It’s time to turn back the clocks.
Pretend it’s the 16th Century and you’re a member of the separatist, Pilgrim Fathers who are salty with the Church of England. Determined to ditch Mother Britain and its Anglican ways, you and your posse strike out for the Netherlands. Only life there isn’t too rosy either: the Dutch are a thorn in your side.
What next? Get the row boat ready. It’s time to colonize.
Fortunately for you and your shipmates, the Mayflower is one heck of a vessel: your crew makes it to the new land intact. Unfortunately, two glaring details regarding your new home are instantly noticeable: 1) it’s colder than balls and 2) your brethren are falling like flies.
What next? Get the blankets ready. It’s time to freeze to death.
This last point is the crux of this entry. The Pilgrims crossed an ocean for want of a better life. They went to all that trouble and then, once here, they willingly took up residence as Popsicles.
Admittedly, “willingly” might be a slight exaggeration. But back in the 16th Century I’m sure there were rumors floating around Europe, if not eAlerts from weather.com, mentioning that Ferdinand’s grandchildren were enjoying another balmy winter in Spain (i.e. to the south).
With that meteorological factoid in mind, if you’re a Pilgrim at Plymouth Rock, why not hop back in the Mayflower and head farther down the shore? Or if the harshness of that first winter made leaving impossible -- and you were one of the 50% who survived -- wouldn’t you chalk New England winters up as “one and done” and try your luck elsewhere?
It reminds me of the old, Wendy’s commercials in which passersby are asked to choose between Burger A & Burger B: “would you rather have Burger A, a thin patty with reconstituted onions (i.e. death by hypothermia)....or Burger B, a big, juicy Wendy’s burger with your choice of toppings (i.e. life on a beach in the Carolinas with little umbrella drinks).”
Apparently, for the Pilgrims, it was a no-brainer.
Think about it. If the Pilgrims and other early settlers would have moseyed farther south, the eastern seaboard as we know it might be located in the Carolinas.
The Empire State building might be in Myrtle Beach. The Boston Celtics might be the Charleston Cadets. That little civil war of ours might have been inverted, with the south fighting for Emancipation. And I might be employed in New York City, North Carolina, where I’d be playing golf this winter instead of living through Day 87 of watching paint dry in Chicago.
In summary, the Pilgrims are to blame for my winter; perhaps the Anglican Church as well for causing the original rift. Wiser colonists might have sent their ships farther south, but "we" never got that chance. The migration to New England had already begun.
Granted, over the last 400 years a few Americans have taken matters into their own hands -- refusing to accept winter as a necessary season. Last time I checked about 1/9 of the country lived in California.
Unfortunately, I’m not one of them.
Nope. I endure five months of winter annually: whittling away life one indoor day at a time. Sure, come summer I’ll be sitting at Wrigley field marmalading Chicago like there’s no tomorrow. But right now I live longingly for temperatures in the 30s. If the thermometer every hits 40 degrees, SPF is mandatory.
And that makes me a moron. Same as the Pilgrims.
We are one in the same.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Monthly Stew
20) Tis the Season (still)
The 2007 holiday season was bleak for retailers. To date that is.
Gift-card purchases aren’t counted as sales until the cards are redeemed. And analysts estimate that over $30 billion was spent on gift card purchases during the ‘07 holiday season.
As a society it’s nice to see we’re shirking “it’s the thought that counts” and endorsing “let me choose my own damn gift later.”
19) A Love Supreme
I love pizza. Historically, I’ve been a pepperoni or cheese devotee. Then, a few weeks ago, I faced a daunting option at my local, grocery store (White Hen): buy supreme or nothing at all. I opted for supreme. And to my surprise, it was mighty tasty. So now I’m hooked on Digiorno’s frozen supreme (who needs delivery?).
Anecdotally, this numeral also refers to a terrific John Coltrane album. And Trane goes well with any ‘za.
18) Matters of Size
The largest mammal is 400 million times heavier than the smallest. The Great Barrier Reef is longer than Europe. Giant sequoias, excluding their immense system of roots, are three and a half times longer than the biggest whales. And deep on the ocean floor, creatures 1,000 times smaller than one human blood cell co-exist with the giants of the sea.
