The Cheap Seats

If you have read any of my posts over the past two years, you've probably reached one conclusion - this guy loves lists. Other than the occasional poem about angry Santas or life-sustaining coffee, most weekly entries have included semi-serious and silly itemizations of everything from the perks of singledom to 80's songs to personal turn-ons (not as titillating as it sounds). So naturally, I have been anxiously awaiting January - that traditional time on the calendar for the creation of the ultimate list: New Year's Resolutions.   In my opinion, the best definition of resolution is firm determination , which is ironic since most New Year's resolutions are neither firm nor determined. But in recent years, a good friend has reignited my interest in creating New Year's resolutions. Wisely, she creates an annual  Vision Board - a physical reminder she can view often, urging her on to meet personal, financial or material goals for the coming year.   Unlike he

'Twas the night before the night before Christmas, way up at the Pole, all the elves were on duty, each one with a goal. The 2013 quota was quite clear with time running short. "I don't see how we can make it," was the Head Elf's report. The children's wishes this year, dreamed up in their heads, were sure to put the North Pole's ledger deep in the red. So Santa called a meeting, and banged on his gavel. "Time for retraining boys, or Christmas will unravel!" "These days kids want gizmos and gadgets galore, to post, text and stream - and it seems much, much more. I can't say no - you know hard that would be for a soft, sentimental old elf like me." So the University of the Arctic was quickly constructed, elves tuition paid - "don't worry boys, all tax-deducted." But the dismay was apparent, clear for all to see round the clock, from an uploaded video that was streaming on TikTok.

'Twas the week before Christmas way, way up North, all the elves pulling double shifts 'til December 24th. Santa Claus announced, "No days off or you're all dead meat!" "He's a goddamn slavedriver!" the Head Elf did tweet. The kids' demands were spelled out loud - very clear, and would certainly destroy elf morale late this year. So Santa shut down the line and called a quick meeting.  "Oh great - a pep talk," the Head Elf was seen tweeting. "Boys, don't think I'm not aware of how hard you all work, or as late December gets closer I turn into a big jerk." "Does this mean," the top elf wondered, "that he's starting to get it? Maybe I should be recording this and upload it to Reddit." But Santa droned on, talking about teamwork and pride, "It's all about the kids - but hey, look on the bright side. In a few weeks you'll be on vacation and out of this j

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I hope the love and joy of this wondrous season wraps you in its embrace and keeps you warm all year long. Okay, enough of that crap.   Yes, it's that time of year - the receiving of the Christmas card letter. Not the modest accountings of the comings and goings of busy, functional families. Those are fine, and welcome. Instead, I am referring to those literary gems written in the 3rd person, sprinkled liberally with unsubtle references to new cars, new homes, job promotions, European vacations and Mensa children. I have a long-held Christmas wish to receive exactly the opposite kind of Christmas card letter - confirmation that the lives of other people aren't that much different from mine. Exciting and boring and frustrating and rewarding and stressful. Life as we know it. But because that is never going to happen, I've decided to write one myself - what one mythical man's family might have experienced over the past twelv

  I'm a fan of Thanksgiving. It's the holiday of low expectations. There is little fanfare or formality. No gifts are exchanged. No feelings are hurt. It's all about the food. Granted, women are working their asses off in the kitchen - men still falling mostly short in the food prep department - but the payoff is huge. Stuffed and satisfied families blearily wander out of dining rooms to nap away food-induced comas. The only enduring tradition of Thanksgiving (other than football) is the obligatory recitation of what everyone is thankful for. Children typically follow mom and dad's lead, listing the usual suspects - pets, parents, health, siblings, often in that order. You know, the really boring stuff. No one is selfish or specific. I'm also a big fan of the little things in life. No, I don't take family, friends and health for granted  - but the small stuff can also supply its own source of comfort. So, here is a tune in honor of my slices of daily h

I am a bona fide Kennedy-phile. Whether in books, movies or on TV, stories of the triumphs and tragedies of this American family have received my attention and interest since I was a teenager. And then this past month, as the 50th anniversary of JFK's assassination neared, my focus sharpened again to that fateful day in Dallas. Morbidly, I spent some time yesterday watching the scant few moments of gruesome film footage before, during and after the fatal shot that ended the President's life.   The Kennedy Presidency was never part of my conscious memory. I was born three years after it ended. And yet each time I read about or watch this moment in U.S. history unfold in books or onscreen, I have found myself growing anxious as the story moves inexorably toward 12:30pm, CST on November 22, 1963. "Maybe this time the big black Lincoln won't turn right onto Elm," a voice in the back of my mind whispers hopefully. "Maybe this time Oswald will miss. Maybe this

An era came to a quiet end last week. Few people cared, and those that may have said very little. This particular end was not met with any of the typical nostalgia requisite of a good ending. Thick slices of nostalgia are served up when a beloved local business closes, an old ballpark is torn down or a former world leader passes away. For a short time we are willing to forget that the store's prices were outrageous, the ballpark had three bathrooms for every 1,000 spectators and the fallen leader - for all of his rhetoric - was not very kind to the poor. None of these things happened. Blockbuster Video - the movie rental giant - announced this past week the closing of its remaining stores. The collective national response? Meh. Blockbuster, and countless other video rental stores, are following the poet T.S. Eliot's oft-paraphrased adage; dying with a whimper rather than a bang. They have been on life support for a decade and no one within the industry had the good sense t

