This is a collection of random thoughts about politics, culture, family, so

March 30, 2005

Pack rat? Me?

In a panic, last night, I realized that if we are well and truly going to be putting our house on the market next week *GULP*, this might be the last recycling day between now and that date. Therefore, it was incumbent upon me to race around the house and ruthlessly reduce the old magazines which were cluttering up the whole house, stashed in lopsided piles in odd corners and in each bathroom and the guest room and next to my bed and, well, you get the idea. In a burst of energy, I rounded up something like 9 shopping bags full of old Sports Illustrated, Architectural Digest, Consumer Reports, Westchester and NY Magazines, and various other random publications and conveyed them to the curb for disposal.

I have barely scratched the surface, I realize, of what needs to be done to make the house ready to show, but it felt good to get started.

Tomorrow, I'm afraid (and I really mean afraid), may be the last bulk garbage disposal opportunity before the house lists. Thus, tonight may be a really late night as I attempt to make some snap decisions about what stays, what goes, and what gets run to the curb tonight.

All the fun and drama of packing up an entire house but compressed into 2 nights.

In the back of my mind, I hear my late grandmother's voice, passing along the words she used to tell my mother when my mother was sent off to clean up her room: Be ruthless.

Wish me luck, for it is against everything holy for a pack rat to be ruthless.

By the way, how come nobody is ever told to be "ruth" anymore? How come ruth fell out of the language except as a first name?

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March 28, 2005

Buy/Sell and Sell/Buy: The difference?

The difference is the amount of stress and the sheer terror that sometimes accompanies the purchase of a new house and the immediate, and chilling, obligation to get your current house in shape and on the market. I have spent the day alternating between stressed out, temple throbbing, chest pounding anxiety and fatalistic acceptance that I am slowly pushing down a major commitment which will absolutely, no question about it, be a big mistake. Why a big mistake? Because at least right now, in my current house, I understand and appreciate what I don't like and what is not suitable. In a new house, in a new town, and in the state next door, all that is unforeseen and unappreciated. Besides, I think that deep down I really loathe change. Also, I pretty much hate debt and debt is a new best buddy.

Hence my silence today. Too much time being freaked out and unhappy. I have also done no work today of any kind professionally speaking.

Did I mention that we found a house that we really loved this weekend and can't quite afford but are planning to buy anyway? I may have left that out.

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March 25, 2005

Easter

Religious holidays are odd things. They are so many different things to so many different people. I have no idea if anyone reading this will be celebrating Easter this year, or if they are, whether they will sit awhile and think about the deeper significance of the holy day (where do you think the word holiday comes from, hmmn?) but I hope they do. We'll be watching our kids run around picking up eggs. I'll be the guy with the Bloody Mary in his hand.

So, that said, if you are celebrating Easter this weekend, I wish you a happy, peaceful and meaningful holy day.

And maybe, just maybe, you'll spare a thought for Terry Schiavo. Mark at Irish Elk has provided very thought provoking coverage.

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March 24, 2005

When an update is not an update

Like now. I owe you all an update on the visit to England and dinner with Helen, etc. I can't do it right now, I fear. I was in Atlanta all day yesterday and returned on a very, very delayed flight. I walked in to find my wife telling me how much our daughter was looking forward to seeing us all at her school for her Purim party. *gulp* I am bad parent. I forgot about the Purim party. I did not go to work this morning. Instead, I went to Purim party, more on that later, as well. I have been playing catch up at work ever since.

I will leave you with the words that the Girl Child dictated as she pretended to write a letter and she closed it out:

Gratefully yours,
Love you,
Bye.

She assures me that is how she ends all her letters.

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March 22, 2005

Oggi, oggi, oggi, oggi, oi, oi oi (spelling guessed at)

Yay, Wales! I am informed that the title of this post is a cheer at Welsh rugby matches (if informed incorrectly, please let me know). Among the things I did in London was spend two hours in a pub on a beautiful day drinking with friends and watching as Wales beat up on Ireland in the finals of the Six Nations Rugby Tournament (also caught the end of France/Italy). It used to be the Five Nations. In fact, the Five Celtic Nations. Now Italy's joined. Let's just say the Italian Rugby Team has a ways to go.