Let’s end the debate once and for all: size matters.
17) The Watt Spot
Tired of paying so much for electricity? Craving an alternative?
ComEd is now offering a real-time pricing plan, based on hourly usage. In essence, if you use less electricity during peak hours, or if you don’t consume much electricity in general, you should save money under the real-time plan. And ComEd displays the hourly kilowatt prices for each day on its Watt Spot website, in addition to forecasted prices for the following day.
Kudos to Todd Smith for bringing us this option.
16) Across the Universe
I was on the fence about the Beatles’ cinematic rock medley, Across the Universe, when I first saw the previews. I sat on the fence until Christmas when my mom and I trucked over to the dollar theater for a viewing. Talk about a high ROI.
The storyline worked, but not surprisingly the musical arrangements were the highlight: Dear Prudence, Let it Be, and I Want to Hold Your Hand in particular. There were also great cameos by Joe Cocker, Bono, Selma Hayek, and Maxwell's Silver Hammer. Say nothing of the uncanny physical likeness between lead actor, Jim Sturgess, and Paul McCartney.
The best buck I’ve spent in a while. And the price of admission comes with a week’s worth of humming to Beatles’ melodies.
15) Small Town Alert: Cincinnati, Indiana
Not a typo. That’s right: we’re talking about WKRP in Indiana. Located in the heart of Greene County, Cincinnati (IN) is right down the road from Hobbieville and Popcorn (I kid you not): approx. 20 miles southwest of the utopia that is Bloomington, IN.
Moreover, a resident of Cincinnati, IN has inadvertently (let me say brilliantly!) motivated a future blog entry. Stay tuned.
14) Bringing Classy Back
Ever notice the old men who dress up for a flight -- believing that travel is, by itself, a dignified occasion worthy of nice attire.
That move is all class. I likeitalot.
I’m not saying I’ll be wearing a suit and necktie on my next flight, but dress paints with a collar shirt? Take it to the bank.
13) Anna Netrebko
This Russian vixen is on the verge of becoming opera’s #1 diva. Her Cinderella story – from washing floors at the Mariinsky Theatre (for the Kirov Opera in St. Petersburg) to starring on that very same stage – makes her ascent all the more remarkable.
Her voice is big enough to fill any rotunda, and yet her pitch is light and seemingly effortless, without the weighty vibrato that makes opera sound like a bathtub full of lava.
Regarding Anna: I. Am. Sold.
12) Patron
When did Patron become the standby tequila at the bar? Patron went from 0 to 60 faster than any liquor in memory. And it’s not like they’ve been putting on a huge marketing blitz.
Personally, I think Patron is a classic example of mavens taking to something and making it tip in popularity -- Malcolm Gladwell style. In this case the tip happens to be literal: down our throats.
And with that rationale in mind, I think Patron should send my buddy Jason a royalty check – he’s been advocating for Patron since the Fraggle Rock era. And trust me, that’s a lot of tequilla.
11) Fraggle Rock
How great was this show?!? Admittedly, I'm a little out of touch with TV programming for kids, but my gut says that Henson’s beloved, underground Muppets would still resonate with children today. Somebody should call the Henson estate and look into distribution rights: I smell Franklins.
10) The Grape of the Month: Petite Sirah
Not to be confused with Syrah/Shiraz, Petite Sirah is its own, distinct grape. Well, sort of.
Most of the grapes which we consider Petite Sirah are really a grape called Durif, which was developed in France in the late 1800s by Francois Durif by crossing Syrah and Peloursin. Today, Petite Syrah thrives in warm, dry climates and is mainly harvested in California.
Petite Sirahs are peppery, jammy wines with an explosive amount of fruit. The opposite of a subtle, long-finishing Cabernet, Petite Sirah grabs your palate from the getgo. Foppiano ($18), Guenoc ($14), and Bogle ($11) in California all specialize in Petite Sirah. Each should be available in retailers nationwide.
9) Lisa Gherardini Smile
The wife of a wealthy Florentine merchant, Francesco del Giocondo, has long been considered the most likely model for the world’s most renowned painting, The Mona Lisa. But art historians have often wondered whether the smiling woman may actually have been Da Vinci's lover, his mother, or someone else entirely.
