Fathers and Sons, Part 2

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. Some of my earliest memories are of this day. My grandfather was a huge football fan (that’s probably where I got the bug from).

I spent many Super Bowl Sundays with my late father and brother. Today, i was invited to a “guys only” party.

I didn’t go because I wanted to spend it with my son and daughter. It was the right call. They’re cuddled up to me and it’s showtime!

I’ll remember this the rest of my life.

Happy Super Bowl!

Gadget Man

I have to admit that I’m a sucker for gadgets. My wife often makes fun of me for pausing when I see something that I think is “neat”.

Of course, man has a long history of interacting with the world around him by the use of tools and other implements. Fire was certainly much easier to achieve with the use of a tool rather than waiting for that random bolt of lightning to cook that mastodon meat. I’m sure the Ug and his buddies used to get gawked at by the ladies when they’d make a fuss at the iRock store.

Ladies, just face it. Boys like their toys.

I’m not the gadgeteer that absolutely has to be the “first person on my street” to have something. Clearly, I am a more critical consumer. I wait for someone else to be the guinea pig (see betamax, HD DVD, laserdisc, plasma TV) and for the kinks to be addressed.

I suppose that there are gadgets that interest me more than others but on some level, the gadget cannot be a gadget for gadget’s sake. It has to make my life easier. A smart phone, for instance, makes my life easier. I have a calendar. It’s synced with my computer. It doesn’t have to be a particular one (iPhone, Blackberry, Palm Pre, etc) but it has to work for me. Sure, the phone helps in other ways. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been lost and used the internet to find a phone number or the GPS to find out where the hell I am.

I don’t need the “transparent toaster” which allows you to watch your bread as it’s toasted. It adds neither efficiency nor space savings in my life. On the other hand, I’m a sucker for kitchen gadgets that cut down on prep time (like vegetable dicers/choppers).

I think that it’s most logical to see where this is going. A new gadget.

My wife and I have been going through a bit of a crisis lately. Our two kids are older and our house feels a bit smaller, not to mention that it’s turned into a veritable ‘money pit’. I often told her that there’s a fine line between “cozy” and “cramped”. Of course, the only one who lost space from our old house was yours truly. The house is ostensibly the same size with the exception that I have no true “office” and the most useful room in the previous house (the mudroom) does not exist in this one. As part of figuring out what things are beginning to clutter (or not have a “place to live”) it includes books. When my sister got an e-book reader for Christmas she was thrilled. I was skeptical. I had tried the software on my smart phone but I can’t read “War and Peace” on such a small screen. I love paper books. I have valued books throughout my life and one of my greatest idiosyncratic OCD behaviors is the inability to damage, destroy, toss or generally disrespect books. I can’t do it. I won’t clutter them and I’ll generally give them away to a good home if I know I won’t read it again…but with so many things that I want to read, it would seem that an e-book reader might be nice because I can store hundreds of books on one device, not to mention reading newspapers.

Put into ladies terms….let’s assume you have a box about the size of a deck of playing cards and you can open it and reach in and pull out any one of five hundred outfits. Now, do you get it?

I am very conscious of eye-strain now that I’m 40. I just didn’t feel like looking at an electronic screen would be good for my eyes. Oddly enough, the contrast and readability of an e-reader is somewhat pleasing not to mention surprising.

Will I venture as far as to research the consumer reports and nauseate myself with my need for discriminating detail about each device in an effort to choose? I don’t know. Perhaps I’m not there yet but the idea is warming like that piece of toast.

The Spice of Life

Over the years, I have developed a fairly keen sense of my behavioral signals.  I know that when I am depressed, I tend to check things.  Did I leave the stove on? I know I just checked it, but let me check it again.  I know that when I am depressed I also don’t do certain things.  I don’t exercise as much as I should.  I think that most depressed people lack the energy to do the the things that they like.  That’s one of the symptoms (“anhedonia”).

For me, however, the barometer of blue mood worsening or improving starts and stops with one thing: cooking.

I don’t like to cook for myself.  I do like to cook for others.  I find that people generally like my cooking very much.  I am not so comfortable around the kitchen however, that I don’t panic when I realize that the garlic needed to be chopped prior to the step that I’m on.  I suppose that the endeavour should be more relaxing than that.

