Hola

Sitting here on a Wednesday night drinking coffee and ordering Harry Connick, Jr. tickets with my mom. Ha!

I Need Some Help

Anybody know how long Andy Dufresne was in Shawshank?

Prince Charming,

I've nominated you for a ukulele.

I've Forgotten

Anybody remember who has my Norah Jones CD?

More from Yesterday

Here's the letter than opens the official program from the Greek Festival that we attended yesterday:

Dear friends and visitors,

The table is the center of the Greek experience. At the table all the significant moments of life are marked. Guests are welcomed and friendships enhanced. It is a place where we laugh with those who celebrate, weep with those mourning, console, comfort, and educate. Even in our religious tradition, the Altar Table and Eucharist are the center of that experience.

We once again welcome you to our table. A place has been readied for all. No one who comes to sit with us is a stranger. Your presence and support for our annual Panegyri makes you a friend and compatriot.

If this is your first visit, come and sit and share in our legendary hospitality. If you are an old friend of our community, we rejoice in seeing you again.

May God bless you all!

Sincerely,
Father William Cassis
Parish Priest

And this was on page one:

"Panegyri is a Greek word that literally means, "everyone around." Join us around the food table... Dance with us around the circle... And celebrate life with everyone around!"

These people are on to something.

Plus the food is definitely not crap.

Yesterday

Blabbered in the morning, then went to the Panegyri with some friends to whom I do a disservice whenever I limit & define our relationship by calling them "Tuesday people." Had a great time--thanks guys. Apart from the food there, two things in particular struck me this year. I'll make one of them an independent (and soon to follow) post to keep this one from getting too long, but the other (or are they the same?) is that sitting there at a table eating my Gyro, listening to live Greek music and watching traditional Greek dancing, I felt a little ripped off for having grown up so damned mid-western. What a lack of cultural identity.

After the Festival, Ruthie and I went home and continued to work our way through Band of Brothers for the second time and spent a little time with her parents who were in town for the weekend.

At eight O'clock last night I had to go into work and pack-down freight until two in the morning. It's physically harder work than I'm used to, but I didn't have to think very much or deal with nasty customers--just lots of sweat. Showered and in bed by 3 AM--slept in 'til ten.

Stolen Records

They also got my entire Over the Rhine collection. Which is ironic considering that the same night, somewhere in Columbus, someone else (we assume) was stealing all of OTR's gear. They still sounded great last night, and those memories are all I have left...

That Wasn't Very Nice

Somebody got into The Ruth's car overnight and stole a bunch of CD's. Not all of them, just the forty we liked the best, including nearly the entire Indigo Girls catalog. Damn.

What's Going On

Went to Andy's Mediterranean Grill with Randy & Tracy Wednesday night. Ate some food, drank some beer, smoked the hookah & talked a lot. Had a great time.

This morning I will write for Sunday and tonight is Over the Rhine--I can't wait.

Keep on tranglin'

Homestar Heads-Up

For those of you who dig HSR, there's a Strong Bad E-mail called "Stupid Stuff" that I've just watched like five times in row.

Hey, I've Got Nothing to do Today but Smile

We had a particularly nice morning with our people. The conversation was thoughtful and helpful, and the food was predictably good. Thanks to all of you who contributed to either or both.

Spent the afternoon on the deck in the shade with Ruthie, reading and listening to the Reds game (which included Junior’s long awaited 500th tater). Then a wonderful dinner (grilled chicken & mushrooms) and we were off to the Simon & Garfunkel concert.

For a couple guys in their sixties they sounded fabulous. Both, however are beginning to age. Paul Simon, for example, is balding significantly and Ruthie and I noticed that he resembles the pictures we’ve seen of an aging Harpo Marx around the house without his famous wig. (Ruthie also pointed out that if Simon had Garfunkel’s hair, he’d look exactly like Harpo.)

They started about fifteen minutes late, (not bad at all for a concert,) and they played for over two hours. We definitely got our money’s worth. Both men seemed to be having a good time, although Garfunkel is so awkward to look at, standing there with his fists on his hips or his hands jammed down into his pockets. (But what a voice!) Ruthie and I were definitely among the younger folk there, and it was fun to watch another generation carried so sweetly back thirty or forty years. Eight or so songs into the show they brought out the Everly Brothers to play a mini-set and then we all got to see Paul and Art themselves transported back by their childhood idols. Still awestruck after all these years.

A 1999 poll of professional songwriters named Paul Simon the Most Influential Songwriter of the 20th Century, and sitting there last night, immersed in his genius, it was easy to see why. Dude can turn a phrase like few others. (And for the record, “A Hazy Shade of Winter” still rocks.)