This is the first time since 1978 that Wales has won the tournament with a grand slam (all the matches). The first time in 22 years that they have managed to beat Ireland at home in Wales. Wales exploded in joy after the match.

And it was a very exciting match, too.

Rugby is an excellent sport to watch. You cannot believe, if youÂ’ve never seen it, how fast and strong the top players are. And how they fling themselves about with almost no regard for their personal safety. There was quite a bit of blood on the field. Oh, and injury care? That seemed mostly to involve a 30 second application of an ice pack. That's it.

My favorite anecdote about 6 Nations? The Welsh team is sponsored by Brains beer and wear, on their shirts, the name: Brains.

The French prohibit advertising on the pitch so the Welsh replaced the word Brains on their jerseys with the word: Brawn. Excellent, no?

So, join me and lift a glass to the 2005 Six Nations Rugby Champions!

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I have returned, with a theory, no less

I am back from England where I had a wonderful time (more on that later) and trying to prepare for a meeting in a far off city tomorrow. I am working very hard to pretend that jet lag is a theoretical malady that afflicts others, not me. And I have a theory. For the first time, I actually have concocted a theory about jet lag and the is it worse here (US) or there (Europe) debate. My theory is that jet lag is simply worse wherever you are returning to. When you go to a place, you suffer less from jet lag because of the excitement about the travel, especially if the travel is holiday (vacation) related. You arrive and are up early and are out the door, buzzed to get going and do stuff. You ignore the jet lag, pretend it isn't there.

But then you get home. And you don't pretend the jet lag isn't there. You can't. In fact, your mind keeps returning to vacation and you think to yourself that, gee, its noon here but its five o'clock back in London. And since your mind keeps going back that way, and you keep imagining yourself back in London (or wherever), you magnify and intensify the jet lag.

That's my theory, in a nutshell.

I tried to put it into practice. I set my watch as soon as I got on the plane to come home. I dragged myself out of bed at the usual time and went to the gym and did the usual hard workout. I came to work. I have thought nothing about what time it might be in London.

And you know what? I'm pretty wrecked actually. But it has nothing to do with jet lag. Nope, according to my theory, I'm totally over that.

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March 16, 2005

Like a good ol' country lawyer, I'm hanging a sign on my door

Well, not really. At least, not fishing.

Nope, off to merry old England as of tomorrow morning. Just me, no wife, no kids, no car seats, no strollers, no diaper bags. Just me and a new book on the history of the Late Roman Empire I picked up last night in the bookstore. I will have 6 (or so) glorious economy class hours all to myself to read without interruption. I guarantee that this is the part of the trip my wife envies me the most for. I know that I have envied her that part when she has gone on business trips. Solitude. *sigh* I cannot wait for some solitude. Not too much, mind you, just a couple of hours.

Expected highlights of the trip to come:

*Dinner with Helen and Angus on Friday night! I am looking forward to this tremendously and am only sorry my wife cannot join us.

*A moment to pay my respects to the Laughing Cavalier (Franz Hals) at the Wallace Collection, where he lives. He is one of my all time favorite portraits:

I'm sure you can see why. Actually, permit me a slight digression. Among the things I love about this painting are the twinkle in his eye, like he is sharing a joke with us, not laughing at us and the gorgeous clothes he is wearing. I have read that Flemish painters in the 1600's, when this was painted, used to get their commissions from rich Flemish wool merchants and they were famous for providing stunning and luxurious fabrics to the rest of Europe. Such that, Flemish painters used their portraits, in part, as an advertisement for the Flemish fabric trade and painted these stunning clothes in these fabulous textures and colors -- rich brocade, deep velvets, heavy silks, etc. Next time you see a Flemish painted portrait of a well off woman, take a close look at the clothes. That depiction will knock you out. I promise.

