February 05, 2008
I miss New Orleans. I miss the New Orleans I used to know, used to live in, used to love. I sometimes sort of miss the 23 year old kid who lived there in that time. The New Orleans I loved has been washed away by greed, corruption, and incompetence as the flood waters inundated the city in an almost biblical fashion.
But I can cast my mind back just the same and remember how I used to spend Mardi Gras. For many, Mardi Gras is spent in an alcoholic haze, oggling naked women in the French Quarter. That has its charms, to be sure. But I preferred a more Uptown approach to Mardi Gras.
I would float, with friends, from house party to house party. There was always something yummy to eat, happy to drink, and use of a bathroom (always appreciated). The houses were some of the most beautiful in the Garden District and occupied, in some cases, by some of the oldest families in the city. They were also close by to St. Charles Avenue and thus convenient to get to the parade and catch stuff.
So, as I sit here in very un-Mardi Gras New York, with zydeco music playing softly in the background, working on a contract, I taste bourbon and cheese grits and dream of humid air and masked people on floats throwing cheap beads.
That was a heck of a time.
Happy Mardi Gras, y'all!
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January 31, 2008
Sorry for not calling or writing or anything. I was on trial. It was quite intense. 14-15 hour days were the norm. I worked every day of every weekend. I am happy to have it behind me but for the post-trial briefs. Those are coming down the pike.
I have re-grouped. I have slept through the night for the first time in weeks -- no more waking up between 2:30 and 3:15 to wonder about whether I should include a line of questioning in my examination outline or whether I somehow blew a pre-trial submission deadline (never). No, the alarm clock is waking me now. I am returning slowly to the gym -- which is painful. I am sending out emails to clients who I put on hold to let them know I am available to help them again. I am paying bills and attending to personal details (just beat the deadline to sign the Boy Child up for little league for the spring).
In short, I am attempting re-entry. I am still probably not quite the best company in the world right now and need some time to re-gain my usual patience with my children and their needs.
But, it is coming.
Anyway, point of curiosity. I have not blogged in weeks and yet site-meter claims my daily visits are rising? Why are you all coming to see the blank space? Or, heaven forfend, is the blank space generally more interesting than my writing?
Anyway, nice to be back, y'all.
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Glad to see you back. I've missed you. Now post some GC and BC stories. January 06, 2008
I stood at the grave and remembered how when I was a senior in college, or just before senior year, my grandfather and Donny took me out to visit the two cemeteries where our families are buried. We had lunch in between the visits. We went to the first one, where my grandfather now rests, buried next to my grandmother, which is where my grandfather and his family line are buried. The second cemetery holds the remains of the family of my maternal grandmother's relatives, the branch Donny was part of. Actually, since Donny had no children, the family name of my maternal grandmother has disappeared. Anyway, Donny and my grandfather told me that they wanted me to know where the family graves were because one day it would be my responsibility to make certain that the graves were cared for, to make sure that those who came after me would know something about the people who were buried in these places.
I had not been back to my grandmother's family's graves since that visit, some 18 years ago. It seemed to me that it was too soon to be back now. 18 years? That would have put Donny at just over 50, only 10 years older than I am now. Donny seemed to young to die and too close to me in age for me to feel that it was ok for him to die, that it was part of the natural order of things for him to leave this earth. But, of course, he has.
I spent Saturday morning and afternoon consumed by the Girl Child's birthday party. She will be 7 quite soon and we held her party yesterday. As per custom, we went to a local gymnastics place and ran around before she had her cake. Her cake, per her request, was an ice cream cake with a picture of her dressed in her horse show clothes and sitting on one of her favorite horses. It came out pretty darn cool, actually. As for the party, I won't ask you to guess who was the only parent there who threw himself into all the games, chasing the kids around, being chased around, having balls thrown at him and throwing them back, and generally wringing every second of fun from the party that he could. Yup, that was me. The Girl Child, the Boy Child and the Baby all had an excellent time, as did I.
My father turned 65 yesterday, the same day we celebrated the Girl Child's birthday.
