here we go again

I went to my sister's house for turkey day. There were like 25 people there, lots of little kids running around, delicious food. Objectively speaking, it was a very nice Thanksgiving day gathering.

But one thing was missing: my pop. Last year at this time he was only about 6 weeks away from death, and he may or may not have known it. But on Thanksgiving day he scraped himself out of bed, put on a nice shirt, and made it to my sister's for dinner. He ate like three plates of food, and for once I had the common sense not to tell him to watch out for the fat/salt/calories. He dug into his turkey and potatoes with complete gusto, and he was coherent and sweet and he interacted with all the grandkids with a real sense of joy.

His body was exhausted, there was nothing left in his tank, and we all knew that any day could be his last. He'd been in and out of the hospital about 7 times in the previous 12 months, and nothing the doctors tried was working for him. But for this one final day, he was himself again. Joking, walking under his own power, firing off political opinions with his usual conviction. It was so great to be with him on what turned out to be his last good day on earth.

I miss him so much, and his absence really stung yesterday. Hopefully he's off drenching his turkey with extra gravy somewhere. He deserves it.

We plan on scattering his ashes on January 20th, the one year anniversary of his death and also a special day in DC that would have made him so happy and proud if he'd lived to see it.

Anyway, I don't think there's a more obvious topic to blather on about around Thanksgiving time than 'things to be thankful for.' But that's what I'm about to do.

I am thankful I had such a wonderful father and that I was able to spend nearly 40 years with him.

I am thankful that the Knicks will have a good team again in two years. Just thinking about those Marbury to LeBron alleyoops is giving me chills.

I am thankful my kid is healthy and sweet and only does something psychopathic like once every two weeks.

I am thankful I still got two wheels under me that allow me to pretend to play sports.

I am thankful for the music I love and the songs I haven't heard yet.

I am thankful I can have beer delivered to my office and that I have colleagues who share my enthusiasm for this small and unusual pleasure.

I am thankful to my wife for keeping this family headed in the right direction with not nearly enough help.

I am thankful that I can't look back on any one decision I've made or direction my life has taken and feel deep regret about it. There have been some clunkers in there for sure, but nothing that still keeps me up at night.

I'm thankful that I'm not living in the past. It was good, or maybe it wasn't, but it's gone. Now it's just something fun to think about now and then. Like a good book you haven't picked up in awhile.

I'm thankful for the egg and cheese sandwich on toasted ciabatta and the iced coffee at Macchiato Espresso Bar.

I'm thankful I haven't been too sick this year, and with this knowledge I readily accept that I probably have a major bug coming my way. It's OK.

I'm thankful for long sleeved t-shirts, hooded sweatshirts, and new pairs of kickaround shoes.

I'm thankful for the awesome assortment of friends who continue to do right by me. And I'm even thankful for the people I've lost touch with but who rocked me at one point in life. I know you're out there.

I'm thankful for the sweet promise of HIATUS.

I'm thankful for all the blogs in my google reader. I'm thankful for reader comments.

I'm thankful for the popcorn machine I plan on getting for Christmas.

12 indelible elementary school memories

1. Kindergarten, sometime in 1974 or 1975: a kid with behavior problems named Everett climbs on top of a water fountain in the little-kid schoolyard, screaming obscenities and warning everyone to stand back. When a teacher gets too close, Everett puts his fist through a closed window. Blood everywhere.

2. 3rd grade, approximately 1977: while horsing around with my pal Kissel, I bend the tail of my stegosaurus doll back underneath its body like a penis. We laugh. Then Kissel quickly gets the teacher's attention, saying, "Mrs. Levy, look what Hans is doing!" She replies: "Hans, I'm surprised at you." My status as fair-haired prize pupil is temporarily surrendered.

3. 3rd grade: the class is having a contest in which kids say a particular "times table" as quickly as possible. As in, "o-5-10-15-20-25-30-35-40-45-50!" Like a high jumper passing on an early height he knows he can make, I wait through the 5's, 10's, 4's, etc. and raise my hand for the 9's. Nobody else wants to tackle it. I explode with 0-9-18-27-36-45-54-63-72-81-90 in approximately 2.2 seconds, a world record that still stands today.