*Lunch with my old fencing master! A very dear man, in his 70's now.

*Hanging out time with some of my bestest friends from law school, people who rented the other half of the house we lived in for 2 years.

*A visit to the National Portrait Gallery.

*A trip to the British Museum to see some treasured old pals: The Elgin Marbles; the Assyrian collection; the Magna Carta; and any other damn thing I want to see!

*A wedding on Sunday!

*Some time in the bookstores, getting my wife her perfume, maybe picking up a new tie or two if the exchange rate doesn't absolutely frighten me away first.

*and finally, walking around to my heart's content, taking pictures of the splendid buildings and just being happy about being in London.

When a man grows tired of London, etc.

Wish me a safe trip, if you would be so kind, and look for my reports next week.

Pax tibi!

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March 10, 2005

Hey, buddy, you got a light?

I am a reformed smoker. I quit the day after I took the NY Bar exam, some 12 years ago. Sometimes I miss it, sometimes I hate even walking behind someone smoking. Sometimes, though, the feelings I associate with tobacco go from mild missing, to nostalgia, to craving to being really sorry I gave it up. Those feelings usually sneak up on me. Like today.

There was this nasty, beat up van waiting to pull into the street from a gas station as I passed by. I took it all in -- the dents, the multihued exterior from original paint to bondo to rust, the driver with the predictable lit cigarette. And then, whoosh. Damn, I wanted one. I am not going to have one, clearly. But I am going to write about it.

At its best, a cigarette was a sensuous experience. Every part of it.

First, you'd pack the pack. The smack as you slapped the top of the pack against the palm of your hand and the little sting you'd feel. You'd do this several times until all the loose tobacco was packed firmly into the cigarette. Then the crinkle as you took the plastic off and the smell as you opened the pack and pulled the silvery paper out of the top.

You'd take the cigarette out of the pack then and put it in your mouth. You'd hold it loosely with your lips as you pulled out the fire. Loosely so you wouldn't get it wet.

Then, fire. Flame came from several possible sources. First, matches. The scriiitch of the match head against the strike paper, the quick attempt to cup the match if you were outside so it wouldn't go out, or the even faster attempt to light the smoke right off the flare as the match ignited. This was the least satisfying but had some appeal anyway. No, I really liked the zippo lighter, the heft of the brass. I had my initials engraved on mine. The sound of the top as you popped it open, that metal snick. The roughness of the wheel as you engaged the flint. The smell of the lighter fluid that just seemed to make the Camel Lights (my preferred brand) taste better. The solid thunk like the door of a Mercedes as you closed it. It always stayed lit in the wind, too.

Then there was the sound of the cigarette as it took the flame. The crinkle noise of the paper as it caught at the end. The change it made as the tobacco started to burn.

Then the smoke as it finally hit your lungs. That part was really quite excellent. Quite excellent.

Of course, I also liked the holding of the cigarette, the gesturing with it for emphasis, the flicking away the butt when I was finished, the quick tap or flick to knock the ashes off the end. All of this I liked.

I liked a slow smoke. I also liked a fast smoke. Like one of my classmates said in law school, in con law, when asked by a professor whether the cigarette boxes still had the Surgeon General's warnings on them: "I don't know, Professor, I just rip 'em open and smoke 'em."

I also liked pipes and still take, maybe a couple of times a year, a good cigar. But this post isn't about that. It is about missing my little pack of smokes and my snazzy zippo.

As I've said often to my wife, the thing I regret the most about ever starting to smoke seriously is that I can now no longer have the social cigarette if at a bar with friends. Nope. I'm done.

But I can still miss them from time to time. And I do.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 03:48 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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1 Man, you are jonesing for a 'moke. It's going on more than a month for me. I've quit a number of times. Hopefully this time will be the charm. I find now I don't miss the tobacco so much as the idea of smoking. Old movies bring it on -- High Society, for example, or that movie with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Everyone's smoking all of the time. I think that in heaven you can smoke whenever you want, without consequence.

