My wife's twenty-year high school reunion was this past weekend. As with most school-type reunions, I was in boycott mode. Now, I know what you're thinkin'..."Boy, high school must've really sucked for you." All things considered, high school wasn't that bad. I was voted "most musical" my senior year, played a little baseball and was the feature editor of my school's paper. I belonged to no certain clique, yet was accepted by most and moved freely among them. Looking back, people have said that they thought I was this mysterious guy who lived on the fringe, doing my own thing. That's simplifying things a bit, but there is some truth there.
Back in 1995, I received an invite to my ten-year reunion. Included with the invite was a lengthy questionaire, inquiring as to what I'd been up to for the past decade. I answered the questions, giving info on my marital status, my daughter & a number of other things, like who my favorite teachers were. Eventually, booklets were going to be made up so that we could all check in with our former classmates, regardless of whether we were physically attending the reunion or not.
Weeks after the reunion had passed, my copy of the booklet arrived in the mail. I flipped thru the pages, expecting to see the answers I had placed on my questionaire. What I found were only five words....Bradley is married to Louise. Curiously, I noticed that other former classmates had much more space dedicated to their "beautiful children" and their "fulfilling careers." Some even had nearly two pages of accolades.
Upon closer inspection, I noticed that those alotted the most space were the same people that planned the reunion. And, as you might have guessed, among them were the "mean girls" of 1985. You know the type, you'd walk into a party and they'd all scowl at you in unison. Venomous young ladies, all.
I guess that, even after ten years, they still had the compulsion to in some way prove to their classmates that they were superior. The funny thing is, back in '85, the only people who considered them to be superior were them. Ten years later, they no longer looked mean, but just pathetic. Their lives had peaked when they were eighteen and this was their desperate attempt to recapture a little bit of their glory days. You can hardly blame them. It must be a pretty rude awakening to realize that you were once head cheerleader and now you're a fat mother of four with a part-time job at Target. Boy, that must sting. Age has an ironic way of levelling the playing field, doesn't it?
Now, I'm not saying that every kid that was popular, or a football player, or a class officer was an asshole. Many of my best friends were all of these things. The difference between them and the "mean girls" is that they were also good people who knew, even back then, that being the Jake Ryan of your school only carried one so far in the real world.
I'm told that attendance at the ten-year was less than half of our graduating class of two hundred. For the twenty-year, the total was around forty, which included spouses and significant others. So, out of a class of 200, only 10% had anything to do with the last reunion. It's a pity that the "mean girls" didn't use the reunions as an opportunity to show that they'd actually grown up. I would expect that by the time the thirty-year reunion rolls around, the "mean girls" will be the only ones in attendance. Then, the real fun will begin. Without the rest of us there, they'll undoubtedly turn on each other. I'd pay to see that.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Phoning It In
This past Sunday, my family headed out to a local farmstand. It was a perfect Fall day (I realize it's not OFFICIALLY Fall, but weather-wise it has been) and we felt the need to get some fresh Wisconsin apples and perhaps a pumpkin or two.
As we browsed the produce, a woman in a mini-van pulled in with her toddler daughter. She was having some trouble navigating the sharp curve of the driveway, as her head was tilted to the side, keeping her cellphone in place on her shoulder.
She exited her van, slid the side door open, and wrangled her kid out of her carseat...all without a break in her phone conversation. They walked towards the pumpkins, where the kid had a field day, running up and down the long, orange rows. Overjoyed at the sight of so many pumpkins, she tried in vain to get her mother's attention. Putting up her index finger, the mother mouthed "In a minute," and turned her back towards her daughter.
We went about our business of picking out some nice, crisp apples, when I see the duo walk up to the counter to pay for their produce. Even as she asked the salesperson about the price of a pumpkin, she barely stopped talking to whomever was on the other end of the line.
She then took her purchase, her kid (who had by now given up on getting mom's attention) and her cellphone and hopped back into her van. Having as much trouble navigating the driveway on her way out as she did on her entrance, the van disappeared in a cloud of gravel dust.
Years from now, I'm sure the little girl will look back on the day and say, "Remember when we used to go to the pumpkin farm and have mother-daughter time? I'd be laughing as I ran through the pumpkins and you'd be making calls....good times, Ma, good times."