Here’s what they played:

Old Friends/Bookends Theme
A Hazy Shade of Winter
I Am a Rock
America
At the Zoo/Baby Driver
Kathy’s Song
Hey Schoolgirl in the Second Row

Everly Brothers:
Wake Up, Little Susie
Dream
Let it be Me
Bye Bye Love (with S & G)

Scarborough Fair
Homeward Bound
The Sound of Silence
Mrs. Robinson
Slip Sliding Away
El Condor Pasa (If I Could)
Keep the Customer Satisfied
The Only Living Boy in New York
An American Tune
My Little Town
Bridge over Troubled Water

Encores:
Cecilia
The Boxer
Leaves that are Green
The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)

Big Night

Simon & Garfunkel tonight. Ought to be a good time. I mentioned to a girl at work yesterday that we had tickets and she looked unimpressed and said, "How old are you?" Not what you want to hear.

Vacation is Over

I don't want to go back to work.

Church and the Ripken Room

I was in the Ripken Room of the Frog Hollow Inn in Cooperstown, New York, late one summer night, unable to sleep. I tossed and turned and struggled and cursed until I was finally able to find, not sleep exactly, but a low enough level of consciousness to allow, if not an epiphany, then at least a moment of insight. I sat up in bed and knew for the first time (or at least admitted to myself for the first time) that I had to quit my job. I’d been fooling myself for over almost four years--convincing myself that I was content there (I have a great capacity for this kind of contentment--Shawn calls it my Drone Mentality,) when in fact I had to get out. Decided that night that when we got back to Cincinnati, I’d find a job working for the Reds. That’s what I need, I told myself, a job I could care about.

The fact is that I didn’t care about my job. Didn’t care about the largest home improvement warehouse retailer in the world. Didn’t care how much mulch the west side of Cincinnati bought each spring, or how many power tools they gave as gifts each December. Didn’t care how much credit I brought in for defective merchandise or how many returns I could get onto tomorrow’s UPS truck. And I certainly didn’t care how much income our store generated for some multi-millionaire CEO in an office in Atlanta.

What I did, and do, care about are the people I work with. Those relationships are real. Ruthie and I have been in their homes, and they’ve been in ours. We’ve been to restaurants and ballgames with them. We’ve been to their weddings and we’ve enjoyed their receptions. I have a standing appointment with several coworkers, every Wednesday at a restaurant near the store and I don’t like to miss it. I care about their lives. I care when their babies are due. I want to hear about their sons’ baseball games and how their boyfriends’ bands sound. I want to hear how their daughters’ dance competitions went and whether or not they’ll be able to avoid their divorces. I care about them--far more than I do the soulless world of retail.

I continue to go to work, to punch in and out every day, because I have to. I have bills to pay. I haven’t landed that job with the Reds yet--I haven’t been qualified for any of the positions they’ve posted so far--so I continue to go to work.

It occurred to me one Sunday morning sitting in a pew that I had for maybe my entire adult life approached my church experience the way I’d been approaching my job. I went because I had to. I didn’t really care about what went on there, apart from the people involved. I liked some of the people a lot. One area where the two differed, though, was that at the store, there wasn’t any pressure to connect with people I didn’t connect with--to force (lie?) my way through any surface level, sincere sounding conversations. At the Depot, we all go about our business and when, over the course of time, a given relationship begins to grow, we cultivate it and let it become what it will. In my experience in churches, though, there’s always been a (sometimes) tacit expectation that we’ll all be instant best friends who “hold each other accountable,” and are “transparent” with one another regardless of the reality of human relational dynamics.

On top of that we were always handicapped by a synthetic social setting--i.e., the Sunday morning meeting--where not only was time limited, but where the accepted standard of behavior was some kind of hyper-spiritual daze where we said spiritual sounding things and talked about books with spiritual sounding titles, and were extra pleasant and friendly in a creepy, Return of the Archons kind of way. I guess what I’m saying is that historically, I’ve felt freer to be myself at work than “at church” (though again, can you really be “at” church?).

It was also true that, like work, the best times--the times that felt the healthiest, and most satisfying--happened apart from the “official” functions. Where Sunday mornings were a wash, a burrito with Justin was great. Even our Tuesday night small group meetings were hobbled by Expectations. We eventually realized that when my cell phone alarm went off at nine O’clock and the meeting was officially over, the conversations got realer, regardless of who left and who stayed late. Expectations were sucking the Life out of what I was doing, yet I kept going. Just like work. Punching in and out, but never really happy about it.

I’d decided that night in the Ripken Room that the instant I could figure out another way to pay the bills, I would walk away from the Depot, and from retail altogether. I haven’t yet found my escape, but I keep my eyes open, and in the meantime I’m grateful for the friends I’m making there.

I realized that Sunday morning in my pew that at thirty-one years old there was less binding me to a weekly meeting--and to a way of approaching faith and Life and God--that didn’t (maybe never had) made sense to me, than there was keeping me at my job.

Jewel said, “No longer lend your strength to that which you wish to be free from.” I think maybe she was on to something.

Yesterday's Daily Buddhist Wisdom

"The mighty ocean has but one taste, the taste of salt. Even so, the true way has but one savor, the savor of freedom."