Posted by: Mark C N Sullivan at March 10, 2005 08:50 PM (/iovn)

2 Well, the urge passed very quickly. And as you said, it wasn't the smoke as much as the idea, as everything that surrounded the smoke. Good luck, Mark!

Posted by: RP at March 10, 2005 09:19 PM (X3Lfs)

3 Man, I can understand the jonesing, I get that way about beer and/or dark rum sometimes, remembering the good ole days back in college and univerity, partying with my friends. Unfortunately then I have some and the friends don't come back and the party doesn't appear, and... it's kind of a let down. And then my body goes "what are you drinking this for?" and gives me a headache, and I regret it all. Funny how smells and touch can bring back vivid memories though, and how those memories are usually better than the actual occasion.

Posted by: Oorgo at March 11, 2005 11:36 AM (lM0qs)

4 Good for you; glad you quit. I smoked for about 3 months when I was 18, then quit. However, for many years afterwards if we were drinking socially with others who smoked, I would cage a cigarette from them. Always gave me a headache the next day, though...no, not the booze, the cigarette, because I wouldn't have a headache with the same amount without one. So how powerful is this addiction that even though I only smoked a half a pack for 3 months it affected me for many many years afterwards. Powerful stuff. I hear it's harder to kick tobacco than heroin.

Posted by: Amber at March 11, 2005 04:28 PM (zQE5D)

5 Amber, Yes it is a harder addiction to kick than heroin. I've quit so many times it's rediculous. And I still have a ciggie burning in my ashtray right now. Don Imus was hooked on cocaine, booze, cigarettes and Gawde knows what else. Someone once asked Imus "Which was the hardest to give up?" "Cigarettes," he said without pause. Imus still chews Nicorette gum to this day. I envy and am so proud of my friends who've successfully quit smoking. But, I have a friend who quit for two years and then went back to it. I was so proud of her when she resisted offers of a smoke, but now she's hooked again. It's mostly our creature-of-habit nature, not the nicotine itself, I think. But, nowadays, I'm more certain than ever that I'll die of a smoking-caused illness. Oh well. A short(ened) life is better than none at all!

Posted by: Tuning Spork at March 12, 2005 12:35 AM (dqXkl)

6 I smoked a pack a day during most of high school and college. I quit my last semester of college without much trouble. I do cheat now, although it's only when I'm either back in my hometown with friends or when I'm out drinking. I definitely miss a smoke with coffee. Sigh.

Posted by: C at March 12, 2005 02:14 PM (0yCni)

7 I've smoked a Dunhill in your honor.

Posted by: Andrew Cusack at March 12, 2005 08:42 PM (KWqwc)

8 I just kept inhaling deeply as I read that. Oh, I can so relate as I struggle along in my brave endeavors to quit. Worst of it is I keep remembering two things that were said to me years ago. #1 "I quit years ago, but the longing is still there." and #2 was something my boss once said. He told me, "When I see that cloud of smoke above your head I know you are writing something really profuse, interesting, and worthwhile." I love to write, so quitting for me is very tough and I just don't appreciate puffing on a celery stick the same as puffing on a smoke. Still I'm glad you shared these thoughts -- there is hope for me if you could have had that kind of 'love relationship' and still found the strength to leave it behind.

Posted by: Roberta S at March 13, 2005 03:42 AM (R9op+)

9 Might have guessed Andrew Cusack smokes Dunhills. Reds, I trust.

Posted by: Mark C N Sullivan at March 15, 2005 02:51 PM (q9XsZ)

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March 08, 2005

Welsh Hip Hop, reprise

Back in December of last year, I put up an entry on Welsh hip hop. Would you believe it still attracts the occasional comment from the Welsh hip hop afficionados and partisans? This is why comments should not be closed. It may have something to do with the fact that when you run the Google search, my little blog is the second search result on the list.