My definition of a great educator is a person who can teach a student how to do something that the student would not otherwise be able to do or learn on their own. I had many good teachers throughout my childhood, people that worked hard and challenged me and my classmates. The one person who still stands out today in my mind as  great was a smart, surly and sarcastic math genius named Bob Clark.   Mr. Clark's smarts were off the charts. I passed those upper level math classes only because of him, plain and simple. If Mr. Clark knew a student was willing to work,  he didn't let them give up or fail. His surliness was mostly bravado - but definitely by design, keeping students on their toes as well as adding to his reputation. The truth behind Mr. Clark's bluster was that he cared very deeply about his students and his subject. The sarcasm, however, was genuine and undoubtedly what his students remember most about Mr. Clark.   One particular scene played out in his

I recently bought a "gently used" car. The usual but bizarre scenario quickly followed. I began seeing many more cars on the road of the same make and model as my car. The label for this particular phenomenon is Observational Selection Bias (I had to look it up), and it is something we all experience after major purchases (such as automobiles), life changes like pregnancy (everyone seems knocked up) and trivial things like noticing a specific number or song repeating itself. So no, we haven't developed a marketable superpower. Unexplainable, yes. A reason to don a cape and tights? Save it for the bedroom.   Inexplicably, I have Observational Selection Bias about the damnedest thing - and for about ten years running now. This doesn't seem to fit the OSB pattern, however. After all, what I keep seeing is not unique to me or representative of anything I've purchased recently. So I ask:   Why in the hell do I keep seeing shoes in the road?   And here&#

Songs and song titles naturally reflect the eras in which they were recorded and performed. Chattanooga Choo-Choo is pure cornball to the modern ear, but in the pre-war America of 1941, it was at the top of the charts. Danny and the Juniors played At The Hop in 1957, capitalizing on an emerging teen culture. Today the only hop kids are familiar with walks in lockstep with hip . In 1964, Bob Dylan wrote The Times They Are a Changin' , accurately portraying an anxious America still reeling from the assassination of a President and harboring vague concerns of an unknown future.   So it's not difficult to see that every decade is musically different. Moving into the 70's and beyond, singer-songwriters like Bruce Springsteen and John Mellencamp sang of disaffection and discontent. Guitar rock, synth-driven beats, packaging over performance - popular music continues to evolve at high speeds.   And then there is the 80's.   As I smarmily (possibly not a real wo

No complaints, no pity, but it has been a long week. Through a series of commitments and choices, I have found myself at work and at play late into each of the last five nights, with no break in sight until Monday, when the week starts all over. No worries. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I am a teacher. My district just wrapped up Fall parent/teacher conferences. This is primarily a positive couple of nights when many moms and dads stop in to "get the good news" as I call it. Too often the parents we need to see stay home. Their children, making up less than 20% of our student population, are the ones who occupy more than 80% of our time; time spent re-directing, re-teaching, re-everything. But even an old social studies teacher can tell you that less than 20% of anything isn't too much. My long work week concluded with a 7am flight to Boston on Friday morning. Confession: I am not a frequent flier, or a good one for that matter. When you have to r

Halfway through and halfway there Questions flood my swirling mind; Unknown answers in the air, Out of reach and unaware Of the peace I long to find. Is there more I cannot say After ash and dust return; Will there dawn an endless day? Some grand bargain to parlay, Weighed against eternal burn. Faith in an End I know not  Is elusive, troubling still; Soothing waters I have sought, Clash with insight so hard fought From the practice of free will.  Envy those with sure belief Full of reverence and awe; Certainty - a sweet relief, All doubts dashed upon a reef, Defeating death's waiting maw. Halfway through and halfway there, Striding, pushing toward one goal; Ever searching ev'rywhere, Seeking answers to a prayer, Do I have an endless soul?

I have lived alone for most of the last dozen years. My kids, friends and family come and go on a regular basis, but for the most part it is just me. While I certainly would not have predicted this domestic state of affairs for myself 20 years ago, I have discovered that I don't really mind either. As I mentioned last spring in The Perks of Living Single , the benefits are numerous.   Oh sure, it does occasionally get lonely. And quiet. But after a long day or week entertaining teenagers, peace and quiet is the first thing on the menu. These periods of silence and inactivity, however, usually wear thin by Saturday morning. Then I am grateful for things to do, people to see and places to go.   But the fullness of my personal calendar, when it is not driven by my children's schedules, ebbs and flows. So, busy by demand becomes busy by design - a bridge during those times when responsibilities, home maintenance and fun are at low tides. In other words, I make shit up - at

The older I get the more I shake my head, At things people do, at words they have said. Do they think they are fooling us? Not a chance, no way! Theory. They just don't give a sh*t, do they?   We have a government, self-serving and bloated, Driven by special interests, not people who voted. No more sound bites, stop lying, Listen to us will ya, HEY! Assumption. They just don't give a sh*t, do they?   And drug companies, peddling every placebo and pill, for all manner of ache and pain, fever or chill? Cure something for Christ's sake! Why just keep illnesses at bay? Inference. They just don't give a sh*t, do they?   And why have tuition rates shot skyscraper high, Shackling a generation for life, paying loans til they die? University presidents troll out pretext and excuse, as graduates keep collection agencies at bay. Hypothesis. They just don't give a sh*t, do they?   Let's not forget the major college a