I Don’t Remember, I Don’t Recall

I went to a friend’s 40th birthday party the other night. I guess this is the year all my old classmates and I turn 40.

I have this very specific memory of laying down on the floor of my house, probably 9 or 10 years old. The TV is on and it is the evening. I have a pen and a notebook and I’m laying on the floor, writing in the notebook. I’m writing down numbers. Lots of numbers, next to each other, on top of one another, numbers everywhere, really. I occasionally look up at the TV, but for the most part as I am laying there on my stomach with my pajamas on. I distinctly remember scanning the page, up and down, looking at the numbers and saying to myself “this is probably what math is like in college.” A few minutes later I distinctly remember saying to myself “wow, I will be 29 in the year 2000.”

What does all this have to do with a 40th birthday party? Well, memories for one. The recurring theme of this blog is that I am rather fascinated with the passage of time and all the sociological and mental aspects of dealing with it. We are obviously not the same people at 10, 20, 30 and 40. Obviously. Just think of yourself at those ages and how much you changed every ten years. It’s all dramatic change. I find myself wondering if the level of change will be similar from 40 to 50. I think the changes will be more physical on this go around. But who am I to know? I guess the older people can chime in if they want.

Anyway, memories. As we sat around the table at the party, each of us had very specific memories of one another that we all pretty much forgot. One woman who I’ve known since the age of five told me she remembered clear as day that back in Kindergarten I always seemed to know the days of week. I always knew what day it was. Of course, I have no memories of this. Another friend reminded me that when we were 19 he crashed for months on the couch of the apartment on Peterborough St in Boston. I felt bad, and told him so, that I had forgotten about this. How could I have possibly forgotten about someone who I lived with? For months! Of course, as soon as he said it, I remembered that and more and he also filled in some cracks of my memory about other amusing stuff that happened in that apartment and on that floor.

So how is that we can retain certain things, certain moments, from when we’re splayed out on the floor of our house when we’re 9, but we can’t remmeber someone we lived with for a couple of months when we were 19? It’s absolutely fascinating stuff.  Anyway, that night was a blast. When you get five people who have known each other for that long a period of time, there are inevitably some chestnuts that get unearthed. The biggest laugh of the night (and probably the biggest laugh of the YEAR) was the result of something that someone had forgotten, in fact.

So this is the year we all turn 40. I’m pretty okay with that, so long as I can keep connecting with the people I’ve been on the ride with. One thing that does keep changing for me is the value of those relationships. Even if I only connect with them once a year, once a month, once a whatever. Those relationships keep getting more important to me. I want to hear more stories that I’ve forgotten. I want to laugh. I want to remember.

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Peter Gabriel, “I Don’t Remember”

I got no means to show identification
I got no papers show you what I am
You'll have to take me just the way that you find me
What's gone is gone and I do not give a damn
Empty stomach, empty head
I got empty heart and empty bed
I don't remember
I don't remember

I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything

Strange is your language and I have no decoder
Why don't you make your inentions clear
With eyes to the sun and your mouth to the soda
Saying, "Tell me the truth, you got nothing to fear
Stop staring at me like a bird of prey
I'm all mixed up, I got nothing to say
I don't remember
I don't remember

I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything
Anything at all

I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I don't remember, I don't recall
i got no memory of anything
absolutely anything at all
I don't remember

Checking In

I don’t know. I have to tell you, I really wish I could write here more. I truly do. I miss really taking the time to write, to really think something out and put it down. It’s funny – this week a friend of mine emailed to tell me that he still reads the blog and is happy that someone out there is still writing in the “long-form” online format, instead of doing what everyone else is doing, which is writing in 140 character blips (i.e., Facebook and Twitter). Here’s the problem – I’m updating Facebook and Twitter WAY  more than here. Because that is honestly all I have time for. I feel like the bad guy, abandoning a 10 year relationship, which is essentially what I have done.

It makes me a little sad. But how sad can I be? It’s life, man. Commuting has replaced blogging. So be it. There’s not much I can do about it, so I’ll continue to miss writing, but I’ll try to do it when I can. “When I can” tends to be Saturday nights at roughly 11 or midnight. Normally I’m in bed at this time every night, but Saturday’s I’ll draw it out a little and go old school. Spend a little time by myself. Try to find some new music or read a book, maybe write a post.

But it’s hard to come up with stuff when my life is so……….well…….I don’t know. Nothing interesting is happening. I should re-phrase that. I’m pretty sure that every day something interesting happens with my kids and life, but I’ve said it before and I will say it again – this blog is not about my kids. And it never will be. There’s plenty of mommy and daddy blogs out there if that’s what you’re looking for, so go find them.