The BBC put up a nice review of the album released last Summer: Miwsig I'ch Traed A Miwsig I'ch Meddwl. I cannot pronounce it, honestly, but I like the way all of the letters look together. This album was put out by Boobytrap Records, which also puts out Welch Hip Hop albums by Kentucky AFC. If you want to hear a snippet from MC Mabon's hit single, opupPic('mp3s/mc_mabon.mp3')">go iawn wir yr click on the song title and hopefully that will work. If not, click here, because I don't want you to miss your chance at hearing the "chanting song of acid-guzzling choir goers".

Here is a great set of resources for Welsh Hip Hop from BBC Wales: Adam Walton's Magical Mystery Tour. Here is an informative looking website from another record company: Angst.

Finally, the BBC Wales does have a nice looking set of links to Welsh music sites generally, with some hip hop mixed in.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to check out The Martini Henry Rifles new video. Not hip hop, mind you, but quite interesting and in English.

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February 28, 2005

Snow Dance

I'm like a little kid today, anxiously peering out the window, waiting for the blizzard they've promised us to start. I'm calculating how much time I'll need to get to the liquor store to buy a bottle of Rioja (something spicy with a lot of fruit) and hit the bookstore for the new Charles Todd mystery before I flee the office. I'm burning a cd full of documents and caselaw so that if I get snowed in tonight and can't make it in tomorrow I can get some work done while the kids sleep. I'm going to light a fire tonight as the snow falls, and I'm going to open that bottle of wine, and I'm going to put on something other than Barney or Norwegian children's music on the stereo system and I'm gonna be a happy guy tonight. That's my plan.

As for bringing work home, I'm going to do it but the brief I'm working on is not due for another 16 days. I would dearly love to have it finished early but I think I need the feeling of impending deadlines to motivate me to get to work. At heart, I procrastinate. I vow to change that with each new task, but I can't really. I need the pressure to make the diamond, to get results. No pressure, no deadline, no work. I'd like to change this, but I can't quite seem to do it. Still, no time like the present, right? I think that, if I can get to work tomorrow, my goal will be to have a good, working first draft of this reply brief done by Friday. I think it can be done.

I love snow days. I hope, if we're going to get snow, that we get a whole lot of it.

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February 25, 2005

Pardon the dust, but renovate we must

Thank you, Margi, for taking my photographs and turning them into these snazzy looking banners. Indeed, if you hit refresh you will find a veritable rotating bonanza of banners, all thanks to the very kind technical and artistic intervention of Ms. Margi.

One of the best things about MuNu is the friendships I have made here. They are no less real because they take place in this medium instead of in a bar or at a cookout. Thank you, Margi, for your friendship.

While I am bubbling over with gratitude and nice things to say, I fear that they will sound insincere if they all come out at once. So instead let me say, on the theory that sometimes less is more, thank you for all your hard work and kindness. I am more touched than I can say and terribly appreciative.

Don't you all think the joint is looking better as a result?

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Butts in the air, waving around

Curious title, no? Well, that's what you'd see if enough people joined me today in my first, Stick Your Head in the Sand Day. If you lean over and stick your hand in the sand, that would be your butt waving around in the air. And if enough people join in, no one will even be able to see your butt or remark on the fact that you might have sat on something that left a stain.

I am feeling entirely overwhelmed, today. What follow is not meant to be an extended whine, but an explanation, pure and simple, of why I want to stick my head in the sand today.

* I have a tension headache brought on by some work related matters that started in the back of my neck and, no kidding, just finished climbing over the top of my head and hit my nose. A new personal best for tension headaches. Pardon me for a moment while I interrupt this typing to take something.

* I hate the fact that this morning, after crawling into bed with the Girl Child in response to her summons, I had to answer her question about who was going to be taking care of her today with an answer different from, "me". I have guilt. Big time guilt.