4. 3rd grade: in a spelling bee, I make it to the final two in class, squaring off against Darcy M. for the crown. I lose, on the word "government." I somehow did not know about the first "n", and my dreams die with a sad, phonetic, and ultimately ridiculous "g-o-v-e-r-m-e-n-t." I make an internal promise never to spell goverment wrong again, a vow I have kept to this day.

P.S. Darcy, if you're out there, I'm ready for you. Rematch time. You name the place.

5. 3rd grade: Ali H., a huge immigrant kid from Lebanon, has been having trouble fitting in. His English is so-so, and he's big and fat and prone to emotional outbursts and hitting. One day, as our class walks down the school stairs, my friend (Name Withheld) sticks a piece of bubble gum on the waistband of Ali's underpants, which are protruding above his pants. Ali doesn't notice. Name Withheld and I share an evil little kid laugh at Ali's expense. The next day we look and his underwear is showing again - with a little mark where he (and his parents, probably) had pried the gum loose. We laugh again. Evil. The whole cruel little episode haunts me still.

6. 3rd grade again: I am walking home from school alone at age 8. (This seems like questionable judgment to me now but seemed fine at the time, even though I got mugged a few times and hassled on a regular basis.) I stop to pet a dog (German Shepherd?) leashed to the awning of the Bagel Buffet on 6th avenue and 8th street. The dog leaps up and bites my face. Blood all over the place again, dripping down my arms, all over my clothes. I stumble home the remaining two blocks. A woman gives me a tissue out of her wallet. It helps a little.
7. 4th grade, ca. 1978: after my friend John B. and I both admit we have a crush on the same girl (Andes V.), I get up the guts to ask her out. We go on a date, with both of our moms along for the ride. We go to some mansiony museum place outside the city, and it pours all day. Somehow we end up back at her apartment, and my mom leaves, allowing me to spend the night! I take off my wet clothes and put on one of her nightgowns. We stay up late talking and eventually admit we "like like" each other. My heart nearly bursts. We discuss "how far we'd like to go" with each other. We both agree: 2nd base, french kissing. She tells me that her friend also likes me and is willing to go farther (3rd base: finger-fucking!). I am intimidated by all of this talk and nothing happens. We "go out" for like 4 months, but I am too scared to even kiss her.

22 years later, I google her for the hell of it. She has written a short story that has won some kind of award (or maybe at least got published). I can only assume that she was able to channel her unrequited little girl desire for me into a successful writing career. I wonder why she has not yet thanked me, but figure that's just how it is. Around that same time (2000-2001), I astonish and repulse a group of people I have just been introduced to in a bar with a long monologue about the term "finger-fucking." I think it's hilarious; it probably is not.

8. 5th grade, 1980: I am sitting outside of my class talking with two girls and another boy about "how far we'd go" with a member of the opposite sex. I learn that one of our class studs has already received his first blowjob! At this point in my life I have still not even kissed a girl. Tanya G., a girl who will later maul me during a round of Run, Catch, and Kiss in the schoolyard, claims that she is not ready for sex because her mom has warned her about V.D. We are ten years old, and I have no idea what she is talking about.

9. 5th grade: a tiny girl named Elizabeth N. invites me to her birthday party. At the party, we find ourselves alone in her room and she tells me she has a crush on me. I want to kiss her but again I am too scared. Perhaps of V.D.

10. 5th grade: I hit 6 consecutive (underhand) free throws in gym class. I have never played basketball before, and won't again for about four years, but the feeling of seeing the ball going in the basket resonates inside me somewhere, thrills me way more than it should. And it still does.

11. 5th grade: I am elected class president in a landslide victory over the 2 class studs (including the Hummer King). The final tally is like 21-2-2. After big campaign promises, I lose interest and do nothing. My administration is marked by a complete lack of progress on all fronts.

12. 5th grade: for reasons still unknown to me, I refuse to participate in our class's graduation song performance, Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now by McFadden & Whitehead. I don't know why (maybe because I think I am supposed to prefer Rock in the Rock vs. Disco wars?), but I sit it out, a last misguided gesture to cap off my final year in elementary school.

how's it gonna be

I have approximately 36 hours of work that needs to get done on Wednesday. I can already see how it's gonna go down.