Now experts at the Heidelberg University library say dated notes scribbled in the margins of a book in October 1503 confirm once and for all that Lisa del Giocondo, whose maiden name was Gherardini, was the subject in Da Vinci’s portrait.
With this caper solved, maybe I can finally get some sleep at night.
8) A, B, C, E, G...
Are there certain words you absolutely, positively cannot spell? Worse, they never (!) look right when you type/write them out. For me “subscriber” and “occasionally” might as well be supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
Yet again I say: thank goodness for spellcheck.
7) Thug Life
Some people daydream about fortune and fame. Some merely want alone time on the couch. Others want to get thugged out. But we shouldn’t ever assume to know who fits in which category.
Last week a woman sat next to me on the work-bound train doing her make-up. Early twenties and wearing a semi-provocative outfit, but nothing that would make you question her Christianity. Only when she threw her hair aside to leave did I see the huge “THUG LIFE” tattoo emblazoned on her neck.
People: you never know.
6) No Country for Old Men...or Young Men...or Women
Say what you want about Afghanistan, Iraq, or even Iran – for my money the most dangerous country on earth is Pakistan (by a landslide). The assassination of opposition leader and U.S. ally, Benazir Bhutto, is just another indication of the country’s instability. It’s a good thing Musharraf has those nukes locked away in safe-keeping (cough, cough).
I don’t scare easily, but when I think about an Apple Vacation to Pakistan I envision something out of Patriot Games with a cartel of Pakistanis shooting rocket launchers at me, the lone Americano in an 800-mile radius. In a word: pass.
5) Words of Wisdom w/It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Dennis: “I hate listening to people's dreams. It's like flipping through a stack of photographs. If I'm not in any of them and nobody's having sex, I just don't care.”
4) “I survived $40 crude.”
In the spring of 2004 someone handed me a T-shirt which read: “I survived $40 crude.” The implicit non-joke was that $40 prices were temporary. And you know what, the t-shirt hecklers were right: $40 crude was temporary. Now we’re being treated to bargain basement prices of $100 a barrel.
My name isn’t T. Boone Pickens, but Econ 101 taught me about the old supply and demand curve. And if I were trading oil futures, I think I’d get long, and stay long.
3) The New York Football Giants
Occasionally – every blue moon – one of my ranting predictions comes to fruition. There are a lot of pleasures in this world, but on a short term basis, nothing (I mean nothing!) beats being right. And if you’ll remember back in October, I opined that the Giants were a highly undervalued betting prospect at 65-1.
Three months later only four NFL Teams remain, and the Giants are one of them. And you’d better believe they are no longer 65-1.
2) A Penny for Your Thoughts
Is it me or is tipping now required with virtually every transaction? I think the unwritten rule of thumb is if the buyer isn’t carrying the item of purchase to the register (i.e. someone has to get/make/do something for you) tipping is either acceptable or warranted. Meanwhile, I think my dry cleaner adds a tip into her mental calculation of what I should owe – five shirts and a pair of pants is anywhere from $9 to $12 pending the week.
I'm waiting for the day when a tip is expected after the exchange of random information; it can't be that far off.
1) You Are What You Eat
A typical human has 30,000 genes. And of those 30,000, on average, only 30 will vary from person to person – which means that your DNA is approximately 99.9% the same as Ted Nugent, JLo, and Charlton Heston.
Perhaps not surprisingly, our genetic makeup is also 95% similar to that of a chimpanzee. However, scientists are also discovering that our genetic makeup is very similar to plants. For example, we share about 75% of the same DNA as a pumpkin.
A factoid I'm planning to intentionally forget the next time someone serves up a warm slice of pumpkin pie.
The 2007 holiday season was bleak for retailers. To date that is.
Gift-card purchases aren’t counted as sales until the cards are redeemed. And analysts estimate that over $30 billion was spent on gift card purchases during the ‘07 holiday season.
As a society it’s nice to see we’re shirking “it’s the thought that counts” and endorsing “let me choose my own damn gift later.”