* I am ground down by the war on terror. I can only hold firm to the belief that Bush is right and the only way to win this battle is to spread liberty and freedom, even as paradoxical as it sounds, if it has to be at the point of the bayonet.

* I am saddened and diminished by every serviceman's death.

* I am daunted by the task of getting my house ready to sell and finding a new house in a different community which we will have chosen based on too little research and too much salesmanship, no doubt.

* I am just feeling like too little butter spread too thinly over too little bread with too many committments between work, not for profit demands, and my preference to be home with my children as they bounce all over me.

I'd like to say just writing it all down makes me feel better, but it doesn't.

So, I'm trying something new today. I will stick my head in the sand. No newspaper at all, no current events, no thinking about the house, can't avoid the work obligations but I will try to leave them at work today, no reading anyone's tales of woe, and no focusing on anything negative. That's it. That's my solution.

If you see my butt in the air when you pass by today, and it looks as if I sat in some old chewing gum on the train this morning, I will trust that you will have the delicacy not to mention it. I wish to remain serenely untroubled by absolutely everything today. Tomorrow is soon enough to consider todayÂ’s old chewing gum.

Pax tibi.

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February 18, 2005

"Sod Off, Swampy"

That from a British oil trader to a Greenpeace volunteer after the oil traders kicked the shit out of a Greenpeace commando group who invaded the floor of the oil exchange.

If this wasn't reported in the Times of London I would have thought it was a joke.

one protester said, rubbing his bruised skull. Â“IÂ’ve never seen anyone less amenable to listening to our point of view.Â”

Damn, I wish I had been there to see that one.

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February 16, 2005

A conversation or two that I've had the past week

Did you form the impression yet that I'm what my grandmother used to call a smart aleck? Let me share with you two conversations I've had recently that amused me, at least, to no end.

Conversation 1:
Place: Walking up the train platform with a commuting buddy

Her: What was that language I heard you speaking to your children the other day? Was it French?
Me: No, it was Norwegian. We speak Norwegian to the children. We only speak French to the servants.

The look I got was priceless.

Conversation 2:
Place: Gym, this morning

Her: If you need to reach me tomorrow, I should tell you that I will be out of the office all day.
Me: What are you doing?
Her: It is my art and culture day. You know what I mean? I'm going to see Christo's installation in Central Park.
Me: Oh. Its good that you explained what you meant there because when you said culture, I assumed you meant yogurt.

Another incredulous look.

Its just sometimes, I forget to turn on the filter between my brain and my mouth. Fortunately, that doesn't happen too often, but still, it does happen.

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1 Not everyone has this talent RP, please don't filter!!!!

Posted by: Wicked H at February 16, 2005 11:47 AM (iqFar)

2 We have filters? Hmm...Mine must be clogged.

Posted by: Howard at February 16, 2005 03:22 PM (X88j1)

3 so for art and culture you read 'culture' as yogurt? despite the clue of 'art and' to assist. it just sounds like a wilful seizure upon an ambiguity, and, as such, an example of your need to produce a witticism whatever the cost, with little regard for quality. evidence of a moment of desperation, yes, evidence of being a smart aleck, sadly, no.

Posted by: extreme unction at February 16, 2005 05:29 PM (pMhD7)

4 Thanks for your input. The culture comment was in response to the question from my friend inquiring as to whether I understood what she meant by art and culture. I'm guessing you didn't read too carefully. The clue was there in her question to me. The smart aleck or sarcastic response I gave her was to that. I suppose you missed that. Or were you too intent on producing your own little masterpiece? Sort of intellectual one hand clapping? By the way, what do you have against capital letters?

Posted by: RP at February 16, 2005 07:31 PM (X3Lfs)

5 We only speak French to the servants... Priceless.

Posted by: JohnL at February 16, 2005 10:33 PM (gplif)

6 Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha!! Oh, man, that was good. Filters sometimes get in the way of the funniest moments of our lives. That's not to say they have no place, mind you.

