smokers mount rushmore

For so many years, my favorite author, Paul Auster, has perched atop my list of great minds I'd like to chat with over a pack of cigarettes. Recently I became the last person on earth to learn that President Obama has a cigarette habit. Sorry, Paul - I have to bump you to second chair. Come to think of it, these two comprise my Mount Rushmore of smokers. I need to add a couple more to round it out and am open to suggestions. Who are the coolest smokers out there?

for the birds

News that a flock of birds thrashed the engines of US Airways Flight 1549 continues to resonate with me. When I saw this video via Mashable's Twitter feed I must have played it 20 times. Since Jack thinks every one's business is his business, he peered over my shoulder once and was hooked.

It was sort of awkward explaining that the culprit of the engine exploding and subsequently failing is a bird carcass, but I managed. I'm finding that he's too damn smart these days to accept any glossed over explanations of just about anything in any case. He seems to have mastered the art of interrogation already. To avoid a session of 20 questions, I just came right out and shared that birds have been known to take out airplanes now and then.

Something I failed to consider is that he tells his mother everything, so when she walked in the door from a literal planes-trains-automobiles day trip to and from NYC, he promptly grabbed a big toy airplane and demonstrated such a plane crash for her.

Look, mom...the plane is flying high in the sky...here comes a bird...right into the engine...oh nooooooo...it's on fire...CRASH!!!!

If I had to describe the look she shot me, I would not say it conveyed pride. No, not a single ounce. So much for candor. Worse yet, when he sees one of us on the Macbook, he demands to see this video again.

Yeah...I might need to take a class or read a book.

miles of smiles

Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character. - Albert Einstein

I can't get a certain smiley-faced squirrel working the pharmacy counter at my neighborhood CVS out of my head so figured I'd spill my thoughts onto this canvass and sort through them. Over the long holiday break my youngest child, Cole, acquired what seemed like his 27th cold of the season. The math behind this is rather simple and common - his older brother, the Jackal, started preschool in the fall and began bringing home more than just a daily art project. Since Jack's been around the block already, his immune system is stronger while Cole's is still learning to navigate this germ-ridden world. If you're a parent, I don't need to tell you how drastically a sick infant can completely sideswipe your groove. A dull headache becomes a way of life; REM sleep is kicked to the curb; and general angst guides you through the day. Needless to say, when I approached the counter I wasn't exactly wearing joy on my sleeve. On the contrary, I was more like an active member of a pride of so many hungry lions waiting to chew on anyone in my path with bad news, which is exactly what this guy dispensed.

Sir, that particular antibiotic needs to be mixed, so it's going to be another 20 minutes.

When I dropped off the scrip, they told me to give 30 minutes. I gave them an hour before returning only to hear they'd need another 20 minutes. It's t-minus 2 days until Christmas and I've hardly crossed anyone off my shopping list. I have not slept for shit in over a week. My sweet child is at home with fever, laden with green mucous. So why am I not losing it?

A simple, sort of goofy, smile – one that seems to be permanently burned onto my hard drive, one that quite possibly rescued me for the holidays and beyond. Here’s this kid (he seemed early-to-mid-20s, and yes, it scares me that I’m at the stage where someone that age is a kid) who may as well be standing blindfolded before a firing line, post last cigarette, and he’s delivering every word with this warm, encouraging smile. Really, he could have dropped on me that my home just burned to the ground as my entire 401k went to hell in a hand basket (wait, that did happen) and I’d have walked away feeling like I just hit the lottery. In a sense, I think I did.

Clearly there’s no shortage of anxiety or plight in the world today. It seems like everyone’s toting a bag of bricks on their back in these trying times. I have so much respect and admiration for those individuals who carry those bags around and still find it in themselves to laugh and smile. At the risk of sounding cliché or like I just saw Dead Poets Society for the first time, I have come to realize, and make it a point to remind myself, that I own this moment right now and how I spend it is completely up to me. In the same vein, I get to make the call on my attitude and how I project. It’s a very simple yet liberating concept.