19) A Love Supreme
I love pizza. Historically, I’ve been a pepperoni or cheese devotee. Then, a few weeks ago, I faced a daunting option at my local, grocery store (White Hen): buy supreme or nothing at all. I opted for supreme. And to my surprise, it was mighty tasty. So now I’m hooked on Digiorno’s frozen supreme (who needs delivery?).
Anecdotally, this numeral also refers to a terrific John Coltrane album. And Trane goes well with any ‘za.
18) Matters of Size
The largest mammal is 400 million times heavier than the smallest. The Great Barrier Reef is longer than Europe. Giant sequoias, excluding their immense system of roots, are three and a half times longer than the biggest whales. And deep on the ocean floor, creatures 1,000 times smaller than one human blood cell co-exist with the giants of the sea.
Let’s end the debate once and for all: size matters.
17) The Watt Spot
Tired of paying so much for electricity? Craving an alternative?
ComEd is now offering a real-time pricing plan, based on hourly usage. In essence, if you use less electricity during peak hours, or if you don’t consume much electricity in general, you should save money under the real-time plan. And ComEd displays the hourly kilowatt prices for each day on its Watt Spot website, in addition to forecasted prices for the following day.
Kudos to Todd Smith for bringing us this option.
16) Across the Universe
I was on the fence about the Beatles’ cinematic rock medley, Across the Universe, when I first saw the previews. I sat on the fence until Christmas when my mom and I trucked over to the dollar theater for a viewing. Talk about a high ROI.
The storyline worked, but not surprisingly the musical arrangements were the highlight: Dear Prudence, Let it Be, and I Want to Hold Your Hand in particular. There were also great cameos by Joe Cocker, Bono, Selma Hayek, and Maxwell's Silver Hammer. Say nothing of the uncanny physical likeness between lead actor, Jim Sturgess, and Paul McCartney.
The best buck I’ve spent in a while. And the price of admission comes with a week’s worth of humming to Beatles’ melodies.
15) Small Town Alert: Cincinnati, Indiana
Not a typo. That’s right: we’re talking about WKRP in Indiana. Located in the heart of Greene County, Cincinnati (IN) is right down the road from Hobbieville and Popcorn (I kid you not): approx. 20 miles southwest of the utopia that is Bloomington, IN.
Moreover, a resident of Cincinnati, IN has inadvertently (let me say brilliantly!) motivated a future blog entry. Stay tuned.
14) Bringing Classy Back
Ever notice the old men who dress up for a flight -- believing that travel is, by itself, a dignified occasion worthy of nice attire.
That move is all class. I likeitalot.
I’m not saying I’ll be wearing a suit and necktie on my next flight, but dress paints with a collar shirt? Take it to the bank.
13) Anna Netrebko
This Russian vixen is on the verge of becoming opera’s #1 diva. Her Cinderella story – from washing floors at the Mariinsky Theatre (for the Kirov Opera in St. Petersburg) to starring on that very same stage – makes her ascent all the more remarkable.
Her voice is big enough to fill any rotunda, and yet her pitch is light and seemingly effortless, without the weighty vibrato that makes opera sound like a bathtub full of lava.
Regarding Anna: I. Am. Sold.
12) Patron
When did Patron become the standby tequila at the bar? Patron went from 0 to 60 faster than any liquor in memory. And it’s not like they’ve been putting on a huge marketing blitz.
Personally, I think Patron is a classic example of mavens taking to something and making it tip in popularity -- Malcolm Gladwell style. In this case the tip happens to be literal: down our throats.
And with that rationale in mind, I think Patron should send my buddy Jason a royalty check – he’s been advocating for Patron since the Fraggle Rock era. And trust me, that’s a lot of tequilla.
11) Fraggle Rock
How great was this show?!? Admittedly, I'm a little out of touch with TV programming for kids, but my gut says that Henson’s beloved, underground Muppets would still resonate with children today. Somebody should call the Henson estate and look into distribution rights: I smell Franklins.
10) The Grape of the Month: Petite Sirah
Not to be confused with Syrah/Shiraz, Petite Sirah is its own, distinct grape. Well, sort of.