Speaking of books, I’ve just finished Jean Edward Smith’s FDR biopic. Good golly. It was almost 900 pages. Now, I knew FDR’s presidency was transformative, but I never realized to what degree. The things this man accomplished in office were astounding. He didn’t do it without controversy, or without having some pretty low ratings in the public opinion polls, but my goodness, the list of things his administration accomplished are extraordinary. If you are at all a fan of history, this one is one of the best. A captivating, interesting read. A lot of the personal stuff (and there was a lot with FDR) was left out of the book, which I appreciated. You can’t write a fair bio without getting into it in some detail, but the book was largely focused on his professional accomplishments. What a read!

I’m still following this year’s version of the Bruins with great interest. I’ve been to probably 6 games and I think I’m 1-5. All of them have been close. I’d like to hope I’m not an albatross around the team’s neck when I am there. Because I plan to be at all the playoff games this spring. I do not think they will make the Cup finals, but I think they’re a possibility for a fairly deep run if they can make a meaningful move before the trading deadline.

Get Off My Cloud

I was thinking about privacy today. There is a much talk about Facebook (or any other internet entity that has a social focus) and the controversy surrounding your privacy. I guess most people aren’t aware that there are a litany of options for you when it comes to sharing your data on Facebook. You can open yourself up to the entire world or you can make everything private. I don’t necessarily view Facebook as being mis-leading to its gazillions of users about privacy, I view the gazillions of users who don’t take the time to seek out their privacy options as……..lazy, I guess.

Oh, there is grand debate about your privacy settings when you first sign up – some may say that Facebook should make ALL of your data private from the get-go.  But they don’t. Or that they should make the privacy options easier to understand. But they don’t, really. I’ll let you guess why. It starts with an M and it ends with a Y. They need dinner, too, you know. That’s why those ads you see on the right side of the page are so eerily accurate when it comes to your interests. They are accurate most of the time, any way. Nobody is perfect.  So why is everyone so spooked? I don’t think the Facebook ads are that invasive. Sometimes I laugh at the targeting. But other times I’m pretty impressed that a lot of the advertising is stuff I am actually interested in. I can tell you that I, as a marketer, have bought these ads for the company I work for and I’ve been largely happy with the results.

Yes, privacy in the age of the internet has gotten much looser and there is potential for more impact. You can’t argue that one. There’s a lot of info about you out there. I remember as a wee lad, we used to pull the old ‘79 Mercury Cougar up to the Fotomat. Kids of the ’70s and ’80s, you surely remember this little place! Oh, you don’t? Well, look here. When I say little, I mean little. We used to pull the car up and drop off and pickup our photos. Of course, as a kid I  never gave much thought to privacy, but let’s face it, as far back as forever your privacy has been exposed to many people of all stripes, including those high schoolers who worked at Fotomat that could see all your family pictures. Just imagine some of the stuff THEY saw! Or think about this – in the early age of the telephone, operators could sit there and listen to your every word. Don’t forget that. Having your privacy exposed is not some new-fangled issue. It’s just become more of a target with the explosion of the internet – there is clearly more on the line.

So the whole privacy thing? A concern for sure, but let’s not get all overheated about it. Do the work to protect yourself – websites aren’t going to do it for you. If you are at all suspicious, then simply don’t participate. Like Gene Simmons said, “if you don’t like it, then don’t listen to it.” And I hate Gene Simmons.

Robot Probe

Somewhere on the interwebs in the last year two I wrote something about New Years Resolutions. I don’t make them every year – and for good reason – I usually don’t feel the need to. Now, let me be clear: setting goals for one’s self is fine. After all, we live in a world where you need to strive for something, otherwise you’ll likely find yourself listless, floating around. Hopefully we all have goals, be it personal or professional. But I don’t necessarily need to sit down with pen and paper, stroke my chin and pontificate every year on January 1 about what I need to do in the next 12 months. I don’t need calendar dates to strive for things, I guess. I’m working towards something all the time. That being said, I’ve made resolutions before. Last year at this time, for some whacked out reason, I felt the need to make three of them and I said on Facebook (or was it Twitter? Or my blog?) that I would reveal them at the end of 2010. Well, here we are, the end of 2010 and here they are (were?)

1. To get a new job. Which I did. I don’t need to go into details – you can read my blog back in February and March for the details. Ask.com was a great place to work. I dearly miss the people I worked with on a daily basis, for the most part. But it was time. It was also absolutely the right move, beyond any doubt. The new job (is it still new?) provides lots of challenges (and rewards) and I’m glad I made the move. It is a complete shift in so many ways (cultural, structural….the works) and it really woke me up in ways I think I’m still discovering.