I will go in at 9am. I will come home around 1am. That is 16 hours. A long damn workday, I think you'd agree. The Man is getting his money's worth.

I will still come up approximately 20 hours short of getting done what I need to get done.

I will have an iced coffee from New York's premier coffee bar, and a shaken iced tea lemonade from the world's leading purveyor of caffeinated beverages. These will ease my pain a little.

I will fuck off at my desk for about 23 minutes total: bullshitting, checking facebook, crossing the line with questionable jokes directed at co-workers.

I will also waste about 54 minutes spinning my wheels: forgetting what I was about to do, getting up and walking to someone's office only to find they are not there, putting out stupid fires that shouldn't have ever started in the first place, throwing my 2 cents into someone else's discussion without being asked, soothing immature colleagues.

I will probably pee twice.

I will leave the building twice for a total of 19 minutes, once to go get lunch and once to go get my iced tea lemonade. Other than that, I will not see the sun. I will not look out a window for even a second.

Someone will give me attitude and I will tell them to calm down. Someone else will ask for my opinion on something, then vehemently disagree with it when I give it.

There will be at least one moment of panic when we all think something is fucked up and it's too late to do anything about it. There is a 50% chance that it will really be fucked up and it will be too late to do anything about it.

News will continue to spread that someone has quit. There will be intense gossip about it and then it will die down.

After I leave for work in the morning, I won't see my kid until the next day. My wife will express her intense dislike for my schedule during a phone conversation around 9pm.

I will be too overwhelmed and pressed for time to even fantasize about a better way of life.

Thursday will be worse.

out of touch and confused

I hung with some pals a couple of times this week, it was fun. Thursday I got to bring together three different social circles at the Hold Steady/Drive-by Truckers show, it was a blast. Overdid it a little on $6 concert beers but nobody got killed. Heard a horrifying story from Mike D. Hunt involving donuts, but for legal reasons I can't say any more than that. Got to meet Mike's pal Finn, seems like a super guy and much handsomer and more well-preserved than most 39 year-olds I know. Must be that crisp midwestern air.

Then on Saturday I sat in on a poker game at D. Lee's house. Didn't play, just sat there for a couple hours to see the fellas. Dipak was in town from Chicago. Whatever.

Talking to people from outside my work for more than a few minutes made me realize something, though.

I'm hopelessly out of touch.


Since I had a kid and took this new job in 2005/2006, my entire focus has been on:

-work
-coming home, playing with the kid, putting the kid to bed, etc.

I don't read the newspaper. My understanding of world events is superficial and I get it from half-heard conversations or blogs.

I don't watch any TV shows. No, I didn't see that episode of The Office. I'm sure it was great.

I don't go to the movies. Except Madagascar 2.

I don't go to The Bar. Apparently The Bar is still going strong without me. Fucking emotionless Bar doesn't even care that I'm gone.

I don't really watch sports. Just a little bit here and there, can't name half the starting QB's in the NFL.

Don't remember my friends' kids' birthdays, don't stay in touch enough to know how their jobs are going, how their parents are feeling. Want to send cards and thank yous and be proactive and thoughtful, but it doesn't happen. Have tons of unacted-upon good intentions towards everybody.

Haven't finished a book in awhile. Don't know what's going on in music.

I'm not even really that connected with my own life. Just the parts of it that require my immediate attention. All the heavy lifting and long-range planning is done by my wife, God bless her. School, bills, nanny, playdates, doctor's appointments, it's all a mystery to me.

Could stand to do a situp or two, but haven't found the time. Don't cook, don't eat right, don't get enough sleep.

Mostly I'm just showing up.

It's like I got overwhelmed without knowing it, and I grabbed onto the things I knew needed to be grabbed and lost sight of everything else.

The weird thing is I haven't been depressed about any of it until the last couple of days. Then I started thinking: my job feels like survival every day, it's never easy, there's no slow period or random fuckaround intervals throughout the workday. It's not completely unrewarding, and there are no real douchebags to deal with, it's just challenging and stressful and unrelenting. The only truly great thing about it is that we get this awesome 7 week HIATUS in the summer, so we all have our eyes on that prize.

