It is said that all good art comes from suffering. You can't write a good breakup song when you and your love are happy and inseparable. You can't paint a brooding canvas if all you see is sunshine and lollipops. The list of artists who died tortured, broke, drug addicted, addled, diseased or some other malady is virtually endless. Google "the 27 club" for some modern examples.
Maybe that's why I have so little to write about. There's not a lot of pain, suffering or angst lately.
I mean, I have to have my house replumbed which was not planned for and I suppose the fact that I am learning a new job in a new company in a new industry could be construed as being somewhat stressful. I'm turning 40 in a few days... an event that has proven to be a huge speed bump to many a man who has chosen to drive his new Porsche down to the trophy wife store to buy himself a big, fat do-over.
Good for me in general. Not so good for blog fodder. One can only belly ache so much about his commute doubling to 20 minutes because of an accident, or the fact his office gets hot because all the windows allow the sunlight to radiate in. I suppose I'm a little annoyed that sometimes people come to my office and introduce themselves and genuinely provide me with interesting and informative anecdotes while I am trying to do some mindless paperwork.Someone took the bagel I had my eye on this morning and the only cream cheese left had nuts in it.
Oh, cruel fate, why do you toy with me?
As you can no doubt gather, things are humming right along. It's taken some work to get here, it won't be here forever and I will miss it when it's gone, but I sure am enjoying it now. If attitude is everything, then I've got the world on a string, the tiger by its tail, the brass ring is within my reach.
Saying all this, putting it out there for the Universe to see, will undoubtedly invite all sorts of calamity to my doorstop. I wrote a post once a few years back about waiting for the other shoe to drop. It did, of course, it does and it will do again.
This time, I'm not dreading the inevitable speed bumps that are surely somewhere on the horizon, nor am I waiting with glib acceptance that at any moment the fit will hit the shan, so why bother to duck...
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William Shatner has an album called Has Been. It has been out for some years now and it is for the most part delicious, if you're into William Shatner. I happen to think he is a genius. The list of singers who can't sing is almost as long as the tragic artist list from the previous rumination. Shatner doesn't pretend. Shatner is what he is, does what he does and the end product delves deeply into his psyche... from the whimsical to the tragic.
The eponymous track to Has Been is extremely well done. I recently heard Lorne Green "singing" a song called Rango that somehow won a Grammy in the late sixties. It was the first time I heard it and it made the song Has Been even more funny because I get the homage.
Go listen to the exploits of Shatner dressing down "Never Done Jack", "Don't Say Dick" and "Two Thumbs Don". It's worth your time, especially the final line, delivered in perfect Shatnerian style;
"Has been implies failure; not so. Has been implies history. "Has been," once was. "Has been" ...might again"
We should all be so lucky to look at life like that. It's helped Bill Shatner live long and prosper for a good long time.
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Finally, I'd like to thank my Aunt Dorothy Bucci, who is the only member of my extended family who, without fail, always sends a card and sentiment for things like Birthdays, Anniversaries, Christmas, etc. I don't call her... I'm a terrible Nephew. In my family, we don't "do" close. But I appreciate her and her cards more than she knows and I hope she takes the time to read this.
Thanks, Aunt Dorothy. You're the best!
Friday, April 17, 2015
Monday, April 6, 2015
Coming Down to Speed
The new job is going really well. I like the people I am working with directly and those that I only know by phone or e-mail are pretty great, too. I got a greeting card welcoming me aboard from the company's Chief Administrative Officer. In her own pen. The welcome has been overwhelming. It's a very nice place to work.
They keep telling me, only half facetiously, that this is one of those crazy jobs in a crazy place filled with crazy people and had I any hair, I'll soon be tearing it out by the fistful. Upon being told this by literally everyone, my eyes begin to gloss over and I fall into one of those stereotypical Hollywood flashbacks of days gone by. "Target should be clear if you go in low enough! You'll have to decide... decide...decide...." (Please watch the movie Airplane! if you don't understand the previous reference. You can then send me flowers and candy as a thank you for changing your life, forever.
See, my last company, a good one, is in a really tough industry. One could be forgiven if they described it as lose-lose. And keeping people happy, content and otherwise engaged under such difficult circumstances is difficult. At least it proved difficult for me to the extent that I consciously escaped.
There will always be bad days, tough customers, pissy coworkers. Right now, my office is so hot I think I'm going to wither where I sit. I see heat ripples across my monitor like one sees dancing over a hot desert road. The office supply truck, upon which is my brand new fan cannot come soon enough.
So, sure, I am not in the garden of Eden, but for right now, I am enjoying coming down to speed. Certainly I'm challenged. I'm prepared and ready to handle it. I think I'll keep those flashbacks handy for when things do go sideways. It will help me keep perspective!