That evening, before we took my father out for dinner, we drove into the city for a packed house memorial service for Donny. Seriously, it was standing room only. That was quite a tribute for my cousin. All of the speakers who spoke about him spoke of qualities that spoke of another man, although they did not know this. See, Donny's father died so terribly young, in his 40's, of a heart attack. Donny's father, Sam, my grandmother's oldest brother, actually put my grandmother through college during the Great Depression. Donny kind of grew up in my grandfather's house and, as Donny himself told me, my grandfather, his uncle, became a father to him. Donny did his best to emulate my grandfather -- he looked up to him so much. The qualities they spoke of in Donny at the memorial service, those qualities were learned from my grandfather. It would have made my grandfather so proud to hear people speak of his nephew like that last night. Just the same, it would have devastated my grandfather to watch his nephew die from this horrible disease.
After the service, we took my father out for his birthday. It was generally quite nice, albeit quiet and even a bit subdued due to the circumstances.
And so, I feel a bit whipsawed. Pulled between the too early death of my cousin and the celebrations of the lives of my father and my daughter.
I cannot quite figure out where or how to end this. I am not sure I even started this post with a destination in mind. So, maybe, I will just stop here.
Rest in peace, Donny. If its ok, and I know from the memorial service that everyone else called you Don, I am going to keep calling you Donny. After all, and since you kept my father company in the hospital some 40 years ago waiting with him while I was born, I have only called you Donny. It isn't a bad thing to have people call you by the name you were known as a child, even when you are dead, is it?
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{{{{hugs}}}}January 03, 2008
It is a decent illustration of how debased and strange I have become that my first coherent thought after my shock passed was: gee, it is just perfect weather for platform tennis, too bad I have to go to work.
I need help. It would help if I worked less and played more racket sports. I'm sure that the solution lies somewhere in there.
Don't count the fact that I have already played paddle once this week (twice if you count Sunday) and squash twice, too. That should not count at all in evaluating my claim of racket sport deprivation. Ok?
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According to the AP wire:
George MacDonald Fraser, author of the "Flashman" series of historical adventure yarns, died Wednesday, his publisher said. He was 82.Fraser died following a battle with cancer, said Nicholas Latimer, director of publicity for Knopf, which will release Fraser's latest work "The Reavers" in the United States in April. Latimer was unable to provide details of where Fraser died. He lived on the Isle of Man, off the coast of northwest England.
"Flashman," published in 1969, introduced readers to an enduring literary antihero: the roguish, irrepressible Harry Flashman.
The novel imagined Flashman — the bullying schoolboy of 19th-century classic "Tom Brown's Schooldays" — grown up to become a soldier in the British army. In the book and 11 sequels, Flashman fought, drank and womanized his way across the British Empire, Europe and the United States, playing a pivotal role in the century's great historical moments. A vain, cowardly rogue, Flashman nonetheless emerged from each episode covered in glory, rising to the rank of medal-garlanded brigadier-general.
Fraser thought his antihero's appeal was not surprising.
"People like rascals, they like rogues," Fraser told the British Broadcasting Corp. in 2006.
"I was always on the side of the villain when I was a child and went to the movies. I wanted Basil Rathbone to kill Errol Flynn."
The Flashman books were also praised by critics for their storytelling flair and attention to historical detail. Each installment of the series purported to come from a faux-biographical trove of memoirs — The Flashman Papers — discovered in an English attic in the 1960s.
Fraser proudly pointed out that a third of the first book's American reviewers believed the Flashman papers were real.
Some readers and critics found Flashman's 19th-century racism and sexism disturbing. But by the time the final Flashman book, "Flashman on the March," appeared in 2005, the critical tide had turned in Fraser's favor.
Fraser also had heavyweight literary supporters. Kingsley Amis called him "a marvelous reporter and a first-rate historical novelist," and P.G. Wodehouse was also a fan.
Born in Carlisle, northern England in 1925, Fraser served as an infantryman with the British Army in India and Burma during World War II, and in the Middle East after the war. He worked as a journalist in Britain and Canada for more than 20 years before turning to fiction.
