• A Special Olympics donation received as a gift from co-workers!
• Matching it with my own donation.
• The Grinch’s heart growing three sizes…
• John Lennon’s “Happy Christmas (War Is Over).”
• A hand to hold.
• Charlie Brown’s gang singing “Christmas Time Is Here.”
• A North Pole payoff to keep my son off the Naughty List.
• Burglarized Cheeze-Its.
• For that matter, inert cheese…
• A choir singing “Oh, Holy Night.”
• The joy of watching my daughter and her daughter prepare for Christmas.

Big Papi: “Who’s coming tonight?”
Maddy: (Thinking…)
Impatient Big Papi: “Santa Claus!”
Maddy: “is coming to town!”

Megan was complaining last night about how difficult it is to buy for me. I really don’t want any stuff. I have stuff. My gift this year will be watching my presents open their presents…

I’m sorry I can’t string together my own figurative popcorn and cranberries to describe feelings this year, but I hope even for a moment, you can feel them too.

Oh, one more thing about my Christmas this year… It won’t be blue.

Merry Christmas

At 7:04 this morning, the Fall of 2009 will fade away, but only on the calendar. My favorite season was a keeper this year. Winter? Long, dark nights? Bring it.

It was quiet. Too quiet. I walked up the green carpeted stairs to a still-lit evil lair with a glowing, squawking box, but the attic level chamber was empty. Walking over to extinguish the cable signal, horror struck at the sight of packing styrofoam debris littering the green. A small fragment of brown packing tape lay like a fallen feather. My eyes shot left to (now obviously) badly hidden shipments of “merch” and I knew a capital Christmas crime had commenced. As with many domestic transgressions, the perpetrators are typically family members and this was no exception… I muzzled the wimpy good cop, stuffed him in a closet, and the bad ass cop bolted down the stairs and into the suspects dwelling with the force of a 2AM drug bust. “WHAT DID YOU OPEN???”

The suspect was a white male, 18-20, and did a terrible impression of slumber. “WHERE ARE THEY?” A quick scan of the room noted one of the hot goods, a “Harry Potter” “prophecy” proudly displayed right out in the open on a bookshelf. “WHAT THE F%$#???! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TAKING THOSE THINGS???” The suspect, now clearly aware the gig was up, lay prone, hoping the bust was all a bad dream. “GET UP! NOW!!!,” I bellowed and the perp slowly drew down a comforter revealing a “Jaws” tee-shirt. Strangely, there was a giant shark head coming out of the floor, but I couldn’t let that oddity distract me from my job: recovering the stolen items and documenting evidence for the “naughty list” hearing scheduled for the next morning. This present poacher was slick. He immediately lawyered up and wouldn’t respond to verbal requests. “WHERE’S THE LOOT?” He didn’t flinch. I amped up the volume like Jack Bauer does to terror suspects on “24” and it worked just like it does for Jack. Shark-guy reached for his jeans. “SLOWLY,” I warned. “That’s right pal. Nice and slow.” Two “Harvey Twoface” replica coins from “The Dark Knight” were retrieved and handed over. One item remained. “OK, WHERE’S THE BOX?” Silence. “UPSTAIRS, NOW!” was belted with more Jack gusto. “WHERE’S THE BOX?” A quick flick up of the head toward an attic door revealed the final, damning evidence. A cardboard shipping container looking like it had been chewed through by insane squirrels lay on the wooden planks. A quick search turned up a third item that the Christmas klepto had missed. I surmise panic must have ensued at some point during the crime, and the heist of the prophecy and cash was deemed sufficient for this nights smash and grab. The perp then ditched the evidence and fled.

The next morning, a contrite suspect awoke around 7AM and immediately showered. That has never happened. Ever. He also dressed in a nice shirt and a tie for an early family visit at “Nana’s…”

The Holiday Hoodlum remains in custody pending a “naughty list” ruling and possible sentencing.

Oh, and check out Jack Bauer interrogating Santa!

Yeah, I go to the lyrics and song titles well often, but fortunately (or not) I’ll dry up before it does. Anyway, who can tell me that song’s writer without a search?

Vacationing today in sunny and brisk (-7^o) Central Massachusetts, my personal orgy of consumerism will wind down with a few “small things” for loved ones. Through this debiting process, there’s been a little internal meter in my head calculating “too much” v. “ain’t enough” for my non-naughty list. Actually, I’m certain my A list will be very appreciative of my efforts. If “the thought” is really what counts, they can be assured I’ve over thought many of these contributions to the EBITA of “stuff” producers.

Chatting with friends, there seems an understanding that the “stuff” isn’t important, yet every year we bury ourselves in it for a fleeting feeling that lingers less than a January 1 hangover.

[I just edited out a passage that got really dark to go in a different direction.]

I’ll put the sources, marketing and profit of the “stuff” aside for now, to focus on the “why we do it.” For many, gifts are simply a tangible expression of the living and loving things we do all year. When we comfort a cry… hold… listen… caress… wipe away tears… understand… laugh… love… those are the soulful human expressions represented in a gift. “Here, I hope you like this Xbox of love.” Well, there’s probably no soul in that re-gifted fruitcake you’re contemplating, but you get the idea…

Oh, I see UPS is here delivering more tangible human expressions…

eMail titles can portend bad things and yesterday I received one titled, “Ray Neades.” I knew the dude was dead. I didn’t know “Tiny” well, he was one of a string of guitar players in the revolving door known as Angry Johnny and the Killbillies. I’m fairly certain I saw him play with the band at Chicago’s old Lounge Ax back in the late 90’s. Oh! Now I’m certain as I recollect a classic picture of Ray as a guest at the Klug’s Rock n’ Roll Hotel in Lombard, IL. (Dave, you got that pic?)

Anyway, I recall him as a big hearted guy and one who could make an electric guitar scream, even if it did look like a tiny mandolin against the mass of Ray. The late 90’s were a tough time, but it seems he emerged… better. Here’s a piece of a myspace post by Ray that brushes up against those long days and nights:

‘”Grudge Fuck” song by The Scud Mt. Boys -Back in the late 90’s I went through some truly dark times. I used to listen to this song over and over. It to this day means a great deal to me. Very beautiful melody combined with a truly desperate lyric that demands attention.’

Yes, it does. Rest in Peace Ray.

PS – In a “circle of life and music” instance, I did a quick update check on Joe Pernice of the Scuds and see he’s playing the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge on January 14th. Seems a good night to hear some great music and raise a glass to Ray.

Update: Jeff has a great story on Ray over at the Robot left out in the rain.

Yeah, my snow thrower sputtered to a stop about 80% through a wet snow laden driveway this week, and yours truly had to figure out why before the next visit from Mr. Snow. Not only did I find the manual to my Ariens 7524, but two spare “shear bolts” needed last year at this time… After replacing last year’s “non-shear” substitute with the real thing, I removed the spark plug for inspection. The center and side electrode were carbon black and while cleaning might be an option, an RN4C with a .30 gap should fire me Ariens up.

A trip to purchase said plug didn’t happen yesterday, nor did any Christmas shopping, as I was the last family member to enjoy a stomach bug (with a heartburn chaser) from Maddy’s day care. I struggled to the grocery store and gobbled Tums before discovering my wallet wasn’t with me… That was special. More Tums and Gatorade helped and I’m feeling almost human again, though my stomach has a ways to go before I’ll trust throwing down a dog at the B’s tonight with Jeffro.