But of course if you are looking forward with everything you've got to something that's six months away, then you are technically wishing that you could fast forward though the next six months of useless future. And those are six months of a short life you can't get back.

And it sent me into a state of existential panic. Many of us live as if our lives are indefinite. We put valuable shit off and think nothing of wasting a year in a situation that's just not working. In order to function we've managed to back-burner the obvious fact that we are careening towards death every second at 1000 miles per hour.

But that fact exists and it should actually be the driving force in our every decision, the way we go through every single day. The thought already lives somewhere in the back of our minds: FUCK! I'M GONNA DIE! It's just a matter of moving it a little closer to the front. Question: Should I spend another three minutes in front of this mirror grooming myself so I am slightly more attractive? (FUCK! I'M GONNA DIE!) Answer: No that's good enough. Question: Should I ask for that raise? (FUCK! I'M GONNA DIE!) Answer: Of course you should, you have only limited time to save up for your yacht, get started.

We convince ourselves that everything's OK, and it's not. Not at all, dude. You are running out of time, stop fucking around. You should be in your two-minute offense right now. Get your business in order, manage your priorities better, don't take any shit from anybody unless they've got a gun. Suck every last second of fun out of every day. Live with desperation. It still won't be enough, but you'll know you tried.

As for me, I gotta do better than this surviving. I don't know, man, I don't know shit. Which makes it kind of pathetic that I feel entitled to blog about it. And by the way it's awfully sweet of you to read it.

Have a good Monday, you only have so many left. Grab yourself a large iced coffee, take the obvious dirty joke if it's there, and squeeze the people you love.

Most of all, stop trying to act cool. You're not cool and pretending you are is a waste of time. Plus it's embarrassing.

don't wait to get huge

Sometimes spam subject lines can be so inspiring.

"Don't wait to get huge." Word.

It was a good weekend. I was happy. I did all the things I like to do: eat, drink, play ball, walk around, listen to music, have brunch with family, get huge. You know.

I was in a good mood and I had a spring in my step. There was a point on Saturday where I was playing hoops and I just couldn't miss. It was turn back the clock night, and even if it only lasted an hour or so, it was immensely satisfying.

It got me thinking about happiness. There are a million happinesses in the world, ranging from mild to medium to spicy habanero.

There's the happiness that comes with moments of great relief, like passing the bar or receiving a favorable medical diagnosis. There's the happiness in being proven right. There's the happiness of getting a new gadget. There's the happiness of excelling at something. There's the happiness of landing in a familiar place, whether it's returning home after a long vacation or hearing your favorite song on the radio.

Figuring something out = happiness. Fixing something. Having sex. Eating potatoes. Going on a really strong run of one-liners in the office. Drinking with your pals. Climbing in bed with your old lady. Dipping your toes in the surf. Standing up for yourself. Teaching somebody something. Helping out a person in need. Seeing your kid do something cool. Watching your favorite show. Reverse dunking a basketball.

Getting away with something. Discovering something new to love. Punching a bully square in the jaw. Having a little change in your pocket going jingalingaling.

We can keep going here, feel free to add your own.

But it seems to me that the purest happiness is the one that fills your soul so completely that you cannot think of anything else except what is happening to you right then. What you are doing is all you care about, nothing else exists. No yesterday, no tomorrow, no worries, no consequences, just pure fulfillment. To be hopelessly lost in that particular moment is the ultimate happiness. I saw an example as I was walking through Stuyvesant Town today.

On the little grass field near our apartment building, there were two sixteen-or-so-year-old kids kicking a soccer ball around together. A boy and a girl. They were sort of horsing around, trying to take the ball from one another. Then they got tangled up and fell on top of each other. They started play-wrestling and giggling, and the boy eventually got the upper hand on the girl and they found themselves in a mess of arms and legs and the boy's face was like three inches above the girl's. They stopped giggling and just stared into each other's eyes for like 30 seconds in silence. I turned away to limit my own creepiness, but I am pretty sure that they had been "just friends" until that very moment, and then they both simultaneously realized they were in love. Not just love, but uncontrollable teenage love. Not long-term, adult, through the ups and downs, always there for each other love. No, it was wild, gasping, desperate, kiss me or I'll die love. And I can guarantee that their heads were empty of any thoughts other than the person staring back at them.