As we browsed the produce, a woman in a mini-van pulled in with her toddler daughter. She was having some trouble navigating the sharp curve of the driveway, as her head was tilted to the side, keeping her cellphone in place on her shoulder.
She exited her van, slid the side door open, and wrangled her kid out of her carseat...all without a break in her phone conversation. They walked towards the pumpkins, where the kid had a field day, running up and down the long, orange rows. Overjoyed at the sight of so many pumpkins, she tried in vain to get her mother's attention. Putting up her index finger, the mother mouthed "In a minute," and turned her back towards her daughter.
We went about our business of picking out some nice, crisp apples, when I see the duo walk up to the counter to pay for their produce. Even as she asked the salesperson about the price of a pumpkin, she barely stopped talking to whomever was on the other end of the line.
She then took her purchase, her kid (who had by now given up on getting mom's attention) and her cellphone and hopped back into her van. Having as much trouble navigating the driveway on her way out as she did on her entrance, the van disappeared in a cloud of gravel dust.
Years from now, I'm sure the little girl will look back on the day and say, "Remember when we used to go to the pumpkin farm and have mother-daughter time? I'd be laughing as I ran through the pumpkins and you'd be making calls....good times, Ma, good times."
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Sick Of It All
The events of the past week have forced me into what I refer to as a news blackout. Occasionally, when world events become so frustratingly bleak and hopeless, usually due to our meat-headed president, my only recourse short of the dry-heaves is to give my blood pressure time to adjust to a non-life-threatening rate.
We observed another 9/11 anniversary, which was more difficult for me than usual this year. Bin Laden is no longer on Chimpolean's radar, even though before the last round of elections, we were assured that U.S. Special Forces were only a few weeks behind him, then a few days, then possibly hours. To vote Democrat meant that the hunt for Bin Laden would somehow be derailed. You know the usual Republican bullshit...no matter how horrible things look, they'll be much worse with Democrats in office. Once again, the fear card was played just before an election, ultimately resulting in Chimpy's second term. After the winning of his second term, our illustrious leader's earpiece went on the fritz just long enough for him to mutter "I don't spend much time thinking about him (Bin Laden)."
I also don't need to watch MSNBC's real-time replay of their original 9/11 broadcasts. I know it makes a swell bumpersticker, but "We Must Never Forget" doesn't mean we need to wallow in the tragedy for 24 hours once a year. I couldn't forget 9/11 if I tried. I remember where I was, seeing those planes crash into the towers, seeing people jumping to their deaths rather than be burned alive....I remember it all, every hellish second of it. It's almost as if we're now celebrating it, as if it's some sort of cruel holiday. My wife happended to pass an icecream place on 9/11 that was serving "red, white & blueberry" as their flavor of the day. Jesus Christ, how twisted is that? Can I get that in a waffle cone? I don't need to be reminded to "Never Forget." That's a complete implausability.
The second major happening leading to my withdrawal, was the mock September progress report that was just layed on us. I don't think anyone, Liberal or Conservative, was surprised by what was (or wasn't) revealed. According to the White House, things are going swimmingly since "the surge." In fact, we''ll now be able to start sending troops home. Those of us interested enough to read the fine print, are aware that the reduction amounts to bringing us back to pre-surge troop levels. The term "fuzzy math" becomes particularly ironic at this point.
The surge was also supposed to allow Iraqi politicians some breathing room to finally get their puppet show of a government on it's feet. While Chimpy claims the surge to be a victory, it's whole original purpose remains unfulfilled. Things are better in Anbar, but that's not where the fucking capitol of the country is now, is it? It's absolutely ludicrous. Chimpolean shites on a paper plate, then goes on TV to convince the gomers that it's a piece of chocolate cake. "Ain't it dee-liscious?"His surprise visit to Iraq also curiously didn't include a trip to the capitol city, which is now supposedly becoming so safe. Think I'll turn on Fox for a few minutes before I go to bed. They're undoubtedly playing that great tape-loop they have of Marines handing out soccer balls and candy to Iraqi children. WTF.