Most of the grapes which we consider Petite Sirah are really a grape called Durif, which was developed in France in the late 1800s by Francois Durif by crossing Syrah and Peloursin. Today, Petite Syrah thrives in warm, dry climates and is mainly harvested in California.
Petite Sirahs are peppery, jammy wines with an explosive amount of fruit. The opposite of a subtle, long-finishing Cabernet, Petite Sirah grabs your palate from the getgo. Foppiano ($18), Guenoc ($14), and Bogle ($11) in California all specialize in Petite Sirah. Each should be available in retailers nationwide.
9) Lisa Gherardini Smile
The wife of a wealthy Florentine merchant, Francesco del Giocondo, has long been considered the most likely model for the world’s most renowned painting, The Mona Lisa. But art historians have often wondered whether the smiling woman may actually have been Da Vinci's lover, his mother, or someone else entirely.
Now experts at the Heidelberg University library say dated notes scribbled in the margins of a book in October 1503 confirm once and for all that Lisa del Giocondo, whose maiden name was Gherardini, was the subject in Da Vinci’s portrait.
With this caper solved, maybe I can finally get some sleep at night.
8) A, B, C, E, G...
Are there certain words you absolutely, positively cannot spell? Worse, they never (!) look right when you type/write them out. For me “subscriber” and “occasionally” might as well be supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
Yet again I say: thank goodness for spellcheck.
7) Thug Life
Some people daydream about fortune and fame. Some merely want alone time on the couch. Others want to get thugged out. But we shouldn’t ever assume to know who fits in which category.
Last week a woman sat next to me on the work-bound train doing her make-up. Early twenties and wearing a semi-provocative outfit, but nothing that would make you question her Christianity. Only when she threw her hair aside to leave did I see the huge “THUG LIFE” tattoo emblazoned on her neck.
People: you never know.
6) No Country for Old Men...or Young Men...or Women
Say what you want about Afghanistan, Iraq, or even Iran – for my money the most dangerous country on earth is Pakistan (by a landslide). The assassination of opposition leader and U.S. ally, Benazir Bhutto, is just another indication of the country’s instability. It’s a good thing Musharraf has those nukes locked away in safe-keeping (cough, cough).
I don’t scare easily, but when I think about an Apple Vacation to Pakistan I envision something out of Patriot Games with a cartel of Pakistanis shooting rocket launchers at me, the lone Americano in an 800-mile radius. In a word: pass.
5) Words of Wisdom w/It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Dennis: “I hate listening to people's dreams. It's like flipping through a stack of photographs. If I'm not in any of them and nobody's having sex, I just don't care.”
4) “I survived $40 crude.”
In the spring of 2004 someone handed me a T-shirt which read: “I survived $40 crude.” The implicit non-joke was that $40 prices were temporary. And you know what, the t-shirt hecklers were right: $40 crude was temporary. Now we’re being treated to bargain basement prices of $100 a barrel.
My name isn’t T. Boone Pickens, but Econ 101 taught me about the old supply and demand curve. And if I were trading oil futures, I think I’d get long, and stay long.
3) The New York Football Giants
Occasionally – every blue moon – one of my ranting predictions comes to fruition. There are a lot of pleasures in this world, but on a short term basis, nothing (I mean nothing!) beats being right. And if you’ll remember back in October, I opined that the Giants were a highly undervalued betting prospect at 65-1.
Three months later only four NFL Teams remain, and the Giants are one of them. And you’d better believe they are no longer 65-1.
2) A Penny for Your Thoughts
Is it me or is tipping now required with virtually every transaction? I think the unwritten rule of thumb is if the buyer isn’t carrying the item of purchase to the register (i.e. someone has to get/make/do something for you) tipping is either acceptable or warranted. Meanwhile, I think my dry cleaner adds a tip into her mental calculation of what I should owe – five shirts and a pair of pants is anywhere from $9 to $12 pending the week.
I'm waiting for the day when a tip is expected after the exchange of random information; it can't be that far off.
1) You Are What You Eat
A typical human has 30,000 genes. And of those 30,000, on average, only 30 will vary from person to person – which means that your DNA is approximately 99.9% the same as Ted Nugent, JLo, and Charlton Heston.