Fraser was the author of screenplays including "The Three Musketeers" (1973), an adaptation of his novel "Royal Flash" (1975) and the James Bond movie "Octopussy" (1983).
Fraser also wrote several works of nonfiction, including a wartime memoir, "Quartered Safe Out Here," "Steel Bonnets: The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border" and "The Hollywood History of the World."
His final book, "The Reavers," is a a historical romp featuring espionage and intrigue during the reign of Elizabeth I.
There was no immediate word of funeral arrangements or whether Fraser left any survivors.
This is really quite sad, actually. He was a brilliant author and his books were tremendous fun. No more Patrick O'Brien, no more Flashman. The world is getting smaller and smaller with every passing.
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December 13, 2007
So, I spent hours and hours getting re-prepared, re-researching, updating old research, re-dissecting arguments and constructing some new ones, and, and, and today was the day. I was up at 3:30 this morning because I could not sleep. Six hours later, there I was, standing in front of the judge, trying to tell him why we did not need to have an immediate trial on a particular issue. The judge, however, was hot to trot and when the other side said that they had a family trip planned, the judge scheduled the trial for the day after the guy's return. That is ugly. So, away we go. Let's get ready to ruuuuumble.
* * *
We had our joint birthday party, the Viking Bride and I. It was a cocktail reception for 70. It was a grand success. We had to keep the bar open for an extra 45 minutes. We stayed in that night in the City. The kids were in the room across from ours. The kids came to the first 45 minutes of the party. How could we have a party to celebrate our birthdays and tell the kids that they couldn't come? We couldn't figure out how to do that, so we didn't. They came.
The Viking Bride and I retired at 1. At 3, the baby woke up, screaming his head off. I ventured across the hall, picked him up, and soothed him. He would not go back into his crib. By this point, the Boy and Girl Children were up. I gave up and took the baby into bed with his brother and sister who had been happily sharing a king sized bed up to that point. The baby insisted on staying inside the circle of my arms with his head against my face. That made it easy for him to head butt me in the eye socket or chin whenever he wanted and it was also easier for him to reach my hair when he needed something to pull. I had just about managed to get us both back to sleep and I heard the following exchange.
BC: GC, I cannot tell what time it is. That is one of the hard numbers for me.GC: Let's figure it out together, BC, shall we? What comes after 4?
BC: 5!
GC: Very good! Give me a hug!
It was too cute, even if, at the time, I just wanted them to shut up.
* * *
The Girl Child continues to ride and ride well. The senior instructor types were telling my wife that they think she's going to be a great rider. She's back to where she was before her fall and more so, even. She informed me when I got home that she learned something new, how to do a cross-over. I thought this might be a neat new way to change a diagonal. Nope, it is, instead, a new way to smack the horse with your crop.
She's going to make some man very miserable one day. Or very happy, I suppose, depending on the guy.
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November 27, 2007
I remain puzzled by the flurry of statements and accusations released by the Democratic presidential candidates. Is really nothing going right in the country? Is all that is going wrong really correctly laid at the President's door? Why, now that things seem to be going so much better in Iraq, have the candidates stopped talking about the war? I am waiting for one of them to show me something special, something that looks like leadership. Right now, the only guy I really admire is Rudy. He has, at least, the courage to stand up and say that he is running contrary to the deeply held views of his base. At least he's honest.
* * *
I watched my daughter ride in her second horse show this weekend. The results were quite a bit better than even her first. And, considering that she has only been riding since August, I gather it is remarkable that she jumped cross rails well enough to take a ribbon. And it wasn't one of those "everybody is a winner" ribbons. It was a "I did better than someone else" ribbon. She had to be pulled aside by her instructor before the two jumping rounds so she could watch the other children ride first since she had no idea how to jump a horse show course. The thing that pleased me the most was how calm and composed she was when her horse refused a jump in the second round. She just pulled his head around, took him back, and then took him over the jump. That showed a terribly rare grace and composure under pressure that seems unusual in a not quite 7 year old. Good for her.
* * *
We spent a long weekend recently in Boca Raton, Florida. We had to go for a family bar mitzvah.