I know there is a time and place for despondence and that happy-go-lucky is just not feasible all the time. Thanks to the pharmacist at CVS, I’m going to take a breath in challenging moments and check myself. Talk about a spoonful of sugar to go with that medicine.

donuts with daddy

Today the weather service actually nailed a prediction and it finally snowed on Washington, DC. I honestly don't recall snow blanketing the ground once last winter. Thankfully DC Public Schools rarely close due to bad weather and held true to form today, which meant the Jackal's preschool would also open its doors. Normally any kid would hope for a snow day under such circumstances, but today was Donuts with Daddy - an event he's been anticipating for over a month.

When I went to his room this morning, I found him gazing at the snow falling outside his window. "Dad, are we still having donuts at school?" he asked.


After donuts, this art project, and mingling with other dads, Jack led me by the hand to the window to take in the snow again. "Do you want to play in the snow with me today?" he asked, not knowing how rhetorical that question would turn out to be.


I was a flash in the pan at the office, knocking out an abbreviated list before bolting out the door to the hardware store to buy salt, shovels and sleds. When I showed up at home, Jack flashed a gigantic smile and shot up the steps to grab his snow pants. On our first run down the hill, I lost my wedding ring by using my hands as brakes. In all the excitement I forgot to put on my gloves. I agonized over it for a few minutes and tried in vain to retrace our path, but it was pointless and in the end a small price to pay for a chance to embrace a day like this with Jack.

As we meandered home in the SUV, occasionally doing nasty donuts at intersections of side streets that road crews had neglected, Jack giggled and iced the cake with this: "Dad, I love you. Thanks for the adventure today."

Naturally this melted my heart, and little did he know, edged me closer to a major life/career decision I've been weighing for a while. There is certainly more to come on that topic in a future post. Hell, most of it's drafted already. For now I'll savor this day and leave it at that.

meet joe pug

My friend Don in Chicago is batting .1000 when it comes to dropping new music on me. We check in with each other every few months, but I stalk his ass on Facebook enough to keep general tabs on him. The cat wears many hats - Chicago Innerview Magazine editor, music blogger, diamond broker, and indie artist manager. One of his artists, Joe Pug, is stirring the pot.

Here's what Jason Killingsworth, Deputy Editor of Paste Magazine, has to say:

"While most singer/songwriters are content to warble out a few semi-clever turns of phrase, Pug's scorching poetry and soulful, 'every phrase could be my last' voice will stop you cold. If you want to read the actual endorsement, touch the braille stretching up my arms. Twenty years from now, lazy journalists will compare every halfway decent songwriter to Joe Pug. Mark my words."

For what it's worth, this is my contribution to the movement. Check it out:

back on the grift

lately, like many out there, i find time to worry and wring my hands over the dark clouds in life. the times are tough as nails, so who wouldn't sweat it really? at the same time, there's this side of me, something i'm still getting to know, that seems to enjoy the unknown, the giant gray area lurking around the corner. i realize that anyone in his right mind wants to control or have a finger on the pulse of things. of course the counterpoint is that philosophy sucks the unpredictability and chance of adventure from life and lends a contrived vibe to the whole thing. regardless of how i romanticize it in what's becoming a lame opening, we have clearly lost control and better get in rhythm with chaos.

sometimes this all takes me back to part of my life where i managed similar circumstances, and suddenly i know i'm going to be just fine. that part of my life was college.

each class of every semester began the same way - the teacher, matter-of-fact tone, calling me and few other deadbeats out for having a star next to our names in the class roster. in grammar school a star next to your name meant something swell, worthy of praise. suddenly a star means the bursar wants to see your ass about the unpaid tab and figures humiliating you before your classmates with this implication will get your attention. my parents had shit for money then, so i plunged deep, up to my neck, in loans and grants and had to come up with a few grand per semester to cover what financial aid didn't - no small feat for a college kid. to come up with that kind of coin i suppose i could have taken a job on campus, worked and saved obsessively over the summers, or both. instead i became something of a grifter.

