Five Years

Yup, today marks the 5 year anniversary of the day the Missus officially became "The Missus."

...It was a wet, warm day and I remember sitting in the limo on the way to the church, yelling at my future brother-in-law because he wouldn't stop saying I looked nervous.

...Everyone waiting in the front vestibule of the church because the wedding that was before ours ran 45 minutes long. Dozens of people laughing and trying to get dry, waiting to get inside and get it done with.

...Giving the camera to my friend Steve, who managed to take up half my memory card with pictures of his thumb, pictures of his brother, wife, and parents, and pictures of the church walls. There were about 4 pictures of the actual ceremony.

...Waiting at the alter with my brother/Best Man, my left leg shaking uncontrollably as I tried to mentally prepare myself not to cry the second I saw her coming down the aisle.

...Finally seeing her, and instead of crying laughing out loud.

The rest of the day was just a continuation of that laugh. Five years later that laugh, and the smile that accompanies it, is still on my face. Happy anniversary, baby. I love you.

Clothe These Dogs!

Any chance to shill for a good cause or, better yet, a good cause that friends are actually involved in...

Peppertree Rescue is a Albany-based program whose purpose is to "help find homes for dogs in need who represent the character and temperament commonly associated with Golden Retrievers friendliness, intelligence and a peaceful, loving nature." Most of these dogs have been abused and in some cases worse, yet still hold the spirit and temperament common to Golden Retrievers (although by no means are they the only breed rescued by Peppertree). Peppertree also works to coordinate with other animal shelters and rescue groups, and assists in educating the public about treatment, care, and the "good" ways to choose an animal companion. This is something that my friend and Guest Blogger Jason and his wife Mindy have been involved with since finding their own dog Boo (short for Boogaloo) through the program.

Since then, they've gone the extra step and have begun taking in more dogs as part of a rotating foster program. This accomplishes two things - it saves the group money in boarding costs, and provides a safe home environment for the dogs. Their latest acquisitions are Lady and Tramp, two pit bull mixes that defy all common prejudices and myths about pit bulls. Unfortunately Tramp is lacking a little in the hair department, and with Winter coming this pit bull's in need of some clothing. Jason asked me this morning if I could do a little investigating, and I thought I'd go one better and ask any of you out there

So if anyone knows of any websites that provide warm dog clothing that does not enforce pit bull stereotypes, please let me know. These dogs are about 40 pounds, and about the friendliest dogs you can get to know. And if you feel like getting involved in your community, be it with Peppertree or another local organization, what better time than now to get started? Find something you're passionate about, get involved, and let me know what it is. I'd love to hear about it, and I'm sure Lady and Tramp would be thrilled to know you're doing something in this period of Thanksgiving.

CRT Blindness

Every time I look at my computer screen, I feel like I'm going to fall down. White screens are causing my perceptions to become unfocused. This may be due in part to a lack of sugar. It may also be due in part to my growing frustrations at the workplace. However, I suspect the main culprit is the idiot who played around with my display settings while I was away in Phoenix...

Little pieces of catch-up:

• The new PJ Harvey record, White Chalk, is growing on me. Her records seem to alternate between rage and meditation. This one, largely piano-based, falls squarely in the "meditation" category, and that's a good thing going into the Twilight of Autumn (wheee!).


• I am firmly behind the WGA strike, even though it means I don't get to continue the golden creamy goodness that is Pushing Daisies. Trying to keep the pace with all the television is impossible, and I'm finding more and more things to do, like catching up on fun books, playing with my wife and son, and doing anything that doesn't involve paying my weekly oblations to the Glass Teat, as Harlan Ellison would say.


• The weather in New York has been ridiculous lately. One day it's freezing cold, the next it's over 60 degrees and pouring rain. My lawn looks like Newark and if the squirrels aren't planting land mines in my backyard, then what's that government van doing parked across the street?


• My son officially has his first two teeth. My wife learned the hard way that at this point you really shouldn't let him bite you on the nose.
  

• Friday is my 5-year wedding anniversary, which is always funny to say considering we've been together 16 years. If it's possible to be both a veteran and a rookie simultaneously, we're doing it. Traditionally 5 years is "wood" in terms of gift giving, and I'm working on a gift plan that will be both romantic and fun. I will most likely fail.

• I don't know how many people who read this blog play video games, but Portal is amazing. Even if the cake is a lie.
  