Cooking also holds a lot of memories for most people and I am no different.  I grew up in an extended family of great cooks.  My mom was probably foremost amongst them and I had no idea before I went to college that everyone didn’t experience that type of culinary expertise.  I remember the way my mom moved around the kitchen.  Obviously, she’s the type of cook that never needed to really measure anything.  She just knew.  My mom could make shit taste like caviar.  She was that good.

My wife is not that good but our culinary life together is, like my home life as a child, a memorable one.  I find myself frequently reflecting on love-as-expressed-through-food.  Most cultures’ cuisine is central to their interaction.  Mine is no different.

When we were dating, cooking a meal together (or at least conversing in the kitchen) was routine.  Experiencing new cuisines while dining out was a regularity.  Kids changed all of that.  When we broke up and got back together there was a memorable collaboration on a meal while my wife and I were still in that grey area between marriage, separation, reconciliation and divorce.

I know that in the last few years with all of the stress my cooking has been basic and rudimentary.  Since my wife works three evenings a week, it falls on me to feed the kids.  I used to make my own pasta sauce.  It wasn’t a great recipe but it put me in a good mood because I could reproduce it.  That fell by the wayside in recent years.  Pasta meant store-bought sauce.  Food meant whatever basic thing I could make without expending too much aggravation energy.

Last week, the “happy switch” must’ve clicked.  I found myself wanting to cook.  I even bought a new cookbook (I’m dangerous that way).  I found two recipes for pasta sauce: one creamy, sun dried tomato and the other meaty.  I decided on Saturday that I was going to make BOTH.  That was a first.  Even on my best days, I wouldn’t cook just to experiment.  It was always much more utilitarian than that.  I didn’t have all of the ingredients for the meat sauce so I made the creamy sauce on Saturday and the meat sauce the next day and I made it just to save.  We didn’t have pasta two days in a row.  It felt good.  For those wondering, I liked the creamy better than the meat.

I suppose that this all crystallized into a blog idea as I watched the movie Julie and Julia.  I won’t make this into a film review but the movie does bring back memories of an American icon from my youth.  It reminded me how much cooking means in our lives and the passion of food and what it’s worth.

Still Crazy After All These Years

I had the strange experience last week of having a friend from Facebook visit from out of town. We went to high school together and while we were not what I would consider “friends” in high school, we did socialize together from time to time and he was a friendly guy.

I offered to pick him up at his hotel and go out for a beer as I’d feel guilty if he was in town and only saw his hotel and the surrounding environs. He could wind up on “crack house row” if he wasn’t careful. Thanks to Facebook, I was able to spot him in the lobby without carrying a sign with his name on it. I hadn’t seen him in 20 some-odd years so it was curious.

We went out for a few beers and some light fare. We talked about the usual things…kids, wives, work, college (we went to the same college as well) and, of course, the airhead girls in high school that never gave us the time of day. That isn’t entirely true. He actually wasn’t that UN-popular. We laughed at the idea that the social dynamics of Facebook are actually in some ways the preservation of the same unspoken, social barriers and clique format of high school. Now, however, it seems to bother us less because we do know that the shallow, vapid bimbo or jock really DID peak at age 18 and we’ve only gotten better with age (albeit with less hair).

The friend himself is going through tough times. Loss of work and a child with needs has him stressed but he looked remarkably well. I was glad to have caught up with him and I even lent him some of my own survival philosophies (hard to believe they’d help anyone but I do have them).

The best part was when he posted his next status on Facebook and said he “caught up with an old friend”. It’s good to know that someone from back then considers me one even though it didn’t feel like it back then.

Miss TMI

My wife and I are friendly with a couple from our neighborhood whose children are friendly with ours.  We and they do get together with one or two other couples for potluck suppers once in a while.  The husband is very nice.  The wife is a bit kooky.  She has an odd haircut and cool-but-strange clothing style.  She is quite the character as even though she’s a liberal arts type for her work, she really is not at all plugged in to popular culture.    Nonetheless, she’s always good for a laugh or two at these get togethers but many times, she’ll have too much to drink and start either asking somewhat personal questions or offering up suggestive commentary.