We observed another 9/11 anniversary, which was more difficult for me than usual this year. Bin Laden is no longer on Chimpolean's radar, even though before the last round of elections, we were assured that U.S. Special Forces were only a few weeks behind him, then a few days, then possibly hours. To vote Democrat meant that the hunt for Bin Laden would somehow be derailed. You know the usual Republican bullshit...no matter how horrible things look, they'll be much worse with Democrats in office. Once again, the fear card was played just before an election, ultimately resulting in Chimpy's second term. After the winning of his second term, our illustrious leader's earpiece went on the fritz just long enough for him to mutter "I don't spend much time thinking about him (Bin Laden)."
I also don't need to watch MSNBC's real-time replay of their original 9/11 broadcasts. I know it makes a swell bumpersticker, but "We Must Never Forget" doesn't mean we need to wallow in the tragedy for 24 hours once a year. I couldn't forget 9/11 if I tried. I remember where I was, seeing those planes crash into the towers, seeing people jumping to their deaths rather than be burned alive....I remember it all, every hellish second of it. It's almost as if we're now celebrating it, as if it's some sort of cruel holiday. My wife happended to pass an icecream place on 9/11 that was serving "red, white & blueberry" as their flavor of the day. Jesus Christ, how twisted is that? Can I get that in a waffle cone? I don't need to be reminded to "Never Forget." That's a complete implausability.
The second major happening leading to my withdrawal, was the mock September progress report that was just layed on us. I don't think anyone, Liberal or Conservative, was surprised by what was (or wasn't) revealed. According to the White House, things are going swimmingly since "the surge." In fact, we''ll now be able to start sending troops home. Those of us interested enough to read the fine print, are aware that the reduction amounts to bringing us back to pre-surge troop levels. The term "fuzzy math" becomes particularly ironic at this point.
The surge was also supposed to allow Iraqi politicians some breathing room to finally get their puppet show of a government on it's feet. While Chimpy claims the surge to be a victory, it's whole original purpose remains unfulfilled. Things are better in Anbar, but that's not where the fucking capitol of the country is now, is it? It's absolutely ludicrous. Chimpolean shites on a paper plate, then goes on TV to convince the gomers that it's a piece of chocolate cake. "Ain't it dee-liscious?"His surprise visit to Iraq also curiously didn't include a trip to the capitol city, which is now supposedly becoming so safe. Think I'll turn on Fox for a few minutes before I go to bed. They're undoubtedly playing that great tape-loop they have of Marines handing out soccer balls and candy to Iraqi children. WTF.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Power To The People
Regardless of party affiliation, I think we can all agree on the neccessity of breaking our dependence on foreign oil. The alternatives are varied, ranging from solar to hydrogen to wind, etc.
For some reason, there are those who refuse to acknowledge the viability of the alternatives, particularly solar and wind. The rationale, across the board seems to be "Well, the sun doesn't always shine and the wind doesn't always blow." on the surface, this statement might seem like good old-fashioned horse-sense, but it's perpetuators know that, in truth, it doesn't hold water.
First of all, solar power units, as well as windmills, are capable of storing the energy that they generate. Solar panels, in fact, are capable of absorbing solar light and converting it into usable energy even on the cloudiest of days. I guess you have to ask why some people are so vehemently opposed to exploring it's value. Are they misinformed or simply looking out for interests that would rather undermine energy independence than promote it?
As for hydrogen, I'd be interested to hear a little more about how they'd prevent people from using it in bomb-making. Sure, someone could easily make a bomb out of conventional gasoline, but the actual volume and weight of gas makes it much less likely to be used in the large-scale way that hydrogen could be.
I also think that it's massively hypocritical of Bush, at this crisis stage of the game, to try to mandate the manufacture of hybrid vehicles and set impact-less, distant-future fuel standard requirements. This should have begun at the beginning of his first term. Hell, had this been set in motion during Clinton's first term, we'd already be independent of foreign oil. The next president would do well to make any future mandates more than just symbolic.
As world events have shown us in the last seven years, events that shape the future are controlled by those who have the means to execute their own visions, good and evil. It looks to me like energy independence won't truly be achieved until those that are able to achieve it are actually willing to do so.
For some reason, there are those who refuse to acknowledge the viability of the alternatives, particularly solar and wind. The rationale, across the board seems to be "Well, the sun doesn't always shine and the wind doesn't always blow." on the surface, this statement might seem like good old-fashioned horse-sense, but it's perpetuators know that, in truth, it doesn't hold water.