I loathe Florida, at least that part. It all looks alike, I cannot find my way around, I cannot differentiate one part of the area from any other part. I am so glad I plumped for the GPS unit in the car I rented.
That said, swimming with the kids was nice.
I actually missed, almost entirely, my cousin's bar mitzvah, though. I took the Boy Child to the potty and, coming back, found an elderly woman, in tears, sitting on her walker. The lobby attendant asked me if I knew her and, sure enough, she was Gloria, my aunt's oldest friend. The lobby attendant immediately fled and there I was with Gloria. Gloria got lost on the way to the synagogue, she got disoriented in the handicapped bathroom and exited into a dark room where something feel on her leg, and now she just wanted to leave. I calmed her down, after some time (I think we were out in the lobby for somewhere between 30 and 45 minutes) and all three of us went back in to sit in the back. Once in the back, we regularly got shushed as we sat there and made disparaging comments about the rabbi and all of the silly and pointless speeches. It was great fun.
Gloria had been married to a very, very learned man, an Algerian Jew. Her husband, in fact, at his own son's bar mitzvah, was supposed to read from the Torah. He told the rabbi there that he would read it, although the Torah was wrong. Turns out he was correct and the scribe who wrote the scroll had made a mistake. I don't know too many people who can do that. So, if Gloria, finally calm, wanted to talk smack about the rabbi, you bet I was going to let her and even join in.
Gloria later sent my parents an email, by the way, thanking them for raising me so well. She even called me a young man, which was especially nice. If there is any interest, I will post the email. It was quite the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.
* * *
My in laws are in town for a three week visit. It may feel as if it is dragging on a bit. My father in law has already killed the bourbon, which is a shame since with my mother in law in the house, this is when my wife needs it the most.
* * *
I brought the Boy Child, all of 4.5 years old, on to the paddle tennis court to hit with the instructor for 15-20 minutes. I trust the instructor. He's a good guy and promised to be honest with me about the Boy Child. His verdict? The BC has extraordinary coordination, better than many of the 7 year olds he teaches.
Can anyone say, "squash scholarship", please? Pretty please?
* * *
I have had a beastly cold for a little more than a week now. I believe I must have caught it from one of the children. I have not let it interfere with anything important but it is damn little fun.
* * *
I forgot what I was going to put here. No bother. We leave this section as is and move on to the next one.
* * *
The Viking Bride and I are gathering some 70 people together and making them put on ties and dresses, as appropriate, for a cocktail party marking our both turning 40. It was what she really wanted to do, you see, and who am I to tell her no? Just the same, while I am sure it will be fun -- lots to drink, lots to eat, a string trio for light music, good company -- I am not completely looking forward to it. Go figure.
* * *
I have to cross the water tonight. I am going, in other words, to Brooklyn. I have not been there in a really long time. I have to play a squash match for my club team where I will do my best to, if not cover myself in glory, at least not make anyone say, "it is so sad when they get old yet insist on playing".
At least I got an early slot: 5:45. Means I might make it home before day break.
* * *
I attended a memorial service on Saturday where I watched a friend say goodbye to his wife of 48 years. He did so with remarkable grace and tremendous class. How does one summon the necessary fortitude to get up in public and bid farewell to your best friend of almost half a century?
* * *
Ok, enough for now, I think.
Anyone still actually reading this blog?
Or, should I let it go the way of all things and allow it to slip gracefully into the twilight, unmourned, but remembered with affection, rather than continue to hit it with the occasional jolt of energy? Seriously, any thoughts?
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November 09, 2007
I am now accepting applications.
Just saying.
In all seriousness (although creative emails and comments are welcome), I have to report that I did then go on to tell her that if I was being cleared for the odd evening out, I would actually prefer to play squash. I mean, I would still have to shower afterwards but it might go on for longer (squash, that is) and I would not have to ask my partner if the experience was good for him or her. It sucks getting older, doesn't it?
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That is pretty close to fright.
You get up to the podium and ask for the room to come to order so you can speak. You tell the audience: "I have some remarks that I prepared for the occasion and I am now going to throw them away. Let's wing it, shall we?"