• I've seen some good films in the movie theater, but haven't commented on them. Other, better people have. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed THE DARJEELING LIMITED, ACROSS THE UNIVERSE a little less (though both soundtracks are great), and I plan to see THE MIST as soon as it comes out.


• Every year I wait until the last minute to pick up a calendar for work. I force myself to pick something that is left on the 75% off bin. Usually this forces me to find some interesting things. This year I've been looking at Latin American Art from MOMA. The picture for November is below. For reasons I can't quite fathom I find myself staring at this all day long. Click for more details...

R.I.P. Norman Mailer: 1923-2007

The first book you read by an author you come to love holds a special place for you. It doesn't matter if the book is considered a "classic" or if it's considered a "lesser work" by the critics - it's the work that opened your eyes to a new horizon of opportunities, of language and art that was previously locked to you. The first Norman Mailer book I read was Tough Guys Don't Dance. And while "not his masterpiece" and "a lesser" work seemed to be the prevailing view of critics, it's blend of pulp genre, muscular literary prose and trademark dialog made an immediate and last impression on me. I was hooked, utterly and completely bowled over by a master of language.

From Tough Guys Don't Dance I moved onto The Deer Park, and then to An American Dream, somehow skipping over the milestones in Mailer's career. That changed when, the first Winter I lived by myself, in a dilapidated one-bedroom apartment in the historic section of Albany I picked up a copy of The Executioner's Song. Moving from 200 -300 pages into a nonfiction tome rounding out at over 1,000 pages was daunting, but I had decided earlier to begin reading more nonfiction, and starting with an author I had recently come to love was a good place to start.

It's rare that I put the memories of a book together with the memories of the circumstances around reading a book, but when the two are inextricably tied together, it makes for a powerful impression. One such memory is re-reading the Mark Twain Library editions of both Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn 3 years ago when I was both mourning the loss of my grandfather and sitting on a jury for a medical malpractice case. Each morning I'd take the train to Jamaica and arrive at the courthouse an hour early, carrying my books and a bottle of water, reading until the court officer brought us to the jury room. The other lasting memory is sitting in that old apartment, my girlfriend (who would become the Missus a few years later) 4 hours away in New York City, the wind and snow howling and beating against the enormous front windows, and reading The Executioner's Song huddled under a dozen blankets, fingers freezing but completely unwilling to stop turning page after page of the life of Gary Gilmore, and his descent into violence and ultimate wish to be executed after his capture and imprisonment. It's a memory that I can recall with perfect clarity, and is one I'll recount whenever anyone asks me why I love to read so much.

After a dose of what was considered a Mailer essential, I quickly devoured more. Harlot's Ghost, The Gospel According to the Son, Oswald' Tale, and then finally to The Naked and the Dead, the book that made a 24-year old ex-army grunt famous. Reading The Naked and the Dead is akin to having your head explode, refurbished and put back on with the following words burned with a soldering iron on the inside of your skull:

What is truly great can never be easily confined to the parameters of your mind. It must push and stretch and expand that mind to fit.

The Naked and the Dead did that to me. So did The Executioner's Song. So did The Brothers Karamazov. So did Great Expectations and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Moby Dick and Cat's Cradle and In Cold Blood and Swann's Way and Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World and Deathbird Stories and The Lord of the Rings and A Prayer for Owen Meany and The Stand and King Lear and dozens of others.

But Mailer did it like no other. And now he's gone and there won't be a sequel to Harlot's Ghost. On God: An Uncommon Conversation has just been released, and it will serve as bookend to a long line of incredible works from one of the last Bears of American Letters.

To Phoenix and Back

Quick flight to Phoenix. Take a meeting. Snap a few pictures for a project I'm working on for the business, visit my favorite Phoenix drinking hole and independent music store, and back home again. Less than 24 hours.

There is a strange phenomenon with flying out of New York, I always get to my destination either on time or early. Always. However, the price for this seems to be that I NEVER get home again on time. Even when I leave on time, I'm late. On this trip we pushed off from the gate about 30 minutes late, with every intention of getting back to New York on time, only to circle around Cleveland for an hour and then New York itself for another 30 minutes.

All the while sitting next to a smelly drunk guy who wound up throwing up and passing out in the bathroom, requiring a "Medical Alert" call in the plane. First time I actually heard "is there a doctor on board the plane?"

Cool. Not so cool was when he finally came back to his seat, smelling like vomit and disinfectant for the remainder of the flight.

I love to travel.

BOOK P.S. - Although it still said Our Town on what I was reading, I was actually reading Stephen King's Everything's Eventual collection on the flights.