i don't say that boastfully or necessarily with a swell of pride. it's not like i wanted to spend my college years with a pit in my stomach pertaining to tuition and rent on top of grades. naturally my preference would have been for my parents to cover me, which seemed to be the standard around me, so i could focus on school. alas, the dealer dealt me a different hand, so i learned to play the game with a chip on my shoulder and a series of bluffs to boot.

since i'm out on a virtual limb here and need to protect my name professionally and parentally, i can't go into tremendous detail about how i pulled off college life on the grift. maybe in 20 years when i retire, when the coast is clear, i will dispense the duplicitous tales. to do so now would be career suicide. not to mention, it would draw some real dirty looks from friends and family at imminent holiday parties.

i guess can share a few maneuvers. for example, to eliminate the classroom shame factor, i wised up by checking in with my professors before the bell to report that i was "working it out" with the bursar. this generally satisfied them and kept my name from being orally disgraced. and it was true - i was working out a plan with the bursar. looking back i wonder if that bursar considered it strange when each month i'd stand in line and make tuition payments with cash money. i certainly felt shady doing so.

in the end, i managed to pay for college, graduate, and grow up. i do feel compelled to acknowledge that i burned some bridges and made some enemies along the way. i am not proud of that either. still, as i've said so many times in my adult life, to change that path is to change who i am right now, so i can't say with any shred of honesty that i wish it all transpired differently.

back to the present and what looks to be modernized version of month-to-month existence - this time with kids, careers, and other such heavy commitments at stake. i think i still have it in me to make it through. this time around the grift will be rated PG-13 and result in zero burned bridges, i hope. and to the probable chagrin of my shrink, i'll fish that old chip from a junk drawer and re-apply it to my shoulder.

don't get me wrong - i'm not mad at the world or rocking a vendetta attitude, but i think some grit and raw energy will be in order if i'm going to make it through the rough sledding ahead. like i said, i've done it before on another stage, so i have no reason to think i can't do it again. hell, i didn't think i had half of what it takes to be a father, but somehow when a challenging occasion emerges on that front, i dig deep and rise to it. so i guess this is all by way of saying, i'm not afraid of what's coming. wow - typing that made me feel light.

to whom it may concern

A typed letter found stuffed in my mail slot last night said this:

To whom it may concern:

This is Danny. I am the kid from Friday night. I would like to start off by thanking you for not involving the police and apologizing for what I did. I had been drinking pretty heavily and only remember bits and pieces of what happened. My dad says I took a few things but I cannot even remember what was in my pockets aside from the iPod. I always do stupid things, however usually to smaller scale, when I drink and then have to clean up my mess in the morning. For what it is worth I do believe that when I woke up the next morning I would have seen your things and tried to return them to your car discreetly as possible, but there is no excuse for what I did. I have a habit of doing things without thinking them through all the way just for an adrenaline rush and that night was one of those times. I consider it a good thing that you caught me because I may have wound up making the same mistake on another night of drinking to another person who is less forgiving. I cannot begin to tell you how bad I feel for being so belligerent that night. I wrote this letter because I was not sure if you wanted to hear this from me face to face or not. If you would like to meet with me or if there is anything else I can do to make up for what I did, my number is xxx-xxx-xxxx. Please call me anytime. Again, I cannot tell you how stupid and terrible I feel and I appreciate the way you handled it.

Danny

Now, somehow, I feel for this kid, despite the fact that he was trying to rip me off. I think I will call and invite him over for a chat to let him know I certainly made and make my share of mistakes on the road of life and that there are no real hard feelings. I might even burn him the Arcade Fire collection to come off as an even cooler cat. Then I just might float the idea of him raking the leaves that are already starting to take over my yard. After all, my back is killing me (yes, I'm decrepit), so why not? It would beat the hell out of chain gang work. Will post later on how it goes.