2. To be more patient. Can’t say I accomplished this one. I really really wanted to, though. I am, historically, a fairly impatient person. I don’t like it at all and I suppose I have nobody to blame but myself. I’d love to place ALL the blame on the fact I’m in the first generation of people who grew up with so many options for truly instant gratification (cable TV, the excesses of the 1980s, mobile phones, blah blah blah) but in the end I’m the one who has to do the work to improve this. Before you get any pictures in your head, I’m not some fiery yelling type. I’ve never punched a wall. Never fought. I never yell. I occasionally slam my hockey stick on the bench, but that happens maybe once every two years. I’m more a brooder than a yeller. I was thinking that having twins would force me to become more patient, but I’m not sure that has happened. I’m here to tell you that having two 3 year olds will test your patience…..and then some. I am my own harshest critic, so I think I can do better. By the way,  I don’t think I’m less patient then before having kids, I’m just the same. Impatient. I don’t need New Year’s to convince me it needs work, so I’m calling this one a work in progress.

3. To start weightlifting again. Let me paint the picture for you – I’m not striving to have veins popping out of my pectorals. I mean, have you seen me? Hello. But I do miss the weights. And I do notice the difference. And I WILL start again. But I didn’t get to it this year. Now, for this I have a completely legit excuse – I spent a lot of the year with ailments that prevented me from doing it meaningfully. For much of the year I had a goofed up elbow that would have become much worse had I done any kind of regiment on weights. For the initial six months of 2010, I was also battling a shoulder ailment that really sidetracked me. I even had x-rays and rehab on it. Both seem better now, so the only thing that appears to be stopping me from picking it up again is time – and I will find it. Now, the question begs itself – had I continued doing weights over the last 1-2 years, would these ailments have even happened? Of course, impossible to say, so I can’t subject myself to wondering.

So…..I hit .333. There’s two ways to look at it. If I’m a baseball player, I’m an All-Star hitter. If I’m taking a school test, it’s an F. I guess the true answer is somewhere in between.

2011 – I’m going to go back to not having resolutions. And away we go.

Hybrid Driving

Driving a hybrid car is definitely a different experience. Witness the following:

- My car offers a lot of information to a driver. I can, by toggling a single button, get access to my tire pressure (which is important for hybrids), what my average MPG is for each of my last five gas tanks, what my average MPG is in total (this was reset when I bought the car) and of course, my current MPG for the current gas tank.

- I also have access as I drive to my efficiency. What I mean is that I can see, in real time as I drive, what my MPG is. This is an interesting phenomenon. On one hand, it’s amazing to see how efficient I’m driving – while I drive. I can, and do, make adjustments based on the meter. On the other hand, I’m not sure I want to be made aware every single time I touch the gas that I’m gulping petrol. Life has enough guilt trips, so I’m not sure I need my dashboard computer giving me more. In the end, though, I have to remember why I bought the vehicle.

- The car has two driving modes that help enhance MPG. One is ECON. I don’t know the nuts and bolts of it, but I can tell you that it reduces power at low speeds when you hit the gas. This is, perhaps, where you notice the largest difference between a hybrid and a traditional gas engine car. In ECON mode, you are conserving quite a bit of fuel by not feeling that instant gratification you’re used to with a gas burner. Since I purchased the car, I have not taken the mode out of ECON. Again, remembering why I bought the vehicle.

- There is also EV mode. This seems like more a marketing feature to me, but if you’re in EV mode, it means the car is running on no gas whatsoever. This is ideal for 92 year olds who drive under 20mph all the time. After 20mph, it switches automatically to the gas/hybrid engine. So it doesn’t really do much for the average driver.

- So here’s what I’ve learned about driving efficiency: cruise control is your best friend. You get optimal efficiency by NOT pressing the gas. So don’t think of the cruise control as a traditional old-school highway tool. I use it everywhere now, to prevent me from going 35 to 40 to 35 to 30 to 40, which I have historically been prone to do. I’m really learning to drive patiently, which I think my wife will just love. It is a little amusing to set the cruise control at 25 or whatever, but the amusement or I guess the embarrassment of doing the speed limit is far overshadowed by the little readout that tells me I’m averaging 60 MPG’s by doing so.

- Embrace neutral. Drop the car into neutral on large downward hills and slopes and Earth will love you. It some cases it will throw the car into EV mode automatically, which will immediately qualify you to be Al Gore’s cousin. And you can smile as your readout again tells you you’re at 60 MPG’s.