That is liberating. One step on the way to exhilaration.
The room goes totally silent when you tell them you are chucking your speech. You begin to talk. You speak extemporaneously, from the heart, and with some passion. You are interrupted twice by spontaneous and sustained applause.
By the second interruption, you experience exhilaration.
That's the difference between fright and exhilaration. Stepping out on to the wire without a net and then getting to the other side.
I might not want to live every speaking engagement in that fashion, but I am happy to do so every so often.
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November 02, 2007
*The Girl Child rode in her first horse show last weekend. She looked so mature on her horse with such beautiful posture. She rode in Short Stirrup Equitation Walk/Trot and Walk/Trot/Canter. Her instructor told me that it was a big deal to canter in her first horse show, that she had other students who had been riding in Walk/Trot for six months without cantering. She also told me that the GC had come to the attention of the senior trainers at the Club and that they were beginning to discuss her development plans. I gather that they think the GC might be something special. After I saw her handle her horse when he tried to buck her off, I might have to agree (no flinch at all on her part, she just smacked him on the neck with her crop and pulled his head around with a sharp tug of the reins with her other hand and off the horse went, quite happily -- her instructor, watching that, said to me, "and that's why the GC is so awesome; did you see that?").
*I attended, as a guest, the quarterly dinner of a PG Wodehouse club. I was asked by a senior member why I was not a member and I had to tell him it was because I had not been asked. He walked away muttering, "well, we have to change that". That was nice. The dinner was over candles in large silver candelabra and with silver pheasants on the table. It was lovely. We dined at a very small, very snappy private club on the Upper East Side in a small townhouse. The place has no sign and no markings. Very private, indeed. Great fun.
*I heard, last week, Ayaan Hirsi Ali speak. She is extraordinary. Maybe the most extraordinary person I have ever met. I intend to contribute to her protection fund and I think you should at least consider doing so, too. Also, she is so charming.
*The poor Girl Child was sent home from school on Wednesday with what turned out to be strep. In other words, she totally missed out on Halloween. I stopped at the pharmacy on the way home to get her drugs, candy, treats and then a video at the rental place. She selected her mother to stay home with her. They had a great time, ordering pizza and watching videos and playing on the swings. I took the boys out for two hours of candy gathering. The Boy Child was persistent. The Baby was happy to walk by himself for about 20 minutes. I carried him for the other 100 minutes. It was a long night but very satisfying for them both.
*Turning 40 was not a thrill. I began the day with squash and eggs benedict and ended the day by watching a professional squash tournament and then being taken out for dinner by some friends. That was great fun. I just wish I could have prevailed upon my friends not to order the Dom Perignon with dessert. That may have been the one bottle too many that accounted for my feeling older than 40 this morning when I failed to get up to go the gym. I am still dragging, actually. I think, by and large, that birthdays suck.
*I had the conversation with the Viking Bride about my turning 40. It went like this:
I think that I am going to experience my mid life crisis now that I have hit 40. I think that I would like to take a mistress. I think that I would like to start sleeping with other women.[Pause. Silence. No reaction from the Viking Bride.]
Or, maybe I could get a puppy. What do you think?
[Cue laughter until tears ran down her cheeks.]
Regrettably, I think that I may have a better shot at a mistress (which I know I don't have the time for) than I do at a puppy (which was what I really wanted). Can't say I didn't give it a shot.
*I had an oral argument last week that ended with me being told to shut up and sit down. The judge granted the relief the other side requested and denied my application. After he gave his oral decision, I asked the record to reflect my exception to his ruling and requested that he reconsider his decision after taking the time to read the papers on the motion, most of which he had received just moments before argument began. He denied that application. I am pleased he didn't sanction me. I walked out of that court as angry as I have ever been before. It really may be time to stop litigating. I don't think I can handle any more of these lazy, incompetent, phoning it in, hack judges who do more to lower the reputation of the courts than any dishonest lawyer could do.
Thanks to everyone who stopped by yesterday to drop their birthday wishes in my comment section. I was really surprised by all the lovely comments and good wishes. Thanks so much!