As an example, my wife could look at her watch and say ‘Wow, it’s late, we’d better get the kids home and to bed…” and The Kook would say something like “Why?  You can’t wait to get your husband in the sack?”.   A bit personal.  A bit inappropriate but I suppose not to the degree that I’d want to call her out on it.

The other day I was thumbing through one of those local free news magazines that deal mostly with the art scene.  I got to the end and on the back page was a personal ad for a married-and-looking woman whose listed email was “KrazyK—-68″ and it was somebody in our town who is her age.  It seemed very odd to see a sex add and of course it seemed even more odd to see that name in the email.  Now, if it was her…she wouldn’t be stupid enough to incorporate her real name in the reply email, would she?

Hmm.  Too much information, indeed.

Nick of Time

My wife has this uncanny ability to know when I am upset with her and seem to summon up her best palliative behavior when my patience is worn thinnest.  I don’t know exactly how she does it because I’m not necessarily “in her face” with my displeasure. In any case, she manages to say the right things at the right time…just enough.

I think that she’ll never be the most expressive person.  I know that she loves me.  That’s not in question.  To be able to open up, however, is a different story.  Unless the “liquid truth” of alcohol is present, she’s not the most expressive person.  A simple puritanical “I love you” is usually all I’ll get and some 1950’s Ricky and Lucy kiss.

This morning she rolled over and put her arm around me and said, “I’m lucky to have you”.  She said that I probably look at her and wonder “I’m stuck with you?”. I didn’t touch that with a twelve-foot pole.  In any case, I’ve managed to narrow it down to one very frustrating behavior.  I’ve come to learn that I don’t mind the occasional rejection of my romantic or sexual overtures.  It’s what happens after that is really irksome.  For most people, if their spouse or lover made an attempt to initiate some intimacy and they rejected it…it would still lay “on their radar” and they’d proceed to respond at the next convenient time (the next day, for instance) but my wife is not like this.  She will reject me…go to sleep or about her business and five minutes later it’s completely out of her consciousness.  I have to start all over.  That’s a LOT of work.

Of course, I’ve mentioned this to her.  We’ll see how much that does.

Today’s a bit sunny and cool here.  I hope tomorrow is just as nice.

Negative Nostalgia

I think that when I look back on my life, I realize that I set out to pursue my goals.  At least I think they were mine.  With immigrant parents who had their own dreams and aspirations, sometimes it’s hard to know which thoughts and dreams were mine and which I was prodded toward.  On a basic level, I cannot complain.  I’m successful in my field.  I accomplished every tangible goal that I had in terms of education and my career.  I was always one to look forward and now that I’m “looking back”, I’m wondering how much it really cost me.

My wife and I were talking after watching a movie recently where a “nerd” has feelings for the “popular” girl.  It’s a bit formulaic and predictable but after it was over it did leave one reflecting back on their own adolescence.  I knew that my adolescence was a very negative time in my life.  I don’t think that’s unusual in the sense that most people are “awkward” on some level in high school.  It’s an uncomfortable time all around.  We didn’t live particularly close to my high school and I didn’t have an easy time getting to and fro.  That said, she started quizzing me (don’t ask me why…she should already know the answers to these questions).

“You didn’t do sports?”

“No”

“How about national honor society”

“Nope.  My parents didn’t want me taking any AP courses that weren’t math or science so my class rank wasn’t high enough”

“What about debate?”

“No”

“French club?”

“My dad said ‘why? you already know French’…”

The inquisition went on until basically we determined that not only did I not have a single friend until the end of high school but that I also had no extracurricular activities except for a part-time job my senior year that involved no one my age or remotely close to my age.  The job was part of a vocational program at school and it was an opportunity to give up on the people who had no interest in me.  I didn’t have any social life until college and that started somewhat slow.  I spent much of college worried about money and grades.  My post-college/grad/professional school days saw me date a few people but I didn’t have the time or money to travel.