That's a good weekend. I can't duplicate that feeling for you, I'm sorry. But I can give you what I consider the next best thing, a new edition of the IAQ. Here goes:

Q: With Halloween just behind us, it seems like a good time to ask: what are your favorite candy bars?

A: In order:
KitKat
Twix
Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Nestle Crunch
$100,000 Bar
Mounds

Honorable Mention Old School: Marathon Bar

Q: What are your thoughts on the election?

A: Obviously I'm for Obama, although voting in a state like New York is sort of like watching TV without a Nielsen box. Still fun, but not impactful. Today I read this article and it kind of bummed me out for a couple of reasons:

I have trouble believing that Obama is really truly that sincere in his religious beliefs. I think it's a political move on his part.

And assuming I'm wrong about that, it bothers me that he would let those relgious views trump logic, common sense and fairness.

“I’m a Christian,” Mr. Obama said on a radio program in his 2004 race for Senate. “And so, although I try not to have my religious beliefs dominate or determine my political views on this issue, I do believe that tradition, and my religious beliefs say that marriage is something sanctified between a man and a woman."

Please, dude. Don't be so lame. Love is love, rights are rights, marriage like anything else can be redefined over time.

Q: A lot of people think the Replacements are overrated. What song would you offer as proof of their greatness?

A: You know what, fuck it. I am done proselytizing about the Replacements. If you don't like 'em, I completely understand. They didn't break new groud musically, they weren't the best players or the coolest dudes, there is no measurable evidence of what made them special. I just think they had more heart than everybody else combined.

But if pressed...maybe "Sixteen Blue."

Q: How do you deal with sucking at something you used to be good at (like basketball)?

A: Savor the good moments. Lower your expectations. This technique works across the board.

And trust me, you wanted no part of Hans Q. Bungle on the court this Saturday.

Q: What puzzles you?

A: Recycling. Like, I know it's good and I do it as much as possible, but I've had this irrational skepticism about it ever since I read this stupid article like 12 years ago. Plus, I still am not sure about certain items. Milk Cartons -- do they go in with plastic or paper? I've heard both answers. Maybe If I knew what they are made of I could make an informed decision.

And batteries. What the hell do we do with batteries?

Q: Early thoughts on the Knicks?

A: Yes it is early, but it looks like it's going to be a long season. The new style is there and the dudes are running, they just can't shoot. I mean, even crappy teams seem to have like 2 or 3 all-star type players, like say The Heat. The best players on the Knicks...Randolph and Crawford, I guess? Yuck. And the Marbury situation is really just awful and sad for everybody.

Q: What time is it?

A: 1:36 a.m.

Q: What was the answer to the lyric stumpah in the previous post?

A: "If You Want My Love" by Cheap Trick. Not their best or their worst, but one that stuck in my head for some reason. And a complete Beatle ripoff. Can you name the Beatles song being stolen?

On a side note, I knew Cheap Trick was from Rockford, Illinois, but I always thought Robin Zander was British. Turns out he's from fuckin' Beloit. Props, Zander.

Q: How did that book you were reading turn out?

A: Not done yet, but it got kinda sucky.

Q: Did you watch the World Series?

A: Bits and pieces. I liked it, but it sure was weird. Looking forward to 2009, I don't see how the Yanks will make the playoffs with the D-Rays and Red Sox in their division. They better open that checkbook wide.

Q: What do you think about Capital Punishment?

A: I think it's barbaric. I think that as human beings in 2008 we should be capable of better. I don't think it deters crime. I think that if we put even one innocent person to death, we should all be ashamed of ourselves. I have always felt this way.

But now...if someone did something horrible to my kid, I would want that person put to death. So I don't know how I feel about it.

Q: Are you excited about the show on Thursday?

A: Yes, although work may make me show up a little late. Also, some non-verbungle-reading officemates may be tagging along, so if you are coming please don't mention the blog. The job you save may be my own.

Q: What's the verdict on High School Musical 3?

A: It's no HSM 2. They really blew it.

Q: Should I wait to get huge?

A: It depends. Every situation is different. That said, I generally think it's a bad idea to wait to get huge. You only get so many chances.