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Yes, I was very poor back then but my daughter and I were oh-so-horse-rich. HAH!
So sad GC couldn't do Halloween! November 01, 2007
So, today I have turned 40.
More later. I just didn't really want the day to slide by without at least noting it.
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October 23, 2007
I had a lot of interactions with Jessie over the last year. She was a hell of a class act.
Rest in peace, my friend.
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October 11, 2007
* * *
Apple picking with children on a warm October morning, moving from tree to tree on a steeply pitched orchard hillside, followed by ice cream and a warm apple dumpling. That is a mighty fine way to start a long weekend.
* * *
Taking the kids by myself on Columbus Day while my wife was out during her thing was nice. I had the boys in bed for their naps and the Girl Child all to myself. We settled down for some serious cooking.
First, we took some our newly picked apples (Gala and Cameo) and made apple sauce. I have a great recipe for that. You take 8 apples, peel and core them and cut them into chunks. Add 3 tablespoons butter, 3 tablespoons water, some cinnamon, and cook them over medium heat, covered, for about a half an hour, until they all are sort of mushed down. You will know what looks right. It tastes fabulous and is especially good warm.
Then, she helped me wash and strip a huge amount of basil so we could make our own pesto. My wife bought this garbage pesto from the store and I was inspired to make the real thing. We bought fresh basil from a farm stand, fresh garlic, pine nuts, parmesan cheese and we had good olive oil. Put it all together, and it is a thing of beauty.
* * *
Hunter trials are fun. Do you know what they are? A horse show that involves the horse going at a gallop and jumping hazards that are meant to mimic what you would see in the woods if out hunting foxes. You know, downed trees and streams and fences. Very cool. I took the kids to watch as I thought the Girl Child might find it inspiring.
You see, the Girl Child was just on a pony that decided to jump all by itself over a fence. The riding instructor told me that most kids would have freaked out and started to cry. Not my girl. I was told she laughed. I was also told I have one tough, fearless little girl. *sigh* I have decidedly mixed emotions about that.
* * *
The Boy Child came home from pre-school and told his sister that he had started yoga and that the class went into New York City. She doubted him. She wrote a note to his teacher (her old teacher) that posed two questions: Did the Boy Child have yoga and did the Boy Child go to New York City? Yes or No, please circle the word you want to use and sign your name next to each question. The teacher complied. I wonder how much trouble the Boy Child will be in when she finds out he did not go to NYC.
* * *
The Boy Child attended the next level up in the group class for cello at his Suzuki music school. The teacher played bits of music for her class and asked the class, and then the parents, what song she was playing. No one was able to answer a single question. The Boy Child, just visiting from the class below, then answered for every one, confusing only the 2nd and 3rd minuets, I was told. It got to the point where the teacher simply played the song and turned right to the Boy Child for the name. The teacher was amused that he knew every song by name and by the opening notes.
I am more than a little bit impressed.
* * *
I have been contemplating wealth of late. I have been wondering, what would I do if financially I was no longer required to practice law for a living? What, if I had the financial means to do anything, would I do with myself?
I have no idea. Do you have an idea about what you would do? If so, would you share it with me?
Part of my problem is the pressure I feel to make the "right" decision. This is not a new problem. I have always felt compelled to make the right decision with regards life choices but I have never understood, until recently, and even now my understanding may be imperfect, that there may not be such a thing as a right decision. Life goes on in stages and it may be that a decision you made some years ago, thinking that it was the right decision that would set you on the correct course for many years to come, well, it may be that the decision has been rendered incorrect merely by the passage of time and the change in life events.
So, I am trying to pull away from the thought habits of a lifetime and try not to say, ok, this is what I want to do for the rest of my life. That simply is too much.
No, the "right" decision is the decision that most closely matches up between your desires and your responsibilities (both as currently existing and as reasonably projected). For instance, your desire may be to go live in Florence (or wherever) for a year. But your responsibilities (including providing proper schooling for your kids) may preclude this. In that instance, you need to either find a way to align the two things or modify the desire side of the equation. And always remember, your desires (at least mine, but I am fickle) can change in a very quick period while your responsibilities tend to linger and remain and not change as quickly as your desires.