First of all, solar power units, as well as windmills, are capable of storing the energy that they generate. Solar panels, in fact, are capable of absorbing solar light and converting it into usable energy even on the cloudiest of days. I guess you have to ask why some people are so vehemently opposed to exploring it's value. Are they misinformed or simply looking out for interests that would rather undermine energy independence than promote it?
As for hydrogen, I'd be interested to hear a little more about how they'd prevent people from using it in bomb-making. Sure, someone could easily make a bomb out of conventional gasoline, but the actual volume and weight of gas makes it much less likely to be used in the large-scale way that hydrogen could be.
I also think that it's massively hypocritical of Bush, at this crisis stage of the game, to try to mandate the manufacture of hybrid vehicles and set impact-less, distant-future fuel standard requirements. This should have begun at the beginning of his first term. Hell, had this been set in motion during Clinton's first term, we'd already be independent of foreign oil. The next president would do well to make any future mandates more than just symbolic.
As world events have shown us in the last seven years, events that shape the future are controlled by those who have the means to execute their own visions, good and evil. It looks to me like energy independence won't truly be achieved until those that are able to achieve it are actually willing to do so.
A Brush With Greatness, V2.0 (Rosanne Cash)
In my early years as an amatuer songwriter, I often concocted elaborate schemes in order to get my songs to famous performers. One of my best-executed plans involved country singer Rosanne Cash, back in 1988.
Cash was on tour, promoting her "King's Record Shop" album. I was able to get two tickets, which wound up being in the first row of tables at The Vic Theater in Chicago. Usually, shows at The Vic were general admission, with the main floor being open. Occasionally, with acts that had older followings, though, they moved in tables and chairs.
At any rate, my plan was to demo a song I had written for her called "I Hold On." The day of her show, my friend Kleinfeld and I headed to my local studio, where I cut a simple demo of the song with only vocal and guitar. We mixed it and made a few cassette copies, leaving ample time to grab some dinner and get to the show.
Cash's show was phenominal. I paricularly remember how the spotlight that was on her sparkled in her eyes. As a young, lonely guy in my early twenties, I was crushin' pretty hard. Throughout the show, people walked up to hand her flowers, stuffed animals and other gifts. Some simply tossed them onstage, mid-performance. The latter was something I didn't want to attempt, for fear of breaking her concentration and/or being ejected from the premises.
So, I decided that I'd toss one of the cassettes onstage as the lights dimmed between songs. Thinking I had my timing right, I stood up at the next interval. Just as I tossed the cassette, the lights came up. In full brightness, myself, Kleinfeld, the entire Vic audience, Cash and her band, see a cassette come sailing out of the darkness to land squarely inbetween her legs. She smirks, picks it up and sets it on the amp behind her. The show continued without my being thrown out.
After the last encore, we headed outside, where I was determined to actually meet her face to face, so that I could present another copy of "I Hold On." I knew full well that a stagehand would be collecting everything the audience had given her, ultimately giving it all away to a local charity.
We walked around the perimeter of the theater, looking for the stage door. Luckily for us, there was only one door with any sort of activity going on near it, so we staked out our territory and waited. Some roadie poked his head out of the door and seeing us said, "She's not coming out here, she's going out the front." Yeah, right. Then why was there a big stretch limo parked out back? Ten minutes later, she emerged and headed towards the limo.
I walked up to her and said "Hi, I really enjoyed the show. I'm the guy that threw the tape." She kinda giggled, not seeming to mind that I was walking her to the limo. Oddly enough, the only security present was her then-husband Rodney Crowell, who was a few steps behind us. "I wrote this song that'd be perfect for you called "I Hold On."" I handed her another copy as she said, "Sure, I'll give it a listen." As she got into the limo, she turned and said "Thanks for coming to the show." What a sweet woman. Everything considered, as close as I got to her, I really deserved to be in a security guard's headlock at that point.
Rosanne Cash never did record my song, but she was thoughtful enough to send me an autographed photo a few weeks later. To this day, Kleinfeld remarks, "Man, I still can't believe how that plan of your's went off without a hitch." I can't either. My memories of that night, when I stole a few minutes of Rosanne Cash's time, will rank among the best moments of my life. Okay, so maybe I'm still crushin'.....but just a little.