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Emily's Grandmother passed, one day following her 94th birthday. She was a force of nature in a lot of respects. But she treated me like family from day one and never failed to make me feel welcome and involve me in the goings on of a large, dynamic family.
Grandmother Vera as I called her was smart and funny. She was good for a well placed bon mot and didn't miss much. One could sense her watching the goings on as she held court, trying to keep up with the drama, even after she stopped being able to hear much of it. This, I have long presumed may be why she liked me. My inability to moderate my voice was a positive for Grandmother Vera... She could hear most of what I was saying. And she laughed at my jokes. Anyone who knows me knows that's the real key to my heart.
I remember walking her (considerable) property with her, 15 years ago or so and I marveled at how well an 80 year old got around. Then at 90,. I marveled at her general alacrity. By 93, Vera began to slow. This more than anything made me sad. One of the first things she said to me way back when we first met was she wanted to live until the minute she couldn't be autonomous. She was ready to go and at peace with her accomplishments even then.
I've been to many funerals. Family, friends and oddly quite a few people I hardly knew at all. One of the most emotional was of a woman I had yet to meet. I remember being swept away by emotion as the Cantor in the temple sang prayers. I remember being overwhelmed at the turnout and the diversity of the people in attendance. This was clearly someone who touched lives in a positive way. I missed out meeting her and I was as sad for myself as I was for all the rest of the attendees.
I was not emotional when Grandmother Vera died, nor was I emotional at her funeral. I simply said my standard send off, with a wink and a nod... "Well done, good and faithful servant. Rest now. Your journey is complete, your burden is laid down at the foot of your savior and you can finally be in peace everlasting."
She will be missed, but more importantly, she will be remembered and revered by so many for many years to come. That alone transcends the loss. In the end, Vera got what she wanted, hoped for and prayed for so long. I couldn't find it in me to be sad about that.
They keep telling me, only half facetiously, that this is one of those crazy jobs in a crazy place filled with crazy people and had I any hair, I'll soon be tearing it out by the fistful. Upon being told this by literally everyone, my eyes begin to gloss over and I fall into one of those stereotypical Hollywood flashbacks of days gone by. "Target should be clear if you go in low enough! You'll have to decide... decide...decide...." (Please watch the movie Airplane! if you don't understand the previous reference. You can then send me flowers and candy as a thank you for changing your life, forever.
See, my last company, a good one, is in a really tough industry. One could be forgiven if they described it as lose-lose. And keeping people happy, content and otherwise engaged under such difficult circumstances is difficult. At least it proved difficult for me to the extent that I consciously escaped.
There will always be bad days, tough customers, pissy coworkers. Right now, my office is so hot I think I'm going to wither where I sit. I see heat ripples across my monitor like one sees dancing over a hot desert road. The office supply truck, upon which is my brand new fan cannot come soon enough.
So, sure, I am not in the garden of Eden, but for right now, I am enjoying coming down to speed. Certainly I'm challenged. I'm prepared and ready to handle it. I think I'll keep those flashbacks handy for when things do go sideways. It will help me keep perspective!
_______________________________________
Emily's Grandmother passed, one day following her 94th birthday. She was a force of nature in a lot of respects. But she treated me like family from day one and never failed to make me feel welcome and involve me in the goings on of a large, dynamic family.
Grandmother Vera as I called her was smart and funny. She was good for a well placed bon mot and didn't miss much. One could sense her watching the goings on as she held court, trying to keep up with the drama, even after she stopped being able to hear much of it. This, I have long presumed may be why she liked me. My inability to moderate my voice was a positive for Grandmother Vera... She could hear most of what I was saying. And she laughed at my jokes. Anyone who knows me knows that's the real key to my heart.
I remember walking her (considerable) property with her, 15 years ago or so and I marveled at how well an 80 year old got around. Then at 90,. I marveled at her general alacrity. By 93, Vera began to slow. This more than anything made me sad. One of the first things she said to me way back when we first met was she wanted to live until the minute she couldn't be autonomous. She was ready to go and at peace with her accomplishments even then.
I've been to many funerals. Family, friends and oddly quite a few people I hardly knew at all. One of the most emotional was of a woman I had yet to meet. I remember being swept away by emotion as the Cantor in the temple sang prayers. I remember being overwhelmed at the turnout and the diversity of the people in attendance. This was clearly someone who touched lives in a positive way. I missed out meeting her and I was as sad for myself as I was for all the rest of the attendees.
I was not emotional when Grandmother Vera died, nor was I emotional at her funeral. I simply said my standard send off, with a wink and a nod... "Well done, good and faithful servant. Rest now. Your journey is complete, your burden is laid down at the foot of your savior and you can finally be in peace everlasting."
She will be missed, but more importantly, she will be remembered and revered by so many for many years to come. That alone transcends the loss. In the end, Vera got what she wanted, hoped for and prayed for so long. I couldn't find it in me to be sad about that.
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