I just woke up and I realized I pissed away the personal part of my life.  I wouldn’t trade my children for anything in the world and I’ve built my business essentially from the ground up.  I just look at myself and wonder what happened.  I can’t blame my parents because that’s the popular method of dealing with unhappiness.  Somewhere along the way, I guess I just gave up and just went through whatever motions I needed to accomplish my academic goals.  Maybe this is why I care so much that my son and daughter have well-rounded lives with activities and school and travel.  I don’t know but what I feel inside is not something I’d wish on anyone.  It’s not something a new purchase or a new wife would fix.  I feel like there’s a void and I’m ashamed I let it happen.  I hope that tomorrow I wake up and I find that I’ve sandbagged it all.  I’ll feel like it wasn’t “that bad” or that I am just “mis-remembering” but I don’t know how that would happen.

Going Chuck Norris

We had a great time in LA my son turned to me in the third quarter and said “Dad, this is BETTER than on TV!” we got some sleep, almost overslept and today we’re traveling home.

As it would happen, there was a guy sitting across the aisle from me who was average height but bearded and ethnic in appearance. My first thought was “Great, I betthis guy gets profiled in security as much as I do.”. See folks, being dark complected and sporting facial hair, I used to get pulled out of line at security BEFORE 9/11.

As we prepared to depart, he took out an odd-looking little bag that initially seemed like a camera bag. It really didn’t seem to be the right shape or size. He clutched it rather purposefully. I started to wonder if I should be suspicious. I felt badly and I tried not to stare at him. It was a long flight and the inflight AV entertainment system wasnt working properly Luckily, we made it to our destination without him trying to light his shoe or underwear. It was mean, I thought, to think stereotypically but if he bolted upright with a shrill praise to Allah, I was going for the bag, the headbutt and the knee to the Jimmy Chalupas.

Morning, Left Coast

Got in late last night. I was proud of the boy. He travelled pretty well although he didn’t sleep at all on the plane like I asked. I suppose that’s to be expected with attending his first game today. He brought some homework and did it on our layover. Some observations and random thoughts:

• some people travel in the most inefficient clothes. I know that skin tight jeans and 3-inch heels may seem like a good idea but running through a busy airport to catch a flight seems impossible if you aren’t going to dress somewhat sensibly.

• I hate the middle seat. Typically, you’re wedged between two people of large body mass. Then again the aisle isn’t much better since it’s now become the “seat of mutilation” by the passing drink trolley.

• When you get on the plane and see the majority of passengers wearing the logo(s) of the opposing team, it could make for a long ass flight. Luckily, they were either nice or kept to themselves except for one guy that I delicately put in his place and he left us alone.

• We are staying near the airport and arrived late last night (even later our time). It’s a nice enough hotel that Paris’ father wouldn’t be ashamed of. That is, to say, except for the fact that every prostitute in LA seemed to be roaming the premises last night. I never know exactly what to make of hookers. After all, if you’re into people watching…they make great subjects. Hard not to notice and always something to gawk over. I didn’t realize how short minis and short dresses have gotten. Apparently, we can show the lower butt-upper leg crease now? I watched my son to see if he noticed. I doubt he did. He’s still a bit sexually naive. There were so many drunken hoots and cheers from the bar that it was a bit of sensory overload.

• When he wakes up, it’ll be “Game Day”. We’ve been to a few local college games back home and they aren’t nearly what this will be. If you’ve ever attended a school with a strong tradition in a sport, you’ll know that

a) all seats will be taken
b) it will be energetic and loud
c) you’ll have nervous energy all day long and
d) there is no experience like it on earth.

I don’t know if it’s good or bad but I’ve dreamed of sharing game day with my son for many years. Let’s hope we win!

A Dad and Son Story

I’ve always considered myself attentive to my son although perhaps he’s closer to his mom. Maybe that comes from my own father and how he liked to see us kids all happy.

A few years ago, my alma mater played in the BCS Championship and won. This year, they’re playing again and I am taking my boy. At 11, I can’t imagine too many things that would be more exciting. My brother missed the last one and he’s coming too. We are at the airport and on our way.

Some day when I’m no longer around my son will look back on this fondly and say to himself and anyone that’ll listen that “I did that with my Dad…”. I know I miss mine all the time and all I have are the memories. This is like making a deposit in the Bank of Memories. Off we go.