Posted by: Jester at February 16, 2005 11:39 PM (yS8Mo)

7 I had a neat willful-loss-of-filter moment a few years ago. I was playing in a local dart league and a woman from another team had forgotten her set of darts. She was testing the weight of various players' darts to see whose set she would borrow for the night. I was talking to someone at the time and was unaware of what she was doing. So she walks up to me and puts her hand out so's I could hand her the dart that I had in my left hand. I was a little confused. "Bob, she wants to feel your dart," Joe told me. Well, of course, the wheels started turning as I slowly began to hand it to her -- taking my sweet time just in case I had something snarky to say. "Don't say it," Joe warned, shaking his head. "Take the 5th..." All the guys were staring in silence just in case I'd come up with something. "Okay," I said. "But, it's a hard-tip. Be careful you don't get pricked." Everyone busted while she took the dart and mimed knifing me, Norman Bates-style, with the dart -- giggling all the while. Filters? My best moments are when they're clogged!

Posted by: Tuning Spork at February 17, 2005 08:47 PM (CNzTO)

8 TS, I guess that makes you a "sharp wit", with your "pointed" comments! Loved the story, though!

Posted by: RP at February 18, 2005 09:22 AM (LlPKh)

9 Ouch! That's just PUNishment. Maybe I'll "poke" around and take a "stab" at it. LOL!

Posted by: Tuning Spork at February 18, 2005 05:41 PM (NsQdM)

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February 11, 2005

Public Speaking

I love public speaking. I have no fear about getting up in front of a group of people and speaking. This is a useful thing for a trial lawyer. In fact, I don't know how I could be a trial lawyer if public speaking bothered me. But Wednesday night was a bit different. I had to give a small speech to a small group -- about 60 people -- in my new role as chairman of a committee that was sponsoring an event. As chairman, I was the master of ceremonies. The dinner ran for about 3 hours and my speech was very well received. The crowd laughed in the right places and were solemn in the right places. It was very satisfying.

There is something about good public speaking that is a combination of Aikido and seduction. Aikido, in part, is premised on the belief that you can take another person's energy, control it, redirect it and then throw the person. Seduction? Well, you know what it is even if you can't explain it. When it goes well, it goes like this. You stand in front of the group. You make eye contact with some and you speak. And as you speak, you sense the energy of the group. You change your tone and your rhythm and your cadence and your volume as you speak. You force them to pay attention. To be drawn in to your words. Then you pull them along with you and make them think that they are interacting with you, that you are speaking to them. It feels seductive and you know you succeed when people you've never met before come up to you afterwards to say how much they enjoyed your talk and you can tell that they want to just linger, just to chat. You've seduced them. You've taken them from cold, although mildly interested, to warm, to hot. You can feel the energy in the room as it changes and you wrap yourself up in it. I really like that.

And the corollary, of course, is that sometimes your speech goes over as well as a "come here often" line. Happily, that didn't happen this time. And if you have a decent sense of rhythm, you ought to be able to avoid that entirely.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:39 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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London trip

Remember when I said that I was going to London to see the Queen? Just for the record, that was not a sly reference to the upcoming wedding of Prince Charles and Ms. Parker Bowles.

Nope. I declined that invitation.

Why did I turn that invitation down? Because Helen, who lives in London, is free while I am there and we're going to get together for drinks! Yay! You can see how, faced with the choice of Prince Charles or Helen, the Prince just had to go. Besides, Helen met him at Ascot last year, I seem to recall, and she can fill me in on all the gossip.

I'm really looking forward to it. Helen is the one who sponsored me for MuNu and, as I've already promised, I've got first shout.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:47 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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R.I.P. National Hockey League

I think it is pretty much over. Hockey season this year died before it was born, taking with it some hundreds of millions of Canadian dollars out of the Canadian economy, I read in Sports Illustrated recently. The Union and the League have called off talks and I think that there is really no hope that we are going to see a zamboni again this year on the ice at Madison Square Garden.