Perhaps not surprisingly, our genetic makeup is also 95% similar to that of a chimpanzee. However, scientists are also discovering that our genetic makeup is very similar to plants. For example, we share about 75% of the same DNA as a pumpkin.
A factoid I'm planning to intentionally forget the next time someone serves up a warm slice of pumpkin pie.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Setting the Table for '08
Fork? Check. Steak knife? Check. Marmladae oozing out my veins? Check. Rick Vaughn heaters? Check.
Alright. Let’s eat.
It’s 2008. Hard to believe. It seems like yesterday I was hacking at plastic golf balls in a Louisville backyard, preparing to peddle my Big Wheel down the driveway at a seemingly suicidal 9 mph.
Incredibly, the innocent 80’s of my youth are now a hypercolored thing of the past. Morning is spent, and my life is onto afternoon. It’s my 31st year on the planet. I’m tempted to stop counting once and for all.
Except, as much as I hate to admit it, counting matters. Aging reminds me that I am a finite equation, and while modern medicine may extend my x-axis incrementally, on this earthly plane my life comes with two discrete points: a start and an end. A reality which also screams, “get busy livin’ or get busy dying.”
That’s right kids. You know the ten-year plan: “Zay-wha-ta-nay-o.”
But before we all unite on that Mexican side of the sea, I'd best do some livin’ on the shores of Chicago. And for the first time in a good while, I think the necessary components are in place.
For me, 2005 and ’06 were about as happy as a warm gun. I was a castaway with a pair of floaties in the deep end of the ocean. Thankfully, in 2007 the pendulum finally began to swing back in the other direction.
In a nutshell, 2007 was my year to relocate inertia. It was a year to have fun, and to be whimsical, and to start to believe again. It was all those things and more. Just not at first.
Before inertia could start rolling I had to regroup -- in my own place and on my on terms. Enter blessed Buenos Aires.
Buenos Aires was an 8.0 on the richter scale -- a seismic occurrence which comes along once or twice in a lifetime. It was incomparable. Quenching. Erotic. Restorative. Uplifting. A saving grace, when no other remedy would have sufficed.
Ahora, y por siempre, soy porteno en mi corazon.
Detaching from life is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Innately, I wanted to push, or try to change direction, or do nothing at all. When in reality I needed to get outside of my own skin; remove myself from the equation. Going to Buenos Aires was like sending myself a text message: “Get out of here. I’ll meet up with you farther down the line.”
And now, thanks to that curative month away, I will always hum the chorus to a second, national anthem: “Vamos Vamos, Argentina.” Buenos Aires: you couldn’t have been better to me if my life depended on it. And in some ways, it probably did.
Now, having been back stateside for ten months, I can feel the winds of inertia. Either that or the artic winds off Lake Michigan have fooled me all over again. I'll hope it's the former.
A prodigy of Socrates once noted, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try real hard, you just might find, you get what you need.” That sounds about right to me.
I’ve got incredible friends and family. A decent consulting gig. Six books in my queue. Plenty of good music for the hibernation months in Chicago (jazz is winning the current iPod battle). And out-of-town weekends galore for January and February.
Does that mean I'm satisfied with my lot in life? Not in the least. Can I see how life will unfold? Only a tad, if at all. Am I convinced it will include revelry, spontaneity, and ballyhoo? You betcha.
So bring on 2008.
On a singular note in minor key, my Chowder entries may decrease in ‘08. My new consulting contract plus a twice-a-day (75-minute) commute is cutting into my writing. Simultaneously, I'm getting pickier about posting. It takes more for me to feel content with my rambling. Probably a good thing. But trust me, a lot of revisions go into this soup medley. Campbell's I am not.
That being said, know this: I love (!) having someone ask me, “when is the next post on the Chowder?” And with that specific thought in mind, I’m going to hold myself to at least three Chowder posts a month throughout 2008.
The Monthly Stew will remain a staple of the proceedings. I have too many random thoughts that beg for sharing to dismiss it. But the Stew will have a few changes.