- Warm up the car. Better efficiency when you drive a car that’s been running for a few minutes. That’s true with any car, not just hybrid.

- I haven’t driven during hot weather yet, but the word is that air conditioning detracts from MPG. Sigh. This will be a battle, given that I would probably fork over my life savings to be comfortable and cool during the summer. We will see how much it affects MPG in the summer of ‘11.

So what are the results? I’ve had 6 fill-ups thus far and my average MPG is 26.9. I’m pretty sure I can do better, because on my 4th tank I put up a 27.7. This is roughly equivalent or possibly a slight improvement on my old Camry. Given my car is a 7 seat Highlander Hybrid with double the cargo space, I’m generally satisfied, but striving to improve that mpg!

Christmas Tree Smackdown

I’ll be the first to admit to you, anytime, that I’m not handy. If you need something fixed, I am not your guy. I can go about as far as changing doorknobs. I once replaced an outlet in our house and before I flicked the switch, had shaking visions of explosions, sirens and a caved-in roof. I’m just not handy. I’m at the compete and utter whim of the multitude of contractors out there. Something broken? I don’t have the time, know-how or confidence to fix it. So I do what almost every red-blooded, middle class American does – I embarrassingly throw money at it. Until it’s fixed. It’s honestly not something I’m proud of. It doesn’t help my self-esteem a bit, either. My brother-in-law, it seems, can build, fix, repair and do a lot of other really important stuff. Me? I can probably give you decent advice on hockey sticks, good guidance on music and perhaps hook up your home theater. Now, if a nuclear bomb goes off, you’re gonna want my brother-in-law around. OK? Just want to get that out of the way.

This morning we piled the family in the car and headed off to get our Christmas tree at Durkee Farm in Littleton, MA. We usually just go to a local place, but an already cut tree, have them tie it to the car, then we always drove it home and put it up. By the way, ask my wife sometime about some of the years when I’ve tried to put up trees. You’ll get a laugh, though I must admit the last 1-2 years I’ve shined. My poor wife. Alas, Durkee Farm is a whole different ballgame. It makes men out of boys. They don’t cut the tree for you – oh no no – they just grow ‘em. YOU have to cut them. And YOU have to tie it to the car.

So the idea was hatched in our house, on a recommendation from a friend, that we would pile in the family truckster, head to Durkee Farm, cut down our own tree and bring that home. A feeling of victory would fill the air! And so it was that I envisioned a beautiful crisp morning, hats with ear flaps, flannel shirt on, SAW in my hand, the oh-so-familiar holiday scent of fir wafting through the air.  Our kids would run around, smiling, laughing, full of Christmas joy, I tell you! My wife and I would walk, snug together in warmth and find the most perfect tree in the world on a beautiful farm. It would be pristine. The day glorious memories are made of. I’d feel like a MAN! Cutting down my OWN TREE, dammit! Like the lion who crushes the life out of a small defenseless animal and drags it home by it’s throat. Durkee Farm, man! Where you feel like Grizzly Adams!

The truth, well, that’s somewhere south of that glory. The whole kids-running-around thing actually happened and was quite cute. Steph and I did in fact walk around pleasantly and we did find a tree that we thought was near-perfect for our house. It WAS actually beautiful and cold out. I didn’t have the ear-flap hat, but I still felt ready, saw in my hand, challenge waiting.

And then I had to cut the tree down.

Here’s the deal. I have some tools at my house. They work very well-  the three times a year that I use them. My dad gave me most of them many years ago, maybe when I got my first house. I can’t remember. I can tell you that when it comes to fixing shit, the apple fell VERY far from the tree there, because my dad can fix a LOT of stuff. Anyway, I do have a saw. I’m pretty sure that the only time I’ve used it is when I’ve cut hockey sticks and I remember it wasn’t very good for that purpose. So what EVER made me think it would be enough to cut down a tree?

So there I lay under the tree. Back-and-forth. Zip-zap-zip-zap. The initial cuts were actually ok. Then and there I’m thinking this won’t take too long. But hell, I’ve never cut a tree down. It seems like when I get about 3/4 of an inch in the damn saw just won’t cut anymore. And even though it’s 32 degrees, I’m starting to sweat. No worry. Attack from another angle, I proudly say! You are the predator! Same deal. Now I’ve basically got a tree with half-inch cuts all around – and no budge. Poor Steph. She knows I’m frustrated and all she wants to do is help. She asks the question that no dude wants to hear – “should I get help?” My mind screams “YES! Get help!” But Grizzly in me says no way. I’M gonna do this. But the saw is clearly not the answer, so she goes and gets one from the Durkee folk.