The sad part is that I only now just really noticed. I mean, I was excited and all to take part in the Inter-Munuvian Hockey Bitch Slap (hence the Rangers image on my sidebar) even knowing that my local team was going to feel the bitch slap a lot. But I didn't miss it for more than a minute. I barely noticed that no one was playing. And why would I? I think that these greedy asswipes have effectively destroyed their league, their game, their place in the pantheon of professional sports. My bet is that no one is coming back when they turn the lights back on again. I wrote about hockey before, asking: when did hockey lose its relevance. I guess it happened when most of us were doing other things.

Sprint training for baseball begins really soon. That, I'm excited about.

Rest in Peace, Hockey. We hardly knew ya.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:39 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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February 10, 2005

Happy Birthday, Margi!

Go wish Margi a very, happy birthday!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:38 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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February 09, 2005

Off to London to see the Queen

I have reserved my ticket to London for mid-March. I am off to see a friend get married. Frankly, I always assumed he was gay, so this is kind of a nice surprise. He may still be gay, of course, but he's getting married anyway. And I have to be there. Unfortunately, my wife is not coming, so I will be off in London by myself. Automatically, that makes it less fun. It will be a busy trip. I have old friends to see -- buddies from law school who are there, friends from back in the day when I lived in London, my old fencing master who I just love, and all the wedding insanity, of course.

There are also some museums I have missed and some, very small, shopping to do.

I also just want to wander about and see some old buildings/friends and retrace my steps on some favorite old streets. I always need some quiet alone time in cities I've lived in before. I can have that quiet alone time with my wife along and actually prefer to have her along for that but I have to have it. Something about revisiting the scene of youthful indiscretions, misdemeanors if not quite crimes. I like to totter along and see if I left any part of myself there, if I'm quick enough, I might just find myself in a favorite old pub, or cul-de-sac. A younger me, with less gray in my hair and more optimism about the future, dressed impeccably having embraced the English bright shirt and tie thing, hurrying along imbued with the joy of living in London and being 25. I'm going to be looking for that guy. I don't think I'll see him, but I'm going to look.

I also want to go to SimpsonÂ’s on the Strand for breakfast one morning, if I can get a moment. Oh, and the book store. And maybe buy a tie. And get more perfume for my wife (a top priority)!

I have way too much to do in London. I feel pressed for time already. IsnÂ’t that ridiculous?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:22 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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A tourist in my own life

Having a job interview for a job far, far away, doing something different, but not radically different from what I do now, makes me feel a bit like a tourist in my own life, a visitor to a distant, but familiar land. Am I just browsing in this store? No thank you, to the clerk, just looking, you say.

You have the interview and it allows you to imagine, to project, to take a tour in your life -- what would my life be like here? What would it be like to uproot my family and take them across the country? How would I live there? Before it gets serious, before you get the call back to come and fly out, you become the tourist. What would it be like to live there? You browse some real estate listings and are stunned by the palaces you could buy for half the amount your house is worth now. What would it be like? You picture yourself living there and doing the work and that is tourism in your own life.

It works that way for house hunting, too, because there you actually picture yourself, sort of, living in another house with someone elseÂ’s furnishings. We did that all last weekend and will continue for part of this upcoming weekend.

I feel like I'm not being clear, but I get this sense of other worldliness when I take an interview and contemplate moving. A feeling like I'm visiting my life in a parallel universe, where, maybe, we can afford for one parent to stay home and where work on weekends is the exception and not the rule. Maybe its just a fantasy, you never know until they make you an offer. And until they make you an offer, you never have to really ask yourself any of the tough questions, you can just sort of gloss over the inconveniences and the difficulties, not to mention the potential trauma in uprooting everyone.

That's why I'm a tourist. Its my life, but sometimes, I'm really just visiting.

Make any sense to anyone?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 01:43 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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