I’ll be doing away with the Warren Zevon Quote of the Month and introducing three, new regulars: 1) A “Small Town Alert” 2) A “Grape of the Month” and 3) “Words of Wisdom from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.”
That leaves me with two entries a month to dissect random observations on earth (and beyond). And this year I’ll be attempting more “think pieces.” I guess you could call them that.
Envision some of the more random Stew numerals being expanded to two-pages. Subjects like: “Elastic Waistbands: Friend or Foe?" But before I write any blue sky entries, I’ve got a two-parter queued up on dating.
Inhabitants of Venus, you have been warned.
Also, in 2008, I'd like to concede the floor on occasion. So if you've been holding onto a thought -- something appropriate for sharing in this forum -- write it up and send it along. I'll post it.
But take the time. Do it right. Make it an ode to a frying pan, but make the bacon sizzle.
When I started this blog nearly a year ago I was after an easy means to share my "experiences" in Buenos Aires. Twelve months and a gay foam party later, the Chowder has turned into a (near) weekly respite. All thanks go to you, the readers of this molecular corner of the web. I wouldn't be writing without you. Hopefully, just maybe, you get something out of it too (bud heavies?).
So as we close the book on one year and catapult into the next, I'd like to share a story I stumbled upon recently.
A wandering traveler is walking down a country road in 13th Century France. Along the path the traveler runs into a stone-hauler, obviously exhausted, pushing a wheelbarrow full of rubble. The traveler asks the man what he is doing. “God only knows,” the man replies. “I push these stones all day and they pay me barely enough to keep a roof over my head.”
Farther down the road the traveler meets another man pushing a similar wheelbarrow of stones. He asks him the same question of the man: “I was out of work for a long time,” the man responds. “My wife and children were starving. Now I have this. It’s killing me. But I’m grateful for the work.”
Then, just before nightfall the traveler meets a third, exploited stone-hauler. When the traveler asks the man what he is doing, the man replies: “I’m building Chartres Cathedral.”
Some years bring new love and unexpected joys. Some years are filled with hardships. But most years are within a standard deviation or two of the mean. And in our own way, regardless of the year, we each haul stones towards an unfinished foundation.
Regardless of where you call home, bring your wheelbarrow and join me on the road in 2008 if you can. I’ll be at the Derby, and the 500, and at Einstein’s for breakfast sandwiches.
It’s a year I’ve ear-marked for a Cathedral.
Alright. Let’s eat.
It’s 2008. Hard to believe. It seems like yesterday I was hacking at plastic golf balls in a Louisville backyard, preparing to peddle my Big Wheel down the driveway at a seemingly suicidal 9 mph.
Incredibly, the innocent 80’s of my youth are now a hypercolored thing of the past. Morning is spent, and my life is onto afternoon. It’s my 31st year on the planet. I’m tempted to stop counting once and for all.
Except, as much as I hate to admit it, counting matters. Aging reminds me that I am a finite equation, and while modern medicine may extend my x-axis incrementally, on this earthly plane my life comes with two discrete points: a start and an end. A reality which also screams, “get busy livin’ or get busy dying.”
That’s right kids. You know the ten-year plan: “Zay-wha-ta-nay-o.”
But before we all unite on that Mexican side of the sea, I'd best do some livin’ on the shores of Chicago. And for the first time in a good while, I think the necessary components are in place.
For me, 2005 and ’06 were about as happy as a warm gun. I was a castaway with a pair of floaties in the deep end of the ocean. Thankfully, in 2007 the pendulum finally began to swing back in the other direction.
In a nutshell, 2007 was my year to relocate inertia. It was a year to have fun, and to be whimsical, and to start to believe again. It was all those things and more. Just not at first.
Before inertia could start rolling I had to regroup -- in my own place and on my on terms. Enter blessed Buenos Aires.
Buenos Aires was an 8.0 on the richter scale -- a seismic occurrence which comes along once or twice in a lifetime. It was incomparable. Quenching. Erotic. Restorative. Uplifting. A saving grace, when no other remedy would have sufficed.
Ahora, y por siempre, soy porteno en mi corazon.