This one works better! But I’m still struggling. I’m asked if I need help. I lay on the ground, dirt all over me, hot, bummed out. I admit yes. Please go get help. She goes off with the boys to bring back someone who knows what the hell they are doing. I lay there and say to myself “what a failure.” I really said that to myself. That is not something I’ve really ever said to myself. I’ve never been afraid to fail, don’t get me wrong. I don’t prefer it, but I do think failure in general (personal, professional, sports, etc) is a very good thing to learn from. But this wasn’t one of those cases. I try again and lo-and-behold – progress. In the next minute, the tree is on the ground. Victory. Not what I envisioned, but victory nonetheless. The man walking with my wife turns and heads back. Damn right dude! Turn that shit around and go back! The kids say “good job Daddy!” I’ve saved face, I guess.

Did I feel like the predatory lion dragging that tree back to the car? A little. I suppose. Now, tying it to the car is another story. I’ve never really tied anything to a car, given my penchant for letting others who know better perform those tasks. But I’ll tell you this much – that tree didn’t budge on the ride home.

Take Two

Given how sad I was that the Keith Richards book had to end, I thought I’d catch lightning in a bottle with famous English guitar players, so I dove headlong into “Clapton – The Autobiography.” Now, this is the second consecutive book I’ve read about English guitarists I’ve never really cared for, so I guess I thought if the Richards book was that good, than the Clapton book must also be, at the very least, interesting.

It’s funny, because I really can’t stand Eric Clapton’s music. I hate his voice. I dislike his version of the blues. If I want to hear blues, I’ll listen to the original guys. Now, I’m not saying Clapton isn’t a good guitar player. It would be ridiculous, in fact, to say he isn’t. I also can’t say I hate ALL his songs. But I do hate 95% of them. There are 2-3 Derek & The Dominoes songs I like. A sprinkling of Cream songs as well. Okay, two Cream songs. Maybe 2 Blind Faith songs, thanks to Winwood (another guy I’m not a fan of, which probably means I’ll be reading his biography soon, I wonder if he has one?) Anyway, other than “Let It Rain,” I simply hate ALL Clapton’s solo stuff. I mean it. All of it. I just thought, given his history, the book might be entertaining.

Well, it wasn’t entertaining. Clapton seems like an ass. He seemed like a grade-A ass when he was a drunk, a grade-A ass when he was a junkie and now, sober, I’ll cut him some slack and say he seems like a grade-B or maybe grade-C ass today. He’s history is one of being horribly demeaning to women.  His faithfulness to bands (and women) is laughable. He’s also a bad writer (of books). One of the biggest reasons I was interested to read his story was to hopefully get a logical explanation of why he jumped from band to band. I mean, for the most part, he was one-album-and-done with bands. His explanations for this were weak and pithy. He seems like a guy who just blamed everyone else for everything except himself – and he was a disaster. He doesn’t seem to respect fellow musicians very much, either, though I did find it amusing that he did seem to respect Keith Richards, who sent him a nice note after Clapton’s four year old son Conor fell out the window.

That’s the other thing – the Conor story. Heartbreaking, of course. I guess I always thought Clapton had cleaned himself up by then, but he was a disaster at that point as well. He was never there for that kid. Barely knew him, really. “Tears in Heaven” wasn’t written solely for Conor, though the song was borne from that tragedy, Clapton said the song was really written about all the people in his family who he wondered if he’d ever see again. I guess I always thought Clapton, like all those other musicians from that era, cleaned up and turned it around in the ’80s, but he didn’t.

Anyway, major disappointment. My one satisfying moment in the book was towards the end, where Clapton basically admits he’s a miserable curmudgeon. So at least he knows it.

Well, what’s the very best way to put an end to my “streak” of reading about legendary English guitarists that I don’t particularly like? READ ANOTHER ONE! That’s right! I’m now about 4 chapters deep into the Ronnie Wood biography. See, the difference here is that I LIKE Ronnie Wood quite a bit because he’s a character. I don’t mind his guitar work, but he’s not somebody I fawn over musically. You just know he’s a fun guy. I didn’t even have to think about the idea of not liking a book written by Wood, given his history. The book probably wrote itself. So far it’s a riot. I’ll post a more detailed review when I’m done, but I’ve already laughed out loud at a few stories, particularly the ones of his days touring around with Rod Stewart. Hilarious stuff. I don’t think I laughed once while reading the Clapton book.

So there you have it. My old English guitarist update.