It is the match that may lead to a "right" life decision.
Or so I am thinking this week.
Still, I have no idea what the "right" decision would be for me if I didn't have to practice law to pay for such mundane things like food, riding lessons, squash court fees, mortgages, etc.
What would I do? What would you do? And, how would you go about figuring out what you would do?
For the foreseeable future, mind you, this is an entirely theoretical discussion. OK?
* * *
So, another member of the family has been diagnosed with cancer. A cousin, a close cousin in his 60's, has been the pain he has in his hip and leg is not related to a back problem but instead is bone cancer.
I feel quite powerless to help or do anything. He is a lovely man. He kept my father company while I was being born.
* * *
I am not excited by the impending (sooner than I would like) turn to 40. The odometer ticks over soon and I kiss goodbye to my thirties. They were, on balance, good years. I will reflect on them further, no doubt, in another post -- I certainly don't lack for the impulse towards maudlin self-directed nostalgia -- but I think the whole idea of becoming 40 is weighing me down, just a bit.
* * *
I think that, while I could continue, it might be time to bring this to a conclusion and just post it. And so, why not?
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October 03, 2007
Well, yesterday, I got a partial answer to that question. Yesterday, I attended the funeral of my 95 year old great-aunt. I met up with her grandson, my cousin, in the parking lot outside the funeral chapel and he told me that she had called him on the phone the day before she died. She shared with him her last lecture, if you will. As with so many things in her life, it was direct and to the point and exquisitely focused on what is important in Life. She spoke to my cousin with the full knowledge that she was going to die and she remained in possession of her faculties pretty much right up to the very end of her long and wonderful life. Here's what she said:
"S____, I am going to die. Take care of your family. Good bye."
That was it, my cousin told me. Short and to the point. She was clear about what was important to her: family.
She was quite a lady, my great aunt.
And yes, I did end up speaking at her funeral. No one spoke about the importance of Judaism in her life, about celebrating Jewish holidays and living the Jewish calendar. So, I got up and did that. Her grandchildren thanked me for it. And you know what, I made everyone laugh, too. She would have liked that, also.
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September 28, 2007
So, there I am, lying on a weight bench, 8 reps into my third set of chest presses. I am pushing a 75 pound dumbbell in each hand and at this point, I have pushed them for a total of 35 times. Five more reps and I hit 40, at which point I will stop. Or, and now we get to the unpleasant part, I could just stop at 8 when I feel something in my left shoulder painfully pop in the middle of the rep, causing great pain and resulting in my arm collapsing so I kind of bounce the 75 pound weight off of my chest.
The trainer took me through a series of exercises with both arms afterwards and determined that I did not have any muscle problem or any rotator cuff problem. I am not sure what failed but I know that I am a bit sore, still, and quite hugely pissed off.
Yes, a most unpleasant moment, indeed, when I realized that my arm was going to collapse on me.
I trust, for my friends out there, your day is going better than mine.
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September 26, 2007
[T]hey know that many diners sprinting to the newest hot spot donÂ’t really want to find anything new. They want reassurance that theyÂ’ve mastered whatÂ’s worth knowing.
Half of being cool in New York is making it look like you are in the know. I assume that applies just about everywhere, of course, but the fact is that the pace of change in New York can feel so rapid, with so many people full of tremendous energy packed in like rats on a sinking ship, so many of them feverishly working away at redefining what's cool and what's now and what, by contrast, is so pathetically two weeks ago, that it takes on an extra edge in New York. Or, at least, we'd like to think so. Those of us in the know. You know.
But it does seriously point out one thing: at some point you just get tired of trying to absorb new facts and new information so that it looks like you are in the know. At some point, the brain overloads. That's when pizza comes in. Pizza is your cure for the overworked mind.
Or chocolate. That's good, too.
I seem to have gone way off from where I wanted to go and, now that I am lost in the strange byways of my own mind, cannot figure out how to get back.
Ah, well. Interesting quote, though, right?