Detaching from life is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Innately, I wanted to push, or try to change direction, or do nothing at all. When in reality I needed to get outside of my own skin; remove myself from the equation. Going to Buenos Aires was like sending myself a text message: “Get out of here. I’ll meet up with you farther down the line.”
And now, thanks to that curative month away, I will always hum the chorus to a second, national anthem: “Vamos Vamos, Argentina.” Buenos Aires: you couldn’t have been better to me if my life depended on it. And in some ways, it probably did.
Now, having been back stateside for ten months, I can feel the winds of inertia. Either that or the artic winds off Lake Michigan have fooled me all over again. I'll hope it's the former.
A prodigy of Socrates once noted, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try real hard, you just might find, you get what you need.” That sounds about right to me.
I’ve got incredible friends and family. A decent consulting gig. Six books in my queue. Plenty of good music for the hibernation months in Chicago (jazz is winning the current iPod battle). And out-of-town weekends galore for January and February.
Does that mean I'm satisfied with my lot in life? Not in the least. Can I see how life will unfold? Only a tad, if at all. Am I convinced it will include revelry, spontaneity, and ballyhoo? You betcha.
So bring on 2008.
On a singular note in minor key, my Chowder entries may decrease in ‘08. My new consulting contract plus a twice-a-day (75-minute) commute is cutting into my writing. Simultaneously, I'm getting pickier about posting. It takes more for me to feel content with my rambling. Probably a good thing. But trust me, a lot of revisions go into this soup medley. Campbell's I am not.
That being said, know this: I love (!) having someone ask me, “when is the next post on the Chowder?” And with that specific thought in mind, I’m going to hold myself to at least three Chowder posts a month throughout 2008.
The Monthly Stew will remain a staple of the proceedings. I have too many random thoughts that beg for sharing to dismiss it. But the Stew will have a few changes.
I’ll be doing away with the Warren Zevon Quote of the Month and introducing three, new regulars: 1) A “Small Town Alert” 2) A “Grape of the Month” and 3) “Words of Wisdom from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.”
That leaves me with two entries a month to dissect random observations on earth (and beyond). And this year I’ll be attempting more “think pieces.” I guess you could call them that.
Envision some of the more random Stew numerals being expanded to two-pages. Subjects like: “Elastic Waistbands: Friend or Foe?" But before I write any blue sky entries, I’ve got a two-parter queued up on dating.
Inhabitants of Venus, you have been warned.
Also, in 2008, I'd like to concede the floor on occasion. So if you've been holding onto a thought -- something appropriate for sharing in this forum -- write it up and send it along. I'll post it.
But take the time. Do it right. Make it an ode to a frying pan, but make the bacon sizzle.
When I started this blog nearly a year ago I was after an easy means to share my "experiences" in Buenos Aires. Twelve months and a gay foam party later, the Chowder has turned into a (near) weekly respite. All thanks go to you, the readers of this molecular corner of the web. I wouldn't be writing without you. Hopefully, just maybe, you get something out of it too (bud heavies?).
So as we close the book on one year and catapult into the next, I'd like to share a story I stumbled upon recently.
A wandering traveler is walking down a country road in 13th Century France. Along the path the traveler runs into a stone-hauler, obviously exhausted, pushing a wheelbarrow full of rubble. The traveler asks the man what he is doing. “God only knows,” the man replies. “I push these stones all day and they pay me barely enough to keep a roof over my head.”
Farther down the road the traveler meets another man pushing a similar wheelbarrow of stones. He asks him the same question of the man: “I was out of work for a long time,” the man responds. “My wife and children were starving. Now I have this. It’s killing me. But I’m grateful for the work.”
Then, just before nightfall the traveler meets a third, exploited stone-hauler. When the traveler asks the man what he is doing, the man replies: “I’m building Chartres Cathedral.”
Some years bring new love and unexpected joys. Some years are filled with hardships. But most years are within a standard deviation or two of the mean. And in our own way, regardless of the year, we each haul stones towards an unfinished foundation.
Regardless of where you call home, bring your wheelbarrow and join me on the road in 2008 if you can. I’ll be at the Derby, and the 500, and at Einstein’s for breakfast sandwiches.
It’s a year I’ve ear-marked for a Cathedral.
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