Cash was on tour, promoting her "King's Record Shop" album. I was able to get two tickets, which wound up being in the first row of tables at The Vic Theater in Chicago. Usually, shows at The Vic were general admission, with the main floor being open. Occasionally, with acts that had older followings, though, they moved in tables and chairs.
At any rate, my plan was to demo a song I had written for her called "I Hold On." The day of her show, my friend Kleinfeld and I headed to my local studio, where I cut a simple demo of the song with only vocal and guitar. We mixed it and made a few cassette copies, leaving ample time to grab some dinner and get to the show.
Cash's show was phenominal. I paricularly remember how the spotlight that was on her sparkled in her eyes. As a young, lonely guy in my early twenties, I was crushin' pretty hard. Throughout the show, people walked up to hand her flowers, stuffed animals and other gifts. Some simply tossed them onstage, mid-performance. The latter was something I didn't want to attempt, for fear of breaking her concentration and/or being ejected from the premises.
So, I decided that I'd toss one of the cassettes onstage as the lights dimmed between songs. Thinking I had my timing right, I stood up at the next interval. Just as I tossed the cassette, the lights came up. In full brightness, myself, Kleinfeld, the entire Vic audience, Cash and her band, see a cassette come sailing out of the darkness to land squarely inbetween her legs. She smirks, picks it up and sets it on the amp behind her. The show continued without my being thrown out.
After the last encore, we headed outside, where I was determined to actually meet her face to face, so that I could present another copy of "I Hold On." I knew full well that a stagehand would be collecting everything the audience had given her, ultimately giving it all away to a local charity.
We walked around the perimeter of the theater, looking for the stage door. Luckily for us, there was only one door with any sort of activity going on near it, so we staked out our territory and waited. Some roadie poked his head out of the door and seeing us said, "She's not coming out here, she's going out the front." Yeah, right. Then why was there a big stretch limo parked out back? Ten minutes later, she emerged and headed towards the limo.
I walked up to her and said "Hi, I really enjoyed the show. I'm the guy that threw the tape." She kinda giggled, not seeming to mind that I was walking her to the limo. Oddly enough, the only security present was her then-husband Rodney Crowell, who was a few steps behind us. "I wrote this song that'd be perfect for you called "I Hold On."" I handed her another copy as she said, "Sure, I'll give it a listen." As she got into the limo, she turned and said "Thanks for coming to the show." What a sweet woman. Everything considered, as close as I got to her, I really deserved to be in a security guard's headlock at that point.
Rosanne Cash never did record my song, but she was thoughtful enough to send me an autographed photo a few weeks later. To this day, Kleinfeld remarks, "Man, I still can't believe how that plan of your's went off without a hitch." I can't either. My memories of that night, when I stole a few minutes of Rosanne Cash's time, will rank among the best moments of my life. Okay, so maybe I'm still crushin'.....but just a little.
Baggy Trousers
As the family was pulling out of the driveway on our way to a cookout, my wife noticed a high school age kid pedaling a motorcross bike down the sidewalk. While we're waiting for street traffic to clear, she sees that his jeans are hanging half-way off his ass, exposing his boxers (as is the current style).
Traffic being too heavy to pull out, we watch the kid as he pedals by, all the while standing upright. "He's gonna lose his drawers," says the Mrs., just as his jeans slide off his ass, completely revealing his boxers.
Traffic opens up and we drive by just as the kid's pantleg gets caught in the chain, causing one great big tangle of denim and bike chain. I would've loved to yell "It's called a belt....look into it!", but the sight of this loser taking one of the worst fashion trends ever and turning it into his own karmic embarrassment was reward enough. It's ever so hard to look cool when you're on one of the busiest streets in town, pantsed by your own idiocy.
Traffic being too heavy to pull out, we watch the kid as he pedals by, all the while standing upright. "He's gonna lose his drawers," says the Mrs., just as his jeans slide off his ass, completely revealing his boxers.
Traffic opens up and we drive by just as the kid's pantleg gets caught in the chain, causing one great big tangle of denim and bike chain. I would've loved to yell "It's called a belt....look into it!", but the sight of this loser taking one of the worst fashion trends ever and turning it into his own karmic embarrassment was reward enough. It's ever so hard to look cool when you're on one of the busiest streets in town, pantsed by your own idiocy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)