-Majjhima Nikaya

Mystic River

Anybody remember why the Fundamentalists hated Mystic River so much? Ruthie & I finally got around to watching it last night, and we're baffled? Is it just because Sean Penn & Tim Robbins are in it?

Off to Florida

We'll be back in about a week, so TTFN. I'll blog from the smelly, sweaty humidity of Florida if I'm able, but given my computer skills, don't count on it.

Peace, love and hotel air conditioning--

Hail to the Chief

Politics be damned, I liked Ronald Reagan.

In Case You Haven't Noticed

Nancy Reagan and Betty White are voice twins.

Damn.

Ray Charles died today.

My Day

Okay, I've been sufficiently chastised about not having blogged enough lately (you know you are) that here I sit creating a new post for no good reason.

I'm having a great day. Got up extra early for work this morning in order to meet my friend and coworker James at the store and drive out to Mason for a meeting that was to last all day. When I got to my store Burton informed me that said meeting had been cancelled and Bev informed me that they had enough help scheduled at the desk today that they didn't need me to stick around, so I went home with a bonus day off. Felt a bit like when you forget to turn off your alarm clock the night before a day when you can sleep late and when it goes off in the morning you can just turn it off, enjoy the awareness that you don't have to get up, and go back to sleep. One of Life's best little gifts.

So I've given my morning to working on a writing project, and in just a minute I'll unload and load the dishwasher. Beers at Friday's this afternoon and then a meeting at Terry's house.

My whole family is off to Florida this weekend to observe and celebrate my dad's graduation from his doctoral program. He's busted his ass and we're very proud of him. My dad, the doctor...

Seems like there was something else after all, but it escapes me now and this is getting lengthy, so I'll quit.

"Ladies and gentlemen, take my advice, pull down your pants and slide on the ice."
--Dr. Sidney Freedman

Mona Lisa Smile

I've never been much of a Julia Roberts fan, but I liked it.

Part of the Problem

So I'm at work yesterday, up at the Special Services desk trying to be helpful, and this lady locks onto me with some kind of death-ray stare, marches up to the desk, and begins to spew all kind of bile, vitriol and meanness all over my apron. Apparently she'd been to several other Home Depots where she says they're selling a particular kind of flooring for much less than we are at 3822. I smile and tell her I'll get someone from the flooring department to help her (this isn't actually my job, but I didn't mention that to her) as soon as I can and she just glares at me and steps away from the desk. I call Gary, who's already scrambling to help a department full of people, and he says he'll get to her as soon as he can. I tell her, "Gary will be with you as soon as he can," and I receive from her more scowling. After several minutes she makes her way back up to the desk and squints and tells me through gritted (literally) teeth that no one has helped her yet. I apologize and tell her I'll try again. Gary says he's on his way and when I pass this onto this woman I get more death-rays. From the time I first saw this woman through all her nastiness I was as pleasant and as helpful as I could be--truly. I can't remember the last time I had such a mean customer. She was so nasty that three of my coworkers came over to ask me if I was okay. Finally Gary made his way through a sea of needy customers to this woman and as he was leading her away she turned back, and maybe my memory has exaggerated the look I got, but I'd have sworn she actually snarled at me. That's when I finally noticed what her t-shirt, which was decorated with colorful flowers or butterflies or something, said:

"Souled Out--Lakota Christian Church Ladies Day"

Great.

Fiction Indeed

I keep a running list of every book that I read. When I finish one I add it to the list and move on to the next. It becomes a kind of a game for me: How many can I get through in a month? Can I finish more than I read last year? How fast can I get through this one and get started on the next? Am I well-read now? Now? Now? From time to time I catch myself reading hard only to get onto another book. This can't be good. I used to read for pleasure, but if I'm not very careful I turn it into some kind of contest with myself in which the joy and the good are stripped away and what's left is a Will Clark level of competition that makes me want to stop yet won't allow me to. When I catch myself falling back into this pattern (and reading non-fiction--if that's a distinction you're comfortable with--seems to trip me up more than reading the other stuff) that's when I dust off Lonesome Dove. It's a long book--900-plus pages--plenty long enough to keep me from hurrying, and the nature of the story--it's about a cattle drive--lends itself to just traveling along with it.

It's not my favorite book--A Prayer for Owen Meany still holds that title--but is the one that, over repeated readings spanning the past ten years or so, is teaching me the most about myself. Life is a journey. Montana exists, if you're willing to leave the comfortable dust and go find it. The trip itself may be more important than the destination. The people traveling with us are along for myriad reasons. Friendship matters. Some of us will die along the way; some of us will bring it on ourselves. We're all in this together in ways and to a degree that we'll never be aware of. The decisions that seem the smallest often have the biggest repercussions--even for people we will never meet. Our fathers are important people. Sometimes there are snakes in the river and sometimes there aren't. Love redeems. Love redeems.

Love redeems.