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September 21, 2007
Either way, huge thanks to the Pixy Master himself for restoring peace, order and tranquility to my little home.
And so, ceaselessly beating against the currents, we blog on.
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September 20, 2007
I don't know (and indeed, shy away from thinking about it too deeply) what I would say at my last lecture.
This article from the Wall Street Journal, which I excerpt below, blew me away:
At Carnegie Mellon, however, Dr. Pausch's speech was more than just an academic exercise. The 46-year-old father of three has pancreatic cancer and expects to live for just a few months. His lecture, using images on a giant screen, turned out to be a rollicking and riveting journey through the lessons of his life.He began by showing his CT scans, revealing 10 tumors on his liver. But after that, he talked about living. If anyone expected him to be morose, he said, "I'm sorry to disappoint you." He then dropped to the floor and did one-handed pushups.
Clicking through photos of himself as a boy, he talked about his childhood dreams: to win giant stuffed animals at carnivals, to walk in zero gravity, to design Disney rides, to write a World Book entry. By adulthood, he had achieved each goal. As proof, he had students carry out all the huge stuffed animals he'd won in his life, which he gave to audience members. After all, he doesn't need them anymore.
He paid tribute to his techie background. "I've experienced a deathbed conversion," he said, smiling. "I just bought a Macintosh." Flashing his rejection letters on the screen, he talked about setbacks in his career, repeating: "Brick walls are there for a reason. They let us prove how badly we want things." He encouraged us to be patient with others. "Wait long enough, and people will surprise and impress you." After showing photos of his childhood bedroom, decorated with mathematical notations he'd drawn on the walls, he said: "If your kids want to paint their bedrooms, as a favor to me, let 'em do it."
While displaying photos of his bosses and students over the years, he said that helping others fulfill their dreams is even more fun than achieving your own. He talked of requiring his students to create videogames without sex and violence. "You'd be surprised how many 19-year-old boys run out of ideas when you take those possibilities away," he said, but they all rose to the challenge.
He also saluted his parents, who let him make his childhood bedroom his domain, even if his wall etchings hurt the home's resale value. He knew his mom was proud of him when he got his Ph.D, he said, despite how she'd introduce him: "This is my son. He's a doctor, but not the kind who helps people."
He then spoke about his legacy. Considered one of the nation's foremost teachers of videogame and virtual-reality technology, he helped develop "Alice," a Carnegie Mellon software project that allows people to easily create 3-D animations. It had one million downloads in the past year, and usage is expected to soar.
"Like Moses, I get to see the Promised Land, but I don't get to step foot in it," Dr. Pausch said. "That's OK. I will live on in Alice."
Many people have given last speeches without realizing it. The day before he was killed, Martin Luther King Jr. spoke prophetically: "Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place." He talked of how he had seen the Promised Land, even though "I may not get there with you."
Dr. Pausch's lecture, in the same way, became a call to his colleagues and students to go on without him and do great things. But he was also addressing those closer to his heart.
Near the end of his talk, he had a cake brought out for his wife, whose birthday was the day before. As she cried and they embraced on stage, the audience sang "Happy Birthday," many wiping away their own tears.
Dr. Pausch's speech was taped so his children, ages 5, 2 and 1, can watch it when they're older. His last words in his last lecture were simple: "This was for my kids." Then those of us in the audience rose for one last standing ovation.
If you'd like to see the full video report (some 4 minutes), here it is:
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September 18, 2007
Well, I have a solution to this problem. A solution so obvious I am shocked to be the first one to propose it.
Only eat dessert.
That's right. The people are right who advocate: "Life is short, eat dessert first". There are no food safety issues with dessert. When did you hear last about contaminated chocolate? Never, that's when.
When did you see someone choking on ice cream? Never.
You want to be safe and careful and sane when you eat?
Eat dessert. Leave the meat and vegetables to the dare devils.
Me, I'm advocating a pure risk averse life style here: eat only dessert.
Be safe, people.
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September 14, 2007
I don't have a whole lot else to say right now, or rather, I have so much to say that my thoughts have crowded each other out in the race to get to the front of the line. So, I will be back when I calm down a titch.
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